On to the Chesapeake

9/21/17 On to the Chesapeake

Given the choice between staying at a marina and anchoring out in some protected spot, we generally prefer the latter, and it’s not just that we’re cheap. There are some beautiful spots along the waterways, and if you don’t mind the rocking, Luna rides better at anchor than she does tied to a dock. On the other hand, there is a social aspect of marina life that is often quite endearing. At Catskill, we met Kurt and Susan, two Hudson River sailors out on a cruise around the river. Over happy hour drinks on their sailboat (good cruising etiquette, we brought our own), I complained to Kurt about the problem we had with our anchor rode out on the river the night before.

The Hudson has a fairly strong tidal flow all the way up to Albany, and so the current reverses every six hours. At its peaks, the current is strong enough to move Luna in its direction and pull hard on the anchor line, but at slack times, Luna dawdles right over her anchor. Then, as the current picks up, the slack anchor rode can wrap around her keel and restrict her motion as the line tightens. Then, Luna lies beam to the current, rolling uncomfortably. We are unable to get the anchor line off the keel without starting the motor and moving Luna up current and around the rode. This happened at least once on the last voyage as well.

Kurt is well aware of this problem, and he told me he began using a anchor sentinel  and hasn’t had trouble with the anchor rode since. That’s one of the advantages of staying at a marina. Beside the hot showers, shore access, laundry facilities, and the impromptu happy hours, there is always much to learn from other sailors.

I wasn’t aware of the term, “anchor sentinel,” but Kurt explained this is a weight you lower about 12 feet down along your anchor rode with a second line. When the anchor line is slack, the weight holds it down below the level of the keel so it doesn’t wrap around if the boat turns.

This is also called a kellet, and I was able to use our dinghy anchor, attaching a carabiner to slide it down the anchor rode. It worked fine, and I’ll use it whenever we anchor in reversing current.  Other advocate the use of kellets to weight the anchor rode and keep the pull on the anchor more parallel to the river bottom. For this purpose, a kellet is an ineffective solution. As the pull on the anchor rode increases, the force pulls the kellet up, and the rode straightens anyway. It’s only real purpose is to keep the rode down in slack water.

Hurricane Jose is taking its time up the east coast, and it looks like we have a few days before we have to make the crossing along the Jersey shore, so we have planned a couple of nights in New York City. Unfortunately, our go-to facility, the East 79th St. Boat Basin (moorings $30 per night, in Manhattan, no less), is closed to transients while they work on an electric cable. When we find this out, we’re but 15 minutes away, at the George Washington Bridge.

Lower Manhattan at Night

We motored down stream to the Liberty Landing Marina opposite lower Manhattan on the Jersey side of the river. Here we can stay in a slip and take the ferry or a train into the city. We filled the diesel tank and thought about it. $4.50 per foot and a bit of a headache getting back and forth to the city was more than we’re willing to spend. We wound up anchoring just north and slightly behind Ellis Island, offering us a spectacular view of the city (and the upper half of Lady Liberty’s back) at dawn, daytime, sunset, and night time. But the river served up huge waves whenever a ferry or tour boat went by, which seemed like always, until night time.

Luna sails under the Verrazano Bridge

Not spending more than one night at the city, we’re ahead of our schedule, and certainly of our budget. The next morning, we headed down to Sandy Hook, NJ, to get ready for the ocean passage. We intended to tie at a public mooring in Atlantic Highlands for the night, and wait for a favorable north wind in a day or two. But there is more uncertainty on Jose’s course, and the more we thought about it, the more we decided not to stay near the coast as Jose approached. So with the idea of increasing our margin of safety, we thanked the dock master, slipped the line, and headed out to the Atlantic.

Sunrise on the Atlantic Ocean

What is it like spending a night out on the ocean? It’s not frightening. The sea is a little choppy from the light headwind, but there are no big waves. The shore lights are visible to the west. Luna’s little diesel engine hums smoothly. The GPS tells us where we are and where we’re going, how deep the water is, and how fast we’re moving. Our hardest working crew member, Ray, the autopilot, never sleeps and keeps us on a straight course. The Commander and I take turns napping, but mostly we are awake. I enjoy the heightened sense of awareness at night. We’re constantly looking out for lights around us (the running lights of boats in the distance tell us whether they are coming at us or going away). the state of the sea, the feel of Luna. The stars are out, and Orion, harbinger of winter, lies low in the East.

