Sailing Her Home

It was April 2003. We had bought our boat, (s/v Vinegaroon, soon to be renamed s/v Galena) a Westsail 32. Now we had to get her from Ft Lauderdale, FL to our marina at Kent Narrows, MD. Seemed like an easy problem to solve: Sail her!

One problem with that: I could take off work for a couple of weeks at most. That means motoring up the ICW would not be an option. We would have to go off-shore. But neither Jane nor I had ever sailed on the ocean before. In fact Jane had never really sailed before and I'd only done a little day-sailing. We were woefully unprepared for a voyage that would take four to five days on the ocean followed by five or six days on the ICW/Chesapeake Bay.

My friend, Greg Moyers, came to the rescue. He was an old Navy man and had his own sailboat and said he'd love to join us for the two-week trip. OK. We were set. I figured between Greg, Jane, and I we could figure out how to sail a boat, right?

Here was the plan:

-                          Rent a (big) car and drive to Florida. We'd first drop Jane’s car off at the marina so we'd have wheels when we got back. Into the car Jane and I would load all the stuff we needed to get down to the boat: clothing, food, all the new equipment we'd buy.

-                          Clean and prep the boat for a couple of days.

-                          Greg would arrive on a Friday night.

-                          We'd leave Florida the next (Saturday) day.

-                          Four days on the ocean to get to Beaufort, NC.

-                          Four days up the ICW to Norfolk, VA.

-                          A couple days up the Chesapeake Bay to the marina at Kent Narrows, MD.

That was a pretty good plan, I thought.

Our Westsail 32, waiting for us in Florida

Jane went along with it, which says a great deal about her trust in me.We tried to provision the boat as we thought we should.We tried to check out the systems and repair that which wasn’t working. We reviewed the charts. We tried to be ready for this trip yet we had no real clue as to what to expect. Reading about other peoples’ experiences only gets you so far. And we were on a schedule, for Christ sake!In hindsight (I’m writing this a couple of years after the event) that was the most grievous mistake we made.We were lucky we made it. We certainly were not well prepared.

The drive to Florida was uneventful. We rented a big car and filled it with all the stuff we'd bought for the trip. When we unloaded the car on the dock next to Vinegaroon, it looked like this:

Jane with all the stuff we brought with us

On schedule, Greg arrived Friday night (about midnight). We put him in a hotel and early the next day we all headed down to the boat. Jane spent a lot of time doing the final provisioning.Greg spent the day exploring the boat.I spent the day helping Jane shop and then turning in the rental car. Finally, about 3PM we were ready to leave the dock.

I fired up the engine and we cast off the lines. We were port-side-to on a very small canal off the New River.No wind and no current.Should have been a piece of cake. But no. I put her in reverse, she moved 3 feet, and I hit the boat behind us.Just a little.

See, I didn’t know anything about prop walk or how to use prop wash. I tried to back out and figured the stern would just go the way the rudder was pointing. Man was I dumb.We finally got going down the canal and everything seemed fine.

Then we came to the first drawbridge I’d ever driven under.I called the bridge tender as I’d heard others do.And like magic the bridge went up.We were really on our way.

A few more bridges and we were heading toward the ocean.One more stop. There was a fuel dock on the starboard side of the river.As I approached the dock I realized that this was one more thing I’d never done: dock the boat. But it was just a bulkhead and we were able to get a couple of lines set and she stopped.

Bill and Jane heading out the New River

Jane called our daughter, Michelle, to let her know we were on our way out to sea. I think she also was saying ‘goodbye’ just in case. Greg also called home. I fueled the boat. Now we were really off.It was about 5 PM.

As we headed out of the inlet I wanted to get the sails up and the engine off as soon as possible. Fortunately the wind was fair and we got everything up. The wind was blowing southwest at about 8-kts and the seas were only running about 2-ft. We tried to set the Aries wind vane but found it was jammed in the ‘up’ position. Greg went over the side while I hammered on the coupling while Jane steered the boat.Finally we got the servo-rudder down and eventually got the Aries to steer the boat.

 
Greg hanging off the boomkin fixing the jammed wind stearing vane; Jane's first few moments at the helm.

By the way, that was the first time Jane had ever taken the helm.I just assumed she would be able to steer the boat.As it turned out, she did OK.But she didn’t have a clue about what she was doing.She was more than a little pissed at me for putting her in that position.

Greg was impressed with the Aries wind vane. he'd never seen a manual self-steering device before (neither had I).Jane named it Harvey the Helmsman.Jane started to get the galley in order.She made coffee and dinner for us.And then she got the bunks made up so we could get to sleep.

Jane checks the speed on the KnotStick

As the sun set we had an idyllic sail North. Greg and Jane went below to get some rest if not sleep.I walked about on deck just relishing the wonder of being at sea. The coastline of Florida was slipping away on our port quarter. The moon was coming up. The boat was making over 9-kts (with a healthy assist from the Gulf Steam).

About midnight Jane came on deck for her first shift. I hadn’t had to adjust any of the sails and we still had everything up.By that I mean we had the jib, the staysail, and a full, un-reefed main. The ride was gentle and the sea was fairly calm.I explained that all she had to do was let Harvey steer and watch the compass to ensure we stayed on course. I went below to get some sleep.

