Chesapeake Bay 2002

a fantastic trip, one of my best ones there so far, despite a few rocky sections

This trip was preceeded by a fair amount of work to the trailer. I bought myself one of those little mig/fluxcore welders that run on household current and set to work replacing the tongue of the trailer, cutting out the old rotten tube and winch stand and welding in new.

I made the tongue slightly longer, too, to help on long, shallow ramps. Additionally, I added keel guides and extra keel rollers. Originally, the trailer had but one keel roller and it was overloaded, its axle was bent and the rubber roller chewed badly. I sandblasted the black, rusty frame. Or perhaps I should say I attempted to sandblast it. The rental unit didn't seem to have sufficient wherewithal to quickly remove the scale and get down to white metal in a reasonable amount of time and sand usage. I tried every adjustment I could, but results were less than spectacular, using way more sand than the rental guy said I would need, too. The time to leave was nearing, so I quickly painted the trailer white,

bolted the fenders back on, finished packing, and replaced the old lights with a new lightbar, made from 2" schedule 40 PVC pipe, which attached to the trailer with some bungee cords. Again, it was rather hurriedly made. At long last I hit the road after dark, intending to drive until tired, then park and resume in the morning.

     I didn't get far and was driving through a construction zone, a bit bumpy, when I was startled to see the driver-side fender flop to starboard and then with a very loud bang go flying away in the glow of my brake lights.

     After coming to a stop on the berm I trotted back to find it, as it would be quite a hazard if it were in a traffic lane. After some searching around in the dark with a flashlight, it was in waist-high median grass. I lugged it back and laid it in the truck bed.

     Evidently, in my haste to bolt the fenders on, I didn't get them on the same way they came off and they were not properly aligned over the tire. Instead of being centered, the rolled lip of the fender was just over the edge of the tread, effectively reducing the clearance between the fender and tire. Road construction bumps ensured contact, breaking one pair of bolts, and then the fender got ripped off the rest of the way, bending and tearing it.

     I inspected the boat and trailer, half-expecting to see a gash in the hull or tire but saw none by flashlight, so I proceeded to the next exit where there was a well-lit truck stop. Further inspection again revealed no damage beyond that to the fender itself. I decided to continue the trip.

     At mile two hundred eighty five, I noticed that the driver side trailer light was dangling. Again, I pulled over. The PVC pipe, which I had hastily cut to make a lightbar, had snapped at a notch. I hadn't taken the time to carefully radius the corners of the notch and the load imposed by the the wind on the license plate caused the PVC to fatigue and snap at the sharp corner.

     After a bit of MacGyverizing we were on our way again. With all these adventures, I was too wound up to sleep, so I just kept driving straight through. I finally arrived at Solomon's Island without further incident, but much later than I had estimated. I was supposed to meet John Edwards, another M17 owner, quite some time earlier. Fortunately, John is an easygoing kind of guy and didn't appear to be too upset that I was so late.

     I launched at the ramp at the base of the bridge over the Patuxent then parked my rig over at Spring Cove Marina for a nominal fee. It is within walking distance, and offers better security than the public lot, I expect.

     To get to Spring Cove Marina, where John and Miss T were, one must go around Solomon's Island peninsula and up Back Creek.

     The next morning after some more packing and re-packing, we set off out Back Creek to the Patuxent. The wind was light, and original thought was to sail down to the Potomac, but we just didn't seem to be making progress in that direction, so we opted to head north to the Little Choptank instead. Flexibility is the name of the game!

     The going was still kind of slow, but at least we were making progress. By the time the shadows were growing long, we had rounded James Island at the entrance to the Little Choptank

We sailed over into Parson's Creek and rafted up. A shared spaghetti dinner and some great tales from John, and all the trials of the trip were in the past. Before turning in, I noticed that the shallow waters of the creek glowed when disturbed. I stayed up a little longer to dabble in the phosphorescence.

The next morning the wind was brisk and Miss T and Busca spent the day zipping in and out the more than half-dozen creeks that feed the Little Choptank.

