Camping on stilts

Growing up, I was a Campfire Girl (a more politically correct version of the Girl Scouts for any of you non-members of the Free-to-be-you-and-me generation), so it's not as if I've never slept in a tent or peed in the woods...but it's been a good long while since I’ve done either, so perhaps you can understand why living on our boat as it sits on dry land has been a bit of an adjustment.

First, the current distance from the ground to Cielo's cockpit is about 10 feet--and the ladder tied to her hull, while sturdy is still, well, a ladder. And so every time you need to get on or off the boat...day or night...empty or full hands....empty or full bladder (did I mention, the plumbing doesn't work when the boat is on the hard) you must clamber up or down said ladder. I am not complaining...but with our health insurance application still in process, I do feel just a bit nervous.

We also have no refrigeration (that requires being in the water as well), which makes cooking somewhat challenging...luckily, there are lots of cheap restaurants in walking distance and we've made quite a game of who can order the cheapest meal (last night's dinner for both of us- a $30 total including tax, tip, two beers and a margarita). We do have fresh water in the tanks, which is great for drinking, but since the sink drains straight out the side of the boat, we're limited to using it at night, where the odds of someone walking by and getting a shower of dirty dishwater are somewhat reduced. The batteries are still charged to give us electricity, but only careful conservation will ensure that we have enough juice to keep the lights on.

So, all of that said (or written), we actually don't mind (at least for a little while) living on the hard and are enjoying the opportunity to get some much needed repairs taken care of. Of course we're looking forward to getting back out on the water—but this little respite on land certainly holds its own sense of adventure, and serves as a continuation of the one constant I’ve experienced on our trip thus far, which is the need to constantly adjust to change.

I Love the Delaware Bay

Just kidding. The Delaware Bay sucks. This unassuming little body of water has a reputation for being a nasty little beastie, and Christ, now I know why. There was an entire fleet of boats in Cape May Harbor awaiting good weather for the trip from Cape May up to the C&D Canal. Monday the forecast was what we were waiting for, and we all filed out of Cape May like a herd of cattle. Through the Cape May Canal we went, and out into.....shit. Figuratively, not literally, but had it literally been shit it may almost have been more pleasant. The wind was more northerly than had been forecast, and of course it was stronger (&*^% monkey!), and it was blowing against the current. Add that lovely combo together and you get steep, nasty chop. Witness picture at right. That's Cielo punching her bowsprit through the back of said steep chop, sending spray flying through the air. Ummm....fun! Actually, it wasn't that bad, except that this was relatively mild conditions for the Delaware Bay. Given that, I don't want any part of bad conditions. The good news is that after about 2 hours the wind and waves subsided a bit and we had a glorious sail most of the way up the bay. We finished up at Chesapeake City, a cute little town about half way through the C&D Canal.

Put me BACK IN!

Wednesday we arrived in Havre de Grace, MD to have Cielo hauled out for damage assessment and repair to the rudder. I don't think she likes being out of the water. I know I certainly wasn't thrilled about the whole thing. The yard pulled her out on the lift, with her ass end jacked up higher than the front, and the forward sling about a foot and a half BEHIND the little sticker that says "Place Sling Here". Then as they drive the lift around she sways back and forth like a kidergartener on a swing set. At any moment I expected her to slide out of the slings and face plant on the asphalt below. Fortunately my friend Scott, who had arrived just in time to witness all this, waited until afterwards to point out that the radar pole (which holds the radar, the GPS, the outboard motor, and countless other expensive, sensitive items) had just barely cleared the back of the lift. Good thing, since as it was I think I went through at least two changes of pants before they finally had her securely blocked and chocked. Of course, the guys at the yard seem great and they do this all day every day so she was probably never in any danger. Still, I was a nervous wreck.

Less is More

As soon as Cielo was out of the water we were able to get a good look at the damage we did running aground in the Thimble Islands. It's better than I thought, and much better than I had feared it might be. Cielo's a strong little tank! The damage to the keel was purely cosmetic, and the damage we did to the rudder is less significant than the existing delamination we already knew was there. Somehow though, it looks like the estimate to repair it all will still exceed our initial thoughts. The next couple days we'll figure out exactly what will be done and who will do it. The possibility of doing the work ourselves is looming large. I hope not. I really, really hate fiberglass work.

