Back in mid-November, I was having coffee in pajamas when I got a message from a fellow sailor and boat builder, Jim. Would I be interested in dropping whatever I was doing to go sailing for a couple of days? Short notice, long story? Apparently, Jim knows me well. I have learned the hard way, however, to ask for a few details before jumping on YES with both feet.
His son Jonathan bought an old Stone Horse down in North Carolina. He is bringing it home to Maryland, and is suddenly short on crew. I know Jonathan from the Mid-Atlantic Small Craft Festival. He has a good Youtube channel and an active Instagram account. I’m familiar with the venerable Stone Horse. My friendMichael Bogoger, aka Doryman, had one that his sister now owns, and both love it. A nice gallery of photos from Michael are here:
Seems unlikely, but I mention it to Terri, how it would be fun but not sure how to work it out. Just so happens, says T, she will be in DC in a couple of days and can pick me up at journey’s end. Would be willing to drive me down. Enough details fall into place that thirty-six hours later I am in Hampton Roads, walking the docks with my duffle, looking for a ship.
T graciously got up before daylight to drive me the three hours to the coast. Just after sunrise we find Jonathan and his departing crew unloading gear on the docks from a dinghy, with the Stone Horse Loon anchored out in the Hampton River. They look weary, but happy.
Turns out, they had been up even before we were that day. The original plan was to crew with Jonathan the whole way. They left their car in Maryland for the drive back to NC. Weather and mechanical issues delayed things, enough they now had to jump ship here, midway, to get back to NC for other commitments. But their car was still in Maryland, 175 miles away. The past 24 hours were spent renting a car, then driving to Maryland and back to shuttle their own car to Hampton, into which they were now transferring all their gear for the drive to NC and a formal ball that night.
Seems like the land-based part of any boat trip is always the most complicated.
T waved before heading off for breakfast as Jonathan and I rowed out to Loon. We raised anchor and motored out into Hampton Roads, and Jonathan caught me up on the current plan.
The Stone Horse is a solid seagoing cutter rigged sloop, set up well for single-handing. But being new to the boat and her foibles, he knew it was unwise to try and finish the trip alone. Too many things can go wrong. Already the main halyard jammed leaving NC, then the prop on the outboard had to be replaced. Then there’s the weather. Hence the delays so far. Without an extra set of hands to manage the boat while you deal with them, small problems quickly become big problems.
There’s a big weather front coming, too, so we have to go 100 miles in two days and reach port before the bad weather reaches us. Assuming nothing else goes wrong, we’ll have good weather until then, but we have two long days ahead.
We exit Hampton Roads with the USS Kearsarge as it leaves the Norfolk base for Denmark. An ambitious assault ship, it looks huge; but an aircraft carrier is half again bigger. We raise sail in the Chesapeake Bay as the Kearsarge transits the Bridge Tunnel and disappears over the horizon.
It’s a sparkling clear day, with good wind. Dolphin leap around the bow. By midafternoon the wind dies, and to keep up our pace we crank up the outboard, the raise sails again when the wind returns.
By sundown we’re already east of Mobjack Bay and the New Point Comfort light. A hopper barge follows and passes. We run along Winter Harbor Island and I wave to friends who are on the beach staying at the house where usually T and I would also be this week.
As darkness falls, I can just make out Wolf Trap Lighthouse. I tell Jonathan the story of how it got its name, marking the shoals that grounded a British ship, leading to its capture prior to the Revolutionary War. He steers a course wide around it.
We have hours to go to reach Deltaville and our anchorage for the night. The stars are out and the temperature drops quickly. I pull on all my jackets over double layers and I’m still shivering. Jonathan tries to keep his hands warm in gloves but has to take them off to work the nav app on his phone.
Rounding Gwynns Island it’s hard to pick out the channel markers from the constellation of lights lining the shore, so we rely on GPS to stay the course.
As we approach Deltaville, I tell Jonathan about two harbors I know. One is closer but has a very narrow entrance. The other is wide open, but around Stove Point a couple miles further on. He’s cold and hungry, and the closer one is more protected, so that one gets the nod. As we approach the entrance, it’s obvious the channel is narrower than he expected, and hard to find. There are no lights marking the entrance or the channel, only day markers.
“You’ve been here, right?” he asks.
“Well sure, but not at night!”
He slows to idle speed and I go forward with a flashlight. I can light the reflective markers just before we have to make the turns, one of which is a full 90 degree right angle. One. Two. Three. Four. Then we’re in, out of the wind in calm water and can finally relax.
At which point, we run aground. There’s a sandbar right in the middle of the harbor. It’s clearly marked on the charts, but you’d never think to look for it. We pull out the oars and work up a good sweat working ourselves off. Then finally we’re anchored.
The Stone Horse, designed for New England waters, came standard with a little wood stove, not much bigger than a soup pot. I brought fist sized chunks of firewood from home, but even these are too big for it. Jonathan has enough shop scraps to use instead. He starts the fire, then begins to whip up a great meal of chicken sautéed in onions and peppers. Before that’s ready, the wood stove has warmed up the cabin so much it’s driving us out, and we have to open all the hatches and strip down to t-shirts. But after freezing for hours, neither of us complains. We’re warm enough to sit on deck for dinner with a view of the harbor and stars overhead.