The Summer cruise begins!
We had done it, we had actually made it off the dock after years of dreaming and planning - we did it! So now what? Up first was the 270-mile direct passage to the entrance of New York Harbor. On Salty Foxx, we generally route plan for an average speed of approximately 5 knots. This generally accounts for the slower times when we are coming into/exiting a harbor, running the engine, or when we have the tide against us. It also accounts for the faster times when we have the wind perfectly angled with a soft sea state and can travel at hull speed which is approximately 8 knots on Salty Foxx. Hull speed is the theoretical top speed of any vessel. A displacement hulled vessel’s hull speed is determined by the vessel’s waterline length, as you are limited to the speed where the bow and stern waves join. As every sailor will tell you, you infrequently have the perfect wind, perfect sea state, and perfect tide, so it is a rare but glorious moment when you can sustain hull speed for extended periods of time. We also loaded our entire lives on to Salty Foxx, so we are wee bit heavier than your normal Beneteau 393 and this of course slows us down a little. All in all, we expected our first passage to be around 54 hours.
When we factored in the unknowable elements of sailing, we planned for a 60-hour passage. We left our slip at Hampton Yacht Club a little before 1300 on Sunday, July 13th. Our planned route had us making landfall at about 0100 on Wednesday morning off the coast of the Sandy Hook Coast Guard Station. The International Regulations for Preventing Collisions at Sea, or the COLREGS (explain to me how that acronym makes sense), state that every vessel underway must always maintain a capable lookout. As we were planning for a 60-hour passage, Abby and I divided the time into 10, 6 hour "watch" blocks. I would take 0000-0600 & 1200-1800 and Abby would take 0600-1200 & 1800-0000. We chose 6-hour blocks as we felt it was enough time to get some real sleep (i.e. 4-5 hours) yet not so much time that the person “on-watch” became complacent. As we left a little bit after 1200, I had first watch and thus got the joy of exiting the Chesapeake Bay and taking Salty Foxx into the true Atlantic Ocean for the first time. Our required course was either east northeast or east southeast depending on which tunnel of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel we went over. The wind that day was out of the east so with the tide running out of the bay (from the north to the east southeast), we set out on a starboard tack where we could point about north northeast. Based on our heading we weren't going to make the northernmost tunnel so we decided to try and 1 tack the southern tunnel. The sea state was calm, so we could tack about 90 degrees and we knew that the tide would only help us. With that I marked the tack point on the chart, and we executed the tack to perfection. Before we knew it, we were over the southern tunnel and out into the Atlantic. As the wind was forecasted to move to the southeast and then slowly die out overnight, we sailed about 1 nautical mile past the tunnel exit and tacked so that we were pointed towards New York.
At this point it was about 1630, so Abby (and Tots) went down for a quick nap, and I was alone in the Atlantic. I honestly didn't know how to feel.... This has been a dream for so long and to finally be doing it was almost unimaginable. Here I was, only 5 nautical miles off the coast of Virginia, but it was so quiet. I didn't know whether to shout with glee or sit there in solemn silence. Well before I figured out what to do, Abby was up and asking for the wind and sea conditions in preparation for relieving me as person in charge of Salty Foxx. After debriefing with Abby on what the previous 2 hours had been like and what was expected to happen during the next 6 hours, I went down to the forward berth, strapped up the lee cloth and tried to fall asleep. Almost immediately the wind died, and Abby was forced to furl the head sail and turn on the engine. With the rhythmic sound of our 40hp, 3-cyclinder Volvo Penta inboard diesel combined with the sound of the waves gently gliding by the hull next to where I was laying, I was able to fall asleep almost instantly. Before I knew it, my alarm to get up and prepare for the overnight shift was blaring. As it turned out, the forecast had been incredibly accurate and there was still almost no wind so after a quick debrief, Abby went down for some much-needed rest, and I was once again alone in the Atlantic. Our position was 37˚ 24’ .670 N & 75˚ 33’ .685 W which meant we were about halfway up Virginia’s eastern shore and about 10 miles offshore. So far, we had travelled a little over 60 nautical miles at an average speed of 5.5 knots- not bad for the first 11 hours of the passage!
