Return Voyage - The Home Stretch and Beyond

Having heard the jib tear last night was a low moment. Now, at 0700, the winds were 6 knots from the northeast. I wish I could use the jib. Instead, I was sailing with the staysail and main. Due to the wind direction, I will have to over-shoot Hatteras a little, allowing me to tack and round the corner to the head north. Funny, but I'm hoping for more wind.

The sky was starting to clear from last nights storms. Once I round Cape Hatteras, it should be a nice day.

Post storm morning sky... looking back

I haven't had any sleep since yesterday afternoon. Rounding Cape Hatteras brings me closer to the shipping lanes. All three capes, Cape Fear, Cape Lookout, and Cape Hatteras have shoals extending out a long way from what you see on maps. I could save miles by skirting along on the skinny (shallow) water. And after sailing in the Gulf of Mexico you would think I would do that. I was happy to finally sail in deep water again, I planned a route that compromised. I'm sailing just beyond the the shallow shoals, but about 10-15 miles closer to shore than the deep water where the ships travel. Even so, I am not close enough to land to see... land. This route should give me some relative peace with little other boating traffic.

It was almost 9am when I approached Cape Hatteras. For me, it was a feeling of relief. From here, it would be 24-30 hours to the Chesapeake. Once I round the cape, I would be on the home stretch. No land was in sight, but in the distance I could make out the abandoned lighthouse that marked Diamond Shoal; Cape Hatteras. The old lighthouse was replaced by a single red buoy. A sign of the times. With the reliance upon GPS, it was considered highly unlikely that a ship would come close enough to the shoal to risk grounding.

Approaching Cape Hatteras

It was about 15 minutes later when I actually rounded the cape. From these pictures you can see the weather is clearing.

Diamond Shoal Lighthouse

In the picture of Diamond Shoal Lighthouse, you can see the new navigation marker on the far right edge of the photo. The age of romance and lighthouses is over. We are technical now... what a shame! We have relegated these goliath structures, created for making our coasts safer and for saving lives, to exist as museum pieces.

NOAA weather radio is still calling for a chance of thunderstorms along my route tonight. I'm certain, they will be over land and will not have an effect on the voyage; much like the thunderstorms around Cape Fear.

The winds remained light (8-10 knots) for the entire day. I think I was still nervous from the previous night. I was sailing with the staysail, because the jib had at least a small tear. I haven't even looked at it yet. I did shake one reef out of the mainsail. It still had one reef in it. With one reef, the mainsail is smaller, but never seems to affect the boat's performance.

When evening came and the sun set, I had a beautiful starry sky. I was also able to watch the lightning to the west. It was a beautiful night.

When the sun rose, I welcomed the warmth. Last night was beautiful, but quite chilly for me. Those six weeks in Florida must have thinned my blood. I knew that, by the end of the day, I would be on the Chesapeake. Still sailing with just a reefed mainsail and staysail in light winds, I was able to make good progress. The benefit of using just the staysail, is that I can point relatively close to the wind for a cruising boat. I knew I was somewhere along the outer banks in North Carolina. I could make out the top of a lighthouse, but the land there is so flat, I had no chance of sighting land.

By sunset, the offshore leg of the voyage was rapidly coming to an end. I first sighted land about an hour ago. Tall condos and hotels along the shoreline. I was approaching Virginia Beach.

Virginia Beach sunset as I approached the entrance to the Chesapeake

Now, I had to negotiate the shipping channels leading into the Chesapeake. The channel I needed was on the north side. So, I had to cross the entrance and the main shipping channels. I planned a route that took me to the mid-channel marker. I did this for two reasons. First, I had to cross the shipping lanes at 90 degrees; minimizing my exposure to fast moving ships. Secondly, that buoy has an active radar reflector. So, when my radar hits it, the buoy will periodically send a Morse Code "A" back, which is impossible to miss on the radar screen. From there, I would at least be in the traffic lane going the same direction as I. So, with no ships coming, I picked a course that took me 45 degrees to the traffic. This would get me to the far side of the shipping lane. If a ship came, there was room and deep enough water for me to temporarily move out of the channel.

