From the Captain.


I don't know why it is that all of us are committed to the sea, except I think it is because in addition to the fact that the sea changes and the light changes, and ships change, it is because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins the exact same percentage of saline in our blood that exists in the ocean, and therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in ours tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it we are going back from whence we came.

 President John F. Kennedy addressing the America's Cup in 1962

On to St. Michaels

10/3/13. Annapolis Harbor.

I have realized what it is about Georgetown, about the marinas on Worton Creek, and about Annapolis. To a kid who ogles boats, these places are candy stores. And Annapolis is the mother of all candy stores. There are boats everywhere you look.

Count me in among the kids who ogle boats. I love looking at sailboats, and even a well-proportioned power boat grabs my fancy.  Out on the water, there are boats to look at, but not nearly the over-the-top concentration of nautical eye candy as in the sailing ports. If I were an art lover, this would be like waking every morning in the Louvre.

I am not alone in these feelings. Of the aforementioned President Kennedy, Brad and Kim Hampton had this to say in  Boating and Sailing News in 2010:  "Imagine what it might be like to fall in love as a teenager, and to carry that love with you for your lifetime… Something that is so ingrained in you as to become a part of you, and to remain at the very forefront of your thoughts… President John F. Kennedy had such a love, and her name was not Jacqueline, nor was it Marilyn. Her name was, and still is, Victura." This so-called love of his life was the 26-foot sloop her sailed as a younger man. But whether he was sailing Victura, or sailing on Manitou, the 62-foot Sparkman and Stephens presidential yawl he acquired while in office, the iconic pictures of him on the waters around Martha's Vineyard, hair blown back by the wind and eyes fixed on the distant sea, show a man deeply connected to his sailboat.

In Annapolis, boats are everywhere.

I don't think I am quite that smitten, but I look at the curves of hulls, how they sit in the water, the rake and height of the masts, the rigging, the cabin tops and arrangement of port lights, the cockpits, the shape of the bow, the angle of the transom, the length and beam. I go over the wood trim and the general fit and finish of each boat. I even check out the canvas coverings over the cockpits.

Luna has a small canvas dodger covering the companionway hatch and a larger bimini cover shading the helm station. Other boats have clear vinyl awnings covering every square inch of the space in between. This effectively encloses the occupants of the cockpit in a bubble and shields them from sun, wind, and spray. But to my mind, feeling the wind on your face to see its strength and direction, tasting the spray when it hits your lips, getting some good vitamin D-producing sunlight on your skin, and being ever so close to the weather at hand is an integral part of the sailing experience. On the other hand, had you asked the commander and me during our cold night sail down the New Jersey coast whether we would have preferred a better shelter, we'd probably have answered, "You betcha."

Sage advice from the US Naval Academy

Carol's cousin, Jim Hanley, works at the Naval Academy and gave us a tour, which included commentary on much of the history and traditions of the Academy and even a walk around the crypt of John Paul Jones. He got us to the dining hall just at noon where every day, the 4,400 midshipmen (26% are women now) line up on the parade ground in uniform and march into the dining hall. There is a band that provides a drum beat in march time, and as the formations turn for the dining hall, they play Anchors Aweigh.

Considering the psychology of the event, the commander noted, "Poor kids, every time they hear that song, they're going to get hungry."

Carol and Jim Hanley with 4000 hungry midshepmen

Annapolis is busy. From our mooring in the main harbor, we take the dinghy into the public dinghy dock which is partially blocked by large floats to accommodate the boat show. We shoe-horn the dinghy among a dozen others. We enter the town through a narrow walkway constricted  by the administrative boat show trailers. The harbormaster's office with the showers and bathrooms is on the harbor as well and is hidden by ticket booths. As is Phillips Crab House, where we have dinner with some new friends, Bob and Annie, sailing their Catalina 34, Spindrift. We met them in Cape May and have been in email contact since. They are from the Boston area, and the accent brings us back to New England. When we left Annapolis, we gave them our city mooring. By then, moorings were in high demand because of the boat show traffic. We coordinated our coming and going so they picked up the mooring pennant seconds after we dropped it.

