Offshore Sailing: Charleston, SC to Annapolis, MD

DAY 1:

I arrive at the Charleston airport around 1:45 pm on a Wednesday in April, 2014.  This will be my first multi-day offshore sailing voyage. 

After a call from the boat captain, I learn that another member of the crew has arrived, too.  His name is  Jerry.  He is 39 years old and like me has never been offshore. We meet outside and share a cab to the Cooper River Marina in North Charleston.

The cabbie doesn't know where the marina is, so we navigate from the backseat with our iPhones.

We unload, unchain the gate to the marina, walk down the concrete quarter mile long dock (which turns out to be drivable, but is only one car wide with a turning area at the end).  There are some beautiful sailboats there and some not so beautiful.

Southern Accent, a 2006 50' Beneteau Cyclades is ours.  A lot of plastic and fiberglass but it looks strong.

The new owner and a delivery skipper were taking it to Annapolis from BVI via Dominican Republic and Miami, but time and weather ran out so here we are taking it the last leg.

Captain Mike Miller (approximately 65 years old, been offshore about a million times) and first mate Rick Takatsch (approximately 54 years old, been offshore about a dozen times, maybe more) are already on the boat.  The boat is a mess (like people just sailed it from the BVI and then walked away from it) so we clean it and take inventory.

The dodger is ripped up pretty good.  Jerry finds duct tape and we mend it the best we can.  It looks pretty ghetto but it should hold in a blow.

John Gauger (75-80 years old, been offshore before but we don't know how long ago) should be here by now.  The contact number he gave Capt Mike goes to his house in NJ, although he has a cell phone on him.  He eventually shows up three hours later.  He went to go look at a boat at another marina and that's why he's late, he  tells us four days later.  We have finished the bulk of the clean up and he just stands there watching us, a slight shaking of the hands...early Parkinson's?  Poor guy.

The alternator on the diesel engine needs to have its belt tightened so Rick and Jerry attack it.  A securing bolt snaps off.  The engine can run without it but the batteries will not recharge and then we won't have electric (think chart plotter and navigation) or refrigeration (think rotten tuna).  We need a special bolt available at Lowes.  Rick notes that this alternator is not the one designed to go with this engine.  It has been rigged in place which is why the belt was loose in the first place.  An item for the Captain's report.

We also need to get the groceries for the next five days' worth of menus I've written.  And to get dinner after a long day of traveling.

A new cabbie picks us up.  We find the necessary bolt at Lowes, eat at a Thai restaurant (cheap and good).  We call another cab to take us to Super Wal-Mart because that's the only grocery store within ten miles, evidently.  No cabbie will come to our location without starting the fare at $50 because we are so far away from anything. Capt finds one and he says it'll be about 20 minutes before he can get there.

Jerry asks two girls who are leaving the restaurant if we can get a ride to the store.  His plan is that we will shop for the groceries while the rest of the crew wait for the taxi, then, when the taxi arrives with everyone at Super Wal-Mart, Capt Mike can get out, come in, pay for the groceries, help load the groceries into the cab and then be on our way, instead of having the meter running outside while we shop. 

They are nice girls:  one an English teacher and one with a Mohawk.  We tell them we are in Charleston boating, but they think we said we are here with Boeing.  We eventually get it straightened out during the four minute ride to Super Wal-Mart (which, by the way, if you have been boycotting Wal-Mart stores for the past 15 years like I have, has somehow managed to become a much sadder place, stuffed with even more people that the gods abandoned long, long ago).  They drop us off, we get the groceries and when the cab arrives with the rest of the crew one hour later, the rest of the plan is executed.

John told Capt he was going to pop in to the store after they arrived and so when Capt Mike is paying the bill he tells me to go find John.  I look everywhere but no luck.  We take the groceries out to the cab and unload and he is right there, unmoved, in the back seat. 

