Delivery Voyage: 15-20 May 1992.
Stevensville, MD to Charlestown, MA
Crew: Suanne McGoldrick (Captain and Cook)
Darren Garnier (Skipper and 1st Watchcaptain)
Al Garnier (2nd Watchcaptain and Darren's father)
John Urbahn (on first watch)
Jim Reardon (on second watch)
Tuesday, 20 June 1992
1835 Darren
42°44.19' N
71°03.33' W
Boston Harbor, Constitution Marina
The log of the "Althea" actually starts about a year ago shortly after Suanne accepted my plea of marriage. In the years that we've known each other, I have tried to explain my fascination and love of sailing and the ocean. Soon after our betrothal, I admitted that the time would come when I would have to go to sea; and while I hoped she would come with me, the quiet call could not be ignored forever.
A few weeks later Suanne and I were discussing how we were going to live together after our marriage. We would be in Boston for some years to come, as I work to complete my doctorate, but had no plans to settle here. As a Harvard Law graduate, Suanne would be employed and have a sizable income that would need to be invested. But buying a house in Massachusetts is not a wise thing to do these days, especially if one plans to sell anytime soon. So, as a practical matter, Suanne suggested we buy and live on a boat. At first, I was shocked; actually, I still am. What a great idea! What a lucky man am I! A wonderful wife and a boat! I could go on, and have been seen doing so, but I'll not make such a display here. Anyway, it didn't take long to convince me. Sure, we did check around to find out if anybody can survive a winter living on a boat in Boston Harbor and found out that there were a few wackos out there. Suanne mentioned our little plan to her father, whom I still call Dr. McGoldrick from the days that Suanne and I were just dormmates, but goes by Dr. Jim to everybody else. He thought it was a great idea and proposed that with his help we get the boat while the economy was down and before Suanne got to busy with work.
I'll spare you the details on how we arrived at the boat we finally bought about eight months later, but it involved a tremendous amount of little hassles, big hassles and tremendously large hassles. Lucky for us, our broker, Allen Schiller, took care of most of these and made the process bearable if not pleasant. I can only hope that he enjoys his work, because for all the time he put in for us, he must only got paid about 50" an hour. Anyway, Suanne and I took legal title of "Althea" on Tuesday the 12th of May. Suanne and I both had finals on the 15th, so we flew to Washington National, with John Urbahn, two hours after they were done. (I did very poorly on that exam as I prepared more for the voyage than the final and got very little sleep for all the excitement.)
The story of the delivery voyage of the Althea, otherwise known as "The Adventure" starts in Logan National Airport (in Boston). The three of us boarded the four- propeller airplane only to learn that the weather in NYC (whenever possible I avoid flying direct) was causing delays and we would be held indefinitely on the ground. After walking back and forth to the airplane a couple of times, we finally get on the runway. We're off. At NYC while waiting to get off the plane, we see our luggage get off. I put a set of tools, a drill, and some tightly packed foul whether gear in one box. The guy at the end of the ramp tries to pick it up, drops it on his foot, swears, kicks it, and swears again. Althea's first victim.
Since we were late, we thought we had missed the connecting flight. Nope, we had come in on it. So, after the bus ride back to the terminal, we do an about face at the gate and get back on the bus and back on the plane. (Our luggage waited out by the plane. I guess a seventy pound box can have more intelligence than a whole airline.) Back on the plane, the pilot apologizes for the lateness of the flight. According to him, there was some bad fog in Boston delaying the incoming flight. Of course the five of us who just got a nice bus tour of the airport chuckle. I also watched the baggage handler reload my box with regained respect.
After another hour in the air and we land at Washington National. Word to the wise: if you decide to visit Washington, don't use that airport. It is tiny and poorly organized. Continental had one baggage claim area that was shared with two other airlines and a total of five flights. So, an hour later we gained our bags, rented a car, and drove to Stevensville. We had a little trouble getting out of the airport. We drove past the exit. Then past the next exit. Then we thought we'd just get off and turn around, but couldn't do that until we reached some forest in Virginia. And, after turning around, we missed the exit going back as well. Not to fear, as we were now back to our starting place we would be ready for those exits the next time.