Before leaving Annapolis, we met up with an old high school friend of mine who found me on Facebook. She brought us the mail we had forwarded to her, and we went for lunch. She suggested one of her favorite places: The Boatyard. She told us it is rated as one of the ten best sailor bars in the world. It certainly rates high in our book, and we were thrilled to have a second meal there.

After lunch, she directed us to a fish market, and we bought some freshly-caught rock fish (striped bass, the common local catch on the bay) to grill at night, then back to Luna for an afternoon departure to Weems Creek up the Severn River.

Annapolis was busy, and, overstimulated by all the action and all the boats and all the comings and goings, we were happy to motor around to the quiet creek up the Severn that I remembered from earlier days. We had a swim and found the water a little saltier than up north: we're getting closer to the ocean.

10/5/13. Weems Creek to Leeds Creek (St. Michael's, MD) 21.5nm.

We awoke expecting another swim only to find that the incoming tide brought an oil slick that partially covered Weems Creek. After breakfast, we took the dinghy into the nearby public landing and walked a few blocks in West Annapolis to the Great Harvest Bread Company, Naval Bagels, and Graul's supermarket for some provisions. Ahead of me in the grocery line was a man with a Navy shirt buying 6 bottles of bloody mary mix and 12 bags of ice cubes. Today is the Navy vs. Air Force football game, and he is getting ready for the tail gate party. I raise my fist and say, "Go Navy." He nods.

In Annapolis "Go Navy" signs are posted on many of the stores, but I think I saw more references to the boat show. It seems clear to those in Annapolis where the money is. As one plaque for sale in a gift shop noted, "Annapolis is a drinking town with a sailing problem."

Motoring past the Thomas Point Light House

Time to move on. The day was another hot, muggy, windless one. We haven't had a really decent sailing day since the Atlantic run more than a week ago. We motored across the bay, past the classic lighthouse at Thomas Point, the less well known light that marks Bloody Point, and up the Miles River toward St. Michaels. This is another popular sailing town and usually quite busy on weekends, so our goal was a quiet creek across the river. We anchored in a small cove on Leeds Creek. The air temperature was more than 90 degrees, and we were anxious for a swim. However, we soon discovered the scourge of Chesapeake Bay swimmers had beat us to the cove. Sea nettles, those white jelly fish with long tentacles that hover just beneath the surface and issue a painful sting on contact, were there. These are the first we've seen since entering the Chesapeake, and perhaps this will be the end of swimming for a while. Or maybe we can find other creeks where the water is more brackish and the nettles don't penetrate.

We're having an electrical problem with Luna. When the motor is idling, the voltage swings and the GPS goes off. Luna's two house batteries don't seem to supply the power to run the instruments. Leeds Creek is shallow in places, and we rely on the Garmin for accurate depth readings. It goes out just as we enter a shallow cove, but we manage to stay in the channel and set the anchor in 8 to 10 feet of water, which is fine. We will spend the next two days at a marina in St. Michaels. Our friends Phil and Nancy, now about 25 miles away in Rock Hall, will meet us there. I'm sure Phil will help me sort this out, and if not, the staff at the marina is available on Monday morning.

Annapolis Harbor at sunrise: like a painting

From the Captain

Heading south on the Chesapeake

September 29, 2013

Luna has been tied up at the Tidewater Marina in Havre de Grace, Maryland, for the past two days while we visited my sister and her family in Virginia. Tidewater has the best showers I think we'll ever find. Clean, roomy, plenty of hot water, and pressure that feels like it could knock you over. I imagine of all the things we will learn to appreciate on this trip, the well-appointed shower will top the list.

Havre de Grace is at the mouth of the Susquehanna River. The guidebook notes that the Chesapeake Bay is actually a "drowned river," the entire body of water representing the mighty Susquehanna's exit pathway to the Atlantic. At one time, Havre de Grace was a center of commerce for goods coming down river from central Pennsylvania on the way to Baltimore, a major port at the time. There are remnants of an old post road that connected Philadelphia and New york with Washington and the southern colonies. George Washington actually did sleep here. Havre de Grace also figured prominently in the War of 1812, when the British fleet attacked and burned the town on their way further south. Things seem much quieter here now.

Enjoying a crab cake lunch on the banks of the Susquehanna

After returning from Virginia this noon time, we have our first Maryland crabcake sandwich at the Tidewater restaurant, right on the water. Four stars here. I'm sure the crabmeat is very fresh. On the way over from the Bohemia, we were dodging buoys marking crab traps whenever we strayed from the marked channel.