Old mindsets, new friends

We've spent the weekend in Cape May and have had a marvelous time. After arriving on Friday after our all night sail, we took the day to relax and get caught up on a few things. Of course, we only managed to get to a few items on a list of projects that seems to grow daily. Just between sailing and my part-time consulting work and Kevin's online business, we wouldn't be bored--but on top of that, we're trying to get prepared for being truly away from home once we leave the Chesapeake in early October. Until that time, we've got access to our families, who are in PA and MD and our car, which Kevin will be retrieving from CT via train later this week. So I think both of us feel like there's a bit of a safety net--not to mention that we're still in US waters, making relatively short hauls (first overnight not withstanding). But once we start moving further south and getting in longer passages while getting closer to being out of the country, we really need to get our gear (life raft, repair kits, electronic charts) and our lives (insurance, mail forwarding, finances) more figured out. Or at least that's how I'm feeling at the current moment. It may be that I'm so used to having something (real or imagined) to be stressed about, that I'm having a bit of trouble shifting gears to a life less dictated by deadlines.


Of course, it's also difficult to get everything crossed off on the "to-do" list when there are so many other interesting things to do and people to meet. In just the past two days, we've enjoyed the company of three other cruising couples who are working their way south, just as we are, and planning to head down to the Caribbean for the winter. Before we left, I'd read a lot of first hand accounts that detailed how warm and welcoming the cruising community would be--and when friends and family would ask how Kevin and I felt about having just each other for company while traveling, I'd often refer to the books that I'd read and assured them that we'd meet tons of people everywhere we went. In the back of my mind however, I worried that it would be difficult to meet people and that we would feel lonely and isolated. I can happily report that our experience has been quite the opposite. From the moment we become live aboards at the marina in Stamford, we've seldom lacked for the company of others. Within the cruising world, there's a wonderful culture of striking up conversations with others at the docks or while dinghying by their boats--and usually that conversation turns into an invitation for drinks and the start of a new friendship. People are genuinely curious about our plans and in turn have wonderfully interesting stories to share about what brought them to sailing and their experiences aboard (and in case anyone thought our rocky experience at the Thimble Islands was unique, we have yet to meet a couple who hasn't introduced the bottom of their boat to a rock at some point!). It's been one of the best parts of our experience thus far--and I imagine it will continue to be as we head further south.

NYC to Cape May, NJ

Another Blemish for Poor Cielo...

A couple things happen when the NYC Parks Department runs a marina and mooring field. One is that you can get a mooring in NYC for only $30/night. Another is that idiots place the moorings. We came back to the boat late Saturday night to find a sickening sight. The propped-up outboard motor of the 22' boat next to ours had gotten tangled in our mooring line and then spent the next god know how many hours digging huge gouges into our lovely pristine gel coat. It also knocked our 66 lb anchor off its mount and took a lovely chunk of teak with it. Yes, you read all that correctly. There wasn't enough room for A 22' FOOT BOAT to swing properly. I should have known better. Actually, I did know better. We were both concerned about how close we were to the other boat when we first moored, but thought to ourselves "Surely the marina operators, the same ones who directed us to this mooring and knew the details of our boat, surely they know that there is enough room here to swing." We were wrong. Of course, at the time we didn't know the marina was run by the Parks Dept. Once we recovered from the initial shock and dismay further inspection revealed that damage is only cosmetic, and we can repair it when we haul out next week in Havre de Grace, MD to repair the other, more sinister wounds that we inflicted upon her rudder. Also, in all fairness, the folks at the Boat Basin were extremely nice, helpful folks. We should have just remembered to look out for ourselves.

Heading South...

