This Tadventure© serial relates the death defying, nine day voyage of the sailing vessel, “Dire Wolf” as it journeyed from Annapolis, Maryland to Charleston, South Carolina, initially, with three hardy and intrepid souls onboard. Others may disagree about some of the choices we made along the way and some of the suspense about the eventual outcome has dissipated (since I’m here to write about it), but I think it’s a helluva story.
My dear friends, Gary and Stephanie Aston-Jones (the Aston-Jones Party of Two) decided some six months ago to relocate from Philadelphia to Charleston. Unfortunately, Mayflower Moving and Storage didn’t have a truck large enough to accommodate their 43 foot, 30,000 pound yacht so other means were necessary to move “The Wolf” in closer proximity to their new home. I was asked, due in no small measure to my rich and storied sailing history, to assist during the delivery. Being a man of great means and unfettered by troublesome employment issues, I leapt at the chance to spend a “few” days on a passage from the cooler northern climes to the sultry, balmy weather that awaited us in Charleston; as an added benefit, I was promised some experience in the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW, “The Ditch”), an experience I had not yet experienced.
[Some background is in order. A month prior to our eventual departure, Gary moved the Wolf from the northern end of the Chesapeake Bay to Annapolis and then to the West River, taking up residence on a rented mooring, conveniently located near my own boat/home. The plan was to have some minor engine work done by Hartges (my marina) to resolve a persistent leak in the fresh water cooling system prior to our departure. Hartges recommended the replacement of virtually the entire cooling system so I moved the boat into a slip at the marina to allow easier access by the crack mechanic team. We allowed a month for the work to be done, but as is often is the case, that wasn’t enough. New parts were ordered (at great expense); many on back-order, and new parts were fabricated (also at great expense). Plans were changed as the departure was delayed time and time again. In the end, however, we were able to leave only a day or two past our initial date.]
Gary and Agu (Dr. Agu Pert, “Captain Danger”) arrived on October 23, a Monday, and provisioned the boat with foodstuffs, personal items, ice, and vast, vast quantities of beer. My eyebrow leapt skyward when I noticed that most of the beverage selection was in the “slut beer” category: Bud Light and Coors Light. I was encouraged when I saw hoisted onboard, a single case of Dominion Ale, a libation worth lifting to one’s lips. I made a mental note to hide it somewhere.
Provisioning complete, the stowage of same made awkward by the presence of a mechanic, prostrate in the companionway between the main salon and the aft cabin, we retired to my vessel for some warmth, a movie (“Bad Santa”), and crew bonding encouraged by the intake of beer, wine, and a delish port. [Gary and Agu have known each other for many, many years and have sailed on each other’s boats through thick and thin. I had met Captain Danger (Captain “D”) when I became acquainted with Gary and Steph during our Caribbean adventure; he crewed on the Wolf during the voyage from Norfolk to Virgin Gorda (literally, “Fat Broad”) in the British Virgin Islands. I have a vivid recollection of walking down the dock in Hampton, Virginia to view the Wolf for the first time. There was sitting upon the aft deck (it’s a center cockpit boat so there is deck space between the steering wheel and the stern of about 10 feet or so), a dinghy, some 10 feet in length, completely filled to overflowing by 12 packs of Bud Light. I turned to Dr. Aston-Jones and said, “I see you’re taking some beer on the trip.” He, not yet familiar with my witty repartee remarked, “Yeah, that’s just Agu’s. I have to go shopping for more before we leave.” (Captain Danger, as you’ll soon discover, liked a beer every “now and then.”)] Our mutual experiences and familiarity rendered the alcohol intake superfluous but, what the hell. Departure was planned for early the next morning.
Rising at the crack of dawn to sunny skies and a bitter, howling wind, we waited patiently while the ace mechanics put the finishing touches on the Wolf’s “new and improved” cooling system and ran the engine to ensure the repairs were satisfactory. I took advantage of the time by speaking with the yard’s service manager about the billing, primarily concerned that they would desire to “settle up” before allowing us to leave (I’d seen them call a guy back on the radio years ago and demand payment, a guy that had lived aboard at Hartges for ten years or so. Hartges is not to be trifled with when it comes to monies due). The service manager assured me that we were free to leave as Gary had conveniently billed MY account for all work performed, parts, shipping, and ice. “WHAT?!?” I exclaimed. “I thought you had made arrangements directly with Gary for billing.” The service manager said, “Well, I had intended to but he never called me back with the necessary information.” I made a mental note to discuss this with Captain Wolf (actually, Gary had received a promotion from Captain Wolf to Colonel Wolf in recognition of his new residence in the heart of the Confederacy, but the fact remained, the bastard had stuck me with his yard bill).
