Before we get back to the chronology proper, I’ll catch up on Tripp’s video blogs. The wifi opportunities are sometimes not there to upload ‘dem big’ files.
And while we’re recapping from the last update:
In the Dismal Swamp Canal – Traveling at an intense 5 to 6 kts., I noticed just briefly, as the image of the man blew by so fast, a mustachioed older gentleman reading a newspaper on the shore at a picnic table, accompanied by his tiny white dog. A bicycle was nearby. Further up the canal at our blistering pace, I saw what was undoubtedly the man’s twin brother (who had a very similar taste in bikes and dogs apparently) seated at a bench eating a sandwich. It’s important at that age to get your exercise and sunlight; a philosophy the two also shared with another two brothers (I guess they were quadruplets) as we saw two identical men, at different intervals, further up pedaling the same brand of bike with the same kind of dog in the basket. Must of uh been a sale on the bikes and… the same litter of dogs I guess. Couldn’t have been outpacing us, no sir.
The Head – While emptying the head on the morning of the 23rd, in incredibly calm waters, the lid slammed down while I had my back turned for a split second. And the catch basin broke off on three of its four screws, being made of apparently the thinnest plastic known to man. Interesting design choice. I let Tripp know many many hours later, when I gauged his mood was appropriate, not wanting to either antagonize him further in stress about the course or bring him down from elation at how nice the conditions were. When I finally told him, he went to look, and simply came back with a big, bemused smile, saying “How?”
My Pants – I left Portsmouth on January 30th with three pairs of pants: two blue beans, one of which was the “good” pair (a great find at a Goodwill for $10) and “bad” grey trousers. By the time we left Cape May, early in February, I had already split the crotch on the trousers doing something mundane and put a hole through the thigh of the good jeans by scaling a wall to get a better look of the harbor and jamming the fabric on the corner of a loose board while doing so. So, to this point, I have had to either wear out the remaining jeans for days on end or suck it up and wear the weird ones in town, looking ever more like a homeless person with my growing facial hair (“growing”, friends and family will know, is a loose term). As of Cape Charles, I still had not found a pair despite actively looking.
Thermos – We forgot to bring one with us from the start. We hadn’t found one yet.
Well, we woke up in Cape Charles on the 24th hungry and ready to NOT cook (especially as we were basically down to rice at this point, my provisioning having included an obscene, borderline novelty amount of the stuff). The coffee shops that were stated as open were all closed and a walk down to a breakfast place proved equally fruitless. But a friendly bearded man told us, “Y’all looking for breakfast? Go down to the pharmacy.” And then gave a chuckle.
He was, however, not pulling our leg, as Rayfield’s Pharmacy had a soda bar and kitchenette that was quite good. Coincidentally, our waitress, Cher, turned out to be on the boat beside us when we came in slap happy the night before and she confirmed that neither she nor her husband heard us. I don’t know how, but it was a good thing. Garrett, her hubbie, made a living delivering boats by boat and his own odd hours meant he would understand perfectly even if he had heard us. The guy was good enough to bring me grocery shopping at the Food Lion on the next day to re-provision (Tripp and I were gung-ho about getting a rotisserie chicken, but they didn’t have any).
As a newbie in the sailing world, it’s been my good fortune to come at it from the top, so to speak; traditionally oriented, high levels of seamanship. A lot to learn and a lot of the right people to learn it from. Garrett shared Tripp’s perspective about recreational sailors: maybe 10% of them actually set a sail. That was certainly my experience, with other sailboats being amazed just to see us with a staysail up and motor sailing in conditions that were basically optimal for them to be doing the same.
The other thing: solidarity among the sailing community. People from Portsmouth, RI to Morehead City, NC were so willing to help us out whenever we needed anything as soon as they found out what Tripp and I were about.
