Kaimusailing

Here is a brief account of the last week and a half after "Day One" which left me in Manasquan, New Jersey with a port hull full of mushy paper, mostly old cookbooks which had soaked their fill of water. I spent 5 days there installing a through hull fitting and plumbing the sink to it, ran all the soggy clothing through the laundromat, and proceeded to the gas dock to fill up. I went south along the coast with an offshore northwesterly wind pushing me along.

My navigation technique was to set a point ahead on the computer map and let the nav software set a course to steer. Since my compass wasn't swung yet and in fact was off by quite a bit, I steered close to what I thought the course would be. For instance if I had been steering 185 but the new course would be 10 degrees more than my old course (on the computer), then I'd steer 195 and see how the GPS course compared to the course to steer. After a few adjustments I'd be right on course, no need to take into account currents and wind pushing the boat. The GPS would give me my actual course over the ground. However, sometimes the Fugawi software would start acting funny and would have to be rebooted. In some cases it would zoom the chart display but the position and track would now be out of position. Also sometimes it would add a projection to the track, even though I hadn't gone there yet.

When I crossed the mouth of the Delaware Bay it was very rough. I found water on the floor of the pilothouse all the time. My feet were wet and condensation would fog up the portlights. By running the generator I would charge one of the three batteries and also run the electric heater. Not much of a sailing story, more like a trucker driving his 18 wheeler down a one lane road at 5 mph. I pulled into Ocean City, Maryland, the next morning and it was very cold. Nothing was open and I needed fuel. I found the commercial fishing port and entered and tied up to a gas dock.
There was snow on the deck. I took all my damp things from the pilothouse with me to a motel and toasted them dry on the forced air heat.

I noticed the cell phone wasn't taking a charge and the battery was low. Also the VHF radio was dead with moisture inside the display. Almost everything electronic was soaked, however the laptop and GPS were still running fine. I gassed up the next morning and set out for Norfolk and the Intracoastal Waterway. I went through the mouth of Chesapeake Bay and into a strong northwesterly. I was afraid the hatches would be torn off the bows.

I had some trouble finding the entrance to the Intracoastal, but that GPS is marvelous, and I began following the markers and a tugboat that helped show the way. At one point the tug pulled into what was a lock, but I thought it was some sort of industrial dock and went up another channel that was marked similar to the intracoastal. It only went a short distance and deadended, and when I got back the tug was locking through and I had to wait an hour for my turn. It began to get dark, but I had plenty of fuel and was going to keep going as long as I could. I was on the last 15 miles of intracoastal before Currituck Sound where I assumed the open water would make night navigation possible.

I had made a right turn after passing under a bridge and saw the next marker was way to the right. I continued my turn and decided to pass to the left of the marker or I might hit it. I came to a dead stop, stuck in the muck. Once I settled down and checked over the boat I found more water had inundated the twin bunk I had been using forward in the starboard hull. There was no other space set up for sleeping.

Then I found the generator recoil starter jammed and wouldn't take in the pull starter. No heat. No place to sleep. I made an igloo out of quilts under the dinette and slept uncomfortably there. The next day went on with no success in getting off the mud. Finally a Sea-Tow boat came by and pulled me off for an expensive tow job. A fellow had passed in a little sloop and said there was a little town ahead with marinas and motels and a storm was on the way, a northeaster.

Although it was getting dark again, I proceeded cautiously to try to get tied up to a dock and get a warm bed to sleep in. The Sea-Tow operator said "stay to the green side going down to Coinjock, there's an island or something down there, then stay to the red, channel's narrah." It was so narrow it was hard to believe there was a channel there at all. I touched bottom, but was able to keep going, then I found myself running on the right side of a channel with a large fishing boat coming up and there didn't seem to be enough room for the both of us. I was lined up between the fishing boat and the red markers when I touched bottom again.

This time she wouldn't budge. I was only 3 1/2 miles from that warm bed. It was getting windy and rough out there. I learned later that the northeasterly wind blew the water south and drained the northern end of the sound. The water depth outside of the channel was only about a foot and a half.

I couldn't imagine sleeping under the dinette again, so I put a plywood cover between the milkstool I used in the pilohouse and the heater. Then I covered that with a soft cushy quilt, then I tried to get comfortable with my feet up on the pilothouse counter and my head on a roll of fiberglass. It was actually possible to sleep like that.

The next day was very rough with sleet and snow flying. I could see the water level had dropped even further. This was very disconcerting. The weather was miserable and the water was too rough to take the dinghy to civilization. I was able to make some coffee and oatmeal for breakfast and later warmed up some pasta with clam sauce for lunch. I burned the pasta afterwards trying to keep it warm for later and it looked like something out of a Stephen King movie, the red sauce mixed with brain cell stringy noodles and black clots.

I spent another night in this nor'easter and then ran to Coinjock, the little town ahead, with the dinghy. I was able to bring some laundry to get dry clothing and was able to sleep finally in a real bed that wasn't soggy. The sloop sailor was tied up there and we went to a restaurant where I devoured a prime rib. The marina/motel provided a vehicle for local errands, but there wasn't much locally, just a few convenience stores.

The sloop sailor, who was also named Andy, set off in the morning and said he'd look for me in Beaufort. It looked like I could follow him a day later if I could get the catamaran out of the mud. It wan't to be that day, however I was able to move the boat 1 foot toward the center of the channel after kedging for 4 hours in the afternoon. The water level was now rising, but it was so slow. The dock keeper at the marina said it only changes level inches a day, but it would eventually come up another couple of feet if north winds didn't come about. I spent the better part of the next morning kedging again.
This was brutal work, winching the anchor line in 10 feet at a time, and moving the boat only a few inches, but it was more productive than the 1 foot in 4 hours of work the previous day. It took about 4 hours to move a half boat length and then we were free of the mud! I gave a little cheer and secured the anchors and motored to the marina/motel.