Engine work complete, the Wolf carrying enough beer and ice to last us two weeks during the 18 hour passage to Norfolk, and cold weather clothing sufficient to outfit a reasonably sized Artic exploration (Gary saw the wisdom in my decision to include long underwear in my carry on luggage and Agu and I made a short trip to the K-Mart to procure some for Gary), we made our way out of the West River to the Chesapeake Bay after handing a beer to Captain Danger.
The air temperature was in the “brisk” category as the Wolf’s nose poked into the Bay at 11 AM, expecting 20 knots of wind out of the WNW (perfect for our southerly sail). What we found was 25-30 knots with 3-4 foot seas. Our first experience on the Wolf was not a good one as we turned into the wind to raise the main sail and the main halyard (the rope that pulls the main up) was torn from Gary’s tiny, feminine, professorial hands and began streaming aftward, virtually horizontal from the top of the mast, 55 feet away. I stood ably at the helm, adjusting the throttle to provide enough forward movement through the choppy seas to maintain steerage while Captain Danger put down his beer and headed forward to rescue Colonel Wolf. I made a mental note, “Crap. An hour out and we’re already acting like the three stooges.”
I astutely suggested turning the boat down wind to reduce the apparent wind velocity, ease the pounding of the waves, and encourage the halyard to return to earth (or, in this case, someplace we could reach it). That worked magnificently, except for the halyard reaching part; it was now flying at about 45 degrees from the mast head to the front of the boat, some ten feet above the deck. A little patience, a ten foot boat hook, and some rather comical attempts to snag the halyard found us, halyard in hand, ready to “try again.” I turned the boat back into the wind and we managed to hoist the main. We decided reefing the main (reducing the sail area raised) would be prudent given the wind and sea state; Providence and pure luck were in our favor –Gary only had lines rigged for the third reef (allowing us to raise the smallest sail area possible). Once things settled down, we turned on the weather forecast to see what we had to look forward to during the rest of our voyage to Norfolk.
We knew we had “small craft warnings” in effect when we left (no big deal on a boat that size) but we all gave pause when the weather forecast called for a “gale” on the Bay for that night. [Pretty rare stuff. Pretty damn rare.] We chatted about our sail combinations, pretended putting in the third reef was something we consciously decided to do, and talked about what the conditions would be like crossing the Potomac River entrance. [The Potomac empties out into the Chesapeake and the wind and currents in the area often make the water action quite similar to what you find in a large washing machine as it churns in an effort to separate various stains (undefined) from your various garments (undefined). It is not a fun place to be.] I went below and put on my long johns, two more shirts, a turtleneck, foul weather gear, and my wool watch cap. Colonel Wolf and Captain Danger had a beer.
The sleigh ride to Norfolk was something to experience. The winds were cold and bitter, the seas were choppy and frequently flung themselves over the front and sides of the boat to land full force on the crew huddling beneath the dodger [think: windshield on a convertible with the roof down in a rain storm in the middle of winter], and the boat leapt in the darkness to smash into and onto unseen waves ahead. The Potomac River crossing was a non-event as the wind and current direction were the same and at times, the speedometer showed us progressing at more than 10 knots [nautical miles are longer than statute miles so 10 knots is around 12 miles an hour]; a breathtaking speed on a sail boat of this size, especially in the dark with winds howling at 30-40 knots. The voyage was memorable. Agu had a few beers.
Some time after it got dark but before it got light, we had to cross a major shipping channel (lots of large freighters head to and from Baltimore from/to the southern end of the Bay, from there out into the ocean). Colonel Wolf had retired to his aft cabin (the “Lair”) for some sleep and Agu, his beer, and I stood watch as we charged down the bay. I looked to the left (our port bow) and saw a red navigation buoy blinking in the night, a bright white light to its right, and what looked like the navigation lights of a ship, the size of which approximated a forty story building on its side, moving at about 30 miles an hour in our general direction. “Captain Danger,” I said. I think we have company. He looked out over the dodger, studied the situation and declared, “No problem” and reached for his beer.
I kept a close eye on what appeared to me to be something on a steady bearing, its range decreasing (the very definition of a collision situation). I quickly summoned all my experience as a licensed USCG Master and my remarkable understanding of the scientific principle that teaches us that no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time and I finally recalled that, in the rock/paper/scissors of life on the water, freighters beat sailboats handily. I made my way below to try to raise the ship’s captain on the radio, “just in case.”
[Every large ship that plies the waters of the Chesapeake Bay must take on a pilot for the journey, north or south. Chesapeake Bay pilots are highly trained, highly regulated, and highly experienced captains and, for the most part, pretty nice folks.]
Ships normally monitor channel 13 (bridge to bridge) on the radio so I gave them a shout.
