I feel quite decadent. Anticipating a lengthy hang on the mooring here in Key West, and recalling that there is no broadcast TV south of Miami, I bought a Dish TV system and mounted it on a Follow Me TV mast. Bingo! Satellite, digital TV… and all it cost was money… and energy… that surplus energy we had acquired from the new solar panels is apparently now committed to HBO, Headline News and such.

My justifications are weak, even to me. But with a straight face I can tell others that "Of course the improved weather information drove the decision", and "I only watch the political discussion shows on Sundays… just to keep informed". What I find myself doing, much as I did with our satellite receiver when living on land, is to scan the program guide, over and over, with the frequently flawed anticipation that among all these channels there must be something worth watching.

I haven't been ashore since Friday morning. I have caught up on the History channel, seen a variety of movies, the better ones dating from the 40s-50s, perhaps the 60s, and have successfully put off any number of little maintenance chores that always accumulate on a boat.

By the way, the Follow Me TV seems to work as advertised; reliably and relatively unobtrusively. It has an electronic compass and electric motor within the 32" mast (about 5" diameter) that locks on an azimuth and, therefore, holds the satellite signal once acquired. One has to manually do the skew and elevation adjustments but, in any given location, that is a one time only adjustment and will hold accurate for 60 NM north to south, 100 NM east to west travel. All this for about .5 amps (DC) for the tracker and probably 2-3 amps (AC) for the satellite receiver (not sure about that yet).

We try to manage a news list, the Lord Nelson List, even while underway. I was asked to remove a person from the list. His Lord Nelson 35, s/v GITANA, only two hull numbers from AT EASE, was lost in Hurricane Francis, in Lake Worth, FL. The story is instructive. He had anchored/moored GITANA with three helix posts screwed into the bottom and two anchors, one all chain. This was in and among 60 other boats. Only two of the 60 survived the 24 hours of hurricane winds and surge. Both of these had owners on board, powering into the wind and fending off drifting boats throughout the 24 hours. My hunch is that the fending was more instrumental than the powering.

GITANA washed ashore on Palm Beach rocks. Her starboard side is holed badly. Two remaining lines are broken, one 15' outboard, the other 3' outboard of the hawse holes. The chain rode ran out, damaging the hull in the process. I'm not sure how this was secured. All this sounds to me like she was hit by one or more drifting boats that loaded her tackle beyond endurance. At least one strike must have been violent. The main panel (starboard side) was torn from the bulkhead, all wiring torn loose, and thrown clear across the cabin.

This tends to confirm my prejudices. It seems to be other boats, inadequately secured, that become loose in the storm, that then batter, overload or hole and sink many a well managed boat. I've heard this sad tale over and over. Staying aboard allows one to fend many/most of these off… but at the risk of life. Such decisions are tough and can not be changed once the storm has struck. I'm just not sure what I would do. GITANA's owner said the forecast for 140-150 kts of wind made the decision for him. He stayed ashore.

12/01/2004

How does one describe Key West, yet again, when so many words have been used before? Key West seems to exist in so many dimensions simultaneously. There is the physical beauty of sun, sand, palm and sea. There is the panorama of village and resort and congestion with cars and vans and campers and scooters and bikes and walkers of all descriptions. There is the cacophony of sound; the clang of wind in one's ears with the rumble of traffic and the noisy complaint of aircraft in final descent, and jet skis abrading the senses.

And there are the people, the mix of obvious tourists, vastly exposed and colored pale to bright, burning red, on the streets, missing nothing and entertained by all. And there are the vagrant nomadics of exquisite weirdness, hirsute and haggard, here and there, clutching packs and packets of possessions as they move from here to just beyond here. And there are the locals, so casual, some pale, those nocturnal workers who turn on all the neon and music at dusk. And the other locals, so busy with this, hustling that, finding a way to stay here in this place, this island of its own kind.

Microscopically, there is the clutter of marginal this and marginal that and not really anywhere else. From the dinghy dock, with its mix of the forlorn, the neglected, with barnacle encrusted engines and weedy bottoms, with green slime standing water within, to the pristine, the newly arrived, the proud and preened. There, just off the ramp, the racks of bikes, rusted and ruined but still ridden, sagging and tattered perhaps much like their owners. Even here, a few new, proud bikes announce that generations renew and sailors come as well as stay.

The streets are sun baked, more airless away from the sea, and always full of vehicles, hulking SUV's and vans among the bikes and scooters and aging cars, some going, some coming but many just looking for somewhere to park. Wisps of grass grow in the cracks and crevices in concrete, neglected in the rush. Walkers abound, some strolling, others busily going, and many with the backpacks of boaters afoot. Lurking alongside, behind lush, green foliage, small to larger wooden homes, old, many worn beyond age, leak color and character onto the otherwise barren streets; warming the cold concrete with tales of life lived and living.

There is color; bright pastels of yellow and pink and blinding blues, brilliant against the drab of old and worn and left behind, the fading hopes of yesterday. And the smells, of food arriving, and food too long awaiting, and laundry water now moldy, and people of different cultures, and of the land where salt water meets mangrove.

And there are the boats of Key West; beautiful dancing boats, rocking in the usually gentle arms of Mother Ocean, with their bright colors sharp against the blue-green waters, nested in the blinding glitter of sun on waves, pleasing in their lines at rest, and gracefully prancing betwixt sail and sea when underway, alive and strutting joyfully in their play.

How does one describe Key West, yet again?

AT EASE lies moored just west of Trumbo Point and Garrison Bight, just south of Sigsbee Point and just north of Fleming Key, essentially surrounded by the smallish military enclaves remaining in Key West. We're not protected from the weather, essentially nothing in Key West is, but I suppose from the perspective of security, we are indeed held tight to the bosom of a warlike people.

We rock comfortably in the 15-20 kts of north wind as a cold front moves through today. Below, everything is tight and secure. Mechanically, AT EASE is in wonderful condition. Hull, running and standing rigging are in good condition. We are blessed with plenty of energy from sun and wind and have not run the engine at all for charging since our arrival.

Sigsbee Point, and its commissary and exchange, are just a dinghy ride away. We have provisions aplenty. Trumbo Bachelor Officers Quarters and its spacious dinning room are just a short dinghy ride away. Awaiting us there, later in the day, is one of those traditional feast displays of abundance, the turkey, trimmings and such that Americans hold so dear.

We have freedom of schedule, mostly, to do or not do as we are inspired, and to go hither or yon, exploring old and new, near and far, as the whim may strike us and where water will carry us.

We have the joy of finding that our wants do not exceed our means and that our "things" while more numerous than we might wish in the confines of our boat, are managed by us rather than we being owned by them.

We're comfortably warm, dry and freshly showered. We're healthy as could be, all things considered. We have a gallant companion dog who snuggles and rubs and dutifully acts loving even when we're not. We have friends, absent now, but near and dear and in our hearts nevertheless.

We are indeed thankful this day… and only wish such is true for each and every one of you.

11/20/2004

AT EASE continued her blissful sail, making up for all the tumult earlier, moving downwind like a true lady, under a moonlit sea that, inside Hawk Channel, was very manageable. The air was just cool enough to make us comfortable inside the cockpit and the wind held at 8-14 kts, moving us along nicely between 4-5 kts until about 0300 when it became unstable. Changes in tack and sail plan just didn't suffice. By 0340 we dumped the sails and motored, slowly, past Boca Chita and into Key West.

We timed our arrival for dawn and just after daylight we turned into the entrance. We moved past the empty cruise ship docks, past the old Navy area, past Mallory Square and on to Key West Bight where we ducked in to fuel. We had heard radio calls with questions about the schedule for closure of the harbor. Apparently this is day two of a three day series of power boat races and the harbor seems to be part of the course. I noticed the anchorage along the end of Fleming Key, just across from the Coast Guard Station, was empty. Everyone had been moved further north. There were numerous boats anchored well outside of Christmas and Wisteria Islands as well.

Yesterday, as we sailed down Hawk Channel, I had seen several cigarette boats screaming past and at least three boats I thought were unlimited hydroplanes. I wondered then about a possible race. Given the absence of notice to mariners on the radio, had we not planned on a dawn arrival, had we planned instead on a mid morning arrival, we could have turned into a quite different harbor scene. It would have been exciting. To see all those high speed plumes of white water flying into the air, and all those boats turning and burning, all coming at me… well, what are the rules of the road in such a situation. The only one that comes to mind would be to "run and hide".

