Cruising World – August 2019

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The forecast that night, along with the GRIB fi les I had

downloaded with the LuckGrib app Monday morning, was

unfortunately accurate. It said the wind would go north on

Thursday, heading us, and increase to 20-plus knots.

That and three ships passing to the east caused me to jibe to

port at sunset, putting distance between us and the ships, and

getting Gannet as far north as possible before the wind shift,

which came at 2045 and began an almost sleepless night.

As I jibed the little sloop back to starboard, lightning fl ickered

to the west. Light, fl uky wind had me standing in the companion-

way trimming sails every half-hour or so, until at 2200 I noticed

that the sky to the southwest was pitch-black, and I realized the

thunderstorms were moving toward us. I barely had time to furl

the jib to a scrap before the storms hit with a brief burst of 25- to

30-knot wind, followed by blinding rain, and a half-hour of close

lightning strikes and deafening thunder. Back in the great cabin, I

listened to big drops of rain splatting on the deck. When the rain

eased, the wind went light and fl uky once again.

In foul weather gear, I went on

deck and unfurled the jib. Because

I didn’t know if all the thunder-

storms had passed, I left the reef

in the main. Spectacular lightning

fl ashed through black sky ahead.

Constant wind shifts kept me

awake until 0100 trimming sails,

and had me up again for good three

hours later. The next morning, the

wind fi nally increased to 10 knots

and settled on the beam. I was

down below enjoying the settled

sailing when I was suddenly star-

tled by a tremendous roar. I leapt

to the companionway to fi nd a

military jet streaking overhead and

two ships to the east. Defi nitely

not the monastery of the sea.

While sitting on deck that

afternoon, I noticed a demarcation

of water—a clear line between light

blue and dark green. As we passed

over it, our speed decreased by a

knot. We had just left the Gulf

Stream.

That night, the wind veered

from north-northwest to northeast

in a minute, backing the jib and

activating the tiller pilot’s off-

course alarm. I went on deck and got us sorted out closehauled

on a port tack, parallel to the coast, and unfortunately heading

out toward the shipping lane. The night—then lovely with silver

light on the water from a gibbous moon, Venus and Jupiter in the

sky astern—would prove to be another of limited sleep.

The wind quickly increased as predicted, and by 2200, Gannet

was pounding into waves. From the companionway, I repeatedly

furled the jib deeper and deeper.

Usually I maintain my passage log in my MacBook, but the next

day, so much water was coming into the cabin despite the spray

hood that I did not dare remove the laptop from its waterproof

case. Later I discovered that the middle toggle securing the side

of the hood had broken, enabling water to get under it. I recorded

our noon position in pencil in a notebook with waterproof paper.

My breakfast was a protein bar. Mixing my usual uncooked

oatmeal and trail mix was far too diffi cult. My dinner was

another protein bar. I did manage to have a can of chicken and

crackers and dried apricots for lunch.

I tacked from port to starboard at dawn when we were

35 miles east-southeast of Cape Hatteras. It was a day of brutal

beauty—wind 20 to 25 knots, gusting 30; dark blue sea; 6-foot

white-crested waves slamming into and over Gannet; boat speeds

of 7 and 8 knots between waves.

I spent some time on deck, braced with my legs and hanging

on with both hands. Ships were often near, and one diverted

course for what I felt was a too-close look at my little sloop.

Perhaps he wanted to see if I needed help. I didn’t.

ON TO CHESAPEAKE BAY

I left the reef in the main and the jib deeply furled the next day.

Gannet could have carried full sail, but there was no point. We

were not going to make Cape Henry before sunset, and I wasn’t

going to enter Chesapeake Bay at night. As we ambled along in

pleasant sunshine, foul-weather gear, food bags and cushions

dried in the cockpit.

Just before sunset, I decided to heave-to 14 miles south of Cape

Henry. In light wind, I brought

Gannet’s bow into the wind to come

about, and the boom fell off the

mast. This happened once before

in the Indian Ocean in the middle

of the night. The nut comes off the

bolt holding the boom to the mast

fi tting. I had used LocTite on that

nut. Still it came off again. With

minimal hassle, I managed to get

everything back together in the

easy conditions. I even still had

some daylight in which to work.

I managed to get some sleep

until 0130, when then 20 miles

south-southeast of Cape Henry

with 7 or 8 knots of wind from the

southwest, I untied the tiller, jibed

and headed in. I had thought I

might get back to sleep for an hour,

but I didn’t. More than a dozen

ships were slowly circling, waiting

to enter the bay.

First light Sunday morning

found Gannet sailing fast just off

Cape Henry and toward a plethora

of buoys marking multiple ship-

ping channels, regulation zones

and shoals signifi cant to shipping

but not Gannet.

The Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel crosses the 12-mile-wide

mouth of the Chesapeake. Most of it is a causeway not far above

water level that dips into tunnels at two places to enable ships to

pass. I headed for the northern opening. According to the current

tables in the AyeTides app, there was a knot of current against us,

but we sailed easily through at 5 knots. The second phase of the

sail was complete. St. Michaels was now 100 miles north.

NOAA weather gave a Small-Craft Advisory for Monday, with

east wind 20 to 25 knots, gusting 30, 5-foot waves and rain, so

I worked my way 20 miles northwest to Mobjack Bay on the

Virginia side and anchored to wait it out. The wind and rain

came and went as predicted.

I woke at 0600 Tuesday to a starry sky and a light east wind. I

raised the mainsail and the anchor, unfurled the jib, and by 0620,

we were gliding out of Mobjack Bay at 3 knots. I expected to

daysail the remaining distance to St. Michaels.

I didn’t. A full moon and my tendency once I start sailing to

keep going prevailed. After a sunny, light-wind hatches-open day,

Georgia

South

Carolina

North Carolina

Virginia

West

Virginia

Maryland

Delaware

Pennsylvania New Jersey

(^0) 62.5 125
Nautical Miles
35º N
40º N
80º W
Hilton Head 75º W
Savannah
St. Michael’s
Cape Henry
Cape
Hatteras
Cape Fear
Charleston
Route of
Gannett
Hurricane Michael
Oct. 7-12, 2018
Hurricane Florence
Aug. 31-Sept. 18, 2018
Start/
Finish
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