(I'd forgotten I asked Four Points to write this up, I'm tired as he said. I just brought my total sleep since Atlantic City up to five hours and decided to write this before turning in again. Since it's written, I may as well post it.)
One of the things Four Points and I discussed on our passage from Atlantic City to Stamford, CT was how post titles affect view counts. He said anything with “Rikers Island” in it would generate big stats so I just threw that in. After all, we went right by it.
He showed up right on time Thursday, Jersey time that it, 45 minute allowance for traffic. After a quick lunch, we were underway from Atlantic City. The wind and forecast were about as good as it gets for a quick and sporty trip up the coast but I wanted to get the batteries fully charged so we ran under power out to Brigantine Shoals. I kept going below to look at the battery monitor and the slow climb of the SOC. Finally I decided that, although AGM batteries are expensive, days like this are priceless so we killed the engine, set the sails, and immediately picked up half a knot.
Being a great believer in energy conservation, I went below almost immediately and snoozed for a couple hours while Brian enjoyed watching the vane gear work and the shore go by. I like lying in a bunk and feeling the boat work as much as being on deck. I’ve seen a lot from that perspective in the past five thousand miles.
I realized just how long a trip this is when I came on deck after what seemed like a long time and looked at the little boat symbol on GPS route. The wind kept increasing and we reefed by stages down to two on the main and three on the jib still tearing along faster than the Yanmar will drive her.
Not long after, I tried to contact a dredge about the location of their pipes since the buoys were hard to see in the swell and seaway. I discovered that the VHF was no longer transmitting so that it could be understood. We were heading for one of the highest traffic areas in the world at night, great. The gremlins are still hard at it on Strider. Four thousand miles with just a burned out light bulb, I guess they were saving it up.
Thanks to the Cape Horn wind vane, we had a sit down dinner. The wind went down with the sun so we shook out reefs but soon had to start the engine. Before the light was fully gone from the sky, the wind had returned. We could have sailed but the prospect of a 0200 – 0400 arrival in the New York harbor approaches tired after sailing all night made us take the easy way out and keep burning the diesel. We double reefed the main again to steady the boat and somewhat decrease the fuel consumption.
We stood informal watches, each getting up and spelling the other when we woke and felt ready. There was no traffic to speak of and Strider just forged along through the dark like a night train as the shore lights slid by.
I had just taken over about six miles from Sandy Hook Channel and sitting in the very cold cockpit looking at the Dickenson heater flame flickering below. It was time when the fatigue starts to seriously set in and the end (we planned to anchor and sleep a while to wait for the fair tide inside Sandy Hook) seems in sight. This thought was followed by a huge “Whump” and the engine RPM’s began to sag. Brian was out of his bunk and on deck nearly as fast as I could push down the throttle lever.
The starter could barely turn the engine engaged in reverse. Clearly, none of the usual tricks for spinning off a fouled trap line were going to work. We were a sailboat again without an engine just entering some of the busiest shipping channels in the world. We pondered and discussed a few different options and I could feel fatigue seriously hampering my decision making abilities. I finally elected to head just across the main Ambrose Channel to a shoal and anchor where there was plenty of room if we dragged. There wasn’t much shelter but we could drag clear to South Africa if it came to that.
The anchor grabbed like a steel hook engaging and we fetched up with a shock. The rode felt like a piece of rebar. It’s nice to be back in good holding ground after all the muck of the Chesapeake. It wasn’t so nice below however. I was levitating an inch or two above my V berth bunk from the wave action. I moved back to the main cabin and we both had a couple hours of sleep, about half of my total since Atlantic City as I write this.
I woke at first light with thoughts of boat brokers and hiking in Colorado filling my head. I called TowboatUS and they put me in touch with the local man who clearly hadn’t had his coffee yet. He asked what we wanted to do and I said that we could probably clear the prop ourselves but needed to get to a dock in quiet water and couldn’t see any that we could sail to. He asked which one we wanted to go to and I said we were depending on him for his local knowledge.
