A Chapter for Kianda

Most marinas have a book exchange library with books left behind by boaters for those who come after them to chose from.  When you're cruising, you may have time to read but not so much space to store books so this system works well: take one/leave one. 

While perusing the bookshelves of a marina clubhouse in Georgia, Dave happened across a travel guide for Angola, Africa and thought to check the index under K, just out of curiosity...

And, as he might have suspected, there was a section dedicated to Kianda - Angolan Goddess of the Atlantic!  It read:

(In keeping with historic Kianda customs, we will accept offerings of food and drink left for us on the shoreline.) 

Well Butter my Butt and Call Me a Biscuit! We're in the South!

Arriving in Virginia marked the beginning of our time in «the South» and the signs are only getting more accentuated as we move deeper South. I don't mean the USA's geographical south, but rather the Southern States where there's a very pleasant shift in the way of things. Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia are the ones we'll be visiting. In these parts, the pace of life slows down a few notches and there's just no rush. Dave says with a smile «This is my pace!» The people are welcoming, friendly and well mannered. Momma raised them to mind their 'Ps and Qs' and 'Yes ma'am' and 'No sir'! Southern hospitality and Southern charm, not to mention the Southern home cooking, are well known phrases for a reason.

Here are a few of the top signs that we're in the South:

-Most obvious, along with the Southern drawl, is people saying « Y'all ».

-Tea is either iced tea or sweet tea. If I want a cup of tea, I have to ask for 'hot tea'.

-Gator ribs are on the menu and you will literally get a plate of alligator ribs if you order it (which Dave did).

-A proper breakfast includes grits, something fried, a buttermilk biscuit or Texas toast, maybe hushpuppies, a hot cake, and custard for your fruit. You might gain weight just by reading the menu. I asked a friend from Virginia "How do you eat like this all the time?!" to which she responded "Oh we don't. Only on the weekend!"

-Fried chicken! Southerners are the masters of frying food. My fried fish and grits breakfast was one for the record book. «Y'all ready to order?» to which I say: « Darn tootin!»

-People sitting on their porch is a very common sight. We've actually walked up porch steps to chat with porch-sitters. Conversations between neighbours are sometimes shouted from across the street so that no one has to move from their porch. Note to self: include porch-sitting time in our daily life when we get back.

-Another sure sign we're in the South is when a complete stranger calls us Darlin', Sugar, or Honey. The Canadian grocery store workers do not address me as Sweet Pea as far as I can recall.

When it comes to the nature of things on land and sea, our new daily sightings are:

-Dolphins!

-Pelicans.

-Spanish moss hanging from the trees.

-The majestic Live Oak trees.

-Shrimping boats.

-People crabbing.

-Severe shoaling on the ICW. When a heron stands next to a channel marker with water to its knees, you know it ain't deep!

Beaufort, NC

Once arrived in Beaufort, North Carolina, we anchored on Taylor Creek. Space for anchoring is limited here due to the many mooring balls but we found a spot. There are a number of derelict boats on moorings but I'm not sure what, if anything, the city can do about this. Charleston has the same problem though they're working to clean up their harbour. These boats are real eyesores plus they take up valuable space, but on the other side of the coin, they sometimes are lived on by people who would otherwise be homeless. Oftentimes they end up sinking during storms which causes hazards to navigation and ruins anchoring prospects.

There was rain in the forecast for late afternoon, and it was late afternoon, but we judged that we had the time if we hurried, to dinghy to Carrot Island for a quick exploration of the Rachel Carson Reserve and perhaps see some of the resident wild horses. The map I looked at online showed a line marked "boardwalk" but once we arrived, we could see that the boardwalk is just wherever there are no trees. All is very clean and pristine here - as nature should be. What helps this place remain so natural is the fact that the only access is by boat, so it doesn't see too much traffic.

It was evident that the horses were around: we saw hoof prints in the mud and piles of manure all over the "boardwalk". I guess they weren't expecting company! We even heard a whinny from the bushes but they remained elusive; we couldn't spot them.

We walked along the beautiful beach (on my list of favourite things: a beach with no one on it!) and then we took a shortcut back through a muddy marsh. That's when they came into sight - a group of horses hanging out by the water's edge. They weren't too concerned by our presence as long as we remained at the recommended 'bus-length' distance. They stared at us for a while and then went back to horsing around. Distance-wise, my comfort zone is actually smaller than theirs. As I was hunched behind a bush watching a horse graze, Dave (from much farther back) motioned to me that more were coming my way. The thought of startling them made me the nervous Nellie and I nearly galloped out of there myself.

