Sovereign Nations

Puff chasing, we made our way from Frog Mortar Creek out to Middle River and down to Hart-Miller island.  The wind died altogether as we rounded Pooles Island and, on glass, we motored to our anchorage for the night.

Fairlee Creek is known to be a tricky place to enter.  There’s a nice big red marker and then a flurry of small red and green cans that end just before the pinch.  The pinch being a 90 degree turn into a shallow spot between two beaches that are 20 feet apart.  That part?  We get to figure that part our ourselves.

This is the narrowest entrance that we’ve been through, and we didn’t go through without a small amount of travail.  We bumped, we grounded, and then a nice man waded out to us and asked, “How much water to you need to float this boat?”

Dena’s response was, “Oh, honey, you are so sunburned!”

The nice man was unphased by that comment.  He seemed inured to the pain of red skin.  Perhaps it was a permanent color rather than a summer thing.

He shoved and shoved, and lo and behold, we floated right off that shoal.  Motoring gently, we entered the beautiful bay of Fairlee Creek, where the depths range between 8′ and 5′.

We set the anchor about mid-way through the main bay, maintaining some distance from the black Rinker from which issued cheesy music and screaming kids.

The hot, still air called for swimming, and I was not to be stopped.  When I realized I was starving, James helped me out…

And then he jumped in as well!

We floated around, swam, and watched the boat turn with the tide.  Happy with our holding, we launched the dink and James rowed us to the spit that hooks around to protect the bay.

We got out to walk the beach and pulled the dink up on the pebbles of the protected side.  The Bay side of the spit was a rocky, tan sand

I came back so James could see this weird piece of metal.

And sat quietly, minding the dingy and letting myself soak up the peacefulness of the place.

The large sign screaming BAR made us want to slake our thirst and we rowed over for a meal and some drinks.  But alas – the place is only open on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  Sigh.

This is what we saw when we came back down to the dock, and the vision was enough to make us happy we gave it a try.

Still water and slight wind allowed us a very peaceful night’s sleep, though it was too hot to share the v-berth.  One in the berth and one on the settee, we slept deeply and well.  We woke at 7am so that we could ride the high tide during the slack current leaving Fairlee Creek and this time, we beat the channel!

The osprey put on a little show as we gained the red marker.

Then we were out and sailing!  We had great wind all the way across the bay, on a broad reach and kicking 5 knots in about 5-10 knots of wind.  It was a great example of efficient use of the breeze.

Entering the mouth of the Patapsco River, the wind began to die and we turned to run before it.  We kept the jib up and full until we got past the Francis Scott Key Bridge.

But we had to roll it up and motor before we hit Ft McHenry.

We tied up to the t-head at the dock and rowed our slip-lord’s Boston Whaler to a different spot before taking our accustomed position in Belt’s Wharf, Fells Point, Baltimore, MD.  And here we are, home again home again.

We almost died!

No, we didn’t.  We had a great, wonderful, amazing three-day sail and do-nothing vacation.

But that doesn’t make the best story, eh?

So here’s what happened.

The trip started out ten minutes before we left the dock.  James got the call that told him he wouldn’t be managing the Port Townsend West Marine, a position he’d done a phone interview for and didn’t really want.  I was at the marina’s head and he’d forgotten about it by the time I got back to the boat.

That was a representative moment.  We left this dock and left our usual mindsets and worries behind.  Literally.

We put up sails where Frog Mortar Creek empties into Middle River.  After three hours of tacking between Hart-Miller Island and Pooles Island, we sailed, laughing, through three squalls.

Just after the first squall, we decided to gybe and pull a reef in the main.  We made the gybe safely but had the sails in too tight for the next maneuver.  Our now-considerable experience with being quickly overwhelmed by wind in this boat kept us alive to what we were doing, and as soon as the rig registered the tension, as soon as the sails groaned and the boat heeled to 20 degrees, James tossed off the jib sheet and Dena released the main.

There.  Done.

One exciting moment averted.

James went forward and pulled the reef in.  He got the forward three reef ties and Dena got the aft two.  By the time we had the boat broad to the wind again, it had eased.  We exchanged wry grins and shook the reef back out.

The rest of our sailing was characterized by rain that obscured the Eastern Shore, followed by glorious jesus beams and the blur of timelessness.  We didn’t keep track of how long we’d been out, and weren’t all that concerned with exactly when we’d arrive.  We’d get there when the boat got us there, and we hoped it was before dark.

We arrived around 7pm in full daylight and nosed into the north side of Swan Creek.  The chart showed the major buoys, but someone had added two red cans at the first big curve and shoal and three green cans at the second.  We did sounding on the shore side of the green cans and then in the bend right before them.  We dropped the main anchor, a 25 pound Bruce, in 8 feet of water, paid out the chain and set it hard.  Adding a bunch of rode put us riding back in 5 feet and we felt like that was plenty.

Dena was forced by her overweening sense of responsibility to dive in and try to check the anchor.  AKA, Dena went swimming.  The water was murky and the anchor wasn’t visible, but she did find out that we’ll need the zinc on the prop shaft replaced soon.

We made cocktails from Absolute Citron and Lipton Half and Half (lemonade and tea).  We sat in the cockpit as the light faded from the sky and shared our first Cuban cigar.  That set the stage for the rest of the 36 hours we spent there.

It was perfect.

Our day off had perfect wind, perfect sun, perfect temperature and humidity.  We made enough power to run everything, even the refrigerator, and it confirmed that we can live like that.

