Southern Passage

Dear all,

I am back on dry land, decompressing from the southern passage aboard Kathmandu. It was quite the experience. I closed out my last urgent visit Sunday at CHCP and was dropped off that night with my first crewmember, Chuck Voss, for the early start Monday. We arose before first light, cast off all lines, and were off, only to discover that the speedometer and distance log was not working. No big deal, but it is useful to have that info available in the cockpit, so I went below to check it out. I poked at the through-hull fitting deep in the bilge, to see if an electrical connection was loose, and to my horror, it came apart in my hand, and a horrendous gush of water came up through the floor. I couldn’t stop it completely, so we turned right back around and headed back to Branford from three miles out. The pumps were keeping up, but not getting ahead any, so I’m glad that we were no further away. We motored directly to Dutch Wharf, where they were waiting for us, and the boat was up in slings in fifteen minutes. The through-hull fitting had come unscrewed, and was hanging by less than a turn of the threads. If that had come apart, a one and a half inch hole three feet below the waterline would have resulted, and a leak amounting to two hundred gallons a minute. Not good. Anyway, Dutch had us up and out, the fitting pulled, reassembled and glued, and back in the water in two hours flat. The bill comes later… The rest of the first day was pretty uneventful, apart from a wind that insisted on coming directly out of our intended direction, and never let us turn the motor off. We motored in to New Rochelle at dusk, and anchored in a peaceful cove with views of the Throg’s Neck and Whitestone Bridges, and directly under the final approach path of La Guardia. We had a quick dinghy ride in, and a passable meal at a waterfront restaurant, and putted back to our lonely masthead light, and a well deserved sleep. Up again at dawn, we navigated the narrow channel into the municipal basin, and picked up my father, serving as cook, and Tom Baker, the real sailor of our lot. One more stop for diesel fuel, and we were off to NY harbor. The wind remained directly “on the nose”, so we burned more fuel. Rain and fog prevailed throughout the day, making NYC mysterious and mostly invisible. We entered Hell’s Gate, in the East River, where the current was dead against us, and quite swift, leaving our net speed at about one knot. Joggers on the East Side Highway outpaced us easily. The U.N. and the various beautiful bridges wound slowly by, and finally the river broadened, and the current slowed. We swung out into the harbor around the Battery, and past the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. The Verrazano Narrows Bridge wheeled overhead at about 2:30, and we were off to the open sea. The swells were four or five feet, but well spaced, so that the motion wasn’t too unpleasant. The cook went below to prepare our first hot meal, but emerged seasick shortly after. Dinty Moore Stew was the best we could manage, but it hit the spot. We rolled along into the darkness, still under power, but with the mainsail up to steady the motion of the boat. Our way was lit by the lurid light of honky-tonk beach development on the Jersey Shore, two miles or so away on our right. There were swells, but the surface was undisturbed, so that the green light reflected made the water look like thick rolling chocolate. We took two-hour watches overnight, and motored steadily along at 6.5 knots. Finally, at 1:00 am, the wind piped up off our starboard, so we put up the sails and actually sailed for the first time. What a relief. By now it was inky black, and the shore had receded to dull glimmers, as we had to bear offshore to miss shoals at Barnegat and Atlantic City. We spend the bulk of the night about 5 miles off. A.C. loomed up suddenly out of the fog at 3 am or so, a brightly lighted monument to greed. What a colossal waste of electricity.
I went below after a watch for a bit of sleep, and was awakened by the sound of Salsa music. That seemed a bit out of place, so I got up and peered out of the cabin port on the downwind side. A huge green wall of metal was going by at 20 knots in the opposite direction, lit up by multiple spotlights, with music blaring from speakers on the superstructure. We passed each other on reciprocal courses just 200 yards apart. I popped up on deck to check out the watchstanders, and mentioned about the ship. “What ship?” was the reply. The sails were doing an excellent job of hiding a 250-foot cargo vessel, lit up like the city of Miami. I reminded the now wide-awake watchstanders to check under the sails every few minutes, to be sure the downwind side is free of traffic. And to listen for Salsa music. Dawn came, and we got to Cape May pretty much on schedule. Just as we started to turn up to round the Cape, I heard a clunk and the normal windmilling of the propeller under sail stopped suddenly. We were snagged. We were dragging a large lobster pot by its buoy. Our speed dropped to one knot, and there was no getting us undone with a boathook. I put on my wetsuit, which had mysteriously shrunk in the closet over the last few years. In mask, fins, and snorkel, and tied to the boat, I went underneath and untangled the propeller in about sixty seconds, once I could see what I was doing.
“Quien es macho? Robert Stack, o Lloyd Bridges?”
“Si, Lloyd Brides es mas macho!”
So we were again underway, to the toughest part of the journey, the passage around the Cape May. Sounds like a quiet, pleasant place, Cape May… NOT!! It was blowing twenty knots against the current, throwing up a fierce chop, and there were breaking waves we had to sail straight into, wondering if there would be sand instead of water under our keel. The current pushed us strongly towards the beach, where two rusting hulks of large ships lay to remind following ships of the consequence of screwing up. Luckily the engine never missed a beat, and we passed through the breakers unscathed. In the Delaware Bay at last, we naturally found the wind in our teeth, and motored up the channel in the company of huge merchant ships cruising by at two or three times our speed. The cook had by now recovered, and produced a sumptuous bean and cous-cous feast that warmed all the weary mariners, and more than redeemed his reputation.
We turned into the Delaware-Chesapeake canal toward the end of the day and motored into the calm of the canal. Our only hope for an anchorage before dark was Chesapeake City, near the end of the Canal. It is guarded by a notorious sandbar, whose acquaintance we shortly made. Acting on local advice we kept hard to the right, and came hard aground in mud, directly in front of a waterfront restaurant. Efforts at rocking, backing, swearing like sailors, and pulling us off with the dinghy were all for naught, but provided excellent entertainment for the diners. An anchor dropped at angles off the bow finally gave us enough leverage to winch ourselves free. The proprietor came to thank us for the show, and suggested that the left side was the easier passage. We tried that, and found ourselves gliding effortlessly into a peaceful cove. A change from stinking foul weather gear, and even worse undergarments made us semi presentable, and we soon found ourselves sitting to dine at the same restaurant we had been performing for. No discount was afforded us, but the meal was excellent.
Next morning we were off at 04:30 to catch the tide out of the cove, and motored again down the Elk River into the Upper Chesapeake at last. The wind cooperated for a while, and we sailed, but we were beset by a sudden squall with winds up to 40 knots and a sharp nasty chop bringing spray and occasionally green water over the bow. A gust broke a jib-sheet (rope to the corner of the front sail), and we had to scurry to furl the sail before it tore itself to shreds. No big deal, as I keep a spare, and had it rigged in no time, but we were back to motoring again. The weather cleared by midday, and we were sailing again, though in long tacks against the contrary wind, and sailed under the two spans of the Bay Bridge. The weather was finally perfect, and the sailing brisk, but we had a long way to go against the wind, and so turned back to diesel power for the last leg to Maryland. We got to the harbor channel just at dark, and docked to find our anxious wives and nonchalant children. The deed was done.
So, it wasn’t so hard, and it wasn’t so easy, and my preparations were adequate, more or less. I look forward to calmer passages on the Chesapeake, and maybe a trans-Atlantic journey someday. Maybe. Hope all you land-lubbers are well, and didn’t worry too much. See you sometime, and keep in touch.

Love, regards, your friend,
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