After a couple days back in NYC, yesterday at noon we left our rollicking and rolling mooring at the 79th Street Boat Basin and headed down the Hudson with the outgoing tide - Cape May, NJ bound. One hundred twenty-five miles that would take us back past lower Manhattan, under the Verrazzano bridge, out into the North Atlantic and down the NJ shoreline. Based on the forecasted E winds of 5-10 knots we expected the trip to take us between 24-30 hours. That's right - our first overnight ocean passage!


Wait for Weather?? (or) BAD Monkey!

We had waited for that weather forecast. East winds of 5-10 knots at night with 10 knots both Thursday and Friday wasn't perfect, but it would suffice. Why not take it easy for our first overnighter? So as we were motoring down the Hudson River into S winds of 15-20 knots I was confused. The last front had passed and we were to have three solid days of stable air mass. So WTF were we motoring into? Must be some localized NYC air. Nope. Out into the Atlantic we went, into a solid SSE 15-20 knots of air. We continually wait for weather, and NOAA is consistently way out in left field on the forecast. Not just a little, a LOT. When I find whatever monkey NOAA is paying to do their forecasting I'm going to have some words with that little primate.

Look Ma, No Lights...

So we motor-sailed the first 40 miles until the NJ shoreline opens up to the southwest. At a bit before sunset off went the engine, on went the running lights....hmmmmm. Slight problem with the running lights. Our dinghy (on davits for the short, purportedly calm trip) was blocking our stern light. Not good. I need to move that stern light, but I certainly couldn't do it then. Nobody's keen on skirting 90 miles of heavy barge and shipping traffic with no light on your butt. I also didn't notice any red and green glow reflecting from our running lights on the bow. A quick inspection revealed another casualty from the mooring incident - when the other boat knocked our anchor off, it smashed it up into our running lights and completely demolished them. No lights at all. Now we're really screwed. It's already dark, and we really don't want to skirt said 90 miles of barge and shipping traffice with NO lights. Turning around and heading back into NY Harbor with no lights is almost certainly even worse. Fortunately Lizz remembered the LED flashlight style running lights we have for the dinghy. A little duct tape and we were in business!

Sleepless on the Settee...

With the weather not being exactly what was forecasted, we ended up being close-hauled virtually the entire way. Sleeping below on the settee (sofa) in 15-20 knots of air while sailing to windward is like trying to sleep in a washing machine with marching band playing "Crack, Splash, Creak, Groan, Bang" in your ear. Above decks was beautiful - Cielo was booming along in the darkness at 6-7 knots, under a star-strewn moonless sky, throwing out a constant glow of phosphorescent sparkles in her wake. We did 3 hours on, 3 off watches. I took the 9-12 and 3-6 watches, Lizz the 12-3 and 6-9. We both did great, with one exception where one of us had to call the other for help. It wasn't Lizz. That's right - Lizz handled her watches with ease but just before the end of my first watch I nearly shat myself when I couldn't identify a series of oncoming lights. It turns out it was a trawler with nets in tow passing in front of our bow and a tug pushing a barge passing us port to port. I managed to figure it out, but not before waking Lizz from what was probably the most sleep she'd had up to that point.

When it was all said and done it was a good trip down. We smoked through the 125 miles in 21 hours, and arrived in Cape May at 9:30 this morning. We're currently anchored off the Coast Guard station listening to a lot of chanting and shouting by the coasties. What the Coast Guard station needs with a marching band I don't know, but I do know they'll be ready to play for whatever comes their way. If the forecast holds, we'll head out of here Sunday and up the Delaware Bay. Monday we'll go through the canal and over to Tidewater Marina in Havre de Grace for a week or so to patch up our home.

NYC to Cape May, NJ

Another Blemish for Poor Cielo...

