“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”
Winston Churchill
Pretty much everything we are experiencing now is new territory. It is the beginning of a new life for us. We have no car, no home port. We are moving forward as travelers into the unknown, vagabonds of the sea. The culmination of all our efforts has brought to fruition this departure into unknown waters, and all that awaits.
We set off down the C&D Canal on October 18th from our boat’s home of 8 months, the Summit North Marina, and followed the path that would take us toward the ocean. After 2 hours of motoring down the canal, we emptied into the Delaware Bay. A steady breeze was blowing and we were able to put up the sails. There was an unspoken surreal feeling shared by both of us, intuitively understanding, “this is for real.” We toasted with Mimosas and shared quiet moments of amazement at what we had accomplished. It was a glorious day of sailing that ended just before sunset as we found a hidden anchorage just up a river in the bay. The sunset was brilliant and it seemed our new sailing life was off to a good start.
The next morning we pulled up anchor and set off, following the bay to its outlet, Cape May. It was monumental to finally be sailing out of bay waters. So many years had been spent sailing in the confines of the Chesapeake. Our hearts fluttered in excitement with the thought of finally taking our blue water boat into the open ocean. Just as we passed the tip of Cape May and the invisible line that divides bay from the ocean, Dan announced, we are officially in ocean water. As I began to cheer, movement out of the corner of my eye brought my attention to a black streak in the water ahead. As if on cue, dolphins broke the surface of the water, the welcoming crew to our ocean entrance.
The marina in Cape May was a little slice of heaven. The brightly colored flowers draping all over the marina, showers that made you feel as if you were in a spa, and access to the shopping in the quaint little town, presented an almost tropical feel. Most of our family made the trek down to visit us before we headed south. We had a wonderful visit with Mike and Patty Gieschen, both our sons and the light of our life, our grandson, Orion. Before we knew it, visiting time was over and we headed off for the next south-bound port, Ocean City. While Ocean City may be a wonderful port of call for motorboats, we quickly found out it is a sail boater’s worst nightmare.
First of all, getting down the inlet river channel into the harbor was very scary. We literally surfed down waves, out of control, Dan fighting to keep the boat in a safe direction within a very narrow channel. Before we realized, too late, this was probably a bad idea, we had committed to entering and there was no turning back. Night was descending, there was no other port for hundreds of miles. This was our only shot at finding a safe harbor for the night. To make a long story short, the anchorages designated for sailboats on the charts were lies. We ran aground 3 times trying to find an anchorage as the depths in the harbor were not designed to accommodate our 7-foot draft. Thank goodness the bottom was forgiving and sandy, and each time we touched ground, we were able to get ourselves free.
We finally anchored in the darkness just outside the drawbridge in a very busy harbor, with strong currents all around us. The irony was that 20 feet away, there were breakers, similar to those on a beach, in the middle of the harbor. This illustrates just how varied the depths were there. We spent three days in Ocean City, waiting for a weather window to make our first overnight voyage down to Portsmouth, VA, the gathering point for the Caribbean 1500 and launch site of our first ocean crossing.
We walked or rode our bikes down the length of the pier every day while in Ocean City. It was like a ghost town, being the offseason. We would watch the waves and breakers rolling into the inlet, the ones we had ridden into the harbor on, and wonder to ourselves, “How are we getting out of here?” The converging ocean, inlet waves and rip tide currents, created a vortex of swirling water, with indiscriminate waves crashing into one another from all directions. Steady winds seemed to drive the fury of the conflagration. Our timeline dictated that we had to head out. After 3 days of waiting, we finally boarded our boat and prayed for the best. Getting out of Ocean City, was the scariest moment of our sailing career to date.
Everything was secured and ready for a rough ride as we headed into the inlet. Dan was white-knuckled on the wheel. I was ready to spring into action if he gave a command. Under motor, we followed the markers through the channel as the wave action began to build. The boat bucked and strained as she crested and then descended each wave. Dan had his work cut out for him, trying to remain in the channel and control the directional changes each wave hurled us into. About halfway through the turmoil, a huge wave appeared in front of us. I braced myself for the slide back down, into the trough. The bow pointed dangerously down into the trench. I felt as if I was on the downward hill of a rollercoaster. Just as the boat was tipped at her steepest angle, another monster wave appeared in the air, untimely in its appearance and a complete shock to us both. We braced for the impact. Exploding onto the front of the deck, we took a direct hit from the crashing wave. I watched in horror as the front of our boat was completely submerged under water. There was a pregnant moment as I pondered, “Are we coming out of this, or is this it?”
The boat seemed to take a huge breath of defiance as she gurgled for a moment and then popped free of the watery grip. I felt sure that all our belongings tied to the front of the boat would no longer be there, but upon surfacing, our dingy and all our gas cans remained intact. Just then, motion caught my eye to the left. Surfacing in waves right beside us, were dolphins. Their cheery countenances immediately brought a smile to my face and I yelled to Dan, “Look! Dolphins!”, as I raced to grab my camera. Dan was not in the same mood to revel in their appearance and still had his job to do getting us into clear water.
Just as we reached the much more subtle swells of the ocean, Dan yelled for me to take the wheel. Quickly, he disappeared below to check for damage. Unfortunately, while the topside took the crashing wave well, the impact of the wave directly onto our bow blew open one of the forward portholes. Dan was below, standing in several inches of water. He reacted automatically and started bilge pumps and trying to empty the water contained in the forward cabin before it spread to other parts of the boat. He was successful, and while several items had been tossed into the water, he effectively cleared most of the water and we were once again status quo. Several minutes later he reappeared and took the helm. When I asked him what took him so long he calming answered, “Not much, just keeping us from sinking.”