The cabbie--after taking a thousand wrong turns and driving like, as Jerry described it, "a pig"--finally gets us to the end of the marina dock with help from our iPhones.  Capt Mike, who is originally from Long Island and has the accent and attitude to back that up, tells the cabbie that he thinks his gps is faulty and that it was a good thing he negotiated the cab fare up front.  The cabbie drops us off at the end of the dock and we unload the groceries.  I hop back in the cab so I can chain the gate back up behind him when he leaves.

When I walk back to the boat, Rick tells me that he left his phone in the cab.  No, I hadn't by chance grabbed it.  Capt calls the cabbie back, tells him there's $20 in it for him if he will return the phone.  He says he will, but it will be about 30 minutes since he's got another fare lined up.

Rick has got kind of a bum knee, so when the cabbie calls to let us know he's back at the gate I volunteer to make the short journey.  I get the phone, hand the cabbie Rick's $20 and then the cabbie starts in how Capt wasn't nice to him...that it should have been a $75 cab ride instead of just $55.

"Well," I ask, "isn't that what you negotiated for?"

"Listen," he says.  "I am a man of god.  A prophet.  And that man wasn't nice to me.  I mean, that's just not how you treat people."

I'm pretty sure he wanted more money from me.

"I just met the guy today,"  I say, trying to sound as Southern as possible.  "He seems a little brusque.  I think he's from New York and that's just how people from up there are sometimes, I guess."

"I tell you what," he says.  "Some people just know how to treat other people.  I picked these young guys up today in my cab?  The bill was $37.  You know what they did?  They gave me a hundred and told me to keep the change."

Bullshit, I think.

"Sorry, man," I say.  "I'm not the money guy here.  This trip is on an expense account and I didn't bring money with me so I don't have anything to give you."

"I am a man of god.  That's just not how you treat people."

"Again, sorry." 

Are we done here? I think.  Maybe he meant 'a man of profit'.

He doesn't say anything else so I start moving slowly away and then turn and walk to the gate, chain it up and walk back out to the boat.  When I get there I hand Rick his phone.  We put the  groceries away while John watches.  Capt tells him not to just stand there so he starts unpacking his duffel bag in his cabin. 

Rick and Jerry fix the alternator in about four minutes.  We all have a glass of red we found onboard.  It's almost 1:00 am by then so we all crash.

DAY 2

I sleep hard and wake at 6:30 am to make breakfast.

Breakfast:  Veggie scramble, bacon, toast, coffee. 

I end up making about 90% of the meals for the trip and that is just fine with me because whoever makes the meal is exempt from doing the dishes.  That's just a universal truth.

We make last minute preparations and perform a quick scrub down of the deck.  Either Rick or the Capt notices that the anchor windlass isn't functional.  The anchor chain won't budge unless we can get the windlass working or the release lever unjammed, but neither happens and there are severed electrical wires so it doesn't look good.  Rick searches the lazarette and finds a stern anchor but its rode is severely chafed.  Rick says he can splice it back to health during the passage.  Capt guesses that'll have to do.  He hopes we don't have to throw an anchor while in the harbor for any reason because if we do it probably won't hold long and tidal currents are swift right now.  Another item for the Captain's report.

We shove off at 8:30 am.  Finally:  underway!

Through Charleston Harbor we see freighters, aircraft carriers, Coast Guard helicopters, the old town, derelict schooners, etc.  Very nice.

That first day is motoring with only a jib out, heading due East toward the Gulf Stream, where we will be able to pick up three or four knots for our trip northeast.  There is little wind.  Our watches are either two or four hour shifts and include:

• ·         ensuring that the auto-pilot is holding its programmed heading.
• ·         maintaining our speed (it's a delivery on a time table, not a pleasure sail)
• ·         checking depth (we should know when we've hit the Gulf Stream when the depth gauge can no longer get a reading (it has a max depth of 600', but "The Stream", as Capt calls it, is several thousand deep))
• ·         scanning the horizon for other vessels every ten minutes or so.  If another vessel is on a constant bearing-decreasing range then we are on a collision course and need to take evasive action before it becomes a problem

The steering wheels (there are two on this boat model, both in the stern, one to port and one to starboard) are difficult to turn.  Don't know if it's a cable problem, some crap wedged between the rudder and hull, or what.  It's about three times as hard to turn the wheel on this boat as it is on a boat with a well-functioning wheel.  No one is sure what it's all about, but we can deal with it.