Another person of note in Cape May: Marshall at the Almeta. The man and I saw very much eye to eye on the proper aesthetic of a club sandwich, which requires three layers otherwise it’s just a turkey sandwich. He special made my club to be a, you know, actual club. But it was forgotten and they brought me out a regular old version of their sandwich (Marshall said most people now don’t like “too much bread”). I was, of course, going to eat it being a generally easily satisfied customer. But Marshall came out with the one he had for me and swapped, saying he’d eat whichever one I didn’t. What a guy. Tripp found it funny that I also took a second pickle by asking Marshall if he’d miss his. But I didn’t see, dude, that I already had one. And I’m a paying customer, damn it!
We refueled in Cape Charles and headed out on the afternoon on the 26th for Cape May, up the Chesapeake, through the C&D Canal, down the Delaware Bay.
Oh, and one of the things I had to do before we left: JB weld the catch basin on the head so that we could, in fact, have a functioning toilet for the trip. Figuring out how to clamp that stupid thing was a bitch, but I did it and bullseyed it. Not the most impressive project, but certainly great for quality of life.
The Chesapeake was generally pleasant on the way up, although there was a lot of traffic in terms of commercial shipping. Since we were doing an overnighter, we were in watches and I somehow missed a giant cargo ship on the AIS, waking Tripp up because we were getting hailed. The guy’s question was basically the professional, “you jokers f-ing see me, right?” to which Tripp responded, “oh yes, certainly” and we shot off out of his way. Whoopsy.
We also started listening to the Dollop’s broadcast about the 1908 car race from New York to Paris. You should have a listen because it is hilarious and also because it will seem relevant to the next update.
The morning of the 27th came and we eventually got into the C&D Canal, another pleasant canal experience that cemented our high opinion of them in general. The weather was nice enough to play fiddle on the deck while Tripp was on the tiller and people on shore actually clapped for me. We did get outpaced by a woman running with a stroller, though.
Once we got into the Delaware Bay, however, it turned out to be basically the anti-Dismal Swamp. Getting rocked around in the dark, shit like “abandoned ruins” on the Navionix that had to be looked out for, Tripp leering out with a spotlight at some seemingly random little island yelling, “What is this SATAN monument that I’m looking at?!” that turned out to be a lighthouse that was supposed to be operational with a busted bulb. That basically makes it the OPPOSITE of a lighthouse. The Delaware Bay sucks.
It was late at night when we were nearing the Cape May breakwater. We took in sails and the topping lift for the main got snagged on the port spreader, which became evident when I tried to sheet in the main and couldn’t fully do it. Tripp had us swing away and attempted to deal with it for a good ten minutes (me or him trying to snap the damn thing around, including with the boat hook) but we eventually just had to give up and go in. Tripp said if he could have “reached the f-er” he’d have just cut it off.
Once in the breakwater, the waters were much calmer, but the narrowness in the dark saw me up on the foredeck with the spotlight to make sure nothing was in Tripp’s way. Eventually, we motored up to Utsch’s Marina and dropped the anchor after midnight right outside the entrance. Then pretty much collapsed.
We spent two nights in Cape May. Getting there was a real homecoming kind of feeling. Tripp and I got a good damn breakfast at the Mad Batter, including the Manmosa. A 23 oz. mimosa made of Allagash, champagne, mandarin vodka, and orange juice was just what I needed. I met up with Kim and Pat, whom y’all might remember from my initial Cape May update. Good to see the two of them and to have a steak sandwich at the Lucky Bones. Hopefully it won’t be the last time we see one another, especially since I’ve pitched the Grace Bailey (where I’ll be working this summer) so hard. Though they might not be there until 2024.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see my man Jim Buie the next day, as a knee injury and back strain had put him out of commission. I did have another Rusty Nail in his honor, though. And the bartender (whose name escapes me, sorry miss) enjoyed seeing some of the pictures from the trip.
Also, I finally bought two new friggin’ pairs of pants at the Sea Gear. I felt like a new man. I tried to get some downtown in Cape May, but they were 109.00 and no way.
That brings us all the way through February! Next update, the trip from Cape May through New York City, with Rhode Island being our ultimate goal.
Hermit Thrush 