Then followed a long explanation of why we were totally screwed and there wasn’t much point in his towing us anywhere. No marina was going to let us work on the boat ourselves at their dock. The boat would have to be hauled out. Why didn’t we just sail wherever we were going (up the East River?) or home again? I finally convinced him to just dump us at a fuel dock somewhere and we would take it from there. He took us into Gravesend Bay, I signed the paperwork, and he was gone about 30 seconds later saying, “Good Luck”, over his shoulder as the put the throttles forward.
About fifteen minutes later, we were leaving the dock under our own power!
The conditions were perfect. The water was calm and the light just right for seeing a bushel basket sized lump of something black on the prop. I got out my “Hook Knife”.
http://sailorssolutions.com/index.asp?page=ProductDetails&Item=CH01
Nothing I have ever bought for the boat has paid for itself as many times as this tool. It is so indispensable, that I am going to buy a second in case I ever drop or break it. I started pulling and cutting the mess which quickly turned out to be that black mesh tarp you see them burying under dirt on steep hill sides. It is tough! I feel my watch keeping skills vindicated because seeing this black, neutrally buoyant stuff floating under the surface probably wouldn’t have been possible even in bright daylight.
The knife made short work of it and we realized as we headed out that we were actually an hour and a half ahead of our tide schedule, hardly the outcome we were envisioning at O’ Dark Thirty when Brian was explaining how long he would be paying for it if he missed the wedding he and his girlfriend were supposed to attend the day after our arrival.
There was about a four foot by four foot section of this stuff when Brian laid out the pieces on the dock.
The marina never even knew we were there.
The rest of the trip was a pleasant run through the harbor and up the East River where we saw GPS readings of almost 11 knots going through Throgs Neck. We finished the day with a screeching reach up the sound to Stamford.
I’m back in New England but, without the Hook Knife, I would still be down in Gravesend Bay arguing with cantankerous New Yorkers and spending God knows what on a haul out or a diver.
A few more pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2769802424670.96879.1846284215&type=3&l=d67cfa8eae
(BTW Brian did a very good job of figuring out the wind vane. I think he had the boat going straighter faster than I did when I first installed it. He really zipped up that learning curve. Sometimes, it's better to just figure things out yourself.)
One of the things Four Points and I discussed on our passage from Atlantic City to Stamford, CT was how post titles affect view counts. He said anything with “Rikers Island” in it would generate big stats so I just threw that in. After all, we went right by it.
He showed up right on time Thursday, Jersey time that it, 45 minute allowance for traffic. After a quick lunch, we were underway from Atlantic City. The wind and forecast were about as good as it gets for a quick and sporty trip up the coast but I wanted to get the batteries fully charged so we ran under power out to Brigantine Shoals. I kept going below to look at the battery monitor and the slow climb of the SOC. Finally I decided that, although AGM batteries are expensive, days like this are priceless so we killed the engine, set the sails, and immediately picked up half a knot.
Being a great believer in energy conservation, I went below almost immediately and snoozed for a couple hours while Brian enjoyed watching the vane gear work and the shore go by. I like lying in a bunk and feeling the boat work as much as being on deck. I’ve seen a lot from that perspective in the past five thousand miles.
I realized just how long a trip this is when I came on deck after what seemed like a long time and looked at the little boat symbol on GPS route. The wind kept increasing and we reefed by stages down to two on the main and three on the jib still tearing along faster than the Yanmar will drive her.
Not long after, I tried to contact a dredge about the location of their pipes since the buoys were hard to see in the swell and seaway. I discovered that the VHF was no longer transmitting so that it could be understood. We were heading for one of the highest traffic areas in the world at night, great. The gremlins are still hard at it on Strider. Four thousand miles with just a burned out light bulb, I guess they were saving it up.
Thanks to the Cape Horn wind vane, we had a sit down dinner. The wind went down with the sun so we shook out reefs but soon had to start the engine. Before the light was fully gone from the sky, the wind had returned. We could have sailed but the prospect of a 0200 – 0400 arrival in the New York harbor approaches tired after sailing all night made us take the easy way out and keep burning the diesel. We double reefed the main again to steady the boat and somewhat decrease the fuel consumption.