We catch two fish within three hours of hitting The Stream about 80 miles out.  The first--a bonito--Rick and Jerry immediately filet and give to me.  I take it down to the galley and Capt and I make a plate of sashimi.  We squirt it with fresh lime and sprinkle with crushed sea salt.  He finds a lonely Bud Light in the cooler so he cracks it open and we all enjoy a few cold hits of beer with our freshest of fresh fish.  Except for John.  John doesn't like raw fish.

We have plenty of fish meat now (in addition to the  groceries) and Capt says if we catch another to throw it back unless it's a Mahi.  The second fish caught is an Albacore Tuna.  We don't need another fish, and I didn't know we even had the line out, but this one gets reeled in and one of the many hooks on the lure had fucked up its eye beyond repair.  Once on board it looks like a crime scene there is so much blood.  Rick performs a mercy killing and I suggest that we not let the line out again.  Capt cuts off a chunk of flesh and instructs me to boil it while Rick and Jerry clean up the blood.  Capt says it will make the best tuna fish sandwiches you have ever eaten.  So I boil it and the stink in the cabin is fish shack dumpster horrific.  Well, maybe not that intense.  I throw the boiled fish into the refrigerator and that's all I can smell for the rest of the trip whenever anyone opens it up.  Even after I make the tuna fish sandwiches a few days later I would smell it, mocking me.

Lunch that day:  Veggie pasta salad, peanut butter pretzels.

Dinner:  Jambalaya.

Night comes down on us slowly.  First night at sea...no anchor, no shore to run to, no escape.  It's here.  We are in it.  It's not as intimidating as I thought it would be since there are experienced sailors with me, but still the sun goes down and and I can't do anything about it.  Darkness will set in soon.  This is something I've wanted to see for a long, long time now.  I mention to everyone at the cockpit table, where we are eating our Jambalaya, about the 'green flash'.  Legend says it happens once in a great while the millisecond the top of the sun disappears behind the horizon.

Capt says, "I'll tell you something about the green flash:  it's a bunch of horseshit.  It doesn't exist."

That's what I though, too, but still it's fun to bring up ghostly things at eerie moments like this.

It's a light red sky tonight.  If the saying is true, we sailors (motorers) should have a slightly delighful time of it.

Getting to sleep is tough because of boat motion and the strange watch hours.  My night watch is from 4 am-8 am the next day--the sunrise watch.  I can't fall asleep, but resting my eyes must surely help.  Occasionally I get fed up with trying to sleep and step up through the companionway into the cockpit to absorb the surreal feeling of night sailing, the cool air, the stars, the moon, the motion of the boat (enjoyable out here, shitty down there)...

DAY 3

I relieve John at 4 am.  He looked like he was having a good time sitting there in the cockpit.  Auto-pilot makes life easy out there.  I hope he was keeping an eye on the horizon.

We maintain single-man watches because we have the auto-pilot.  I wear foul weather gear ('foulies') because it is another layer against the cool night and if conditions deteriorate I am ready.  I've got the Gill OS2 jacket and bib overalls and sweet, sweet Dubarry boots.  I'm too old to buy crap anymore.  Give me the good stuff and it will last forever.  My purchasing philosophy is that when you buy cheap you end up buying it twice:  the first purchase is the crap you settled for (that usually fails prematurely) and the second purchase is the one you wanted in the first place.

I see one or two ships on the horizon during my watch, but nothing on a collision course.  Capt thinks we overshot The Stream because our speed isn't that great, maybe 7.5 knots.  In the stream we would be at nine or ten knots.  The wind is light and directly from behind which he tells us is no good because if sails are up we would be jibing all the time in the rolling waves which are about five to six feet in height.