Since we have the rental car, we do some shopping and walk around the town. People are friendly here. Carol stops by a community garden and talks with a woman, a Canadian ex-pat, and walks away with a bag of home-grown tomatoes. Down at the maritime museum and lighthouse on the southern end of town, a woman who volunteers at the museum says she came to town from the Boston area 10 years ago intending to retire further south. "I crossed the bridge, and I never left," she says. "People are really friendly here, and everyone knows your name. Sort of like Mayberry." Sort of like Vermont, we think.

Tomorrow, before returning the car, we will visit a local sea food shop suggested to us by the community gardener. We'll buy something to grill in the evening, then depart for the Sassafras River.

September 30 Havre de Grace, MD, to Sassafras River, Woodland Creek 15.5 nm.

We left Havre de Grace on a windless day. The bay was as smooth as glass. Good for motoring, but it would be nice to be able to sail again. Our goal was Georgetown, Maryland, a boating center noted for its marinas and services for boaters. We didn't need any particular services, but thought it would be fun to see. We anchored in a small creek about a mile downstream of the small town.

The commander enjoys a swim in Woodland Creek

The day was warm and sunny. For the first time since the Hudson River, we had a swim. The water was cool, but not cold by Vermont standards, and brackish. It was delightful. The water here has a brownish hue, and treading water, I couldn't see below my waist. In our bay on Lake Champlain, except for certain times of the year, you can usually see your feet when upright in the water.

Perhaps the water is turbulent from the tides and currents, and that affects clarity. We saw many houses on the way up the river, large places with big lawns that went right down to the water. Others had beneficial buffer zones of trees and vegetation that would keep sediments, phosphates, and other chemicals from reaching the waterway. I'm not sure of the level of awareness of water quality down here on the Chesapeake. It is high in Vermont. Lake Champlain still suffers.

Several bass boats passed us. These are the low flat ones with big motors, and they go fast. They have a raised seat in the front where the fisherman can sit and control the electric trolling motor with a foot pedal while he casts. Like the ones on TV, these boats are all tricked out. Considering their cost and the fuel burned, the price per fish caught must be enormous, but, of course, the catch is only part of the story. I asked one guy who was fishing around the docks of the marina what he was fishing for. He said, "Large-mouth bass."

I recall earlier days when my father used to wake me at 5 am with the annoyingly effective trick of tickling my ear with a piece of string. This feels like a fly is landing on your face. We'd be out before dawn and once at the fishing place would rent a SMALL boat, a rowboat or perhaps one with a small outboard. We'd go out, not too far, and spend the hours casting our lures and retrieving them, much like the wannabe bass masters. And with the same hopeful and sorry result.

Lunch aboard Luna

We grill the shrimp we bought in Havre de Grace with some tomatoes, onions, and peppers, and make shrimp fajitas for dinner. (Shrimp is not local to the Chesapeake Bay, but the pound of fresh back fin crabmeat we bought was. That served us for two meals: a crab salad with avocado and tomato lunch and a crabcake dinner.) The commander and I discuss our course over the past few days. We have been taking our time doodling around the upper bay, but have not made much progress to the south We decide we should be more directed toward our goal, especially as the weather is bound to turn colder up here before long. Tomorrow, we'll take another short journey to a quiet cove not too far away. But then, we'll head under the Bay Bridge to Annapolis and points south. Luckily, there is still time to visit interesting places along the way. We'll just start to make sure they're a little further apart.

a hopeful gull stands guard at dinner time

October 1, Woodland Creek to Worton Creek 14.9nm
October 2, Worton Creek to Annapolis 23.6nm.

Worton Creek is a quiet little place with a wide mouth that offers a sandy bottom good for anchoring and protection from north and east winds. There is no wind tonight, so we anchored out in the mouth. We swam and watched the sunset. It was warm enough to sit out on the deck at night and watch night fall. This is a first for this trip.