But we were early enough to motor on through the harbor and through the wide and deep (Florida "deep" seems to equal controlling depth of 9') channel and into Garrison Bight's mooring field. We located and captured a mooring, Shirley leaned well over the side to rig a line to the mooring, and we were captured. After a wonderful breakfast, we began the process of returning AT EASE from her offshore stowed mode to a harbor friendly mode. In the 8 days of travel (total of 781 NM), 6.5 of which were offshore (729 NM), things had been stuffed and stowed hither and yon, just to secure them. People room had shrunk. It will take days, maybe weeks to find everything and get it returned to its intended place. Maybe first on the priority list is to find where we put that coffee pot when last used.

11/17/04

More of the same today… motoring and wallowing in the same conditions. One would think that 10-15 kts of wind, even from dead astern, would be enough to power the boat by sail. Not so! Not without high shock loads as the sails fill and collapse. As the swells roar up from astern and sweep under the boat, the boat slews, swinging through 20-30 degrees of heading, so radically altering the course over ground that the sail collapses, filling again as the autopilot brings us back to course. The renewed filling creates the shock load on the standing rigging… the bang and crash of a sail filling after collapsing. That simply wears out a boat… and quickly wears out my patience.

Saylor has had more of a burden than Shirley or myself. Even after several days, her sea legs are shaky, tentative and apparently painful. In any given five minute interval, we will have an interval of 2-3 swells that are larger. With each of these more extreme rolls, she will rise, stand with shaky legs, try to reposition herself, and just look miserably uncomfortable. We put her on a padded bedding, reassure her with a touch, a pressure from hand or foot, but the bottom line is that she just doesn't like the noise or lost equilibrium of a heavy roll and feels she must do something to protect herself. She is exhausted.

This morning, I added the 10 gals of diesel we carry on deck to the tanks. We're down under 50%; a level where sludge and crud from the tank more aggressively attacks the filters. We chose to go into Fort Pierce's inlet to find a marina providing diesel. Our arrival was just before dark so we decided to take the night off, to anchor tonight and refuel tomorrow before departing offshore once again for the rest of the trip to Key West.

About 1630 we approached the sea buoy at Fort Pierce and entered the channel. It is ebb tide, a current of 3.5 kts, against a NE swell flowing inbound. The waves in the channel are energetic and confused. A large Hatteras, a motor yacht, powered in beside us at relatively high speed. The wake threw us hard to port, actually sent a crock pot sliding that turned off the autopilot, and we came close to ramming a buoy, but we recovered smartly and proceeded in to a known anchorage, past evident damage (a grounded sailboat and various crumpled piers) from the last hurricane season. With the anchor down, Saylor immediately celebrated; drank, ate and voided in mere minutes, and retired below to sleep a well deserved sleep. The rest of the crew took advantage of shore based amenities. We made wireless phone calls, connected on the internet and watched broadcast TV from local stations. An evening off, it seems.

11/16/2004

At 2100 we are located some 47 NM SE of St Augustine, some 40 NM NE of Daytona Beach, heading south. AT EASE is motoring, still in heavy swells from the NE. We have some 10-12 kts of true following wind but in these conditions we simply roll the air out of the sails every few minutes or so and that leads to too much backing and crashing as the sails fill again. We've tried several times, on several different tacks, with several sail plans, midst banging and crashing in the rigging, with no success. Motoring gives us enough power to minimize the rolling and still take advantage of surfing the swells to make even better time.

When sailing in these rolling conditions, the wear on the rigging is significant. Last night, the topping lift came crashing to the deck. The stainless steel shackle at the masthead had worn through. No real problem as the boom gallows supports our boom when down, and the mainsail itself holds it up when hoisted. That will get repaired somewhere down the line. For now, I just ran the spinnaker halyard back and rigged it as a temporary replacement.

Today, we found the western wall of the Gulf Stream and turned back inland from about 71 NM out. The Stream is unmistakable. Not only does the sea get warmer (several degrees), and the water inky blue (beautiful with the white foam from breaking waves), but the adverse current quickly robs us of speed over ground. We did enjoy seeing the long Atlantic swells again, good 6-8 footers, but even there the confused seas and the NE swells kept the ride very active. After rounding Canaveral, we expect the Stream to be closer inshore. Near Miami, we have seen the Stream within one mile of the beach.

The weather is significantly warmer. In bright sun it is even hot. Even the water has warmed up from 63 to 79 degrees. We've had fans running in the boat and had panels out of our cockpit enclosure to increase airflow all day. It's still almost uncomfortably warm this late in the evening. What a change in just a couple of days. Motoring down the ICW south of Wrightsville Beach, just two days ago, it was cold enough inside to wear wool sweaters. During that leg of the trip I looked out at what I thought were snags just off the channel and found instead some reckless soul swimming, accompanied by his five Golden Retrievers, swimming directly across the ICW, I suppose assuming that all the fast movers could see him (wrong) and that they would turn out of the channel to avoid him (probably wrong as well). Why he was swimming in the cold, and why across the ICW, I can't imagine. I didn't stop to ask.

Watch standing has been more of a problem on this trip. I suspect that is secondary to low quality sleep… too much tossing about in the wallowing motion. Both Shirley and I have stood more irregular watches, calling the other when tired as opposed to watching the clock. We enjoyed the speedy transit, the miles covered, but this hasn't been a very comfortable passage. More work than joy, it seems, enough to make us appreciate those more delightful sails enjoyed in the past and anticipated in the future.

11/15/2004

On Saturday morning, we departed Mile Hammock Bay and moved south down the ICW, generally shooting for Wrightsville Beach. Three bridges, two that only open on the hour, are the major obstacles. Of course, ICW being ICW, shoaling is always an issue and the prudent mariner always keeps one eye on the depth gauge. Being in the center of the marked channel is no safeguard.

Heavy overcasts and threatening skies marked the morning, and blustery winds, heavier offshore, moved across the ICW at up to 25 kts but folks, sail and motor, were still moving, hurrying toward that warmer weather. While we were snug inside our cockpit, it was certainly cold, especially in the wind.

The adventure for the day came at Wrightsville Beach bridge, a draw bridge where we had to wait briefly for an opening. Parked immediately alongside the bridge (our side), an outboard fishing boat with one man aboard seemed parked. As the bridge opened, we happened to be positioned to be the first boat through. I approached slowly, watching the trawler coming north and the fisherman. He seemed to have his eyes on me, his boat pointing at AT EASE and was slowly motoring directly into the channel in front of the bridge opening. The distance closed… 50'…30'… Shirley, on the foredeck, called to tell him to clear the channel… that we couldn't just stop. I backed down to at least delay the apparent inevitability. Still he idled directly toward our bow. While I braced for the sound of his boat crunching under AT EASE's bow, and he disappeared from my view below the bowsprit, he finally gunned the engine and shot across the bow, clearing by certainly less than 3', to move smartly upstream, oblivious to my parting call questioning his sanity. The captain of the trawler coming through the bridge from the downstream side was obviously laughing, arms raised in supplication and simultaneously shrugging his shoulders. I could only return the judgment.

With a bump of the bottom in the shoaling inner channel, we managed to get into the anchorage area and dropped a hook. Of course we picked the Teflon side of the anchorage for the first two tries but the third try grabbed and we settled in for the night.

With dawn, another bluebird day but still very windy, we delayed, neither really eager to move on. We enjoyed a mid-morning, leisurely breakfast, then napped and read until early afternoon. With a final look at the weather faxes… a final listen to the weather reports on the VHF… we made the commitment. Up came the anchor and we motored the last 20 NM past Carolina Beach and into the Cape Fear River for the run down channel to Southport and our exit offshore. Just before dark we met and passed a large tanker enroute upriver to Wilmington, dodged Southport's ferry, and headed toward Bald Head Island and the main ship channel. A brilliant display of multicolored lights seemed to gradually break from the shore background and finally, rather closely, it emerged as an anchored dredge working on a new sea channel. The marked channel on our chart is no more. Lighted markers stretched off in the distance in a quite different direction. We sorted all this out, it was a black night, and made our offing into the Atlantic.