The sun comes up behind the building clouds near 6 am, an hour after a nice red moonset. At 7:30 Capt emerges from the companionway and there is a quick rain.  The bimini, we discover, is not waterproof.  We might as well be standing under a shower head.  It lasts about five minutes and is over.  Another item for the Captain's report.

By 8 am is it Jerry's watch and the wind has picked up considerably to 20 knots; waves are running at about 6-8 feet and starting to break at the tops. Capt decides to turn the auto-pilot off and hand-steer for awhile. He teaches Jerry--always ready for his watch eager and early--how to anticipate the wave slipping under the boat, how to turn briefly into it once the stern rises and then quickly aim back down.  The wave then naturally brings the bow back into line and you get a nice surfing action.  Jerry is a natural and, because I was down making coffee, he teaches me later what he has learned.

Breakfast:  Every man for himself.  Cereal and milk is the path most chosen.  And coffee.  Always coffee.

Lunch:  Deli sandwiches, Sun Chips.

Dolphins are everywhere.  None of us have ever seen this many playing around any boat we've been on in the past.  Anywhere from two to seven are in our bow wake at a given time.  They turn sideways just under the surface to get a better look at us looking at them from the bowsprit.  I can hear their little dolphin squeals.  I like to think they are communicating a plan with each other...working out a way to overthrow the humans and return the world to its proper state.

We see schools of flying fish and swarms of jellies.  So much life. 

At this point we still have yet to raise the main.  A little disappointing, but we understand that the winds have not been in our favor.  They are still directly behind us and I suspect that the Capt knows most of his crew is green or old and doesn't want us to make any big mistakes under sail.  He can't be watching over us all the time.  He's got his own work to do.

In a few hours, after the winds have calmed a little, Capt engages the auto-pilot again.  The result is a sharp, unexpected turn to starboard.  He hits 'Standby' which disengages the auto-pilot and manually returns to the course.   He engages again and when the boat lurches yet again to starboard he tries to activate the minus 10° button to try to compensate.  No go.  Auto-pilot doesn't care.  Auto-pilot says "Fuck you.  I'm done."  Rick tries to find the source of the auto-pilot's apathy, ripping though cabins to get to secret panels, removing the life raft hidden within the transom to get a better view.  He finally sees what he thinks may be the problem.  Capt and Rick talk over a questionable plan to fix it that may or may not result in total loss of steerage.  They agree it's not worth the risk, that we will hand steer for the rest of the trip.

John's watch comes later and when he takes the helm Capt and Rick watch him carefully because there is no auto-pilot anymore to help him.  He takes the wheel and in a few seconds we are 60° off course.  Rick brings it back and tells him to try again, giving him some pointers.  Once more, 60 degrees off within a few seconds.  He can't hold a course.  He's old and usually kind of out of it so neither Capt or Rick press him too hard, which is nice.  Rick takes a seat behind the opposite wheel and takes the helm.  John sits there looking like nothing happened.  The rest of us step in once in awhile to give Rick some relief by steering for an hour here and there.

Dinner:  Chile and cornbread, chocolate chip cookies.

As night approaches and the wind and waves pick back up, Capt revises the night watches to two men on every four hours since the difficult helm tires us out somewhat.  Rick--the best sailor onboard behind Capt--is for the rest of the trip on watch with John.  Rick will drive and John will scan the horizon.  Still four hour watches, the rest of us will take the wheel for two hours while the other scans the horizon and does whatever else needs doing that can't be done by someone married to the helm, then we'll switch jobs.  Capt pairs Jerry and I together because he has observed that we have enough experience, helm skills and enthusiasm to trust us unsupervised.  A nice feeling.  Capt, Jerry and I will come up and steer occasionally for Rick.

In essence, John has been quietly banned from driving the boat.  Jerry and I like it because we will get better faster with more time at the wheel.  We sympathize with Rick's position, but he takes it like a pro, because he is that kind of guy.  John's a nice guy, but he shouldn't be offshore sailing anymore.

I still have not slept since leaving the dock.