We got to the boat and unloaded our bags about an hour and a half later. It's now about 11 pm and the three of us decide we should get something to eat. So, we found a Greek pizzeria that was just closing and promised them we'd tip big. I can't remember what we ate, but the waitress was friendly and we got to see her again later at the Safeway. (We went in to get some breakfast stuff, but ended up doing about half our shopping.)
The next morning started early. My dad was to arrive at 5:30 am at Washington Dulles. So, we left about six and got there about 8 am. It's a long way from the boat to the airport. Anyway, he wasn't too worried as we had arranged to meet at "0730" (as my dad had now joined the operations I'm switching to naval time). On the way back, we decide to do a little of our shopping. About 4 hours later and 3,000 dollars poorer, we got back to the boat with as much stuff as would fit in a Ford Taurus. I was supposed to have called Jim's parents at about 1030 so we could arrange dropping off our rental car when Jim came in about 1230, but that was way off. When I finally did get a hold of them, they were in their car about 30 minutes from the boat. Dad and Suanne left to do the rest of the provisioning (Suanne adds: Note that the only mac & cheese is Kraft mac & cheese. Also, don't buy cereal unless you buy bowls too.) and John and I took the boat to the fuel dock to get diesel. After a little trouble finding someone to turn on the pumps, we were in business. Jim and his parents arrived and they got the 3 minute tour of the marina as we went back to the slip. Suanne and Dad got back and started unloading and I decided to go see the broker (seems our seller decided to remove some equipment: an old, basically worthless, single-sideband radio, but it was the principal). After about 2 hours in his office calling all interested parties and listening to Lloyd (the seller) whine one last time, I decided to take the boat as is. (I learned that Lloyd paid some guy $70 to rip the thing out and in doing so, cut all the cables. I didn't think the thing was worth the 70 bucks in the first place). I also called my old fraternity brother, Paul, who lives north of Baltimore to see if he could pick me up at the airport and drive me back to the boat. He said, no problem and see you there at 5:30 pm.
Meanwhile, there was all kinds of activity going on at the boat. Things were getting put away, spaces being washed, water tanks getting a good bleach job, and the old name "Ragtime" was being removed. (Actually, the boat's previous name had been "IBIS" but old Lloyd never got around to actually painting this on the back). So, John and I left to take the car back. I guess it was around 1645 because we didn't get back to the airport and the car returned till about 1830. We were about an hour late. So, we stood outside the Delta shuttle terminal and looked for Paul. As I previously mentioned, Washington National is a terrible airport and I was beginning to think we would never see us, or that he left already. So, I left John there and went on an expedition. Went to the Delta Shuttle desk and asked if someone was looking for me. No. Went on a 20 minute bus ride to the other side of the airport where the Delta terminal was (don't get the two confused). No Paul. Hmm, did he give up? Called his house. Nobody home. Tried again a little while later. His girlfriend answered and said he left 3 maybe 4 hours ago and haven't heard from him. Now I was very confused. How could we have missed each other. John and I discussed our options. If he was still at the airport, and we haven't seen him yet, we doubted we would ever find him. Otherwise, he must have given it a try and left by now, two and a half hours after our supposed meeting time. So, we got a cab. Eighty-five bucks. Ouch. (To make matters worse, Paul arrived at the airport about the same time we left. Not knowing that Washington National even existed, he went to Dulles and waited there. When he learned of his err, he got stuck in traffic getting to National. He called his house when he got there and found out the bad news. Thanks for the try Paul. I owe you at least a keg a beer.)
So, back at the boat. Things were going along. My dad had changed the oil on the engine. (And broke a raw water pump for the air conditioner, which let sea water come flooding into the boat. Lucky we had those throughhull plugs we bought that morning.) We put on the boat's new name, "Althea". (I had made a giant name on my computer and had it Xeroxed onto transparencies and some transparent tape. It looked good. In fact, it still does. One of those things we just haven't gotten around to yet.) Suanne, who decided that the cook's position (no watches) was just fine with her, made us some spaghetti and we decided to get underway.
