Cast off!

Stamford, 16 October 2006, 0715 hours. Dawn broke on a cool and calm day as we stowed provisions, Walt checked his rum, and Chuck fired up the Yanmars. From the dock Chuck's wife, Jeannie, who had pampered and fed us during final preparations, waved a misty goodbye as we threw off the lines. Were those tears of joy, of newfound freedom?

For the next several days, our route out of New York would be a run down the New Jersey coast to Cape May, up the Delaware River and through a tight canal into the upper reaches of Chesapeake Bay, finally emerging at Norfolk, the official start of the ICW.

It must be said that we headed out with a touch of trepidation, soon to face the congested New York harbor and the turbulent waters of Hell's Gate before breaking out into open ocean. And there was concern about sea conditions in the Atlantic. Although reports were good, once committed there were few places to duck into should conditions suddenly deteriorate. But what the hell... one way or the other, we were going.

Westward from Long Island sound, we funneled into the East River toward the Big Apple. Passing Rikers Island prison Walt waved to some old buddies, then kept an eye peeled for navigation aids, ferries, tugs, and container ships that could ruin our day as we sailed past Ms. Liberty toward the Verrazano-Narrows bridge.

Down the East River past Ms. Liberty

Escaping NYC past Sandy Hook and down the Jersey coast.

Once cleared of New York, we hit the Atlantic which, despite our worries, turned out to be dead calm. Walt hollered, "Punch it, Pancho" and Chuck floored it. At 22 knots we cruised past Sandy Hook down the Jersey coast to Cape May, the entrance to the Delaware river. The sun warmed us up and vast shimmering shoals of baitfish teemed on the surface, making easy pickings for terns and pelicans. By 1530 hours we were tucked into a marina, way ahead of our anticipated ETA. Time for rum!

Chuck, the merry mariner, flashes his photo-op smile.

Cape May, 17 October 2006, 0745 hours. What a difference a day makes. Casting off under heavy gray skies and a light drizzle, we entered the Delaware on a northwest heading. The wind picked up and light waves turned to heavy chop, requiring close attention to the nav buoys. And now we became part of a seemingly endless flotilla of sailboats and trawlers and powerboats, all southbound to Florida at the height of the annual "snowbird" migration. Ever the courteous skipper, Chuck slowed down as we passed each sailboat, so as not rock it with our powerful wake. Others weren't so considerate, and when they roared by the airwaves instantly filled with angry accustaions and biting sarcasm, being that swearing is prohibited on the VHF. Not prohibited by the FCC are hand gestures, which were observed on occasion and weren't always friendly.

Departing Cape May on a northwest heading to
the canal that links the Delaware to Chesapeake Bay.

Trapped in time from another era,
a tall ship glides along the Delaware River.

We exited the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal
into the upper northeast entrance of Chesapeake Bay.

The sloppy, choppy day worsened with zero-vis rain on Cheasapeake Bay, making nav aid identification a tense challenge. But despite the wave action Walt did not feed the fish -- had he at last gained sea legs? By mid-afternoon conditions improved somewhat and we tied up at pricey ("Money's no object.") Mears Marina, in Annapolis, home of the U.S. Naval Academy and sailing capital of the USA. It was good to be in a first-rate harbor with clean, hot showers.

Entering Chesapeake Bay southwest to Annapolis.

Walt shows off his sea legs next morning.And there's that trademark grin again...

For three days we basically played tourist in this -- dare I say quaint? -- town where it seems everyone lives and breathes things nautical. Again, Chuck was the tour guide as we visited the Naval Academy and Captain John Paul Jones' crypt, which was pretty damn impressive! Sadly, we didn't get a chance to meet the man himself, having expired long ago.

Walt took full advantage of Chuck's largesse to devour as much fresh seafood as possible, especially soft-shelled crab cooked whole with all those little legs hanging out. During the day we ran around admiring boats and doing stuff with Patti and Lee, two cool film biz ladies Chuck has worked with over the years. Filmmaker Dave Clark and veteran National Geographic wildlife cinematographer Norris Brock paid a visit to Deregulation, which made for lively conversation and pro bono sailing tips.

Walt, Chuck and Norris aboard Dereg.

Chuck and Dave.

An extra bonus was having dinner with cameraman Gonzalo Accame, being that he's a cool dude and gave us a bottle of primo wine. Gonzo, you're always welcome!

Walt trying to look ruggedly nautical.

Annapolis, 21 October 2006, 0910 hours. After three glorious days of lollygagging around, it was time to resume our southbound journey. On Norris's recommendation we scooted across the bay and tucked into St. Michaels. This is basically a scaled down version of Annapolis, touristy but nice with overpriced souvenirs.

St. Michael's, 22 October 2006, 0905 hours. We slipped away under heavy clouds and cold, light rain. The bay was nasty and gnarly, requiring super-close attention to nav aids, especially after Skipper Chuck made a mud smoothie with the props exiting the harbor. Walt, his sea legs firmly established, did not barf, and the sail back over to Solomons Island on the western shore wasn't all that bad.

We reconned the marina scene and snagged a buoy at Zahniser Marina for a palty below-budget $25 and dinghied ashore. Shore leave wasn't all that exciting, so we hit a seafood market and Walt made prawns scampi with Angel hair pesto. Chuck seemed to enjoy it, even though he is not a big pesto fan, due to a limited palate.

Editor's note: the cute little candle was Chuck's idea.

These guys cruise the marina, making the
rounds from boat to boat in search of a free lunch.

Worthy of note: Chuck deserves an honorable mention and probably a medal of some sort for his actions this night. At 0235 hours, swinging on our mooring buoy, wind howling, Chuck's nautical instincts kicked in. He ran topside to find a sailboat adrift and about to hit us. With a shout he alerted the crew and we both scrambled to fend it off until the skipper pulled the hook and motored away. All was fine, but neither of us slept very well after that.

Solomons Island, 23 October 2006, 0835 hours. Clearing Solomons harbor was a breeze... which then strengthened to turn the water to chop, then heavy seas. Luckily, the wind was SE, creating favorable following seas instead of subjecting us to drenching head-on waves. Nevertheless, much to Chuck's vast amusement, Walt once again paid homage to Nepture by offering up breakfast to the denizens of the deep. So much for those sea legs!

Once committed, however, we decided to slog it all the way to Norfolk and the beginning of the ICW. We pulled into the Tidewater Marina, refueled, and lashed the Zodiac to the stern. Walt had a few rums. Chuck popped for dinner at a local hangout where Walt promptly befriended a macaw, ogled the one cute waitress, and scarfed down a bowl of She Crab soup, which was superb.

The entrance to Norfolk, and Mile One of the ICW.