That night, the sky was perfectly clear with an almost full moon and was just incredibly beautiful. My only complaint was that the air was so still that we had to run the engine to make any forward progress, which in turn, filled the air with the slight smell of diesel exhaust and the rhythmic sound of the engine turning over at about 2000 rpm. Even so, the enormity of the moment wasn’t lost on me and once again I was filled with the same incredible joy that we were actually doing it. Now besides for my 3ish hour nap, I had done nothing to prepare myself from staying awake and attentive through the whole night. With the engine on and the autopilot steering, there was pretty much nothing to do up on deck, but I knew if I went below deck, I would not be able to stay awake. To keep myself awake, I got my trusty Red Bull (Watermelon flavor in an 8.4oz can for those curious), a new book my dad had bought me for the passage (“A Sail of Two Idiots” by Renee D. Petrillo, trying to tell me something Dad?), my red headlamp, and set a continuous 15-minute timer for the night. Every 15 minutes, my watch timer would go off, I would set down my book, look at the chart to verify that our heading was still correct, and look to see if there were any AIS contacts. If there were any AIS contacts, I would check to see what the Closest Point of Approach (CPA) was and the Time to Closest Point of Approach (TPCA). If the CPA was greater than 2 nautical miles or the TPCA was greater than 30 minutes, I would move to the next step of my 15-minute routine and scan the entirety of the horizon looking for any navigation lights from vessels which did not have AIS. I would always start my scan on the starboard side, followed by the port side, and finishing with a look aft. Generally, I would see 3 to 4 other vessels navigational lights during these scans with most vessels also appearing on AIS. If the CPA was less than 2 nautical miles and the TPCA was less than 30 minutes, I would immediately try and visually locate the vessel prior to performing the entire scan. After locating the vessel, I would perform the rest of the scan to verify there were no additional unexpected vessels and then would return to maintaining eyes on the close vessel until our CPA passed and there was no longer any danger of collision. While it was rare to have a CPA less than 2 nautical miles, it did happen twice during our passage. Neither time required a course adjustment so we were both able to hold our course and pass silently in the night. Overall, this 15-minute routine worked extremely well for me, and I was able to stay alert all night long listening to the drumbeat of the engine, reading my book, and scanning the horizon. At 0435, first light broke over the ocean and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Soon after, Abby awoke, made us both a quick breakfast to snack on while we performed our debrief and before I knew it, she was in charge and it was off to bed for me.
I don’t know if it was the caffeine or the engine noise, but even though I was dead tired, I could not sleep. I tried watching some downloaded TV (shoutout How I Met Your Mother), tried reading my book, tried cuddling Tots, but nothing seemed to help. Additionally, Tots had decided that she was unwilling to go to the bathroom on the boat and had now gone about 20 hours without peeing. We had tried everything - artificial turf, pee smell spray, pee training pads, we brought an actual potted plant, we peed on the artificial turf, but nothing we were doing was having any impact on her. In fact, she decided her new favorite place to lay was on anything that smelled like pee, thanks Tots…. With that we decided to make the detour to Ocean City, Maryland where we could take on fuel and take Tots on a nice walk to hopefully do her business. We made the harbor entrance a little before noon and after a nerve-wracking channel navigation, we made dock at about 1230. Abby and Tots went for a walk, and I topped off our diesel tank.
Salty Foxx has a 36-gallon tank and prior to this trip we had only put about 30 hours on the engine in a variety of conditions and thus didn’t have a great feel for what our fuel usage rate would be. Different people online with the same boat and same engine reported that their fuel burn rate varied from anywhere between 0.75 Gallons Per Hour (GPH) and 1.25 GPH. At this point we had done 19.4 hours of motoring since departing and thus burned anywhere from 14.5 gallons to 24.25 gallons. On sailboats, you generally try not go below 1/3 of the fuel level in your tank as there can be sediments that get stirred up in the swell that can clog your fuel filters or worse, your fuel injectors. Based on the 30 hours we had put on the engine prior to this passage, we expected our fuel burn rate to be closer to 0.75 GPH but wanted to use Tots’s shy bladder as an opportunity to verify this without putting us at risk of going below 1/3 of the tank level as we knew we likely had another 10 hours of motoring based on the forecasted wind before completing our first passage. We only took on 12 gallons of fuel during this fill-up, which meant that we were averaging about 0.6 GPH at 2000 rpm which was incredible! Looking at the power curves of our Diesel Engine we knew we were most fuel efficient between 2000rpm and 2400 rpm but had decided to start at 2000 rpm to get a feel for our engine on a longer passage. 2000 rpm was right about 5 knots for us in the calm sea state we were in as we travelled up the coast, so it matched our average speed assumption nicely. Based on the 0.6 GPH at 2000 rpm, we decided to do any further motoring on this passage at 2200 rpm which would be about 5.5 knots to compare fuel burn rate. After Abby took Tots on a nice 30-minute walk and I had pumped out our forward holding tank, we were back on our way! Tots of course didn’t even pee on the first bush she smelled and seemed totally normal on her walk so she must have a bladder of steel. Who knows… must be that street dog in her from her early days on the west shore of Oahu.
