Dismal Swamp, part 2

September 03, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Well we have certainly slowed right down. That was the plan: get to Norfolk in a month or so, without any excessive dawdling, then dawdle as much as we like on the way down to South Carolina.

Yesterday we checked out the Dismal Swamp State Park by touring the Visitor Center (air conditioned!) and then renting bicycles for a ride down a path through the swamp (NOT air conditioned). If I haven’t sufficiently conveyed how oppressively hot it has been down here, let me try again. It was so hot we could only make it about four miles before we were all completely done in. I love the heat, generally, but this is just too much. And there is no end in sight according to the weather forecasts.

Anyway, Moss completed the junior ranger program, took an oath (don’t litter, care for the critters, enjoy the woods, try to do good), and got a patch. She is getting quite a collection of state park and national park badges. As for Ellen and me, we don’t need no…ah, nevermind.

The rental bikes Ellen and I rode were so awful we figure that if all bicycles were that miserable, nobody would ride bikes. My first indoors job (a term we picked up from the fellow-Schenectadian back in Chincoteague) was at my uncle Hy’s bike shop. He sold, among other brands, Raleigh and Huffy. I was not at all pleased to learn that Huffy still makes a really terrible excuse for a bicycle. Just. Abysmal.

Moss, on the other hand, had a bike that was pretty much identical to the Raleigh she has at home. Her bike was so fast she almost beat me in the home-stretch race we had, too.

On the ride we smelled what reminded us of the sweet-fermenty smell that hangs around a prolific apple tree later in the season. On the ground we saw what looked like a fruity potato or lonely pickle. Turns out we had crossed paths with the Paw Paw, largest fruit native to the Americas, according to the park ranger who administered the oath to Moss.

After finishing up at the park, we crossed back over the foot bridge spanning the Canal so we could return to Cupcake and head down to the South Mills Lock and Bridge. The foot bridge opened at our request so Cupcake could slide through, and we said our goodbyes to the state park and canal visitor center.

Because the South Mills Lock and Bridge only open at 8:30am, 1:30pm, and 3:30pm, we did not want to be late for the last opportunity to make it through. We arrived early, tied up to the pilings, and Moss and I walked to the nearby gas station and convenience store to see about ice cream bars. Success. No vegetables to be had, but you can always count on getting sweets, salts, and fats wherever anything is sold in this country.

Shortly after the lock master started lowering us the 8 feet back to sea level, we got hit with a thunderstorm. The rain (and thunder and lightning) got fairly intense, but the rain did an excellent job cooling things down. We motored the eight miles or so down to our anchorage behind Goat Island. There is nothing else here. No lights. No houses. No other boats. No people. Definitely no wifi. It is peaceful, calm, quiet. It looks like a Hudson River School painting, just beautiful. It would be a perfect spot to stay for a week if the water was swimmable. (Locals do swim, claiming there are no alligators or man-eating whatever and that the brown color of the water is just staining from the cedar and cypress roots. Sure.)

In any event we decided to spend two nights here. Today was passed reading, sweating, snacking, fussing with the wind scoop, and attending a poetry reading Moss organized. She created a writing studio in her cabin and regaled us with a selection of her work. In addition to the humans, the reading was enjoyed by a menagerie of soft friends: fox, elephant, bear, lamb, slothicorn, monkey. The platypus slept through the entire event.

Then, this afternoon when the heat was just about half a degree shy of becoming utterly unbearable, we had another thunderstorm and the temperature outside dropped about 15 degrees. The rain was so strong, I went outside and took a rain bath. There was enough force to the rain that I could do the full job, soap, shampoo, rinse, shave. Also, we closed portholes and hatches in plenty of time. The hatch umbrella worked great. We are learning.

Cruising tip of the day: there is no prize for the closest shave…the hair is just going to grow again. But there is a penalty for too close a shave: blood and pain.

Playing with beauty berries in the swamp.

