Need to Round Cape May in an Impenetrable Fog? There's an APP for That !

Friday, May 21 was hectic at best--more fixing, more rearranging of sails, bags, and supplies. Later in the afternoon, Yanik, our designated navigator, called to tell me that he needed to bail out. Said something about a job that required him to be in town on Monday. I'd been counting on him to navigate; he had the charts in his laptop with waypoints pre-plotted. But he figured Sweeney could fill in for him and that we had paper charts on board. What I didn't have was the safety factor--back-up GPS systems, and the short-cut route around Cape May. Not to mention that being down a crew meant that watch schedules would be more demanding.
Then came Saturday morning, and with it thick and heavy clouds. Not at all what I had expected nor what the weatherman predicted. Post arrived by 9 and together we installed the bilge pump (wired to run manually). The sky, meanwhile, tried to lighten up.
Left the dock at 11:00 and headed down the Barrington River, being ever so careful to avoid the ledge. Once on the Narrangasett Bay, we raised sail and headed down the channel toward Newport. Somewhere between the lawn chairs on Castle Hill and the Newport bridge, fog fell fast and thick, obscuring the channel markers and the creepy house on the little island. And that creepy little house was the last thing we'd see for a very long time.
Out came the tourist charts and Post's handheld GPS (a Garmin model even older than my own). Sweeney plotted waypoints and set the course to steer. We made a hard-copy backup the old-fashioned way, by writing the lat/long of each waypoint on a piece of paper, and stored the same waypoints in my Garmin for redundancy.
The fog didn't quit.

The first night at sea was plain nerve-wracking. Visibility was about 75 yards, if that, and every little glimmer on the horizon was potentially a ship's light hell-bent on bearing down on us. We had two people on watch at all times, but still, Sweeney and I were stunned when a vessel emerged out of the fog on our port bow--coming toward us. It sped passed us and then it was gone. 
Morning broke as best it could given you couldn't see the sun. There were about 4-5 hours during that second day when we could actually see a horizon. And other ships. Lots of other ships. Scary to think that they were out there the whole time, but we just couldn't see them. But we were sailing! We got a solid 11 hours of pure sailing without the engine running. (Good thing, too, because Post twice had to fill the fuel tank from the jugs of diesel we had on board.).
But by dusk the fog lowered the lights and dimmed our view. There was the odd glimpse of a moon and hints of phosphorescence in the wake. We were tired, having stood four-hour watches with two hours off in between to catch whatever sleep we could.


We motor-sailed with jib furled to give us a full view of whatever there was lurking out there. By 1 AM we should have been seeing navigation markers at the entrance to the shipping channel around Cape May. (By the way, did I mention that my GPS broke during the day when it fell out of its pocket on the binnacle? You can't have too much redundancy!) But we saw nothing. No lights, no Cape. And we were missing the little edge of the charts that would have contained all the nav aids we needed. So yeah, we were lost. Kind of. That is, we knew where we were in terms of lat/long because Post's GPS told us. What it couldn't tell us was where we were supposed to go from here. Or how to get there. Need to round Cape May in an impenetrable fog when you've missed your turn into Delaware Bay? Well, there's an app for that! I powered up my iPhone and launched the Navionics chart plotter/GPS app I'd downloaded to my iPhone for the very-worthy price of $9.95. Within seconds it located Flyer on a color chart that contained all the detail for all the nav aids in the channel. Plus, we could move a little purple dot to any position and we'd get bearing and distance to the target. We held our breaths while hunting for the flashing yellow light that marked the entrance of the channel. And it was right where it was supposed to be!
The fog was so thick that we couldn't see it till we were practically on top of it, but it gave us the confidence to continue up the channel into Delaware Bay.

The fog lifted as the sun fought its way up and over the horizon. Our spirits lifted too--we were SAILING!

From there it was easy to follow the channel to the mouth of the C&D canal, though we had the iPhone at hand the entire way. Mid way down the canal you come to a point where you are no longer returning from sea (leaving red markers to starboard), but are leaving the Chesapeake (leaving the red markers to port). A bit confusing, even when you're not sleep-deprived. Luckily there's fair warning (sort of)--marked by several red and several green markers in a row.

 It rained as we entered the Chesapeake. The Johns handled it admirably while I was curled up in the quarter berth. Little by little the fog lifted and we saw very welcome rays of light. Just too bad that dusk was lurking around the corner.
Arrived in my slip in Easport about 8:45 PM,  57.5 hours after leaving the dock at Stanley's Yacht Yard.
The twin Johns, in matching white long-sleeved shirts, shorts, and boots, shared their thoughts about the relative merits of  Musto's off-shore jackets and continued for a long while with other such sartorial sea-speak. That was, of course, between glasses of well-deserved Dark and Stormies and other rum concoctions. There's no telling when we actually went to sleep that night, but I can say for certain that morning came too soon.

