October 22, 2005
N36.55 W76.1 Norfolk, Virginia
We arrived just after noon yesterday in Norfolk, returning to the same marina we visited on our northward trek. We like it here, and it is very protected from weather.
We will wait here and monitor Hurricane Wilma before moving on. We plan to explore the Chesapeake Bay, return to Norfolk in early November, where we will be joined by a friend we met in New York. Toby will join us for our Norfolk-Charleston voyage, which rounds Cape Hatteras. The Cape is notorious for bad weather and rough seas. An extra hand will be great to have.
Posted by dave at 07:50 AM | Comments (0)
October 21, 2005
Snowbirds & Other Wildlife
Quiet as church mice, we scampered around in the dark just an hour before daybreak in Atlantic City getting ready for our 30-hour voyage to Norfolk, Virginia. We were joined by other scampering mice getting ready for their voyages. It was like an army of ants fighting to make it through a tiny hole in the weather, a full frontal advance out to sea.
We have met several southbound boats, and we discovered that the majority are Canadian snowbirds. I met a crew on the dock, Canadians heading south to the Bahamas for the winter. We followed a sailboat out of the inlet – a Canadian couple. I was wearing the sweater my mother made me – white with a huge red Canadian maple leaf on the front. I waved. It was like we had spoken an unspoken language. Don’t they understand that someone has to stay in Canada to pay for our health care?
Being chased by a northerly cold front, we hustled south with lots of wind. Our first overnight sail in several weeks, with bad weather following us, we made great progress. A tiny bird landed on the deck. Sharpened its beak on a cleat. Pecked at little morsels of whatever lay about. Then another. And another. They were so tame, sitting on Chis’ toqued head, resting on the wheel, closer than any wild bird had ever come to either of us. Chis crumbled some cracker crumbs on the deck. First, we thought they were injured. Then, we realized they were migrating south for the winter.
Platina had become a refuge. A sanctuary for their long flights south. We felt lucky, that these tiny creatures, with an uncanny sense of direction, had chosen us to visit.
Posted by dave at 03:53 PM | Comments (0)
August 13, 2005
N36.6 W76.1 Norfolk, Virginia
It all started three days ago. Mid morning, August 11th. I went into the dock office at the marina in Beaufort, NC to ask them to fill our diesel tank. The Dockmaster agreed, and asked politely if we had a sense of when we would be leaving. At the same time that I said that we were watching Tropical Storm Irene, the Dockmaster pointed at a notice taped to the desk. It had clearly been there for some time, under layers of packing tape. Yellow. Of course, I hadn’t noticed it when we arrived.
It said something like: “In a named windstorm, the Dockmaster reserves the right to evacuate the marina. No boats will be allowed the stay in the marina.” I felt my blood pressure rise, my eyes suddenly felt huge, the heat welled up in my face, the short curly hairs on the back of my neck got wiry, an overwhelming sense of “CRAP!”.
The Dockmaster recommended that we leave no later than the next morning, and head up the Intracoastal Waterway and go inland. When I explained that our mast, at 69 feet, would not fit under the fixed bridges, and our keel, at 7’3”, would hit sand and mud in at least a dozen places, the Dockmaster went pale, and handed me a long tape measure. He suggested that I measure the mast. So, Chis hoisted me up to the top, and we dropped the tape measure to the water line. 65 feet to the top of the tricolour running light, 68 feet to the top of the VHF antenna. Three bridges at 65 feet, and the plan was clear. Head out to sea, and head north.
We went for lunch. We were quiet. We could barely eat. Irene was forecasted to make landfall somewhere between Charleston, SC and Cape May, NJ in 3-4 days. Right where we were sitting, and right where we wanted to go. These things are less than predictable, a crap shoot really. We decided to head north. And now.
We left at 2:30pm in a heck of a hurry. From nothing to departure in 20 minutes.
At 3:30pm yesterday (25 hours later), we started to receive US Coast Guard announcements on the VHF radio about Irene. I started to download weather every 6 hours, and received a report in the early evening hours that hurricane force winds would hit Cape Hatteras, North Carolina to Norfolk, Virginia Sunday through Tuesday. I called my brother, Jeff, in Winnipeg, and asked him to look at www.noaa.com for an update. He read me the update, which suggested a more optimistic scenario for our whereabouts. We agreed to talk again at 11pm. When we talked, the National Hurricane Center had sent a reconnaissance plane into the storm, and returned with new data – the storm would head north, and only tropical storm conditions would affect the eastern seaboard. Whew!
We arrived in Norfolk, Virginia at 9:30am today. 2 nights at sea. We could really care less what the marina is like, except that it and the boats in it, survived a Category 1 hurricane. And they won’t kick us out, as long as we have at least $500,000 of liability insurance. This IS America.
We went up to the marina restaurant at 10:30am, had breakfast (Chis had a beer and I had a Bloody Mary). Then we went to sleep.
I forced myself to wake at 5pm. I feared sleeping too much, then rattling around in the wee hours of the night. Our sleep patterns change at sea, with immediate deep sleep for 30-45 minutes, then complete alertness and awakeness for about an hour. The deep sleep is associated with emotionally engaging, concentrated, intense dreams.
The dream I woke from was surreal.
I was in a swimming pool. Crystal clear water. It was a rock opera. Close up on a black woman in a black bathing suit. Nobody but the two of us. She sings, in soprano, “You cannot leeeeeaaaavvve”. Emphasis on the “vvv”. I’m trying to get out of the pool. Of course, I have no sense of what colour bathing suit, if any, I am wearing. Except that I am GEORGEOUS! I try to climb out of the pool at the ladder. She sings “Plllllleaase don’t leave”. Emphasis on the “lll”. Her mouth is big, her eyes well up, her mascara begins to run. She really doesn’t want me to get out of the pool. Pan back. Hundreds of people in the pool, all in different colour bathing suits, all singing “Donnnnnn’t leavvvvve”. I wake up. I either commit to finish the dream, or wake up. I choose waking. (Many who know me well will not find this surprising.)
(The magical event over our 2 nights at sea was the meteor showers. We lucked out with crystal clear skies, and saw several of these bombs of nature. The Coast Guard alerted us to them because they were concerned mariners would mistake them as flares. They were that bright!)
I wake Chis. Sleep some more? No. We wake, air out the damp sails, and chill with our books.
As for Irene, you stress-inducer from Mother Nature. Be gone. Go back to sea. And leave us alone. Our stress barometer remains high, but we remain prepared for the worst. Canadians are good at this.
The winds are kicking up, the skies are filling in. Irene approaches. We feel good. Better than we have felt in a long time. Our instincts are honed, our preparations planned. We have learned to embrace our fear.
My sister-in-law asked me today if we love the choice we made. I said that life gives many stresses. Most are manageable. At land or at sea, stress is stress. It is just a different brand of stress. I wouldn’t give this up in a heartbeat.
Posted by dave at 07:28 PM | Comments (1)