Cupcake in repose at the Dismal Swamp Visitor Center dock.

Completing the junior ranger program workbook.

Ice cream team at the South Mills Bridge.

Moss wants you yo know she took this picture.

This is a recreation of a backwoods moonshine still. The picture is specifically for Zoë.

For some reason, the poetry reading required Moss to wear pajamas on her head.

Heavy downpour. (Another other Moss photo.)

Ellen always takes selfies. I thought I would try one too.

Dismal Swamp

September 01, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

So yesterday’s post was pretty thin on narrative. I’m hoping to make up for it with today’s post.

After our day in Norfolk (which was a glorified laundry run where we took that ferry across the river, walked all over town in the heat and humidity, ate sketchy Chinese food while waiting for our laundry, checked out a railroad museum - the Norfolk and Southern? spent some time in a bookstore, and got back aboard Cupcake to head down the ICW) we rode down the Elizabeth River to the junction where the ICW splits between the Virginia Cut and the Dismal Swamp branches of the Waterway.

That stretch of the river before the split is chock full of hard-core industry. Lots of container ships being loaded and unloaded, military ships being constructed, barges being pushed every which way, gravel and coal and oil and gas being moved all over the place.

The Virginia Cut, one of two options for heading down the ICW in Virginia and North Carolina, is a little shorter but has more commercial traffic (barges) and more powerboats (and their wakes) than the Dismal Swamp route. It also has a more appealing name.

We decided to give the Dismal Swamp route a try. Much of the literature on the topic made it seem like the Dismal Swamp was a better choice for us - because the canal is controlled at either end by a lock (the level of the water in the canal is about 10’ higher than sea level) it winnows out the powerboats in a hurry to cover ground, and it winnows out the big commercial traffic that can’t fit.

Some of the perceived downsides of the Dismal Swamp are its limited depth (we have been seeing between 7’ and 11’ feet but will likely find some 5’ spots tomorrow) and the overhanging tree branches. A few times this morning we came within a few feet of catching branches on our mast. Careful piloting (and luck) make that issue less of a concern. All these issues keep the crowds out of the Dismal Swamp.

Speaking of crowds, we are probably about a month early for the flocks of snowbirds heading south for the winter. On the one hand, we would like to meet up with fellow travelers. On the other hand, we are thrilled that we were literally the only boat we saw on the waterway today. We drove down the center of the canal and did’t give a thought to moving over. We have the dock to ourselves tonight and do not have to worry about finding space in anchorages or dock space in the coming days.

The night before entering the northern end of the Dismal Swamp canal, we anchored in some thick mud just outside the northern lock. At 8:30am, the lock master opened the lock and in we went. He was a wealth of information about the canal. Told us it’s the oldest continually operating canal in the Americas. (Rideau Canal in Canada is 7 years younger.) George Washington came up with the idea for a canal through the Dismal Swamp – he owned much of the land the canal would cross – and much of the digging work was done by slaves.

After a month of hustling along offshore to get to Norfolk and the start of the ICW, we are now taking things really easy. We don’t need to be anywhere until October 16 when we meet my parents in Hilton Head. That distant deadline means we do not need to cover 50 miles each day like many cruisers. So today we had a leisurely 15 mile morning from the lock to the Dismal Swamp Visitor Center where we are tied to a free dock.

The Center has free wifi and is air conditioned. The weather has been incredibly hot and humid. Although I love the heat, this is a bit much, even for me. Ellen does not love the heat but is managing pretty well because she is a tough customer. Moss naps and sweats.

The ride down the canal was smooth and pleasant. Because we are not in a hurry, our days can be short and easy. The canal is about 150’ wide with the depth we need in the center. Today’s trip was a super treat because the tall trees on the east side of the canal sheltered us from the sun until nearly noon. We had our coolest ride in days. In fact, we have never sailed in the shade before, and it was delightful.

