Good Morning Bermuda!

ST. Georges Harbour

We had absolutely no expectations regarding Bermuda as a cruising site – we were just focused on getting here, as a stepping stone. But, now that we are here, we love it! This is a beautiful and extremely well protected harbor. Even though the harbor services large ships, the water is clean, and we have been swimming off the boat each day (that’s how we bathe). Anchoring is free, there is no one running out to take $25 for a mooring each night. There is a free dinghy dock with a free dumpster right next to it, and free wireless internet a short walk away. The supermarket and laundry-mat are both a very short walk from the dinghy dock, and the town is beautiful. And it’s kept immaculately clean. The people are friendly and helpful and easy to understand. The weather has been beautiful, with highs of 75 and lows of 65. We were fortunate to get a couple of good drying days after we arrived, and the boat is pretty much dried out. In the calm anchorage, Judy has been able to cook again. In short, this is cruising paradise!

Unlike in the BVI, the only people here on boats are true sailors. After all, they had to get here. Judy and I are probably the least experienced sailors in port. We have already learned a lot from picking the brains of more experienced captains – especially one in particular who has circumnavigated. There are several beautiful old wooden masted, gaff rigged schooners that made the crossing – quite impressive.

So, we may be here a while ;-)

By the way, my cell phone receives just fine here, but I can’t make outgoing calls, so give me a call any time! Don’t leave a voice message, because I can’t access it. Oh, and don’t bother to call Judy – she took her phone for a swim.

Ocean Passage: New London to Bermuda

Sunday, 11/13

We depart at the break of dawn, although we have to wait in the marina basin for about 20 minutes for the train from Nyack to pass before the bridge keeper can open the swing bridge. The air temperature is about 40, and the water temp is 49. The wind is fairly light until we round Montauk, and then we start our journey, as we watch the land fade from sight. The swells quickly increase, and with the wind about 60 degrees on our starboard bow, we get a taste of things to come. The seas increase and both Judy and Spike are feeling a touch of Mal-de-Mar. Judy gets over hers in short order, due to the use of a patch, and also the activity to follow. We are sailing with a single reef in the main and a double reef in the roller furling headsail. Shortly before dusk, out of the blue, the furling line breaks, unrolling the entire genoa. Not good. I put on the harness and crawl out onto the bounding foredeck, clipping alternate leads to the toe rail for protection after I pass the end of the jack lines. Since the sail is all the way out, I have to lay out on the bow and feed the line through and around the drum about a dozen times before leading it back. The boarding waves soak me, and at one point, I am swept a few feet down the side deck until my safety line comes tight. The good news is that it is not cold, since the air and water temps have both warmed to about 60. At this point I'm thinking that it was just a bad spot in the line, little did I know that this is only the first of five breaks we will sustain in the next three days. After getting the furling line in place, we need to bear off into a broad reach in order to shade the genoa with the main so that we can furl it, since it is now blowing 25 to 30 knots. It turns out that it will blow this hard for five days. This first manuever is when we realize how much more difficult it is to handle a boat in strong seas. We eventually figure it out, and get the headsail completely furled before dark. It makes for a inefficient night's run, trying to beat with only the main, but we are very relieved to have "tamed the monster" before dark.

Neither one of us is dialed in to moving around inside the boat in rough seas yet, and shortly after dark, we are below when suddenly Judy comes flying, airborne, from the galley into the nav station. On the way she goes through my left knee. She smacks her head hard and is moaning on the settee. I fall onto the floor in the walk through, and I'm saying "F**K, F**K, F**K". For a moment, I am not sure if I will be able to stand on it. That would be the end of our trip and the end of my boat. I know that morning will tell, and it turns out to be just an MCL sprain, which is slowly healing. When we go to bed that night, both of us are in physical pain just about everywhere. The first five days of this trip are going to show us why they call this point of sail "beating".

This first night we will be crossing the New York harbor traffic lanes, so I have to be careful to time my cat naps so that I am awake well before we approach each lane. Sure enough, we come close to a ship in both the inbound lane (first), and then very close to a ship when we are crossing the outbound lane a couple hours later. The AIS gives me plenty of warning for both of them (well before they are over the horizon). The outbound ship passes in front of me, but in the dark it is very hard for me to determine it's distance, so I start the engine just in case, and steer well clear behind it. It is the last boat we will see for four days.

