A couple hundred miles into the wind: my recent move up the Chesapeake Bay

I wanted to share this with the group. A friend asked me how my trip went. This was my reply.

There aren't words for what I experienced on that trip, but I'll try.

We got underway Friday, as planned. Once the GORGEOUS sunset came we were quick to hoist the main. Light winds and the ability to do so had me up on the bow hoisting my drifter. Always wanted to see that sail, DAMN is it big! We were chugging along at a comfortable 6 knots when Alan made a comment about the front that was approaching. Not wanting to get caught in a passing thunderstorm with the sails up I quickly doused them and we braced for the inevitable downpour. This is where my inexperience with bay sailing comes into play. It's not summer, it's winter. I wish the approaching front had only brought rain and a brief storm, would have been nice.

The front passed uneventfully, but the damage ahead had been done. This is where my inexperience with heavy weather sailing comes into play. Within an hour the bay had gone from peaceful to downright pissed off. Our first day goal was Reedville. The 8-10' seas were beating us senseless, the boat had revealed many previously unforseen leaks under the onslaught of bluewater we were taking OVER THE CABIN. We were making 2-3 knots at best. To top it off, the air behind the front was downright frigid. We made Mobjack and I made the decision to pull the plug for the night. A hasty (and difficult) retreat was made into the East River, where we found refuge at a small marina. Clothes (including shoes and gloves) were thrown into a dryer as we made plans for getting under way at the break of dawn to make for Pax River NAS. Hot cup o' noodles made for a scant, but welcome, dinner.

Lines were pulled onboard 1/2 hour before the sun rose. We made our way out through the calm waters into Mobjack Bay, but were greeted by heavy seas again on the Chesapeake. My big diesel and oversized three-blade prop struggled against the sea. Christy Lee did her best (which was significant), but it was soon obvious that any attempt at Pax was futile. Even without the added weight of the 2 chutes and the 180 I'd left at home, the bow continued to make dives into the bay. At one point the working jib I'd foolishly tied up "just in case" began to unravel. I turned the tiller over to Alan and fought my way up forward, with visions of my sail turning into a sea anchor or, worse yet, getting tangled on the screw, motivating me forward under the waves. The sail got stuffed into a cockpit locker, and we later limped into Reedville, now a full day behind schedule. We made our way into a restaurant at the marina looking for beer and a hearty meal. We got the meal. HUGE portions of homemade chicken pot pie filled our bellies and warmed our spirits. Our waiter, a Norfolk native and very experienced local sailor, gave us some great advice as we brooded over the thought of crossing the Potomac the following morning. Among his tips: a channel that barely showed up on the charts used almost exclusively by local crabbers would make an excellent close-to-shore transit once across the river. More importantly, though, he pointed out my most serious mistake of the trip: trying to motor through the seas. He explained the benefits of having a reefed main to the balance of the boat. All this time we had been getting beaten up, when the solution had been literally hanging right there over our heads. Slack tide was at 5:30, we had work to do. By 8 pm we were climbing into our sleeping bags, the main fully reefed and everything else tied into place.

At 4:30 am we pulled in lines and motored quietly out on the bay. Prior to rounding Smith Point we raised our main and then turned north. It took us over 2 hours to cross the mouth of the Potomac, but the benefits of the sail were obvious. As we beat to windward the sail prevented us from rocking to leeward, and Christy Lee reveled in the opportunity to sail in the seas she was built for, her narrow hull cutting cleanly through the waves as we motor-sailed northward at 6-7 knots. We smiled as we passed Pax River, we were going to push through to Annapolis. Farther north and later in the afternoon the seas began to calm and we brought out the (still wet) working jib. As quickly as the storm had come, though, it passed, and we soon found ourselves flaking the main and tying up the jib. Later than night, under a star-filled moonless sky we slipped through glassy waters into Mayo, MD, a tiny little community in Edgewater, a small town just south of Annapolis. The chartplotter led us faithfully over the invisible maze of sandbars, past beautiful riverside homes and, literally, hundreds of power boat sitting up in their slings. My depth sounder, set to alarm at 10' (I draw 6'), screamed endlessly right up to the dock. Lines were tied, bags packed, and a few things stowed before we piled into my car to start the return trip to Norfolk to take Alan home.

Casualties (I've discovered so far):
- our primary navigation device, alan's laptop, was disabled the second day by water in the power supply.
- alan's chemical head (I've since discovered) has a broken handle.
- topping lift is frayed beyond repair. a temporary support has been rigged.
- lots of food had to be tossed due to water intrusion
- I spent a couple hours last night mopping up water paper towels.
- The humidity in the boat is beyond belief. Cushions are still visibly wet.
- Remnants of the mild frostbite in my fingertips still linger
- I haven't gotten into the head or v-berth yet, we'll see what more there is to find.

It was a rough trip, and I would NOT ever want to relive it. Having said that, a few nuggets of good came out of it:
- I now know INFINITELY more about rough water sailing that I did before.
- I found the biggest leaks on the boat.
- My faith in this 48 year old vessel is now solid. "They don't build 'em like that anymore." I cannot imagine having attempted that in my C-27.