The water in our tanks has been pretty nasty smelling lately. Don’t exactly know why*, but we do know the way to fix it. Today I bleach-shocked the forward tank and then took advantage of the dockside water to run 100 gallons through the system to flush out the bleach and all the nasty it killed. Now our water smells and tastes clean and fresh.

I also used the hose to scrub the decks to get rid of a month’s worth of salt and dirt. I do spend a lot of my time thinking about water.

Tonight Ellen made a jambalaya (in honor of the swamp, I think) and we are watching a movie she downloaded with the wifi. It’s an animated film about an orphan ballerina in Paris. As you can probably imagine, I am riveted.

Boat projects update: yesterday I broke a thing and then fixed the thing.

Leaving the portholes open during the rain update: two days ago we remembered to close the porthole over the navigation station and thus did not ruin our paperwork again or our electronics or the three rolls of toilet paper sitting on the desk. But it was close.

*Check out the water maker section for a more thorough explanation.

Swamp view looking still further south. (The canal is straight as an arrow in this section.)

Swamp view looking north. You can see by the wiggle in the wake where Ellen got the hiccups while driving.

Norfolk area and start of the ICW

August 31, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Ok, now that I am caught up on posting photos, I am way behind on posting words. So for the time being, words will wait and photos will suffice.

Briefly: we stopped for the night in Hampton, VA. Lovely little town, great calm anchorage. We will probably stop there on our way back next year. On our way in past the Thimble Lighthouse, we were politely asked by the US Navy to move to the side of the channel so a submarine could pass. We obliged.

Then we went down Hampton Roads to Norfolk and got a free dock at the city of Portsmouth for the night. Had a fantastic sail from Hampton to Portsmouth.

The next day we took a ferry across the Elizabeth River to Norfolk the next day so we could do laundry. Misunderstood our friend Siri and ended up walking 200 miles in the 900 degree heat to the laundromat. Super friendly person working there, showed her this blog and answered all sorts of questions. Took an Uber back to the waterfront.

Incidentally, it has been obscenely hot for about a week. High 90s and super humid. Ellen is melting. Moss falls asleep every afternoon (in lieu of falling apart, which mercifully, has not happened much at all). I just soldier on.

Then we headed down the ICW to start our trip down the Dismal Swamp route. It is lovely and calm and a nice treat so far. Anchored at the lock for the night (last lock through was before we got there). At low tide we were in 5' of water. Those who follow our anchoring-madness will be delighted to know that we set out about 35' of chain. The boat, not surprisingly, did not budge in the one knot of current and five knots of wind.

Locked through this morning and now we are staying at another free dock at the Visitors Center.

I'll probably leave the pictures in their current order and just get more organized in the next post.

Enjoy.

Moss introducing the Portsmouth Lightship.

Country Girl Moss on the way down the inlet into Ocean City.

Nearly in Norfolk

August 28, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

It has been a busy few days of making tracks. After we departed Lewes, Delaware we headed south to Ocean City. It was a motorboat ride the whole way and at the end we had the treat of entering a fairly choppy channel with a strong current on our nose.

View of the inlet from the Ferris wheel.

The Ocean City entrance is protected north and south by a pair of substantial breakwaters, one of which is labeled on the chart as both “submerged jetty” and “partially submerged jetty.” Neither is conducive to casual navigating. Or relaxing at the end of a long, hot day. I would not want to try that entrance in any kind of rough weather or at night. Fortunately we had calm seas and plenty of daylight.

We entered the inlet in company with a couple of big sport fishing boats, a gaggle of jetskis, some smaller recreational fishing boats, and a big trawler. Lots to pay attention to in addition to the big amusement park on the pier.

The anchorage we chose was to the south of the city, down a shallow riverish channel where hundreds of little powerboats and pontoon boats and jet skis were beached and anchored for the sunny Saturday. We anchored just off the main channel, but not before we touched bottom a few times. Fortunately, the bottom down here is sand and mud. A pleasant change from the granite at home.

