We topped off the fuel in our tank, washed the decks, and then went into town on a Sunday morning in search of O-rings. The Internet had a few listings for marine repair and hardware, but no one was manning the phones. We both initially thought that Kammerman's Marina was located in a sketchy neighborhood, but as we walked up to Atlantic Blvd., we realized that we were actually parked in the high rent district. The adult entertainment shops on Atlantic were ready for business early Sunday morning, but the Os they were offering were not going to do a thing for our reluctant fuel supply. We managed to find a grocery to re provision our larder, and then decided we would go ahead and leave at noon as planned. Walking back to the boat we passed all kinds of folks on their way to worship service. Sin on Saturday, repent on Sunday, seems to be the motto.
When we got back to the boat, we saw this scallop dredge heading out to sea. If you think it is am impressive piece of machinery during daylight, read on a little further for the real deal.
We primed the fuel line and headed out of AC harbor. The forecast was for winds from the NW at 5-10 MPH during the day, rounding to the SW through the night. We expected a comfortable and manageable sail on a beam reach into Sandy Hook. The eighty mile run should have put us off the entry channel at Sandy Hook sometime Monday morning. We posted our sail plan to the kids just in case, and started a great run down the Jersey shore, hopping from one offshore buoy to the next.
The afternoon progressed perfectly with calm seas and just the right amount of wind to keep us making a steady 6 MPH over ground. Niki was down below getting supper ready around 5 PM when I heard the sound of a whale exhaling through its blowhole. A small family of pilot whales crossed our bow. We watched them move off to starboard for fifteen minutes. It was our first encounter with wild whales and was just peaceful to experience. The sun continued to dip, and treated us to this view as it set in the west.
Further offshore to our east, the moon began to rise. It was a brilliantly orange autumnal full moon. The digital camera wasn't fully up to the moment, but if you have ever seen a moonrise where the moon seems to fill the sky, that is how it appeared to us. Just our little boat, the endless horizon of the Atlantic, and Luna in all her splendor.
One half hour after moonrise, we saw red and green lights in the distance directly on our bow. It was our first nighttime crossing with another boat. We carefully tried to judge distance and closing rate between the two boats. She stayed directly on our bow for ten minutes, so we decided she must be on the reciprocal course to ours, and heading into AC. We eased the wheel to port and set the sails so that we could leave the other boat on our starboard side, between us and the moonlight. Now it was too dark to get the photographic evidence, but what we saw during the next five minutes was worth the entire trip. As the boats closed, we could see that the other boat was a sailboat, and that she had eased her course to our leeward side. With perfect stillness, a two masted schooner under full sail passed between us and the moon. The moonlight gave back light to her full rig. She had three try sails up front and two large gaff rigged mains on the mainmast and mizzen. It was better than the movies. We held our breath as she slid silently away from us and back into the darkness. You could not have scripted a more perfect afternoon and evening.
And often in sailing and life, what comes with blessings on the one hand can be taken away by the other hand. It seems our payment to old Neptune for the magical day was to have one hellacious night. Shortly after our encounter with the schooner, the winds began to build. We had already furled the jib before dark, but with the winds so steady and manageable during the day, we decided not to take in a reef on the mainsail. That turned out very quickly to be a bad choice. The wind was still out of the west, putting us on a reach, but the 5-10 MPH quickly built to a steady 10-20 MPH with higher gusts. The seas built higher too with the increased winds from shore. We set the main traveler as far to leeward as it could go, and eased the main sheet way out. The boat was under control but started to surf a little down the building seas. The air temperature began to drop as well, and the increased wind chill was a concentration grabber. Note to self, next time pack the damn balaclava! We traded off time below to get less cold, but we both were chilled more than was prudent. Then the rain kicked in as well, driving water beneath our foul weather gear.
When the rain eased and visibility went back out to about a mile, we saw nav lights on a closing course to us. It turned out to be a scallop dredge. We couldn't round up away from her course without losing headway and steerage, so we called repeatedly to her on the VHF. She did not acknowledge us, but she did eventually veer off. I thought we had escaped a close call and then I heard a strange noise from below. As the dredge turned to quarter away from us, it became very clear that her drag line was set and that she was actively pulling her sled across the bottom. The bottom of Broad Reach began to shake and vibrate with an unearthly whine. We couldn't see how much cable the dredge had out, or where the cable might be, but we could hear the sled being drawn under us as she was turning away. Water is a great propagator of sound at distance, but if I never again in my life hear that whine, it will be AOK with me. The sound increased and then ever so slowly decreased, as the dredge went about her business.
By the time close call number two happened two hours later, the first wave of adrenaline had settled out. I was down below trying to get warm when Niki shouted that she needed me back on deck now! I came up to see a fishing trawler just 200 yards off our starboard side and closing rapidly. Again we jumped on the VHF and again there was no response. This time we decided to round up immediately, put the boat in irons, and wait for the trawler to clear by. She slowly turned away and we were able to get underway again. I asked Niki how she had gotten so close without being seen. When Niki told me she had seen her, but that she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, I knew we both were pushing the limits of exhaustion.
There are no good places on the north Jersey shore to put into at night, and not one of those inlets would have been possible without the motor running reliably. We soldiered on toward daybreak and the New York skyline. The stars in the east eventually got fainter, the sky began to brighten with the return of the sun, and at long last we could see the tip tops of Manhattan skyscrapers in the far distance.
We felt brighter as the sky got brighter. We thought we had made it through the worst part of the passage. But as we approached the Sandy Hook channel, the winds freshened stronger again and changed direction slightly. The channel into Sandy Hook was now directly upwind of our position. The only way in was by motor against an increasing wind and chop. We primed the motor and prayed again it would see us all the way in to safe harbor. Halfway into the entrance channel the motor died again.
Now the Sandy Hook channel has bested much better sailors than us. We set the jib and main for a close haul run up the channel. We had made it so far into the channel before the motor gave out, that I thought we could make several quick tacks and turn the corner on the "hook" in Sandy Hook. But we were just too tired from the nights events, and we couldn't make the changes quickly enough to maintain headway upwind. After trying three times, we decided we were not going to make it in. We drifted out of the channel, set an anchor, and hailed to USCG with our position and problem. They arranged for a tow into port by TowBoatUS. The tow was a wilder surfing ride than any we had experienced during the long night. The chop in Raritan Bay had built to four feet with a wave period of just a few seconds. The direction into Atlantic Highlands Muni Marina put us abeam to the chop. The boat rolled and heaved and felt as if it would broach several times, but by 11 AM Monday morning we were finally safely on a mooring in Sandy Hook. And I was in search of a major ownership stake in a factory that manufactures O-rings.
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