Once on the Chesapeake and out of the shipping channel, I hoved to to take a nap. A 30-40 minute power nap does wonders to re-charge your energy levels.

I sailed through the night and into the next morning without encountering any ships at all. This was surprising to me. Being so close to the entrance, I expected a lot of ships.

The Chesapeake Bay also has it's own style of lighthouse. This is Windmill Point Lighthouse, about halfway up the Chesapeake. This would be my last full day of sailing on the Chesapeake. You can see how calm it was. I tried to unfurl the jib. This would be the first time I saw the jib since I heard it tear. It was much worst than expected. I just furled the jib back again; knowing I was not going to get to go any faster.

Windmill Point Lighthouse

That same evening. I caught the Royal Caribbean cruise ship heading south. "Grandeur of the Sea" was taking a few thousand people on their own adventure as mine was coming to a close.

Royal Caribbean's "Grandeur of the Sea" headed south

The next morning about 6am I was motoring under the Bay Bridge. I had driven over the bridge many times; from just north of Annapolis to Kent Island. This was my first transit under the bridge.

At 10am, I had reached my destination; Worton Creek Marina. It's a little north of Baltimore, on the east side of the Chesapeake.

Grace drove down from Baldwinsville, by herself, to come pick me up. While I was setting new personal best records on the boat, Grace quietly accomplished her own personal best: longest solo  single-day drive.

We cleaned up the boat that day and the next before driving back home.

Return Voyage - A Night of Storms (Cape Lookout to Cape Hatteras)

I was having a gentle sail; calm water and light winds. It was around noon on Tuesday, August 11th. I just had passed Cape Lookout. Cape Hatteras was the next waypoint and a huge milestone for this voyage. Once past Cape Hatteras, I would have different winds and different weather. I considered that as the home stretch.

I had just made the decision to carry on, rather than try to make an accessible anchorage at Cape Lookout. The winds had changed, but not in a threatening way. It was more benign. For the first time in days, the winds were behind me. So, I rigged the boat to sail downwind; directly towards Cape Hatteras. I don't have a spinnaker; those big, beautiful, colourful sails made exactly for this occasion. So, I was sailing wing-n-wing; my mainsail out to the port (left) side; my jib out to the starboard (right) side.

Sailing Wing-n-Wing

NOAA weather radio was reporting severe thunderstorms for this evening. Sailing downwind is not the fastest point of sail, but I was headed directly towards Hatteras. I was hoping I could make it before the evening thunderstorms.

Typically, the thunderstorms start over land. If you know which direction the true wind is blowing, you know where the thunderstorms will be headed. They come off the land in long rows. The forecasted storms were supposed to develop over land and follow a course parallel to mine. As a precaution, when I rigged the boat to sail downwind, I set reef #2 in the mainsail. If the weather deteriorated quickly, I would only have to worry about the jib. Plus, the boat is better balanced with the small main and speed is not affected.

At 5pm, NOAA issued an emergency on the weather radio. On my VHF radio, even if I am not tuned to the weather, a NOAA Alert will interrupt and sound an alarm. There was a tornado warning! I immediately had a problem with the report. All references to the Tornado were town and county names. I had no idea where it was. I called the Coast Guard on the emergency channel (16) and explained. They asked me to hold. A few minutes later, the Coast Guard operator called me back on the radio. They had the latest information from NOAA and told me the warning was cancelled. The cyclic nature of the cloud had stopped. They gave me the GPS position and said it was well inland and would not affect the coastal areas.

As late evening approached and sunlight was dwindling, there were large cumulous clouds building to high altitudes. These were developing ahead of me, behind me, between me and land, and farther out to sea.  I kept pushing towards Hatteras; hoping I could make the turn before the thunderstorms started.

By 8pm it was apparent, I was not going to make it to Cape Hatteras. I was just two-thirds the way there and I was seeing lightning ahead.  I needed to find the best route to avoiding these storm cells. It didn't matter if that meant going in the wrong direction for a couple of hours. I wanted to avoid lightning at all cost.

Out to sea, lightning rarely goes cloud to water. It happens, but it is not common. Still, with 50 feet of aluminum sticking up, I wouldn't want to encourage the lightning to head my way.