After that, I settle down on the walk through floor. It is the most secure spot on the boat, and I enjoy sleeping there. It has the least amount of movement and noise, and it's close to the companionway, so I can make it to the cockpit quickly, if need be. I realize that Spike is over his seasickness when he wakes up in the middle of the night in his perch with Judy on the settee and starts barking and growling at the strange man on the floor!

Monday, 11/14

With the break of dawn, we manage to get out a nice small and manageable amount of head sail, which picks up our speed and direction dramatically, and then we settle down to our breakfast. The wind and waves are strong, requiring a great deal of care in moving around the boat. Always one hand on a hand hold. Things are going OK until - bang! The furling line parts again. You have got to be kidding me. Nothing to do but crawl out there again and replace it, taking the time to thread the new line around the drum as many times as it will fit. Of course, I quickly get soaked in this process, but I'm never cold - the wool clothes I'm wearing are more than adequate for these temperatures, and I don't have to worry about my hands not working in the cold. Of course, then we need to go through the process of bearing off to a broad reach, shortening sail, and then hardening up again. It sounds simple, but nothing is simple in 30 knot winds and lumpy seas. The second night starts out rough, with occasional pounding, but settles down nice and smooth about 3 AM. I had just returned from the cockpit and settled down when "WHAM, WHAM, WHAM", all hell breaks loose. We have hit an incredibly rough patch of sea, and it is trying to shake the boat apart. It does a pretty good job of it, too, as it rips the shelves off the walls in the forward cabin. I have to slow the boat down, and at dawn we are making very slow speed over ground, and we can't hold our course to Bermuda. On checking the water temperature (now 76), it is obvious that we are in the Gulf Stream, and that is the source of the nasty peaked waves we have been encountering. I call WRI weather routers, I give him our coordinates, and he assures me that in an hour or two I will encounter the favorable eddy we have been shooting for, with a two knot favorable current, and sure enough, a couple hours later, our ground speed picks up to 8 knots and the pounding stops.

Tuesday, 11/15

Today we are flying over very large seas (15 ft swells), but they are huge, rounded whalebacks, and we experience very little pounding. The sun is out, and it is exhilarating. We pass by low spots 20 feet below us, and then vice-versa. The boat does exactly what she is supposed to do, and handles the swells with ease. We are trying very hard to get maximum distance between us and a gale which will pass to our north in two days, crossing the track we just laid down. The down side to all this speed is that we are taking huge amounts of spray, and we are heeled fairly hard on the port side. The deck hatches are leaking significantly with each boarding wave. They did not leak at all during hurricane Irene, but this is different - this is like about 20 car wash wands on power cycle every time a wave comes over. So, the boat is wet inside The rug I was sleeping on is soaked, the cabin sole is wet and slippery, in fact, there is almost nothing on the port side of the boat which isn't wet. Above, while the cockpit canvas protects us from spray which would probably knock us down, it then leaks slowly into the cockpit, so it is wet also. It's not cold, though. In fact, we wear as few clothes as possible, since there is no sense getting more clothes soaked. We came prepared with way more warm clothes than we needed.

In fact, since we crossed the Gulf Stream, everything is different. The water is warm, the air is warm, and the water is BLUE! We could start to see it as it became light, and then when the sun came out it was striking. We are a long way from the tropics, but we are in tropical water. The water contains frequent patches of what I think is Saragasso seaweed. There are birds all the way out here, also. They seem to use dynamic soaring to stay aloft with very little flapping, but they also land on the water when they need to. It is truly beautiful to be flying along over this blue water.

However, this time of the year, the nights are much longer than the days, and tonight is going to turn out to be especially long. I check on deck shortly after midnight, and the wind has calmed down somewhat. I adjust the sails, and am feeling very good as I look out in the moonlight, when wham, I see the entire genoa deploy. The furling line has broken again. This time I get to crawl out on the bow with my head lamp and perform the operation again. After what seems like forever, we get the head sail under control again. I should say here that, yes, I have been trying to determine what is causing the failures. The first problem was rubbing on the upper edge of the furling drum due to a block which was not lead fair. It was fine if the line was feeding from the bottom of the spool, but not if it was coming out near the top, which is perhaps why it never caused problems before. I attempted to protect it with chafe gear (i.e. unlined, weeping fire hose, of which I have plenty on board). Then, it turned out the the block itself caused the chafe through the next two times due to slight misalignment due to a frozen hinge point on one axis. Obviously, I won't be heading out again until I have resolved the problem.