Thank you crew. Thank you Apple.

The Boat is Afloat

The folks at Stanley's yard splashed Flyer (again) yesterday, and so far she is--reportedly--not taking on any water. The last time they fixed the keel they also said that it was not taking on water, so I asked John Post to go over and check it out before I board my plane for Providence tomorrow morning.
The one good thing about the delay is that Sweeney has recuperated and is able to join us for the voyage south. I'm still hoping for a Saturday departure.
There is now another name in contention: Palimpsest. 

Rocky Horror Picture Show (Without the horrifying bits) - The Debut

Another fitful night, but no new names to report. That rock thing still has my nickers in a knot.
Spoke to Sue at Stanley's Yard yesterday. She couldn't say for sure if the boat was in the water but said that either she or Steve would call me back. But they haven't. I'm trying to not take it personally. I'm booked on Southwest Air for this coming Thursday (5/20), and it would be really neat if we could actually depart on the 22nd.

Now, sit back and enjoy the show (but feel free to do the time warp--again--as you do so)

Flyer in Stanley's Yacht Yard, Barrington RI: Our first on-the-water encounter.

Given no boom, it appears that she sails well with just the back stay adjusters.

Main salon.  Check out those chain plates. And that's a newly-painted mast.

Double stainless steel sinks with a view of the nav table.

The head. Right where I'd put it. And look...there's a pot to pee in too!

Electric panel. Note that the Radar switch actually runs the Refrigerator.

And that would be the inverter control panel. 

V-berth with Tina's new custom cushion covers. There are two hanging lockers in there.

Cockpit is a bit small, but very nicely "decked out"

Rock Bottom Post Part 'em Depression Naming Rights

It's almost 3:00AM and my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth. Can't sleep 'cause I'm worried about my baby. (Enter twang of country music in the background.) Either that, or I didn't have enough to eat for dinner, which sometimes causes the same symptoms. In either case I've been unable to think of much else besides getting the boat fixed and underway post-parting of the keel and parting the boat from Post.
Unconfirmed reports claim that the keel has been rebedded and the seam is soon to be glassed.
BoatUS sent a surveyor up to inspect the damage. He reported that there are "three areas that indicated possible damages that should be further checked out by sanding and grinding (if necessary), etc....
· One area located approx. 6” port side with the second area located approx. 6” starboard side of the vessels centerline. These areas are located near the after end of the sump.
· The third area is located along the radiussed corner in the sump (where the sump turns from vertical to the horizontal along the bottom) about midway between the leading and trailing edge."
The yard has been advised.
Meanwhile the pursuit of a name continues. The list of candidates fall into the following themes:
· Tattoo You blog post theme, brought to you by John Post and the Rolling Stones: Bigger Bang, Hot Rocks, Black and Blue, Emotional Rescue, Aftermath, and of course, Get Your Ya Ya's Out!
· The aftermath of my encounter with the Edson steering wheel nut: Edson, Shiner, and, as sister Elle suggested, Bruiser
· The grounding, brought to you by Jeff Munson: Dr. Shoals, Soundings, or "The Navigator was relieved for Cause" (which, he adds "might be too long to fit on the stern")
· This morning's musings: Shalemate, Post-Part'em, Rock Bottom.

But my latest candidate, which has floated to the top of the list, is Touchstone.

The next opportunity to herd all the Johns together for the delivery is the weekend of May 22nd. I'll go up a couple days earlier to ensure that the boat is sea-worthy, install the fresh water pump (with its new upper housing/switch bits), bilge pump and float switch, and various switches and circuit breakers on the electric panel. Then there's provisioning, filling of fuel jugs, etc. etc.
Right now I'm thinking that I should find something to eat so that I can go back to sleep.
Good night moon.

About to Keel Over

Steve Trehue called with an update: he hauled the boat, loosened the keel bolts, packed them in 5200 and float-tested the boat again. That seemed to take care of the forward bolt leaks, but only served to send the leak to the aft keel bolts. Remember, you can neither create nor destroy matter. However, it is a good idea to try to keep liquid matter from weeping up through keel bolts.

He suggested that we haul again and this time drop the keel to find the source of the problem. He also suggested that I file an insurance claim. I'm going to send him a suggestion box for his birthday.

It may take the rest of the week to complete the job and test the new repair. He hopes to have me in the water by the weekend and will keep me posted along the way.

I'd keel over for sure at this point if not for the fact that Flyer is such an awesome boat. (Can't wait till you get to sail her!)

On the Hard. On the Mend? Hard to Say.

Just spoke to Steve Trehue. He is certain that the structural integrity of the boat is solid and that the problem is "a nuisance problem." He doesn't think that any damage was caused to the bolts at all. The plan now is to haul and seal the bolts with 5200. Then he'll do a water test and go from there.

He promised to call with an update later this afternoon. To make me feel better, he did tell me that the weather is not favorable for the next 36 hours up there. Um...not sure that helped much!

