En route for New York

We are in Newport right now, but as the blog has got so behind, here is a diary extract from June

Thursday 24th June 2010, day 615, 11,286 miles, 39° 16’.96 N, 74° 17’.86 W. Off Atlantic City, New Jersey.


“Tah tah dahdadahda, tah tah dahdadahda … Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today …”

“Prepare the ship for sea”, and once again we are off, this time leaving behind Annapolis with the usual blend of excitement at the next destination, pleasure in the new friends we’ve spent time with, and sorrow to be leaving yet another place where we could happily have spent months.

The route this time takes us up the Chesapeake Bay, and this is where we learn that the English are quite wrong when they say with a defiant pride “We don’t have a climate, we have weather.” The English have a very variable climate. The Americans have Weather. We ran into a particularly nasty patch halfway up Chesapeake Bay. Our friends Don and MaryKay had warned us “If you see a jelly roll (Swiss roll) in the sky, reef down and get yourself to shelter.” Believe me, next time we see any sort of cake up there, we will be motoring hard for the nearest harbour, rather than reefing a bit, and carrying on, staring up at the dark charcoal swirl forming fifteen miles down the bay with slightly academic interest.

The roll grew and massed, blacker and rounder, following us up the bay. Lightning started to crackle, thunder rumbling ominously, first in the distance, then growing closer and closer to the lightning flashes: “one thousand, two thou – whew, that was close!” The storm was chasing us right up the bay, like being followed by a giant bear, growling and spitting and making wild slashes with his claws.

The VHF crackled with a message from the Coast Guard: “Severe weather warning. A severe front with associated thunder, lightning and hail storms is due to pass up the Chesapeake Bay, north of Annapolis, in the next hour. All vessels in the upper Chesapeake Bay should make for shelter immediately.” We were stuck; the shelter of Baltimore was behind us, the other side of the ever-increasing storm cloud, the Bay was still 6 miles wide, but shallow banks on either side kept us from the shelter of the trees. Shelter of the trees? Aren’t you supposed to avoid trees in lightning? Yes, if you’re a person, and much closer to the ground than the trees; no, if you’re a yacht with a 58 foot metal mast that is the only thing above wave height in many square miles of open water.

We did the only thing possible, which was to disconnect the electrics, putting all the small stuff in the oven (apparently because it swings on rubber gimbals, it provides a degree of insulation), and carry on, willing the storm to slow or deviate to one side or the other. Finally a small wooded island appeared off to port, and we picked our way over unmarked shoals to a spot as close as we dared to its shores. The storm raged away, lightning exploding behind the clouds in yellow and grey sunbursts, sometimes swinging towards us, sometimes backing away. It would have been a wonderful show if we’d been watching from behind windows in some cosy little house. Finally it grumbled away, leaving us with increased respect for American weather.

The journey through the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, shrouded with early morning mist, and down Delaware Bay was tame by contrast, and here we are, twenty four hours later, sailing past the unlovely shore of Atlantic City, at the 3am change in watches.

The moon is shining, our destination is less than a day away, and we are dancing together in the cockpit to Anthony’s Frank Sinatra impression “… I’m gonna be a part of it, New York, New York …” Can’t wait.