A couple things happen when the NYC Parks Department runs a marina and mooring field. One is that you can get a mooring in NYC for only $30/night. Another is that idiots place the moorings. We came back to the boat late Saturday night to find a sickening sight. The propped-up outboard motor of the 22' boat next to ours had gotten tangled in our mooring line and then spent the next god know how many hours digging huge gouges into our lovely pristine gel coat. It also knocked our 66 lb anchor off its mount and took a lovely chunk of teak with it. Yes, you read all that correctly. There wasn't enough room for A 22' FOOT BOAT to swing properly. I should have known better. Actually, I did know better. We were both concerned about how close we were to the other boat when we first moored, but thought to ourselves "Surely the marina operators, the same ones who directed us to this mooring and knew the details of our boat, surely they know that there is enough room here to swing." We were wrong. Of course, at the time we didn't know the marina was run by the Parks Dept. Once we recovered from the initial shock and dismay further inspection revealed that damage is only cosmetic, and we can repair it when we haul out next week in Havre de Grace, MD to repair the other, more sinister wounds that we inflicted upon her rudder. Also, in all fairness, the folks at the Boat Basin were extremely nice, helpful folks. We should have just remembered to look out for ourselves.

Heading South...

After a couple days back in NYC, yesterday at noon we left our rollicking and rolling mooring at the 79th Street Boat Basin and headed down the Hudson with the outgoing tide - Cape May, NJ bound. One hundred twenty-five miles that would take us back past lower Manhattan, under the Verrazzano bridge, out into the North Atlantic and down the NJ shoreline. Based on the forecasted E winds of 5-10 knots we expected the trip to take us between 24-30 hours. That's right - our first overnight ocean passage!

Wait for Weather?? (or) BAD Monkey!

We had waited for that weather forecast. East winds of 5-10 knots at night with 10 knots both Thursday and Friday wasn't perfect, but it would suffice. Why not take it easy for our first overnighter? So as we were motoring down the Hudson River into S winds of 15-20 knots I was confused. The last front had passed and we were to have three solid days of stable air mass. So WTF were we motoring into? Must be some localized NYC air. Nope. Out into the Atlantic we went, into a solid SSE 15-20 knots of air. We continually wait for weather, and NOAA is consistently way out in left field on the forecast. Not just a little, a LOT. When I find whatever monkey NOAA is paying to do their forecasting I'm going to have some words with that little primate.

Look Ma, No Lights...

So we motor-sailed the first 40 miles until the NJ shoreline opens up to the southwest. At a bit before sunset off went the engine, on went the running lights....hmmmmm. Slight problem with the running lights. Our dinghy (on davits for the short, purportedly calm trip) was blocking our stern light. Not good. I need to move that stern light, but I certainly couldn't do it then. Nobody's keen on skirting 90 miles of heavy barge and shipping traffic with no light on your butt. I also didn't notice any red and green glow reflecting from our running lights on the bow. A quick inspection revealed another casualty from the mooring incident - when the other boat knocked our anchor off, it smashed it up into our running lights and completely demolished them. No lights at all. Now we're really screwed. It's already dark, and we really don't want to skirt said 90 miles of barge and shipping traffice with NO lights. Turning around and heading back into NY Harbor with no lights is almost certainly even worse. Fortunately Lizz remembered the LED flashlight style running lights we have for the dinghy. A little duct tape and we were in business!

Sleepless on the Settee...

With the weather not being exactly what was forecasted, we ended up being close-hauled virtually the entire way. Sleeping below on the settee (sofa) in 15-20 knots of air while sailing to windward is like trying to sleep in a washing machine with marching band playing "Crack, Splash, Creak, Groan, Bang" in your ear. Above decks was beautiful - Cielo was booming along in the darkness at 6-7 knots, under a star-strewn moonless sky, throwing out a constant glow of phosphorescent sparkles in her wake. We did 3 hours on, 3 off watches. I took the 9-12 and 3-6 watches, Lizz the 12-3 and 6-9. We both did great, with one exception where one of us had to call the other for help. It wasn't Lizz. That's right - Lizz handled her watches with ease but just before the end of my first watch I nearly shat myself when I couldn't identify a series of oncoming lights. It turns out it was a trawler with nets in tow passing in front of our bow and a tug pushing a barge passing us port to port. I managed to figure it out, but not before waking Lizz from what was probably the most sleep she'd had up to that point.