Until all the day boaters went home for the night, the anchorage was a mess of confused wakes. We saw all kinds of strange watercraft including a “pirate” ship, a “horse” drawn wagon, and myriad little bass boats.

Launched Mr. Flowerpot so we could check out the town. It was honky-tonk heaven: crowds, noise, neon, food smells, Jeeps everywhere, carnival barkers, music. We walked about and then took a ride on the big ferris wheel. Got a great view of the beach, the town, the inlet. Pretty fun.

One of the things we have noticed is that people from Maryland love to fly their flag (people from Ocean City also seem to love flying their Trump flags, but that is something on which I do not care to dwell). Ellen thinks the person who designed the Cadillac crest also designed the Maryland flag. Or perhaps it was J. K. Rowling. Both flags are very heraldic and a bit Arthurian for our taste.

Then we walked down the boardwalk checking out the sights. Saw a sand sculpture all about Jesus. Although it was well sculpted, the artist was not particularly eloquent in his explanation/missionarying – told us that the Last Supper was full of symbolism: “Jesus was Jewish you know.” We walked on filled with admiration for his technical skill if not for his compelling rhetoric.

Found an Italian restaurant for dinner (no great trick) and tanked up our bellies. Ellen and I were getting fairly antsy to get back to the boat. All the hubbub was a little overwhelming to us country-mice and we missed our peaceful Cupcake.

Moss has been eating lots of potato chips.

Zoom in on this shot to see all the boat traffic.

The boat was lovely in the sunset so we took some glamor shots of her.

Next morning was another early start for the ride down to Chincoteague, Virginia. Our fourth state of the week. The inlet to Chincoteague was dramatically different from anything we had seen before. It looked like a broad river mouth, maybe a mile or two across, with very low-lying marshes on shore. But the channel was narrow – no more than a few dozen feet wide in places, with shoal water on either side…as shallow as two or three feet. We played our first game of Connect the Dots as we worked our way from channel buoy to channel buoy. Out of an abundance of caution, Ellen called the Coast Guard to make sure there was sufficient depth (we need about 4.5’) for us to make it up the inlet. She was assured there was.

The ride to Chincoteague (aka Chicken City because of its former prominence as a chicken and egg town) was several miles long and afforded us views of salt marsh, a summer camper/RV community (this time there were more American flags and enormous crosses than state flags or Trumpery), and a plethora of long long empty docks stretching out into the channel.

A dolphin escort swam in with us part of the way. We also saw our first pelicans. Curious bird, the pelican - its beak can hold more than its belly can.

Our anchorage was in a very shallow spot, just 6.5’ at low tide. A sailboat came by to tell us that the tide was super low because of the full moon (he thought we were aground). About half an hour later he radioed us to tell us where we could rent a slip in town. Very friendly and helpful. But we stayed hooked.

Soon afterwards, a pontoon tour boat came by to warn us about the shallow water, then to tell us we had chosen a great safe place to anchor, then to welcome us to town. Again, super friendly, great way to arrive at Chincoteague. One thing we learned is that the people of Chincoteague have a bit of a chip on their shoulder about Ocean City. The pontoon boat guy wouldn’t even say the name of that town.

Once ashore, we set off in search of icecream. On the way we stopped in a bookstore and met the owner, a man who identified us as Mainers from our hats (mine is a “Maine Law” hat, Ellen’s is a “Save the Goslings - Casco Bay” hat). He told us he used to vacation in Freeport. We talked a bit longer and learned that he, like me, grew up in the secret hub of the Universe: Schenectady, New York. Small world.

The ice cream was cool and creamy, just as it should be. We found a nice-sized grocery store and provisioned for the coming week, then went back to our girl Cupcake.

Next morning, up with the sun for another long drive to Machipongo Inlet, Virginia. This inlet, like Chincoteague, was broad and shallow everywhere but the narrow channel. Line Chincoteague, you can't distinguish the channel from the broad mouth of the inlet.

