I should have saved the title of my previous post for this one. Or, maybe it was prescient. Anyway, after over half a century of sailing and cruising, I finally ran aground. Oh sure, I’ve bumped before while poking around in places where that was an expected part of the game but, I’ve never had an experience meeting this forum’s definition of “Running Aground”.
During my first trip, I counted off the states I went through without the keel touching bottom until I had to plow through a mud bank about 100 yard into Georgia. The many shallow spots that I’ve plowed through since show the accuracy of the definition we came up with then.
Well, I can’t duck this one. We were coming around the infamous corner in the Amelia River at Marker 18 headed for St. Marys. I had the GPS zoomed too far out so it looked like I was close to the course I had laid over my southbound track. Dreameagle came up from below and, with that distraction and momentary blocking of the GPS, I swung too soon. “Squish!”, we were stuck. Backing off with a strong wind and current behind us clearly wasn’t going to work so I tried bulling through. The numbers on the depth sounder just kept dropping and Strider began to heel. I rolled out the jib but the additional heel and drive wouldn’t budge here even with the engine running hard. Nothing for it but to wait it out, stuck fast right on the line between the two red markers (the favored side here).
We stuck at 1355 with about four inches of the minus tide yet to drop and the sounder reading 3.8 feet. By 1500, the heel was easing. A powerboat went by and I felt the keel bumping bottom with the wake. A lot of power and a bit of jib got the head around and she began to move. Ten minutes later, we were underway scraping and plowing over and through the other little humps in this section.
We were still on schedule to make St. Marys in time for happy hour but the stiff west wind sending spray over the bow and the prospect of the current in the river turning us stern to it made me opt for the shorter run up inside Drum Point Island across from Cumberland. The shelter here is rather minimal and we are bouncing around a bit but the current is only setting us sideways with the chop broken by the low shore a few hundred yards away. Hopefully, the wind will go down with the sun.
They say there are two kinds of sailors, those who have run aground and liars. I've been proud to be a liar for over half a century but I guess I'm not one anymore.
During my first trip, I counted off the states I went through without the keel touching bottom until I had to plow through a mud bank about 100 yard into Georgia. The many shallow spots that I’ve plowed through since show the accuracy of the definition we came up with then.
As long as the boat keeps moving, it doesn’t count.
Well, I can’t duck this one. We were coming around the infamous corner in the Amelia River at Marker 18 headed for St. Marys. I had the GPS zoomed too far out so it looked like I was close to the course I had laid over my southbound track. Dreameagle came up from below and, with that distraction and momentary blocking of the GPS, I swung too soon. “Squish!”, we were stuck. Backing off with a strong wind and current behind us clearly wasn’t going to work so I tried bulling through. The numbers on the depth sounder just kept dropping and Strider began to heel. I rolled out the jib but the additional heel and drive wouldn’t budge here even with the engine running hard. Nothing for it but to wait it out, stuck fast right on the line between the two red markers (the favored side here).
We stuck at 1355 with about four inches of the minus tide yet to drop and the sounder reading 3.8 feet. By 1500, the heel was easing. A powerboat went by and I felt the keel bumping bottom with the wake. A lot of power and a bit of jib got the head around and she began to move. Ten minutes later, we were underway scraping and plowing over and through the other little humps in this section.
We were still on schedule to make St. Marys in time for happy hour but the stiff west wind sending spray over the bow and the prospect of the current in the river turning us stern to it made me opt for the shorter run up inside Drum Point Island across from Cumberland. The shelter here is rather minimal and we are bouncing around a bit but the current is only setting us sideways with the chop broken by the low shore a few hundred yards away. Hopefully, the wind will go down with the sun.
They say there are two kinds of sailors, those who have run aground and liars. I've been proud to be a liar for over half a century but I guess I'm not one anymore.
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