That night the rain came down in buckets and the wind howled like a freight train. The sounds kept us awake for part of the night, plus in that kind of weather we compulsively feel the need to look out the companionway to keep an eye on things. Are we dragging? And just as importantly, is anyone nearby us dragging? Around 3am Dave went up on deck to check on our anchor and bridle buck naked because, as he says, why get your clothes wet? Quite funny the things that become normal out here. Our boat stayed well put throughout the blow. At times like these we're really happy we bought the oversized anchor and chain!

Beaufort got 77mm of rainfall that night. We awoke to Peli (our Pelican dinghy) nearly swamped to the gunnels and the wind shredded our US courtesy flag. One derelict boat dragged from the mooring field past the markers and ended up in the traffic channel.

The day was sunny and we spent it visiting the sights of Beaufort. Side fact: the wreck of Queen Anne's Revenge lies off Beaufort Inlet. We learned all about it at the museum. If you're nerdy about this like we are, get the details at https://www.qaronline.org/history/shipwreck-discovery

Friends of ours had recommended a pub they liked but when that didn't work out for us, we wound up wandering into a restaurant where I had noticed a sign for "peel and eat shrimp at the bar". Admittedly, once in, we weren't sure we'd stay but then everything just started looking up: the bartender was super friendly, there was good $2 beer on special, the food was great and the music was starting up...

You never really know where you'll find your spot; where the good times lie next but we quickly started realizing that this special place was exactly what we needed that night. Our entertainer for the night was Morris Willis (with his wife by his side at the sound board ensuring everything sounded right and generally keeping Morris in check). Morris, who is is a living legend, was nice enough to come over and share some fascinating stories with us. Once on stage he did the: "we have a couple Canadians here with us tonight..." What's cooler than a shout-out from the band!?

It's hard to put into words but we really felt like we belonged there. Everyone was so great. Safe to say we thoroughly enjoyed their company. I've had tunes from Morris' repertoire stuck in my head ever since that night.

We were there for a good time, not a long time. We picked up our anchor the following morning and continued on in the protection of the ICW to avoid strong winds offshore. We're going to have to get further south quickly if we want to keep up with summer. These days can be chilly on the water - especially in the morning and we're finding ourselves bundling up. But back home the first snowfalls are beginning so, no complaints here! 

Dave on the boardwalk of Carrot Island.

They went thataway!

Dave was getting crabby.

The wall of water coming for us!

Bailing out the dinghy.

Our brand new courtesy flag all ripped up. 

A 93yr old having a dance with his sweetie. 

Morris and I.

You know your table is right on the water when you drop
your knife and hear 'bloop'!  Oops.

Semi-hibernation state due to 6ºC temperature. 

Morning traffic leaving Beaufort.

Night at anchor near Camp Lejeune. 

 

We've Got a Hankerin' for Some Shrimp!

Hampton, Virginia

After our ocean passage along the New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland coasts, we arrived in Hampton, Virginia intending to get a slip at the Downtown Hampton Public Piers. Their Visitors' Center is designed to welcome transient boaters and we like stopping here before beginning the Intracoastal Waterway to fill our propane tanks, top up on water and fuel and basically replenish our stores. Their docks were full for the weekend however, with boats participating in a Snowbird Rally, so we dropped the hook in the nearby anchorage on the Hampton River instead. This turned out to be perfect because it was calm, not to mention free of charge, plus we were still allowed to use the services provided by the Visitor's Center. This includes the laundry machines so we dinghied a couple loads over to shore. Since there are a few bars nearby, it works out well to have a beer while we waited for the wash and another as we waited for the dryer. It was good clean fun (and we stopped drinking before reaching the spin cycle).

We happened to be in town to catch the Phoebus Fall Festival which was comedic gold with the doggie costume contest, a T-Rex on the loose and the haphazard parade segments. Their parade was presented in easy to digest instalements where separate and random groups marched through the craft beer sampling area.