But, I digress, because the fun of Tuesday night is just beginning. Judy had told me that she had heard an even louder than usual pounding sound coming from the forward cabin. We went forward together, but it wasn't making the noise then. Later in the night, I was making my rounds, and when I opened up the forward cabin, I could hear the pounding - I scrambled over the bunks and opened the anchor locker and immediately heard what was obviously the anchor pounding against the port side of the boat! "Judy, you need to wake up, I have to go forward and try to get the anchor". This was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. At several points, if I was able to do so, I would have just cut it loose. But, eventually I am able to get it off the chain, around and over the bow pulpit, and onto the deck. I am then able to slide it down the pitching side deck until I come to the straps which are securing the deflated dinghy to the foredeck, at which point I have to pick up the anchor. It's only 55 lbs, but on a pitching deck in the dark, it's like wresting a bear. The bear gets in a few blows, as I fall and scrape the anchor in my shin. But, I get it into the cockpit and lash it securely, where it will spend each future ocean passage.

The bow roller sheave is not sized quite right to support the new anchor, but the forces which dislodged it caused it not to come off just the roller, but somehow ripped it all the way around the frame of the roller, while the rode and snubbing line remained tight. There were several times when the bow plunged below the surface at the bottom of a wave. An anchor doesn't belong there on a passage, and I knew better - I just didn't think I had any place to stow it. As it turns out, the cockpit will work just fine.

Anyway, I finally collapse back inside, and I hope I never have to do that again.

Wednesday, 11/16

Truthfully, the days and nights start to run into each other. All I know for sure is that I don't have to go back out on deck at night, so life is (reasonably) good! Despite the fact that the nights are long, it is quite beautiful to come above after midnight, when the three quarter moon is up, and see it shimmering off the waves.

Thursday, 11/17

The big concern today is the approaching cold front. The wind continues to blow at 30 knots with gusts as high as 38. In late afternoon I call WRI and get a detailed forecast. On that basis, I decide to heave-to for the night. It will mean not arriving until Sunday morning, but it is the safest and most comfortable option. I also call Julia to let her know what we are up to, and why we won't be making much progress overnight. For the first time on the trip, Judy shows some apprehension, but I assure her that it will smooth right out after we heave-to. We have to shorten sail, tack over, and then tack back to the heave-to position. We get done just before dark, and it's like somebody hit the mute button. Yes, the wind is still howling, but it is peaceful on board, we are actually able to share the aft bunk, and I get the best night's sleep of the entire trip. Just after dark the AIS warns of a boat approaching within a mile. It is a large luxury motor yacht, I hail him by name and ask if he can see me. He says he has me on his radar, but no visual on my masthead tricolor lamp. I turn on every outside light, and he gets a visual with no problem. He asks to make sure I’m aware of the forecast for the cold front moving through, inquires as to our ETA, then wishes us a safe passage and is soon out of sight. About 0330, the cold front moves through, and the wind veers around. At 0400 we get some very bright lightening, but no thunder that we can hear, and no visible bolts. Quite strange. At Judy's suggestion, I put all the loose electronics in the oven just in case (Farraday cage).

Friday, 11/18

It is so nice in the hove-to position that we have trouble getting the ambition to go on course again, but once we do, with just a hankerchief of a head sail, and sailing downwind, it is very enjoyable. THIS is more like it. No wonder they say that "gentlemen do not sail to windward". It is so relaxing, and plus, we know that we have passed the crux, and we are going to make it.