After all those months of work, it was great to be heading out. As we cast off, I could feel the tension of the day starting to ease and was just a little anxious to see how "Althea" would react to its new owners. Suanne got out the log book and made the first entry.
Saturday, 16 May 1992 2300 Suanne After a long day of provisioning its nice to get underway.
That's as far as she got before we felt it. That sinking feeling of quick, smooth deceleration. Dad and I knew right away. We felt it before. Once in Golfito, Costa Rica, aboard "Chez Nous", we were 300 feet from the shore...from the water. High and dry for 6 hours. That was the feeling. Oh, shit. It wasn't that bad this time, I wasn't going that fast and "Althea" weighs a lot less than "Chez Nous". I backed off and Dad convinced me that I wasn't in the channel. It was dark with no moon, and the channel had unlit markers. No problem, we'd just take it slow and we got the rest of the crew on deck with flashlights picking out the markers for me. We bumped a couple times more and kept going. Then, as we were going directly between the last set of markers, we hit bottom again. We were in the channel, there just wasn't enough water in it. After a few minutes of unbelief, and a few attempts to get off we decided to get the dinghy out and do some exploring. Jim and I set off with our trusty line and bob to find the deep water. Alas, "Mark Twain" (which is an old riverboat saying for over 12' of water) was nowhere to be found. We threw out an anchor and decided to wait for that two foot Chesapeake tide to come in.
It did, and about 0400 we got up and hit the start button on the engine. Click. Click. Damn. Batteries dead. We tried switching the windlass battery, but it didn't have enough to crank the engine over. Now what? To early to call the harbormaster. We weren't in any real danger to call the Coast Guard. Sail? Not upwind up that channel. Zodiac power! Dad hopped in and pushed us back like a miniature tub boat. We did 2.5 knots too. We got back to the dock and got the battery charger going.
Everybody got back to bed. I tried sleep, but it wasn't coming. I already hadn't slept for so long, I think my body forgot how. So, I went for a little walk out to the point to survey the channel in the morning light. It was getting foggy, so I was anxious to get back out before the tide turned again. Back on the boat, I gave the engine a go. It started and we were off. Again.
We went straight out the channel, but it was already so foggy that the Chesapeake shipping lane buoys couldn't be seen. Maybe 200' visibility. When the depth read 40' we headed north.
Sunday, 17 May 1992 0730 Al Under Annapolis/Stevensville Bridge. 6 kts. Course 28°M.
For the next couple of hours, we were in pretty heavy fog. Dad was at the navigation station calling out courses from one buoy to the next (right on every time even though the compass turned out to be off by as much as 20° at some headings) as we cruised up the Chesapeake under power with the Main up and a light headwind. At about 1000, the fog burned off and Suanne took the wheel. We tried the autopilot, but it was content just to sail in big circles. This meant that we'd have to hand steer the whole way. So much for having surveyors aboard. By 1330 we reached the C&D canal, bucking an 1.5 knot current.
Going through the canal, Jim and John were on watch and between trying to nap, Dad was busy fixing as many little problems he could. During this he noticed that the bilge had gotten pretty full with some very foul water After a little experimenting, it was apparent to us that none of the bilge pumps (two electric and one manual emergency pump) were functioning. Fortunately, but not coincidentally, there was a large hand pump aboard. So, for the rest of the trip, we had a regular chore of hand pumping bilge water into a five gallon bucket, passing the bucket upstairs where it was dumped over, and repeating. This had to be done at regular intervals, about every four hours, but had the benefit of cleaning the bilge quite nicely as my Dad added generous amounts of detergent to the bilge to clean up the oil.
When we reached the end of the canal, the wind picked up and shifted south-easterly. (Basically, it shifted to get in front of us). We decided to put up the Genoa and sailed out of the canal. (Although we didn't cut the engine for fear of the batteries being dead when we tried to start the engine again.) We immediately decided to furl it because the channel down the Delaware was right into the wind and tacking the Genie back and forth for 60 miles didn't sound like to much fun. So, yank on the autofurler. It would budge. Winch? We just twisted the headfoil. Hmmm. Back down comes the Genie and Dad and I get some grease into the frozen rotary halyard slide. We decide to leave the Genie on the deck.
