Atlantic Highlands - Buying Basil, Curling Egg Salad, and Rolling the Rrrrrr's

Atlantic Highlands - 2 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

After a truthfully pleasant ocean voyage with no collisions, sinkings, or issues of any type, besides trying to stay awake overnight as we passed over abnormally calm seas, we sailed into the New York harbour at 7 am and were the only boat there. As we worked our way up the channel and around the Sandy Hook pensinsula then south across the bay, we met just two fishing boats heading out to sea. Strangely quiet.

It was around 8 am when we finally reached the anchorage behind the breakwall at the south end of Raritan Bay and dropped the hook then crashed out for a couple of hours to catch up on sleep lost from the overnight passage.

By early afternoon we'd taken the dinghy into town and had a look around. I was completely unfamiliar with the geography of this area but learned that Sandy Hook refers to the 6-mile-long sand spit that runs south to north and creates a large, moderately sheltered bay. And it is not the same Sandy Hook where the horrible school shooting happened - this is in Newtown, Connecticut, which is a couple of hours away from here. In the nook of the hook are a series of smaller towns, the closest of which is Atlantic Highlands - where we spent the afternoon exploring.

Atlantic Highlands is a cute town, with an interesting high street, but not much was open on a Monday, particularly the Monday after Easter. We did find a grocery store and picked up a lovely little basil plant, which was the same price as buying a small clump of basil. I was also intrigued when Ana walked up to me carrying scruffy-looking egg salad sandwich, hermetically sealed with a triple layer of plastic over the plastic casing and a plastic sticker announcing the price of $5.99 in strengthy US dollars, translating into a ten dollar snack.

"Want to split this?" Ana asked me, as she fluttered her lengthy and luscious eyelashes and smiled.

"Didn't we just leave the boat?" I asked her. "I had lunch before we left and thought you did too?"

"All I had was toast."

"Why didn't you eat more? Man, you're meal planning is atrocious," I said, realizing these overnight passages tend to flatten my kindness.

"That's all I wanted for breakfast. Fine, I won't get it," she said, flinging the sandwich down the toilet paper aisle where it slid like a curling rock, slowly turning and coming to rest right on the button and, ironically, right beside where a teenage worker was sweeping the floor. He was clearly not a curler; if he was he would have been Hurrying Hard instead of watching it just slide down the floor.

"Damn, don't be so hasty! You can get the sandwich, I just don't want any," I said, trying to dig myself out of the hole I'd slipped into. But by that time she'd already moved on and found a couple of freshly baked rolls and an apple for half the price. Disaster averted.

After a stop at an antique/junktique store where they had a lovely collection of knick-knackery, but sadly no vintage Playboys or Hustlers like you often find in these places (and are rarely shielded from viewing in plastic packaging), we returned to SeaLight to chill out for the rest of the day as neither of us were feeling at the top of our game. Yet, we were relieved and pleased to have made it to NYC and finished our final overnight passage.

I scanned the FM radio, looking for a good Latino station and made an astounding discovery. You know the radio voice that comes on saying station's call letters, slogans, promos, and that sort of thing. After scanning a dozen stations, and recalling all previous Spanish FM radio stations I've listened to over the years, I realized it's the SAME GUY. It's the same guy on every station. The voice is identical, with it's baritone texture, frantic, yet understandable delivery, animated inflections, hoppity rhythm, and rolling those double r's like a motherfucker. That dude must have nailed his first radio job in his teens and cornered the entire market.

Or.....maybe it's just a clever AI.

Disaster At Sea

Cape May to Sandy Hook, New Jersey – 116 nautical miles sailed

When things go wrong on a sailboat, they can go wrong very quickly.

It was 11pm when SeaLight hit something big in the water. We were three miles off the coast of Atlantic City, in the darkness of an ocean passage, halfway through our 19 hour run to Sandy Hook, near New York City. Ana was at the helm on first watch and I was asleep in the v-berth. I was awoken by a massive crash and leaped out of bed as the boat came to a near standstill. I could hear surging water then heard Ana screaming my name as I flicked on the cabin lights to see what had happened. There, just in front of the chart table, was a massive hole in the hull with cold ocean water gushing through in an unstoppable torrent. Ana had opened the companionway hatch and was standing on the stairs, eyes wide and hands over her mouth as she looked down, frozen by the sight of the cabin floor filling with water.