Worton Creek boasts three marinas. The place is literally full of boats. The furthest one up is the Worton Creek Marina that can fill our propane tank. It's not empty, but we have never filled it and don't know its level. We'd hate to run out in some remote spot. Drawing on past experience, we had them pump the holding tank, too. Actually, not only past experience. The water tank I built on the port side has been leaking and a plumbing joint has failed. Last night, I pumped its contents into a bucket. I'm hassled by this, and instead of emptying the bucket into the starboard side tank, I open the deck fitting for the holding tank without thinking and dump it in there, followed by two other bucketsful like it.

Marina people seem invariably nice and helpful. Marinas are like an oasis while traveling on a watery desert. They have stores, bathrooms, water, fuel, pump outs (usually), advice, friendly conversation. The Worton Creek Marina is no exception.

As we leave Worton Creek, a west wind picks up, and we hoist the sails and have a nice ride. Eventually, the wind dies back, and we turn toward the west, into the wind, and we start the motor and motor sail for a bit. We furl the jib when we do. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge comes into view, and a couple hours later, we sail under it.

Sailing under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge

This is an emotional experience for me. This is where I learned to sail at the age of 15 or so. My father and I took a navigation and boat-handling course from the US Power Squadron followed by a course on sailing. My folks bought an Alberg 30 sloop and hired an instructor from the Naval Academy to come on the boat with us to teach the practical side of sailing. He taught us to heel over far enough to wet the lee rail and revel in the excitement of it, to anticipate changes in wind force and direction, to tack and to gybe, to set the sails correctly for each point of sailing. I ate it up.

The boat, Carnival Lady, (from a name shouted after my mother at some Caribbean Island my parents visited) lived in Annapolis, and we sailed under the  Bay Bridge and to places  across the bay and to the south. It's been nearly  50 years since I've made this trip.

We motored past the Naval Academy into Annapolis. We found a public mooring ball right off the public dock downtown on Spa Creek. It was as I remembered it, except all the boats are much bigger. And there are lots more of them. Actually, there are a whole lot more of them. The annual powerboat show starts tomorrow and the sailboat show the week after. Lots of people are in town to check out what's new in boats and equipment for boats.The town is buzzing.

The captain with oysters, crab soup and a beer. Don't get much better

We  took the dinghy into the public dock and walked across the Spa Creek drawbridge into Eastport, where the Alberg 30 had her slip. We found an informal looking restaurant, The Boatyard. We were in luck: happy-hour prices. We had a dozen oysters, a cup of crab soup and a pint (two) of the local beer. On the way back, we had ice cream cones in a home-made ice cream place on Main St. I am in heaven.

From the Captain.

On to the Chesapeake.

September 25.  Utsch's Marina, Cape May, New Jersey.

Today was a layover day. The commander used the time to pay bills and do a laundry. I did some work on Luna.

Luna has had a problem with the pressure water system since we got her. The tank drains too quickly, and the pump cycles too often. I have located the problem in the hot water tank: there is a leak in a fitting there. I have bypassed the tank, but in New York, I bought a bronze fitting to replaced the cracked plastic one. Today was an opportunity to replace that.

The leaking tank drains water into the bilge, and Luna collects a small amount of water there. Because of her centerboard design, Luna has a very shallow bilge that doesn't hold much water. If there is water there, it tends to spill out over the floorboards of the cabin when she is heeled over. So it will be a relief to fix the water system and reduce the need to pump the bilge.

I put a finger in the bilge water and have a taste. Definite overtones of salt with playfully subtle motets of soap and diesel fuel. It's the overtones of salt that concern me. That means seawater is getting in. Probably has been all along, but in Lake Champlain, you can't distinguish lake water from a leaky water tank.

All boats leak a little seawater, but I am determined to find the source. I check the propeller shaft and rudder stuffing boxes--no significant leak. I look at the through-hull fittings. Finally, I find a loose fitting for the cockpit drain. There is a little water around the seacock. This needs to be tightened, but unfortunately, it is a right angle fitting right next to the fuel tank, which will have to be removed to turn the fitting.

The best tool I have found to remove old hardened rubber hoses from hull fittings is a multitool. The hacksaw blade can saw through the hose so it can be slipped off the fitting. I accomplish this, and I also saw off the fitting at the seacock, which I have closed. The marina store has a straight fitting, and I buy a new section of hose and a couple hose clamps and eventually accomplish the repair.

