It was the worst of times...

As wonderful as our last sail turned out to be, we had no idea what was yet in store for us. Rick always pays very close attention to the marine weather reports, and a thirty-six hour off-shore trip from Cape May to Block Island looked promising. The wind forecast was favorable, although Rick had some fear that the waves might be kicked up a bit in the aftermath of hurricane Arthur. Not sure how I would handle the motion with a sea like that, our plan was to head in to Barnegat if we needed to bail.

We head out fairly late in the day, which means we won’t reach our destination until after midnight tomorrow night. This might have been a mistake in the end. But so far, things are pretty ok. The wind, as predicted, is moderately strong, and the waves are indeed choppy, measuring three to five feet.  This kind of a sea would normally be worrisome for someone like me, but I have put on a scopolamine patch and so far, not a hint of queasiness. We congratulate ourselves for having hatched a plan that gets us up north quicker, bypassing the flies that are ever-present in the Long Island Sound. Heh heh, we’re so clever.

 The passage is so far uneventful, and frankly, kind of dull. I know that I can’t really get away with reading anything when we’re underway with a rolling boat, and there’s just not that much to see once we’re off-shore. I end up going to bed, leaving Rick to catnap as best he can through the night. The next day is pretty much the same, although perhaps a bit more desolate. We have left the distant outline of the New Jersey coastline and are now completely out of sight of land.

At about seven or eight o’clock in the evening, about thirty-five miles out from Block Island, we encounter a pod of harbor porpoises, following along with our boat. They are a smaller, somewhat darker version of the more familiar “Flipper” dolphin. They seem to be accompanying us on our journey, swimming along side us for quite a distance. Rick took some video of them. You will need to watch very closely, as they break the surface for only a split second, and in different parts of the water. You can see it here .

I go to bed, thinking that Rick will wake me up in about five hours or so when we arrive at Block. Instead, it’s only about an hour later that he comes to get me. “The wind has come up,” he says, “and I need you to help me take the main sail down.” I notice that the boat is knocking around a bit more than before I fell asleep. Ok, fine. I follow him up on deck.

Holy shit.

It’s dark out, except for the light of the almost full moon. The wind is screaming in a high-pitched howl through the rigging, the waves are running eight to ten feet now, and the boat is pitching all over the place. I feel like I’ve been dropped into the worst scene from The Perfect Storm. I know you’ll think I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect, but I’m really, really not.

The wind is so strong, that it’s dangerous to have the sail up. The engine is on, and Rick needs me to point the boat straight into the wind and hold it there while he goes up on deck and takes down the sail. I’m completely at wits’ end here, but I do understand the task and do as I’m told, shouting out swear words at every plunge of this damned boat we’re on. The wheel doesn’t want to stay stationary, and it takes all of my strength to hold on to our position. I’m scared out of my gourd that Rick will fall off. I keep going over in my mind what I would do if that were to happen. It doesn’t take me long to realize that Rick would be toast. There is no way I would be able to find him in the dark, and if I turned the boat around to get him I would be just as likely to run right over him as to save him.

I admit, most of my fears were somewhat irrational. Rick is a very responsible sailor, and he had snapped himself into a safety harness before stepping up there on the cabin top. It would be very unlikely that he would actually fall completely off and into the water. But the possibility of a serious injury is real enough. I would have a very tough time getting the boat and us to safety if Rick were to become incapacitated.

After what seems an eternity, Rick has the sail down and comes back to relieve me at the wheel. He knows I am very likely to get seasick now, so he tries to reassure me, sending me down below and telling me to go to sleep. He’ll motor us into Block Island. Well, I do go down below, but I don’t sleep. I cry.

I spend the next hours concentrating on keeping my eyes closed and trying not to get sick while the boat bounces up and down and all around.

At last, the crazy rocking and pitching abates. It’s three in the morning and we’ve pulled into the Great Salt Pond of Block Island. Rick tells me later that the wind strengthened and the waves grew even higher after we managed to get the sail down. The challenge, he tells me, was keeping the boat from broaching, i.e. violently fishtailing to one side with the passing of a big wave.  To prevent broaching, you need to correct immediately for every deviation of the course.  But to do that, you can’t rely on the computerized chart plotter to keep yourself on track because there is a slight delay before a sudden course change appears on the screen. By then you’ve missed the moment in which to correct. He literally ended up steering by the stars, looking almost straight up and aligning the mast with some fixed points. The tough thing was keeping that up for another four hours, and I’m particularly impressed that he managed to do all of this on very little sleep. I, on the other hand, fearless mariner that I am, spent those last four hours down below, trying not to barf.