“What happened?” I yelled as I quickly pulled on my pants and a shirt then started grabbing pillows from the bed and tossing them into the cabin.

“I don’t know. We hit something big in the water but I couldn’t see what it was. It was too dark!” she said, panicking, as she descended the stairs, completely in shock.

“Make sure the bilge pump is on,” I said as I crammed two of the pillows into the gaping hole, which was roundish and looked to be at least a foot in diameter and jagged with fibreglass shards, which needled into my hands and arms as I adjusted the pillows. There was a large crack running lengthwise from it, also leaking a lot of water. Ana checked the electrical panel and told me the bilge pumps were on.

“Can we stop it? Can we repair it?” she said as she rolled up her pant legs.

“I don’t know, the pillows are slowing it, but I don’t know if the bilge pumps can keep up,” I said as Ana handed me another pillow plus one of the dinette cushions. “Ana, get the ditch bag and whatever else we need in case we need to abandon ship.”

“What? Is it that bad?”

“Look at the fucking hole! The water level’s rising even with these pillows in. Can you lower the dinghy?”

“No, it’s too high, I can’t reach it, remember?”

“Okay, just get all the stuff we need. We can dinghy into Atlantic City, it’s only a few miles. Grab the ditch bag and whatever else we need to save. I can hold this while you do that, the pumps are working but that water’s coming in too fast, and it’s probably getting on the batteries so I don’t know how long they’ll keep working. Hurry!”

Fortunately we had prepared a ditch bag which had all the emergency items we would need – a portable VHF radio, water, food, compass, signalling device, flares, flashlight, first aid kit, passport, and boat documents. While I held the cushions and pillows in place Ana grabbed my empty backpack and stuffed in her jewelry, our phones, our wallets, the laptop, a couple of hats, a blanket, some clothes, and a few other things.

“Okay, here’s the stuff, should I put it in the dinghy?”

“Yes, then come back and we’re going to trade positions so I can drop it in the water. Shit, this isn’t working great, look at the goddamn water pouring in.”

“Do we need to do a mayday call?”

“Yes, we should, but first get that dinghy loaded.”

Ana climbed the stairs with the gear and was back in seconds. The water was rising and now more than ankle deep. I was very scared, but trying not to show it.

“OK, do we have everything we need?”

“I think so,” Ana said, now crying. “But we’re going to lose all our stuff.”

“Hey, if you want to grab more things, go ahead, we have time, I can hold it.”

“No, forget it, it’s just stuff. OK, do you want me to hold that while you get the dinghy ready?”

“Can you do the mayday call first?” I said as I jammed in another dry pillow. “Say Mayday three times, give a boat description, say there’s two of us, and read our GPS coordinates off the radio. Oh, push the Distress button on the radio too. Wait, just tell them we’re three miles off the coast of Atlantic City. The Distress button will send our GPS coordinates automatically.”

“Maydays are for life or death situations, right? Are we definitely sinking?”

I looked at the water level then said, “You’re right. Let me get that dinghy dropped first then I’ll make the call. Can you take over from me? Push here and jam in more dry pillows if you need to. I’ll be right back.” We transferred positions then I grabbed one of the head lamps and ran up to the cockpit and to the stern to the dinghy, which was full of the stuff Ana had tossed in, plus two lifejackets we always keep in there. I added in the spare gas tank we keep in the stern locker, then dropped the dinghy down from the davits, released the clips, then did a quick bowline knot to tie it to the arch. I also realized the engine was still running and remembered something I’d seen in an online post a few months back.

“Ana, I have an idea,” I said as I bounded back down the stairs. She was soaked with water and doing her best to hold the cushions in place. “I can remove the engine water intake hose and let that suck up the water in the cabin. That might be enough to keep the water level where it’s at, especially if those bilge pumps keep running. Then we can drive the boat into shore and get help.”

“So we can save the boat?”

“It’s worth a try.”