There was an extremely large cell developing to the south east of me. I could see a ship just to my east. So, I hailed the ship on the VHF radio. Golden State, an oil tanker, was very helpful. He checked his weather radar and said it was developing and moving at 18knots, but to the northeast and would not impact me. Then, he started identifying cells and their directions for me. He soon noticed my problem... there was no escape route. He said he was going to slow down. If I needed help, they would be there. I know that statement was supposed to reassure me. Somehow, while the weather is still decent and someone is prepared to rescue you... it's not reassuring at all. still, I appreciated his concern.

Now, knowing I had no escape, I could only prepare for the worst. The two reefs in the mainsail would be good for winds around 40 knots or so. I left the jib out for now, but would have to furl (roll) it once things started getting worst. It was still light winds and the jib would keep me moving. I replaced the staysail with the storm jib. When things got bad, this would be the sail I needed. As I mentioned in a previous post, I don't have a heavy weather sail. I also checked the oil and ensured the engine was ready to go, if needed. All my personal safety gear was ready. Now, it was dark, all I could do was carry-on.

I didn't have to wait too long. By 8:15pm the winds were up to 18 knots, gusting over 25. It was dark... really dark, but the storm cells were even darker. So, I could tell where they were. I was successful for an hour or so; just dodging the storm cells. Other than their extreme darkness, their lightning flashes alerted me to the worst cells. I did all I could to avoid those.

At 9:15pm, I was in the middle of the first cell to hit me. Winds were 28-32 knots and gusting to the upper 30's. I've had worst on Lake Ontario. The rain was the problem. The rain was horizontal. On my face, it felt like being pelted by a pellet gun. It really hurt. It came under the hood of my foul weather gear. I could feel ice cold water running down my back. So, I pulled my hood down as low as I could. And then, it was over. Winds were 8 knots, lightning all around me, but it was calm where I was. I felt good. If that was what I was in for, 30-40 minutes of heavy rain and wind followed by a rest period, no problem.

The rest lasted about 10 minutes. Then I felt a cool breeze on my left cheek. I knew the next cell was on it's way and it was too late to dodge it. I hadn't seen any lightning from that direction. So, no great angst. I just braced myself for another round. It was less than the previous and over very quickly.

It was almost 11pm. The thunderstorms raged all around me, but I was being spared. That was about to change. I was eating a snack in the cockpit when I felt the cool breeze behind me. There had been a lot of lightning behind me. A quick check, and I could see the lightning was still far off. In this blackness, a bolt of lightning far off could flash unobstructed by clouds, and if you were not looking at it, you'd swear it was right overhead, the flash was so bright. Of course, if you were looking at it, you would have a moment or two of blindness.

Distant Horizon and I have been through this three times earlier in the evening. We were prepared for another fight. This was not the typical 30-40 minutes we expected. This lasted almost two hours. My heart rate was high, I was breathing heavy, my arms felt like lead weights were tied to them and my legs were like rubber. It was a battle of attrition and I was wearing down fast. Then suddenly, it was over. At first I stood there waiting in anticipation for the next huge gust, but it never came. The winds were 4 knots. I could see stars overhead. I quickly checked everything on the boat. It was all in good shape. So, I ran below to make a peanut butter sandwich; get some more snacks for my pockets; and refill my water bottles. Back in the cockpit, I ate my sandwiches and tried to relax.

Then the VHF crackled... "Distant Horizon, Head South East NOW!" It was Golden State, no radio protocol and a dire sense of urgency in his voice. The wind was very light. So, I started the engine and headed southeast. It was dark. Still lightning all around. And then I felt it. I was motoring at 6 knots on smooth water. The wind should have been in my face, but an icy... like winter icy chill hit the back of my neck. I shivered.

The next wind that hit the boat was 48 knots off the starboard quarter (right rear). I was too busy to see what the gusts were. I was running with this storm cell. That means I am going in the same direction as the wind, or at least close to doing so. The actual wind was at least 54 knots. I was glad the storm sail was up.