Ocean City was about 120 nautical miles into the 270 nautical mile journey and we were 24 hours into our passage, including our stop for Tots’s pee break and fuel, which meant we were right on track. Additionally, even though both Abby and I were a little light on sleep, we were still doing okay and thus decided to continue to push on towards New York. Note that in the planning phase, we discussed several locations along the passage, like Cape May or Atlantic City, where we could pull in and drop anchor to rest if we were too exhausted or if the weather took an unexpected turn.
Lucky for us, the wind had picked up just as forecasted and we were able to unfurl the sails as soon as we left the harbor! We were on our way north again. I was surprised at how well I was doing with the lack of sleep, but I think the ability to sail again reinvigorated me. The sea state started to build as we passed the mouth of the Delaware Bay where the conflicting tide direction and wind lead to consistent 4 – 5 foot seas. While this wasn’t the most comfortable sea state, it was very manageable as the waves were hitting us from the starboard quarter and were spaced far enough apart where we weren’t getting thrown around. About halfway across the mouth of the Delaware Bay it was time again to switch with Abby. For dinner, Abby made a large pasta dish for us to share while we performed our watch relief. This briefing was a little longer than the previous ones based on the increased sea state and the possibility of thunderstorms towards the end of her shift. We discussed that if we saw thunderstorms, we would reef the sails (make the sail area smaller) and put electronics in the stove or microwave to protect them in the case of a direct lightning strike (the stove and microwave both act as a Faraday Cage). We also discussed that the wind was not really forecasted to pick up with the storm and the sea state was expected to calm down once passed the entirety of the Delaware Bay. With that, Abby was in charge and I was off to bed. This time I had no trouble falling asleep and was out within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.
I slept almost the whole 5 hours all the way until my alarm went off and I awoke feeling pretty well rested. As I pulled off my eye mask, I immediately saw the sky light up from lightning and realized the storm was upon us. The sea state didn’t feel crazy, so I slowly got up and grabbed my trusty red bull to meet Abby out in the cockpit. The first thing I noticed was that there was no moon visible as the clouds were so thick. Oddly enough though, the wind had not really changed and remained between 10 and 15 knots, and the sea state was still relatively calm which was unexpected based on the storm bearing down on us. During our debrief, Abby discussed that she began seeing lightning in the clouds around 2200 and that the moon never rose. Based on this, we left full sail out but did place our important electronics (a phone, a VHF Radio, our Garmin InReach) in the stove. At 0000, our position was 39˚ 03’ .400 N & 74˚ 24’ .225 W which is just off the coast of Atlantic City, New Jersey. We were about 180 nautical miles in and still on track for this to be my last night watch. With the lightning adding some light to the sky every few minutes, it was clear a dark storm cloud was bearing down on us and would probably hit us a little after 0100. With this, I changed into my foul weather gear and prepared the boat for rain. This involved verifying all the hatches were shut, and removing anything not waterproof from the cockpit.
Sure enough, at 0115 we were hit by extremely heavy rain, and I took shelter on top of the companion way under the dodger. The wind picked up to about 15 knots sustained and our boat speed climbed from about 6 knots to just above 7 knots. It was truly incredible sailing! The heavy rain continued until just after 0200 and stopped just as quickly as it had started. A few minutes after the rain ceased, the wind switched to be out of the West and I tacked the boat to be on the first port tack since we left the mouth of the Chesapeake. I could now see the storm in the distance and Atlantic City appeared from the clouds. Right as I started to relax, I saw two actual lightning strikes all the way to the water about 5 miles off the bow. I turned the boat to be a little bit more offshore to try and avoid any additional lighting. With that, the storm passed and soon after the sun appeared over the horizon. Little did we know at the time, but this was the northern tip of the storm which caused record breaking flooding in New Jersey. Soon after, Abby was up and we had a nice breakfast together where I regaled her with the stories from the night. Unsurprisingly, she slept like a rock throughout the whole storm. After our debrief, I went down to get some rest and once again, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep. At some point when I was below the wind died, so Abby furled the head sail and started the engine.
When I awoke, we were only 30 miles from our destination and making great time. Unfortunately, we did have to push through an outgoing tide which slowed us down and made the last 6 hours feel like an eternity. As we got closer and closer, the excitement was building - Salty Foxx had performed admirably through a variety of conditions, and I couldn’t be happier. Right before 1800 we made it to our anchorage just south of the Sandy Hook Coast Guard Station and dropped our anchor. Final stats were 270 nautical miles with an average speed of 5.1 knots. Our total passage, including our stop in Ocean City, took 53 hours. We had done it!
-Tom
