Labor Day Storm
Labor Day Storm
I was planning on sailing across the Chesapeake Bay, from Yorktown to Cape Charles over Labor Day weekend to raft up with some friends. I’d checked Predict Wind and breezes we’re expected to be about 15 knots. My boat laughs at such weather, so I wasn’t worried. I had my 2 granddaughters along. They’ve been on the boat since they were infants. I had plenty of snacks (the most important consideration) and electronic entertainment, and they did fine playing in the cabin. So we headed out.
We started out well. I’d put out the mainsail and was getting some help from that, and we were doing about 5 to 6 knots. As we left the York River and headed into the channel towards the Bay however, the wind did it’s usual thing: it was on our nose, so the sails would do not good.
Leaving the York River and heading east, we have to keep to the channel long enough to get past the shallows coming off of the Mobjack Bay. So we kept on our course, still making good time. As we entered the Bay, however, the winds picked up and so did the waves. I checked the NOAA buoy nearby and it swore those waves I was seeing were under 2 foot. Seemed higher, based on how bumpy the ride was getting. But what do I know?
As we entered the Bay, we started slowing down. Now I’m aware that part of the energy is going into getting over the waves. But still: we slowed from 5 – 6 knots down to 3½ at full throttle. My boat can do 7 or 8 usually, so that was disheartening.
Of course, things started falling. Everything that wasn’t secured in the cabin was eventually on the floor. The girls were getting nauseous, so I told them to come up to the cockpit when they felt that way.
Mind you, my 5 and 7 year old granddaughters were troopers. They never panicked. They did ask about how bumpy it was getting and I told them the waves really weren’t that big. Note to self: we need to go to Virginia Beach and talk about really big waves.
When we reached the point where we past the shallows, I decided to do some sailing with just the jib and, to pick up some speed. It worked. Putting the jib out, we made 6.5 knots.
The waves were about 2 feet now, and stuff continued to fall. We were getting pretty far north of where we’re wanted to be, so I tacked. My speed immediately dropped back to about 3.5 knots. So I said to heck with it, brought in the jib, and just motored directly towards our destination.
And then the real fun began. I heard a big sounds, like metal scraping. I assumed something else had fallen below. When I looked towards the bow, however, I saw that one of my anchors had fallen in. I put the engine in neutral and went forward to tie off the anchor. I tried to pull it up. But between the wind and the waves, I couldn’t make it budge. I texted my friends and told them what happened, that we were probably stopped for the night. I called my husband, who asked if my Towboat insurance would help. I said we would be fine. The grandkids were ok and the boat could handle worse than this.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I should subject the grandkids to this adventure. So I used the app to call Towboat and asked them to send someone out.
While we wait for the Towboat, I heat up dinner for the grandkids, who are still fine. I tell them the boat now looks like their bedroom. My older granddaughter tells me they have paths through the mess in their bedroom to walk through.
My oldest is able to eat most of her dinner. The youngest isn’t that hungry; most of her plate is sacrificed to the wind gods as well. What she does eat is in the commode before morning.
The first boat that came out, I explained the problem and asked for help getting the anchor up. He said he wasn’t allowed on the boat, but he could lift it onto his boat so I could haul it in. He went to where the line entered the water, then, for some reason, moved closer to my boat. Then somehow, he got the line between his boat and his motor. Then started shouting at me to cut the line. I went below to get something, came back to the bow, and cut my anchor line.
Towboat guy then asked if I was ok to motor out, since he could only tow me at 2 knots. Since I’d be going downwind, I said, ‘yes’.
But the story doesn’t end there. Within 10 minutes of starting the engine, the warning light went off. I called Towboat guy back and he returned. I got out a boat hook to grab lines from him. He threw them to me on the windward side. I dropped the boat hook grabbing for them, and it fell in the water. I put the lines on the the two forward cleats. That took a bit of time in this weather.
Once I told them they were in place, he began to move forward. Then he called me saying the lines had wrapped around my keel, so let them loose.
Oh, forgot to mention: I have (had) 2 anchors. When I cut the line for the one, Mr. Towboat pulled the second, which had started falling, and put it on the wrong side roller. He told me to pull that one up and secure it. Couldn’t be done. I couldn’t move it over, and I couldn’t pull it any further up. So I just secured it above the water line.