DAY 4

Jerry's and my night watch is hard one with constant helm attention required.  The hard steering is tiring but we become very good at it.  When the compass gets too hard to look at I line a star up with a stanchion on the beam and keep them lined up.  It's nicer than looking down at numbers and lines spinning in a oily globe and it keeps us on course.  My eyes shut sometimes for two or three seconds from lack of sleep, but then they are startled open, because they know better than to take a nap now.

We are about 90 miles east of the Outer Banks now.  We are still in the Gulf Stream and it is pushing us three knots above engine speed with the jib out.  The three knots is why we are so far out.  Assuming we are in it for 36 hours, that's 3 x 36=108 free miles we don't have to work for.  Not bad.  At speeds of 10-11 knots total, we are cooking right along.  It's fast and wavy and potentially dangerous, but this route has been taken millions of times in foul weather, so there's nothing really to worry about.  But I am losing my offshore cherry on this trip so there is a small fear factor involved, I won't lie.

Jerry and I finish our watch at 4 am as the seas are building.   Capt and Rick take over and I inch my way back to the my stern port cabin for a little sleep, greedily grabbing every hand-hold I can find.  I lie down and sweet, sweet sleep finally comes to me.  Two and a half hours later Capt makes the turn northwest, toward Chesapeake Bay, now that we've passed the Outer Banks.  While the weather hasn't really turned nasty, the sea state has become angrier.  And while we had it pretty much behind us most of the way, now it's one the beam.  We pound into the breaking waves under motor alone.  The boat shudders when it slams down on the backs of waves but doesn't cry.  It's built for this kind of thing, but I'm not so I come up on deck a few minutes later feeling like a fresh Titan with a few hours of sleep under my belt.

We all agree to put the sails up.  The wind is high and the waves suck, but raising sails tends to calm everything.  Once you get them up the heavy keel digs into the ocean, the boat heels (sometimes too much, so you reef:  you raise a fraction of the sails so you are not overpowered) and the ride smoothes out. 

Everyone is wearing full foulies now.  Jerry is up there already, of course.  Capt, Rick, John...they're all there.  This is good stuff.  If we're going to raise the mainsail we've got to do a couple of things first.  We've got to pull the zipper back on the lazy jack mainsail cover and we've got to remove the preventer we tied to the boom that kept it from slamming back and forth in the rolling seas when we were running dead downwind.   I volunteer and tether myself to the windward jack line.  I step out of the cockpit and work my way forward to the mast.  I get the zipper pulled back on the sail cover then slide down to the leeward deck and remove the preventer.  Simple but exciting work as the boat crashes into wave after wave.  I ease back into the cockpit and Capt already has the lines ready to raise sail.  He decides to put one reef in the mainsail.

None of us has raised the main on this boat before, and since every owner rigs their boat just a little bit differently it takes us a minute or two to figure out what needs doing.  But we get it and start hauling halyard.  Once cleated off Capt sheets the main in smartly and the boat digs in...heels to leeward.  We pull the jib out halfway and secure it there.  Engine off.   It feels good.  The ride smoothes out like we knew it would and it feels raucous but quiet all at the same time.  I look at everyone and they are standing at absurd angles to the horizon.  Everyone is grinning like they've got a secret all their own.  Rick is driving on the leeward wheel.  The water is three feet from his right shoulder.  Good craziness.

Then, twenty minutes later we cross the eastern edge of The Stream and just like that the seas calm and the winds ease to 15 knots.  Perfect sailing conditions. 

We shake the reef out of the mainsail and unfurl the jib the rest of the way.  Smooth.  Smooth poetry.

Magic happens then:  To starboard there are little geysers erupting a few hundred yards away.  Whales!  Then more whales.  There has got to be a dozen of them or more.  A tail breaks the surface and slaps down.  None of us can identify what kind they are.  It doesn't matter.  We are all so happy to be here.  Even Capt, who has done this many times before...you can see it gets to people.  This wasn't a paid trip for a scheduled whale watching on a family vacation.  This just happened after dreaming of it for a long time.   We worked for this.  We earned this.  This is our bliss. We love our families and we love our dogs and cats and we love it when our jobs don't suck but this is something else.  This is something you have to want to grab at and then go through the bullshit to get it.  And there's no guarantee you'll even get it, but if you do get it...it's another world, another place.