In the meantime, we had forgotten about the dinghy that we had left trailing behind us. It was now much to choppy (heavy wind opposing current makes short steep four foot chop that is very unpleasant to try to hammer through). So, after getting the engine and dinghy up and tied down, we batten down and put on our foul weather gear for a long miserable beat down the Delaware. In order to make the trip a little easier on our kidneys we start a long series of tacks down the shipping channel. Dad relieved Suanne, who was on the wheel, so a more experienced hand could try cornering the chop. Didn't really help. It was just going to be a wet ride.
I went down to get dinner started. Stouffer's frozen lasagna. Always an good meal when your wet and cold and the galley is jumping up and down randomly. It was in the freezer which is underneath the refrigerator. When I looked in, I couldn't see it. I saw the blocks of ice that were there to keep everything cold, but no lasagna. So, I took the ice blocks out. Which was quite a task. They weighed 10 lb. and were melting and thus were quite slippery. Well, after that I discovered the bad news. The lasagna had "capsized." It was upside down and the water in the bottom of the freezer had caused the cardboard top to disintegrate. So, when I tried to lift it, all I got was the pan. So, I got both my hands all the way in and managed to lift the bulk of it (only possible because it was still partially frozen). But in doing so, the bulk of me was now in the freezer, and because both my hands were full of lasagna I had no way of getting myself out. As it was quite noisy from the engine and the crashing seas, my cries for assistance went unanswered. Eventually, I did manage to work myself out using my feet along with a surprisingly complete lasagna. I just put it back in the pan and popped it in the oven. Served out of plastic cups, it was actually quite good after a long day of sailing.
Suanne, however, refused my rough water repast. Suanne figured since she was going to live on the boat and go cruising often, she should become a true sailor. So, unlike John and Jim who liberally popped Marizine tablets, she had decided to challenge sea sickness with stoic resolve. She did pretty good considering the seas; she never made that daring lean over the low side and she never showed the deep green pallor of someone who would feel better dead. Yet, she didn't feel up to lasagna. We had bought some saltine crackers for this very purpose, but she didn't think she could tolerate even these. After some coaxing, however, she did try them, and was astonished to find that they are fairly good medicine. (Ever notice how they even have a little sailor on the packaging? And you thought it was only for show.) Dad tried to encourage her by assuring her that most of sea sickness is psychological. "Oh, so I'm doing this to myself, I feel so much better," she replied.
After dinner John and I took over for the 8-12 watch. I'm not sure that we actually planned to do our watches this way, but it worked out OK. It had gotten foggy in the previous three hours and it was impossible to see from one buoy to the next. This was an especially precarious situation as we were now traveling through "Joe Flogger Shoals", where on either side of the shipping channel are 4' deep mud flats (just shallow enough to do us some real harm). To make matters worse, the Loran decided at this time to be on the fritz. No problem, we'd just do as the old-timers and tack down the channel every time the depth got less than 30'.
After about 2 hours of this, we realized we had overlooked one danger the old-timers didn't have. We had just finished a tack on the north side of the channel and John, who had been sitting against the forward bulkhead of the cockpit and looking back while I was looking ahead and steering, went down below to look at the chart and try to figure our position. He was gone about 10 seconds when we all heard "BLAH! BLAH! BLAH! ...", loud continuous short blasts indicating imminent danger behind us. I looked back and saw it emerge out of the fog, like a Klingon Warbird decloaking before it fires, a huge ore carrier. Deciding that I had just tacked in front of it, I tacked back and called down for a horn. After some frantic scrambling for the newly purchased horn, during which time all are hearts are taking a beat and skipping three to the rhythm of the continuous blasts of the freighter, I replied with 3 long blasts of my own. This followed with an exchange of light messages, indicating to both vessels that no harm had been done. Thirty seconds later, the ship recloaked itself in the fog and continued on its way down the channel. Three minutes later, we were out of the main shipping channel, paralleling it and trying to keep in 25' of water. (Where deep draft vessels would hit bottom before hitting us.)