I'm feeling pretty good that I fixed a couple of nagging problems. I take a walk to the near by West Marine to get a few things, then the commander and I go to a local restaurant for a pretty mediocre meal, the highlight of which was the appetizer: a dozen Cape May Salt oysters. We're getting down into oyster and crab country. Just our luck: it's an "R" month.

September 26. Cape May, New Jersey to Chesapeake City, MD. 60nm.

No one, it seems, has anything pleasant to say about Delaware Bay. There are strong currents, and it is rough when the wind blows. There is an active shipping lane that takes up nearly all the navigable channel. And before you get there, there is a 55 foot bridge you have to pass under. Luna's mast is at 52 feet, but there is a radio antenna on top, so we're close. Checking the weather and the current tables, it appears we have hit the trifecta: An east wind will blow us up the bay, low tide in the morning will increase the bridge clearance, and the current starts to flood upstream at 9:30. We leave the marina about 8, motoring under the bridge and up the short Cape May canal. I hold my breath as we pass under the bridge, which is 57 feet above sea level by this time, without a scrape.

Crossing the Delaware Bay

The bay is choppy. There is a brisk NE wind. We hoist the jib and motor sail with the current. Our speed increases to 7kts or so. We're doing fine. The Garmin GPS nautical charts have a very helpful feature: contour lines of the bottom show the depth of the water. We are able to remain outside the shipping lane, take a more direct route to the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, and skirt any shallow reefs along the way.

The GPS is useful in yet another way: it allows us to estimate currents. Luna has two ways to measure her speed. The knot meter built into her has a paddle wheel under the hull and measures flow of water. The GPS measures speed by calculating how long it takes to traverse a known distance. When there is an adverse current, the paddlewheel spins faster than Luna is moving through the water, so the knot meter reads higher than the GPS speed. The reverse is true for a favorable current.

The wind comes up and dies back, changes direction. We hoist or furl the jib accordingly. We reach the canal on the flood (westerly) tide, which means a favorable current. The knot meter is reading 6 kts, while our true speed (GPS) is 7.5kts. We encounter no large ships along the narrow 12 mile waterway.  Just a line of sailboats forming the rest of our parade to the Chesapeake.

Suspension bridges on the C &D Canal

At 5:30, we reach Chesapeake City, at the Maryland end of the canal, and anchor for the night with about a dozen other boats in a basin near the public dock. There is a pair of bald eagles roosting in a nearby radio tower. A ship the size of a large high rise building sounds its horn and moves slowly through the canal toward the Delaware River.






September 27 Chesapeake City, MD, to Bohemia River 5.1 nm

Today started out in a quiet and relaxed fashion. We launched the dinghy from the foredeck and took a short ride into the public dock in Chesapeake City.  We walked around the small center of town and looked at all the civil war era houses. We bought ice cream cones and took a tour of the C&D Canal museum. Our goal for the day was the Bohemia River, not too far away. All laid back, but we were about to learn an important lesson.

There is an unwritten rule in our household that if you are at the store and wonder if you need milk, you do. We had been wondering if it was time to pump out our holding tank. Actually, there was no wonder. We have a gauge that measures the level of its contents, and it was time in Cape May. But the pump at Utsch's was not working, and we figured we could get it done once we reached Chesapeake City.

The guidebooks list marinas and their facilities, and there are two listed for Chespeake City. Neither admitted to providing that service, however. We started calling other marinas in the area and got the same response. We found one who could provide the service up the Northeast River, but this was several hours away, and it was getting late. Finally, I found the Bohemia River Boat Harbor, generally in the direction we intended to go.  They are open until 5, and we arrived around 4. The dock hand there was very friendly and helpful. They charged $5.00 to pump out the tank.

The last time we emptied the tank was 10 days ago in Catskill, NY, and we've had company on the boat in the interim. Lesson: if it's getting to be that time, and there is a facility available, take the opportunity. The other lesson is that if you have something that needs to be done, don't get too late a start.

Across the Bohemia from the Boat Harbor is Veazey Cove, and we anchored there in about 10 feet of water. The river reminded us of Lake Champlain. This part of the river is expansive with hills in the distance. There are houses tucked in along the shore and green lawns and trees. However, while nearly all good anchorages on Lake Champlain will fill with boats, the Bohemia River was quieter and much less busy.

