Early Wed: Steve arrives on board as we make a final check of weather and prepare to shove off. Patrick is in the cockpit. A dreary start to our adventure.

We shoved off precisely at our planned 6:00 am departure and headed out Great Egg Inlet. The inlet was considerably “bouncy” as we had the outgoing tide and incoming seas fighting each other. While still gray, the spitting rain had stopped completely and visibility had improved to about 2-4 miles: I took these latter two observations as good omens! We rounded the GE mark at the entrance to the inlet, raised sails, set our course at 065 degrees and shut down the engine. The wind was NNW and blowing about 10-12 kts- I was surprised, as I had expected more wind. Frances was nearly directly west of us, - though probably about 80 more statute miles. The boat felt great- she knew these waters and the wind was close to perfect in terms of our intended course. Almost immediately, Steve began to feel nauseous – which I attributed to the bouncy exit out the inlet, combined with the gray and restricted visibility of land features. I reminded him to focus on the horizon and keep the wind (wet and cold though it was) in his face. I also quietly added “move to the leeward rail if you feel the need.” Unfortunately, this last reminder proved to be necessary, and for a while we would be down to three crew. I was a bit concerned at that point- not only for Steve’s comfort and physical well being, but the night ahead would be difficult- we would be crossing all three major shipping lanes into/out of New York and Northern New Jersey harbors- at night and possibly in rainy, storming conditions with limited visibility: we needed all hands, especially if we were to rotate watches and helm stations for sleep.

While the seas were a constant three-four feet, the wave period was a very comfortable 5 secs or so- plus, we were not heading directly into the seas, but at about a 30 or so degree angle- there was very limited slapping of the hull, just enough bouncing to insure Steve was not going to recover soon from his sea sickness. The wind picked up around lunch time (everyone else was feeling OK) and I made the call to reef both sails “before we need to....”. We hove-to, and took in first the Genoa to about a 100% Jib (from its full 140 deployment) with about the same percentage for the in-mast furling main. My only concern at this point was a possible loss in speed- we had been making about 7+ Kts and I really didn’t want to settle for 5 or so. Thankfully, the boat responded by not only keeping her speed up around the previous 7+ kts, but she actually settled down a bit and sailed in a more controlled and smooth manner. We had been over-powered after all! Not excessive or even a lot of weather helm or excessive heal- she just didn’t need all that sail with that much (probably about 15+ Kts) of wind. Wow! Did I love this boat, or what!

Our First Big Ship...

As the morning turned into the afternoon, the seas stayed at a very manageable three to five feet with just a brief shower mid-morning to remind us of our co-traveler “Frances”. Visibility remained surprisingly good- and had actually improved from the morning to about 5-10 miles. The wind stayed at 15-18 kts, and the boat continued humming along at 7+ Kts, occasionally spiking up to 8. (All our speeds noted were from the GPS “course over ground”). As we approached the southern-most shipping lane into Elizabeth New Jersey, we increased our vigilance for ships. We continued to plot our course progress on a physical chart (I NEVER rely on GPS- its a convenience tool only), we knew we would encounter ships- it was a question of when and how many. Sure enough, just about the time we thought and said aloud “we should be spotting ships any time now”- we did just that- a very large cargo ship approaching us aft of our starboard beam. I started taking a sighting with the starboard Genoa winch and within several secs it was clear that on our present courses, we would be crossing paths. We know that even in shipping lanes, we couldn’t predict the course or speed of the approaching ship- only that we need to take early and decisive action to completely avoid a “stressful situation”.

We turned about 120 degrees to starboard, and hailed the boat on 16. I wanted to clearly state my intentions to the captain to sail to his stern. (In my mind, I was ready to start the engine if I even suspected I wanted more power, or if the sail handling got a bit taxing; this crew hadn’t really worked together much yet.)

I suspect the captain understood my intended new course to his stern- both from our early turn and the radio hail- however, his verbal response to me could not be understood by any of us- it was very broken English with a thick accent none of us could place. Our collective perception (“wishful thinking”?) was that he altered his course slightly east to put just a bit more distance between us. We finally passed each other, which, due to his size, visually appeared to be close-, but very likely a very safe few miles. We saw but never felt his wake.

We returned to our 065 course and wondered if we would need the maneuver we had just completed several more times over the next 10 or so hours. If so, it would cost us time- probably a good 20 – 30 minutes for each “detour”. The wind had settled down somewhat, so we shook out our reefs and continued on our journey.

Night-night Time...

Skies had remained cloudy and gray all day, but visibility remained surprisingly good. Late afternoon turned into early evening, and daylight started to dim as we approached the middle New York shipping lanes. We were also approaching our greatest distance off-shore, about 50 Nm or so. Steve continued to be completely incapacitated with sea sickness, although he had managed to keep a granola bar and some water down. We kept an eye on him to insure he was, at least, warm and hydrated. It was clear, however, that our watches would have to be scheduled with three people instead of our planned four. We had also decided during our planning efforts that we needed 2 people in the cockpit at all times. Ken and I took the first watch, while Patrick went below for some food and rest.

