Boating Gone Bad
Boater encounters deteriorating weather while sailing to Cape May
by Rick Gordon
In 1992, I headed north for the summer aboard my sailboat, SMAY. After traversing the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal, I emerged into the top of Delaware Bay. It was too late to make it down to my destination, Cape May, New Jersey, and the weather forecast was deteriorating. So, I turned off the bay into the mouth of the Cohansey River on the New Jersey side. Protected by a bluff on the northern shore, I spent a comfortable night on the calm river, undisturbed by minor wind ripples.
When I got up the following morning, the weather forecast had worsened, but the northwest wind angle, 12-knot winds and a favorable tide were perfect for a fast run down the bay. I pulled anchor and headed out. Conditions were good in the lee of the New Jersey shore. I put up the sails and started down the bay.
The first third of the trip went well. I was protected in the lee of the shore, which calmed the bay’s chop, and the strong wind at a favorable 120-degree sail angle powered SMAY along.
But then I sailed into the center of the bay. Delaware Bay’s shape amplifies stormy weather and unique “square” waves. The waves weren’t an issue since I was traveling downwind, but increasing wind forced me to reef the sails. Even reefed, SMAY was up and running, the knot meter showing 8-plus knots.
When a gust powered the boat up to surf a wave, the speed increased to 12-plus knots with rooster tails forming in the stern’s wakes. By the time I reached the bottom third of the bay, the infamous square waves were white-topping, and the wind sensor on top of the mast was registering gusts over 40 knots. Dressed in foul-weather gear, I huddled in the captain’s chair, its solid back protecting me against the wind and spray.
On one of my brief tours around the cockpit, I noticed the dinghy had water in it; the spray was blowing on board hard enough to fill the boat faster than its open drain could empty it. If one of the davits failed, dropping one side of the dinghy into the wake, this could turn into a big and expensive problem. I decided to monitor the dinghy and try to make it to my only viable port in the storm: the Cape May Canal, which crosses the base of New Jersey.
As fast as I was sailing, I could soon see the entrance buoy. Fortunately, I had arrived a little north of the entrance. This allowed me the time and space to run off and wind up the already reduced jib. Rather than climbing up to lower the main in the bouncy sea conditions of the lower bay, I used the reefed main to sail between the foaming stone jetties into the canal and up to the ferry turning basin.
The weather was bad enough that the ferries were tied in their slips. In the basin’s calm water, I took down the main. The effort took multiple trips: I would motor up to the windward shore of the basin, jump up to the boom and reduce the mainsail while the boat drifted down to the leeward shore. Then I would repeat the process until I finally got the sail lashed down.
From the turning basin, I motored through the canal to Cape May Harbor, a well-regarded storm refuge. It was full of commercial fishing boats and yachts sheltering from the storm. I utilized my shallow draft to motor through the fleet to drop anchor at the windward head of the crowd. I put down my biggest anchor and took a wrap of the line around the anchor cleat. The much more moderate harbor wind blew the boat back, and the anchor grabbed with a satisfactory jerk.
I rigged an anchor bridle and turned on the anchor light. Then I went below to escape the wind and spitting rain. That evening, the rain pitter-pattered on the hatch above my bunk. The wind gusts pushed SMAY back, and the anchor line pulled it forward, creating a gentle rocking motion that lulled me to sleep like a baby.
My “weather eye” judgement might have been distracted by thoughts of a pleasurable provisioning stop in Cape May: a good grocery store, an ice cream shop, a seafood restaurant meal and streets lined with lovely antique homes painted in intricate traditional schemes. But the weather in the bay had deteriorated much worse than I anticipated; in hindsight, I should have waited in the Cohansey River.
I didn’t notice any other boats on the water while sailing down the bay. Two days later, the gale finally subsided. Once the wind dropped below 20 knots, the crowd of boats emptied and I could move into the Canyon Club Marina. From there, I walked past the lovely historic homes into town and re-supplied.
Rick Gordon
Submitted by Nautical Mile contributing writer Bob Moro, this article first appeared in the national magazine of the United States Power Squadron- “The Ensign” and is being reprinted with their permission.
Rick Gordon has been a member of America’s Boating Club of Gainesville since 1987. He lived on his catamaran SMAY for nine years sailing north in the summer and south during winter. Family responsibilities forced him to sell the boat and buy a pickup truck.
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Nautical Mile Magazine