Unlike Chincoteague, the land on either side was so low we couldn’t really even see some of it until we were very close. In fact, the landmass to the south behind which we planned to anchor wasn’t visible at all, it was so low-lying.

Because invisible land doesn’t offer much protection from wind or waves, we worked our way, very cautiously, behind a spit of sand to the north. There has been so much erosion and rearrangement of the dunes that our GPS and paper charts were way off. We managed to download the most recent NOAA chart (from late June 2018) to our phone and used that to work our way past a super shallow spot of around 3' so we could anchor just off shore.

Even the newest NOAA charts were inaccurate - the Coast Guard moves the channel buoys regularly to reflect the changes to the inlet approach. But several buoys were missing, others were not where we anticipated they would be. For the final several hundred yards, I piloted us in from the helm while Ellen stood on the bow throwing the lead line to sound the bottom. Moss stood on the deck and relayed. “Twelve feet…ten feet…eight feet…FIVE FEET!…ok nine feet…” and so on. We got hooked without incident. (That anchor is fantastic, by the way.)

Launched Mr. Flowerpot for a ride to the beach and a look around. We saw footprints in the sand, but did not see any people. We did see lots of huge dead horseshoe crabs, lots of tiny little sand crabs, and plenty of birds. The water on the ocean side stayed shallow very far out so we just waded. The water on the inlet side was murky enough that my primordial fear of swimming where I can’t see what’s around me kicked in. We all promised each other we would swim off the boat upon our return, but as Ellen and I jumped in from the bow, we spotted jellyfish with tentacles. We don’t know our stinging from non-stinging jellyfish and decided not to push our luck. Everyone showered and we ended the day with a delicious lamb, rice, and apricot dish for dinner.

We were completely alone in our anchorage. There were no lights from shore, there was only one building visible - some kind of fishing shack about a mile up the beach, there were no other boats in sight. Nothing for miles and miles. Just us and the moon and the wind and the sand and the dunes and the marsh grass. And the greenhead flies. We have good screens and a good flyswatter. Whack!

We all went to bed early because our last long day of open ocean travel for a while was the voyage from Machipongo to Norfolk, Virginia. In the morning, the exit through the inlet was uneventful because we had our GPS track from the day before and because this time the tide was rising, not at dead low as it had been when we arrived.

It was a hot hot sweaty day and plenty hazy as well. Nothing much of interest happened all day besides sighting dolphins and pelicans until we approached the Chesapeake. Then things got hopping. Saw an aircraft carrier head out to sea, saw a submarine head out to sea, saw two more warships head out to sea. Saw two Coast Guard cutters, saw four speedy little Navy RIBs with guns mounted fore and aft, saw plenty of helicopters, saw eleven (!) oil tankers waiting at anchor. Saw two enormous container ships and a smaller tanker pass us. Then we got hailed on the VHF by a Navy security boat asking us to please go to the side of the channel to make way for another submarine to head out to sea. Very cool.

Tonight we are anchored across a creek from Hampton University (in Hampton Virginia, just across Hampton Roads from Norfolk). Everyone is so wiped out from the long day and the heat that we retreated to the cabin once the anchor was down. We are trying to muster the energy to launch Mr. Flowerpot and head to town to see what is what.

Delmarva

August 24, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Delaware. Maryland. Virginia.

Delmarva.

We have made it out of the Northeast and are now Mid-Atlantic. Made the short hop across the mouth of the Delaware Bay. It was anything but treacherous today. Light winds, no seas to speak of. Just a short, sunny-day motorboat ride. (By the way, despite my dire predictions, we sailed the majority of the New Jersey coast. Just motored our way in and out of anchorages. That’s pretty good stuff.)

We are anchored (finally, back on the hook!) behind one of the three breakwaters here at Cape Henlopen, Delaware. It’s a calm spot. We had a pleasant day. After settling in and eating a delicious lunch (bacon, lettuce, and avocado sandwiches) we all jumped in the water to give Cupcake’s hull some cleaning.