I could hear the jib luffing. I had furled that sail. The wind must have caught a little bit of it. I used my spotlight to check the sail. A little was out. I must have not had enough wraps on it. Once the wind caught it, the wind started pulling the jib tighter on the furler, which created more sail to pull out. I had to get the sail furled again. I was already going downwind, but I could not pull the furling line.

As I was trying to furl the jib, I heard a screech. The wind howls through the rigging, but this was more like a screech in a horror movie. There was a deep rumble accompanying the screech. Together, they sounded almost like a train slamming on its breaks. On my knees, pulling the furling line, I am facing outboard. When the next gust hit, I was suddenly looking at water. I could see the water rushing over the decks. I grabbed and held on. I knew I did not want to go into the water. Then, the boat sprang back upright.

My attempts to furl the sail failed. So, I tried to run the furling line to the winch on the other side of the cockpit. I did not want to came face-to-face with the water again. As I started to winch on the furling line, nothing happened at first. Then I heard a ripping sound and the furler started to quickly roll the sail. I ensured there were enough wraps on the sail this time.

I slid back to the helm where I was better protected and tidied up the furling line. I didn't need to get tangled in lines as I moved about the cockpit. Still fighting the storm, but the Hydrovane doing most of the steering, I noticed the companionway doors were not on. I remove them when sailing so they won't restrict my view of the instruments and radar screen. Just as I thinking I should go below and get the doors, the screeching started up again. Distant Horizon was violently tossed onto her port side. I can still hear the clang of the mast as it collided with the water. A vision of water rushing down the companionway flashed through my head. If we capsized, Distant Horizon would sink. I hadn't even finished that thought when the mast had sprung back to the upright position.

The waves were relatively small, 4-5 feet. The wind was still on the starboard quarter. I didn't have to worry about big waves and their impact. So, I turned to sail a perpendicular course to the storm cell. The sails were set to do that, and running with this storm meant I would be exposed to it for a longer period of time. I made the turn and was out away from that storm cell in half an hour.

When I had a chance to recoup, I made a quick survey of the boat. The tender was still securely fastened on deck. Everything still looked to be in good shape; except I was missing the forward ventilator on the port side. I went and got the cap to screw into place where the ventilator used to be. Everything else looked surprisingly well.

I was headed back towards Hatteras again. The winds were 15-18 knots from the west. I'll take it. We were hit by one more storm cell that night, but that one was more reminiscent of the first cell to hit us. It was almost 6am. We were fighting thunderstorms for almost 9 hours. Listening to NOAA weather radio, the forecast for today, Wednesday, August 12th was almost exactly the same as yesterday's. I did not want to do that gain!

Return Voyage - Days 5-8 (Savannah to Cape Lookout)

8-8-2015 and 8-9-2015

At midnight, as if on queue for the witching hour, I was adjusting the jib and suddenly heard a huge crash behind me. I turned around and didn't see anything. Robert Redford flashed through my mind, but then I saw the mainsail was way out. The traveller, a piece of hardware used to help control the boom, had crashed through it's end-stop. I dropped the mainsail. We still had the 8-10 foot rollers and without the mainsail up, the boat was really rolling side-to-side. For the next couple hours I tried to fix and finally had to replace the traveller car.

While doing this, I noticed the tender, which is stored on deck right in front of the traveller, was rocking back and forth. One of the fenders that it rests upon was gone. While I tried to secure the tender, the other fender washed overboard too. With the boat rolling 25 degrees one way and then 25 degrees the other, even holding on to the boat was a bit of a challenge. The old saying, "One hand for the boat, and one hand for yourself" came to mind.

It was 3am, the traveller was fixed and fully functional; the tender was secured. I was completely drained. While getting Distant Horizon going again, I noticed the magnetic compass and GPS did not agree. They never agree exactly, but are usually close. I worried that I may have come too close to a thunderstorm, which could temporarily throw the magnetic compass off, but why the GPS? I couldn't figure it out. So... I heaved to and got some well deserved sleep.

When I woke up at 6am, the compass and GPS were fine. The only thing that was wrong last night, was probably my thought process due to exhaustion. I had Distant Horizon sailing hard; trying to make up some time. Then, I went below to make breakfast.

