From the Captain


Leaving New York  City



Leap,  and the net will appear.   (Zen saying)

Sunday, September 22. 19.4 nm. Manhattan to Sandy Hook, NJ.

Owen Clay arrived today. He will sail with us to the Chesapeake Bay. We delayed his arrival until noon, as the current was against us, and there were small craft warnings until afternoon. We used the morning to organize and shop for groceries. I found the West Side Market on Broadway at 76th St, a few blocks walk from the boat basin.

Owen Clay at the helm in New York Harbor

Owen helped change headsails to the smaller genoa, and we hoisted the mainsail about 1:30 pm. We were happy, finally, to be sailing and so was Luna. On a reach in the 15-20 kt northwest breeze, she was a thoroughbred, digging into the 3-4 ft. waves, keeping her head up, and sailing smartly.

Outside the Verrazano Bridge, we catch the smell of the ocean for the first time. Later, we pull up a bucket of water to do our dishes and taste the salt.

Dodging a few larger ships in the harbor, we arrived in Sandy Hook at 4:30 to find the wind and waves increasing. We radioed the Coast Guard, who gave us permission to anchor next to their breakwater (keep at least 100 ft. distance) in about 15 feet of water. The breakwater might have afforded some protection, but winds reached 40 kts on our anemometer, and the boat pitched most of the night. The Rocna anchor held without problem. The commander noted, "We should have reefed the mainsail at the boat basin."

Monday, Sept 23. 100 nm Sandy Hook to Cape May, N.J.

We awoke and retuned the rigging, which had stretched yesterday during the passage. Owen and I hoisted the dingy with the second jib halyard and lashed it upside down on the foredeck. Owing to our experience with the strong winds in New York Harbor and the even stronger winds at anchor and hearing the NOAA forecast for 15 kt winds off the Jersey coast, we reefed the mainsail and weighed anchor.

The Commander steers a course around Sandy Hook

The captain's rule of reefing is that when you don't reef the sail under questionable conditions, you will need to, and if you do reef the main, the wind will die and you will have to shake out the reef in short order. The commander says it is easier to reef the main before hoisting it and shake out the reefs later than it is to reef it while underway in strong winds and high seas. The commander is seldom wrong. Around Sandy Hook in the Atlantic, we encounter northerly winds of 10 kts and moderate seas and shake out the reef.

The day is sunny and somewhat cool. We are glad to be going south. Our speed varies from 4.5 to 8 kts depending on wind gusts, averaging around 5 kts or so. We watch the waning moon rise. Mercury is low in the western sky; Venus is there. The constellations are clear, and we follow the milky way south. Orion, who brings the cold weather to the north country, is low on the horizon to the east.

The wind picks up to 15-20 kts, and Luna gladly jumps forward, handling the increased ocean swells smoothly. Our only problems were the falling temperature and the fish trap buoy we picked up along the way.

Sailing at night is a joy and a challenge. There is no depth perception in the dark, and buoys jumble together in no apparent sequence. From miles north, Atlantic City looks like a giant tug 2 miles off shore pulling a series of barges, all topped with red lights. I am so perplexed, I radio out identifying our position at the inlet to Little Egg Harbor and asking if there is a tug and barges approaching. There is no response. Eventually the tall buildings and lights came into sharper focus.

We have an elaborate plan to steer in 2 hour shifts and sleep for four hours each, but we all wind up staying awake, keeping each other company. Except the captain, who will have the graveyard shift at 4 am, gets a 45 minute nap.

We planned a 24-hour passage, leaving Sandy Hook at 10:30 am. With the strong wind, however, we would clearly arrive before dawn. We furl the mainsail to slow ourselves down, losing only a knot or so. There is no way to identify the Cape May inlet visually, and the flashing lighted buoys are a confusing array. Even with the Garmin GPS showing us the inlet, I am reluctant to enter an unfamiliar passage without visual confirmation. We stand off, tacking north for a half hour, then return as first light appears in the East. Relying on the Garmin, we head for the inlet, identifying the jetties as we near them. We anchor off the Coast Guard station in the harbor at 6:30 am among many other sailboats waiting for better weather to leave Cape May. We are tired and cold, but thoroughly exhilarated by the fast reach in the ocean.

Luna rests at her slip in Utsch's Marina, Cape May, New Jersey

After a sound nap, we motor over to Utsch's Marina and sign up for a slip. We get a shower and plug into shore power to run the battery charger to top off Luna's batteries which have been depleted by the cloudy days in NYC and the overnight sail with running lights and electronic equipment going.

Pete, at the marina ship's store, has ordered a spare water pump for Luna, a back up for the one we repaired before leaving. We are laying over another day waiting for it to arrive. Owen returns to Vermont. I realize that in all the planning for the trip, everything I was worried about as far as the mechanics of travel has been covered: long days of motoring, river travel (the intracoastal waterway), currents and tides, finding places to anchor, trusting the ground tackle, ocean sailing, erecting and tuning the mast, the logistics of water, holding tank, laundry, showers, marinas. Our good friends have shepherded us this far. We will leave Cape May for the Chesapeake Bay tomorrow, and now I feel that the trip has truly begun.