A Passage South
The winter avoidance strategy finally succeeds...
Above, I am happy to say, is a picture of Laughing Gull at Brunswick Landing Marina, in southern Georgia. The temperature in DC right now is 46. The temperature in Brunswick right now is 60. Five hundred miles makes a difference.
I had started to wonder if we would ever get there. But early last week a little weather window opened, and I jumped into it. I was so desperate to get out of the Chesapeake Bay and get south that I was planning to go alone if need be. Luckily, Jay O’Brien, a great navigator, crew-mate, and Norfolk, VA resident, decided to save me from myself and help me with the delivery. I am sure I would have survived solo. But I would have slept a lot less, and stressed a lot more. I aim to get comfortable singlehanding Laughing Gull offshore. A little more practice and understanding of all the systems and nuances would be good, however.
We took off from Hampton mid-day Monday, aiming to round Hatteras in the brief blip of moderate conditions on offer. The only wrinkle was that a nasty front would arrive Tuesday afternoon or evening, and in an ideal world we would be anchored somewhere sheltered like Beaufort or Morehead City when it did. As we passed Cape Henry around 2:30 pm, Jay crunched the numbers. “What would make me really happy,” he concluded, “is if we could make 200 miles in the next 24 hours.” That is a tall order, an 8.3 knot average. But it would get us to safety—ultimately we decided on the protection of the Bight at Point Lookout—before the front arrived.
Initially, I was a bit conflicted. The only way to have a prayer of hitting that target would be to run the engine hard and motorsail for 24 hours. I don’t like to run the engine. I want to rely as little as possible on fossil fuels. A sailboat is for sailing. But a determination to sail in this instance would mean getting smacked pretty hard Tuesday night. Jay, who is wise, pointed out that pushing for one day to avoid the front would protect both the boat and the crew. And that there would be plenty of fine sailing after Tuesday. It was a very reasonable position to take, and it did occur to me that if I needlessly subjected Jay to a miserable, wet, windy, cold night off the Outer Banks it might well affect his disposition toward future Laughing Gull voyages. An important consideration.
So we cranked the diesel, and revved it up until we were motorsailing at a steady 8-9 knots. One consolation was that the noise and speed of Laughing Gull slicing through the water attracted multiple pods of spotted dolphins, which would race to the bow and spend up to 30 minutes surfing and playing in the pressure wave. It was nice to have their endorsement of our strategy.
The miles and milestones ticked by at a steady and satisfying clip. We were past Hatteras by early morning, and tucked into the Bight by early afternoon, along with a handful of other sailboats and motoryachts. When it got dark, the wind started to whistle and rain spattered the decks. I was more than happy to be relaxing on the anchor, drinking a beer, and listening to Coleman Hawkins. We ate a good dinner, and had a great sleep. I woke up briefly at 2:30 am when the wind went northwest, which was the perfect angle for us to continue the next morning. Fine sailing awaited.
The next morning, we motored out of the Bight and within hours shut the engine off for good. From there we enjoyed a fast reach that carried us past Frying Pan Shoals, Charleston and Savannah. Sometimes it got pretty cold, and sometimes the seas were a jumble. We reefed the main, and I played often with different headsail configurations. Three-sail reaching was fast. Staysail reaching was a lot more relaxed and almost as fast. By early morning Friday we had covered more than 320 miles and were approaching the entrance channel to the St. Mary’s River, which would take us up to Brunswick. Nothing had broken. Spotted dolphins had continued to visit and play. We never ran out of good food or warm clothing. It was an excellent passage south. We had escaped winter.
Now I am back in chilly Washington, DC, looking forward to a Thanksgiving gathering of family and friends. After the food coma wears off I am thinking to go back to check on Laughing Gull in mid-December. In January the adventures can truly begin, maybe with some exploration of the Georgia coast. February could see some hanging out in St. Augustine. March might demand a passage to the Bahamas. Who knows? The only thing for sure is that Laughing Gull is afloat and ready to sail again, not winterized and sitting under a bleak winter cover in a northern boatyard. That makes me happy.
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