August 5:
Cape Charles, VA to Chesapeake Lighthouse to Cape Charles, VA (approx. 50 Miles)
After planning and preparing for nearly a year, the day arrives: The day we are to round Chesapeake Lighthouse. We wake and go through the morning routine. Kohl eats breakfast while I listen to the weather report on VHF. By this time, I routinely skipped breakfast after discovering it had a negative effect on my propensity for sea sickness. A granola bar and a diet coke is about all I could handle, and that is only after sailing for an hour or so.
The radio does nothing to ease our nerves. The Weather Service has issued Small Craft Advisories from the mouth of the bay to 20 miles offshore for waves. Winds are from the northeast at 15-20 and waves are four to five feet. We talk about the warning and make some agreements. We will try to make it to the lighthouse but will not do anything stupid. We'll use the storm jib and full main, wear our life jackets the entire time, and tether ourselves to the mast in case one of us is knocked overboard.
At 0600, Kohl and I weigh anchor and depart for the lighthouse. We put up the main and storm jib, and head for the channel mark and the Fisherman Island Bridge (one of the northern spans of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel).
With Kohl at the tiller, Alt Escape passes under the bridge and at 0715 enters the Atlantic Ocean. Winds are 10-15 knots from the northeast, but the boat is riding comfortably. We can see the breaking waves to our north and are glad our course keeps us to their south.
By 0900, winds are up to 15-20 from the northeast. It is a reach, so the boat is comfortable with the storm jib and main up; but the 4-5 foot waves make it hard to steer. The boat sails up the wave, crashes down as we crest, and then sails down the wave. On one of my trips below, I notice that with every crash into a wave I hear water trickling into the boat. Since we don't have a bilge pump (one of many new purchases when we returned), we bail water every couple of hours with a water pitcher and a sponge.
We see clouds are forming to the east (the direction of the lighthouse) and are darkening. I hope we make it before the storm. The last thing I want to do is be on the ocean in bad weather.
At 0915, we spot Chesapeake Lighthouse 11.5 miles away (36° 54´ 18´´ N, 075° 42´ 48´´ W). It is 117 feet tall and looks like a large dot on the horizon. The winds are up, and so are the seas. From trough to crest is easily 6 feet, while some waves seem to reach 8 feet. Gene tells us later that winds were sustained above 20, with gusts reaching as high as 27 knots. The clouds in the distance are still organizing, but look to be forced south by the winds. As we look across the waves, Coyote seems to appear and disappear behind the waves. All that we can constantly see is her 65-foot mast.
August 5, 1998 at 1100, Kohl, after four years of dreaming of the day, takes the tiller of Alt Escape as we approach Chesapeake Lighthouse, a little over a mile away. With 25+ knot winds, 6-7 foot seas, and Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture playing on a borrowed cassette recorder, we first come even with the lighthouse (being dwarfed by its size), then pass her by a 100 yards, then gybe the sails, and round Chesapeake Lighthouse--to starboard, just as it was done in the race that served as the genesis of this trip.
There is little time for celebrating. A quick fist in the air and a high five between the two of us is all we can manage for now. As soon as we round the lighthouse, the wind, which had so gently been pushing us toward the lighthouse on a beam to broad reach, became a close reach. We try to sail for about an hour, coming up in the lulls and being forced south--away from the wind--in the gusts. At one point, our course has become forced south so far it looked as though we were heading for North Carolina, instead of Maryland.
We are 40 degrees low of the course and worried about making it back to our anchorage. We begin working on a back-up plan. Virginia Beach to the south is an option. So is Rudee Inlet, a few miles south of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. The boat, meanwhile, is becoming more and more difficult to handle. We have no other choice but to reef the main.
I make sure my tether is secure and climb on the cabin top to lower the main the 18 inches or so to the reefing point. With one hand wrapped firmly around the rigging for support, I untie the halyard (which is led only to the base of the mast) and lower the sail. Kohl offers friendly advice like "Sam, at least sit down and hold onto something," and, "Would you please hurry? You're making me nervous up there." After a few minutes, I have the cunningham in the cringle (I'd replace the cunningham with a sail tie later) and am hauling in on the reefing line. Another sail tie around the aft cringle and boom and the reef is in. It is not pretty, but the boat becomes much more manageable. We get 20 degrees lift out of the arrangement as well and can begin thinking about returning to the bay again.
Ok, so setting the reef wasn't quite that easy. The reefing line is led to a jam cleat--a situation that will soon be modified. The jam cleat wouldn’t hold which caused the whole operation to be much more difficult than it should have been. The line is narrow enough to fit into the jam cleat and would cut into my hand through my gloves when I pulled it into place. However, once I had the jam cleat set and grabbed a sail tie, wham, the cleat would let loose. After several choice words aimed at the designer of jam cleats, I decided to wrap a sail tie around the reefing line and boom, which held the line in the jam cleat forcing it to hold.
The only two ships (not counting Coyote of course) we've seen since entering the ocean are spotted. The first, a Navy ship is heading northeast at an astounding speed. It cuts through the waves as if they were ripples. About 15 minutes later we see a Coast Guard cutter seemingly heading for us. We joke that we must be quite the sight. We can imagine the conversation on the watch deck. "Captain, do we have any idiots scheduled for rescue today?" The ship passes a mile to the south and steams past the lighthouse headed north.
The day's trip isn't finished providing us with our dose of excitement yet. We have the boat back under control and are finally headed back for the bay, when I notice a small problem. The tiller (which we tightened two days before) is about to come off. The first of three bolts has already lost its nut and is working free. The second nut is only finger tight; and when I touch the third, it nearly comes off in my hand. Kohl quickly hands me a wrench to tighten the nuts still attached and looks for a replacement. The repair takes only a few minutes but scares us, when we contemplate losing the tiller while out in the ocean.
As we got closer to shore, the winds and waves lessen. By 1700, we are able to make it back to our original destination and re-enter the Chesapeake Bay. Half a mile from the Fisherman Island Bridge, we are joined by more than two dozen dolphin, some swimming no further than 10 feet from the boat. These majestic creatures escort us back to the bay and depart once we are safely making our way to our night's anchorage. It is almost like their presence the night before--and their reappearance on our return--is a sign that this trip was fated to be successful.
A few minutes after our entrance into the Chesapeake, we receive a call from Coyote. She is about a mile to the north and has had engine problems. After dropping the sails and starting our motor, we come along side the drifting 40 foot boat. In one of the strangest events of the trip, we tow Coyote toward our anchorage. Picture, if you will, a 22 foot Catalina with a little 6 hp Evinrude outboard pulling a C&C 40 at the heart racing speed of 3/4s a knot. After 15 minutes, Gene tries the engine again and is met with success. He powers to our spot for the night. You can be assured the photographs (of which I took several) will be held in a secret location for possible future use.
We anchor for the night and celebrate!