One item on our to-do list for Hampton was to collect a package at the post office labelled « General Delivery. Hold for SV Kianda ». (SV = sailing vessel.) Many weeks ago, a friend of mine asked me for a postal address where she could send us something. Sylvie's creativity, thoughtfulness and personal level of awesome have always been way above average. The package she sent contains multiple smaller boxes, all individually wrapped and marked with instructions on when to open them. I admit I opened the Halloween box more than 2 weeks early but it technically had no opening instructions (a loophole!) It simply said «Trick or Treat Smell my Feet» which can be left open to interpretation. Now the boat is well stocked with goodies and surprises for later. Thanks so much Sylvie – you're sweeter than all the treats combined!

The ICW

Dave and I are planning to do more offshore sailing along our way south but the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) is an enjoyable experience that we want to include in our adventure as well. Depending on the geography, the weather and our destination choices, sometimes one route is more advantageous than the other. Therefore, from here until we reach Florida, we'll be alternating between 'the inside' (the canals, rivers and sounds of the ICW) and 'the outside' (the open sea of the Atlantic) as best suits us.

After three mostly misty days in Hampton, we left our anchorage to cross the 10 nautical mile harbour that would lead us to Norfolk which marks Mile Zero of the ICW. One of our cruising guidebooks says many of us will never experience a busier harbour than Hampton Roads, even compared to New York Harbor, because of the concentration of pleasure craft, commercial ships and military vessels (which we must remain clear of by 500 ft). The book also said to secure everything down as if you were going out to sea. On the day of our departure, that really wasn't necessary. Aside from one cargo ship, the only boats we came across were lovely schooners. The harbour was, however, busy with my favourite kind of traffic: dolphins! It's always a delight to spot the dolphins but the real magic moment is when they race over to our boat and surf our bow wave! It's called bow riding (though we've had it happen at the stern and the sides of the boat as well). The boat's forward motion creates a wave that the dolphins use to propel themselves just for the fun of it. It feels like they're engaging with us and it's so amazing! They're right there!

Barely into our first day on the ICW, at Mile 5.8 to be exact, there was an unexpected surprise: the Gilmerton Bridge was closed due to a mechanical problem. A backlog of sailboats was quickly gathering at this unforeseeable impasse, waiting for the bridge to be raised for them to proceed on their way. Not knowing how long the delay would last, we turned off the engine and dropped our anchor to wait in line with the other sailboats, all of us pretending not to notice the power boaters laugh right on through. With no mast, many of the power boats don't need the bridge raised to pass underneath. Point for them, I admit.

Rather than potentially wait there in the channel all afternoon, I suggested we call it an early day and find a proper spot to anchor for the night before the limited spaces nearby filled up with other boats with the same reasoning. We got ourselves set in mouth of an adjacent creek and enjoyed the rest of the beautiful afternoon and evening at rest. Sometimes it's really nice to just stop for a bit and this bridge breakdown provided that opportunity. In the end, the bridge was operational again around 3pm and the boat traffic carried on.

We were up before dawn the next morning to make sure we caught the bridge before its scheduled closure from 6:30am to 8:30am for rush hour vehicle traffic. (I thought about the poor souls who have to go to work on weekdays. Wait, what's a weekday again? Oh yeah, it's those days when the bridge has scheduled closures!) As we prepared to make our way over there, we heard a tug boat call the bridge operator on the VHF for an opening, and it was pretty clear who was large and in charge. The communication went like this:

Tug Boat to Gilmerton Bridge: «Hurry up...Open up...I'm coming...Open it!»

There was no response but the bridge began to lift.

The tug called again: «You open 50 feet?»

The bridge operator responded: «I'm open 75 feet.» (With a sigh and rolling eyes and a head shake behind the radio no doubt.)

And the tug responded: «I'm coming through.»

When we call a bridge for an opening, we're so polite because we worry (for no actual reason) that if they don't like our tone they might not open for us. «Gilmerton Bridge, Gilmerton Bridge, this is sailboat Kianda heading southbound. We'd like to request an opening at your convenience, pretty please, with a cherry on top.» Something like that.

We arrived at the bridge at 6:15am and all was good until we heard the horn of a train. We both knew what that meant. This bridge is immediately followed by a train bridge which is normally a non-issue because it's always open except when a train is crossing - like at that moment. Thanks a lot train, you're thwarting our plan! Our bridge wasn't going to open until the train bridge could open and it was getting very close to 6:30 am. When we contacted the bridge operator to announce our intention to cross we were told «I'll see what I can do for you.»