It's the full payoff you never expected:  full sail, smooth seas, whales, quietude...it's even more wonderful because most people in the world will never experience anything like this.  It sounds greedy and selfish and one-percenter, but this is ours alone and it is beautiful.  We are not forced to share it with the people of Super Wal-Mart or the prophet cabbies or the rest of the nonsense that we find ourselves immersed in away from this place. 

I have never seen five men so seemingly content with the world than at that moment.

I find a flying fish that landed on deck last night and died.  Jerry takes some pictures of it and we take turns sailing for a few hours.

Between turns at the wheel I finally get around to making tuna fish sandwiches out of the Albacore we caught two days back.

Breakfast (if any):  Cereal.

Lunch:  Line-caught tuna fish sandwiches, potato chips.        

                        

The wind eventually dies down so that we are hardly making any progress toward the Chesapeake at all. The sails come down and the motor is turned back on.  Everyone is a little bummed at that. 

Now that we are out of The Stream the air temperature has cooled down by 15 degrees.  The water there was 88° or so,  now it's back to its chilly Atlantic self, around 65°. 

We all take it easy that afternoon and ease our way east, resting for what might be a challenging nighttime entrance into the Bay.  Only John is familiar with the area and there is a good chance for a lot of freighter traffic and the channel navigation work involved will take an extra pair of eyes. Even though the weather will be very mild, we've been scheduled on two-man night watches for those reasons alone.

I get another nap in.

Snack:  Chips and guac.

Jerry scoops the last bit of the blue Gatorade powder into a clear plastic cup filled with water (we forgot to buy Cokes and lemonade and other refreshments but we found the Gatorade in a cupboard, left over from someone else's trip).  He sets the cup down for a second while he tends to something else.  Capt steps down the companionway, sees the Gatorade, grabs it and slugs a good half of it down.  He picks up  something from the navigation table and then, cup still in hand, heads back up to the cockpit where he stoically scans the horizon while holding the silly blue drink, drinking it down bit by bit.  I look at Jerry across the saloon, he shrugs his shoulders and we start cracking up.

Later, craving something sweet, I find a single chocolate chip cookie left in the pantry.  Jerry is there and I break it in half to share.  Capt enters the galley and I say, "Please don't take my cookie, Captain!"  Jerry starts laughing.  Capt smiles suspiciously, wondering what the hell we're talking about it.  We let him in on it.  He tells us he made some Gatorade earlier but lost it somewhere.  He thought Jerry's cup was it, so he drank it.

Sure thing, Captain Bligh.  Whatever you say.

Appetizer:  Seared Bonito with lemon and some mystery Asian chile sauce found in cupboard.

Dinner:  Seared pork chops, black beans and rice.

Tonight is my last night watch.  I am with Capt from 8 pm-12 am.

We enter the Bay around 8:30 pm.  I am at the wheel and Capt's at the chart plotter.  The mainsail is back up (the motor still going) and we are beam reaching at 7-8 knots.

I love channel work.  Growing up boating with Dad along the Gulf Coast of Florida we did a lot of that.  Following channels feels like working your way through a wet maze.  It's a  puzzle and if you don't run aground and you make it to your destination then you have succeeded.  It requires a different kind of concentration than open sea navigation but is just as fun to me.

The port authority hails us on channel 16 asking us to identify ourselves and state our intentions. This must be some new post-9/11 precaution. Capt responds. A tall cargo ship transporting cars to somewhere across the ocean hails us to ensure we pass them without incident.  No problem.  We'll stay out of the channel for that one.  There is plenty of depth here.

It's only mildly windy on the bay and while the waves are small, the chill does its best to make things uncomfortable so we are again in full foulies, not because we will get wet but because layering is the key to staying warm.  Plus, I just spent a ton of cash on all this fancy gear and I want to get my money's worth out of it goddammit!