Sunset on the Bohemia River

Tomorrow we go to Havre de Grace on Maryland's western shore. There we will put Luna up in a marina for a couple days and rent a car (Enterprise will pick us up and take us to their lot then bring us back). We'll drive down to Leesburg, VA, for a family gathering before resuming our travel down the Chesapeake.

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.

From the Captain.

Arriving in New York City


Day 4: Mike and his crew from Riverview Marina in Catskill stepped the mast in short order and helped re-attach the rigging. We spend a few hours on their dock tuning the rigging, completing some other work on Luna. Organizing stuff and stowing is an ongoing task. We took on diesel and water and were off at 1:30.

Lifting the mast at Riverview Marina in Catskill, NY

The mast is slowly lowered through the cabin top

Floating lazily down the river looking at the mansions on the hillsides, we put in a 10 hour day. We were treated to a full moonrise and sailed by moonlight until 10:30pm, following a course from one blinking red buoy to the next. We anchored south of Pollepel Island, site of an abandoned castle belonging to the father of the Army Navy store, , who got into the US government suplus business after the Civil war and built a fortune selling military equipment and munitions to other countries and the general public.

Anchoring is somewhat tense because of the current change. This is unfamiliar to those of us who sail in non-tidal areas. We pointed south at the start, then the boat shifted to north, then south again, requiring the anchor to reset itself each time. The anchor was fine, though I woke several times during the night to check on our position.

Railroads thrive here. Freight trains go up the west bank of the river. Amtrak goes up the east bank near where we slept. Mercifully, sometimes they did not blow their horns at the crossing that must have been nearby.

Day 5  9/19/13 19.6nm. Pellepel Island the Petersen's Boatyard, N Nyack, NY.

We bathed in the Hudson in the morning, taking care to hold onto a rope against the northbound current. The water was warm. Playing to the tides and current, we were in no hurry to leave, hoping to motor out on the falling tide. We were to learn that currents do not change with the tides, so were slowed by an upstream current even as the tide fell.

We picked up a mooring at Petersen's, took the dinghy in. David's friend, George Stavis picked us up and took us to his house in Dobbs Ferry where we met Lynne, who had driven down from Vermont. She and David are making the final leg of this segment to NYC in the morning. George made us a great dinner, and we did our laundry and showered before turning in the for the night

Lynne Bond and David Watts help get us to New York

Day 6. N Nyack to Manhattan 18.9 nm. George drove us back to the marina, and David, Lynne, and we motored to Manhattan, cruising under the George Washington Bridge to pick up a mooring at the W 79th St. Boat Basin ($30.00/night). After settling, we dinghied into the dock, and took the subway to midtown for dinner and a play.

When sailing on Lake Champlain, we can judge the wind direction by seeing which way the anchored boats are facing. On the river, however, current trumps wind, and boats on moorings face the current not the wind. This creates some problems at night. When the current is slack (every 6 hours or so)  and the wind is in opposition, Luna fetches onto the mooring ball. The ball slaps against the hull. We get used to it. The next day, however, the attendant at the marina advises us to extend our centerboard to make the ship responsive more to the current than the wind. This will help the next night.

Day 7 NYC.

The Boat Basin is in a different world than Times Square. I can't believe they share the same city. Here, by the river, people jog and ride bicycles and push baby carriages. It is quiet, unhurried, and uncrowded.

As if to prove it's safe to do so, several hundred swimmers participate in an early morning swim from the boat basin to the lighthouse north of the GW bridge. We have breakfast on Luna (oatmeal, coffee, leftover naan from the Indian restaurant last night) and take a cab to midtown.

Moored at the W 79th St Boat Basin as swimmers (ON LEFT) splash toward the George Washington Bridge

Art lives in NYC. We wait 30 minutes in a line that snakes around the block to see an installation by James Turrell at the Guggenheim. We eat lunch at a Cuban restaurant, see a movie in the theater district (The Butler), have a small Thai dinner, and finally watch a preview production of An Evening with Janice Joplin for which Lynne has gotten tickets. Afterward, David and Lynne return to Dobbs Ferry by train, and Carol and I return to Luna.