We stood informal watches, each getting up and spelling the other when we woke and felt ready. There was no traffic to speak of and Strider just forged along through the dark like a night train as the shore lights slid by.
I had just taken over about six miles from Sandy Hook Channel and sitting in the very cold cockpit looking at the Dickenson heater flame flickering below. It was time when the fatigue starts to seriously set in and the end (we planned to anchor and sleep a while to wait for the fair tide inside Sandy Hook) seems in sight. This thought was followed by a huge “Whump” and the engine RPM’s began to sag. Brian was out of his bunk and on deck nearly as fast as I could push down the throttle lever.
The starter could barely turn the engine engaged in reverse. Clearly, none of the usual tricks for spinning off a fouled trap line were going to work. We were a sailboat again without an engine just entering some of the busiest shipping channels in the world. We pondered and discussed a few different options and I could feel fatigue seriously hampering my decision making abilities. I finally elected to head just across the main Ambrose Channel to a shoal and anchor where there was plenty of room if we dragged. There wasn’t much shelter but we could drag clear to South Africa if it came to that.
The anchor grabbed like a steel hook engaging and we fetched up with a shock. The rode felt like a piece of rebar. It’s nice to be back in good holding ground after all the muck of the Chesapeake. It wasn’t so nice below however. I was levitating an inch or two above my V berth bunk from the wave action. I moved back to the main cabin and we both had a couple hours of sleep, about half of my total since Atlantic City as I write this.
I woke at first light with thoughts of boat brokers and hiking in Colorado filling my head. I called TowboatUS and they put me in touch with the local man who clearly hadn’t had his coffee yet. He asked what we wanted to do and I said that we could probably clear the prop ourselves but needed to get to a dock in quiet water and couldn’t see any that we could sail to. He asked which one we wanted to go to and I said we were depending on him for his local knowledge.
Then followed a long explanation of why we were totally screwed and there wasn’t much point in his towing us anywhere. No marina was going to let us work on the boat ourselves at their dock. The boat would have to be hauled out. Why didn’t we just sail wherever we were going (up the East River?) or home again? I finally convinced him to just dump us at a fuel dock somewhere and we would take it from there. He took us into Gravesend Bay, I signed the paperwork, and he was gone about 30 seconds later saying, “Good Luck”, over his shoulder as the put the throttles forward.
About fifteen minutes later, we were leaving the dock under our own power!
The conditions were perfect. The water was calm and the light just right for seeing a bushel basket sized lump of something black on the prop. I got out my “Hook Knife”.
http://sailorssolutions.com/index.asp?page=ProductDetails&Item=CH01
Nothing I have ever bought for the boat has paid for itself as many times as this tool. It is so indispensable, that I am going to buy a second in case I ever drop or break it. I started pulling and cutting the mess which quickly turned out to be that black mesh tarp you see them burying under dirt on steep hill sides. It is tough! I feel my watch keeping skills vindicated because seeing this black, neutrally buoyant stuff floating under the surface probably wouldn’t have been possible even in bright daylight.
The knife made short work of it and we realized as we headed out that we were actually an hour and a half ahead of our tide schedule, hardly the outcome we were envisioning at O’ Dark Thirty when Brian was explaining how long he would be paying for it if he missed the wedding he and his girlfriend were supposed to attend the day after our arrival.
There was about a four foot by four foot section of this stuff when Brian laid out the pieces on the dock.
The marina never even knew we were there.
The rest of the trip was a pleasant run through the harbor and up the East River where we saw GPS readings of almost 11 knots going through Throgs Neck. We finished the day with a screeching reach up the sound to Stamford.
I’m back in New England but, without the Hook Knife, I would still be down in Gravesend Bay arguing with cantankerous New Yorkers and spending God knows what on a haul out or a diver.
A few more pictures:
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2769802424670.96879.1846284215&type=3&l=d67cfa8eae
(BTW Brian did a very good job of figuring out the wind vane. I think he had the boat going straighter faster than I did when I first installed it. He really zipped up that learning curve. Sometimes, it's better to just figure things out yourself.)
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