As advertised, winds were in the 15-25 kt range from the NW. Our initial SW course made for a broad beam sail. I popped out the yankee headsail and we moved through the water at some 5-6 kts, surfing a good bit in the northeasterly swells. However, we were rolling quite heavily, wallowing actually, gunnel to gunnel some time and… well… just about gunnel to gunnel the rest of the time. It made for a long and tiring night for the watchstander as well as the off duty crew. With dawn, the problem became obvious. The seas were just confused with NE swells from a not so distant gale predominating but with a churning and choppy sea with no discernable pattern everywhere. Conditioned didn't change all day. By noon we had largely furled the headsail and pulled it tight for balance, then put out the mainsail (reefed) with a preventer in the now downwind sailing conditions. This muted the rolling some, but with the periodic, large swells banging into our quarter, roll we did.

We're not the only ones tired. A small land bird came aboard, apparently to rest. He hopped or flew around the boat several times over an hour, coming right up to our clear vinyl curtains, apparently trying to come in. We didn't cooperate… images of trying to get him out seemed to haunt us. He finally departed, perhaps to seek a berth elsewhere as he didn't head toward land.

These less than comfortable conditions are mitigated by the distance traveled. With the following winds still in the 15-20 kt range (true) and the NE swells, we are surfing and sailing in the 5-6 kt range just about all the time, really eating up those miles. It is now 1600 on Monday (the 15th) and we are already abeam Charleston; now some 20 NM off our starboard. A non-stop trip to Key West is not out of the question.

11/12/2004

AT EASE took in lines and departed Gottschalk Marina, Camp Lejeune, NC about 1130 today, leaving after a two week stay that was intense. We had spent the first week on chores, adding the two new solar panels to our bimini top and redoing our cockpit enclosure with better vinyl and fasteners. The second week was spent in celebration. Both weeks were exhausting.

This year, for the 229th birthday of the Marine Corps on November 10th, Shirley and I were joined by an old comrade in arms, Bob Orendorf, with whom I had served both in the 1st Battalion, 6th Marines and in 2nd Recon. We had met for a reunion earlier this year, the first since 1965, and had then discussed meeting for our own Birthday Ball at Camp Lejeune where we were stationed. The timing worked out. Bob and his wife, Carole, were able to fly in on the 9th for a whirlwind tour of the base and our old haunts.

For the 10th itself, we were the guest of honor of 2nd Recon, at least those remaining at Camp Lejeune, most being heavily involved in the assault on Fallujah, Iraq. Those remaining couldn't have been nicer. We were given a tour of their brand new physical facilities, briefed on new weapons and equipment, saw their boat house, dive shop, parachute loft, and then participated in the formal cake cutting ceremony celebrating the Corps' Birthday. What a treat for two aging gray beards, to be made to feel so welcome by such a sharp, impressive group of superbly conditioned, superbly trained Marines.

Such encounters are bitter sweet, of course, with memories both good and bad of a time when life was so very intense and we were so very young. I think Bob and I were both more than a bit emotionally drained when we parted but we parted with a clear understanding that we will meet again, somewhere, perhaps to share a sail with AT EASE among some islands in the sun.

Leaving Camp Lejeune again was a bit sad. We had renewed our friendships with the Marina's crew and it's residents who have taken us in at each visit. Their warmth and generosity is unmatched. Ron and Vaughn made room for us in the Marina. Jim and Tonda again gave us use of their truck during our stay. Tom and Rosie greeted us each day with a smile. John, Kelly and Kevin all made us feel so welcome. There's never enough time… but we're ever so grateful for the time each made available to us.

We waited to move back down the bay on a rising tide. Motoring away from the dock and into Morgan Bay, it began raining. Tucked inside our now enclosed cockpit, warm and dry, we moved down the Bay meeting only a few determined fishermen and a few Coast Guard RIBs, blue lights flashing, madly chasing one another in some exercise, one assumes. We turned north and into Mile Hammock Bay to anchor for the night, still unsure whether we will move offshore tomorrow or continue south along the ICW.

Weather is in a state of flux. Over the next three days, a major front will be moving through, with higher winds moving into the north and running 20-30 kts consistently well into next week. Further offshore, especially in the Gulf Stream, the waves are impressively high and likely to get much higher. Nearer shore, 5'-6' waves are forecast. Tomorrow, when we approach Southport at the mouth of the Cape Fear River, we'll get a weather update and make our decision.

10/27/2004

On Tuesday, the 26th, we motored down the ICW from Morehead City to Mile Hammock Bay, just at the entrance to New River and Morgan Bay, today and anchored. Tomorrow about 0800, at high tide, we will move into Morgan Bay and motor on to Gottschalk Marina at Camp Lejeune.

Motoring in the sun was pleasant and traffic was minimal. At a couple of the inlets, currents were swirling and there were clusters of small fishing boats that took some maneuvering but even that wasn't too demanding. Immediately north of Swansboro, just at the inlet, currents have dug some channels and shifted some sand so that the ICW turns very close inshore. The trawler just ahead of me ran aground and that gave me the heads up needed to move further inshore. Even there, water was pretty shallow but we managed to slide by.

There is a swing bridge across the ICW as it cuts through Camp Lejeune. It opens each 30 minutes. As I approached, just at sundown, I knew I was cutting it close… I arrived two minutes late. We turned circles and killed time. The bridge tender took pity on us and gave us an opening at 15 after the hour. Gratefully, we ran south the last several miles and arrived at our anchorage in fading nocturnal twilight. Turning into the bay, among the various cruisers also at anchor, we motored past the anchored LCU (medium), a WWII medium landing craft which will become part of a museum in Jacksonville once its top hamper is removed so it can get under a low approach bridge. For now, she stands alone, looking abandoned, and somehow rather ghostly.

At 0800 this morning we got underway for the final run up to Camp Lejeune. Four Coast Guard RIBs, with weapons mounted on hard points, convoyed by, outbound as we turned inland. With our waypoints from our last visit, we now know how to maneuver through the shoals and there is much less fear of running aground. From our port side, midst the heavy forest, probably from ranges used by the School of Infantry, relatively heavy rifle and machine gun fire escorted us inland. Off to starboard, Courthouse Bay, French Creek, the old Headquarters building, then the old 6th Marines area of Hadnot Point. We rounded what used to be Hospital Point and turned into the final approaches.

In bright sunlight and dead calm conditions, we moved into the marina, eased past and then backed down on the first dock's T-Head to slide in astern of another sailboat. Our bowsprit hangs over, probably more than a bit, but we declared it a safe landing, tied her off and plugged in to that endless reservoir of electricity.

We'll be here until we get our list of projects completed… a better full enclosure, heavier glass vinyl and with more "finish" now that we have the patterns worked out with our very cheap vinyl, and I still want to get two more solar panels installed. The enclosure we made, essentially while underway, works well but the cheaper vinyl is stretching some already and that would likely just get worse. Having gone through the learning curve, new and heavier duty curtains should go up pretty fast. The solar panels will take a bit of wiring, actually very little of it new, and will only require some drilling through the bimini frame for mounts.

Both Shirley and I are excited… we expect AT EASE will become even more comfortable.

In the false dawn immediately before sunrise, we pulled the anchor, turned on radar, running lights and such, and moved back out into the relatively broad Pungo River to continue our run south. The route today varies in crossing bigger water, the Pungo and Neuse Rivers, especially the Neuse, and smaller creeks. There were a few canals dug to tie it all together but the real meandering part of the trip, up to and then after the Neuse River and Oriental, was spent in the various creeks, some relatively broad and some, of course, quite narrow. All water has the characteristic brown tint, not good southern mud brown but tea brown, tannic acid brown, that stains our white hulled boats with a characteristic brownish mustache until heavy chemicals are applied to bleach the stain.

Traffic seems less heavy today but there are still sailboats, trawlers, and a few fast movers; the latter can create havoc with their wakes but almost invariably slow and creep around other vessels. To facilitate that, we slow movers, also slow to idle so they can get around quicker and with less throttle.

It was another cool, winter-like day with temps probably in the mid to upper 50's, perhaps highs in the low 60's. Again, the enclosed cockpit was snug and comfortable. I haven't been forced from shorts to long pants quite yet.

