The highlight during the delivery of Mrs. Campbell's boat, Robin, from Connecticut to Cambridge, Md., had to be the bluefish dinner prepared en route by chef Curtis J. Michael, known to some of his friends as The Old Mike. We were off of the New Jersey coast and had been trolling with little success when we switched lures to a neon fake squid. Soon we had the corpses of four "harbor" blues aboard and Mike dove into the galley.
It was Thursday afternoon. We had left Old Saybrook, Ct., on Tuesday morning and now we were headed for Cape May and maybe even farther. It depended on the conditions.
Mike fileted the little blues, sauted some canned, sliced potatoes with onion and heated some canned peas. The aromas steaming up from below started two bellies groaning in the cockpit until we were provided with plates heaped with a wonderful meal.
The lowlight of the trip happened the prior afternoon on a day that had started with the promise of making Cape May overnight.
Tuesday, we had reached Manhassett Bay on Long Island Sound by 9 o'clock at night and anchored easily in that convenient harbor. We were only eight miles from Hell Gate, the place where the East River and Long Island Sound conspire to create havoc if you arrive there at the wrong hour. We had pushed all day to get to Manhassett. The current changed direction in Hell Gate at 4:40 a.m. on Wednesday, so we wanted to be close enough that we could reach it at slack tide without having to travel too far in the dark. Up at 2:50 a.m., we left Manhassett at about 3:30 and reached Hell Gate after first light but before sunrise, a time when the current was mild.
As we motored south on the East River, however, there was a hint of that which we might expect later on. Moisture hung in the air between the Manhattan skyscrapers. The knot that had tied itself into my stomach on Tuesday as I worried about making our schedule -- that knot that always seems to arrive at some point during these long passages -- tightened.
The concern was justified. We saw the Verrazano Narrows Bridge through the thick fog only by looking up when we were directly under it.
I had run down the channel from New York Harbor two years ago in just such conditions. That time, I was alone. I cannot remember how I ever made it. I recall coming upon fools in small fishing boats who would appear out of the fog 50 feet away and then, like spirits, disappear.
It was much nicer to have two others on board with me this time. One of us stood watch, one steered and one focused on the radar screen.
At one point, we got one long, loud blast from a ship passing up the channel. But we found the buoy we had plotted for our first turn that would lead to a safe exit from the channel, and we made that exit and stayed on course until we were out past Sandy Hook, the tip of New Jersey.
At that point, the fog lifted gradually and we appeared to be in for a pleasant and productive day. The forecast had been consistant for Wednesday: Southwest winds 10 to 15 knots. That was not what we would have liked, but I thought we could manage it.
But as the morning wore on, the wind, blowing in the same direction as the adverse current into which we were motoring, built up an increasingly difficult chop. By about noon, we were averaging less than three knots of speed over the ground. Robin's bow was slamming into the chop and then bouncing to one side or another, making use of the autopilot impossible. I began hand steering and hoping for the best.
By this time, both John Morrison and I were feeling queezy. My discomfort only increased as I was forced to stare at the compass constantly to keep Robin on course. We were about five miles north of Manasquan Inlet, the first passable inlet on the New Jersey coast, when the chop became impossible. I considered turning around and running back to the protection of Sandy Hook. But hard-gained ground is difficult to throw away, and Mike had to be home by Saturday afternoon. So we pressed on.
It took two hours to make the five miles to the inlet. By that time, I had called the Shrimp Box restaurant in Point Pleasant Beach to see if they had space at their dock. I'd already called several marinas looking for a slip for the night and had found nothing.
The restaurant had space, though, so we pushed forward, hoping we could convince Nick, the owner of the Shrimp Box, to let us stay at his place for the night.
Our docking there at 2:30 p.m. went smoothly. We all changed shirts, faking respectability, and paraded into the restaurant. Nick said if we wanted to come back at 9 p.m., we could stay all night. But he needed his dock free during the dinner hour.
I went back to Robin and got the Waterway Guide, where I'd used the table of marinas to make my earlier calls. I had only one marina left to ask -- Hoffman's -- and could tell that we were in deep trouble. There is no decent anchorage on the Manasquan Creek because the banks of the two channels are shoal.
To our surprise, however, Hoffman's put us up at their fuel dock. We secured Robin, got showers and went to a nearby restaurant for dinner.
But the forecasts for the next three days or maybe four were all the same -- 10 to 15 knots from the southwest. It looked like we'd have to stay at the fuel dock -- and pay the $120 a night -- forever.
On thursday morning, we rose to find a light westerly wind blowing over the Manasquan River. But anglers in small fishing boats who had ventured out to the inlet were returning and reporting six to eight foot seas. I was extremely worried, but I thought it would be worth taking a look ourselves. My concern was that should we leave the dock, the marina owner might not let us return. Then what would we do?
So I went to him and asked what our options were. He said we would be welcomed back this night -- Thursday -- and we could even stay Friday night. But at 5 a.m. Saturday, when the weekend fishing crowd arrived wanting fuel, he would kick us out.
So at 9 o'clock, we cast off and headed for the inlet.
What we found were some large, smooth swells outside the jetties and a little westerly wind. We headed south and by dinner time had caught enough blues for a meal.
We kept on motoring into the night, and at 12:30 a.m., we entered the Cape May Inlet. By that time, we had checked the currents in the Delaware Bay. They would be with us from about one o'clock until at least eight in the morning and maybe more. Much though I don't like traveling on that bay after dark, I realized that at least for the first four hours, we would be far from the shipping channel, the source of my fear. So we planned to shoot through Cape May Harbor and Canal non-stop.
As we entered the harbor, we were nearly blinded by two halogen lights near the Coast Guard dock. I assumed we were seeing a cutter moored there and so I steered appropriately.
Only when we had passed the direct glare of the lights did we realize that in fact the vessel was a dredge in the middle of the channel and, only when it was about 50 feet ahead, did we see the dredge pipe floating on the surface.
It took some time and we experienced a lot of confusion between the bright dredge lights and the pitch blackness of the night, but eventually we escaped the harbor and the canal, caught the current and rode it at 7 knots all the way to the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. We arrived in Chesapeake City at 10:30 a.m., a record run up the bay. We survived the electrical storm that blew up the canal later in the afternoon. (Two other sailboats in the anchorage dragged their anchors. We manned R0bin with the engine running, but despite the 30-knot winds and sheets of driven rain, we didn't budge.)
Saturday morning, Monica arrived and we said goodby to Mike. Then, at 7 o'clock, John and I left Engineers' Cove and, at 9:30 p.m. docked Robin in Cambridge.
More than ever, I am convinced that for sailing to be fun, it has to be free of schedules. And I've learned the sad lesson that another factor shaping one's enjoyment of boats is the adequacy of the resources available to keep the boat in shape. There are many items on Robin's to-do list. Sailing her will not be much fun until they are done. Fortunately, in my current state of employment, I have the time to work on her, if not a lot of money.