In the meantime the world woke up around us including heavy commercial shipping traffic. Space is limited in the area where we waited and a huge cargo ship with its two accompanying tugs pulled up right behind us. And so did a tug and barge. And then another tug called from the other side of the bridges wanting to transition. It was getting crowded and that damn train just kept going and going! We hugged the side of the channel to stay out of the big guys' way while being careful not to run aground. The water was getting agitated and swirly from all the activity (and did I mention this was all in the dark before sunrise?) so we were diligent to keep the boat under control. At 7:30 am the bridge operator finally announced: «Tug and barge are clear; Kianda come on through.» And on we went!

At Mile 7 of the ICW, there's a fork in the road where cruisers must chose between two routes: the Virginia Cut route or the Great Dismal Swamp route (the two rejoin near Mile 79). Five years ago when we travelled from New Brunswick to Bahamas, we took the Great Dismal Swamp and loved it. So beautiful! We expected to do it again this time around but before proceeding, by chance, we decided to confirm the status of the canal because at times a fallen tree can stop boaters from transitioning. So Dave made a call and, whadaya know, the Great Dismal Swamp route has been closed since fall 2016 because of damage due to flooding caused by hurricane Matthew. A quick change of plans was in order (no biggie; unexpected twists are the new normal in our daily life these days) - we would travel the Virginia Cut!

This suited me fine for two reasons: 1) I like to take the route I haven't seen before and 2) friends of ours found a snake on board their sailboat after going through the Great Dismal Swamp a few years ago. It slithered across their dock lines when they were tied to a dock for the night. Nermal (the cat) found it on deck. With a broom, it was shooed overboard (I believe it was Brad and not Nermal who handled the broom though it was never specified). Dave told me that he read in the guidebook that this is a common occurrence. He was just messing with me as he knows how I dislike snakes, but it was still enough for me to favour the other, less swampy route this time around.

We were pleasantly surprised by the Virginia Cut. As we traveled beyond the industrial activity of Norfolk, the canal became quite peaceful and opened up to broader rivers and open-water sounds. We motored by day (putting up a sail when possible) and spent our nights at anchor in creeks along the way, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. The general pattern those days was we got underway early, then the larger, faster boats would pass us throughout the morning, and by early afternoon we were alone on the water again. Our boat is on the smaller side of the boats that do this kind of thing; I'd say the average sailboat size we encounter most is about 42ft while we're at 32ft. Even a 1 knot speed advantage over us means they're soon beyond sight. This is fine; it's not a race and we enjoy the serenity that comes once the herd passes by. The Annapolis Boat Show recently ended as well which will cause an increase of boats on the ICW with cruisers now eager to head south.

Belhaven, NC

We made our way through Virginia and by the time we got to Belhaven, North Carolina, we realized we hadn't been to shore in 5 days! We wanted two things from our quick stop in Belhaven: a run and some fresh seafood. Dave and I grew up in the Maritimes and we love seafood, so we're excited to get our fill now that we're on the coast again. In my family, crab, lobster and scallops are basically a form of currency. If someone offers you a mason jar of clams that they dug themselves, you must be very special to them! (FYI we moved to Ontario 2 years ago and the seafood scene not the same there at all.)

We read that there are many seafood restaurants in Belhaven but when we pulled up in our dinghy at 1:55, nothing was open! This little town is basically closed for business from 2-5pm. Don't think you're getting a late lunch! But we made up for it at dinner time with a shrimp appetizer, Dave's swordfish and my tuna steak. We got our legs into gear as well and went for a run. A little boy playing in his yard said out to us : « Y'all are joggin' hard!» He then dropped his football and ran with us until I told him that his shoelace was untied and he feigned a dramatic fall and that was the end of our running trio.

Oriental, NC

Oriental, NC has a population of 800 people and 3000 boats! Or so the saying goes in the proud-to-be 'Sailing Capital of North Carolina'. We noticed at least 7 marine stores and even stores that aren't specifically for nautical gear have a section with boating essentials. Where else could you buy carrots, cheese, cruising charts and zinc anodes all in one store? It's also clear that this town caters to boaters at the small Piggly Wiggly grocery store where an entire aisle is dedicated to wine (on both sides!) and another aisle for the beer.

Since we had been moving along quite steadily lately, we decided it was time to press pause for awhile and savour our surroundings. The Whittaker Point Marina in Oriental was the perfect place to treat ourselves to a few 'down days' with nothing on the agenda. Oriental is super casual and relaxed and is a good spot to do not much. We stayed three days and it really felt like a vacation. Long weekend!