It is drizzling as we leave the theater and raining a bit harder when the cab reaches the boat basin. When there is a lull in the rain, we dinghy back to Luna. A front has come through, and there is heavy rain all night. We are dry in the forward cabin. though there are a few leaks elsewhere that will require attention. We welcome the front. The wind has turned to the north, and predictions are for northwest winds of 12-17 kts off the Jersey shore for the next few days, perfect for the reach down to Cape May that will start tomorrow.

From the Captain

Vermont is a state I love. I could not look upon the peaks of Ascutney, Killington, Mansfield, and Equinox, without being moved in a way that no other scene could move me. It was here that I first saw the light of day; here I received my bride, here my dead lie pillowed on the loving breast of our eternal hills.
I love Vermont because of her hills and valleys, her scenery and invigorating climate, but most of all because of her indomitable people. They are a race of pioneers who have almost beggared themselves to serve others. If the spirit of liberty should vanish in other parts of the Union, and support of our institutions should languish, it could all be replenished from the generous store held by the people of this brave little state of Vermont.

President Calvin Coolidge 
^{in a speech at Bennington College, 1928}


Day 1  We're Off  43.2 nautical miles, Charlotte, VT -Whitehall, NY

It's hard to believe we're leaving Vermont in what is (arguably) her most beautiful season (the Fall), but at 9:30 am, following a send-off by some friends at the dock with a toast of champagne and a libation to Neptune poured into the lake, we were off. David Watts is with us, and we steer in 2-hour shifts. Luna's autopilot is still not working properly.

Motoring down the lake into a south wind, Luna's diesel purrs quietly and runs smoothly. We average about 5.7 kts at 1800 RPM. Filling up at the gas dock the day before, she took on 8.2 gallons of diesel for the 27 hours we ran her during the summer, about 1/3 gallon per hour.

Lake Champlain narrows into a river between marshes and woods at the south end, and we followed the channel from buoy to buoy, each lighted buoy hosting an osprey nest. There was a heron around every bend, and a bald eagle perched in a tree. A motorboat slowed courteously as she passed, its owner apologizing for any wake that he was creating.

We arrived in Whitehall, NY, at 6:30 pm, too late to enter the Champlain Canal, which now closes at 5 pm. Although one wonders whether  this is due to federal cutbacks,  local opinion has it  the early closure followed pressure from the marina owners on the Lake Champlain side to retain the business of the travelers headed south. We did not oblige them and anchored just north of the Whitehall marina.

It feels great to be under way, to stop worrying, finally, about what to bring and what arrangements to make. It's clear, though, we have brought too much stuff with us. A universal theme runs through books accounting sailing adventures: anything not stowed in lockers or below decks, or securely tied down, will be launched by violent action of the ship, generally with unpleasant or dangerous consequences. Luna's cabin has too many loose objects at present. It feels like Henry David Thoreau meets the Shopping Channel. I imagine Walden filled to the rafters with boxes of food. There's even a container of spare containers.

It's clear we will have to pare down, simplify, and organize. We have brought our lifestyle and expectations to Luna, but Luna doesn't serve us — she is of the sea. And we serve Luna. Any question about who is master of whom will likely be answered when we encounter sea conditions between New York harbor and Cape May, NJ, and the Delaware River next week.

In the meantime, the commander has been busy organizing the spaces below deck and assures me all will be stowed. Tomorrow we enter the Champlain Canal on our way to the Hudson River.

Day 2, 43.3 nm, Whitehall (Lock 12) to Stillwater N.Y. (Lock 4).

Today was cloudy and cold, with a biting north wind from behind us. Temperature dipped into the 30's at night. If there were a question a few days ago, now is definitely time to leave the north country.

On approaching a lock, you radio ahead on VHF channel 13, identify yourself and your direction of approach. The lock keeper calls back to say come ahead or give you an approximate wait time. On entering the lock, you tie up to the wall with dock lines that hang down from the top. The walls are rough, the lines slimy. We have been advised to make a fender board to protect our fenders from chafing and to wear gloves, both good pieces of advice. We bought a 10 foot 2x6 with us to lash on outboard of the fenders.   

Luna waits as the water in the lock rises

The lock keeper closes the door behind you and lets water in if you are going up (first few locks going south) or lets water out if you're going down. The boat rises or falls as if in a large elevator, up to nearly twenty feet. Once at level, he opens the doors in front, and you exit at the new level. Lock keepers are friendly and helpful. They seem to relish the company.