We wind our way past lighted channel markers, an underwater tunnel, cargo ship anchorages, tugboats towing long barges that blend in with the night and other things that would love to sink our boat given the chance.  Good fun.  Capt compliments my ability to hold a straight course.  Thanks Capt!

DAY 5

At midnight Rick and John come up for their watch and I head down to sleep.  Capt stays up to make sure everything is all right.  He and Rick decided to let John have another shot at the wheel since there are no rolling waves in the Bay to veer the boat off course.

I plop down on my cabin bed, bibs still on, tired as hell and a little cold and fall asleep within three minutes.  In my sleep I feel the boat lurch dramatically to port.  I wake up, with my face against the wall.  There is a startling "BAM" topsides, then the boat lurches to starboard and I roll across the mattress to the opposite wall. An accidental jibe.  It doesn't hurt the boat but it's usually indicative of poor sailing when it happens on calm water.  I get up and stick my head out of the companionway and into the cockpit.  Capt is cussing and I can see John at the starboard wheel.  I can see the disturbed water in our boat's path reflected in the moonlight.  It's a large curved path but should be straight.  I'm not needed in this scenario so I go back to my cabin.  Five minutes later I look out again and I can see John is no longer behind the wheel.  Rick is driving now, which is why there is no lurching or uncomfortable boat movements.  I fall back asleep.

John talks about buying an offshore boat a lot on this trip...the merits of this kind of hull or that kind of rig.  If he buys an offshore boat and takes it out to sea he will surely perish.  I just hope he doesn't take anyone else with him.

My next watch is at 4 am.  Only four hours after being relieved.  My alarm goes off 15 minutes before then and I hear a knock on my cabin door.  It's John. 

"What's up?" I ask, groggy.

"Mark says there's been a change in plans and that you can sleep in.  He'll let you know when."

"Who will?" I ask.

"Mark."

"You mean Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Uh, okay," I say.

John works his way slowly back to his cabin.  When I hear his door shut I climb up to the cockpit.  Jerry is at the port wheel by himself.  It's dark out and all I can see is his silhouette.

I walk over to him. 

"Change of plans?" I ask him.

Then I'm spooked by the Capt's disembodied voice.

"Hey Ham.  Yeah we're good for now.  Sleep in." 

I turn my head and Capt is lying on the bench two feet from me under a blanket.  Didn't even see him.

I guess Rick was relieved to get some sleep and Jerry stepped in to help.  Capt didn't go to his cabin to sleep in case he was needed.  Most of the confusing channel navigation is finished, but there are still vessels out there, so he wants to be there.  If something comes up Jerry will wake him.  I go back to my cabin and sleep until 6:30 am.

Feeling refreshed I come up and drive for awhile, relieving Jerry so he can catch some sleep.  The sun rises all rosy over Chesapeake Bay.  Rick takes the wheel around 8 am and I go down to the galley and make breakfast.

Breakfast:  Hot oatmeal with choice of toppings:  1/2 & 1/2, butter, dried mixed berries, walnuts, strawberries, honey, maple syrup.  Coffee.

This is our last day so the watch schedule kind of gets abandoned and anyone who wants wheel time takes it, which is everyone except John.

Lunch:  Kitchen sink entree salad with rotisserie chicken.

Capt contacts the boat owner, who we are supposed to meet in an as-yet-unspecified Annapolis marina.  Turns out we need to go an extra two hours north, to a little town called Arnold, past the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.  Capt is not pleased.

The wind kicks up for our final push.  We maneuver under the bridge--Jerry at the wheel--while dodging container ship traffic and sailboats under full sail.  Officially, the container ships have the right-of-way because they are constrained to the channel by virtue of their draft; unofficially, the have the right-of-way because they are so big they automatically win in any collision contest.  The sailboats have the right-of-way because they are not under auxiliary engine power like we are, even though we have our jib unfurled.