When I came back up to the cockpit, I noticed we were sailing real hard, but only going 2.5 knots and what was worst... we were going -2.1 knots towards our destination... We were going backwards in the gulf stream! With the wind from the west, I could head back towards Jacksonville, or head out to sea. I tacked and headed out to sea.

With the lost time last night repairing the traveller and then stopping to sleep, I was astonished to see my noon-to-noon distance was 94.2 nautical miles. Not great, but I sailed less than 18 of the 24 hours. So, not bad either.

It seemed like that afternoon, I had finally settled into a rhythm of sleep and sailing. The next couple of days had little excitement. The wind was from the northwest, and then north. So, progress was slow.

I was happy to finally have my daily activities all fall into place. No emergencies. No surprises.

We made slow, but steady progress; slipping past Charleston, SC and Myrtle Beach. We were headed towards Oak Island (Cape Fear). In fact, the most exciting thing that happened was being passed by a cruise ship. They hailed me on the radio. We had a nice talk for about 10 minutes.

Norwegian Gem

8-10-2015 and 8-11-2015

Early in the morning, there was an increase in shipping traffic. Most of which was headed to Cape Fear, which provides access to Southport, NC and Wilmington, NC.

I talked with several ships. All could see me well with AIS and radar. One particular ship's crew was quite chatty and very nice. He told me he had engines and rudders. So I need not worry, they would stay clear of me.

The winds had died down again. We now had 8-11knot winds. Still from the north. The seas settled down fast. We had very comfortable 3 foot rollers.

Around noon on the 10th, I was slowly passing Cape Fear. The weather radio had east winds forecasted for close to shore. I contemplated moving in close. East winds would have been great, especially compared to the north winds I currently had. I chose not to sail close to land. The risk of running into a thunderstorm was too great. Plus, the shore around these capes have lots of shoals. I much preferred the deep water.

In the afternoon, I was visited by the fastest pod of Dolphins I had ever seen. They did not like to play with the bow wake as dolphins usually do. Instead, they played with waves that were affected by the boat's wake. They were too fast to get a good picture. I took a bunch. This one will have to do.

These dolphins wouldn't get any closer to the boat and always skimmed the surface to cause the splashing

I kept fighting the north winds. The winds were light and from the wrong direction. They were preventing me from going directly towards Cape Hatteras; a huge milestone for this trip. However, two days of light winds meant the large seas from a couple days ago were all gone. The sailing was very pleasant and relaxing. I was still approaching Cape Lookout.

Sunrise sail on a relatively calm Atlantic Ocean

I mentioned in a previous post how the moon rises about an hour later each day. Around 6am on the 11th, the sun started to rise and the moon was still in the eastern sky; meaning it has just risen.

Sunrise Crescent Moon

Last night, it was clear starry skies and a gentle sail. It was dark most of the night since there was no moon until almost dawn, and then it was just a small crescent. When there was enough light to see, it looked like it was raining over land.

NOAA Weather Radio was forecasting sever thunderstorms in the area. I thought I might duck into Cape Lookout and anchor for a good night's rest and let the thunderstorms pass by. As I got closer to Cape Lookout, it became apparent, that I could not make the anchorage before sunset. It was just a thought anyway. So, I carried on towards Hatteras.

Return Voyage - Days 3 and 4 (Port St. Lucie to Savannah)

8-6-2015

After midnight and through the early hours of the morning, the winds remained very light. Yet, with assistance from the gulf stream current, Distant Horizon moved along at a reasonable pace; quietly slipping past Fort Pierce around 3am.

With the sun up, and morning getting ready to turn to afternoon, the winds picked up a little. There was no doubt that I had found the gulf stream axis. Distant Horizon was sailing at 10.0 knots with just the mainsail and jib!

Distant Horizon, Personal Best top speed!

All this in less than 10 knots of wind. Distant Horizon was sailing faster than the wind!