By mid afternoon, as we neared Morehead and Beaufort, we left the creeks behind and began moving through larger bodies of water. Larger marinas appeared alongside, and offshore, commercial fishing vessels, and two pods of dolphins were seen at play in the 20, or so, foot water. Movement was still very channelized however, one moves from one red or green marker to the next, as shoals are numerous and shifting in these tidal waters.

Off in the still gray distance, the industrial port of Morehead City emerged. The typical skyline clutter of large cranes and other high elevation cargo handling equipment. Tidal currents had been pulling us back to the sea at well over 8 kts over ground. The currents shifted as we approached the final barrier, a 65' bridge opening into the Morehead City's harbor turning basin. Currents are always stronger under bridges, the water being constricted, and something like 2 kts of current on the nose had AT EASE squirming a bit but we motored out into the basin, dodged the numerous small fishing boats, and rounded the quay to turn into a channel behind Sugar Loaf Island.

We were hoping for a tie up at a local restaurant, encouragingly named the Sanitary Restaurant, that provides their waterfront deck on a first come-first served basis, for a smallish ($10) overnight fee. No services (restrooms, electricity, water, etc…) are provided and it is assumed that you will eat at the restaurant. I've had the thought that if one does eat at the restaurant, there should be some discounting of the fee. No room at the inn, however. We meandered down the channel, still behind the island, to a wee basin where anchoring is customary, and there dropped our hook in 10' of honest water with 55' of chain and our 45 lb CQR. Against the 1.5 kts of current and 1500 RPM in reverse, the anchor quickly set. Home for the night… back in salt water… back to the sea.

AT EASE left the Portsmouth Hospital Point anchorage and moved down the Elizabeth River, past the Navy's shipyard, past the large Navy radio site, acres of antennas, and into the ICW proper, pausing at the several lift and draw bridges, and finally getting south of the Dismal Swamp alternate route and into the ICW's Virginia Cut. Even with the several stops because of bridge schedules, and one delay because of mechanical problems with a bridge, we made good time down to Great Bridge, the one lock on the entire route. There, a mixture of maintenance issues, heavy debris in the water, and commercial barge traffic brought everything to a halt. We joined the 15 or so boats "parked" in the canal waiting to lock through. I dropped an anchor and we practiced our patience.

Finally, after some 1.5 hour for us, longer for others, the canal opened. There was some crowding to get in for this lock through. The bridge immediately south of the lock is coordinated with the lock and if a cycle is missed, another hour's wait results. We were hanging in the locks opening. The last of the wall space on either side had been claimed. The tenders waved us in. The last sailboat in, immediately ahead of us, the one who got the last of the wall space, had invited us to raft alongside for the lock cycle. We met the generous and thoughtful English couple on s/v ANJOU, Phil and Christine, who have been touring the US and are now headed for the Bahamas.

We knew the delay would slow everyone down. Every boat travels at its own speed, some obviously much faster and others, like us, quite slow. Even given this diversity, delays like this tends to bunch up the boats, and this is most noticeable just before dark when everyone is trying to manage overnight accommodations whether that be anchoring or finding space in a marina. This particular part of the ICW makes that more difficult as the channel is narrow and very few opportunities for anchoring are offered.

As expected, just before dark, a large number of boats, power and sail, were struggling to find space at Coinjock, just across the North Carolina border. Coinjock offers very limited space, mostly pier side tie ups directly along the ICW. Both marinas were madhouses with boats vying for space both on the radio and alongside the piers. We claimed the last space available at Midway Marina; their fuel dock. It was a space requiring parallel parking, between two large motor yachts, with 1.5 kts of current running. I declined… just couldn't see how AT EASE (ostensibly 35' but really 42' with our self-steering hardware on the stern and bowsprit) could fit in the confined space. A switch was quickly arranged. Another sailboat, tied in an alcove off the channel, drew too much water and was bouncing on the bottom. He claimed the fuel dock and I slipped into his vacated space. Everyone was happy… at least happier.

With cable TV, a real luxury, and a secure berth, we settled in for the evening. Given the morrow's weather, 20-25 kts from the north, and the unsettled nature of Albemarle Sound, our next broad but shallow crossing, we even settled in for the next day as well. We weren't alone. A couple of trawlers decided to wait awhile. We exchanged sea stories and such over drinks, then all retired to listen to weather.

AT 0700, just at dawn, we backed out into the channel and turned south along with the hosts of other boats. As the day progressed, the crowd thinned out. Faster boats moved away and slower boats spread out. Albemarle Sound and the Alligator River were behaved and we made good time. We even passed some slower sailboats. One boat's crew, huddled in the exposed cockpit in foulies, hoods and gloves, gesticulated and shouted as we passed. I could hear then but gestured to my mike for them to get on the radio.

"Are you really wearing shorts", they shouted. "Well… yes", I said. I didn't want to tell them that I was actually a bit warm and was about to unzip my vest. The enclosed cockpit really is comfortable.

Toward evening we were nearing the end of the Alligator River-Pungo River canal, a particularly narrow run. Here we had our one bump on the bottom, so far, but kept the power up and moved across what felt like mud. We were already looking out at the Pungo's broad expanse into a drizzling mist or heavy fog, not sure which, and selecting an anchorage. Running aground would really have made the day.

Having dodged that bullet, we eased out into open water, then moved well out of the channel and anchored for the night. It was a 70 NM day… about as far as we can go in any give day in daylight.

0/21/2004

Banker's Hours, that's what we're keeping these days. I crawled out of bed about 0915 (Shirley had been up for hours, reading), listened to the weather and downloaded weather faxes from the Ham network, then made the firm decision to head for Norfolk and the ICW. Forecasts suggested dew point and temp in Norfolk were the same… fog in other words. In Hampton Roads, a couple of degrees separated the two. In any event, it was a definitely gray and dismal day with drizzling rain and coldish temps in the very lower 60's. Winds of 10-15 kts should blow the fog away, one would think, so off we went.

We motored slowly, carefully out of Sarah Creek and back into the York River before turning SE and into Chesapeake Bay. Fog was evident but visibility was a mile or better and we had the radar tracking away so had no problems with piloting. The only other boats out were crabbers working their pots and Coast Guard boats, either actively patrolling or training. Yorktown is where many, maybe all, Coasties get their small boat (calm water) training. Small craft advisories were out but conditions were actually relatively benign, however, winds do get the seas up in a hurry in the Bay and even 2-3 footers with the typically short wave interval can create a bumpy ride. We popped out our staysail to give better balance to the boat in the rolly conditions.

We made the 25 NM or so into the Hampton Roads approaches and then turned in past Point Comfort along side a Navy frigate returning to the Naval Operating Base, Norfolk, after some excursion into the Chesapeake. We maintained their announced 500 yd exclusion zone using our radar on very short range setting. Two tugs joined the frigate as she prepared to turn into one of the Navy piers. The frigate's own security boat was launched and, along with the various patrol boats around the Navy Base, made sure we didn't encroach… but we noticed a civilian excursion boat, one selling tickets to tour the Navy Base, was able to move in much closer than 500 yds, even inside the turning frigate, and a tow passed by with overloaded barge within the channel with the frigate, both with no challenge whatsoever. More "pretend" security, we thought. Or maybe we just look more menacing. I kind of like that thought… The Fighting AT EASE and her ferocious crew of cutthroats.

In continuing rain (the fog had lifted), we motored past the base, past the international piers, and into the Elizabeth River, to drop anchor again off Hospital Point (the Naval Hospital) at Portsmouth. In 23' of water, with 100' of chain out along with the 45 lb CQR, we felt we could ride whatever the weather might offer overnight. As we backed down on the anchor, two patrolling Navy RIB's (Rigid Inflatable Boats) idled by on their way into a marina to refuel. The sailors aboard wore battle dress, helmets with intercoms attached, and either body armor or thin, black life jackets, and were huddled in the smallish cabins trying to stay warm. In the short trip down the Elizabeth River, we had noted prowling patrol boats with blue lights flashing, one off a Navy frigate being repaired in a civilian yard and one off several USNS ships tied to a pier. Security does seem heavier than when we were last here.

It's worth noting that our new enclosed cockpit performed flawlessly. I was even able to stay in shorts, although I wore a sweatshirt, and was comfortable in the cockpit. The visibility was excellent, even through the water droplets adhering to the vinyl.