That Sinking Feeling

Generally speaking, it's best to keep the water you float in outside the boat. So when I went back to RI to sail Flyer down to Annapolis, I was a bit disconcerted to find a half inch of water in the bilge. I sponged out the bilge till there was absolutely nothing but fiberglass, wires, and shiny keel bolts. In the morning I was half way through my shower on shore (generally speaking, it's best to keep the water you shower in inside the shower stall) when I remembered the bilge. I almost called Yanik, who was making coffee as I left for my shower, to check the bilge, but I held out till my return.

Then I checked the bilge. The boat was not sinking, but my heart was. There was a half inch of water in the bilge. Despite the dread, I dipped a finger in the water and did the telling taste test. It was salty. I coerced Yanik into confirming my diagnosis.

After coffee and a breakfast bar I went up to the yard to consult with Steve Trehue (the yard owner). He assured me that there could be no leak along the keel seam because they ground down around the seam and sealed it with fiberglass and epoxy. He suggested that it may be residual and/or rain water, and that I should dry it out completely (again) and monitor it.

Meanwhile, we readied the boat for sea. Yanik checked electric systems and established navigation systems, fixed the fresh water pump, and did a billion other things (not the least of which was discovering that the burners on the stove worked and did not require new thermocouples). John Post came by just in time to help to send me to the top of the mast (again) to right the wind anemometer cup & vane direction sensor that for some reason had been attached upside-down. While up there, I fixed the anchor light just by cleaning the rust off the contacts. Not that we'd be anchoring at sea, mind you, but it seemed the right thing to do given I was already dangling in my harness.

What goes up must come down. Following my descent from the mast head, I stuck my head in the bilge and once again found water. Did the taste test again. Sure enough, it was salty. I made the difficult trip up to the yard to talk it over with Steve. He couldn't believe that there could be a leak but sent Phil (the repairman) to try to find the source. Before long he determined that water was coming in through the keel bolts. Not only that, but to test the nature of the leak, they'd have to haul the boat and drop the keel.  I consulted with Steve yet again, who thought he could have us on the hard, repaired, and ready to go on Tuesday.

Meanwhile Sweeney had stopped by for a visit. Still suffering from diverticulitis, he was not able to sail down to Annapolis with us. Worse (for him, I think), he was unable to help me drown my sorrows in drink after the two Johns and I conferred and decided to scrap the delivery. Yanik couldn't afford to waste time hanging around for repairs, the nature of which was still speculative. One more trip to the yard to confirm things with Steve, but by then the yard had closed for the weekend.

Tattoo You: The Maiden Voyage

Turns out that the wheel nut on an Edson steering wheel sits pubic-bone-high off the cockpit floor. Not five minutes into the maiden voyage, I struck a shale ledge that stopped us short and threw me forward. Now I have "EDSON" etched in my bone (see schematic below), on an ever-changing background of hues of black, green, and blue.

About that ledge...
There we--John (Jack the Knife) Post, John (Sweeney) Sweeney, Tina (Tina) Chase, and I (mud)  were on the maiden voyage. John maneuvered us out of the slip, then handed me the helm. Not having looked at a chart, I asked for navigational instructions, as in "can I go there?". Hearing an affirmative, I continued on my merry (actually, joyous) way, till, not a moment later, we stopped very suddenly. Big thud. Not like the thud you hear on the Chesapeake Bay when you ground out in mud, and not like a breaking-up sort of thud when you hit a rock (which I've never done, so I don't actually know what that thud sounds like), but more like a thud you might hear if you hit a stump (or a whale).
There was no sound of water charging in to take the cabin, and the engine was still alive, so we motored out to more open water where the wind rose from about 8 to 15 knots, and Flyer rose to the occasion. My smile was ungovernable; I had no control of it. Flyer sailed beautifully on all points of sail. I thought to myself, "what a good idea it is to own such an awesome boat"...till I discovered we were taking on water VERY slowly. I kept a log of the water depth in the bilge all night. I figured about a half inch every 4 hours or so.
In the morning I bit the bullet and had the boat hauled for inspection. Remember that ungovernable smile? Well you can kiss that good-buy. The bottom of the keel suffered only cosmetic damage, but water was draining from the keel seam at the forward end, and the hull showed signs of bowing at the aft end of the keel. Everyone at Stanley's Boat Yard was extremely sympathetic. They told me flat out that the Barrington Yacht Club was supposed to have planted their marker, which, by the way, says "LEDGE" on it, on the very spot I hit. Evidently the yacht club missed their April 1 due date.
Now I'm waiting for the hull to dry so that the guys in the yard can grind back the keel and hull and figure out what's what. Evidently the damage is not as bad as was first thought thanks to the quality of the build. Never-the-less, I've been nauseous ever since seeing Flyer back on the hard.
More to precede, and more to follow...