It took no time to unwind and feel at home. By the second day we were zipping back and forth with our bikes on the concrete docks from our boat to the pool like we owned the place – stopping to chat with new acquaintances or to visit with the marina dog. We were warned that the pool temperature was only 80 degrees but then they always say « oh wait, you're Canadian » so it's obviously no problem.

The people in Oriental are so friendly. Everyone we crossed paths with said hello, waved or smiled. I really mean every car that drove past us waved without exception. It's great to see people be so nice to each other. Other bonuses that Oriental has to offer are: a great coffee shop, a cool art gallery and an awesome little fish market. From the patio of the coffee shop we watched a shrimping boat come in and we headed to the fish shack. He said the boat had 7000lbs of shrimp to offload. So we helped out by taking 1.5lbs off his hands and had the freshest shrimp dinner possible back at the marina. Some dolphins were playing nearby which added to the full contentedness of our evening and we decided there was no reason not to stay in Oriental one more day.

Later in the evening there was some excitement in the marina over the scheduled arrival of a 75ft mega yacht. The marina caretaker, a couple of liveaboards and Dave as well, all stood on the dock ready and eager to help the big fancy yacht get secured. The captain stood on deck and with his remote that controls everything onboard, casually maneuvering it like it was nothing. This vessel can stop or turn on a dime. He then invited the guys onboard for a look-see. Meanwhile I had been in the clubhouse and when I returned to our boat, I couldn't find Dave. It wasn't hard to guess where he was when I saw that the big yacht had arrived. I got out the binoculars, and lo and behold, there he was on the yacht, beer in hand, seeing how the other half lives.

It turns out that the captain of the yacht is the owner of the marina (and other businesses) where we stayed in Poughkeepsie, NY. He told Dave that he's on his way to Florida and since he wants to make some miles, he pushed it and burned 140 gallons of fuel per hour! That equates to almost $400 of fuel per hour and he did this for most of the day. « I don't want to be doing that too often.» he said. Our 40 gallon fuel tank on Kianda normally allows us 72hrs (about 3 days) of motoring at full throttle before we need to refill. So, this guy is burning fuel (and money) like there's no tomorrow is what I'm sayin'.

When Dave came back to our boat he said « you should have come over ». No thank you, I'm not dazzled by such extravagance. Tell me everything.

When Dave and the guys boarded they were led to the 2^nd story salon where there was a football game playing on two wide screen TVs. The captain opened a large refrigerated drawer full of beer and told them to help themselves. «But he has problems on his boat too. » Dave noted. Which lead me to ask: « Such as? » On their way to Oriental the dishwasher stopped mid-cycle and the water ran out and got under the carpet. Dave said he wasn't worried about it; he just wants to get to Florida.

We had a (perhaps less flashy but) genuinely enjoyable cocktail hour on a trawler called Nearly Perfect that was docked ahead of us at the marina. The owners are a couple from Texas who live aboard their boat and have been cruising full time since 2015. They said that each weekend it got harder and harder to leave the boat to return to the house, so one day they decided it was time to retire, sell most of their possessions and live life afloat. Their words of wisdom: never live somewhere where the temperature (in Fahrenheit) goes down lower than your age!

The final treat that Oriental offered us before our early morning departure from the dock was the most beautiful sunrise we've ever seen. Next stop : Beaufort, North Carolina!

From Norfolk to Oriental.

Virginia Cut route vs Great Dismal Swamp route.

A veggie garden for cruisers at the Hampton Pier!

Our special surprises!

The moment before both dogs went ape-shit, especially the beige one
who was caught completely by surprise. (Note T-Rex in background.)
Dogs. Lost. Their. Minds.

A schooner in Hampton Roads Harbor.

Sunrise at the Gilmerton Bridge, Norfolk.

Most beautiful morning on the Alligator-Pungo River, NC.

Whittaker Point Marina, Oriental, NC.

Getting dinner from the shrimping boats in Oriental.

Why not stay another day?

Dinner with a view.

Here's how it went while underway:  1st we spot them from afar...

Then they come a little closer...

Then, if we're lucky, the magic moment!!!

OMG!
We're making eye contact here! 

Nighty Night

"Cruising has two pleasures. One is to go out in wider waters from a sheltered place. The other is to go into a sheltered place from wider waters."