I was on the helm when the final curtain of darkness descended upon iLean Windard: what a shock! I couldn’t see anything beyond the immediate cockpit. We had forgotten to switch the GPS display to “night mode” so its “sunlight readable” display had suddenly become blinding. Ken switched the display as I steered totally by compass. My eyes slowly recovered from the too-bright display, but I still couldn’t make out the bow: I continued to steer by compass. Almost immediately, I started to remind myself how I had always advised my sailing students: “Sail by feel; feel the wind on your face, feel how its intensity changes, its almost never constant; feel the wheel in your hands, feel how the boat moves rhythmically with the movement of the water, waves, and wind.” Over the next several minutes I did begin to feel the boat and its own balance with the wind and water motion. I continued to pay very close attention to the compass, but I was also looking side-to-side over each rail- not sure what I was looking at, but it seemed like the natural thing to do and seemed to give me visual confirmation to what I was sensing by my now tuned sense of the wind and boat balance and movement.

Ken kept a close watch all around us, with special attention to the starboard side as the Genoa could easily block some of our view on that side of the boat. We continued making 7 kts- our speed at been great the entire trip and we were making very good time. Just before Patrick left the cockpit, I had suggested taking reefs in both sails again- we didn’t really need to, but our speed was very good, there was no sign (or forecast) for diminished winds, and finally, I reasoned that with a reduced crew at night to probably only two, better to put the reefs in now while we still had some daylight, than later in the pitch black dark in the middle of the night. Our speed continued to be better than 7 kts.

We had decided on three-hour watches, so by the time my 6-9 watch was done, I actually felt invigorated by my “new” sailing experience at night. We had seen a few (probably) large barges and tankers, but nothing requiring us to alter course. I went below for some food and sleep, although I suspected the sleep would be more like a nap. I didn’t need to leave word for any “wake up call”.

Evasive Maneuvers...

I was back on deck at 12:00 midnight and all was well. No more rain, wind steady out of the NNW, boat heading 065, speed (CoG, according to GPS) remained at better than 7 ½ Kts. It was still cloudy and dark as could be. Even if we had a clear sky, there was not much of a moon. We could see scattered lights along the Atlantic shore of Long Island New York, but not much else. There had been a few passing ships while I had rested below, but nothing close.

Patrick was on the wheel, Steve was sorta sleeping (and still very much incapacitated), Ken went below to sleep. We were about clear of the northern most shipping lane into NY, so our ship-encounters were hopefully drawing to an end.

About 1:30 am or so, I saw a ship off our starboard beam. I could make out a white light that appeared to be quite a bit above the water line, the vague dark outlines of what looked like a large tanker, and a red light that appeared on the starboard side of the ship! Wait, was I hallucinating? OK, it was dark- and the outline of the ship WAS vague. I asked Patrick for his perceptions and they matched mine. I tried the binoculars- not much help- it was dark and very difficult to steady the binoculars on a dark fuzzy target a few (I hoped many) miles away. I had immediately taken a relative bearing of the ship to the starboard winch upon first sighting the ship- it hadn’t changed in 5 minutes. I set a new course at 070 to increase the angle of our relative bearings. I waited another 3 or so minutes- still no change to the relative bearing. Again remembering my advice over the years to past students, I decided to take early action. I went below and switched on the spreader light. It blinded us, but there wasn’t much to see immediately around us anyway- it was the large (and slowly getting larger) ship that was the concern. I planned on leaving the extra light on for no more than 5 mins- enough time for the ships watch to see us, although I hoped our radar reflector would also make us known.

The five minutes came and went- I turned out the spreader light and again took my sighting- still no change, and the ship was getting bigger. It was now close enough that it appeared there was a tug along the starboard side of a barge- that was why the red light “appeared” to be on the starboard side of the ship (barge)- it was actually the port bow light of the tug! OK, great! Now we knew what we were up against- and now I longed to see his STARBOARD bow light.

It had barely been 15 mins since first spotting the barge and tug heading towards our starboard beam, but enough already! I was starting to worry. I had told Patrick to steer a new course of 075, which now had us on a close reach but our speed showed close to 8 kts. I turned on the engine, let it warm up for a minute or so, and engaged it to assist our speed. Almost immediately, the GPS showed our CoG speed to increase to just over 9 Kts. I kept fixated on the approaching barge and tug, anxious to see his starboard bow light that would tell us we were no longer on a collision course. It still didn’t appear. In all my years sailing, I’ve never been so near- panic.

Although it was the middle of the night and I was exhausted, I was by now fully awake and energized. I could feel the wind, the boat, the waves; I was aware of the sails and how they were driving the boat forward across the 3-5 foot seas. The sounds! As the situation had become increasingly tense, all of the sounds seemed to grow louder. I found myself listening intently to all of them- especially the sails. I was comforted by the smooth and rhythmic sound of the sails- no flapping or fluttering, leach lines taught; just the “good” sound of the sails driving the boat. “Come on” I quietly urged the boat, “Keep up the speed”!

Finally, after what seemed WAY too long, the relative bearing began to slowly change- he began to drift aft of the starboard winch I had been using to sight our friendly foe. I never saw his starboard bow light. After two or three minutes of the relative bearing drifting aft, it suddenly accelerated and within about 30 secs, he was clearly on a course that would take him well aft of us- encounter over!

I throttled the engine back, let it cool down for a few minutes, and shut it down. We resumed our 065 course, and I recovered my wits. Patrick seemed non-plused as I commented, “that was too close”.

iLean Windward continued on her journey. I continued on watch for a few more minutes and then took over the wheel. Patrick stood watch and started searching the sky for any sign of clearing. The wind remained unchanged, speed was good, but the air felt different- it had started to feel dryer. About an hour after our “close encounter of the big kind”, Patrick called out “I see stars!” Sure enough, off to the NE sky we started to see a few stars. I glanced directly above me and also saw some stars staring back at me through some thinning clouds- I took this as a very good sign!

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