I opened up the chart table seat and pulled out my toolbox, which was still dry, and got a screwdriver and pliers. I then got on my hands and knees in the frigid water, opened up the engine compartment, and tried to remove the water intake hose from the seacock, but I couldn’t yank it off, despite the gallons of adrenaline pumping through my body. I grabbed a utility knife from the toolbox and cut a line up the hose which enabled it to slide off. I shut the seacock then directed the hose to the cabin floor where it began greedily inhaling water.

“What do you think?”

“It’s sucking up a lot of water. I don’t think the level is rising anymore, but it’s hard to tell with it all sloshing around in here.”

“Ok, why don’t we try to drive the boat into Atlantic City. If we can get it to a marina and get through the night maybe they can lift us out. Do you want to drive the boat or hold the cushions?”

“You drive, I’m okay here.”

I went back to the helm, pointed SeaLight towards the flashing lights of Atlantic City, and throttled up to maximum. With my headlamp I looked around the boat to see what it was that we had hit but couldn’t see anything. Maybe a floating container? I dropped a waypoint on the GPS and checked the depth – 36 feet.

“Kris!” came a scream from in the cabin. I put it on autopilot and stuck my head below.

“What’s happening, are you okay?”

“Slow down! Slow way down – I’m not able to keep the cushions in place and the water’s pouring in!”

I returned to the helm and throttled down. “Is that better?” I yelled into the cabin.

“Yeah, better. It’s okay there.”

I went back down into the cabin and helped Ana rearrange the pillow plugs then said, “OK, we better make a radio call to the Coast Guard. I don’t think we’re in a mayday situation anymore, but we need to let them know we’re in trouble. Maybe they have a high speed pump they can use.”

“Are you sure it’s not a mayday?”

“I’ll just call them and tell them what’s going on and ask for help.”

I lifted the handset, put on my non-panicked voice, clicked the button and said, “US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard. This is sailing vessel SeaLight, a 43 foot Beneteau with two aboard. We’ve hit something in the water and punctured our hull and there’s a major water breach. But we look to have stabilized the water level and are motoring towards Atlantic City. We are currently three miles offshore,” I said, then paused.

“Sealight, Sealight, this is the Coast Guard, sector New York. Are you in distress?” came a call on the radio.

“Coast Guard, this is SeaLight. Yes, we are in distress, but I think we can make it into Atlantic City. We have the engine pumping water from the cabin and the hole mostly blocked with cushions. But we need some direction from you on what to do next.”

“What is your position? What is the condition of the passengers? Did you hit another vessel?”

I read out the GPS coordinates then said the two of us were all right, but panicked, and weren’t able to see what we hit, but it wasn’t another vessel, unless it had no lights and immediately took off. I told them we were motoring at half speed to the Atlantic City inlet. They gave me a cell phone number to continue the discussion and I used Ana’s phone to call them. I explained the situation to them and that the leak was currently under control. They gave me the name of the marina that has a travel lift and told us to go directly there and tie up at the lift out location and that a nearby Coast Guard vessel would meet us there.

I hung up the call then helped Ana with plugging the hole. We looked at each other and eked out smiles. We were going to be okay.

In reality, none of the above happened. We had a surprisingly calm and pleasant overnight run to Sandy Hook, across the bay from New York City. But I often like to imagine these kinds of scenarios and run through my mind how we would handle them and ensure we are prepared as we can be to survive the most likely problems at sea. For example, having a ditch bag, spare gas, a spare VHF, and easily accessible flashlights. Most potential sailing issues can be foreseen and are not even that hard to picture. Some of these include an engine breakdown, sails ripping, a de-masting, a failed thru-hull letting in water, getting caught in an unexpected storm, getting a crab line or fishing net wrapped around your prop, a boat fire, or a collision as I imagined above. Running through the sequence of likely events after each of these then allows you to ensure you have what you need in place to handle the situation. For example, if our prop gets fouled at night by a crab pot, we’d need to have diving equipment (which we do), an underwater light (which we do not), and at least a couple sturdy cutting knives (which we do). If the engine fails, we need spares of the most common parts (which we do) and know how to replace them (which we do, because we do as much boat maintenance work as possible on our own so we can learn it). If our mast broke off we’d need a saw or bolt cutters to cut the rigging clear (which we have), then lots of rope (which we have) to jury rig a replacement to get us to harbour in the case we lost the engine too.