Historically, distance travelled in a day has been measured from noon of one day to noon of the next. I'm not certain, but before the late 1700s when the chronometer was first used to determine longitude, navigation was constrained to following lines of latitude. For favorable winds, most would sail to the Canary Islands and then sail in the trade winds, westward to the Caribbean. At that time, the sextant could give you your latitude with little math, if you shot the sun with the sextant at noon. Other than an offset for the solstice, the angle would equal your latitude.

Today, Distant Horizon would set another Personal Best record. She travelled 163.7 nautical miles in 24 hours (noon-to-noon). I was just north of Cape Canaveral.

As the day went on, the winds continued to drop. By mid afternoon, the winds were down to 3.5 knots. It was another hot, sunny day. I raised the drifter and was able to keep Distant Horizon going about 6.5 knots; again, with help from the gulf stream.

There wasn't much else for me to do. So, I took pictures of the Sargassum floating by. It's olive green colour against the blue water caught my eye. Due to the circular motion of the ocean currents, the Sargassum is generally collected in one area of the Atlantic Ocean called the Sargasso Sea. Young Sea Turtles spend their juvenile years there. The Sea Turtles depend on the Sargassum's buoyancy to help them gain neutral buoyancy as they grow. Young European Eels and American Eels depend on the Sargasso Sea, as well. This clump of Sargassum is called a pod. On the ocean, you can see long lines of Sargassum moving with the ocean currents and wind. These long lines are called mats. Fish use the mats as cover to hide from sea birds.

A clump of Sargassum

A small Sargassum mat

We slid past Daytona Beach late in the afternoon. I couldn't see it, of course. Ft. Lauderdale was the last time I sighted land.

A couple hours later, I was alerted by the sound of rushing water. When I arrived up in the cockpit, I could see a following sea was building. A following sea definitely indicates a bigger weather system is behind me. It could be a large storm several hundred miles away, or a huge thunderstorm just over the horizon.

Quickly putting on my life vest and safety tether, I furled the jib and started the motor. I wanted to set a reef in the mainsail. To do so, I need to motor into the wind. With the #1 reef set, I went forward and raised the staysail. By the time this was completed (let's say 5-6 minutes), I had to set reef #2 in the mainsail because the winds were building. Safely back in the cockpit, I turned back on course; shut the engine off, and set the Hydrovane to steer the course.

The wind was now blowing 23 knots and gusting over 30 knots. It was just after sunset. I was prepared for the worst, but I couldn't see anything. Not that it was so dark my vision was useless, rather... it was a clear sky, no clouds and lots of stars. I was expecting a thunderstorm or large dark clouds. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. I'm not sure why the wind picked up from 8 knots to 23 knots in 15 minutes. There was a certain amount of angst trying to reason this out. It didn't matter, I was prepared for a gale.

An hour later, the wind dropped to 13 knots and eventually back to 10-11 knots. It was all very anti-climatic. I took it as a good exercise in being prepared.

8-7-2015

Around midnight, a huge thunderstorm appeared straight ahead. I had a reef in the mainsail from the earlier exercise. The staysail was still flying.  For two days, the NOAA weather radio has warned about Thunderstorms between St. Augustine and Jacksonville. I was just south of St. Augustine. I had the sense the next day was going to be a tough one: hard work; little rest.

I was already tired and did not want to deal with the thunderstorm. So, I heaved to, which is a technique of slowing a sailboat's forward progress. Once done, The boat does not have to be actively steered, by me or the Hydrovane. My plan is to just sit here and let the thunderstorm pass by, all while the gulf stream carried us north. The winds quickly built to well over 20 knots. Being hoved to, Distant Horizon just sat there nice and calm... not heeled over with the wind.

I cooked some dinner. After doing the dishes,  I was tired. In anticipation of the coming day or two, I chose not to continue. Instead,  I would take this time to get a little more rest.

By checking with the radar and AIS, I knew there were no ships or other boats around me. I set alarms on both. So, if a boat did show up, the alarm would go off and warn me with plenty of time to safely observe or maneuver. I also set the alarm on my watch for 1 hour; hoping to get a 40 minute power nap. We would remain hoved to while I got some more rest.

Through the rest of the night, and morning, everything remained fair with decent weather (no more thunderstorms) and a good fresh breeze.

