Not much exciting happens during our time in Galesville. We
arrive and spend several days at a dock preparing to pull the boat, and then
the big day comes when the boat goes in the slings and on jack stands. She always looks so ungainly swaying in the
hoist.
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| Going on to the hard (with our fingers crossed) |
Burt makes arrangements for yard workers to varnish our companionway
steps, touch up a few spots of bottom paint, and replace the zincs. Here in Galesville we are not allowed to do
any work ourselves while the boat is on the hard. Meanwhile, we get a rental car and take off
for Ohio and Wisconsin to visit family and friends. It’s a pleasant two weeks of shore leave for
us. When we return, it is back to the
grindstone. The boat is launched, and we
spend two weeks finishing up our chores.
The deck and cockpit are cleaned and waxed. Exterior canvas is removed and cleaned of its
accumulated mildew. More interior varnish work is completed by Burt while I
refinish the boarding ladder. The interior cupboards are all emptied, cleaned,
and reorganized, and interior walls and floors get a good scrubbing. We take
advantage of the car and do extensive shopping and reprovisioning. After all, a
year of laundromats takes its toll on our clothes. Our monthly dockage and car rental runs out,
and that is the signal that it is time to move on. Boat chores are endless, so it is nice to be
forced to stop. All is not misery in Galesville, though. We meet up with several cruising friends in the
area for dinners out and make new friends who are permanently docked in
Galesville.
Upon leaving the dock, we make a huge passage of about 1/8
mile to the anchorage at Galesville.
Here we have arranged to meet up with our Australian friends with whom
we cruised extensively last summer. They
are on their way south to have their boat pulled in the lower Chesapeake
while they head back to Australia
for three months. Fortunately, our paths cross, and we enjoy a relaxing dinner
with Claire and Andrew on Exuberant.
Talk goes late into the night as we have a lot of catching up to do. The
next morning we part ways, they heading south and we heading to Annapolis – who knows if
and when we will next meet.
We treat ourselves to four nights on the mooring balls in Annapolis. It is truly special to be moored off the Naval Academy
and the historic harbor.
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| Just as our neighbor's boat says, the moorings in Annapolis are serene |
We watch
traffic come and go; racing fleets head off for evening contests, large yachts
come by on their way to docks, and interesting boats tie up on the balls. One such boat was a wooden pilot boat built
in the 1930’s that had been in service on the Columbia River and then in Alaska. It had been partially restored at the Shannon
Boatworks in Bristol, RI and now was on its way home with new
owners who intended to complete the restoration.
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| A study in contrasts - the wooden pilot boat in the foreground and a mega-yacht behind |
We have dinner one night with friends Kathy
and Curt who we met in the Bahamas
this winter. Although they have lived
aboard their boat for seven years, this was their first year out cruising, and
they are an example of Murphy’s Law at work.
It seemed everything was breaking on their boat during the winter, and
when they finally arrived in Annapolis
this spring it was discovered that they had taken a near lightning strike. Now they are on the hard having fiberglass
repaired and electronics replaced. During it all, they have maintained an
optimistic outlook, and we hope to meet up with them later this summer in New England. We also have an opportunity to meet up with
our friend Stan who originally docked just down from us in Sandusky.
He now works for the Annapolis Harbormaster, and, as typical, keeps us
in stitches with stories of what he witnesses in the harbor.
But, it has been hot and humid in the Chesapeake, and it is time to head further
north. We have a leisurely motorsail to
the north end of the Chesapeake and the peaceful
Bohemia River. It marks the entrance on to the Chesapeake and Delaware
Canal. You time your departure for the canal to coincide
with favorable tidal currents both in the canal and Delaware
Bay – Burt describes it as dealing with simultaneous equations as
the timing is so tricky. Thus we anchor
for the night and in the early morning prepare the boat for what will
eventually be an ocean passage. The
dinghy, now filthy with Chesapeake
growth, is raised to the foredeck and then scrubbed – there goes our clean
decks. We rig jacklines and a radar
reflector.
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| Burt at work - jacklines, check; radar reflector, check; dinghy on deck, check |
At the appointed hour we pull
anchor and head to the canal. Right
behind us is s/v Ladyhawk, a boat we met a year ago in the Bahamas. They are on their way to Nova Scotia, so we will have company and
radio conversation for the passage. At
this point, we begin the “Passage from Hell”. It has gotten deathly hot and
humid, and what little wind exists comes from our stern, leaving us with no
cooling breeze. When we arrive at Delaware Bay we turn south and finally get a beam breeze
which makes things more comfortable, but also brings flies by the
gazillions. We are besieged, and the
human versus fly war is instigated while we motor sail down the Bay,
maintaining enough speed to keep in a positive current. At times we see over ten knots, but there is
little opportunity to enjoy the ride as we are too busy swatting flies. At
dusk, we round Cape May and endure a few hours
of uncomfortable waves against current; we’re still swatting those darn flies.
We finally put up screens to surround the cockpit, but there is major carnage
below decks, and it is hard to sleep while being bitten. Dawn arrives and the
captain and first mate are groggy and irritable, as it seems the flies below are
multiplying while the cockpit screens are covered with flies hitching a free
ride north. As we close in on the entrance to New York Harbor,
we pump our holding tanks overboard where it is legal. But, they don’t seem to
be pumping correctly, and there is an unpleasant smell. A look below at the pumps proves that both
have suffered membrane failure, and we have managed to spray holding tank
contents into the cabinets under the head sinks. The flies are having a field day, and we are
considering scuttling the boat. We pull into Sandy Hook,
drop an anchor, and discuss our limited options. Burt has one spare pump (Who would ever think
you would need to carry two spares!) so he replaces one failed pump after
cleaning and sanitizing the cabinets. Meanwhile, as I store all my cleaning
products in the contaminated cabinets, I remove the contents and clean and
sterilize them on deck. We are filing
garbage bags with disgusting stuff from our perspective while the flies feel
they have died and gone to heaven with the odorous scent; it appears they have
decided to take up permanent residence on our boat. It is late when we complete the unpleasant
tasks; we have a quick dinner and collapse into bed, proving if you are tired
enough you can even sleep while the flies bite. Severe thunderstorms are
passing nearby and tomorrow we will head through Hell’s Gate on the East River. But, somehow, it seems like we’ve already
been through the gates of hell.
The next morning with flies buzzing outside the cockpit and
corpses littering the interior, we pull anchor and head into New York Harbor
with a favorable current but also with dense fog. There is so much traffic that
it is hard to keep track of all the boats with the radar and AIS while we
continue to swat flies. All of a sudden
as we are approaching the Verrazano
Narrows Bridge
we hear a loud horn from behind. We are startled by a huge container ship
bearing down on us, and we rapidly move out of the channel.
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| A foggy encounter with one of the Big Boys as we go past the Verranzo Narrows Bridge |
The fog lightens as we approach the City, and
we get views of the Statue of Liberty and lower Manhattan.
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| The Statue of Liberty with one of the ever present Staten Island ferries |
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| Manhattan skyline as the fog lifts |
With four knots of positive current
we fly through the East River, enjoying the exhilarating
experience of sailing through one of the most impressive cities in the world. By
lunchtime we are tied to a free mooring at Port Washington on the western end
of Long Island. Here we will pick up a second pump at a nearby
West Marine, and best of all, get rid of our stinky garbage. With a decent breeze and severe thunderstorms
again bearing down on us, the flies decide to leave for shore and the human
versus fly war comes to a draw. Sure,
there is clean up to be done, but we no longer smell and can sleep in comfort.
