sailFar.net

This is lifted from her posts in TSBB, and is unediited by me. From here on, it's all Laura's words.

Day one-

(http://downloads.c-2.com/photos/1191394052.jpg)

September 08, 2007

I had planned to begin my first single-handed cruise on Tehani six weeks ago but as I was loading the last of my gear on board my mother called to tell me that my brother had passed away. Now I am even more confident that I need to take this voyage. I need my "Charles Brennan" time: time alone to repair my soul and rejuvenate by flesh. Stress takes its toll on all of us.

My plan is to anchor in the lee of Matagorda Island near Army Hole this afternoon then make the long ICW trip to Aransas Bay tomorrow. Anything between there and the time I come home is going to be taken one day at a time. If I can sail, I will sail. If I need to motor, I will motor. If I need to stay put I will stay put. If I want to go ashore, I will go ashore. If I want to stay on the boat, I will stay on the boat. I know I can sail this boat. How will I handle doing everything for myself? How will I handle making all the decisions? Will I like being alone? Will I be afraid?

Charlie bravely let my docklines go. I backed Tehani out of the slip, pointed her towards the channel and waved goodbye. It had been difficult to tell him that I wanted to go on a solo trip. I had first mentioned maybe doing an overnight trip. Then I told him I thought I might take four or five days so that I could make it to Port Aransas. In the end, I told him what I knew was the truth. I would come home when I was ready. It is revealing of our state of mind when the tiniest of things suddenly become hugely symbolic. Charlie found a seagull feather laying smack in the middle of the bimini this morning and he handed it to me with a knowing smile as if it were my Forrest Gump feather. Do we control our destiny or are we just floating on the breeze?

Lavaca Bay is a mirror of morning light. The only ripples are the ones I leave behind as I motor down the Port Lavaca channel. I get the tiller pilot working and go forward to gather the docklines. Now THAT's cool. This is the first time either of us has really used the thing since Charlie installed it. I think it is going to be very handy as I have a couple of long days ahead of me. It is more than 25 miles to Army Hole and about 40 miles from there to Aransas Bay.

After three hours of motoring I finally have enough wind to sail....and as usual it is right on the nose. I have plenty of time and have made this beat to the ICW at Port O'Connor many times so I don't mind. The tiller pilot is great. I get to go for a ride and then occasionally tack the boat. I tried to make a pot of coffee but the kerosene stove has been overfilled with fuel and there is no room to pump air pressure into it. I will have to drain some of the fuel but I don't want to try that while I am beating to weather. It's okay. I can wait.

At 1:40 in the afternoon I enter the ICW at Port O'Connor on a beam reach moving five and half to six miles an hour and more than a dozen dolphins come to greet me. They are all around me; around the bow, around the stern and so close to the cockpit that they shower me as they surface and blow. It's Saturday and as I pass the ramps where fishing boats are being launched one right after the other Tehani, the dolphins and I get lots of big smiles. We get our picture taken numerous times and we get one loud "beautiful!" from a fisherman that is grinning from ear to ear as his buddy pulls out a camera. For a moment I wished I could see the picture then I decide..... nah..... it's much better to be IN the picture.

There is a thunderboomer to the northwest but there is nothing to the south so I should be in the clear. I fire up the motor before entering the ferry channel that leads to the island. I may have a good enough angle on the wind to sail but it is narrow and I don't want to risk going aground. I have seen two other sailboats do just that in this channel. I've been told the channel has finally been dredged again and that it carries seven to eight feet of water. The depth sounder shows it does but it still makes me nervous. This little channel always does.

Too tired to beat my way to the island after clearing the channel, I took down the sails and motored the last couple of miles. It is 4:30 in the afternoon. I am anchored in six feet of water in the lee of Matagorda Island and the coffee is cooking. What a good day! I feel like I belong here.

Day two-

Arrgh! Hauling in the anchor chain makes me feel strong..... The sun will be rising soon and isolated thundershowers are looming to the south and east. There is a light breeze out of the northwest. That's not a good sign. That usually only happens when we are sitting on the edge of a low-pressure system. Once I leave I won't find another anchorage until I reach Aransas Bay, forty miles away. The protected bays on theTexas coast are untamed beauties but many are forbidden to all except those with the shallowest draft. My course back to marker 19 where I exited the channel yesterday is 330 degrees. I raise sail while I have a little sea room.

There are two dolphins side by side off the port bow. It is strange to see them sitting still. They are not moving at all. Wow! two explosive simultaneous kicks and they race straight for me like two kids after the prize in a 50 yard dash. LOL! They were laying in wait! They dive over the bow wave, dance in my wake, surface to starboard and then to port. I can't keep up with them. They stay and play with Tehani until I make it safely through the narrow ferry cut and enter the ICW beginning my trek toward Aransas Bay.

