One unanticipated aspect of resuming the cruising frame of mind is learning the exercise of free will. It’s like a muscle and it’s tight when unused for a while. I’ve spent months waiting passively for my future to be decided so I was pacing the cabin (half a step forward, half a step back) last night trying to decide what to do.
A couple of decisions that didn’t work out quite so well recently have left me a bit gun shy. I thought I was in a good lee under the very high shoreline where I last posted but I woke in the middle of the night with waves slamming heavily under the stern. Strider is particularly unforgiving when the tide turns her stern into the wind. The dinghy was also banging and jerking against the fenders where I had tied it alongside. That’s still best I can do in a wind against tide situation. Better than having it banging the bow next to my ear.
I went out and looked at the wind, the Windex indicated that it was blowing straight off the bluff but the waves were marching up the river as if it were due south. The Chesapeake is strange.
Every time I’ve passed Turkey point going north or south, I’ve felt some guilt at not making the long run up the channel to Harve de Grace to see Peter and Pat, the owners of my schooner which has twice won her class in the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. However, there is no good anchorage and I always seem to be passing when the marina budget seems particularly low.
This year, the Susan B. Merryman wasn’t in the water yet so Peter offered me the use of his mooring. So, I ran up the long channel in a stiff, cold, raw wind. There was no pendant on the ball and a strong current flowing down the Susquehanna so it was a neat bit of work picking up the mooring singlehanded and shackling on the pendant I carry for such occasions. I don’t feel the least embarrassed that it took me a couple of passes to get everything to work out just right in front of the Pride of Baltimore II docked just inshore.
The day turned sunny and beautiful. Peter and Pat were away until Monday so I walked around enjoying the celebration of the bicentennial of the British burning of the town. I didn’t know what the event was until I got there. I was wondering about the fireworks the night before, whether they were for the victory of government forces at Kent State or the release of the first “Star Wars” movie.
I also got to see the schooner out of the water for the first time since about the year Strider was built (1980) and the hull only just finished. I could see why she’s so fast. She’s a big, heavy, powerful boat and takes a while to get moving but, once she does, there is little in the stern to hold her back.
I woke after less than an hour of sleep to banging and pounding so horrendous that I thought until I reached the deck that I might have broken loose and be up against the side of the “Pride”. A stiff and un-forecast wind had sprung up blowing over the longest fetch possible. The waves were reflecting off the seawall with the hard tide running and holding Strider right in the troughs. The dinghy was flinging itself against the sides and even hitting the lifeline stanchions on the deep rolls. Another bit of neat work: getting it aboard and onto the foredeck with the spinnaker halyard, singlehanded.
Ten minutes after falling asleep again, there was pounding against the hull by my head that made me fear for the fiberglass layup. The hard ball that the big and rugged schooner co-exists with quite comfortably was being thrown into my topsides with more force than almost any docking mistake I have ever made. I ended up standing in the cockpit for what seemed like an hour running the engine in reverse with spray flying over the stern and the boat quivering with the pounding to hold her off the ball while I tried to wake up enough to figure out what to do.
I finally got the anchor inboard off the bow roller (that was fun) and the mooring pendant re-run through it without fumbling anything and casting the boat loose. I then pulled the ball up tight so it couldn’t hit the hull and went below to sort of sleep with the boat feeling like a flat bottom scow driving hard to windward under power.
I woke from my semi doze when the tide changed and the chain, with the ball now at the real bow, snubbing hard with the pitching. I slacked off the mooring line and things calmed down. The wind went down shortly before morning and I got a little sleep.
I told Peter at lunch that I greatly appreciated and regretted their dinner invitation but I couldn’t go through that again so I ran around here to Chesapeake City after our crab cake sandwiches.
Rounding the turn into the basin, I heard someone yell, “Roger”. It was my friend from Portland who led the fleet of boats south that I originally planned to cruise with but ended up skipping along just ahead of all the way to the low country. The prospect of doing the long legs back to Long Island Sound in company brightened my mood instantly.
I went over to see them the next morning and learned that they have been held up so long by all this weird weather that they are in “Damn the torpedoes!”, mode. My pacing last night was trying to decide whether to join them in their delivery style rush north. There are a couple of single hander’s in the group of boats but they are still planning to go straight through from Atlantic City to Port Washington. Even in a group of boats watching out for each other, a 20 hour run in less than perfect weather didn’t seem very appealing even though I’m also getting channel fever about being back in New England again.
I woke up this morning still undecided but quickly made a decision after opening an email from a friend from CT who can join me for the trip next week. I’m going to cruise up to Philly which is easy for him to get to and to have something slightly unusual to write about here. In the meantime, I’ve moved into the just vacated free space at the docks and am resuming what I’ve gotten so good at over the past few months, just hanging out.