Greg and I were awakened by yells from Jane and the rather rolly motion of the boat. Once on deck we saw that the wind had shifted to the west.We were now running almost due east and across the waves.The wind had also picked up a bit.So we dropped the jib and eased the sheets on the staysail and the main. We adjusted Harvey to the new course (relative to the wind) and Greg took the helm.

A sleepy crew wakes up on the morning of day 2

At dawn Jane and I got up and were greeted by an overcast sky and a slate-gray ocean.Waves were about 5-6 feet and the wind was about 15-kts from the WNW. Jane made breakfast and I took over the watch. Greg went below for some rest. All day the wind blew almost on the nose and the waves eventually were on the nose also.

By evening the wind had died down a bit and the waves with it.We had a fairly nice evening. But as soon as Jane took over the helm at about midnight, the lightning and wind started and we were suddenly in a very strong squall.Again Greg and I were awakened by yells from Jane saying "Get up here... now!" We found the boat way overpowered with the starboard rail deep in the water.Jane was literally standing on the side of the cockpit fighting against the radical weather-helm on the tiller with all her strength. Again we were heading due east as the wind had clocked around to the north and Harvey, steering the boat relative to the wind, obediently turned us as the wind clocked around.

Putting a reef in the main after waiting just a little too long

Greg took the helm and I took a reef in the main. Now, this was the very first time I’d ever reefed a sail.And in the dark, in a squall is not the best way to learn something like that.But we got it done.

The third day was not too bad. As we got further and further north the weather got colder. But we were still in the Gulf Stream and that kept our temperature at least reasonable. Again, that night, Jane took the helm and the weather went to hell in a hand basket. We made some adjustments to the sails and our little boat soldiered on.Greg took the helm in the predawn hours and by dawn, when I came on watch, the wind had just about died.

A gray day at sea

By late morning on the fourth day out of Ft Lauderdale we were becalmed. The ocean was glassy-calm and there was no wind. We were still about 60 miles south of Beaufort, NC.And we had a lot of fuel on board.So we fired up the motor and motored toward Beaufort.

A little company on a calm ocean

I took advantage of the calm day and played with my new sextant. I noted the time and position as reported by the GPS and took a sun sight.I then tried to plot our position the old fashioned way.I got to within about 8 miles of our GPS-reported position. Not too bad for a first time.

About midnight I could see we would be getting into Beaufort during the night.I wanted to arrive in daylight (I’d read that was the right way to enter an unfamiliar port). So we slowed down.And we slowed down even more at 4AM when the lights of shore came into view.

I had no idea how much fuel we were using. I was afraid of running one of our two tanks dry and having to bleed the fuel lines (another thing I’d read about but never done). So I switched from the starboard to the port tank. The boat has two separate fuel systems; one on each side of the engine.They each have their own filter and lines.The engine can run off either side’s fuel. And there’s an electric fuel transfer pump that allows me to move fuel from one side to the other or to scrub a tank’s fuel through the filter and back into the same tank.The mechanics of changing which tank the engine is drawing from is not straightforward. There is a tangle of hoses and six (yes, six) valves that have to be set just so to make the changeover.

At dawn, just as we changed from cutting circles in the outer harbor to heading into the port of Beaufort, I smelled diesel fuel.  Looking behind us I saw first a drop, then a trickle, then a stream of diesel coming out of the tank vent. I had set the valves wrong and we had been drawing from the port tank, but sending the fuel on the return side to the starboard tank.Eventually that return flow had filled that tank to overflowing. In just a minute I had readjusted the fuel valves and we were no longer dripping fuel into the ocean.We were planning on buying fuel in Beaufort and now at least I knew that the starboard tank was full.

At 7:30 AM we were heading into the fuel dock of a marina just inside the harbor entrance on the Moorhead City side of the port. Here I was to once again be befuddled by the unusual characteristics of this boat’s handling when maneuvering in close quarters. There was a current that I didn’t notice on approach and there was wind blowing us away from the dock. I wound up doing a 180-degree turn while trying to just head directly to the dock. But eventually we tossed our lines to a guy on the dock and were pulled in.

As Jane stepped off the boat onto the dock she did a little pirouette.Her sea legs were now a detriment and we all had a hard time walking a straight line on land. We fueled up and had a cup of coffee. We congratulated ourselves on completing 600 miles of ocean voyaging with nothing but luck on our side.

We headed off on the 200-mile stretch of Intracoastal Waterway that would take us from Beaufort, NC to Norfolk, VA. After the ocean, the ICW was strange. No waves, no wind, just driving down the channel and following along on the map.

For the next few days we took turns standing in the cockpit with the tiller in one hand, a mapbook in the other, and binoculars around our neck wondering where the hell that next channel marker was.