This is also a test to see if people read the post right to the end!

Sorry to freak you out Mom.

Battle of the Dolphins

Cape May, New Jersey – 10 kilometres walked, 3 miles in dinghy

There’s a lot to like about Cape May, New Jersey. There are classy mansions, a clean fine sand beach that runs for miles, upscale hotels, downscale motels, vacation rentals, a beach promenade for walkers complete with public washrooms and showers, bars and restaurants of every possible description, a racially diverse crowd, whale and dolphin watching tours (three times daily), historical trolley tours, walking tours, kitschy tourist shops, elegant boutiques alongside thrift and consignment stores, a lighthouse, a schedule packed full of festivals and events, beachside cafes and coffee shops, accessible grocery and hardware store, a public library, a craft brewery, a laundromat.

We’ve had two days to fully explore this town and we liked it. We liked it a lot, especially with the warmer temperature today, sunny skies, and that community mood of overwhelming happiness knowing winter is over and summer is on its way. Like in Canadian resort towns, late spring is a great time of the year to be here to enjoy the bubbly optimism and thinner crowds than you get in peak summer season.

Now, the dolphin wars. As Ana and I were sitting in SeaLight’s cockpit enjoying a happy hour drink (we can no longer call them sundowners as the sun isn’t setting now until 8pm and by then we are usually snuggled down in the cabin), we saw a pod of local Cape May dolphins surfacing, chasing fish, joking around, and having a pretty good time. Then, across the channel and in from the bay we saw a different pod of dolphins entering cautiously. This was a gang from Atlantic City - flashy hustlers, hot shots, slickster dolphins, moving in on the Cape May territory, looking for trouble.

The Cape May pod suddenly went quiet as they noticed the intruders, here to steal their fish, to claim their underwater turf. This Atlantic City pod had tried this in the past and failed, but today they looked more prepared, cocky and aggressive.

“Scud, we meet again,” said Captain Beaky, the leader of the Cape May pod.

“You and your little buddies have held claim on the prized Cape May fish stocks long enough,” Scud squeaked as he rubbed his fins together. “Now scram, or there’s going to be trouble.”

“Make me.”

“What?”

“Make me, you ignoramus,” dared Captain Beaky, cracking his fin knuckles and spitting out the side of his beak.

“That’s it. C’mon boys,” Scud said as his porpoise posse lined up behind him in a perfect V formation. The Cape May pod similarly lined up, energized, and in form. They were ready.

The dolphin dance off began. Scud began with a magnificent forward flip as two of his henchmen backflipped behind him, to a chorus of squeaks and clicks from the supporting cast. Captain Beaky and his top three lieutenants dove high into the air, in a perfectly synchronized aerial display, sun shining off their teeth as they smiled and winked on their way down.

Back and forth they went, showing off their best leaps, flips, spins, turns, and surface tricks as they danced for dominance. Ana and I sat in the cockpit, gobsmacked, on the edge of our seats, as we watched the glorious battle between these equally skilled pods. But, in the end, there could only be one winner.

Scud hung his head, eyes downcast, dorsal fin limp, after seeing the Cape May pod’s grand finale, finishing with a triple flip two and a half gainer tail twerk from every dolphin in the pod, expertly executed with flawless synchronization. He knew that he’d been beat.

“Next time,” Scud said as he turned and swam back up the channel, his discouraged team trailing behind him. “Next time.”

Haunted Mansions and Joke Shops in Cape May

Cape May, New Jersey – 6 kilometres walked, 3 miles in dinghy

We floated into the anchorage in Cape May, New Jersey shortly after 6 am, making it a 24-hour run. This had been among the most pleasant of ocean runs we’ve done on the trip – small waves, minor swell, light wind, and hardly any boat traffic. We motored the entire time, only having sufficient wind to motorsail for a few hours, and our route took us near shore so we were in sight of land the entire time.