During that afternoon, the winds were steady, around 20 knots and not gusting. The sky was filled with cumulous clouds; not much blue sky was visible.

By evening, the sky had cleared; no clouds at all. The winds started gusting over 25 knots. The staysail caused to much weather helm. Weather helm is when the boat automatically wants to turn into the wind. A little weather helm is very desirable. A lot means you're constantly fighting to keep the boat going straight.

I could have sailed on the Mainsail alone, but that would be too slow. I should have a heavy weather staysail, which would be used at this time, but I don't. So, I put the tiny storm sail up instead. The boat balance surprisingly well. I took over the steering from the Hydrovane. It was doing a good job, but the seas were 8-10 foot and I felt I could steer better; being able to read the rollers (waves). I much prefer big rollers to steep waves anyway. I hand steered the boat for the next few hours.

Passing Jacksonville was uneventful. With all the NOAA weather drama, I had just one close encounter with a thunderstorm. I was now closing in on Savannah, GA.

Return Voyage - Days 1 and 2 (Marathon to Port St. Lucie)

8-4-2015

I woke early in the morning to finish preparing the boat for sailing offshore. I had a few hours before departure. I was waiting for high tide and the small tasks helped keep the pre-departure jitters to a minimum. Once the tide is high enough, I will go to Keys Fisheries' commercial dock to fuel up. I don't plan on using much diesel on this trip, as the majority of the trip will be offshore sailing. It would be foolish to leave without full tanks, though. I added 25 gallons diesel fuel. 15 additional gallons are stored on deck in jerry cans.

Distant Horizon is located on the north-side of Marathon. That is, the Gulf of Mexico side. I could take the ICW (intracoastal waterway) to Key Largo and jump out into the Atlantic there. That route would be shallow (7-10 feet) water, and I would have to motor the whole way. Instead, I will go back to the Moser Channel and pass under the 7-mile bridge; reversing the route I took this spring to get into the Gulf.

Approaching the 7-mile bridge and the Atlantic Ocean

The plan is to head out to the Straits of Florida and catch a ride on the Gulf Stream. I will go faster, but I need good weather.

The moon will rise around midnight tonight, giving good nighttime visibility. This will be short-lived, though. The moon rises almost one hour later each night. In just a few days, most of the night will be dark. If the skies are clear, the stars will be amazing. If the sky is cloudy, it will be a very, very dark night.

At 10:45am, I departed Keys Fisheries. The winds were light. I opted to motor to the Straits of Florida. That way, I would not have to fight a headwind. It was a clear, hot day. I did what I could to create more shade; like put up the bimini cover, and the dodger window covers.

All the angst was gone now. I was underway! Distant Horizon was sailing smoothly around 5 knots, in the Atlantic Ocean, heading  southeast for a meeting with the gulf stream. The sun was about to set. I was sitting in the cockpit with a slight breeze, eating Lemon, Basil Pasta for dinner with buttered sliced carrots as a vegetable. It was a very relaxing time.

I was happy to see this first sunset

It's hard to believe, this is the same sunset take a few seconds later. I simply zoomed in.

First sunset on the Atlantic Ocean

A short while after the sun had set, I found the gulf stream. According to the GPS, Distant Horizon was going about 8 knots. Speed can get confusing at times. Since the wind and weather had not changed, Distant Horizon was probably still doing a little over 5 knots through the water. That, with about 3 knots of gulf stream current meant we were going about 8 knots as the GPS measures SOG (Speed Over Ground). The important thing to remember is Distant Horizon's hull speed. That is the theoretical maximum speed the boat can travel through water. After that, she would start to get out of control, sliding and skidding. Distant Horizon's hull speed is 7.4 knots. So, we were at a good safe speed. This is just what I had hoped for.

All my expectations were met this first night: sailing fast; beautiful starry night before moonrise; good visibility after moonrise; fair weather.  A perfect start!

Around 9pm, a thunderstorm was building behind me. I kept a close look on the lightning and tried to judge it's distance. There was no thunder. Without rain, I couldn't see it on the radar. Another thunderstorm started up to the east. NOAA weather radio reported the storms as moving slowly to the northwest. If nothing changed, they would cross our wake, well behind us.