We swam and drank.  Dena read aloud from The Sotweed Factor, by John Barth, which is written in 18th century prose and is laugh-out-loud funny.  We both slathered sunscreen on all day and still got minor sunburns.

The hardest work we did was sailing our dinghy to the nearest marina for ice.  Even the ride back from that was perfect sailing, the wind taking us back to the boat in two tacks.

Highlight of the day: Dena taking off her swimsuit bottoms and a poor little fish falling out.  It was stunned, with a look as though it had seen god on its tiny little fishy face.

The wind changed during the day and we got closer to the shoal to the east.   James discovered this fact when he jumped from the dinghy into the water onto a pile of rocks.  We used low tech sounding equipment to find the depths all around the boat (finding bottom with our feet and holding our hands up to show the depth).  We decided we were alright because of the flooding tide, but needed to keep an eye out.

As the wind picked up and dark fell, we took fixes on multiple points on shore so we’d know if we moved.  We expected to swing in a semi-circle around the anchor as the tide changed, but needed to keep off the shoal.  A beautiful night, talking and drinking.  When we decided to go to bed, the boat had swung a bit closer to shore and Dena felt edgy about it.  After very little time in our berth, we got back up and decided we needed to put out our second anchor.

We dug the Fortress anchor out from the lazarette and grabbed the longest line we had.  Dena got in the little boat and rowed to the bow while James tied the line to the anchor with a bowline.  He paid out the rode while Dena stroked her way out toward the channel.  The Fortress got tossed off the stern of the dinghy, James hauled in until it set, and Dena rowed back to the boat.  It was more simple than either of us could believe and we slept like rocks all the windy night.

When we arose, the boat had swung and we now had our two anchors strung out before us.  All of the tension was on the Fortress, but the two rodes hadn’t tangled, so we were perfectly satisfied.  We rowed to the marina and left the dinghy there.  We didn’t feel like cleaning up after ourselves, so we got directions from a local dog-walker to the nearest greasy spoon (Pasta Plus?) and made the mile and a half walk.  Though it was nice to stretch our legs, we were perfectly happy being back on the boat.

One more swim for Dena and we started cleaning up to go.  The boat was back together, dinghy on deck, and we were underway by noon.  That’s after us talking about fucking off as much of the day as possible.  There just wasn’t that much work.

Sails up just past the last green, wind generator making power, solar panels gleaming, the wind blowing at 10-15 knots and pushing us to hull speed.

We made long tacks from one side of the bay to the other and backed into our slip at Maryland Marina around 5pm on Friday.  Yet another cover band was massacring music that wasn’t good in the original versions and we ate, showered, and slept, but not as peacefully or as enjoyably as we had at anchor in Rock Hall.

(Psst.  This is the last of series.  Want to read it from the beginning?  Click here.)

Before getting too crazy with the painting, we needed to deal with the fact that there were no longer any holes for cockpit drains.  Old holes, still somewhat weakening the cockpit sole?  Check.  Old messy gross stuff that was terrible the remove?  Check.

In order to put the new drains in exactly the place of the old ones, I used a hole saw that was big enough to go around the remainder of the old drain under the sole.  In case you think I’m overstating my irritation, this is what it looked like:

I used the hole saw to center the drill bit and get a hole started.  I then switched to a plain drill bit and punched the hole all the way through the new cockpit sole.  Moving out to the cockpit, I used that drill bit hole to start the properly sized hole saw and made a nice big hole in our brand new cockpit sole.  Sigh.

After cutting the second hole the same way as the first and cleaning up the terrible mess that resulted, I finally found a good use for the Dremel.  The new drain has a countersunk head, but it’s over 2 inches wide and there isn’t a simple way to match that curve.  If you know of one, tell me in the comments.  I’m calm enough now that I won’t tear your head off.

After creating a slope that pretty much matched the drain, I taped the head and trimmed the tape to exactly match the head.  I also made nifty little tabs so I could remove the tape, even if I got filler on it.

A mix of colloidal silica and low-density filler gave me some strength while maintaining ease of sanding, and I packed that shit onto the slope and all around/against the drain fitting.  Pressing it into place, some squished out the top and some filled part of the depth of the hole.  It was a pretty slick operation, yielding this;

And then this:

And then this:

If you have sharp eyes, you may have spotted the fact that the first two shots are different from the third.  The first two are the starboard drain – last is the port side.

After sanding fair, it looks great.

That picture also shows that I kept building up the epoxy base around the fuel fill.

While the project continued above decks, I was also in the bowels far below, replacing the nightmare of 4 different hoses in less than 3 feet, each connected to the next with substandard hose clamps.  Since the drain is 1 1/2 inches and the seacock is 1 1/4″, I still had a coupler/reducer in the mix, but this is still a huge improvement.

The seacocks are not working properly and will be replaced during our next haulout.  It looks good nonetheless!

And just so I can get some sympathy, this is the workspace in which I did the foregoing.

Not for the short armed or easily bruised, since one must lay on the engine in order to do anything behind it.

Well, after a few coats of paint (more to follow after our mini-vacation – sailing to Rock Hall), the boat looks great.

Everyone on the dock has complimented me on the lovely work we’ve done.  I sense more pity than awe from some people, but that’s okay.  Maybe they’ll hire me for the jobs they think they’re too good for!

We have to freshen the rest of the cockpit paint – the contrast is too ugly!  For the moment, I painted the cabin top under the dodger and the aft bulkhead.  The rest will wait until we get back.

And we’re feeling back to normal.

Except one minor problem.  In all the epoxy slinging, I got overexcited and ended up with large gobs in my hair.  The one thing that’s not better than before is my haircut!