When it was all said and done it was a good trip down. We smoked through the 125 miles in 21 hours, and arrived in Cape May at 9:30 this morning. We're currently anchored off the Coast Guard station listening to a lot of chanting and shouting by the coasties. What the Coast Guard station needs with a marching band I don't know, but I do know they'll be ready to play for whatever comes their way. If the forecast holds, we'll head out of here Sunday and up the Delaware Bay. Monday we'll go through the canal and over to Tidewater Marina in Havre de Grace for a week or so to patch up our home.

New York --Part I

Sailing into New York City is pretty damn cool. Now technically, like most sail boats entering NYC, we motored rather than sailed in order to maximize the ability to steer the boat as we headed down the East River and then up the Hudson amidst high speed ferries and four knots of current. I think Kevin and I were both a little nervous for the trip as it requires traversing "Hell Gate", which is a narrow portion of the east river the separates Astoria from Randall's Island. Hell Gate just sounds ominous, and indeed it can be, as the current runs up to 5 knots in either direction, which means if you catch it at the wrong time, you'd have to run the engine full out to make any head way at all. However, as instructed by our guide books, we timed our passage through Hell Gate to slack high water, and had no problems at all.

For the four days we're staying in the city, we decided to stay at the 79th Street Boat Basin on the west side of the city for two main reasons--first, the location is ideal--we are right in the city close to the subway, parks, restaurants and our friends--second, when we called to inquire about a mooring (anchoring, which is free, is not recommended in the East or Hudson Rivers), we were told the cost was $30 per night--a very, very cheap price for a mooring in NYC. Upon arriving at the Boat Basin, we learned that one of the reasons why the prices are so low is that the marina is run by the NYC Department of Parks and Recreation as a service to city residents and guests. Of course, the other reason for the bargain basement price tag may be that the moorings are completely unprotected from the swells of the many ferries and powerboats that whiz by all day and all night...imagine if you will being dropped into a running washing machine after drinking several cocktails....it's really, really, really unpleasant. We've decided to stick it out for a few days--but then will likely head over to Atlantic Highlands, New Jersey on Wednesday morning where we'll be able to drop anchor in a protected harbor and can take care of some last minute projects before undertaking our first overnight ocean passage down to Cape May, NJ.

Trial run

Kevin and I returned back to Stamford last night after spending eleven days aboard Cielo traveling to Block Island and then to Shelter Island. Though we didn't explicitly plan it as such, the trip was a good trial run at living aboard at anchor, sailing almost daily (and for as much as 10 hours at a time) and just generally getting used to life as a full-time cruiser. I think we both learned a lot over the past week and a half. I learned that I still get sea sick when we're underway (an improvement from being sick underway AND at anchor), which is unfortunate, but just generally means that I take a nap for a few hours when we spend the day sailing. I haven't yet resorted to medication, which I think would make me even more sleepy and am just thankful that my version of seasickness doesn't involve revisiting my lunch over the side rail....though I suppose that could be coming as we experience rougher seas. I also learned that I still have a whole lot more to learn about living aboard a sailboat--actually, we both do. Some of it is stuff that we can get out of a book--like what the different lights and markers means when we're sailing at night--but some of it, we'll just have to figure out ourselves--like how to make lunch underway, heeled over to 30 degrees with 20 knots of wind, how to shower (and get clean!) using the least amount of water needed and how to not only tolerate, but entertain each other when we're the only company we've got for days on end (no major altercations as yet, though I did toss a book in the general direction of Kevin's head late one afternoon).
During our time away, there were definitely some difficult moments (I think especially for me, given my newness to sailing), and of course there were some amazing ones as well (biking all over Block and Shelter Island, numerous spectacular sunsets, meeting wonderful, friendly fellow cruisers willing to share their advice and their liquor). We're both glad to be back in Stamford at our "home" marina for a few days (thanks Rick and Jacqui!) to get some laundry done, errands completed and to experience the luxury of being plugged into shore power (for those of you who've ever lived with limited water or power supply, you know what I mean)--but I know our time away has given us a taste of the adventures to come and that we're all the more excited to continue our adventure on Friday morning when we sail down to New York.

Dad at the helm