While the Ellen scrubbed the waterline and Moss scrubbed the rudder, I dove underneath and put two new zincs on the propellor shaft. The water was warm and murky. Not ideal swimming, but possibly the cleanest water we are likely to see for some time.

One zinc that I installed in May when Cupcake was still high and dry. And two zincs I installed in Delaware. When will I do the next set? Bahamas I hope.

After the scrubbing, we rinsed off and hopped in Mr. Flowerpot to check out the beach. On the way back we saw a pod of about four dolphins (looked bottlenose to us) hunting about 100’ from the dinghy.

Now Cupcake, clean waterline and protected metal bits, is the picture of domestic bliss: Ellen is baking bread, Moss is sending pictures to Simon. We even managed to poach some free wifi from a hotspot we are picking up with our antenna. (It's too slow for pictures, so be patient and I will upload images when I can.)

Before we left Cape May this morning, we had one more beach day. Saw an interesting bicycle in the marsh. Took a picture of the cookie-cutter condos on the way to the beach.

Yesterday evening a 34' Freedom was towed into the marina by a Sea Tow boat. The guys aboard were bringing the newly-purchased boat from somewhere up the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Connecticut when they had an engine problem. We loaned them some tools so they could remove the broken heat exchanger in preparation for getting a new one.

Then we went back to Cupcake and ate a delicious pizza.

This is Moss on a bike we found in a marsh.

This is me. Ellen is too much of a lady to get down in the mud.

Row after row of condos in Cape May. Everyone wants their slice of heaven.

Boat projects

August 23, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Because the wind was up more than we preferred this morning, and because awesome Dockmaster Glenn gave us the local-knowledge report about crossing Delaware Bay in this wind (short version: don’t do it”), and because Glenn said we were welcome to stay a third night at the dock for free, we postponed our plans to sail to Delaware today.

She's actually reading an ebook, not writing in the log. Look how lovely and smiley!

That left the day free for boat projects and more beach. We’re having lunch now (pasta) and will then head to the beach. But this morning, such projects!

Ellen got us caught up with the ship’s log. We were about nine days behind. Moss had some school (metric makes so much sense, why don’t we use that system in the USA again?).

And I tried to refine the reefing system (see “Busy Busy” from February 20, 2018). There was an odd clutch system in the forward end of the boom that would prevent the reefing lines from running free. So I had to take the boom off the gooseneck and figure out how to pull out the clutch parts, then figure out how all the lines were supposed to run. I think I got it all back together correctly, but we will need a calm day when we can raise the sail at anchor and practice with the reefing system to know for sure.

Winch we seldom use. But it works great now.

Then I decided to rebuild a mast winch that probably hasn’t been serviced since the boat was launched. It certainly hasn’t been serviced since we have owned Cupcake. Winches are supposed to be re-greased every year or two. Ellen scored an excellent tin bucket where I could wash the parts. Mission accomplished.

People say cruising is nothing more than boat repairs in exotic ports. I don’t know if Cape May counts as exotic, but we certainly got things done.

It looks like the composting head likes to be emptied every two weeks, not every three weeks. So we do have poop excitement planned for the afternoon. That revolution will not be televised.

Our neighbor yesterday. Her bow thruster woke us up this morning at about 6am when she headed out.

Cape May

August 22, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Staying two nights here so we could have a beach day today (See the relevant Moss post for her enthusiasm). Nice bodysurfing at the beach, sand was as fine as powdered sugar. Don't really understand the rules about when and where a beach badge is required, but we found a perfectly lovely beach where we could just walk right in.

The dock master here at Two Mile Marina has an excellent business card.

Euphemisms

August 21, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

Here's a euphemism: bumpy.

Here's another: spirited.

Here's a third: vigorous.