I am about five miles west of the ferry channel now, abeam of the last civilization I will see until the ICW opens into Aransas Bay. A dark cloud to the south seems to have sucked all of my air away and I am motor sailing because I have too far to go to travel at two miles an hour. I can smell the rain. An east bound tow passes to port and I see the downpour ahead. I don't know what it will bring with it. I take the jib down.

It is 9:42 a.m. I am moving at just under five miles an hour. The sprinkles have turned to real rain and I am getting soaked. "Uh... Laura..... you don't have to sail right into a downpour. You could turn around, sail right out of it, then wait until the storm moves on."

10:15 a.m. I'm still waiting. I alternate between drifting and sailing in circles to stay in this wider area of the channel. The downpour is still pouring and now there is a fast moving storm thundering behind me. I am caught between the two and can't do much about it but worry. I note the course down the ICW is 240 degrees. I take the main sail down. I need to eat something but I'm too anxious. I wait.

(http://downloads.c-2.com/photos/1191567717.jpg)


10:45 a.m. The thunder boomer has broken up just as it has gotten to me and visibility ahead is much better so the rain must have slackened. I have let one tow pass ahead of me. There is another one coming up behind and two more coming toward me. It's time to go. I need to get moving so I can maneuver in all this traffic.

The wind left with the rain. Then it came back from the southeast. I raised the sails. It went away again. I cranked the motor. I crossed San Antonio Bay. The wind came back then went away again. I ate lunch. It finally came back to stay about 2:30 this afternoon and I had a great six mile an hour beam reach until I left the ICW at 5:00 p.m. The wind was strong and gusty as I sailed into my anchorage behind Paul's Mott and is out of the east now. These winds make no sense to me. I am too tired to cook but I have managed to heat up a can of ravioli. Eleven hours under way. What a long day! I feel good.

Great! Beautiful... keep on telling us about it  ;D

I second that !!  8)

Third !!!!!!!!! Charlie...ya just got a grog for Laura's story..should be under her posting ;)

Very nice...  :D   grog for ya.

Here's Day 3-

I don't know if it was the change in motion or the silence that awakened me. I rolled over and hit the button that lights the digital display on the new atomic clock I mounted in the v-berth. I like this clock. It is easy to find in the dark and I no longer need to grab the flashlight then try to read the tiny numbers on my watch through bleary eyes. One in the morning and the wind has finally laid down. I peer through the port and starboard port lights then back through the open companionway to confirm that Tehani and I are still in the same place we were when I closed my eyes and fell asleep. The lights of Rockport are still strung out to the west like a string of Christmas lights stretched tight along the shore and Port Aransas is still glowing to starboard. Tehani is a good boat. I trust her. I feel sheltered and cared for.

I am up before daylight listening to the weather forecast while the coffee is brewing. It is amazing how quickly I adapt to cruisers' hours. I am usually a night owl. I wonder if it is because my mind and body are restless when I am ashore. NOAA is forecasting a mild front to push through late today leaving north and northeast winds at five to eight miles per hour for the next couple of days. That will be perfect for the varnish work I want to do. It makes me sad to see such a beautiful boat show signs of neglect. I want her to stand proud again.

Rested but glad that I don't have to make another 40 mile trek down the ICW today, I am looking forward to an easy-going day. I need to find an anchorage that will protect me from the east wind blowing now and the north wind that is forecasted. The small bay about one mile wide and two and a half miles long created between Mud Island and San Jose Island seems to be the most logical place but it looks a little shallow. The chart shows an overall depth of four to five feet with a section slightly east of the center with a depth of seven feet. The far northeast end is littered with spoil areas. Four feet of water is a bit tight for Tehani's three foot three inch draft and certainly not enough water to safely anchor ... but if I can find that seven feet of water ... I don't trust these charts. I know the Texas coast. The bottom is always shifting. Old sand bars grow larger or disappear while new ones spring up ... but ...what if I can squeak in? What a great little anchorage it could be...and it's less than fourteen miles away ...this is an adventure, right? I won't know if I can do it until I try.

Except for one fisherman in a small outboard, the bay is empty of traffic. I left the anchor rode on deck and sailed away from Paul's Mott under main as the day's breeze began to fill in. I am on the foredeck unlashing the jib where I had tied it alongside the lifelines then that familiar gurgle from the bow wave kicks in. The wind has just picked up a bit and Tehani is moving along nicely with the tiller pilot at the helm. I go back to the cockpit and check the GPS; just under four miles an hour. Perfect for a day-sail across the bay. Forget the jib. Today I am moseying.

