Storms Make Bad Sailors (11/28/21 Chesapeake Bay)

Today started out very uneventful. I weighed anchor just before noon and steamed into the harbor, enjoying the amazing views of Solomons, MD. The sun was out, taking a bit of the coldness out of the winter airs. I picked up a popsicle and 12 gallons of fuel. Being there always puts a smile on my face — its just so pretty. It was 2:30pm by the time I hit the bay and turned south. I motored mostly, but got to sail about ten miles, upwind. My tacks went smoothly and helped ease the boredom.

There was absolutely no ship traffic once I left Solomons. The bay seemed empty. My AIS (Automatic Identification System) display did not show anything out to fifteen nautical miles. Winds were dying down, and the seas became flat. All there was the chugging of my engine and the occasional clanging of my antenna cable inside my mast. I read from the book I had started on this trip – Songs of a Distant Earth – and played around with my Iridium Go. I kept checking the forecast, eagerly waiting for the evening when the winds were supposed to turn NW and pick up to 20-22kts.

I got what I wanted. The sun dipped down and winds started picking up again. I heard birds that sounded like owls flying around the boat. Do owls come out to sea? Ship traffic started appearing again as I went by the mouth of the Potomac river. I finally noticed that enough wind was blowing from astern – I eagerly got my sails up and turned off the motor. For some hours, it was very pleasant.

The boat sped up to seven knots over ground, a bit past my top speed, and I started hearing breaking waves behind me. I took the boat off of autopilot and started hand steering. I had about half of my genoa out — this brand new fancy sail seemed to generate a lot of power– and put two reefs in in my mainsail. By policy, I almost never sail with full main at night.

The weather gradually kept increasing. This was starting to become more than what I bargained for. I thought about my options as I needed to be proactive and try to keep my mind ahead of the weather. I can immediately duck into many of the anchorages in the Deltaville area, right next to where my friend Robert lived. Or I can keep sailing, but I would have to hand steer all the way, and I had at least another 20 hours before I reach Norfolk. Perhaps most ideal is to sail further and then to duck into an anchorage later. I took the last option.

It got to a point where I could not take my hand off the wheel, no matter how I balanced the sails. I did not have enough sea room to the west to try to do a beam reach and reduce the sails to get the autopilot to hold. And the winds were strong enough where I couldn’t force my main down while still sailing downwind. What do I do? If I keep sailing, its liable to get worse. I’d end up broaching the boat.

My mind struggled to find a solution, but I decided to try to turn upwind and then heave-to. I hauled in the mainsail and started turning the boat upwind. When I grabbed the jib sheet to haul that in, I realized there is no way I could do that one handed. And I absolutely could not take my hand off the wheel.

Waves slammed into Sonora and water was coming over the deck – right onto me and all of my equipment. Stuff was flying off its usual spots and banging onto the deck. Gusts kept pushing the nose towards the wind, and the waves would roll the boat over. It was chaos. I could not wrap my head around why it was so bad – the waves didn’t seem that high, but they were incredibly sharp. I thought the wind didn’t feel more than thirty knots, which I should have been able to easily manage.

As I turned upwind, the genoa started flogging violently. I tied off the sheet here. I used my free hand to undo the furling line and pulled as hard as I could – with the genoa unloaded, it willingly furled in. As the sail furled in, it trimmed a bit. When I couldn’t furl anymore, I tied it off with my one free hand then turned the boat hard to wind to start heaving-to.

What a messy heave-to. My genoa, back-winded, was all baggy, as if I was still sailing downwind. My main was under-trimmed. It looked nothing like the practice heave-tos that I had done. I moved the rudder hard to port and the boat steadied itself. I played with the mainsheet until the boat kept a steady heading. The port side, the active side genoa sheet was pulled hard against the port side aft shroud. Will the rigging come down at some point? Or will the sheet get sawn through?

My GPS showed the boat making 2.5kts. Hardly stopped. But she was moving towards the sea now. Better than charging ahead at seven knots and barely being in control. Or drifting towards land. Whatever was going to be done, needed to be done now. As another wave crashed into me, I started the engine and let it idle. I first tried to put in a third reef on the main. I was unable to pull the line by hand, so I put the reefing line on the winch and cranked it. Then I realized my main halyard clutch was still locked, so I had to put the halyard on the winch, give it a crank to de-load the line, then open the clutch.

In the middle of my task, I realized the wind and sea state was still too great for me to sail for many more hours alone. Okay, so my plan wasn’t going to happen. The sail needed to come down, and I needed to get to shelter and abort this leg.