The real meanings behind those euphemisms describe, barely, the 53 mile sail from Manasquan to Atlantic City. We set off before 7am in rain, expecting winds in the 10-15 knot range and seas around 2-3 feet. What we got was much more: 15-20 knots of wind, gusts to 30. And the seas were averaging around 5 feet with frequent waves bigger than that.

So now that we are in a snug harbor, 5' waves don't sound so big. But out on the ocean with no safe spot for 53 miles, with the wind building at our back, with rain lashing our faces, the sailing was pretty spirited. The ride was fairly bumpy, and the whole day was pretty vigorous.

The boat handled the weather without any trouble. In fact, it was by a wide margin our fastest passage ever. We averaged well over 7 knots, went surfing down the faces of the waves at 11 knots, and regularly saw numbers deep into the 9 knot range. All of this is super speedy for a boat that has a typical top speed of 6.5 to 7.5 knots on a good day.

We made a few mistakes. The first was putting ourselves in a position where we felt we needed to leave a protected spot. Our marina was noisy, bumpy, and expensive. We prefer to anchor anyway. Also, all the touring we had been doing got us off our schedule, off our weather watching. So when we woke up to an ugly day, we let ourselves convince ourselves that the weather was going to be fine and that we needed to move.

Another mistake we made was setting out on a bumpy day when we had an all or nothing destination. The New Jersey coast is unkind to sailboats. There are very few inlets where we can pass the bridges and the shallow depths. That reality means we had nowhere to bail out to if things got too rough to make it to Atlantic City.

Atlantic Highlands

August 20, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

After a delightful, calm, beautiful night anchored at Liberty Island Park, we set out bright and early to head across to Atlantic Highlands. The plan was to meet another cousin there. I had been basing all my expectations on staying at Sandy Hook, NJ. No idea where Atlantic Highlands was, thought the whole plan would fall apart. Turns out they are basically the same place.

The early start got us out on the water before too much craziness started. We joined an enormous container ship as we passed under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. In high school I had a Geometry teacher who used to exhort us to keep our proofs simple. “I’m just asking you to show me the angles are the same, not to build the Verrazano Narrows Bridge!” He would say. I get it now – that’s a big bridge, probably pretty complicated math went into its construction.

Crossing to Sandy Hook was largely uneventful but we did spot some huge dolphin-types as we got very close to the Atlantic Highlands anchorage. What really happened was that a couple of the dolphins came up for air with a whoosh and a splash about 15 feet from the stern and grave me a big fright.

The crew relaxing at Atlantic Highlands.

Inside the breakwater at Atlantic Highlands we found a nice spot to anchor, just outside of the crowded mooring field. Took the dinghy to shore for a look around. I do want to say how pleasant, accommodating, safe, and secure the Atlantic Highlands anchorage was. A real treat.

In town we stopped at a farmers’ market and picked up some pies and some pickles. The pickles were excellent – we got some whole-sour pickles and some sweet horseradish pickles. At first bite the horseradish pickles were a little too sweet, then the horseradish kicked in and they were fantastic. Just finished them today. Alas.

Because I had been craving a bagel for a while, we had lunch at a nice deli, then went and played (Moss played) at a playground while the adults sweated.

Later in the afternoon, Cousin Elise picked us up (air conditioning in the car!) and took us home for dinner (and laundry and more air conditioning). Her daughter Margaux and beau Ben joined us for a really nice dinner. Then other daughter Amanda and husband Sean showed up with a carload of friends from DC. Suddenly it was a house full of Millennials.

The next day we upped anchor and made the easy run down to Manasquan, NJ. Took a dock for the night (nowhere to anchor) and met up with everybody again for a Beach Boys concert.

As a native Upstate New York boy, I have looked down on New Jersey my whole life. And as a Mainer now, I have had a prejudice against most other coastal states. No longer. The Jersey Shore is beautiful. The towns we saw were charming, lovely, and full of summertime fun. Who knew? (Ok, millions of people, but still…)

The New Jersey shore has more than its share of gazebos. Moss is so overwhelmed, she has to close her eyes.

