Cruising World – August 2019

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could fi nd a safe anchorage before Michael arrived, said goodbye,

and left Tuesday morning in a fl at calm.

I did not get far.

Glassy water and near-calm conditions had me chasing the

slightest breath of wind all day. At 1630, dead in the water, I gave

up and dropped anchor almost a mile off the shore, having cov-

ered all of 9 miles since leaving the dock. There was no shelter

where I anchored, but we didn’t need any. It was as smooth as

the most perfect harbor.

A light breeze blowing through the open hatches woke me at

430. We had several miles to go before reaching the main part
     of Chesapeake Bay. In darkness broken by stars and a few lights
     on the shore, I raised sails and anchor.
     The wind lasted for a mile, then died. Gannet drifted until the
     breeze returned from the west, and for a change, its bow wave
     gurgled. At 1500 I anchored 20 miles to the south and 5 miles up
     the Little Choptank River in 10 to 12 feet of water 200 yards off
     the north shore. North-northwest winds 35 to 40 knots, gusting
     higher, were forecast for the following night.
     Somehow the area around Savannah, Georgia, and Hilton
     Head has preempted the name Low Country, but the East Coast

is low for a thousand miles. I am not aware of a coastal hill south

of New Jersey. The shores of Chesapeake Bay look exactly like

Hilton Head. Tall trees. A few scattered homes. Flat.

Thursday was a quiet day at anchor. That afternoon I made

my fi nal preparations. I tied a line around the clew of the jib so it

could not possibly unfurl. I put shock cords on halyards to prevent

them rattling against the mast, and I let out 30 more feet of rode,

for a total of 150 feet. While I prefer to anchor on all chain, one of

the advantages of mostly line rodes is that line is so easy to bring

back in that I do not hesitate to let out more. Gannet’s rode is 20

feet of ¼-inch chain and 200 feet of ½-inch plaited nylon line,

which has a breaking strength of 6,000 pounds, enough to lift the

little boat three times. Rain drove me below while I was having a

sunset drink on deck. I went to sleep at 2100.

Wind woke me at 0300, gusting 37 knots and pushing Gannet

around, but there were no waves, and it remained mostly level.

That was the highest wind I saw before I went back to sleep.

Friday the wind continued to blow in the 20s. None of the

local boats worked the river. In misty rain, I sailed off the anchor

at fi rst light Saturday morning, down the river, and turned

south out in the bay. A Small-Craft Advisory was in effect, and

it was accurate. But the 20- to 25-knot wind was behind us and

provided great sailing. The little sloop fl ew south.

The mouth of the Potomac River is a surprising 6 miles wide,

far wider than the Mississippi River at St. Louis. I was headed

for an anchorage just inside the north side of that mouth.

As we neared the river at 1600, I lowered the mainsail, partial-

ly furled the jib, and moved the anchor and rode deployment bag

onto the foredeck, tying the anchor to the pulpit so it could not

fall overboard accidentally. A good move because as we turned

into the river, we were stopped dead by 4-foot waves like saw

teeth, straight up and down. They broke over the bow and swept

the deck. I instantly knew that anchorage was not going to

happen and that another all-nighter was, and turned south.

Again I got some sleep sitting at the position I call “central”—

sitting in a Sport-a-Seat on the fl oorboards, facing aft—counting

the hours till dawn, but I was continuously awake after 0300

when I had to weave our way through a fl eet of anchored ships

awaiting dock space.

The wind had decreased, so we slipped almost silently across

bows looming high above us and alongside brightly lit hulls. I

thought of how different the experience of the sea is of those

on board than is mine.

I had timed our arrival at the bridge/tunnel for dawn; at dawn,

there it was, 2 miles ahead. I had been sailing under jib alone

and now raised the mainsail. Again I headed for the northern

break. A ship came out of Norfolk, Virginia, heading east for the

southern break.

As the sky brightened, I watched cars and trucks move

along the causeway and disappear as they descended into the

tunnel. At 0800 Gannet sailed through the gap, and happiness

washed over me as waves so often have. I had enjoyed visiting

the Chesapeake, my time at the Maritime Museum, the Mid-

Atlantic Small Craft Festival and seeing friends again, but those

waters are not mine. Although we would turn south and follow

the coast back to Skull Creek, there was quiet satisfaction in

knowing that the nearest land ahead was 3,000 miles distant.

Webb Chiles recently completed his sixth circumnavigation, this one in

his Moore 24 Gannet. Learn more about the intrepid sailor and his

travels on his website (inthepresentsea.com).

A DASH BETWEEN HURRICANES

All sorts of interesting vessels are on display at the Mid-Atlantic Small Craft Festival, from kayaks and rowboats to the

author’s Moore 24, Gannet, and the 131-year-old racing yacht, Elf.

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