Saturday, 11/19

The wind veers around to the ENE sooner than they had predicted, and we are beating again, in just slightly lighter winds (25 knots). I contact Bermuda Harbor Radio on the VHF at about 25 miles out and explain that we will be approaching the harbor entrance and then standing off and waiting for a daylight entrance. This turns out to be the most uncomfortable night of the trip. We try heaving to, but the wind is lighter than it was, while the seas are still heavy, which results in slatting sails. So, I decide to take down all sail, which will make us a lot more maneuverable in case we need to avoid the ship which is standing off with us, or the other ship which Bermuda Radio informs me is going to arrive at 0300 to transfer an ill Captain to shore. We rock back and forth for hours, while drifting downwind and then motoring back up. Of course, we can see the lights of Bermuda, but a nighttime approach to a strange harbor is a really bad idea. I am truly afraid that if I fall asleep, I will wake up on the rocks. Finally, at 0400, I wake up Judy and ask her to stand watch, which she does, until daybreak. At 0700, Bermuda Radio clears us to follow the cargo ship (which has been standing off with us) into port. At 0800 (opening time), we reach the customs dock. Judy signals a couple of people standing nearby, they catch our lines, and we arrive smoothly at the dock. Eventually, the Customs Officer arrives, tells us to stay on the boat for half an hour while he checks in the ship and "have a cup of tea". I tell him "Take your time, we're just glad to be here".

Thoughts

We sailed the entire 650 nautical miles, from harbor entrance to harbor entrance. It took us exactly one week. We were on the same starboard tack for the first 500 miles. It was a good weather window, in that we avoided any storms or storm force winds. But, winds of 30 knots, and more specifically the sea state associated with them, get old after a few days. We had less than 24 hours during the entire trip when the wind blew less than 25 knots. The hardships of the passage were much easier to take because we didn’t have to worry about staying warm – I was amazed at how quickly we moved into a different climate. I’m sorry that I have very few pictures on the passage – most of the time it was too rough and wet to even think about getting a camera out.

What went right:

Both engines ran flawlessly. The generator was crucial because Raymond, hard worker that he is, used a huge amount of electricity. I ended up running the generator about four hours a day at sea, vs one or two hours at anchor. A big thanks to everyone at Yankee Boatyard.

The autopliot which I installed this summer (Raymond) ran perfectly!!! This was absolutely critical. If we had had to hand steer, exhaustion would have quickly overtaken us.

The electronics worked well - i.e. chartplotter, wind instrument, VHF radio, and, importantly, the AIS receive. Although we only encountered four ships, the AIS gave me the freedom to relax and take short naps on night watch. The alarm is loud, and it is a great system. More than once, it allowed me to hail a nearby vessel by name and determine his intentions. There were brief periods where the GPS signal dropped out on each instrument, which surprised me, but in each case it was short lived.

The crew never faltered in their determination. With all the disadvantages of a short crew, this is, I believe, a huge advantage of said short crew. Judy and I are committed to each other, we threw our lots in together, and there was no wavering or second guessing on either part.

What went wrong:

As mentioned previously: furling line lead, anchor security, leaking deck hatches.

Not mentioned: On the first night out, the domestic water system started to act up, the water was coming slower and slower until it didn't come at all. I switched to the manual pump, and that lasted for about one quart. The source of the problem was a huge amount of sand/mineral deposits from the fresh water tank which had never shown up in the water before, but, with the rocking and rolling of the open ocean, came loose and clogged our pipes. We had enough water in emergency jugs so that getting enough was never an issue, but it did make it much less convenient for things like washing dishes (didn't) and washing hands (fortunately, Judy had brought some baby wipes). I am extremely grateful that this occurred to our fresh water tank and not our fuel tank. I would like to thank all previous owners of this boat for taking care of the fuel! By the way, I have since repaired the system by replacing hose and the pump (I had onboard a brand new pump that I, fortunately, decided not to replace before we left.)

THANKS:

First of all, to my First Mate, Judy, who never faltered in her resolve, and never showed any emotional weakness, even though, at times, we both were feeling it.

To my daughter, Julia, who kept a close eye on us the whole way, and kept me updated with the latest weather forecasts.

To WRI weather routers, whose forecasts were not always welcome, but were almost 100% accurate.

To everyone at Yankee Boatyard, for all the help you gave me.

To Neptune, for allowing us to play in his yard without smacking us down.

Judy and I both agree that this passage was the greatest adventure of our lives, and the biggest challenge. Having completed it successfully gives us an immense feeling of satisfaction.

Bermuda!

Captain Jonny, First Mate Judy, and Mascot Spike have completed our first ocean passage and arrived safely in Bermuda. Alannastar performed admirably, as did our fourth crew member, Raymond, the Raymarine autopilot - he worked harder than any of us! More to follow - right now it's time to...sleep.