Crossing the line – dan
There are plenty of lines that separate blue water sailors from coastal ones. One of them is the Gulf Stream - that mighty ocean river that runs up the East Coast of North America about 200 miles out. We’ve just crossed that line. Our first baby step upon this road was a bit wobbly and we have surly been tested by this experience. I’d judge that we did ok and even given that, if I had known, before setting out, how severe that test was going to be, I would have voted to skip Bermuda and crawl down the coast in modest little hops till we reached the Caribbean. I never would have knowingly subjected this good boat and her crew to the conditions that we encountered. I was hoping careful planning and the best in modern weather forecasting would have been able to spare us at least some of what we were to encounter. At the same time I never would have attempted the trip if I didn’t think we could manage those kind of conditions. This is the tale of our trip and of our testing…
Day 1 - Was a peaceful one the started out at about 7:00 AM with tender good byes bid to us by the crews of two of our dock mates; Stormy Seas and Rights of Man who got up early, endured the chill to cast off our dock lines and bid us bon voyage. We motored down the Mystic River enjoying our last look at this year’s fall foliage in New England. We talked about how incredible it seemed that, after all these long hours, days, weeks and months of work we were finally and really “headed out”. Then, in deed, out we went. Through the Mystic swing bridge one last time and down the river into Long Island Sound where we made sail in the first warming rays of this chilly fall day. We headed out past Montauk, at which point I set one waypoint for St. Georges Bay Bermuda just over 600 nautical miles away.
It turned out to be a beautiful day for sailing. In the middle of the day the wind lightened up to around 6 knots and we reluctantly started the motor in order to keep our boat speed above 4kts. I wanted to make sure we crossed the Gulf Stream during the predicted favorable weather window. Strong winds against the Gulf current create legendary horrendous conditions that I hoped to avoid. Fortunately it wasn’t long before the wind piped back up and we were sailing again.
Several finches and a butterfly sought refuge upon Gypsy. We were about 40 miles out to sea at the time. I felt kinship to these tiny fellow travelers, small specks of life, not unlike ourselves, out on the open ocean.
We sailed watch on watch through our first night. My first watch of the trip was very moving for me. There’s something special about being on watch, a watcher one who watches over, keeping things safe. I felt connected with the long succession of watchers who have kept people safe back to the beginnings of time. Safe from animals, from marauders, even from each other and the weather. Holding the peace with their gazes and actions when necessary. If felt a sacred duty and I was honored to be at my station.
Day 2 - Started in the early, dark hours of the AM with one reef followed by a second as the wind build in strength. Susan wisely suggested we raise the storm jib early and that proved a godsend. The wind and seas built thought-out the day until we were in an intense rainstorm with wind blowing 30-40 kts. When it climbed above 40 we were close hauled and the seas had built to 12’-18’. I don’t really know how big the seas were – that’s just my best guess. I’ve been in bigger seas but never so large and so steep at the same time. It was at that point I took over sailing from the autopilot and started pinching in order to cut the apparent wind strength. This served to depower the sails and was a lot better in my opinion than going up on that wildly pitching deck to attempt to put in our last reef-point.
The wind had built steadily from a breezy, pleasant background sound earlier that day up and up until before I knew it, it was howling and we were shouting to each other just to be heard - two people who rarely raise our voices. After a while, strangely, mercifully, I didn’t notice the howling or that we were yelling. The howling became a jet stream of white noise and the yelling just seemed normal. Funny how quickly one can adjust to some things. Susan was great throughout it all, holding station with me we worked side-by-side, doing whatever necessary to protect our boat and ourselves.
As awful as conditions were, I have to admit I found them exciting and exhilarating. It was absolutely the best large-boat sailing I’ve ever done. Gypsy handled those conditions like a thoroughbred. It’s an amazing feeling to drive a 42 foot, twenty thousand pound boat through a huge and ever-changing, liquid mogul field. Then there’s the power, raw power the likes of which I’ve never felt before. We were over canvassed for the conditions but given that error in judgment, there’s nothing like 40-50 kts of wind and bit too much sail up to make you feel alive and in the moment.
Squalls of incredibly intense rain lashed us as they blew through, blowing the very tops off of waves. At times, I was blinded by all of the wind-borne water in spite of our good dodger. Talk about “water, water everywhere”, I’ve never seen so much water. We had it below us, all around us and regularly, washing over us. The rain was like I’d never seen before either, more rain that I thought the heavens could hold. At times the rain was so intensely strong that it pushed the great seas flat. When it was a little less than that, it looked like smoke, hugging the valleys and sides of great mountains.