After catching up on sleep for a few hours, we took the dinghy into shore and tied up at the South Jersey Marina, for free, and it was completely dead with only a handful of boats in the water, very much unlike our previous visit when the marina was chock-a-block. The anchorage too had only one other boat; last time there were many more, so it does feel like we are well ahead of the pack this time.

The crowds that were absent from the water were more than made up for on land – Cape May’s downtown was packed full of visitors, particularly families, likely because it was Good Friday and kids were off school. Ana and I had worn long pants, jackets, socks, closed shoes, and I sported a toque, but the touristos were wearing shorts and t-shirts and eating ice cream in the glorious springtime 14-degree weather. Just looking at them made me shiver.

We encountered an enormous old building with a wooden sign hanging in front that read Southern Mansion so we went up to the front door and rang the doorbell to see if we could have a tour. The man that answered told it was a 24-room bed and breakfast and the owner had renovated it from a derelict state in the 1990’s to the glorious mansion it was today. He told us to take our time and have a look around then went back to what he was doing, leaving us on our own to explore. It was a truly magnificent place, with all you would expect from a haunted mansion – a huge parlour with standing mirrors and wingback chairs and floral couches, a grand spiral staircase, intricately weaved carpets, classic monochrome images hung in elaborate frames, original oil paintings, and the mysterious sense of the paranormal around every corner. We thought it would be a lovely place for our 25th anniversary “re-wedding” in 2026. We’ll be coving the cost of everything and the first 22 of you to respond with the coupon code “CAPEMAYSOIREE” get to come.

Washington Street is the pedestrian mall in downtown Cape Map and lined with many tourist-oriented shops. One is called Swede Things and has Scandinavian themed merchandise such as aromatics for your Christmas glogg, elf and fairy figurines, elaborately embroidered kitchen towels (one which was threaded with a ponnukukor recipe), toques embroidered with Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Iceland (take your pick), humorous viking t-shirts, an awesome black cap with SKOL! in large white letters, and an array of other Scandinavian knick-knackery. Ana really wanted me to buy the Skol hat, as my current cap is dirty, smelly, falling apart, but still functional, so instead I saved our money for lunch.

We stopped at an Irish pub to share fries and a sloppy burger of mediocre quality and I had a pint of the local IPA which was just dandy. Our lunch reminded me of so many similar springtime lunches we’ve had in Canada on barely-open restaurant patios where the sun is shining but the air is cool, yet everybody is so desperate to get to summer than they are forcing themselves warm in insufficient clothing. It was nice, it felt good, with the promise of better weather in the air and the happy smiles of the passersby as they enjoyed their Friday off.

Before stopping at the grocery store to pick up a couple of things, we paused at the Just For Laughs joke shop to have a look around. There used to be one in Saskatoon called Dirk’s Discount (commonly known as Dirty Dirk’s) and you had to be 19 to go in (unless accompanied by a parent – thanks Dad!) as they had some very adult-appropriate products, you know – the stuff that’s commonplace today in these modern love shops (and online), but was otherwise impossible to find back in the day. We’re talking blow-up dolls, rubber penises, and porno mags, but also non-sexual gag gear like snapping chewing gum, stink bombs, puke-scented candles, hand buzzers, hillbilly teeth, cigarette bombs, exploding golf balls, fart machines, plastic vomit, rubber dog poo, and Whoopee cushions. It was always a treat visiting Dirty Dirks and it was impossible to leave empty-handed.

Well, Just For Laughs had a few gag items, but seemed to specialize in rude tshirts, socks, and drying towels. There’s one I really liked and would have been perfect for me, but like the SKOL! hat, it just cost more than I was willing to part with.

It was 6 pm when we returned to SeaLight, exhausted, but gathered enough energy to have a light dinner of leftovers, do some work on taxes, then watch one episode of Black Mirror before retiring for the evening.

Ocean Run to Cape May, New Jersey

Hampton to Cape May, New Jersey – 150 nautical miles sailed

As we spent the day on the ocean, practically alone on the water, in pristine conditions, it was hard to believe we'd be in Cape May by the following morning. Cape May was the first offshore ocean destination of our journey, which we reached in October of last year and it was such a thrill. Graduating from the protected waters of the Erie Canal and the Hudson River to the Atlantic Ocean was a major transition and the moment we arrived in Cape May felt like we were truly on our way, and the dream of reaching the Bahamas in SeaLight was possible, maybe even probable. We had fully partnered up with Ben and Kate in SV Waddington by that point and were buddy boating our way south in the comfort of having friends nearby.