Another ship passed us just as we got out of the shipping lane. We saw it long before we realized what it was. It started out as a eerie, ghostlike glow and at first we thought that it was the moon rising. But it was in the west, and it appeared to be getting bigger. It got closer and larger and at some point we could hear music, but it never came out of the fog. For all I know, it might have been the ghost of the Titanic.
John took the wheel and I went down below and looked at the electrical panel. I noticed that the voltage read about 11.5 volts. Obviously, the alternator on the engine wasn't doing its job. I started up the generator and turned on the battery charger. Back up to 13, I turned on the loran. Bingo. Now we could navigate through the shoals without using the channel. So, we cruised out, away from the shipping lane and over "Brandywine Range". As I was down below, another ore carrier was hailing us by radio. I answered and the pilot asked what we were intending to do, so that he could avoid us (he had seen us on radar and was still about 3 or 4 miles away.) I told him we were going to continue east and stay south of the shipping channel. He also informed me that I should have been monitoring channel 13 on the radio. (I had been on channel 16, which until March of this year has been the normal hailing frequency. The Coast Guard has changed this and now every region has its own hailing channel while 16 is for emergency use only.) Once again, local knowledge would have saved us some angst.
Monday, 18 May 1992 0000 Al Jim & Al on watch off Cape May. Loran working if voltage above 12.5. Channel 13 working frequency for ship traffic. Ave. speed 6.5 kts. Have altered course to cross traffic lanes and round Cape May over "Overfall Shoals".
The next few hours went fairly smoothly. (I don't know this for sure, but I did sleep very well.) After rounding Cape May, the fog disappeared and we headed up the New Jersey coast towards Atlantic City with winds now aft. During this time, Dad was able to determine that the compass is in error by at least 15° or we had some pretty strong southerly currents. At 0445, Dad came in and asked "Are you going to get up?" I said "Sure, what time is it?" Apparently, there had been a mix up and I had not been woken for my 0400 watch. I don't think those extra 45 minutes helped much either.
0525 John 39°13.30' N 74°33.22' W Visibility good. > 5 miles. Overcast. Course 035°M.
John and I continued on as dawn came and Atlantic City appeared before us. We decided to put in for fuel (since we knew we weren't going to turn the engine off for the rest of the trip.) We got to the fuel dock at 0730 (right behind the Trump Castle) and decided to call all our loved ones. (Some of them, like my Mom, weren't very happy to hear us at 4:30am p.s.t.) After we filled up, we decided to fix the autopilot. Dad and I looked at it and found a loose sensor which we tightened and adjusted. Alas, we would find that it still didn't work. We also attempted a fix on the manual bilge pump, but it defied disassembly and our grunts.
When we went to leave, the engine would not start. It wouldn't even click. We played with a few things, like checking if it was in neutral or if the transmission break was on, but it still wouldn't seem to work. Having seen these things before, got a piece of wire out and hot wired the engine. Good enough for me. We tried this again so I'd know how to do it and to make sure it could be done again and we were off at 1100.
We decided to head straight for Block Island rather than hug the coast. So we took a compass course of 55° so that we make 65°M.
1200 Al 39°23.70' N 74°13.62' W Approaching R "2BS" about 1/2 mile to stbd. Loran shows past to port.
The rest of the day was pleasant. Light winds and overcast, but flat seas and we made good speed with the Genie out. Suanne took my 4-8 watch and I got some much needed sleep. Dad and Jim had the 8-12 watch. At 2100 Dad predicts ETA at Montauk Point (eastern tip of Long Island) to be 10am the next morning. We didn't get there until 2pm.
Tuesday, 19 May 1992 0012 Darren John & Darren on the 12-4 watch. Nice conditions. Wind NE 5-10 kts. Sky partly cloudy & clearing. Stars bright with moon visible.
