La Bohème

We’ve made it to Cape May. Before the fourth of July, by the way, something that has never happened before in all of our previous journeys. Getting here was idyllic in many ways, at least for me. Rick is tired out from all of the preparations, and not as into the trip as he usually is. For the first time since I have been joining Rick on these odysseys, I am the driving force, pushing us forward and on to the next spot to anchor. I’m not sure what is really going on there, and I’m somewhat concerned.

Rick has shown me the tidal charts along with the weather predictions, and he tells me that Wednesday is the day to shoot through the C&D canal and down the Delaware Bay. That gives us just two more days, and we make the most of them. There’s not much wind, so we motor or motor sail most of the way. This is my preferred set of conditions, because light winds mean light waves, and no seasickness. But it does mean putting up with the sound of the engine, and I deal with that by either using ear plugs, or better yet, noise cancelling headphones, listening to audio books. Rick doesn’t like this option because I can more easily ignore him. I also look rather ridiculous with my sun hat on top of the earphones. But since I don’t have to look at myself, I don’t care.

Even though the winds are on the light side for us, other intrepid sailors are using whatever wind they can get. We pass what appears to be a sailing school, having a little race. There are multiple categories of small sailboats, single sailed Sunfish, racing dinghies, and a few colorful Hobie Cats.

We anchor the first night in Still Pond, and the second in the Bohemia River. There are fishing weirs obstructing the entrances at both of the anchorages, new since the last time we were here. At first, we aren’t sure if we can get around them, but enough room was left for deep drafts and we manage just fine. The weirs are a bit of an eyesore, a clumsy human thumbprint in these beautiful natural settings. I have to admit though, the “natural” world seems to have adapted just fine. Fishing weirs are set up as a means to direct fish into a trap, kind of a maze for unsuspecting fish. Herons and cormorants have learned that the weirs offer easy meals for them, and several are camped out looking for dinner. They appear to self-segregate, the herons on what is probably the most advantageous section, and the cormorants, second class citizens, farther down the line.

Bald Eagles abound in the Bohemia

A more natural setting for Herons in Still Pond

The Chesapeake Bay has famously brackish water, half salty from the Atlantic and half fresh from the rivers and streams that feed into it. The Bohemia, being so far north and far from the ocean, has almost no salt and that makes swimming very enjoyable and refreshing. We are anchored in only about six or seven feet of water at low tide, and that makes diving from the height of the boat somewhat dangerous. We both use the ladder, but Rick only goes down a couple of steps before diving in. I opt for the slow torture method, one step at a time until finally submerged in the cool water. It takes me a long time. I always say I’m going to speed things up next time, getting the pain of coldness out of the way as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandage, but I never do. I’m too chicken.

Once in though, the water is wonderful. Often by this time, the water is bath-warm, and the nettles, or jellies, will be coming up the bay in midsummer and they prevent swimming unless you really want to get stung. Right now is the perfect cool, nettle-free window. So good in fact, that Rick suggests spending extra days here, noodling around in various anchorages and relaxing. I’m worried that if we take too much time here we will be forced to make up the time later on, skipping some of our favorite destinations, in order to make a family reunion deadline in August. 

We re-examine the charts and wind predictions, and Rick agrees with me that tomorrow is not only the best day to go, but the only time for at least a week. So poor Captain Ricky will need to get up at 1:00am to catch the tide and take us down to Cape May, getting us there around noon tomorrow. Since my main task when we're underway is to take care of myself and try to avoid seasickness, I get to sleep until morning. Don't think that I'm getting the better end of the deal though, because when I do get up in the morning, I am indeed sick and have to take a Zofran (or two).

By noon, we are on anchor.