Last Passage

The Bay Tunnel is on the right.

At dusk Sunday evening (July 1st), Jon and I sailed ile de Grace into the Chesapeake Bay, a feat accomplished by passing over the tunnel that creates a gap in the low lying bridge for ships to pass through.  We were about 100 miles from our home marina, and seeing the Bay Bridge-Tunnel represented one of the final milestones of our circumnavigation, shared by just the two of us who could feel the distance we have traveled in our bones.

Three days earlier, as we set out from Fernandina, Florida, I reminded Jon that most car accidents happen within five minutes from home, and that we must not become lax in our seamanship just because we were almost home.  Tropical Storm Debby also reminded us that we were now subject to the vagaries of hurricane season.  So we sailed out of the St. Mary's River in northern Florida and headed northeast to make our way around Cape Hatteras and its dangerous shoals off the Carolinas.  The next morning, we were in the Gulf Stream, the strongest current in all the world's oceans, and we were flying, averaging nine knots.  This was fun--and making the last leg of our trip go quickly.  Cape Fear, Cape Lookout, and then Cape Hatteras were well off to port and soon long behind us.  Eighteen hours later, we were at the mouth of the Chesapeake, watching a beautiful sunset.

Despite my efforts to maintain our passage routines, Jon and I were all over the place, me sleeping irregularly and Jon barely sleeping at all.  Meals were mere acts of grazing whatever was handy as there was little enthusiasm to cook.  We were the equivalent of horses who smelled the barn, heading home with little else mattering.  Things began to get interesting when I came to relieve Jon at 1:30 in the morning on Monday, July 2nd, having entered the Bay a few hours earlier.  I noticed some lightning off in the west.  Jon had witnessed a lightning storm the night before, but it had not brought any wind or rains, and it stayed well off in the distance.

As day broke, the worst was over.

By three in the morning, it was becoming quite a light show, with sheet lighting coming closer to port and bow and spider bolts shooting into the water ahead.  Following our usual practice when lightning gets close, I put our laptop computers and the cell phone in the oven--in the hope that they would not get fried, and kept an eye on the radar and skies.  Since what wind we did have was from the northwest, and on our nose, we had no sail up and were motoring our way home.  By four, we were off the mouth of the Potomac River and the winds were picking up.  When they hit 30 knots, I let Jon know, got the foul weather gear out and slowed the boat down per his suggestion.  Within minutes, I could not keep the boat on course with the auto pilot, switched to hand steering the boat and I saw our wind guage read 43 knots.   We were in a blow.  Jon and I quickly got in our foul weather gear, life jackets and tethered ourselves to the helm, and, for  the first and only time on our two and a half years at sea, we hoved to.  That is, we did not try to steer our course, but rather held the boat in a drifting but stable position and tried to avoid the cargo ships and channel buoys that were around us.  We did this for two hours.

So there you have it, we sailed more than 26,000 miles across three oceans, and the worst we encountered was in the Chesapeake Bay, our nautical home.  The sea reminded us who is boss and who could smack us down at will, despite our skills, experience and vigilance.  Point well taken.  Lesson learned, yet again.

Motoring up the Chesapeake Bay.

By day break, we resumed course for another twelve hours of motor sailing.  Jon hoisted the courtesy flags from all the countries we have visited, as well as the semaphore flags  spelling G-R-A-C-E and, just before seven in the evening, we turned to port into the mouth of the West River.

Jon's brother Matthew and our son David were there to welcome us, help us dock ile de Grace and to feed us a lovely dinner waterside.  We were home.

It has now been a few days, and we are overwhelmed with the details of transitioning our lives back to land.  But we also are still digesting what this journey means to us and trying to figure out how we can retain some of the simplicity, and grace, we may have attained on our voyage. 

Finally, what must be acknowledged is that Jon and I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to many people along the way who have helped us, advised us and shared this journey with us.  But two stand above all others.  Our son David and our daughter Katharine have served as our proxies and our life lines and this trip would not have been possible without them.

Coming into Hartge Marina in Galesville, Maryland.