During the times of almost zero visibility, I focused only on two instruments; wind speed and angle. I found that by balancing the boat between 35 – 38 degrees off the wind she was the most manageable. Through all of this I tried to keep the grin off my face. I was aware that Susan was watching me and I didn’t want her to think I was some kind of maniac. Don’t know if I succeeded.
At the height of the storm, when I just couldn’t imagine anything thing getting anymore intense, dolphins showed up. They darted by the boat and started shooting clean out the tops of those giant waves looking line mad acrobats intent on launching themselves out into orbit. What an amazing and joyous sight that was.
Later that night the rain finally stopped and the winds calmed down to the 20-30 knt range. The moon came out then and it was a magical thing to see the aftermath of the storm, those great grey waves illuminated by the moonlight. Often I feel myself a coarse and base fellow but at times like this I feel connected to the divine.
I don’t know how long I was at the helm that day but it was many, many hours and it was late into the second evening of our voyage that I felt it was safe for me to go below for some sleep. It was then that I lost my see going cherry. At 55 years old (sailing since I was 13) I threw-up at sea for the first time and it was a good one. I’m talking uncontrolled, high pressure, projectile vomiting. I had just gone below and was striping off my gear when it hit. They say that god watches after fools. I say that must be true because an errant plastic bowl from the galley, tossed out of place, had ended up perched just in front of me by chance and was quickly brought into service catching most of that noxious stream that was gushing out of my mouth, sparing the saloon more indignation that it had already received. In that havoc of the storm, our soaked clothing, loose cushions and the contents from a couple of cabinets had been tossed about madly. So there I had it, right in my very hands, the hard, or rather soft evidence, that I had joined the brotherhood of those so affected by the sea. And it was a man sized puke too, if I do say so myself. After that I crawled into our bed and slept like a log for the incredibly generous 4 hours that Susan provided me by standing an extra long watch herself. Thank you Susan!
I woke feeling surprisingly rested given the circumstances. I dawned my gear; three layers of polar teck, foul weather jacket and harnessed up. Went up on deck and immediately puked over the side just as I arrived up there. If you’re going to do a thing, you might as well do it right, and twice, if the urge is that strong is what I say.
Day 3 - We arrived at the Gulf Stream’s edge at 8:00 AM just an hour later that I had predicted. It turned out to be almost everything people have told us except for the rowdy part. The stream was quite warm, 77 degrees (water temp was 52 when we left Mystic). The color changed too; from the gray/aqua marine we had been into so far to a gray tinged, deep blue. It was overcast for most of our passage of the stream, probably accounting for the gray tinge of the water. As foretold the stream seemed to have its own weather too as low clouds hung over it’s course for as far as we could see. I’m glad to report that it was kind to us. The wind that day was out of the west and that coincided with the stream’s flow, pushing it flat rather that building it up. That not only gave us a pleasant transit but it also gave us a chance to fix the things that had been knocked array by the previous days storm. We had been eating grab & go food (power bars & fruit) so it was with great relish that I savored the salad Susan made for lunch which was quite possibly the best salad I’d ever eaten.
I had lost one of the three windsurfer sails that I had lashed on deck so I re-lashed the others with greater diligence. Re-lashed the fuel tanks on deck had remained attached but flopped around a bit. I re-connected one of the lifelines that had come apart at the turn buckle and sorted out some of the mess below. I also got the engine running again, discovering a bad splice in the power line to the lift pump that had prevented its function. We were also able to get ourselves sorted out a bit too; enjoying the first bath in three days and our first dry clothes in 36 hours. We were feeling pretty good by end of day three, little did we know how short lived our simple pleasures were to be.
Day 4 - The winds started building from the 20-30 kt range and we started reefing early. One reef, two reefs, but left the big jib up as the seas were from behind and seemed much more manageable. The wind continued to build throughout the day and that afternoon we found ourselves back in 30-40 kts range and Gypsy was hitting speeds we had never seen her do before. There were brief bursts of speed in the 10-12 kt range as we surfed down the huge rollers. In spite of the large seas and strong winds that eventually built into the 40-50 kt range, the whole affair felt very in control, much more manageable that the previous gale.
Photos – I didn’t take any photos during any of the strong wind conditions. I had bought a waterproof camera just for those kinds of conditions but I was occupied during those storms to say the least. It’s not just that I was too busy, though I was, it was more than that. I was occupied in the sense that I was fully and maximally engaged and involved in what was going on at the time; the boat, the waves, the wind and Susan. That was it, the whole and complete everything of my world during that experience. Nothing more was required, needed or wanted. It’s not often in our lives that we ever get to do something so completely consuming and so deeply captivating. I am grateful for those two days.