I created a route using Chart Navigator on the laptop this morning. Then downloaded it to my GPS. The first waypoint is where I will need to enter the Lydia Ann channel. The second is where I will exit it and the third waypoint I placed in the middle of the small bay where the chart shows the deeper water. I hope it is there. I hope I can get to it.

There is not much traffic in the Lydia Ann channel either but I crank the outboard and let it idle as a tow boat pushing a six-pack approaches ... just in case. The only other traffic is one inbound light-boat and one fisherman on his way out to the Gulf. I turn the depth sounder on as I prepare to leave the channel. It drops quickly to ten feet, then eight, seven, six. An ominous black hulk of something that looks like a sunken ship rises near the northwest tip of Mud Island and for a moment I think of turning back. The depth sounder drops to five feet. The wind is shifty. I get headed then get a puff. It is mostly on the nose so I have the motor turning over slowly in forward. I don't want to go fast. If I go aground I would rather do it slowly so it will be easier to get back off. Watching the depth sounder is making me a nervous wreck. I turn it off and try to relax. As I near my last waypoint I turn it back on. Well, I'll be da*ned. There be seven feet of water here.

After I got settled in I erected a shade over the main cabin with my spare sheet then scraped and sanded woodwork. I danced on Tehani's bow to hits from the 60's and 70's cranking out of the solar-powered radio. I scraped and sanded some more. I am sitting down to dinner at the table with Clive Cussler tonight, reading "Inca Gold", one book in his series chronicling the adventures of marine scientist/trouble-shooter, Dirk Pitt. Today was a good day.

(http://downloads.c-2.com/photos/1191910029.jpg)

Laura ...you write as beautifully as you paint. Keep it up.

Laura-

Thanks for the post and the photo is great.

Here's the next installment-

Day 4.

NOAA upped the ante on the wind forecast last night and they were right. It is blowing ten to fifteen miles per hour out of the north and my anchorage is a little bumpy this morning. I want to get back to my woodwork as soon as possible. They are forecasting thunderstorms for tonight. The companionway trim and the eyebrows along the cabin top are sanded and taped off; ready for varnish. I am trying some Bristol Finish that was given to us by a friend in Rockport. Charlie brought it home to me and now I have carried it all the way back. I can see the town water tower from where I sit just a few miles away.

Bristol Finish is an amber colored two part finish that has a pot life of about four hours once the hardener is added. The instructions suggest putting on several coats, waiting twenty-four to thirty-six hours for a full cure then sanding and applying the final coat for a smooth finish. I can put several coats on today but I'll have to wait for each one to tack up before applying the next. The radio is perched on the cabin top and Tehani is leading the dance today. I have a cup of varnish in one hand, a brush in the other and no hand for the ship. I close my eyes and focus on feeling her rhythm before going forward.

The first coat of finish done, I am down below trying to read my novel but it is causing me motion sickness. I never could read in the car either unless we were on a smooth highway. I turn on the VHF and listen to the weather report again. Apparently there is a low developing in the Gulf that is pulling this front through. Thunderstorms expected tonight, wind out of the north at ten to fifteen miles an hour again tomorrow, wind out of the west on Thursday then out of the southeast on Friday... or was that Saturday? For crying out loud, north...west...south...east, I'll be all over the charts trying to find anchorages. I think I will go into Port Aransas tomorrow and tie up in the marina.

By two in the afternoon I have finished the third coat of varnish. The wind has continued to build as well as the waves. Every now and then I get a set of waves that are larger than the others. The last one broke on Tehani's port side and sent spray all over the new varnish on the eyebrows. It's just as well; every time I try to wend my way down below I bump into the companionway trim and mar the finish there too. It will definitely need some sanding to get a smooth finish. :(

At six p.m. I decide to move to the northwest side of this little bay and find some calmer water to anchor in before the thunderstorms arrive. I take my shade over the cabin down and stow it, crank the motor then go forward to haul the anchor. I had expected to have trouble getting it out of the bottom but it comes on out as Tehani rises on a wave. On the other side of the bay I find six feet of water only fifty yards from shore and drop the anchor. Back in the cockpit the depth sounder is now showing only four feet of water. I guess I have drifted back over a shoal. I go to the bow again, pull in the chain and anchor, secure it then go back to the cockpit and move the boat about 200 feet along the shore. To the bow again, drop the anchor, let out twenty-five feet of chain and cleat it off. Back in the cockpit I pull the dinghy in close so her tow lines won't get wrapped in the prop and with the motor in reverse I back down to set the anchor. I let the dinghy back out, shut the motor off then go to the bow again and slowly let out the rest of the chain as Tehani drifts back.