And during the day, we take turns watching the helm, and we read. The commander has already finished three books. I get out the repair manual for the Yanmar engine. Someone has told me about cleaning the air filter, something I’ve never considered. Sure enough, the manual specifies cleaning it every 300 hours.

When we stop, I unsnap the filter cover and take out the element. It’s absolutely black with dirt. I mix up a bowl of hot water and Joy dish soap and clean it out. The water turns back immediately. I squeeze the foam element again and again, and rinse it several times until the water comes back clear.

When I start the engine again, I imagine it runs even more smoothly than it did. One thing we can do is run it at a higher RPM. Before, iff we got above 1800 rpm, the exhaust would smoke, oil pressure would fall, and the boat wouldn’t go any faster. Now it seems to relish the higher speed with no dark smoke at all.

I also read about the transmission fluid. We met another C&C owner at Liberty Landing. He and his dad were waiting for a replacement transmission to arrive, as theirs had met its demise. I wonder if there is preventive maintenance here. And sure enough, the manual specifies changing the transmission fluid every 300 hours. So, in addition to the clean oil filter, Luna gets new transmission oil and a motor oil change in Georgetown.


Back on the ocean, we spent an uneventful night and reached Cape May around noon when the incoming tide was flooding up the Delaware River. So we beat on, riding the crest and reaching nearly to the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal by 6:30 pm, about 29 hours after leaving Atlantic Highlands. The next day, when the incoming tide was running, we weighed anchor, motored through the canal to Maryland, and reached Georgetown, 8 nautical miles up the winding Sassafras River. Here we checked into the Sassafras Yacht Harbor, tied to a floating dock, and waited for the storm to pass.

Sunset, Georgetown, MD

The upper Chesapeake Bay is full of motorboats, all going at top speed. To be a sailboat among all these feels conspicuous as a dark woman at the Republican national convention, minus the press coverage. And whereas the courteous course for a motor boat to take when overtaking or passing a sailboat is to slow down to minimize wake, there is none of that ethic in the northern bay. So we spent the afternoon dodging wakes and eventually reached the Sassafras River. Here, too the ratio of motor to sailing vessels is more than 5:1. And we stayed in a marina that was nearly all given to power boats.

Last time we made this trip, I remember anchoring on the river and seeing fishermen on bass boats. Now the initial impression is just huge power boats. The energy crisis apparently does not phase this section of Maryland. There are more large motor yachts than I remember, and down in Annapolis, once, and not all that long ago, a sailor’s mecca, there are mega yachts that would give an inferiority complex to a Floridian. Just one of these monsters carries enough diesel fuel, I imagine, to power the generators to run the lights and reverse osmosis water plants for a small Caribbean island for a week, and personally, I think that would be a much better use of the resource.

Moored among the boats in Annapolis harbor

We would not have chosen to spend a few days up the Sassafras River in Georgetown marina among the power yachts. This was a situation where safety and security concerns trumped others. We would have stayed a couple days in NYC, another day in Atlantic Highlands, shopping and walking around the town. We would have waited for the north wind to push us down the Jersey coast instead of using the engine to propel us. We would have spent a night at Cape May, sampling the local oysters. In the name of getting somewhere safe before trouble hits, we made all these compromises.

In the end, there was no evidence of the storm in Georgetown. There was no significant wind, and no rain beyond a couple sprinkles.  On the third day we were there, Jose had mostly stayed out to sea, and there were heavy winds along the coast, but none of hurricane force, and no tidal surge. As it turns out, we could have stuck to our original plan and still beat Jose’s winds by a day. To take a risk, however small, of an outcome that could be catastrophic, or to take the safe course that avoids the risk: How often are we confronted with that choice? Although we likely erred on the cautious side, the Commander and I had absolutely no disagreement that we had made the right decision.