We had a two day, overnight voyage to Norfolk. The 10 knot predicted winds turned into 20, with gusts up to 30. It was not a pleasant passage and our lovely boat took a pounding in the wind and waves. She handled it like a champ. We both agreed that this was a good thing for us to endure, as it helped prepare us for the eventuality of facing heavy air at some point in our ocean crossings. The last day seemed interminably long, wind, rain, heavy seas, and not another boat in sight. It was not a day anyone would choose to be out in, but a necessity for us to get to the Caribbean 1500 fleet.
Finally, the Chesapeake Bay Bridge appeared. It was a monumental moment. We had survived a rough few days and would be joining our fellow sailors soon. After a long motor down the river, we reached an anchorage in Norfolk harbor early afternoon, dropped the hook, and toasted to a rocky yet successful trip. If we only knew what tribulations lay ahead, our exuberance would have been greatly diminished.
We spent the next few days relying on our wonderful friends Cindy, Jim and the lovely Lucy Rohrer to help us troubleshoot some issues and transport us to several stores to get equipment and supplies. We attended daily seminars with the Caribbean 1500 Rally on safety and crossing information and set our sights on our departure date. We had lots of shopping to do to acquire the list of over 100 safety requirements to cross with the fleet. It was a great relief when our crew member Ryan McGarty arrived as he is quite the genius with fixing things and provided the help Dan needed to finish boat preparations. Having a 3 person night watch for the crossing would greatly ease the difficulty of the passage. He also brought us to a tackle shop and expertly advised us on the best fishing gear to help supplement our provisions over the next few years.
Finally, the day we had been waiting and preparing for finally arrived. Dan and I slept fitfully that night, with our dreams, expectations, and fears, tossing like restless ocean waves in our minds. We awoke at dawn, amidst the 24 other boats slipping out of their berths, to motor to the head of the river where our rally would begin. While crossing safely and with fleet support is the main point of the rally, the rally is also a race. A committee boat and starting point were waiting, the designation of the starting line. Each boat paced nervously just behind the starting point, counting down the minutes, waiting for the signal to begin the adventure. Sails were raised, voices could be heard shouting, “Starboard” as boats jockeyed for position to be the first boat over the starting line. Then, the moment arrived. The signal was given and the fleet turned as one, crossed the line in a flurry of sail flapping and tacking, and the race was on. We crossed the line 4th, happy with our starting position in the fleet.
I wish I could end this tale here, with happiness, excitement and our dream of crossing our first ocean coming to fruition. The first night descended and we each took our watches without any issues as we headed south toward Cape Hatteras. This was the point in which we would turn east and cross the Gulf Stream, a notoriously rough section of the journey. However, with the light of the next day, miles away from the point at which we should have headed out to sea, our situation began to rapidly decline.
We had to motor sail to arrive at the Gulf Stream crossing point in a timely manner. A storm front bringing heavy winds and waves was due to arrive soon and the fleet had to cross the stream before that event. Each boat in the fleet had a tracking device and while we had spread to a wide arc of boats along the coast and a few of us farther out to sea, all seemed to be going well. We were only a few hours away from heading into the Gulf Stream when a strange, helicopter type noise began emanating from the engine. The boys searched the engine compartment and boat components for the source, but to no avail. After slowing down, putting the boat in reverse for a moment, the noise stopped. Any strange noise on a boat, especially before a 12-day crossing, is cause for concern. The concern weighed heavily on Dan’s mind. We continued anyway. It was only about an hour later, when the engine stopped altogether. We had no idea what was going on. We only knew this was not the day we would begin crossing the Atlantic.
To recount all that transpired after this point, would be a book. This is a blog post. You will have to wait for the book for the details. To recap, the next ten days, we spent a couple days floundering under sail, troubleshooting and catching very large fish, thanks to Ryan. His guidance and experience in fishing taught us how to catch the big stuff – it was very rewarding. We got a little help from Tow Boat USA and limped off to Beaufort, North Carolina. There, we watched in dismay as the rest of the fleet made their way toward Tortola. Ryan and Dan spent 10 hour days, troubleshooting and making repairs. After a quick haul out to inspect the shafting, we were confident we could now continue.
Sadly, Ryan had to depart and could not afford an additional 12 days to make the crossing with us. He left and Dan and I have been playing the waiting game to find a good weather window to make the crossing, without extra crew or the help of the fleet. Our boat has been tested, retested, and deemed to be in great shape by several different experts and fully ready for an ocean crossing. We have learned much about her systems and the harsh lesson that having an older boat is going to mean dealing with repairs.
Currently, on November 16th, 2017, it looks like we will be heading out on Sat. or Sun as the weather keeps changing and shifting. As you all are sitting down with family and friends enjoying your Thanksgiving dinner, we will be thinking of you all and be dreaming of turkey, sweet potato casseroles, and pumpkin pie. We will be somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, missing our family and favorite holiday, and holding our special memories close to our hearts. Perhaps we will get a visit from our dolphin guardian angels of the sea, and they will bring us joy as we gaze across the endless horizon, stretching from the azure sea. This is what we signed up for, and we are finally making our dream a reality. We can only hope for fair winds, good weather, a following sea, a safe journey, and delights beyond our wildest imaginations upon reaching our destination. For now, sailing vessel Equus, her captain and first mate, wishing you a peaceful and joyful Thanksgiving where your blessings are as numerous as the stars we will be gazing upon as we make this journey. See you on the other side!
Love,
Alison and Dan