The Long Slog South

Running the Gauntlet

My first sail on a big boat was the sea trial for the old Cal 30 my parents bought when I was 10 years old.  It was a blustery day and a boisterous sail that, at one point, had me in ankle-deep water as I stood on the backrest of the cockpit bench while water poured in from over the side.  An anxious look at my father’s smiling face assured me that this was normal – an experience that was to seriously skew my concept of sailing for years to come.   In fact, when we were teenagers, my brothers and I loved to take the boat out and skirt along the squall lines to ride the bigger winds and seas.   It wasn’t until later – after riding out gale-force winds off Gun Cay and sailing in 20’ seas back to Fort Lauderdale where we were told that the Coast Guard had been out rescuing people all day  – that I began to realize that my father, a former merchant mariner, wasn’t much afraid of anything that could happen on the water.  This turned out to be good preparation for sailing in the Bay Area and ocean racing with Ken in all kinds of conditions.  Nonetheless, something has happened to me along the way and I’m slowly but surely warming up to the idea of being a fair-weather sailor.   Looking at the all-male crews around us as we travel south, I’m thinking that those wives who fly in to the destination and skip the long slog south are onto something! 

Autumn colors on the Alligator River, NC

Last month, I was chatting with some cruisers in the marina’s laundry room in Charleston, SC, commiserating about the weather, which was just about to go south.  Literally.  In fact, the wind was picking up as we spoke and the warm, humid air that was pushing before it had everything on the boat dripping with moisture.  It was mid-November and the weather patterns were quickly transitioning from warm summer highs to the autumn lows that bring unstable, cold air, north winds, and rough seas.  This particular group of cruisers was the experienced-sailors-but-first-time-cruisers variety.  They were new to planning their entire lives around weather windows, estimated distance that could be covered, and potential access to groceries and marine supplies; and I had little helpful advice for them there that Active Captain couldn't provide.  Although I understand the insurance companies’ policy of not allowing boaters to go south of Cape Hatteras before November, they do increase our risk by forcing us to travel at a time when cold fronts are marching down the coast one after the other.   Sailing south becomes about best guesses, taking chances, and cutting your losses.  There was much grumbling about the wind and the cold but, as burdens go, I’m not averse to bearing it knowing that warmer climes are just ahead. 

 

Looking forward to 80 degrees!

The Art of Forecasting

Even in the best of times, weather is always a little bit unpredictable.  Heading out of Beaufort Inlet, NC, weather reports told us to expect 20kt winds that would gradually abate over our expected 36-hour trip to Charleston, SC.  While the wind was indeed 20kts when we started and it did lessen over 24 hours, for the last 10 or so hours, it strengthened again.  Instead of the anticipated 5kts of wind, we had 25-30kts, with a following sea that was quickly building.  It wasn’t anything we couldn’t manage, but it did catch us by surprise and made for some fairly unnerving maneuvering (clipped into a harness and the boat) trying to wrestle our big, unreefed mainsail under control.  Needless to say, our last 8 hours into Charleston Harbor were faster than they would otherwise have been.  But that’s just the thing…. even when you’ve checked out the local weather reports, NOAA’s marine forecast, grib files, and weather models, and touched base with your favorite weather guru (e.g., Chris Parker), the actual weather is prone to change.  At best, you have to run the engine because the wind has died or you’re uncomfortable because the seas are a disorganized 6-8’ instead of a 3-5’ swell.  At worst, you’re in way over your head and you and your crew or your boat is in danger.  We prefer sailing on the outside (i.e., the ocean) rather than going down the intracoastal waterway (ICW).  For one thing, we can sail; for another, it’s faster.  It’s not necessarily easier, but it is faster; and when crazy stuff happens, I’m grateful for the experiences of our San Francisco sailing days when 30+ kts of wind was just another walk in the park.  

Red Sky at night....

Sailing on “the outside” as it were, we miss much of the inland beauty that can be enjoyed on a leisurely trip down the ICW.  Nonetheless, with temperatures dipping more frequently into the 30’s, we were motivated to move – and move fast.  In hindsight, our long hops from Morehead City, NC to Charleston, SC, and from Charleston to St. Augustine, FL were fairly benign.  Leaving St. Augustine the day after Thanksgiving, however, we were subjected to a sloppy following sea, making for a miserable washing machine effect that plagued us all the way to Port Canaveral.  A steady strong breeze allowed us to sail – a definite bonus – but neither Ken nor I got much sleep off watch as we were tossed and turned about in our bunk.  It was a quiet night, as shipping traffic goes, and there wasn’t much to see except for the bioluminescence frothing in our wake.  After spending a few days in Cocoa Village seeing family and re-stocking, we took a break from the ocean and meandered down the ICW to Lake Worth.  Another family/provisioning frenzy in N. Palm Beach and then we were riding long swells down to Fort Lauderdale yesterday, just ahead of a cold front.  Today, there are distress calls up and down the S. Florida coast due to the huge surf that developed overnight.  For once, we’ve timed things just right.

 

A different kind of explorer, entering Port Canaveral

Feeding frenzy off St. Augustine

Traveling Companions

It’s always fun to pull into the harbor and see a familiar boat.  In Charleston, we docked right across from our friends on Song One and, just a few days later, they pulled up beside us in St. Augustine.   Other cruiser friends touch base with e-mails and texts and are either just ahead, or just behind, us.  Glass Slipper was getting hauled out in the boatyard in Green Cove Springs (Jacksonville) just before we made it to Florida.   Rollick pulled into St. Augustine right after we left and Ally Cat was hoping to catch up to us before we cross.   While underway, boaters are required to monitor channel 16 on the VHF.  Listening to boat chatter all day, some names start to sound familiar; and, once in a while, you hear someone that you know.  While sailing from Charleston, we were hailed at night by L’Avenir – an Austrian boat whose crew we met in Washington, DC.  They had heard us speaking with another passing boat and wanted to say hello.  It turned out they had also left from Charleston that day, but were heading straight on to Canaveral while we were stopping in St. Augustine.  And so it goes, leap-frogging down the coast until we reach a destination we don’t want to leave.  Along the way, we intersect with family and friends, old and new, and enjoy the occasional encounter with the wildlife that are also on the move.  Day after day on the open ocean, pods of dolphins (Spotted and Bottlenose) played at our bow while we sat up forward and shared their sense of abandon.  

Daredevil Dolphin

Pair of Spotted Dolphins off our bow

One afternoon, a solitary Bottlenose Dolphin showed up to play.  She would surf the bow wave for a while, then dash up ahead, diving deep and waiting for the boat to catch up to her before speeding in from the side for another ride.  After 15 minutes or so, she leaped into the air three times and then swam away.  I imagine that the same shenanigans take place at night, but I can’t say for sure.  On one moonless night I got a whiff of a strong, fishy smell that I can only assume was a whale.  We were, after all, in the Right Whale critical habitat, but saw none in daylight hours.  And that’s the way it is with our fellow travelers – we know they’re out there, but we don’t always see them.  As we spend the next couple of days in Fort Lauderdale waiting for our next weather window, we are anticipating the camaraderie of this loose collection of nomads who sail in and out of our lives, connected by a shared love of living on the water. 

Full moon rising over Lake Worth