We scrub the cockpit down, pull the fenders out of storage (they are kept in the crew cabin in the bow; this boat is so damned big there is another entire cabin we don't even use!) and attach them to the life lines in preparation for docking while someone works on untangling and readying the dock lines.

We make a left into the Magothy River after the Bay Bridge into a channel with white, unmarked buoys peppered into it.  Maybe they indicate a preferred route within the channel.  We don't know.  Our depth gauge reads 5 1/2 feet sometimes.  We have a 6' deep keel.  Don't know if it the gauge is reading depth under our keel or under the hull or if it's reading correctly at all.

Capt hails the marina on the VHF.  No response.  We get hit with a 20 knot blast of wind.  The boat heels deeply to starboard.  It sketches me out this close to land and in a channel but I hear Jerry yell, "Let's put the main up!".   The guy is a lunatic. 

We will soon run out of navigable river.  Rick calls the marina on his phone and we get directions in.  We hook a sharp left into Mill Creek.  Slip #52 is the one we are looking for.  We locate it and it looks skinny for a boat of this size.  The wind is blowing through the Creek at about 15 knots which will make backing into the slip difficult.  Capt takes the wheel from Jerry, slides slowly past #52 and then backs down toward the slip.  The wind pushes the bow around too fast to make the entry.  Capt aborts the attempt.  The second attempt has the same result.  Try #3 looks good so he guns in.  We throw stern lines, spring lines, bow lines and fenders, trying to wedge our way in, removing only a little paint from the hull.

Finally, it's done.  We are tied up.  Knots checked.  Engine off.

That's it.  We made it.

Time for a few beers at the restaurant 200 feet away.  The boat owner, Josh, meets us on the dock as we are disembarking.  He shakes our hands and tells us thanks.  He says dinner and beers are on him.  Good news.

We are in Maryland, right?, so I get Maryland crab cakes.  They are pretty tasty crab cakes, but I like the ones I learned to make a little better.  It's not about the quality of the ingredients, it's just the style.  We haven't had a drink in four days (except for the Bud Light split five ways we had with the sashimi) and the local beer goes down smoothly.  Jerry's woman and her vegan friend join us for dinner.

Josh offers to give us a tour of downtown Annapolis.  Capt is in, Rick is in, I am in,  but Jerry is going to head back to Virginia because he's got to work tomorrow and John is going to go to sleep.  Jerry packs up and we all say goodbye, it was a great trip, we've got to do this again, etc.

John stays on the boat and the rest of us pile into Josh's minivan.  We head downtown, find parking, walk two minutes and end up in a bar.  We have one drink each then head back to the boat.  I guess that was the tour. 

Rick gets a cab to a train leaving at 4 am.  Nice sailing with you, Rick.  Thanks for the many pointers.

I buy a plane ticket back to Denver from Ronald Reagan Int'l that doesn't leave until 4:30 pm the next day.  I'll catch a ride with Josh into D.C., where he works, tomorrow morning.

Goodnight Capt.  Thanks for the opportunity and your able leadership.  I'm ready to go again right now!

One last night on Southern Accent.  No accidental jibes tonight.  Guaranteed.

DAY 6

Breakfast:  Coffee and a backpack stuffed with granola bars for later in the day.  Josh and I leave at 7 am.  I hope Capt and John see the coffee I left on the stove-top.

Josh and I have a quiet and uneventful drive into D.C.  He drops me off under the United sign at passenger drop-off near 8:00 am.  I check my duffel bag in and locate the Metro.  I study the map and take the Blue Line to the National Mall. I learn later that the Yellow Line was the best choice but it all gets you there eventually.  I spend a few hours at the Air and Space Museum, grab some lunch at an outdoor cafe where Lola--my wife--and I ate years ago and then see the Natural History Museum. Walking around I can occasionally feel the boat moving under my feet.  I find an empty bench and take a seat, watching the people go about their day.  It is spring and the cherry trees are on the make. 

I'm sad that the trip is over but happy to go home and see my wife and dog.  I've got stories they will want to hear.

(Thanks to Jaroslav "Jerry" Mastny for the photographs.)