Once, in the Bay, in a heavy roll, a wave smacked over the low port gunnel and washed copious water down alongside the cabin to the port primary wench. There, boiling up, most of the water lay against the side curtain until draining back overboard through the scupper. Some, enough, a couple of gallons, pushed in under the curtain and washed into the well beneath the pedestal. This is the heavy weather duty station for Saylor, our Salty Dog crewmate who took umbrage at the cold water insult. She stood, looked at me with brows eschew, clearly asking "What the hell was that all about?" I shrugged… she huffed… and settled back down on her now somewhat damp bedding, silently suffering with a rancorous disdain.

One of our goals from the last boatyard stay was to put an enclosed cockpit on AT EASE. Full enclosures are more weather proof, certainly warmer and dryer, and just more comfortable in adverse weather. For us, this would entail a higher bimini with a clear vinyl windshield, both high enough to allow us to stand in the cockpit yet see out forward. The bimini, with clear vinyl side curtains added, would allow good visibility all about in any weather, plus would give us another "room" and certainly make watch standing easier. The canvas pro we used simply did not have time to do more than a new bimini with windshield. The rest was left to us.

Shirley and I made a pilgrimage to Walmart where we bought clear vinyl material… not as good as the optically correct material available through marine stores, but good enough to get us through the next couple of months of weather. We did some hasty fitting and design, did some snips and trim, got out our sail making sewing machine, invested two days of fitting and sewing, and put together side panels back to the stern pulpit. With the sunshade hanging off the back of the bimini, and the weather cloth lashed to the stern pulpit, we have a 95% enclosure. We dug out our goody bag of sunbrella, zippers and such, our collection of snaps and twist fasteners and hardware, and hung the curtains, put in a zipper door for rapid egress/access, and finished it all just before the rain fell in earnest. Not as polished or "finished" a product as we might have gotten from the canvas folks, but for about $100 we put together a package which works to about 95% and which costs considerably less than the $2000-$3000 which a more complete package might have costs. Good enough for now... and just in time.

Over the last two days, we've had consistent rain, blustery cold, and lousy visibility. Rather than move further south, we've held at anchor and been content to be comfortable. Forecasts are confusing and offshore conditions seem very unsettled. Two gales in the last five days and another building off shore today. To move out and around Hatteras means we would have to wait at least through this week and into the next. Not acceptable. We've been looking at a run through Norfolk and into the Virginia Cut ICW to North Carolina; about five days from here to New River and Camp Lejeune, our next destination. We could do the same run in two days offshore but weather is a significant barrier.

Tomorrow, conditions are still forecasts to be misty, maybe foggy, with drizzling rain. In spite of that, we intend to get underway and motor south. This is the time of year when weather systems just hang around. We're not willing to do the same.

About 0900 this morning, AT EASE was hoisted on slings and carried by the travel lift back to the water. Her new bimini, with clear windshield across the front and sunshade hanging down from behind, performs well in the gently falling rain. Her bright blue underbody seems too clean to lower into the dirty water, but lower they do. Her newly polished cabin top glistens wetly. Her crew climbs back aboard, cranks the engine, and she slowly motors from the haul out slip and back into the bay. A brief stop to take on diesel and top off the outboard's gas cans, then back to our previous anchorage just off the marina.

Standing at the helm, I'm content. The numerous little chores, repairs and upgrades has been completed. Things work. We had not been able to get the cockpit fully enclosed, but what we have certainly will make her cockpit more weather resistant. AT EASE is better than ever; more comfortable and more functional. We are all ready to head south, to chase the sun once again.

We've even had time and opportunity for a little practical research. I've coated the paddle wheel log, and the propeller, with zinc oxide cream to see how long they might protect from barnacle growth. I've heard mixed reports from others. I also had a couple of abrasions on the inflation tubes of the dink… the dink and the Monitor windvane steering hardware on the back constantly tease each other, just can't seem to get along… so I used some hyphalon patching material and West System epoxy as an adhesive, and covered the abrasions. Apparent patches surely will make the dinghy seem less desirable to a potential thieve (the outboard motor is deliberately scuffed up as well), but the real research is to see how the West epoxy holds up on the inflatable's tube.

This afternoon, TV weather warns of a fast moving storm front, thunderstorms and heavy rain, moving up from the south. Dramatic warnings caution all to take shelter. By three, the light rain has passed, winds were never more than 10 kts or so, and the sun is breaking through the low clouds. It is colder (a cold front from the south, imagine that), and damp, but hardly horrific. We turned on the propane heater briefly and soon are snugly warmed. Saylor and I stretch out on a settee to nap while Shirley finishes a book. AT EASE gently rocks.

Tomorrow there will be decisions to make. We will have to move on to Norfolk to position ourselves for a run offshore and around Hatteras, into the teeth of the Gulf Stream's formidable currents, and then on to places south. We seem to have decided to stop by Camp Lejeune to see our old and new friends again. Apart from those plans, Florida beckons. Beyond that… we just don't know.

10/13/2004

Day 10 and still on the hard. With ¾ of the second coat of bottom paint on, the rain started and looks to continue through today and maybe tomorrow until noon or so. The rain also stops some of the canvas work with the new bimini somewhat up and patterns made for the remainder. At least sewing can continue indoors but fitting will have to wait for dryer times. So close, but still in the yard. It looks now like a Friday launch will be the soonest possible.

We've really completed so many tasks, maintenance and upgrades, many relatively small chores but all time consuming. Shirley has been working on interior woodwork, sanding and varnishing and such. She's also washed, polished and buffed the cabin top. We haven't done the hull yet but will probably do so at some point when back in the water where it will be reachable. To do the hull in the yard would require scaffolding and that's just more than we want to deal with.

I've been doing electrical stuff, cleaning up wiring and putting in hour meters and indicator lights. I discovered our bilge high water alarm wasn't working. Rather than spend the exorbitant fee to put in another unit from West Marine, I went to Radio Shack and bought a buzzer and LED light and installed them along side a switch panel in the galley… works fine.

At this point, we're looking for things to keep us occupied. Every day or so we borrow the marina's "courtesy car", as usual a junker but still appreciated, to drive to Walmart and other but probably less essential stores in the area. We've become shoppers again and, of course, are accumulating stuff. There's some irony in how we clean out the boat, giving away or throwing away the junk we've accumulated since our last haul out, and then rush about madly buying more junk to occupy the space made available.

As always, we meet others either confined to the yard or grabbing opportunities to drive from home to work on their boats. Those living aboard in a yard always seek each other out, to commiserate, to share frustrations and talk about projects, and always to compare likely "splash dates", the day we hope to launch. Those with earlier dates always smile. Those with later dates, especially the "Who knows?" dates, then become the victims of rather shallow empathy… that sugary variety of "I feel your pain" more typical among seasonal politicians.

We all seem to enjoy the luxury of essentially unlimited electrical power. We leave lights on… even in the day time. We turn on TV and use it as a background noise… all day. We can leave our computers on, use power tools, we can even turn on the electric hot water heater. It's nice, but it's not enough to compensate for the downsides of living on the ground.

We must be a pitiful sight to the local weekenders enjoying their boat chores. Climbing shaky ladders to board our homes, balancing bundles and bags and boxes of stuff, both going and coming stuff, while about us the clamor of tools, growling diesels and all the other industrial noises of busy boatyards, makes it inescapable… this is not paradise. Paradise does not have an outhouse. The fact is that our boats, our homes, on the hard, are largely disabled, and we have to trek, morning and night, from the boat to the outhouse. Now we are fortunate the yard's toilet and shower is nearby, but that doesn't alter the fact that it is, indeed, an outhouse.

We crave a return to living on the water, to the discipline the lifestyle imposes. Ashore, there are just too many options; to many opportunities for consumer impulses to be rewarded. Afloat, supplies on board become a commodity to be horded as resupply can be so very difficult. We are conscious of what we use… food, water and power. We are judicious in how we spend these commodities yet are appreciative of all when spend we do. We are deliberate about our days, the routine of life aboard, how we spend our time. We are more conscious of the weather, today's, tomorrow's and the days thereafter. And we seem more at peace, more accepting of how our lives are restricted living aboard, and more appreciative of what all we gain from this cruising lifestyle.