Back to our story. Mr. Towboat is still yelling that I need to secure the other anchor and that one of his lines is still attached to my boat and if don’t release it, he’s just going to pull whatever it’s attached to. I can’t see any lines still attached and tell him so.
Now think about it. By throwing the lines to me on the windward side, there’s every possibility that one of them slid under the boat while I was trying to secure them.
Oh, second boat hook was lost pulling his line off my anchor. When I released the line, there was a strong tug on the boat hook and I couldn’t get it back. Two boat hooks and an anchor gone now.
Mr. Towboat tells me another boat is coming to tow me. He can’t move my big boat on this weather. And he wonders why a small craft advisory wasn’t put out.
My boat is 34′ long. 12′ wide. It’s not a ‘small craft’. I’ve looked it up. It’s sailed down to the Caribbean before, so it’s handled worse than this.
Back, again, to our story.
While we wait for the second Towboat, I send the girls to bed. I explain to my older granddaughter that their berth is the safest place to be: all the walls are padded and soft, and there’s nothing to fall in there. I cuddled with them for awhile and we read the book that my younger granddaughter created in class last week.
I go back above. I pull out a line and go forward again. I tie the line to the chain on the anchor, then secure it to the cleat. I lower the chain enough that I can move the anchor to the right roller. I release the line and pull the anchor up and secure it.
Mind you. This is all happening while the boat is rocking from side to side. And, of course, now it’s rocking more than it was. We are adrift and floating broadside to the waves and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not lowering another anchor and chancing losing it as well.
After about ½ an hour, I go to sit below and watch the girls. They are fast asleep. None of this is bothering them at all.
It takes about 2 more hours for the other boat to arrive. When they do, they tell me they can’t tow me to my home marina – too difficult to get through the narrow channel in this weather. They’ll take me to another marina tonight, then come in the morning to take me to my own marina.
Ah! A fact I forgot. I started this whole endeavor at about 2 in the afternoon. It’s now about 10 pm.
Anyway, new Towboat gets close enough that they can give me the lines on the leeward side (smart move, huh!). I attach them and we’re on our way – at 6 knots.
We finally get to the marina at about midnight. I thank the new Towboat folks. I pour myself a stiff drink, have some celery and hummus and go to sleep about 2 am.
The next morning, new Towboat folks come by. They ask me for the line from the other Towboat. I say I don’t have one. They say the first Towboat said he saw his line under my stern. I said I let the one line I saw still attached go. Sigh!
I’m towed back to my own marina. I tell the second Towboat I’m going to have my boat hauled out to see what may still be wrapped underneath, since I don’t want to start the engine until the mechanic is there. I hope I don’t find a line wrapped around my prop.
So…..
Lost my anchor. Lost 2 boat hooks. Lost my phone over the side when I was rearranging cushions through this. The engine has an issue. Oh, and the stove wouldn’t light in the morning.
Lessons learned? When I saw the stiff winds I’d be sailing in, I should have bowed out since I was carrying precious cargo. Or turned around when it got rough, since I’d be traveling downwind at that point. Or just stayed anchored since what we went through was no worse than what we’d have had just sitting in that one spot all night. The anchors should have had the type of tie-down usually reserved for hurricane weather.
But hey! When you go adventuring, you either have a good time or a good story. And this one was a doozy!
Why is it Called a Noreaster When it Comes From the South?
That’s my question for the day. Hurricane Ida took a stroll up from Alabama to hit us here in Hampton Roads, Virginia yesterday. We were expecting strong winds and rain, but nothing too terrible, I thought. What we got was 60 – 75 MPH winds (that’s category 1, folks) and flooding.
I always wondered how you could get flooding in a coastal town. The water drains into the ocean, right? So how can it flood? Well, it so happens that the wind pushes so much water in that the inland water can’t get out. Or that’s at least what my brain understands.
Interesting effect, too. Wednesday, the marina calls and asks if I can tie down my boat. If I can’t, they’d be happy to do it for me. They’re quite capable. They do great work. But it is my boat. So I went to West Marine to get some new dock lines to replace the ones I had on the stern that we getting worn, and to get a couple of extra long ones as well. Then Erik and I headed down to the boat to tie her down a bit more and tell her she was going to be all right.