     What a fabulous time, sailing along, pinching up just a little bit to try and parallel the shore or make it past some jutting point, watching the fishfinder, counting down the feet until the boat was inches from grounding in the soft mud, then at the last second getting a lift, allowing the boat to point a few degrees higher, clearing the shallows, traveling some yards further before the inevitable tack.

     Miss T sailing with a reduced main and big bimini still consistantly outsailed me. With every tack Busca was falling further behind.

     After spending the day exploring the creeks (and our explorations were by no means exhaustive) we anchored in Hudson Creek and the next morning set out in light southerlies for the next river to the north, the Choptank River. I had made this trip the year before during a brief excursion to investigate the Little Choptank.

     Once again Miss T was pulling ahead. I decided to pull out my secret weapon: The spinnaker from my 17' Thistle! Busca isn't set up for a spinnaker, so I had to jury-rig, but after a while it was flying. Unfortunately, John and Miss T had pulled way ahead while I was fooling around rigging the sail.

     The trip to the Tred Avon River required but one gybe and on the last stretch the pole was up forward, the spinnaker straining and heeling Busca a bit.

     At Oxford, I anchored in Town Creek across from "Spinnakers Llanding" restaurant (yes, there are two "l"s) and rode over on Miss T with John for a meal.

     We took some time the next day to walk around the town and visit the grocery store. On the way back, we met an interesting character, "Crazy Sam", who runs a catering business and DJs parties. He is famous for using a 7' frying pan in which he cooks "drunken chicken". In the back of his vehicle, he showed us a coffin! Instead of a body, the coffin housed sound equipment. I'll bet he really throws a party!

     When we got back to the boats, we took off back for the Little Choptank. It was a pretty slow sail and the forecast was for late afternoon thunderstorms. We made it back to Brooks Creek without incident, but not long after we were anchored, we noticed some dark clouds brewing to the south and thought it looked like rain. Then the wind switched directions and a cloud appeared from the northwest over the trees and the onslaught began: the wind howled and the rain blew in sheets. It grew dark and the boats strained against their anchor rodes, the rigging singing and vibrating, the hulls shaking and lurching around. A heavy wooden table blew off of a patio and landed upside-down in the water a few yards to the north of John.

The storm passed, and in the morning the wind was blowing strong out of the northwest. John had been having electrical problems and left to head for a marina in Slaughter Creek, opposite our anchorage. After a while, with no sign of him and not knowing if he were still in Slaughter Creek, I decided to head on out, bending on the 80% jib, reefing the main, and weighing anchor. The Bruce was really buried deeply in the mud.

I was unsure how rough it would be out in the open Bay. Busca was slightly overpowered while beating out of the Little Choptank, but after we rounded down to the south, it was a real sleigh-ride! Water was flying out from the bows and boiled behind! The waves weren't real big, maybe only about three feet, but Busca would catch one every so often and surge ahead wildly. What a ride! Twelve point two nautical miles and two hours later we turned to head into the Patuxent. An average speed of 6.1 knots, with the gps registering a maximum speed of 10.3 knots. I don't know how strong any current was at that point.

     It was a quick trip and not long after entering the Patuxent, I spied another Montgomery sailboat. However, it was not John. It was Steve E., who had trailered his M15 all the way from Arizona, combining a cruise on the Bay with a visit to his stepfather in Delaware. He too had an exciting day, sailing across from the eastern shore. It was his first time in the area with his 15 and was very excited and pleased with how well the 15 handled.

     Together we made our way up Back Creek to meet up with others attending the annual Chesapeake Bay Cruise. There was still no sign of John, though, which was a little troubling. I had half expected to see he had already made it back to Spring Cove Marina ahead of me.

     The next day we set off up the Patuxent to St. Leonard's Creek and the very famous Vera's White Sands restaurant for an unforgettable meal. This place is something else. It is done up in a South Pacific theme, decorated with artifacts that Vera has collected over the years. It even boasts a piano bar which was no small source of entertainment. Vera herself passed out bright plastic leis for each of her guests. To this day, my leis (I have two so far) hang over the fire extinguisher on the compression post in Busca's cabin. Vera is a real character and has been the subject of many local newspaper articles thanks to the colorful life she's lead. Her home, next to the restaurant, has an exotic look about it and it even contains a reflecting pool.