There is a a lot of barge activity currently. There is dredging below lock 8, and several times we are delayed at the locks. As a result, we don't get as far as we had hoped. Lock 4 also closes at 5 pm, so at 6:30 when we arrived, we made fast to the wall before the doors of the lock and spent a quiet night.

On the way through the locks, we met another Vermont boat, Mañana, and her owners, Nile and Linda Schneider traveling down to Florida and the Bahamas as we are. We travel together through the locks.

Day 3 43.7nm. Stillwater, NY, to Catskill, NY.

We passed the last 5 locks fairly easily, delayed only twice--once by fog in the early morning at Lock 4, and once by mechanical problems at the Federal Lock in Troy. Otherwise, the cruise down the Hudson was fairly smooth, and a clear sunny day warmed us.  

Luna, waiting out the early morning fog

The river is tidal below Albany, and our speed varied with the tide. According the the master of tides, (Eldridge), tidal cycles follow the rule of 12ths. 1/12 of the tidal flow occurs the first hour of the cycle, 2/12's the second hour, 3/12's the third and fourth hours, 2/12 the fifth hour, and 1/12 the 6th hour, when the tide changes. Our speed went down to 5.7 kts during the middle part of high tide, but rose to 7.2 kts during the mid part of the falling tide.

Luna's little diesel blurbled happily the whole time. We were Bogey and Katherine Hepburn cruising the river in the African Queen. Nonetheless, we were glad to arrive at our destination, the Riverview Marina in Catskill where Mike, the owner, met us after hours, checked us in, and made arrangements to step the mast in the morning. We tied up at the dock for the night and gratefully had a shower.

The commander at the helm on a sunny day on the Hudson River

From the Captain: Supplies and other details

From the Captain

Supplies and Other Details

Be here now….Baba Ram Das

The Tao that is unnameable is the Source of the Heaven and the Earth.

The name, once introduced, becomes the Mother of the Ten Thousand Things.  Lao Tzu, Tao te Ching   

Preparations are going forward. There are lists and lists. Boat projects are ongoing, and there is food to think about. Hundreds of details and loose ends to tie up before we go. Thinking ahead, the lists seem unmanageable, the projects unlikely ever to be completed. New items are added regularly as they pop into consciousness—usually very early in the morning well before the dawn.

Yet, to begin the work, to attack items on the list, is to realize they are finite, and they will get done. Thinking ahead is painful. Living in the present is the best way to get through. This is a hard lesson to keep in mind.

Luna up in the slings of the travel lift at Point Bay Marina

This week, Luna was dismasted and lifted out of the water. Currently, she is up on stands in a shed as the boatwrights at George Darling Boatworks carefully repaint her bottom. When they are not working, I go in and continue plumbing the new water tank and construct supports to hold the mast on deck as we travel the first leg of the trip next week.

Meanwhile, Carol works through the rest of the ten thousand things. She goes on line to set up electronic billing, contacts the motor vehicle department to make sure our cars and boats will stay registered, figures out how to estimate taxes so we can defer filing in April,  and sets up mail forwarding with the post office. The house must be put in order for the family who will live here while we’re gone. Carol is the keeper of the lists, the organized one, and she’s good at it.

And there’s the social scene: A retirement party for me in Charlotte brought out past staff members of the Charlotte Family Health Center as well as current patients. We get together with our friends who want to say good-bye before we leave.

And, finally, we are starting to think of what food and supplies we will bring for the trip. From Costco, we have cans of wild salmon, chicken and tuna, tomatoes, chicken broth, black beans.  We have lentil dishes in pouches. We have Ziploc bags, plastic wrap, watertight containers, paper towels and toilet paper.  There is dish soap and laundry soap and quarters for the laundromats. We think about how much spring water to bring for drinking

My feeling is that we can re-supply fairly easily on the way down the east coast, and so can plan meals for a week or so at a time. Once we grasp the pattern that forms our days and see what we’re eating, then we will supply for two months before heading over to the Bahamas.

And we’re starting to consider where we will pack it all. The time is coming when we will find out for sure. Departure date is in one week.