That night, after work, about 7 p.m., I went to check to see if everything was ok. The docks were under water. Not sure how much: the lights weren’t working. But enough that I didn’t feel comfortable heading out in the dark to check on it.
Next morning, someone from work suggested I stay home that day because the water was splashing against the Monitor-Merrimac bridge. That meant the James River had to be awfully high at that point. I pulled up the Tides at the Coast Guard Training Center (see link above). The diagram showed the tide had been consistently 4′ above normal since the night before:
Note: this covers 11/11 – 11/13/2009 –
The Coast Guard Training Center is across the creek from the marina.
Erik and I drove out yesterday. There were barriers up to prevent folks from walking on the docks. Did that stop us? Well, we still couldn’t get to the boat. We had to be content from walking on the path above the docks. Luckily, 4 Degrees looked like she was faring well.
This morning wasn’t any better:
There are supposed to be walkways around there somewhere!
My concern right now is that the batteries haven’t gone dead and that the bilge pump is still working. I’m sure the power has been turned off. But I’ll go check tomorrow morning to see how she held up!
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Miscommunication
So I get a call from Petra a few weeks ago, and just for the heck of it, I ask her if she wants to help me move my boat to a marina nearer to work. Erik’s going to be out of town this week, and I’d been wanting to to do the ‘camping near work’ – bit with it for awhile now. Living a 30 minute drive away isn’t as much a killer as some of the drives I’d made to work in the past. But it’s nice to be able to listen to the traffic report and laugh because you don’t have to worry about all the problems they’re reporting.
Anyway, she said she’d love to, and to give her a call back the weekend before so we can arrange for transportation. She asks where we’re moving it to, and I tell her it’s a marina about 5 miles from work.
I called her on Sunday and told her I had a ride home from work so I could leave my car at the marina. That way, I could give her a ride back to hers at the other end.
This morning arrives and I find that I have both her and Dave along. Hooray! I would have loved having a day with Petra alone. But Dave is one of the three people who taught me most of what I know about sailing, so it’s always a pleasure to have him around.
So we start preparing the boat to take off and Petra asks where, specifically, we’re going. I show her on the charts and she’s a bit taken aback. She thought, when I said ‘about 5 miles’ that I meant we were taking the boat to a place 5 miles from where it was now. Nope. It’s actually about 40 miles away. Well, she laughed. Luckily, she’s retired and Dave is semi-retired, so taking the whole day to do this wasn’t a big problem.
I had checked the weather report the night before. Partly cloudy with scattered showers. Winds 10 – 15 mph. I didn’t check it that morning, but I looked at it again on my Blackberry. Same report.
Well, the sky was overcast that morning as we left. But usually a weather report like that means it will burn off by noon or so. But it wasn’t to happen today.
We took off around 9 a.m. There wasn’t any wind to speak of going down the York River. It picked up some by the time we reached the bay. But we were going straight downwind, and didn’t want to veer and add to the mileage. So no sails yet. We hoped, however, when we reached the James River we could put them up, since we’d be heading off at a different angle.
We could see a storm ahead of us towards Hampton. We hoped it would be gone by the time we got there. Well, it was gone from Hampton!
As we approached the Chamberlain Hotel, before crossing over the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, Petra called her daughter, who worked over at the local community college. She said there was a pretty bad storm over her way.
Partly cloudy. Scatter showers my @#$%.
We did put the sails up as we crossed the Bridge-Tunnel. But before we reached the Monitor Merrimac Bridge-Tunnel, the rain started. And it was coming down hard! I thought we were getting hail! Luckily, Petra and Dave had brought along rain jackets. I, of course, had my foul weather gear aboard. I also have a ton of extra stuff that was left by the previous owner (well, some of the stuff the left is useful!), and I loaned Petra a pair of rain pants.
So we were set. We took down the sails. Then the lightning started. And that’s when I was very glad that Dave was along. He knew about a pullout near the Monitor Merrimac Bridge where we could wait out the storm, which is just what we did. We parked and I pulled out some butternut squash soup I had aboard and we had lunch while the storm passed.
Bad thing about this whole experience was that our timing was then pretty far off. We hit the Nansemond river just as the sun was beginning to set. By the time we got to Bennett’s Creek, our final destination, it was dark. Cloudy skies. Last quarter moon. Luckily, there was enough light from the surrounding houses that we could at least see a little bit.