Day 5 - We had strong winds in the 30-40 kt range finally settling down to a very exhilarating and manageable 20-30 before actually calming to a nice 15-25kt wind. We did watch upon watch throughout the night and Susan again stood and extra long watch, very generously allowing me an incredible four and a half hours of rest. Pure bliss to a tired soul. We made landfall early Saturday morning. Susan made the first sighting and got to singing out the traditional “land-ho”. Bermuda Marine Operations talked us in. I didn’t feel I needed the extra help with the detailed paper charts plus the latest map chip for Bermuda loaded into our chartplotter. I would have had to intentionally try to run aground, for that to have happened. Never the less it felt good to hear a friendly voice over the radio, knowing that someone else was watching over us after all the extremes of wind and water we had recently experienced. I suspect that they see a lot of beat up crews make it to their shores and are sensitive to the tired and weary crews who have made the crossing and now need to transit potentially deadly reefs in order to reach safe harbor.
Landing in Bermuda – An odd sort of an ancient mariner dressed in a light jacket and full motorcycle helmet helped us tie up at the customs dock. He appeared to be well into his seventies and we were uncertain of his ability to assist, which turned out to be sketchy but very appreciated nonetheless. He too was kind and welcoming in his own way. I asked him how long he had lived on Bermuda and he pointed in one direction and said; “I was born over there”. Then he pointed again in another direction and said; “I married a Scottish Lass over there 50 years ago and we built a little house up there on the hill”. You don’t get this kind of reception off a cruise ship or perhaps you do. It did seem special to me.
After we finished up with the friendly Customs and Immigrations officer we saw Craig, a dock mate from Seaport Marina who had left Mystic in his fast catamaran the day before us and had arrived in Bermuda two days ago. It felt strangely wonderful to see him even thought I hardly know him. He gave us a very warm greeting, hugs all around and offered us beer all the while giving us the low-down on the place; good marina, where to do laundry, get fuel etc… His crew, Tony, had injured his knee and was just then limping back down the hill from the local clinic. Now I almost never drink before noon but Craig’s offer of beer sounded like the best offer I’d ever had, so I accepted.
We were drinking away when a kind lady told us that it was improper and that we shouldn’t be drinking in public. On our boats was ok or we cold come into her place but not out in the street. So we jumped onto Craig’s boat, which was tied up right there and continued with our sea stories and beer. Well I hadn’t eaten much in the previous few days and was dehydrated to boot. I gulped that ice-cold beer right down and then in a flash of awareness realized that we had left Gypsy tied up at the Customs dock. Not wanting to wear out our warm welcome in the first hour of arrival I told Craig we’d have to continue the revelry later; we need to move our boat. Then I jumped up with more energy than I should have had and wobbled my way back to Gypsy, post haste. I say “wobbled” because the combination of little food, dehydration, wacky land legs and beer had a surprisingly strong effect upon my constitution, rendering me not unlike a daylight drunk. Undaunted, I leapt at Gypsy, missed my mark and almost fell between her and the dock. Recovering myself, I then ran to the bow to adjust the dock line. I managed to drop that line which precipitated poor Gypsy to commence an unusual maneuver, the likes of which I’ve never seen or even heard of before but there I was in fact, now sadly orchestrating the whole sorry mess. Gypsy’s bow immediately swung out and the poor girl was held perpendicular to the dock by an amazingly tight spring-line as her stern was pressed ignobly agents the boards. We managed to sort out the whole sordid affair without necessitating any fiberglass repair or miracle upon miracle, not even a scratch in her gel coat. As I said, the lord does look after fools and at times I must keep him pretty busy. I finally realized that I wasn’t operating at one hundred percent as they say and we needed some help if I was going to get us safely off. So I dashed back to Craig’s boat to enlist their help with the whole casting-off affair and managed, with their assistance, to de-dock without any further antics or fright to neighboring crews also bringing to an end the momentary amusement of the passing tourists.
We then motored out to the anchoring ground without further incident and started the long process of drying out, sorting out and cleaning our poor boat. At dusk we watched as a tall ship headed out, cadets high up in the rigging, all singing their hearts out as they went by, some salty song about being bound for south Australia. Pretty cool.
So how does it feel to have arrived at this enchanted place and point in our journey? I must say I’m finding it a mind blowing, indescribably precious, completely over the top and incredible experience. Hopefully I’ll settle down over the next few days because it’s had to swallow all the wonder that surrounds with my heart so much in my throat. There is so much to do; minor repairs to the boat, explore the shore by dinghy, mountain bike around the island, meet more locals, do laundry, catch up with Craig, try the food, perhaps some yoga and breathe...ah breathe.