I remember the discussions Ana and I were just starting to have in Cape May, and which would intensify as the days and weeks went by. These conversations were about the journey thus far. It had been great – no doubt about it – but we had a better understanding of the work involved, the distances, the slow progress, the challenges, and wondered what lunatic would ever consider making this punishing trip every year. There were cold mornings, difficult ocean passages, boat issues, navigational challenges, close calls, and so much decision making under intense situations. The trip was turning out to be more difficult than we had anticipated. Not bad, not unenjoyable, just a little harder. Our thoughts were tending towards this being a “one and done” sailing adventure.

Then…we reached the Bahamas. All those months of traveling and challenges and difficulties melted away as we found ourselves floating in quiet anchorages, catching lobster and conch, snorkelling with incredible sea life in impossibly clear water, making new friends around mystical beach campfires, exploring small villages, hiking through peaceful island trails, popping corks in SeaLight’s cockpit as the hot sun slowly sank into the endless ocean horizon.

The difficulties of the long journey were forgotten.

And then, at the south end of Long Island, as Ana and I held hands and walked the powdery sands in front of Gordon’s Beach Bar, we realized we had gone as far south as we would go and the next day would be the first of the turnaround and long journey home. Of course, we still had plenty left to explore in Bahamas, and we did, but when we left Treasure Cay, Abaco for the 230 mile run back to the US, that truly felt like the start of the return trip. And we wondered if it was true, what other cruisers had told us, that the spring journey north was much faster than the autumn journey south.

They were right.

We will return to Cape May tomorrow and the miles since Treasure Cay have gone rapidly and painlessly (mostly). I don't know why it has felt like this; maybe the increased hours of daylight, maybe it's the anticipation of summer in Canada, maybe it's because we know the route and what to expect, maybe it's because we've stopped less to explore, maybe it's because the constant winds have enabled us to sail more frequently, maybe it's because we've done more overnight ocean runs. I really don't know. We’ve had fun along the way, experiencing new places and new routes, and it hasn't often felt like a slog. It has certainly gotten colder, but the weather is warming up, and soon we’ll be putting on sunscreen again. We now understand how people can do this trip every year, despite the distance, cost, and time required. The journey is the destination and the destination is remarkable.

It's worth it.

A Lock, A Bridge Delay, A Spectacular Undocking, and Exploring Hampton

Chesapeake to Hampton, Virginia – 23 nautical miles sailed, 8 kilometres walked, 2 miles in dinghy

At 7am we were in a lock, the first in many months, and it was an easy one. After we passed through I reminded Ana that this was the last lock of the trip for her, as there are no more between here and New York City. That made her smile.

We arrived an hour later to the Gilmerton lift bridge and accompanying Norfolk Southern railway bridge. Sadly, we were informed the railway bridge would be delayed an hour for maintenance, so I shut off the boat engine and Ana and I did a lengthy stretching workout from my new Stretching Journal then enjoyed a leisurely breakfast as we floated around in the bay. Well, the hour delay turned into two and a half hours, and by the time we were finally let through, gathered there were six other sailboats, two motor yachts, and a giant barge being pushed by three tugboats. The wind had also cranked up to over 20 knots creating a circus of boats circling each other, trying to keep away from the shallow edges of the bay. There was also some interesting chatter on the VHF radio.

“Has anybody gotten an update from the bridge, over?”

“They told me it’s a faulty button and they can’t get it to open, over.”

“It’s a problem with a button, over?”

“They probably couldn’t afford a spare with the 100% tariff, over.”

“That’s not it, the damn button on this ancient bridge is from 1905, there are no spares, over.”

“Having a transmission problem so I’m tossing out my anchor. You guys will all have to go around me, over.”