It's hard to explain to people about the joys of sailing. Why should a few, slightly frigid, midnight hours be spent so pleasantly doing nothing but talking and drinking cocoa in the dark? The increased wind allowed Althea to start showing her true colors as we lashed her wheel and she steered herself with no adjustments for over 3 hours. John and I spent these hours philosophizing and observing the bright firmament and the occasional passing ship. Sometime during the night, I remember all the things I loved about the sea, and how lucky I am to be back on it. The fresh salt air, occasionally punctuated by an eye- stinging spray of water; the sound and rhythm of a boat plowing gracefully and powerfully through the sea; the never-ending feeling that this has all been experienced before by countless souls striving outward with courage, fear, and foolishness for adventure, independence, and livelihood. The sea has always had a calling. Those who know it are both cursed and blessed. Blessed to know the joys of nights like the one John and I spent together. Cursed to always seek them. Sometime during that night, I think John heard the call too.
By the time 0400 rolled around, the wind had picked up considerably. Jim and Dad relieved us and we went to bed dreaming of a life at sea.
0515 Al Tacked to starboard. Course steered 10-15°
Jim and Dad did not have the idyllic conditions of the previous watch. The wind picked up and shifted easterly to NE, just where we wanted to go. As we wished to gain latitude instead of lose it, the decision was made to tack. This caused a bit of uncomfortableness down below. Because of the shape of the aft cabin bunk, Suanne and I were sleeping across the boat with our feet on the starboard side. When we tacked, Suanne and I suddenly found ourselves standing on our heads. We switched quickly, but our heel had increased and we had to actively push with our feet to avoid ending up in a big ball on the newly made "bottom". Needless-to-say, this bunk is not very conducive to sleeping in a rough passage.
As I was awake during this tack, I heard a very interesting noise. A piece of metal sliding across the deck over my feet, down to where my head was, with one last 'ding'. Just the kind of noise a $100 winch handle makes as it goes overboard. We have two winch handles that don't work all that well, so I was hoping it was one of those. I was far too tired to worry about it though. (Later on, we found out that it was the bronze cap to the anchor hawse pipe that had rolled all the way down from the bow and actually didn't go overboard, but hung on quite miraculously to a half inch ledge on the transom).
I was almost relieved (well, actually I was pretty far from being relieved) when Dad woke me early. The wind had picked up to about 20-25 kts., and it was time for a reef in the main. (Actually, I'm sure we could have used one when I was sliding down the bed for the tenth time.) I steered to depower us, while Dad dropped the halyard and pulled in the reef line. It had gotten quite nasty since I went to bed, and it was getting quite difficult to stay dry up on deck. I was glad to go back and get back in bed. (Suanne was quite warm, although not so happy to see me as she was now suffering from a combination of sea sickness and her normal post-final cold). (Suanne adds : that's for sure: Darren was Mr. Chilly Willie!!!)
Dad let me catch an extra hour of sleep to make up for my earlier awakening. So, I got on watch about 0900. We tacked again as I came on watch in sight of East Hampton. (Almost 20 hours without sight of land! ) The wind was still out of the NE but the radio was predicting it to shift East and then SE. So, we decided to do as much "Easting" as we could.
1125 Darren 40°44.74' N 71°46.27' W Still steering course of 90° in anticipation of wind shift East.
The wind didn't shift as much or as fast as we thought, although it did drop in intensity, so at noon we tacked and headed North. By 1400 we were as close as we were going to get to Montauk Point. So, the heavy head winds had delayed us about 4 hours. As we continued North towards Block Island, the wind shifted and we were lifted to a course of NE towards Buzzards Bay. South of Newport, we saw some interesting Naval activity, but never got close enough to see what it was, probably some submarine maneuvers. At 1830 Dad attempted to call his sister Janet over the VHF. We didn't know our call numbers, so he used those of "Chez Nous." After trying a few different operators, he finally did get through and talked to Janet. We thought about stopping in Sandwich to see her, but we wouldn't be there until midnight and decided to continue through without stopping.