- Howard Bloomfield

It's common for people back home to say to me «It'd be a great day for sailing!» - typically on a hot and sunny day (as I'm sitting inside at work). People don't think about the wind strength and direction, the wave height, possible swell, warm and cold fronts, pressure systems, the current for the area and the tides for the time of day. On land, temperature and precipitation pretty much cover the scope of what will affect your outdoor plans. Nobody's too concerned with the barometer. When we're out cruising however, there are a lot of elements we need to consider. Of course chilly rainy days aren't what we want but these aren't departure deal-breakers if all other conditions look good. On longer passages not only do we need the current marine forecast but that of other areas along our route on subsequent days as well. It's important to get the big picture. But I always agree with folks and say « Yes, it sure would be a great day for sailing! » If it's hot and sunny, that's a very good start!

After scrutinizing the whole weather shebang, we chose Tuesday, October 10^th to jump from Staten Island, NY to Hampton, VA – a passage that would take us offshore for about 48 hours at the average speed that we go. Winds were predicted to be 10-15 knots from behind on Tuesday and on Wednesday build to 20-25 knots. Wave height was predicted at 2-3 feet. A warm front lingered off the Virginia coast and we hoped we could reach it on Wednesday ahead of the rain and stronger wind; just ride in that sweet spot of good weather to our destination.

Day 1 was great; life was a breeze. Alan, our auto-pilot, did all the steering and a fine job at that, so the two of us were free to sit up on deck, enjoy our meals together and just appreciate the beauty around us. (Alan says hi.) I always prepare a lot of food in advance of longer passages to minimize time spent in the galley. Cooking is not fun when it gets rough out there and rolly seas can turn me into a barf-machine in no time when I'm below deck (or above deck). It's really nice to have a variety of meals to reheat and snacks ready to grab.

The entertainment is quite simple at sea and usually comes in the form of wildlife sightings, or spotting things in the water, or just looking at the sky, or me trying to rig the preventer. We saw a fin darting around and we thought it was a shark but then we eventually determined it was a floppy old sunfish (a picture we saw on Wikipedia confirmed it so, our dorsal fin identification skills must be bang on). We watched a little bird repeatedly try to board us but he got so tired flying upwind that he gave up and settled on the water. «Watch out for the wind generator blade, little guy!» A shower of bird-bit confetti would be a real downer. At the end of the day, when the sunset put on its colourful display, I thought 'Wow, this is beautiful...and please let morning come quickly.' I could tell that the motion of the boat was beginning to wear me down and I was yawning a lot – a first symptom of seasickness.

In theory, on overnight passages, Dave and I do three-hour shifts. One of us is on watch while one of us is sleeping. It's difficult to sleep with the sounds, the motion and the all-around newness of night sailing so it's important to have a warm, comfy place to rest. We set up a sea-berth in the main cabin which is the lowest and most stable part of our boat. When we're underway, this is where we have the best chance of being comfortable, plus it's closer to the cockpit in case we're both needed on deck. We secure a lee-cloth that allows us to lie down without having to hold on, so that we can relax our muscles and not roll out of bed.

In reality, neither of us manages to sleep for long so we normally throw the three-hour shift thing out the porthole and tell each other 'go sleep for as long as you can'. Sailors often find that 3 day passages are actually harder than longer ones because you don't get a change to get into a routine. You just sort of endure it as best you can until arrival. It normally takes 3 to 4 days for people to get into the rhythm of passage-making. On this passage of ours, too short to find a groove yet too long not to get exhausted, Dave and I carried on in a functional zombie capacity until we get to where we were going.

For our safety and peace of mind, we have a couple of rules on our night watches. #1: Always be tethered to the boat; clipped-in at all time with no exception. #2: Stay in the cockpit. If you have to go up on deck for any reason, wake the other person to tell them. I can't even imagine the nightmare of going to the cockpit after a couple hours of sleep and finding myself alone on board... And there's no reason to fear this because it won't happen; we have our rules to prevent it!