We finally arrived in Norfolk and stopped at the Ocean Yacht marina to fill up with diesel and water, and were instructed by the dockmaster to pull up to the first pump as the second was inaccessible due to a Canada goose who had laid eggs in a dock planter and her protective husband was terrorizing anybody who got close, even the Navy Marines who arrived in their camouflaged machine gun boat and had to do the prone army crawl to get by the vicious honker. I sent Ana out to do the water hose while I guarded her from the deck with a long boat hook, which I’d redeployed as an anti-goose device. In the midst of all the action, the gusting winds blew our favourite bucket off the dock and we couldn’t reach it. Once all the tanks were filled we were ready to go, but needed a solid plan to handle the hurricane winds as the channel was tight and there was little margin for error. With a highly advanced boating maneuver, never before seen in these parts, we simultaneously released the dock lines, and as SeaLight was blown away I fought the goose from the bow with one boat hook (and excellent fencing form) while Ana fished out the bucket with the other. Once the goose was subdued and bucket safely back on board, I dashed back to the cockpit and applied just enough thrust and wheel to allow SeaLight to exit the marina channel completely sideways, while Ana performed a sequence of bows and victorious arm gestures for the Navy Marines, who were cheering vociferously from the dock and shooting rounds off into the sky. It was a beautiful thing.

We motored right through the insanely busy Norfolk harbour, crossing Mile 0 of the ICW and dodging tugs and barges and naval warships and container ships and fishing boats and aircraft carriers and catamarans and this one vessel that looked like a massive greenhouse on the water, as the winds gusted to 30 knots, stirring up sizeable waves. We finally made through the channel and across the bay to a well-protected anchorage at the neighbouring city of Hampton, Virginia. With the delays we didn’t arrive until close to 3 pm, but we took the dinghy into shore and started walking, still excited to explore the hidden pleasures of Hampton. Well we didn’t find much for pleasures, hidden or apparent. The neighbourhood high street of Phoebus near the dinghy landing was deserted, the wind-driven gravel and dust during the bridge walk across the ICW provided an unpleasant facial exfoliation, the Hampton downtown was not just deserted, but completely dug up, the vehicle traffic was horrendous, some streets stunk of rotting garbage, and we had a general feeling of uneasiness throughout. After eight kilometres of unfulfilling exploration we dinghy’d back to SeaLight and had a lovely sundowner in the cockpit and a nice chat with Kate on Waddington as they were back in the US of A after a pleasant Gulf Stream crossing the day before.

While Ana was cooking dinner for six (leftovers for tomorrow’s big ocean run), I had a great chat with my dad, step-mom, my aunt Maxine, and uncle Ron. The folks were staying with my aunt and uncle for a couple of days in Saskatoon, while they waited for their new condo to be ready to move into. I was really happy to speak with my aunt and uncle again as it had been quite a while and I was thrilled to hear that things were going well for them. Maxine is a voracious reader and is one of those crazy, retired people who reads these journals of mine every day. Ron tells me she really enjoys all the foul language I use and is especially fond of the graphic sex scenes. Maxine has always been a frisky one.

I do not return to my job until August so I’ve booked a solo two-week trip to Saskatoon at the end of June and am incredibly excited to get home to see everybody, as I have not been back for far, far too long. The best part is my sugar momma will be back to work, my sugar daughter will be at her YMCA summer job and probably weekend shifts at the shoe store, and my sugar son will be working both at Glenhyrst and at Eastside Marios so I plan on tapping them for a sizeable travel allowance, commensurate with the level of luxury demanded by prairie vacations. I'm not too proud to beg for money, and if you can't count on family, who can you count on?

Walking Trails and Quebec Tales

Chesapeake, Virginia – 6 kilometres walked

The dock slip provided for a very quiet, very stable, and very good night’s sleep. I didn’t feel a movement on the boat until 6am when a barge came rumbling through, creating a minor wake. We are the only non-Quebecers on the dock so were expecting a massive party last night, with poutine and Rothmans, La Fin du Monde high-alcohol ale, a Mitsu party soundtrack blowing through scratchy, distorted sailboat speakers, the finest French wine, and probably some Montreal Canadiens hockey songs. None of that happened, hence the peaceful sleep.