The town of Ocean Grove is where we saw the concert. Ocean Grove is full of lovely Victorian homes and these really curious summer cottages that are half wooden camps and half canvas tents. They get passed down from generation to generation as summer homes and look like a great time. Families with kids and older people were all over the place. What a super way to pass the summer.

When Margaux and Ben visited us aboard Cupcake, they brought the appropriate boat gift. Delicious. Thanks guys!

In case you are wondering why the flurry of posts all of a sudden, it is because we have wifi. The last 10 days our cell-carrier throttled our bandwidth (or whatever) because we used too much in the first 20 days of the month. Now we are into a new billing cycle, so we can upload pictures again. Also we are getting semi-reliable wifi from the nearby Harrah’s Resort and Casino from our anchorage in Atlantic City, NJ.

East River, New York

August 20, 2018 by Jonathan Handelman

The big deal for boats transiting the East River is that all the water funneling southwest through Long Island Sound tries to force its way down the river as the tide rises in the Sound, and all the water funneling into New York Harbor tries to force its way up the river when the tide turns at the Battery.

The crux of the whole situation is Hell Gate, where the tide can run up to 5 knots. If the tide is adverse, the passage becomes impossible and dangerous for a pokey sailboat like Cupcake. If the tide is favorable, the journey is swift and easy.

We wanted swift and easy, that’s why the timing was so critical leaving City Island. Cutting to the chase: we timed it perfectly.

The trip began with passage under the Throg’s Neck Bridge – our first fixed bridge. Although the span is something like 135’ high (Cupcake needs 55’) our smallest crew member was nervous as we passed under. No problem. Plenty of space.

After passing the Throg’s Neck, we saw a big ugly barge-thing tied up along shore. A little Googling told us the barge was a prison barge (the defense attorney in me is appalled that such things exist). Seems to be an 800 bed, 161 million dollar cost-saving brainstorm.

The next sight down the river on the penal theme was Riker’s Island. 10,000 inmates. 85% are being held pre-trial. More than 9,000 assaults each year. Top ten most dangerous jails in the nation. Cost to incarcerate one inmate there for a year: $201,000. There has got to be a better use of our money, a better way to treat our people. Everyone should be appalled at these numbers.

A few bends in the river and we started seeing the Manhattan skyline more and more clearly. The view is spectacular and exciting. I’ve been nervous about passing through NYC, but Ellen was very eager to have the experience. As is generally the case, she was right, I was wrong.

The tide was with us through Hell Gate and we moved along at 6-7 knots. Passed Roosevelt Island and the United Nations, saw the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings, dodged a few big barges, tugs, and ferryboats. It was a busy, exciting trip.

As we got closer to the Battery at the tip of Manhattan, the water traffic got crazier and crazier. Ferries, seaplanes, motor yachts, all sorts of vessels coming and going, throwing big wakes, generally ignoring little Cupcake the country mouse.

And then we saw the Statue of Liberty. We explained to Moss that the United States used to welcome immigrants and refugees, and that the Statue of Liberty was the tangible representation of that welcoming nature. The statue, at least, is still standing.

Crossing New York Harbor to our anchorage at Liberty State Park was a hot and hectic ride, but once we got to our anchorage, everything was as calm as could be. It is amazing that there is a pond-still anchorage so close to NYC and we were the only boat anchored there. As the afternoon turned to evening jet skis and little fishing boats came to the boat ramp to haul out. A young woman on a paddle board came by at dusk and got a gentle chiding from Ellen about being a woman alone on the water. And another reminder to wear a life jacket.

The night was calm and restful after an eventful day.

Hooked at last. This is the view we had at anchor after passing through NYC. The torchlight at night was a beautiful beacon.

View of the Battery as we steamed towards the Statue of Liberty.