The sailing conditions remained steady on our first night at sea and we moved right along. It's great when there isn't much sail handling to do and we can just 'set it and forget it'. A half moon shined which was enough to lighten up our watery world. While on my watch, the only lights to be seen were the odd fishing vessel on the horizon and Atlantic City 25 miles away looking like an amusement park on an island. We watched Atlantic City go by all night! When I came up from my break and saw faint lights behind us, I asked Dave « what city is that? » and he said « it's STILL Atlantic City! ». The coolest thing to see on night watch, however, is probably the bioluminescence in the ocean. The phosphorescent plants and microbes lying on the surface of the water light up when disturbed by our movement; they come alive in a green glow as we pass through. It looks magical, like a trail of pixie dust in our wake. It's so fascinating I'd love to stare at it but I can't as looking down at the water like that leads me straight to the gates of Nauseaville.

Besides the stars, satellites and planes, above us we could see our tri-colour light at the top of the mast. In the middle of the night a bunch of big sea birds appeared (we think 10 to 15 of them) and, for some reason, got all excited over our mast light. «What are they doing? » I asked Dave. « They're in a frenzy over our light. They've been swooping and diving for a couple hours now. »

Some fowl play by left-wing birds I can only assume.

The hours rolled by quickly and daylight rose on day two at sea. The wind and the waves kicked up to a point where we had our jib and main sail up with a reef in each. When Dave wondered aloud if we should double-reef them (reef sails = take them in a little so that they are smaller, to stop us being overpowered in strong wind), we both knew that the time to reef is as soon as you ask yourself if you should. We lost our blue sky to cloud but at least the rain held off. By noon the waves were three meters high and I was starting to feel less than good; I knew what was on my horizon... But then in the distance we noticed the warm front where the weather promised to change! There was blue sky ahead and calmer water. Hope is such a morale booster! But we didn't catch up to it and around 2pm my body had had enough with the motion of the ocean. I leaned over the lifelines and fed the fish my breakfast. Note that this was 30 hours into the passage – not bad for our first overnight run with no tolerance built up.

So this episode left me horizontal and out of order in the cockpit. Being seasick is a completely rotten feeling and knowing that we had another 20 hours to go make me whimper in sad sorrow. This isn't new to me; I'm prone to it. I'm familiar with every detail of the stages of my mal de mer. At this point of the journey I always promise I'll never put myself in this position again; it's like when you're hungover and you solemnly vow never to drink again. Dave took over all duties to keep the ship going while I wallowed in the depths of my despair, in and out of sleep. This completes day two.

Around midnight, I stood up and had a look around. I felt a little better. I ate a couple crackers and had a sip of water. I knew Dave had barely slept in 40 hours and I needed to give him some relief. So I got into gear again. I said « go sleep for as long as you can » and I took over the watch. I kept feeling better until I was normal again. It passed!

On our second night out, there was no moon nor stars to be seen - nothing but blackness out there. I knew my pupils were dilated to their maximum trying to see but there was just nothing to take in. The sky was dark and the water even darker. The big waves are the darkest but you can see the white crest of them as they break aside the boat. I could also see lightening in the distance and again, the bioluminescence in our wake (which I could now appreciate more fully, having 'graduated' to a higher lever of tolerance with a more solid stomach).

Finally, land-ho! We arrived in Hampton Harbor before daybreak on Thursday and it took the last of our concentration to sort out the lights from the commercial traffic in the channel versus the lights on shore. The cargo vessels are very good at hailing us on the VHF to coordinate our intentions. Daylight came just when we needed it most on approach to our destination. We dropped the hook on the Hampton River in front of the visitor's center at 8am. Arrival is wonderful! You can stop. You can be still. We tidied up the boat, put on fresh clothes, sorted out the bed and slept like logs for 5 hours.

Looking back at it now, it wasn't so bad at all! We can toast to another successful ocean passage under our belt; I'll definitely drink to that! 

From Great Kills Harbor, NY to Hampton, VA.

The night before departure: making smoothies, oat jars,
roasting potatoes, pasta, cutting fruit, preparing veggies....

Departure!

Afternoon of day one.  This is soooooo not day two!

Captain Dave content at the helm.

See you again soon, please, Sun.

Our sea-berth with the lee-cloth.  Snug as a bug in a rug.

Visually stunning photography!  The light on the left is a fishing boat 2 NM away.

Atlantic City!  (Though in person is actually was multi-coloured and really cool at see.)

Dave reefing the main on day two.
Wind and waves were stronger than predicted.

Kianda in the Hampton River anchorage
(of the three boats at anchor, we're in the middle).
The Visitor Center is the green roof on the right - a quick dinghy ride over.

(from another angle)