Dad and Jim had the 8-12 watch, but I told them to tell me when we got to the entrance of the Cape Cod Canal. I knew it would be tricky in the dark and I wanted to remember how it looked. Dad woke me about 2230 as we neared the beginning of a long series of buoys that leads to the canal entrance. It was a clear night, but the moon had not risen high enough to give any light. All that could be seen was the various lights of the channel markers, the reef markers, and the street lights of the city. This made navigation very tricky. What is worse about the entrance to Cape Cod Canal is that the channel markers have light patterns that repeat every other buoy. So, if you lose track of where you are on the chart, you could make some potentially dangerous mistakes. As it was, the three of us did pretty well. I was looking at the chart and the marks around us, telling Dad where to expect the next mark what its pattern would be and if it had rocks around it or not. Dad had his binoculars with their integral compass and was keeping an eye on the marks and calling out to Jim where to steer. Jim was the helmsman, doing well in the current following the constant flow of commands: "Left two degrees, right five degrees,...." This went on for about 40 minutes as we made our way through the "Hog Island Channel" and neared the entrance to the canal. Just as we reached the narrowest section we noticed a strange pattern of lights that we had though was part of the city. But it seemed to be a lot closer, hmm lets see two green lights, a five vertical white lights, two red lights. And between the lights, nothing, no city lights, no stars, just a black monolith. Uh, oh. It's a tug pulling a large barge and it's heading right for us. "Right 20 degrees," goes the calm order from my father's mouth before Jim and I are able to understand what is in front of us. Jim obeys and we give the barge as wide a berth as possible in the narrow channel. Well, now we know what those lights mean.
We entered the canal right on time. Previously, we had been worried that we would not make it before the tide changed, meaning we'd have to buck a five knot current or anchor outside and wait. As it was we had a following current of about 2 knots. At 2324 we were under the Conrail Lift Bridge at Station 380 and at four minutes past midnight we passed the traffic lights at the north entrance to the canal (Station 0). As a station is 100 feet (I think this arcane unit of measure is used exclusively for canals) we had traveled 38,000 feet or 6.2 nautical miles (1 NM = 6076 ft) in 40 minutes: about 9.3 kts! (All thanks to the current, of course).
After we came through the canal, Dad and Jim headed for bed and John came up and took the wheel. We immediately noticed that the air temperature had dropped considerably. I guess Cape Cod Bay is still defrosting from the long winter. Coming into Buzzard's Bay we figured out how to make the Loran give us courses and time to go to way points that we enter from the charts. This proved very useful as the coast has many bays and cities and the buoys are very hard to pick out.
Wednesday, 20 May 1992 0300 Darren Farnham R12 buoy abeam. Changed course to 345°T. Very cold!
John and I had to switch off a few times because of the cold. We switched wearing Dad's gloves (the only pair aboard) as we steered "Althea" with the cold stainless wheel. If only the autopilot worked! We were well relieved at 0400 by a not-so-happy watch.
0400 Al Yes, it's very very cold! Al and Jim on watch.
Suanne got up as I went to bed (I guess my toes were just too cold), and the three of them watched the sun come up over the water and Boston appear before them. Apparently, this did not go without mishap however, as they traveled down a channel towards Quincy for some ways before they realized their mistake and reversed course. (Again, the lights confused us.) They attempted to wake me several times so that I could take Althea into her new home but I wouldn't budge. It's now been almost a week with deprived sleep every night and I just couldn't move. When we were just outside the marina, I got up and saw that there was a boat in our slip. As it was about 0630, no one was in the marina office, so we just took the first open slip we could find. Dad was at the helm and had a fair amount of difficulty getting into the small slip in the heavy current that comes from the Charles River when the locks are open.
But, we made it. We were home. Althea, who took some time getting used to getting used, performed remarkably well. We didn't have to stop to fix anything and we had gotten in on time. We all took a shower up at the marina office and Jim and John shaved and went to work. (Although, report has it that they looked like zombies and went home in the afternoon.) We moved the boat into her slip without incident and took some much needed naps. My aunt Janet visited us in the evening and later we all got a good night's sleep.
Copyright © 1992, Darren T. Garnier. All Rights Reserved.