10/08/04

This will be one of those maintenance reports so caveat emptor.

As planned, we hauled AT EASE into the York River Yacht Haven yard on 10/04/04 for yearly hull maintenance.  While in the yard, we will pressure wash the bottom and scrape off the barnacles, sand much of the remaining Micron 44 bottom paint off, put on a primer coat to seal the rest in place, and then over paint two coats of Interlux Ultra, an ablative paint with very high numbers for copper and biologic inhibitors, especially formulated for warmer, tropical waters.  I'm sure it won't perform as well as the Micron 44 (with TBT) but it's about as good as I can buy in the US.

I looked the hull over and chose to grind out a few blisters that were now minor but would grow over time.  I have the "fixins" for the West System on board and that is a wonderful set of products for all sorts of boat projects.  I got carried away and soon had the hull looking like purple measles; the garish color of the fairing compound.  Few were blisters.  Most were chips into the gel coat that just seemed to me to need a dab or two of filler. I sanded them down the next day with an electric sander… kept at it until bored and actually got some of the fairing to fair before I quit.  I've already told the surveyor, "the sloppy work is mine." 

Above the water line, I ground out a few stress cracks, spotted a few gouges from too close approaches or some such flaw, and filled them with Marine Tex, another wonderful two part product that hardens like metal and can be used on just about any surface… but rarely can it be used without making a mess. I'll let Shirley sand down and clean up the mess. 

We had already developed a list of projects to complete while on the hard and were determined to resist the phenomenon of "boat yard creep"; that insidious process whereby one adds more and more to the work order for rationalized fantasies such as "It's so convenient here" or "Wouldn't it be nice to…".  We do have to get a current out of water survey to satisfy insurance carriers for next year. They're usually good for three years.  Then we had arranged for a canvas shop to bid on an aft cockpit enclosure (bimini and vinyl windshield and side curtains and such). Those are the big jobs.

I also wanted to finally get our windlass remote functional.  Despite its proclamation of weatherproof, I have found the plugs on the remote and the through deck connector to be fragile and very vulnerable to corrosion.  I'm switching the mounting to below to the bulkhead separating the head from the chain locker where I can simply pass the remote up through the forward hatch, use it, and then return it to a warm and dry environment when finished. I suppose I could also sit on the head and drive the anchor up and down blindly but will probably save that exercise until really slow days when boredom dominates.

Of course there are numerous, little, ankle-biting irritants to be addressed.  I need to re-epoxy (there's that West System again) the batting on some of our mosquito nets.  They take a beating in storage and we really don't use them all that much. I had to seal the through-deck hole forward where the windlass remote used to live… more epoxy.  I'm installing an hour counter and LED indicator on the refrigerator so I will know exactly when and how long the beast is running.  I may also put a counter on the watermaker as several maintenance cycles there are running time related.

I guess I'm really excited about that epoxy.  My green running light had quit working during our bash and crash period coming south in heavy waves.  Underway, I just shifted to the tricolors atop the mast, knowing I could do little on the forepeak when I would be moving up and down some 8' and where I would be knee deep in water at least part of the time. Once on the hard, I went forward and, as I suspected, I had a mixture of corrosion on the electrical contacts and a light fixture essentially beaten apart.  Where it had  been sealed with silicone and fastened with screws into the plastic, it had come apart. The screws had broken out of the plastic. The epoxy pulled it all together again. I cleaned and used dielectric grease on the contacts and reassembled… damn thing works again.  Son of a gun!

We had a few corroded reading lamps in the interior cabin… they too had taken a beating over the years and bits and pieces allowing them to rotate and elevate had become among the missing.  New, bright and shinny brass light fixtures had been purchased for mounting.  Another job done. 

I cycled the two-way valve for the head, waste tank or overboard discharge; those valves freeze up from scaling seemingly within a month if not turned a few times.  Once frozen, they have to be replaced… a job I tend to put off for extended periods.  Shirley climbed down into the lazarette and demonstrated her lithe figure and postural flexibility while checking and filling the batteries with distilled water.  I removed three broken sheaves from the back of the boom, the reefing lines run to the cockpit.  Broken as they were, the reefing lines tended to jam… a nasty experience when hurrying to reduce the mainsail. With the partial remains, I tried to order replacements.  No joy with the catalogues on hand.  Okay… we'll just deal with functionality.  I left the stainless steel shafts for the sheaves in place and will turn lines across these shafts.  Not as good as sheaves, certainly, but I think a not inelegant solution to the problem. The lines may pull harder but certainly will not jam. I replaced the aft shaft zinc.  I'm sure the size isn't quite right but given that it's purpose is to quickly rot away, I think I'll accept that it might create a silly millimeter more of drag or cavitation around the screw.

Both Shirley and I are alert… boatyard creep has begun.  The "week" on the hard has now become the "ten days"… ran out of primer paint they did and had to reorder another quart. There will be more creep… it's inevitable.

10/02/2004

On Friday evening, we dropped off the mooring in Annapolis and headed out for an overnight run down the Chesapeake to York River Yacht Haven at Sarah Creek, VA. The week had been eventful. 

Shirley and her son Greg had continued their non-stop tourist gig up to Wednesday while I had spent the days on chores and shopping trips around Annapolis… collecting propane, mail, all the things to prepare for departure.  That evening, we had arranged to eat dinner with old friends, James and Ellen from MOONSHADOW, cruisers we had met some three years ago in Key West, who were leaving the next day. 

By mid afternoon it began raining.  The remnants of Hurricane Jeannie had arrived.  In foul weather gear, we dinghied in for a evening spent talking about voyages past and future plans, commiserating about boat maintenance problems, and just catching up on the accumulated sea stories.  By the time we returned, 30+ kts of wind and continuing heavy rain had Weems Creek in an uproar.  We pumped out a brimming dingy, full of rain and wave, and launched for the return, against the wind, motoring back out to AT EASE, weaving through all the other closed boats where faces peered out at the sodden fools about on such a night. AT EASE swung fitfully against her mooring tether, squirming in the gusts as we maneuvered alongside.  Wet foulies were left to drip in the cockpit while the wet crew went below into the warm and cozy cabin.

The next day, in conversations with other cruisers at the dinghy landing, we revealed we were indeed the sodden fools of last evening, motoring about in the midst of wind and rain.  "Did you know it blew up to 51 kts last night", they asked? Of course had I know what was coming we wouldn't have left the boat.  But, given that nothing terrible happened, I suspect we faired better in the restaurant, yarning with fellow sailors, than did they, huddled and worried below while Jeannie blustered in her final scene ashore. 

With Greg safely delivered to the airport, we accepted a challenge from a local restaurant to eat all the ribs we wanted, then returned home to sit in stuffed content.  The crew from GRAND EAGLE, Warren and Bobbi, hailed.  We had hoped for a last drink together before we both left the next day.  Late though it was, they had found the time to stop by and we were delighted.  There plans were different from ours, planning cruising more restricted to the East Coast, and they were not planning on heading south this year. There were more stories, more talk about years to come, and more promises to again share an anchorage somewhere down the line.

As we've said before, the people one meets while cruising are among the very best things about the lifestyle.  There is a sadness in leaving folks with whom we have shared so many good times.  But there is an expectation also that we will meet again.  Last year, the wonderful folks of Ocean Springs, MS, took us in yet again. This summer, we have certainly experienced wonderful renewals, some all the more wonderful because of the unexpectedness.  From that great group at Camp Lejeune, Jim and Tonda in particular, to Sandy and Dave in Norfolk, John and Jo in Havre de Grace, Dic and Betty in Baltimore, Warren and Bobbi, and James and Ellen in Annapolis, we have been blessed with opportunities to again share in one another's experiences. With the expectation that we will all meet again, the crew of AT EASE was ready to depart.

There was the final run to the commissary for provisions, the last of the mail was picked up at the dock master’s office, and then the rental car was dropped off. We were ready to go. 

