It was the best of times...

I have learned to dread that long slog down the Delaware Bay to Cape May. I have made this leg of our Baltimore/Maine trip four times before (once on the way back), and each time it was exactly the same; hot, long, windless, and boring, with the accompanying scenery of that ugly nuclear plant. This time, though, the air is actually moving. Instead of that sickening static heat, we get a warm pleasant breeze.  Once past our old friend the nuclear plant, the wind comes up nicely and we can actually sail!

Usually by this late in the summer, the Delaware is full of jellyfish, ghostly apparitions, gently but ominously pulsing by the side of the boat. Perhaps the late spring has set them back a bit, but whatever the reason, we don’t see a single jellyfish. This is great because now we can swim without the worry of jellyfish stings. We slow the boat down and do some controlled dragging, being pulled along behind the boat at the end of a well cleated piece of line. I’m not sure there is an official name for this activity, but it’s kind of like water skiing, albeit very slow and sans skis.

Aprés drag, we set the auto-helm and lounge around on the foredeck, reading, napping, snacking and joking. Rick likes to make sport of sailing very close to obstacles in the water and it always scares me, particularly if we’re on the auto-helm.  I think by now he does it on purpose so he can hear me say, as casually as I can muster, “We don’t want to hit that buoy do we?”

The end of the day is even lovelier than the beginning, as the wind rises beautifully from the southwest, driving the boat even more sweetly through the water as the sun sets behind us. It is now July fifth, as we spent the fourth in the Bohemia River, avoiding some pretty big winds. But apparently we haven’t missed the fireworks after all. As we approach the Cape May canal in the dark, we get treated to the town’s delayed celebration, and this time we get to see the show right up close. The only downside of the Grand Finale is afterwards finding ourselves caught in a crazy melée of drunken boaters, all clamoring to re-enter the canal at the same time.