Luna Sails Again

Luna sails again.

9/6/17

Almighty Neptune, ruler of the seas, please look kindly on thy good ship, Luna, and protect her and all who sail on her wherever on your oceans they may go.

And so began our second southern voyage with a bottle of champagne (proseco, actually), provided by our friends, Diane and Charlie Gottlieb, and drunk as a toast by your captain, the Commander, Carol Hanley, and able first mate, David Watts. David kindly agreed to accompany us through the Champlain locks to Catskill, NY, where we would re-step Luna’s mast before continuing to New York City and south. Of course, we poured a healthy libation into the sea (Lake Champlain in this case) to ensure Neptune’s favor.

This would not be the only time we invoked the divinity in the early stages of the voyage. We kept a wary eye on hurricanes Irma and, right behind her, Jose, as they coursed inexorably toward the Leeward Islands, where some sailing friends keep their sailboat (St. Marten), to the Bahamas where other sailing friends are stranded in Georgetown waiting for the heavy wind and rain to stop so they can get home to Canada, to Cuba, and onto Florida. As Irma aimed toward south Florida, I prayed it would turn westward and not northward and eastward up the east coast of the U.S. and into our proposed path.

Actually, truth be told, I also prayed it would score a direct hit on West Palm Beach and take out Mar-a-Lago before it turned west. Mar-a-Lago, of course, is the Palm Beach home of current U.S. president, Donald Trump.

From the Gospel according to Al, added to the Bible by the human survivors, none of whom was white, in A.D. 2200:

“Thus saith the Lord:

Blessed are the explainers, who maybe could help me out with this one: I spent 6 days working day and night, creating the heavens and the earth, the animals, the plants, the lakes and rivers, and seas, the forests, and you, mankind. To you I gave dominion over all the rest. And then you make this, this white monstrosity, this tacky monument to greed and self interest. Tell this to me, O humanity: is this the very best you could do?

Humanity, into the air you put all sorts of carbonated gook that threatens the beauty of the Creation and all the work I did and the gift I gave you. And, lo, did I not send terrible storms and floods and wildfires and earthquakes as a sign for you? As a warning? (What more do you need, shit heads? These are signs more clear than locusts, frogs, boils, death of first born, burning bushes, and the rest) And what didst thou, the leader of the free world, do then? You walked away from the Paris Climate Accord! You arrogant twit!

And so, Mar-a-Lago sanketh beneath the surge of the great storm at last.”

Of course, my mother also lives in Palm Beach County and has elected to shelter in place, hopefully to weather the storm. Would I sacrifice my own mother just to score a few political points and to save the earth and all life as we know it? I imagine her hunkered down in her house, darkened even in mid day by the closed hurricane shutters. In the run up to the storm, they didn’t have any more bottled water in the stores, so she has gallons of iced tea on hand. She doesn’t fear the storm so much, but hates the idea of the alligators and snakes that come up out of the flooded ponds. On my dear mother, would I wish a direct hit by Hurricane Irma?

Naturally, I couldn’t wish for that. But I know what she would do: She would say, “Bring it on!”  She hates the bastard.

Fortunately, my mother survived the blow. So did Mar a Lago. Irma passed to the west and caused more serious flooding to Florida coastal towns further north before turning toward the west and fizzling out over the southeast. We were relieved, to say the least, but the feeling was greatly tempered by the thought that here we were, worrying about our trip, thankful that Irma altered her course when all along the track were people rendered homeless and worse by the disaster.

Our friend, Krista, said it best. Hers is Harmonium, her and Phil’s Island Packet left down in St. Martens. To paraphrase, “It’s just a boat. Just a thing. Our hearts go out to the people on that island and hope for their safety.” Well said. Luna is just a boat, and worrying about it (and ourselves on it!) is a first world problem of first degree.