And, of course, there were shallow spots. But (pat, pat), I didn’t hit bottom once! Came close though. The James River current is pretty strong. Trying to stay the course when entering the Nansemond River was nigh to impossible.
We had one more white knuckle moment. We had to pass under some high voltage power lines. And, in the dark, it was hard to see if we were going to make it or not. As you can tell, since I’m writing this, we did.
I offered to take Dave and Petra to dinner, then renigged on the offer. I was plum tuckered out. But I did give them a rain check!
[Top]Post Storm
Well, we missed the brunt of the storm and came through ok. Of all the things I did, the fenders helped the most. The pilings on the starboard side of the boat were rubbed raw. Luckily, the rubbing was against my fenders and not against the side of my boat!
Yesterday, though, was the first time I inspected the galley. Chip joined my for a sail, and brought along some snacks. So I went to get some plates and cups. I found my paper bowls all mildewy, and the entire shelf smelling musty. Later that night, I was having dinner on the boat and found some of the pans filled with slimey liquid and that cupboard, too, smelling musty. Not sure where the water is leaking in to get under there.
The couscous was damp and had to be tossed, and so were the banana chips. The latter was probably a matter of sitting on the boat too long. But the former, as well as the paper bowl problem has taught me to better utilize plastic bags for storing things I don’t want to get wet!
[Top]Cock Island – The Journey Home
Steve N and I took 4 Degrees back to Yorktown on Sunday. We didn’t get moving until about 11, after we had breakfast and said all our goodbyes.
It was hot, and the wind just wasn’t there as we traveled up the Elizabeth River. We began to fear we’d have to motor the entire way. No one else seemed to be having much luck either, so it wasn’t for our lack of trying.
As we turned the corner from the Elizabeth into the bay, our luck changed and the winds picked up. We actually had some pleasant sailing for awhile.
But, as we moved further up the bay, the waves got rougher and the winds got stronger. We were going downwind, and the winds were mainly off starboard, but Steve rigged a preventer, just in case, to prevent the main from whipping across the boat.
Not much longer after that, we took in the jib. But, by then, the winds were strong enough that it was difficult to roll it in smoothly.
My boat is well rigged for reefing the main. There are lines on the mainsail itself, as well as rigging on the boom. I asked Steve why we didn’t do so. He said we were moving well and he didn’t want to slow us down.
Um, yeah. Heavy winds will do that. And, as one friend said when I told him of this experience, by the time you think you should reef the main, it’s usually too late.
Kenny talked to me over the weekend about the experience of ‘surfing’ a sailboat. Sounded kind of strange to me. But we actually did that. We hit some of those waves just right that we rode their crests for a bit.
As time goes on and the weather gets worse, I’m getting more and more nervous. But I really got nervous when Steve put on a life jacket. I told him where the harness was, too, and he put that on. He then took the wheel and I went to don a life jacket as well.
And all this time, I’m wondering what I’m going to do if he falls over. I can’t reach the radio – I’m too nervous to leave the wheel. My cell phone is below, because I was afraid of losing it overboard. Only thing I can think to do is hit the ‘Man Overboard’ button on my GPS, to mark the location, and let someone know as soon as I get to port.
We see the storm rolling in, and the rain and lightning in the distance. It doesn’t look like it’s going to get better any time soon. Then the preventer broke. Luckily, neither of us was in the way when the main whipped across the cockpit. Steve commented later that next time, he should rig it with something heavier. My comment back was better that the preventer broke than something on the boat.
Finally, after his lifejacket is on, Steve brings down the mainsail. We still haven’t reached the mouth of the York River, so we have a couple of hours to go. But we’ll do that motoring, which is much safer.
We do make it to Wormley Creek safe and sound. And, as usual, there’s no wind in the marina, even though the storm is still playing itself out on the river.
It’s 6 o’clock now. It’s taken us 7 hours for the entire trip.
We finished putting everything away and Steve asked if I wanted to head somewhere for dinner. I didn’t. I gave him a hug, told him no thanks. I did thank him for coming with me. But right about then, I just wanted to go home, crawl into a fetal position, and thank the gods that I was still alive.
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