BTW, if anyone is interested in the Philly to Stamford run or some portion of it, a third person would make it even easier.
A couple of decisions that didn’t work out quite so well recently have left me a bit gun shy. I thought I was in a good lee under the very high shoreline where I last posted but I woke in the middle of the night with waves slamming heavily under the stern. Strider is particularly unforgiving when the tide turns her stern into the wind. The dinghy was also banging and jerking against the fenders where I had tied it alongside. That’s still best I can do in a wind against tide situation. Better than having it banging the bow next to my ear.
I went out and looked at the wind, the Windex indicated that it was blowing straight off the bluff but the waves were marching up the river as if it were due south. The Chesapeake is strange.
Every time I’ve passed Turkey point going north or south, I’ve felt some guilt at not making the long run up the channel to Harve de Grace to see Peter and Pat, the owners of my schooner which has twice won her class in the Great Chesapeake Bay Schooner Race. However, there is no good anchorage and I always seem to be passing when the marina budget seems particularly low.
This year, the Susan B. Merryman wasn’t in the water yet so Peter offered me the use of his mooring. So, I ran up the long channel in a stiff, cold, raw wind. There was no pendant on the ball and a strong current flowing down the Susquehanna so it was a neat bit of work picking up the mooring singlehanded and shackling on the pendant I carry for such occasions. I don’t feel the least embarrassed that it took me a couple of passes to get everything to work out just right in front of the Pride of Baltimore II docked just inshore.
The day turned sunny and beautiful. Peter and Pat were away until Monday so I walked around enjoying the celebration of the bicentennial of the British burning of the town. I didn’t know what the event was until I got there. I was wondering about the fireworks the night before, whether they were for the victory of government forces at Kent State or the release of the first “Star Wars” movie.
I also got to see the schooner out of the water for the first time since about the year Strider was built (1980) and the hull only just finished. I could see why she’s so fast. She’s a big, heavy, powerful boat and takes a while to get moving but, once she does, there is little in the stern to hold her back.
I woke after less than an hour of sleep to banging and pounding so horrendous that I thought until I reached the deck that I might have broken loose and be up against the side of the “Pride”. A stiff and un-forecast wind had sprung up blowing over the longest fetch possible. The waves were reflecting off the seawall with the hard tide running and holding Strider right in the troughs. The dinghy was flinging itself against the sides and even hitting the lifeline stanchions on the deep rolls. Another bit of neat work: getting it aboard and onto the foredeck with the spinnaker halyard, singlehanded.
Ten minutes after falling asleep again, there was pounding against the hull by my head that made me fear for the fiberglass layup. The hard ball that the big and rugged schooner co-exists with quite comfortably was being thrown into my topsides with more force than almost any docking mistake I have ever made. I ended up standing in the cockpit for what seemed like an hour running the engine in reverse with spray flying over the stern and the boat quivering with the pounding to hold her off the ball while I tried to wake up enough to figure out what to do.
I finally got the anchor inboard off the bow roller (that was fun) and the mooring pendant re-run through it without fumbling anything and casting the boat loose. I then pulled the ball up tight so it couldn’t hit the hull and went below to sort of sleep with the boat feeling like a flat bottom scow driving hard to windward under power.
I woke from my semi doze when the tide changed and the chain, with the ball now at the real bow, snubbing hard with the pitching. I slacked off the mooring line and things calmed down. The wind went down shortly before morning and I got a little sleep.
I told Peter at lunch that I greatly appreciated and regretted their dinner invitation but I couldn’t go through that again so I ran around here to Chesapeake City after our crab cake sandwiches.
Rounding the turn into the basin, I heard someone yell, “Roger”. It was my friend from Portland who led the fleet of boats south that I originally planned to cruise with but ended up skipping along just ahead of all the way to the low country. The prospect of doing the long legs back to Long Island Sound in company brightened my mood instantly.
I went over to see them the next morning and learned that they have been held up so long by all this weird weather that they are in “Damn the torpedoes!”, mode. My pacing last night was trying to decide whether to join them in their delivery style rush north. There are a couple of single hander’s in the group of boats but they are still planning to go straight through from Atlantic City to Port Washington. Even in a group of boats watching out for each other, a 20 hour run in less than perfect weather didn’t seem very appealing even though I’m also getting channel fever about being back in New England again.
I woke up this morning still undecided but quickly made a decision after opening an email from a friend from CT who can join me for the trip next week. I’m going to cruise up to Philly which is easy for him to get to and to have something slightly unusual to write about here. In the meantime, I’ve moved into the just vacated free space at the docks and am resuming what I’ve gotten so good at over the past few months, just hanging out.
BTW, if anyone is interested in the Philly to Stamford run or some portion of it, a third person would make it even easier.