I noticed even with the messed up shape of the main, with halyard fairly loose, third reef partially put in, the boat remained hove-to. Cool! So you can reduce sail and do other tasks while you’re hove to on Sonora. I eased off the mainsheet some more, and I got up out of the cockpit and walked to the mast. I did this quickly as I didn’t want to start feeling fear. Still, as I was moving up towards the bow, I thought about the risk I was taking. If I fell overboard, tether or no tether, the chances of me getting back onto the boat that was broaching and pitching in all directions, was very low. Then don’t fall off, I told myself. There is no other choice.

The mainsail came down easily by hand. Now that I’m figuring out and solving my problem, my thoughts started catching up to me. “If only I had crew.” I thought. If I had crew, we’d still be sailing, loving the high speed speed we were making. Reefing, furling, sail balance and all that would have been a simple task with a dedicated helmsman and another set of hands. But in the reality I was in, I was alone. It was all up to me. And if I didn’t solve this problem, my boat would be lost. Which means I’d be lost too.

I gritted my already aching teeth. I grind my teeth when I’m stressed, and cruising is a stressful activity, so I’d apparently grinded my teeth the night before. I told myself: hold fast!

After the mainsail was down, I could have tacked the genoa over and started motor-sailing. But I decided to go ahead furl up the headsail. It wasn’t too far to the anchorage, and I wanted one less thing to worry about. Since the genoa was badly depowered and back winded, I could pull it in by hand. Same process. Furl it in a bit, ease the sheet out, furl it in.

Done! I pushed the engine into gear and opened the throttle wide open. I shouted loudly in triumph. I survived this one. I handled it, however messy it was.

However, my problems were far from over. I was now a cork in a washing machine, with no sail to help steady itself. Everything depended on forward motion. Breaking waves became even more frequent – fortunately, not high enough where my boats stern couldn’t float over. I kept the boat’s speed up and did my best to keep her under control. It was only a few nautical miles to get to the anchorage I had picked out, but time seemed to grind to a slow motion. And the wind and waves would not go away.

The anchorage I picked out was south of a land mass that would block some of the weather. I kept my eye on the electronic charts and anxiously waited for the wind shadow. It seemed like it was never going to come. What am I going to do if this anchorage wasn’t that sheltered? How was I going to get to the bow and set up the anchor in those conditions? Am I going to hit something going into this meandering river, with the boat being shoved around by the waves?

My mind flashed back to a moment many years ago – when my boat grounded on an unmarked shoal, entering one of those channels that had wave breakers on both sides. Waves were pounding into Sonora at the time, pushing her towards the rocks. My heart sank at the thought of her breaking apart on the rocks.

But I was committed to being at anchor tonight. With the mess left by the fiasco moments before, it was doubtful I could easily get my sails up again. But I would if I had to. I’d make it happen, because really, I would have no other option. This is the reality of a sailor. You deal with whatever you are given. Same with life, I suppose. The stakes are higher out here, that’s all.

Fortunately, my worries were eased quickly. The wind and waves died down gradually as I made it into the creek. It was a bit strange, because they typically disappear in an instant as you make it into shelter. It must be the low tree levels around here.

I noticed two things as I set the anchor. The stars are out, and my bow is pointed right at the great dipper. Its so beautiful here. And for some reason, the water is really clear – I could almost see my anchor on the bottom. A rare sight in the Chesapeake bay. Nature, whether its trying to kill me or not, was beautiful as it was doing whatever she wanted to do to me.

Anchor was set at one thirty in the morning. I started to debrief myself as I put the boat away for the night. What could I have done different? I thought I was a decent sailor. What did I do wrong? Some of these questions would be answered the next day.

I thought about the fastest sail I’d done in the Chesapeake bay. With two friends, I did a downwind, one-shot leg from Shadyside all the way to Tangier island with thirty knots of wind, gusting to thirty five. Based on my knowledge of the winds at the time, this shouldn’t have been too different tonight. Even though my crew on that run barely knew how to sail, it made all the difference. I had underestimated how much harder things are when you are single-handing.

Even when the sea spray slamming into your face, I think its worth slowing yourself down and thinking things through. For example, I think I could have done a better job turning upwind. Not rushing it, and remembering just how much it actually takes to knock Sonora down. I’d have eaten whatever forces this cold front wanted to dish out, and slowly and surely trimmed my way upwind, and done a much cleaner heave-to. Then I could have done everything in relative luxury.

Next long stop I have, I’d like to find out if heaving to is even really an option when you’re already sailing downwind in strong winds. Turning upwind today was not fun.

Winds were still howling outside the boat, enough to heel the boat a bit. But I had the heater on and was so cozy inside Sonora. And I’m happy to break this night sailing cycle — I’ll sleep in tomorrow and wait for the weather to pass. It’ll probably be Tuesday morning when I get going again.