AT 1700, under a blue sky and with light wind from the south, we motored out of Annapolis and settled in for the run down the Bay. Forecasts had called for light winds from the east, but the wind from the south began to build in the early evening and through the night, holding in the high teens and low twenties until noon the following day.  The Chesapeake, like the Gulf, gets stirred up pretty quickly in any sustained wind.  Steep and short interval, 2'-4' waves, with about 15% 6' waves, built barriers for AT EASE to punch through, and punch we did.  The wave interval was frequently shorter than our hull length. We would climb one wave in a fury of spray, sometimes leaping over the crest so quickly the bow would fall into the trough with a crash.  More frequently, the bow would fall into the next wave already building, burying the bowsprit and foredeck in foam.  As we climbed the next wave, water would surge aft down the gunnels, banging into the primary winches, sometimes surging back and forth as we plunged up and down, not fully draining before the next water came aboard. 

Trying to rest below between watches was an exercise in bracing for the next bang.  Sleep was fitful at best.  With the boat pitching so violently, the further astern one is in the boat, the more comfortable.  We may have gotten more rest while standing watch in the cockpit, which stayed pretty dry considering.  We did have to put up the cockpit awning to keep off the spray flying over the top of the boat.

The overnight hours were made even more exciting by the heavy commercial traffic, from barges, both towed and pushed, to large ships, the radar stayed cluttered and it seemed we were maneuvering to avoid traffic much of the night. Those monsters coming up behind us are always exciting.  We don't seem as vigilant to the rear and they can be an unpleasant surprise, already close before really noticed. But only one of those "meeting" events through the night really stood out.

What I think was an unencumbered tug boat, approached from a tangent.  I turned left to get a clearer picture of his lights, hence his course.  From the different perspective, I could see both red and green, meaning he was heading toward me.  I then turned hard right to pass astern.  A minute later, he turned hard right to again head directly toward me.  Again, I turned hard left to move away. He had already painted me with his searchlight, a passing glance.  Now he turned the light on me and left it there.  We were getting closer.  I grabbed the microphone and without preamble said "Captain, with the spot light on me I am blinded and can't see to maneuver."  Instantly he came back, "First I see green, then red, then green… make up your mind."  Some arguments can't be won… I just verified that he felt we were clear.  I was satisfied to have him behind me and I suspect he felt the same about me. 

We brought this beating by the sea on ourselves, of course.  Even given that the forecast was wrong, yet again, we could simply have backed off the speed, slowed the boat, so that we rode the waves rather than forced our way through them.  But we were thinking of the next day and wanted to arrive in the York River during daylight hours so we kept the speed up, ploughed ahead and took our beating. 

Forecasters updated their predictions on Saturday morning, calling for winds less than 10 kts by early afternoon, but also predicting thunderstorms by evening. By noon on Saturday, much to our surprise, the wind laid and the seas rather quickly settled.  Our boat speed picked up and the ride became pleasant once again. Even the threatening skies, darkening during the afternoon, didn't dampen our improved spirits.  I anticipated the anchor down by 1900.  At 1830, just as we saw the first lightening, we slowed and turned into the twisting and shoal channel leading into River Yacht Basin where we would anchor. At 1950, some 27 hours after leaving Annapolis, we declared the hook down.  Immediately after I rigged the anchor light, even before I had gotten below again, the rain started.  Sometime things just work out about right.

09/29/04

Our time in Annapolis is now ending, for this year at least.  Tomorrow, Shirley's son Greg, who has been visiting for a week, will fly home.  On Friday, we'll drop off the mooring and do an overnight down to the York River, to Sarah Creek and York River Yacht Haven, where we'll haul out for a bottom job. Both Shirley and Greg have been absolutely committed to making every daylight hour available for exploring Washington and their schedule has been frenetic. I've been hanging out on the boat, doing some chores and staying available to ferry the erstwhile adventurers back and forth in the dinghy.

We made a decision about venting the lazarette, which doubles as our battery compartment and where corrosive gases have been impacting our inverter and potentially other electronics equally expensive. After discussing the issue with other Lord Nelson owners via our email net, we found there was absolutely no consensus.  The decision was ours.  I did get an idea, however.  It seems it is perfectly acceptable to vent the battery gases, perhaps even some heat off the engine, into the main ship's cabin.  The concentration of corrosive gases then is low and essentially unnoticeable. This averts the dreaded "opening to the sea" that any hole in the exterior creates.  Consider it done.  I now have an inline blower that I can engage when running the engine and/or charging the batteries. A bit more noise, certainly, but not really all that different from the engine's noise.

The voltage regulator replaced last August, decided to quit working.  With all my hands on experience with the electrical system,  I was able to diagnose the problem and replace the regulator in scant minutes with an onboard spare. Of course the 13 month old regulator is warranted for 12 months.

The inverter, damaged by the corrosive gases, still has some brain damage in spite of the new control card.  Apparently the other two printed circuits need replacing as well.  One of these is on backorder and simply unavailable.  The other could be replaced but the unit, while not cured, will produce electricity if manually plugged in so we'll just have to wait to get the inverter completely rebuilt.

We had some soft wood around our shower area. This is certainly related to a bit of a list, a few degrees only, to the port side, which has developed as we have lived aboard and added or stowed various things on AT EASE.  The water from showering just has not drained completely and, over time, even teak complains; grows molds that make the wood spongy soft.  I've injected epoxy into the wood via numerous small drill holes, filled and sanded where necessary, and am now ready to refinish this restored area.  I've even done a bit of backyard engineering to eliminate the residual water. 

Our bottom paint is well past its functional life and both barnacle growth and various decorative vegetations and slimes have found a home.  All that slows the boat and just gets worse if not controlled.  The ugly slime and growth around the waterline has been a problem.  I always assumed it was access to sunlight that made this area more prone to growth.  At a recent meeting of cruisers, a marine paint distributor gave a presentation and probably put his finger on this areas' vulnerability.  Petroleum products kill the paints ability to fend off growth.  Anyone who has been around any harbor, any fuel dock, or any marina knows just how often there is a sheen on the water from someone's spill or leak.

It seems we have wrapped up medical issues for now.  Treatments have been completed, prescriptions for the coming year are filed with our mail-order pharmacy, and all examinations have been completed. Results are back from various tests and seem benign enough so there's no real reason not to get underway.

The remnants of Hurricane Jeanne passed through last evening and overnight with heavy rain and gusty winds, some up to 30 kts, but no real problems apart from some area flooding which obviously bothers us very little. What a year this has been for storms!  Our favorite cruising areas have been battered; Florida, of course, the Bahamas and the Leeward Islands of the Caribbean. I'm sure much of that damage will still be evident as we head south again.

Annapolis has been charming and comfortable as usual.  Perhaps even more so as we have had the luxury of a rental car.  More distant places are suddenly accessible.  Replenishing propane, getting parts or materials, running errands or simply exploring… it's all been made so much easier. As always, there are cruisers in the area, some new friends and some old, and we have enjoyed visiting and swapping tales, talking of places far and near as we all try to make plans for the coming year's destinations. I'm feeling that restlessness, that almost subliminal hunger again, that need to get underway for somewhere.

09/16/2004

AT EASE still rides a mooring in Weems Creek, Annapolis, were we anticipated entertaining dear friends and family who had planned visits.  Best laid plans, and such, a hurricane in particular, got in the way of one of those visits (Drats!), but others are in the offing.

While we wait, we're taking care of various and lingering maintenance issues, both mechanical and medical. Our inverter/charger and Link 1000 energy monitor both burped one night, the inverter to recover with serious brain damage.  The Link monitor did not survive.  However, being the long-range cruiser that I am, I had a spare Link on board.  Out came the old and in went the new… lights and numbers again.  However, the inverter's brain damage would not permit the two units to communicate.  I pulled that hefty monster out of the lazarette, bending and twisting in the nearly impossibly small space, and got it off to a service facility.  Back came the message… corrosion, thus no warranty… new control card needed.  The repairmen suspected water but I know the more likely culprit. The unit sets in the same compartment housing the batteries.  Battery gases are absolutely corrosive but, like everything else on a boat, there has to be a compromise. An ideal location for the inverter is just not available short of intruding on living spaces below and that is not an option.  Some corrosion has been accepted, but now perhaps there is too much for the more electronically sensitive model we currently use.   The compartment can't be vented without some risk of salt-water intrusion in heavy weather which is even worse than the gases.  However, to protect the inverter, an expensive and desirable piece of equipment creating more life comfort, I may have to accept some risk from a ventilating hole in the cockpit.  My plan now is to install a fixture typically used for access to fuel and water tanks from the deck.  I could leave this open when I want ventilation but could screw in a cap that would make it watertight during intervals of heavy weather.  All it would take is a hole, in my boat, through teak, a permanent disfiguration of the boat, forever after visible in the cockpit. Sigh…

It's time to change the oil and filters again.  Even with the small electric pump I picked up in San Juan, PR, changing the oil is still a filthy exercise; one I rarely complete without expletives and oil polluting our home. I'm installing a permanently mounted pump that will give me the option of pumping from the engine's oil drain plug or via a smaller diameter hose inserted down the dipstick's housing.

