Outta Here!

Cape May at last. We are retracing our steps from last year’s aborted voyage, and Cape May looms large as a barrier that we just couldn’t seem to get beyond. This year, the boat is in better shape, Rick is better rested, and I have proper anti-seasickness meds that are up to date. You would think our confidence level would be high, but both of us are wary of what conditions we might encounter out on the big bad ocean once we leave here. 

 Rick has been noticing that the old tried-and-true weather patterns he has relied upon for years of sailing north have changed somewhat. The winds along the Jersey coast are still reliably south-westerly. What’s different is the intensity of those winds. The “sweet spot” for us are winds in the eight to fourteen knot range, and not too much chop in the water. What seems to be happening now are days and days of much heavier winds, too much for us, and then when the wind finally moderates, there is not enough to sail on. Is climate change the culprit? Or is Rick’s preference for lighter wind a product of aging, becoming less daring, more cautious, more aware of his own mortality? 

 Whatever the answer to that question, we are stuck here for the better part of a week. One of our favorite Chinese restaurants has closed, no doubt a casualty of the pandemic, but we manage to get a wonderful seafood dinner at The Lucky Bones, which is still going strong. We rent bikes and visit a nature preserve, spend some time on the glorious beach, and even take in the Fourth of July fireworks from that beach, instead of the usual distanced vantage point of our boat. 

 Cape May is indeed enjoyable, but both of us feel the need to get going, and we seem to be just killing time before we can head north. When a day finally arrives without those incessantly strong south-westerlies, what do you know, there is virtually no wind at all. “Perfect!” I say. “We are outa here!” 

 I slap on a patch, and off we go, motoring into that beautiful blue water. We have officially crossed the Rubicon.