But yet. But yet….There is something about Luna. Something about any cruiser’s sailboat, I suspect. She is a she, which confers a degree of personhood right there. She demands a measure of loving attention, freely given, and in the bargain, we believe she agrees to keep us safe. She brings us to beautiful places and experiences of pleasure and excitement. We get to know her every sound and vibration, and we can trim her sails by the sound of the wind playing across them and by the way she heels and lifts when the sails are set just right. She is friend. She is family. To lose her would not rise to the level of pain felt by those who lost nearly everything in the storm. But it would hurt. And our thoughts and hearts go out to all those who are worried about their boats tonight.

How is it that mariners refer to their boats in the female gender? There are theories of course: “She” invokes the spirit of the earth mother who protects us. Oddly, women were felt to be unlucky shipmates aboard sailing vessels of old. This probably had more to do with  the unfulfillable sexual desires of the male crew members on very long sea voyages and the jealousies that would ensue from a very skewed male to female ratio. So early sailors carved elaborate female figureheads and referred to the ship itself as “she” while lavishing their attentions on her as a shared group hug.
Enforced on occasion by a harsh master too quick with the lash.

The most plausible explanation, and the least fun, is that early indo-european languages, as Latin, ascribed a gender to any object. Thus, in Spanish, a boat is barca, the feminine form. As the English language developed, it added a gender-neutral pronoun, “it,” but to the ancient sailors, their boat was “she.” I understand that Lloyds of London now refers to boats as its. Pity. Who’s to protect them when they are out to sea?

As Irma’s track skewed away from the east coast, we were on the Hudson River, anchored near Catskill Creek where we spent a rolling evening with the shifting tidal current and passing barge traffic.

We didn’t care so much about that, elated as we were that Irma would pose no apparent risk to us as we travelled south. The next morning, we checked into Catskill Marina, a pleasant place up the creek where we could stay in a slip for $1.00 per foot per night if they were to replace our mast.

They were, and the next day, with the help of the most ancient crane imaginable, the staff at Hoponose Boat Yard erected Luna’s mast and returned her to a sailboat at last.

In the meantime, the Commander and I could walk into town where we shopped at a delightful little specialty shop for fresh produce and cheese. We also walked up to the supermarket, and I even got a ride to Ace Hardware with Richard, our boat neighbor, to fill our propane tank and then to Walmart for some other stuff. Great little town, Catskill.

With the replacement of the mast, we cemented our commitment to continue on as planned. Fears of Irma lay behind us. But, then there was Hurricane Jose, circling around in the Atlantic, of uncertain course, but suspected to head toward the mid-Atlantic states in a week or so. Back up the anxiety level. Back up the heightened awareness.

What is it about this hurricane season that is so terrible, yet so full of irony. Imagine Jose in the middle-Atlantic region of this country, blowing up to Washington, D.C., knocking on the White House door, and saying, “Hola, señor, I am Jose. Do you think you can build a wall to keep me out? You arrogant twit.”

We left Catskill at noon, planning to sail down to Cape May and up the Delaware River to the Chesapeake Bay before Jose got to the east coast. We could wait out the storm in the streams or nooks along the upper bay if necessary. So, we filled the diesel tank and spare water jugs and fuel cans on the way out and took advantage of the last of the outgoing current to anchor about 25 miles downstream in a nicely protected spot behind Esopus Island.

We intended to leave a little before slack current the next day to ride the full extent of the ebb down toward New York City, but we woke to dense fog. We waited about an hour, and departed as it cleared slightly, the Commander navigating with GPS course plotter and auto pilot and me, blowing our trifling fog horn one long blast every two minutes. We raised a radar reflector up the mast as an extra precaution.


Fortunately, river traffic is light, and we hugged the side of the channel away from the center where the large river barges go. The fog cleared to a lovely sunny day as we passed West Point and were treated to the beauty of the scenery in the Hudson River Highlands. In the meantime, Jose appears to be remaining harmlessly out in the Atlantic, away from the U.S. coast.

We anchored for the night just north of the Tappan Zee bridge, about 20 miles upstream from the city. We’ll spend a few days in Manhattan, and then, as the wind is forecast to turn from south to north, we’ll head out down the Jersey coast. That is, barring any  reports of new storms coming our way. For us, and all those impacted Irma and Jose, we’ll say a prayer.