USA – West River to Solomons, MD
It was year 2 of the COVID-19 pandemic. One of the years that just seems to have vanished from memory. I was staying home, discovering new limits about myself, but getting better at playing the piano, and some people around me were still getting very sick. Despite it all, I had gotten myself to start a new sightseeing cruise and sailing classes business this year. Mentally rewarding, and physically draining, I’d just gotten done with my very first season on October 30th. During it all, all throughout this year and last year, I’d been getting my boat ready to do a long, solo cruise. Adding in-cockpit controls, getting new sails, upgrading my engine for additional reliability, adding additional hardware to run a true preventer, and of course, fixing tons of stuff that just break down after years of use.
I always knew I had wanted to do a Bahamas cruise. It was a sailor’s rite of passage. It is almost as if the world of sailing was divided into sailors who have done the trip, and sailors who have not. It was like these people belonged to some fun, not-exclusive yet unattainable club. Even if this trip was just a short day-hop across the gulf stream, as long as you did it in your own vessel, you were in this mysterious club. And people who flew there and chartered a boat didn’t belong in this club, nor did people who resort-vacationed in Nassau. They were considered mere vacationers. I wanted to be a part of this club, so I had to sail there the whole way. And since most people can’t take many months off to go sailing, I’d be doing this mostly alone.
There are thousands of islands in the Bahamas, all beautiful in their own way. It was divided into a few groups of islands, and people would cruise between these island groups. Within these groups were scores and scores of islands that you could visit via a short day-sail. Some have historical areas, others are just tourist traps. But they are all beautiful, supposedly. All of these impressions was from the cruising guide, which I had been reading for months. Stuff for fueling my daydreams. The images of pristine waters, beaches, communities nestled on islands all seemed to pull me there. I couldn’t wait to see it with my own eyes.
I had just started my business. How could I leave it for this long? I really should spend the winter earning more money, strategizing my next year’s moves, and staying focused on my goals. And most of all, something didn’t sit right doing an adventure of a lifetime while people were still suffering all around me during the pandemic. But this cruise was a goal too, just as much as growing a successful business was. The next time I thought I had time to do this trip, I would probably be more than forty years old.
So, somewhere in the summer of 2021, I made up my mind. I’m was going to do it. And I was going to do it alone if I had to. For the past few years, I worked hard to build up the skill and experience levels. I worked even harder to get my boat ready. I was ready. Bahamas or bust! I wasn’t going to miss much about being back at home. Except my cat. She’d gotten the sense that I was going to be leaving, and spent the past whole week glued by my side.
I had originally planned on leaving on Thanksgiving, but it took much, much longer than I had expected to load up the provisions and equipment. It took two days just to get everything onto the boat and organized. Finally, the morning after Thanksgiving, I drove back to the dock, only to find out that the northerlies had pushed too much water out of the Bay. My boat was grounded at her slip. So I just drove home back home to wait for high tide. My cat looked at me like I was an idiot for coming back and gave me the cold shoulder. Its as if she’d resigned herself to me being gone. What a frustrating start.
I finally left at nine-thirty at night. Night sailing never really scared me as it scared other sailors. I don’t think it is because I’m a bad ass solo yachtsman. First, I see very well at night. Secondly, I’m in familiar waters. Lastly, I have a full keel boat, which is extremely forgiving on groundings and crab pot lines. Since this was the first few miles of this trip, the miles went by as slowly as any shorter trip. My mind and body would need some time to adjust to this new reality. I mostly motored as the West River disappeared behind me, and I continued South towards the Calvert Cliffs. Temperatures were in the mid thirties, rising to forties. It wasn’t too bad, all bundled up with my hands in my pockets.
A huge Christmas tree went by me. It was the American Constitution, an inland cruiser that went up and down the US east coast. It looked beautiful to my eyes, especially because I wasn’t used to being by myself yet. Another cruise ship was coming up the bay, and I had to coordinate with the Constitution’s skipper to safely pass the ships that were passing each other. I watched the ship, lit up in holiday colors, steam away from me and had some sort of thought. Those guests must be so cozy in their staterooms. I bet they had great food.
I pulled into Patuxent river around six in the afternoon. I anchored just outside the harbor. It was a slightly bumpy anchorage, but no problem. My plan was to keep sailing tomorrow, taking advantage of the northerlies and arrive in Norfolk after sunset. The thought of entering that harbor at night made me nervous, but I’d done it many times before. Unless shipping traffic was exceptionally bad, it should be fine. Tomorrow, I would head inside the harbor and get some fuel, then be on my way south.
This first leg was a miniscule portion of what I had to do before I could step off to the Bahamas. Maybe three percent. It was a passing thought, but the first few nights are always so tiring. I fell asleep quickly, with my propane heater kept the cabin very cozy. That night, tucked in under my blankets, I envied no cruise ship cabin. At the time, I had no idea what was in store for me for the next few months.
One thought on “Leaving it All Behind, Two Percent at a Time (11/27/21 Chesapeake Bay)”
I find it very interesting reading your story! And admire you for doing it all alone.
I was born in the Dolomites and would love to get some sailing experience next winter out of Aruba, where I ‘ll spend the winter.
Best wishes and good luck to you
Karin