I've scheduled a haul out for AT EASE on Oct 4; that will be At Sarah Creek on the York River.  We obviously need a new bottom job; to sand and chip off the barnacles and old paint and paint anew. My insurance will require a new out-of-water survey next year so this will be a good opportunity to get that done. We'll take advantage of the time to look into building an enclosed cockpit (bimini and side curtains/screens) for AT EASE's cockpit.  That's another schedule hassle… we'll have to hang around while all that is built and that involves a couple of weeks minimum.

Medical issues continue to cause scheduling chaos.  These are the primary reasons we are still in Annapolis, even why we came back to Annapolis.  I was able to schedule a root canal at the dental school at Bethesda, the National Naval Medical Center.  The drilling and such was done yesterday and may or may not have been successful.  I may still be firmly tethered to the dentist's schedule for more work. A return appointment on the morrow will answer that question.

I did finally get in to see a dermatologist, more accurately in to have her see me. I explained that I used to look better.  She seemed less than impressed.  Two biopsies were scooped away… results to follow in a week or so but nothing particularly frightening hangs in the balance.  We are working now to get our various prescriptions renewed so our mail pharmacy can continue to deliver medications periodically over the next year.

Fall threatens from the north, leaves changing color and swirling about, and more hurricanes, a seemingly endless series of hurricanes, threaten to the south.

09/10/2004

The morning of the 10th dawned bright and sunny, a blue bird day and the first for some time. All the weather seems to have passed by and a gentle high has moved in to dominate.  Forecast for winds from the NW at 10-15 kts, with wind diminishing for the rest of the week, enticed us out of Baltimore and on to Annapolis. 

The anchor came up, bringing with it large quantities of black, odiferous mud and muck. While I plied the deck wash hose to chain and anchor, Shirley moved us out into the channel.  A nagging horn from afar sounded, to distant to really register.  Then another, and another, growing louder, more insistent.  I finally looked up.  Approaching diagonally, moving backwards, perhaps in time, a WW II-era Liberty ship, the USS JOHN BROWN, complete with gray paint and gun tubs, was being moved across the harbor by two tugs, both on the opposite side from us and both apparently anxious that we were converging and they would quickly lose sight of us. I got a bit anxious too.  Folks around us could probably tell as I went charging back to the cockpit yelling "Hard left… hard left."  Shirley calmly brought us around.  She wasn't as impressed as I… but I had never been threatened by collision with WW II before.

We motorsailed past Ft McHenry about the same time they were raising the huge, I mean really huge flag, the one I had not seen on our entry when they flew the much smaller storm flag. Old Francis could certainly have seen this monster from his vantage point down the river. 

We weren't alone.  Boats of all sizes and types were underway, taking advantage of the break in weather.  Back down the Patapsco River we all flowed, eager for the more open waters of the Chesapeake.  A Coast Guard buoy tender passed moving into the harbor and, before we had fully exited, it came back out, moving at a pretty good clip.  We eased off to the side of the identified commercial channel and joined the flow.  Outside the entrance, there were more sailboats than power in sight.  All had sails in the air, some very optimistic with everything out and some more guarded, like myself, with only a headsail to collect the very light air (3-5 kts).  The motor stayed on. 

The day stayed beautiful and the air stayed light. We took advantage of the power to get the watermaker on and in this largely fresh water were producing about 10 gals per hour, topping off our tanks. Saylor climbed up to lay on the captain's seat, right behind the wheel, to better watch the world go by and to position herself so she could nudge my hand from time to time, reminding me to keep rubbing. Even she seemed to enjoy the sun.

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge, visible even as we left Baltimore and marking Annapolis' entrance, gradually grew closer. Large bulk carriers pushed their wall of water ahead, moving 15-20 kts as they negotiated the shipping channel heading north. That bow wave, the green water not the white, must be 4-5' tall. The usual host of day sailing boats cluttered the approaches to Annapolis, making the dodge and weave through the crab pots all the more interesting.  I furled the headsail.  It was just past noon and, as seems the case in the Chesapeake, the wind was building to the advertised 10-15 kts… and the approach to Annapolis is, of course, directly NW, into the wind.

We went inside, through the City's mooring field, circling back toward Back Creek, looking for an unoccupied fuel dock.  We've discovered that marinas, when offered the choice of selling 50 gals of diesel to a sailboat or dockage to a megayacht, seem to prefer the megayachts.  Fuel pumps just disappear behind their multistoried splendor.

Annapolis City Marina's dock was open. We made our turn and eased in alongside the pilings, making a nice soft landing, and took on fuel. I gloat a bit about that landing.  The fuel dock there is the base of a curve with boats in slips on both sides reaching out into harbor. Getting in was tight.  Now came the challenge.  The wind pushed us against the dock.

"What direction does your boat back", the attendant asked.  I smiled… "It's full keel, kind sir, I never really know until I start."  He didn't seem amused, looking as I was at the boats in slips on both sides.  Backing with the wind pushing me down on those slips, with the 6' bowsprit swinging into the dock's pilings, was out of the question.

"Perhaps", I offered, "you could push off the bow as I go forward." At that he really smiled, and his shrug conveyed clearly, "That ain't my job." 

Shirley took the con and I positioned midships.  We took off bow and stern lines and I gave a mighty heave, series of them actually, to push the boat clear, bow slightly more than stern.  Shirley got underway, with just the hint of port helm to keep the stern from swinging and striking.  Another shove at the pilings as they moved past and we had some wiggle room.  Shirley added helm, careful to keep the wind vane steering apparatus sticking off the stern clear, and AT EASE moved back out into more open water.

All that is relative as the "open water" was Annapolis harbor, congested as always with local and visiting boats, kayaking, motoring and sailing, some huge and some small, all intently eyeballing the marvelous panorama, only secondarily managing their vessels. Us too.  It's hard not to be impressed with this so very attractive setting.

We moved back out to the Naval Academy and turned the corner into the Severn River, up past the Campus, to finally turn into Weems Creek and take a mooring, probably the same one we had left some weeks ago.

09/09/2004

The anchorage here in Baltimore's Inner Harbor has been great.  On Tuesday, the PRIDE OF BALTIMORE, a Chesapeake Schooner modern but built in the historical fashion and so rigged, returned from one promotional trip or another and took her berth across the pier from the USS CONNSTELLATION; both some 100 yds away.  What a beautiful ship, with her graceful lines, well tended with gleaming bright work and with those impossibly raked masts, at least 15 degrees to my eye, and her heavy top hamper of yards and square sails on the foremast. 

We are surrounded by trendy restaurants and swarms of visitors, water taxis, paddle boats and simply interesting sights.  Dinghy access to the city is excellent.  Our circumnavigating friends John and Jo (s/v SILKIE) spent the day with us again, making the drive down from Havre de Grace to meet us at Borders Bookstore where we fueled with Starbucks and caught up sharing stories.  With them, we spent the day looking about Fells Point and Little Italy before we retired to AT EASE for sundowners and more sea stories. We ended the evening eating the happy hour (read cheaper) specials at one of the numerous restaurants along the waterfront.

A fortuitous coincidence… the Annual Southbound Cruisers Reunion is being held now at Anchorage Marina here in Baltimore.  We had planned to move to this anchorage anyway to gain closer access to groceries and the local West Marine store.  Now we get to congregate with other cruisers, veteran and newly embarked, trawlers and sailors, to listen to some seminars and just talk cruising.

The weather is catching up with us.  Francis has come roaring up from the south with widespread and heavy rain and wind.  There are tornado watches for much of the surrounding area, Maryland and Pennsylvania, and numerous cells with more intense wind.  From the southwest we have watched heavy and dark clouds build until the harbor has a pronounced wintery flavor. Last night we had high winds much of the night with 20-25 kts being