After our leisurely tour of Chesapeake’s commercial offerings yesterday, today we got down to the business of provisioning but not until after a lovely breakfast of blueberry pancakes where we discovered that it’s far better to put the blueberries in the batter before cooking instead of first cooking the pancakes then gluing the blueberries to surface with maple syrup. The pancakes don’t just taste better, but somehow the added blueberries perform a sort of tire-balancing function and allow you to stand them up on their end.

After walking to the plaza we visited the laundromat with a small sack of clothing and all the coverings from our cockpit cushions which had suffered staining damage from many days and evenings and overnights on SeaLight, making merry with friends with food and drink, or sometimes just spilling stuff on our own. But could the commercial machines handle the damage? On the fabric I could see splashes of red wine, smears of pasta sauce, oil from dropped olives, nacho cheese Dorito fingerprints, droplets of engine oil, cleverly concealed dried boogers on the undersides, stains from juices of many fruits, Omega-3 oil from dropped sardine snacks, plantain grease, cigar ash, saliva drool from Ana’s afternoon naps, circles of ocean salt crust, lager and IPA splashes, but thankfully no beet stains. Beets are not allowed in SeaLight’s cockpit – they must be consumed while hanging one’s head over the sink and wearing disposable coveralls with splash guard sheets hung around oneself like a kill room. But it’s worth it, not least for the resulting toilet art the next morning.

While the laundry machines were spinning we went to Krogers and found a bunch of great stuff on sale, enough to pack our freezers and fridge to the top. Upon our return to the laundromat, we were thrilled to find that the washers had removed all the stains from the cushions and we were mesmerized by their beauty…except for the one little motor oil stain I was correctly blamed for. We walked our goodies back to the boat and I left Ana there to unpack while I returned to refill one of our propane tanks. I wished I had brought a rum and coke as I could have taken a final photo to add to my artful series from yesterday, which I have named: Chesapeake Downtown: A Rummy Cruiser’s Perspective.

After lunch we took a walk across the bridge to the other side of the ICW where we’d heard were some nice walking trails. We first walked to the free docks and saw that our Quebec friends in sailing vessel Hibiscus II had just arrived and they were just heading out for a stroll of their own to a nearby playground. We had a nice chat with Isabelle and Jonathan while the four kids waited patiently, keeping themselves entertained. We invited them all to join us on SeaLight for drinks and snacks after dinner.

Our walk through the trails was lovely and reminded us so much of a similar trail not far from our home in Paris that we visit frequently, particularly in the pre and post boating seasons when there’s just not much going on. One thing I am going to really miss is the luxury of having new places to explore every day as it really does make life feel like a never-ending adventure.

The Quebecois Clan arrived around seven and we had a wonderful evening with them. Now when I imagine spending time in a closed space with four little Quebecer kids, I feel anxiety and fear taking hold of me, with visions of tabernac screams, food being hurled, slurs and insults delivered with impunity to the Anglais, punch fights, farting and belching – you know, all the kinds of things common to Question Period in the Canadian House of Commons. But no. The four kids (one girl, three boys, from ages 12 to 5) were model guests – quiet, polite, happy, and kept themselves fully occupied down in the cabin with games and colouring while we visited with their parents in the cockpit. And we had an excellent visit, sharing stories of our sailing journeys, and talked a lot about Quebec and their candid impressions of their province which were, to say the least, insightful for us, and like nothing we’d heard from other Quebecers in the past. We really, really enjoyed the time with them but were sad this would likely be the last time we’d see them on the trip as we’d be taking different routes north on different timelines. We were also sad that we were not able to speak to them in French and were really wishing Magnus and Stella could be here to prove we’re doing our small bit to keep the vision of a bilingual Canada alive.

Ana sent Jonathan and Isabella a note the next day thanking them for visiting us and urging them to keep doing whatever they are doing with child rearing, as it was delivering spectacular results. I wish I’d taken a photo at the end of the night as the kids had put all the games away, stacked the cards and colouring books, and left it all on a tidy, organized pile on the table, with not a crumb from the snacks or spilled drop from their drinks in sight. I think they may have cleaned the dishes in the sink too, and possibly remade all the beds with military precision.

They invited us to visit them in Quebec sometime, and as they live in Gatineau very near my brother's place, I am sure it will happen.