8-5-2015

Around midnight, I hailed Sunshine State; an oil tanker headed for Tampa, FL. He said he saw me on AIS about 21 miles out, which is very good. He had all the information from AIS and referred to me as either "captain" or "Kevin".  He said at about 6 miles out, I popped up on his radar with a very strong signal. He said he watches sailboats because they can tack and change course abruptly. He has been watching me for 20 miles and the boat held it's course +-5 degrees.  He was shocked that I do not have an autopilot. The steering was being handled by the Hydrovane, wind vane steering system. He said he figured I had a hydraulic system and even then, my course would have been excellent. Before signing off, he informed me that I had indeed outrun the thunderstorms behind me. The storms were turning more west now.

Having an AIS transponder is really important for offshore sailing. Not only can the ships see me on their chart plotters, I can see them and get their ship's name. This is how I knew the name when hailing the ship. Of course, the ships can see me on their radar... once they get close enough. With the AIS transponder, they can see me from a greater distance, which adds a margin of safety.

The picture below shows the shipping traffic near Key largo. White triangles are other ships. I am the block symbol in the center.

Plenty of shipping traffic

I was getting tired. It was 2am. I could see four ships, which meant they were all within 8 miles of me. I had no idea how many more were over the horizon. To help stay awake, I decided to call-up Orion on the VHF radio. Orion was a cargo ship passing me on my port (left) side about 4 miles away. We talked briefly as he pulled away.

Around 3am, the winds just died. About 10 minutes later, they came back again. I was about 15 miles southeast of Key Largo.

For some time now, I have been watching a ship directly behind me. He was slowly catching me. Distant Horizon has a radar system. I can see the ships 15-20 miles away with radar and 10-15 miles away with AIS. I was a little concerned, because this ship seemed to be on the same course as Distant Horizon. I hailed him on the VHF radio. The ship's name was Seaboard Atlantic. He said out CPA (Closest Point of Approach) would be one mile. No worries, I had a strong radar signal. He planned to pass on my port side. ...and he did... at exactly one mile away.

By mid morning, I was passing Miami, which was actually within view.

Miami

I could hear the deep rumble of the thunder. Ft. Lauderdale was getting some huge thunderstorms. I just hoped it stayed over there. The weather forecast is the same for the next 5 days: hot, sunny, scattered thunderstorms after midnight, isolated thunderstorms early morning. This is the forecast I would hear from Miami to Jacksonville...

Ft. Lauderdale on the left

10:45am, this thunderstorm was overtaking me and coming out to sea. The winds died. I saw a gap between this thunderstorm and another. I started the engine and went for the gap; hoping there was strong winds on the other side, which is the typical case. As I motored with no winds, I set two reefs in the main and furled (rolled up) the jib; preparing for strong winds.

This big storm dissipated before I reached it. Still, no wind and there was that other thunderstorm to contend with. I kept motoring. I had some very heavy rain, loud thunder in the distance, but no lightning nearby. By 1:30pm, the winds picked up. I shut the engine off and was sailing again.
The rest of the afternoon was hot, blue sky, light wind, fair weather and sailing fast (8.5 knots). I was okay with that.

I found the apex of the gulf stream! This is the fastest flowing water. Distant Horizon is now doing over 9 knots! That's SOG, gulf stream plus boat speed, since we are going in the same direction.

Best Speed ever for Distant Horizon!

At 6:30pm, the winds dropped completely. I was still going 4.5 knots thanks to the gulf stream. So, I dropped all sails and took a nap; happy with the progress I was making. The winds stayed very light until after midnight.

Lobster Season

All the fisherman have been very busy this week. Friday, at midnight, Lobster season is officially open. There were fireworks at the Keys Fisheries at midnight to kick things off.

Here, you can see all the boats in their glory; cleaned and ready to go!

Lobster fleet ready to go!

The streets are lined with the lobster pots stacked as high as possible.

Lobster traps are lined up row after row.

With all those lobster traps, look how few fit on a boat, These guys have been going for three days and barely put a dent in the traps stacked up.

Loaded and ready to go!

Lobster season is in full swing!