Sometime around 5PM I realized that we needed to find a place to stop for the night.I didn’t want to go to a marina.I was both cheap and afraid of trying to put the boat into a slip. Greg selected a wide spot in the ICW at about mile post 150. We just pulled off to the side and dropped the hook. Another first! We had never anchored before. I let Greg explain it all and we did a fairly good job. There was no wind. There was no noticeable current. We had the first quiet, almost motionless night since we had left Ft Lauderdale five days earlier. It was a great night.

In the morning there was quite a bit of fog on the water. But we pulled up the anchor anyway and motored off. By the time we got out into the Neuse River the fog had lifted and we had a nice trip for most of the morning.

Jane took the helm just after noon. I was down in the galley when I looked up and saw Jane looking at the map, looking around, looking at the map, looking around.I asked if anything was wrong.She said, "I can’t find the next channel mark."I went on deck and looked around.I saw that we were motoring through a field of crab pots. She and I both said at exactly the same time, "We shouldn’t be here."That was just about 2 seconds before we ground to a halt on the muddy bottom.

Hard reverse thrust did nothing but wake up Greg. He, having done most of his boating on the Chesapeake Bay said, "Guess we’ll just have to wait for the tide to come in."I reminded him that we were in a channel and there was no tide.

Remembering another thing I’d read about I suggested we kedge off.Greg expressed his doubts that that would work.We untied the dinghy from the cabin top.Hauled it over the side using the main halyard. I went over the side and into the dinghy and promptly flipped it over landing in the muddy water. After righting the dinghy, collecting up the oars, and getting back in the dinghy this time without turning it over, I took the stern anchor and rowed out about 150-feet behind the boat. I dropped the anchor over the side and Greg pulled the line snug. Then I rowed back to the boat to supervise.

Jane manned the throttle and the tiller. Greg manned the main winch. Once Greg got the anchor rode really tight, Jane put the engine in reverse and gave it full throttle. Greg kept cranking in the anchor rode with the main winch.Suddenly the boat move back about six inches.Then it moved a foot; then it shot sternwards.I suddenly realized that I was now in the dinghy and the sailboat was rapidly leaving me. A little disconcerting.But they stopped and recovered the dinghy and me.

The further north we went, the colder it got

Then next day we stopped at the Alligator River Marina. Entering the little marina was not hard, nor was finding our slip.But as I started to turn into the slip I realized that there were people on all the other boats watching us.The pressure to do well went way up.This was going to be the second time I was going to really maneuver in close proximity to other boats.And the last time I tried it I touched another boat.But I put her in the slip without incident.We went over the restaurant, had a beer and a burger and called it a day. Jane decided to do some laundry. Later we had a shower for the first time in a week and had a nice night. But the winds came up and the Albemarle Sound turned to hell. Some people decided to stay at the marina one more day. That was out of the question for me. I was in a hurry; we had a schedule to keep!

We left and headed north toward Coinjock. Another sailboat headed out behind us. The Albemarle was throwing a 6-ft chop at us right on the nose.We were hitting about 2-kts when we were moving at all. The sailboat behind us turned back after half an hour. I was too stubborn for that. We motored on. We had to tack into the waves. Since we were tacking anyway, we put up the staysail and increased our speed to about 4-kts. Finally we limped into Coinjock late in the day. We were wet, tired, and not just a little cranky.But a good hot meal and a hot shower made everything at least tolerable.

When we got to Norfolk it was late in the day. I was really anxious to get home. Looking at the map I could see that we were at most 36 hrs from home.We could just keep going all night and the next day and then we’d be home. That decision almost caused a mutiny. Greg being the good sailor that he is saluted and said "aye-aye." Jane was more expressive. She was hot at all happy.Especially when we made it out of the James river and into the Bay.We were once again fighting a 5-ft chop with wind just about on the nose. We were once again making about 2-kts.We were once again getting very wet. And the ride was too rough to sleep. Jane was uncomfortable with sorting out all the lights on the Bay. But we took turns at the helm and by dawn the ride was at least reasonable. All day we motored north into a gentle breeze. The sun finally came out. Our last full day onboard was not too bad.

As night fell we could see the lights of the Bay Bridge at Annapolis. Greg took the helm and took us around Love Point and into the Chester River.He woke me up at about 4AM to help set the anchor.We would spend the night near the entrance to Kent Narrows. Neither of us had ever seen that piece of water before and I decided to be prudent (for a change) and wait for dawn.

At 7 AM we were up and looking for the Narrows channel. We set a course and were soon turning into the entrance of Mears Point Marina.We motored around to our slip.I parked us without incident.As soon as we had a couple of lines tied off we stood on the dock hugging each other, congratulating each other on a success voyage.

Entering Kent Narrows

We put the boat to bed. We gathered up our belongings and loaded them into Jane’s car. We took Greg home and went home ourselves.We had a lot to think about and to talk about. We had plans to make and work to do.

One of the first things we did was change the name of our boat.Vinegaroon was ok, but we needed something else.After a lot of thought, we chose to name her Galena.Galena is the name of the mineral Lead Sulfide. It is also from ancient Greek and means "antidote." The only famous ship in history to be named Galena was the sister ship of the USS Monitor (built in 1862).

Now we’ll spend a year or so really learning to sail and learning all about this particular boat. Then we’ll head south and relax.