At last we learned John's story: he had still been in Slaughter Creek when I left and had spent the night there, returning to Spring Cove marina the next day. In order to make it to the group dinner at Vera's, he left his boat at the marina and drove up, joining us just in time.

We anchored in Johns Creek next to Vera's, and the next morning sailed out to the Patuxent. Bill R. and myself traded tacks all the way out the creek, crossing in mid-stream, sometimes him in the lead, sometimes myself. I spotted some large skates in the water, gently flapping their "wings", gliding along. I guess they come up into the creeks as part of the life-cycle.

     As we entered the Patuxent, John met us, having sailed up from Spring Cove. On his trip from the eastern shore, John had banged his knee while setting the spinnaker, and it was bothering him a bit.

     We all sailed up to Broome's Island, home of Stoney's Crab House. The crabcake sandwiches there are something else altogether: a bun containing a crabcake the size of a baseball, and it is nearly all meat with very little filler. Talk about tasty!

     After that it was upstream to Battle Creek, famous for two things: It is the location of the northernmost cypress swamp, and also during the War of 1812 was the setting for a confrontation between British and American ships.

     We had a big raftup in Battle Creek,

with former M23 owner Nick H.'s Nimble Nomad powerboat serving as the centerpiece. Lots of great stories were exchanged before we split up at dusk. During the night, John E.'s leg was still very painful, so he called his wife, who is a nurse and explained what had happened. She instructed him to go STRAIGHT to the hospital, so he headed on back to his truck, leaving us.

The next day was a scorcher. Not a breath of wind in the morning, blazing sun, so we all stayed put, some visiting the sand bar at the mouth of Battle Creek to cool off.

     By afternoon, a wee bit of breeze had filled in, so Doug set out to make the most of it and after a while the rest of us followed suite and we sailed back to Stoney's. Al W. determined the extent of the sand bar at the tip of Broome's Island firsthand. ;-) Some anchored out and some stayed in slips at Stoney's.

     The next day we headed back to Solomon's and anchored out across from Spring Cove, where we decided to sail across the bay to Brooks Creek with Steve E. where his step-dad was to meet him with truck and trailer.

     What a glorious sail across the bay! Our flotilla of little boats sped across at nearly hull speed on a broad reach.

When we pulled into the Little Choptank, which was now beginning to feel like a familiar place, we anchored in the next cove to the south of the one where John and I got hammered by the storm. This time the evening was placid.

Here, Steve, Bill, and Al relax after the day's sail

Doug eats well aboard Seas-the-Day. Had the weather not been so pleasant, a boom tent provides protection

The next morning, Steve met up with his step-dad at a ramp on Brooks Creek, and the rest of us sailed up to the upper reaches of the creek, then out and next door to Hudson Creek, where we saw this interesting house that looks as though perhaps a couple kept having unexpected kids

Even small boats can go aground pretty thoroughly, and in this case, Doug just hopped out and pulled the boat to deeper water.

Some grand sailing out the Hudson for the trip back across to the Patuxent.

     Back at Solomon's Island, we learned that John would be kept in the hospital for a while, so someone pulled his boat out and we packed it up for the road. Later, Doug trailered it down to South Carolina for him as it was to be quite a while before John was up and around. That Doug is a heckuva guy.

     When I was packing up my own boat, I pulled the bone-headed move of the cruise: In the heat of the afternoon, and being rather fatigued, I removed the bolt at the foot of the mast (that holds it in place) before lowering the mast. Well, you can just imagine what happened when I lowered the mast! After a few degrees, the foot kicked up and the head came crashing down! I knew better, but clearly the brain was disengaged at the time. The masthead light was totalled, the mast had a dent in the bolt-rope groove, and there was a small divot in the gelcoat. I'm just glad that prior to tackling the mast, I had moved after that nice new S10 pickup had parked very close. Had I not done that, the truck would've had a good dent in it too! Later, at home, I was able to beat out the dent in the bolt-rope track by driving a shaped piece of oak along the track. When it got to the dent, it forced it back to nearly original shape.

     Fortunately, the trip home was without incident and despite all the mishaps, I considered the cruise an absolutely grand time!