I cut my Solomons visit short due to weather report and local advice about getting past the Potomac with the wind predicted for tomorrow. My one day there was great. The crew of the Rachel Carson took me out to lunch and I got to see her with the maturity of having been in service for a few years. For a naval architect, seeing a boat this way and having everyone tell you how well it performs is right up there with the children and grandchildren business. I did laundry in their shore facility and the captain helped me take Strider over to the fuel dock to bring her fuel load up to the full 38 gallons and I was ready for an early departure.
I woke again to thick fog. Solomons, and everything else, disappeared about 200 yards past the channel entrance. Pretty routine for Maine and Canada cruising but I’ve sort of gotten into the Chesapeake Bay mindset so I was seeing it through the eyes of local sailors.
There was a fair amount of fishing traffic going out with me as well as crab pot buoys so it reminded me of that wonderful mental state I remember from my flying days, attentive without being tense, alert without being concerned. I was keeping up the same kind of cyclical scan, radar targets, water dead head , depth, course, side and rear, radar, water…. There’s no room for idle or random thoughts.
I left the traffic behind turning south down the bay and it became less like flying and more like boating. I remained seemingly motionless in the center of the bottom of a well with grey sides . The well slowly shrank and enlarged but that is all I saw for hours. It swelled out enough in the mouth of the Potomac for a couple fishing boats to appear (must be all the hot air drifting downstream from DC) but quickly shrank to the point that I didn’t see the buoy off Smith Point even though radar and GPS confirmed it to be less than .2 nm away.
Just two miles from the entrance to the Grand Wicomico River, the fog suddenly lifted and I could see the shore. It was visually like having been transported, albeit slowly, from one place to another many miles distant, through a wormhole. If not for the GPS, instruments, and wake, it would have looked like not moving at all until there was suddenly a new place beyond my bow.
I went up the river along with four huge Menhaden boats returning ahead of tomorrow’s un-fishable weather to the gigantic base and processing plant. I used to work for the company that did all the naval architecture for this fleet, modifications, stability, measured tonnage changes, etc. We all hated “Pogy boats” because there were few plans and every job required a huge amount of detective work. But is was part of my early career so I remember it fondly.
I now looked at it grimly however. Menhaden are filter feeders which Chesapeake Bay desperately needs to help restore it. Virginia allows this giant fleet to scoop up most of them before they can make it up the bay because of the jobs it creates. Looking at well over a dozen huge craft, and knowing from years ago the size of the nets they deploy, I knew that I was looking at an appreciable proportion of the biomass extraction capacity of the entire New England ground fishing fleet. These fish have a better use than as pet and livestock food.
It was not without humor however. The boat in front of me dropped off its two purse seine boats which then headed off, tied together with the net strung between their power blocks, for a dock. The mother ship started blowing it’s horn. I thought perhaps I was in the way of turning towards their dock but I could see that no one was looking at me. More and more people gathered on the bridge wing and bow waving hard hats and lifejackets but looking at the departing net boats. They clearly couldn’t go any further up the channel.
I put the throttle forward and ran up to the dock where the net boat crews were rapidly putting the boats to bed. You could tell it was Miller time and they were focused hard on leaving. I yelled from a few yards away that their boat wanted them. There was clearly a language issue. I was getting blank looks. Finally I waved my arms like the big boat was doing and then pointed towards the mother ship. Light finally dawned. There was some waving yelling on the purse boats and a radio came on.
I heard, “The other dock you idiots. NEXT TIME DON’T TURN THE RADIO OFF!”
The purse boats backed out of the slip and headed towards the main facility and I continued up to Reedville. This is an interesting little town. There is enough wind predicted for tomorrow that I may stay and see some of it. However, it will be a beam reach in the lee of the land. Equally strong winds on the nose are on tap for the next day. First prize: A day in Reedville. Second prize: Two days in Reedville. I’m not going to make a decision until I see the updated weather forecast and look out the companionway in the morning.
I woke again to thick fog. Solomons, and everything else, disappeared about 200 yards past the channel entrance. Pretty routine for Maine and Canada cruising but I’ve sort of gotten into the Chesapeake Bay mindset so I was seeing it through the eyes of local sailors.
There was a fair amount of fishing traffic going out with me as well as crab pot buoys so it reminded me of that wonderful mental state I remember from my flying days, attentive without being tense, alert without being concerned. I was keeping up the same kind of cyclical scan, radar targets, water dead head , depth, course, side and rear, radar, water…. There’s no room for idle or random thoughts.
I left the traffic behind turning south down the bay and it became less like flying and more like boating. I remained seemingly motionless in the center of the bottom of a well with grey sides . The well slowly shrank and enlarged but that is all I saw for hours. It swelled out enough in the mouth of the Potomac for a couple fishing boats to appear (must be all the hot air drifting downstream from DC) but quickly shrank to the point that I didn’t see the buoy off Smith Point even though radar and GPS confirmed it to be less than .2 nm away.
Just two miles from the entrance to the Grand Wicomico River, the fog suddenly lifted and I could see the shore. It was visually like having been transported, albeit slowly, from one place to another many miles distant, through a wormhole. If not for the GPS, instruments, and wake, it would have looked like not moving at all until there was suddenly a new place beyond my bow.
I went up the river along with four huge Menhaden boats returning ahead of tomorrow’s un-fishable weather to the gigantic base and processing plant. I used to work for the company that did all the naval architecture for this fleet, modifications, stability, measured tonnage changes, etc. We all hated “Pogy boats” because there were few plans and every job required a huge amount of detective work. But is was part of my early career so I remember it fondly.
I now looked at it grimly however. Menhaden are filter feeders which Chesapeake Bay desperately needs to help restore it. Virginia allows this giant fleet to scoop up most of them before they can make it up the bay because of the jobs it creates. Looking at well over a dozen huge craft, and knowing from years ago the size of the nets they deploy, I knew that I was looking at an appreciable proportion of the biomass extraction capacity of the entire New England ground fishing fleet. These fish have a better use than as pet and livestock food.
It was not without humor however. The boat in front of me dropped off its two purse seine boats which then headed off, tied together with the net strung between their power blocks, for a dock. The mother ship started blowing it’s horn. I thought perhaps I was in the way of turning towards their dock but I could see that no one was looking at me. More and more people gathered on the bridge wing and bow waving hard hats and lifejackets but looking at the departing net boats. They clearly couldn’t go any further up the channel.
I put the throttle forward and ran up to the dock where the net boat crews were rapidly putting the boats to bed. You could tell it was Miller time and they were focused hard on leaving. I yelled from a few yards away that their boat wanted them. There was clearly a language issue. I was getting blank looks. Finally I waved my arms like the big boat was doing and then pointed towards the mother ship. Light finally dawned. There was some waving yelling on the purse boats and a radio came on.
I heard, “The other dock you idiots. NEXT TIME DON’T TURN THE RADIO OFF!”
The purse boats backed out of the slip and headed towards the main facility and I continued up to Reedville. This is an interesting little town. There is enough wind predicted for tomorrow that I may stay and see some of it. However, it will be a beam reach in the lee of the land. Equally strong winds on the nose are on tap for the next day. First prize: A day in Reedville. Second prize: Two days in Reedville. I’m not going to make a decision until I see the updated weather forecast and look out the companionway in the morning.
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