Me: “Northbound ship approaching Rappahannock Channel, this is the sailing vessel Dire Wolf on one-three, over.”
40 Story Building Moving at 30 miles an hour in my direction: [Silence]
Me: “Northbound ship approaching Rappahannock Channel, this is the sailing vessel Dire Wolf on one-three, over.”
40 Story Building Moving at 30 miles an hour in my direction: [Ditto]
Most boats also monitor the international hailing and distress frequency on channel 16. I spun the dial and, my voice slightly raised, said:
Me: “Northbound ship approaching Rappahannock Channel, this is the sailing vessel Dire Wolf on one-six, over.”
40 Story Building Moving at 30 miles an hour in my direction: [Nada]
Me: “Northbound ship approaching Rappahannock Channel, this is the sailing vessel Dire Wolf on one-six, over.”
40 Story Building Moving at 30 miles an hour in my direction: [Bupkes]
I turned the radar on to transmit (most commercial vessels have electronics that tell them they are being “painted” by another boat’s radar and they can use that signal for navigation and collision avoidance) and said to Agu, “Hmmmm…I can’t raise the pilot and I think were getting a bit too close for comfort.” Agu, drawn once again from the careful attention he was paying to our progress (he was tucked under the dodger, facing aft) and his beer, sighed heavily, got to his feet and looked once more over the dodger toward the port bow. “No problem,” he said and scurried back to the relative warmth of his hideaway.
I grabbed the handheld radio we kept by the helm [It might be good to point out that the Warren was steering…that might explain how Gary could sleep, I could run up and down the companionway, and Agu could tuck under the dodger, with no one at the helm] and tried to raise the other vessel (in case there was something wrong with our main radio) without success [that’s very troubling, by the way. Bay pilots almost ALWAYS respond…NEVER had I had one fail to answer me…EVER]. Meanwhile, we were approaching the channel through which this behemoth must go, our pace rapid, the distance to the channel decreasing at an alarming rate. I said, “Captain D, I think we have a problem. I’m going to check the charts. Keep an eye out.” Agu, by this time pretty darn disgusted with all these interruptions said that he would as I made my way below. At some point he must have stood up and looked around because he soon joined me at the navigation station.
“You mean that big freighter coming up the channel from port?” he said. “Um, YES, Agu…THAT freighter…the one I’ve been talking about all along!” I seethed internally, my voice measured, calm, and seemingly unconcerned. “Oh, I was looking at that white light by the red navigation buoy this whole time. You’re right, that freighter is closing fast,” he said. “Wake Gary,” I mumbled, exasperated. Agu ignored my request/order and bent over the chart table. I shouted down the companionway to the Lair, “Gary, get out here.” Roused from his slumber, Colonel Wolf soon appeared in foulie clad splendor, a figure no less inspiring than Nelson at Trafalgar. “What the fuck do you want?” he “cheerfully” inquired. I explained the situation, my voice now ringing out like the lead tenor of the Vienna Boys choir and recommended we take evasive action, soon. Gary and Agu chatted over the charts for a few seconds and declared in unison, “No problem,” as Agu made his way to the fridge and pulled out a beer offering one first to Gary and then to me.
I remember feeling completely relieved when these two able seamen, one of whom hadn’t seen the vessel approaching (despite three chances) and the other, recently roused from his bunk and having never looked out a window to discern the object in question much less its relative position, declared, “No problem.” Yes, relief washed over me like the chilly Chesapeake Bay that had pelted me all night.
By this time, our options were severely limited. The wind was blowing so hard and its relative direction was such that we couldn’t easily turn left (risking a gybe that could bring the mast down in the high winds) and pass the freighter’s stern and we sure as heck didn’t want to turn right, presenting an even likelier chance of a collision, so, in the end, we did nothing. [Well, I fetched my wallet from my gear so my body could be identified and tucked an extra personal emergency beacon in my pocket.] I made my way back on deck and watched in horror as we began to enter the channel, making our way across the vessel’s bow from its right to left, its navigation lights clearly showing on both sides (if you see simultaneously a red light on the right and a green light on the left, the bow is headed directly at you). Gary and Agu joined me on deck, their attention, like mine, clearly focused on the rapidly approaching ship, its bow wave throwing frothy white water into the air and out of its way; much like it would do to us upon impact.
The massive steel sides rose up from the water, our necks craned at an extreme angle to see the superstructure of the bridge, seemingly hundreds of feet above. It was so close I could hear the steady “chug chug chug” of its engine over the roar of the wind as it passed behind us, close enough to hit with a lob wedge. Gary and Agu grinned. Gary said, “Sometimes you have to be more than brave, you have to be lucky!” Agu said, “See? No problem. Who wants a beer?”
I said, “I do.”