Eight p.m., the first of the storms has arrived. A low dark cloud hangs over us and lightning flashes to the northwest. There is a tower with two red lights on the far shore to port that I am keeping an eye on so I can tell if we are dragging. It begins to rain then BOOM! :o darn that was loud. I could not discern any time lapse between flash and its thunder. I am tucked in the cabin with all the hatches secured. The wind is gusting and blowing like stink. One big blast just healed us over to port. I look out the port and keep an eye on my tower. The rain has stopped. I wonder for how long.

The rain and lightning never came back but the wind kept blowing. I was up and down and slept in fits until I realized that Tehani was handling everything much better than I. She's a good boat.

Laura has just finished Day 5-

The world is gray this morning. The strong north wind has the small bay churning yet the overcast sky seems to sit still. It reminds me of winter. The weather is too unstable to go exploring and the marina at Port Aransas is just a few miles away. Check in time is not until four p.m. and even though they said I could come in a little early I have most of the day to spend by myself.

I finished reading my book. I took a nap. I looked over the charts. I downloaded a route to the marina. I took another nap. I tried but I can't escape being left with my own thoughts. I need to know if I really love cruising or if it is something I do because Charlie loves it. He was the one that brought sailing into my life fifteen years ago and he has been my teacher ever since. I don't want to be the wife that blames her husband because cruising on a sailboat didn't turn out the way she expected and I don't want to be the wife that is afraid to take the boat out when she suddenly finds herself alone because her husband has passed away. I'll never know all that Charlie knows about cruising on a sailboat but I think I can handle it and I think I will like it. I thinks so but thinking and knowing are not the same thing.

I remember when our only boat was a Prindle 18 that we sailed off the beach almost every weekend. I started as crew handling the jib then learned to handle the main and helm. We sailed that boat all over the bay. We loaded gear and took her down to the pass where we camped on the beach and we sailed her in "round the buoy" races with the local sailors. I loved that boat but I never knew for sure if I could sail or if I was just good at following Charlie's instructions. I found a cure for that. I bought a Sunfish that was too small for Charlie to go with me. It wasn't a powerful boat like the catamaran but it was fun, especially when she would get up on a plane and fly across the wave tops on a beam reach. I entered races at the Palacios yacht club once a month and I often won. Yes, I could sail and I liked it.

Cruising on a sailboat is an entirely different thing than day-sailing or racing. There are so many more considerations to be taken into account and a whole new set of skills required. There is deciphering weather forecasts, tides and currents. There is reading charts, planning routes, figuring mileage and fuel consumption, traveling in unknown waters, entering new harbors, communicating on the VHF, docking, anchoring, and rowing ashore. Even mundane household chores require ingenuity and new skills. There is provisioning for days or weeks at a time, cooking underway, doing laundry or not being able to do laundry, monitoring water consumption and grasping the ever-elusive hot shower. There are lee shores, shoals, narrow channels, commercial traffic and unavoidable storms.

Standing on the bow I feel the force of the wind. I need to decide how I am going to get out of this shallow little bay. It is a downwind run back to the Lydia Ann Channel. If I go aground with the main sail up I might not be able to get it down and the wind will just push me harder aground. I haul in the anchor and let Tehani drift as I secure it to the bow and stow the chain, feeding it down through the deck pipe. The jib raises a raucous as she rides up the forestay and the sheet stings my face and arm as it whips around wildly in the wind.

It is not a slow or careful sail across the bay today. I am making five point four miles an hour under working jib alone. The Lydia Ann Channel is open to the fetch of Aransas bay where I clear the end of Mud Island and the water turns from a chop to four foot waves rolling up from behind. The water is deep and Tehani's rhythm brings back memories of sailing in the Gulf of Mexico. To starboard stands the Lydia Ann Lighthouse. It once marked the entrance to Aransas Pass but was deactivated after almost a century of use because the Pass had inched its way out until it was over a mile south of the lighthouse. Just past the lighthouse three channels meet on their way out the pass: the Lydia Ann Channel, the Port Aransas Channel and the Corpus Christi Channel. I see rows of offshore fishing boats and a cluster of sailboat masts marking the marina behind the breakwater on the far shore. Just before entering I start the motor, head into the wind and take the jib down.

To be continued.....

Beautifully said...  thanks for the post and looking forward to the rest. :D

Very sweet, Laura.  Looking forward to seeing some great paintings come out of this trip.   ;D

 Tehani and me. Day 5 continued....

Dennis Dryer Municipal Harbor is the official name of the marina. A fuel and bait dock, a restaurant, a row of small condominiums and a mishmash of individual docks and boats line the south side of the harbor. The city docks and harbor master's office are to starboard on the north side. As I look down the long rows of sailboats and powerboats I see the transient slips tucked in at the far end along the bulkhead. They would be easy to get into but I would probably have to use dock lines in order to turn the boat around and get back out. I am glad I won't be in one of those. When I spoke on the phone to the lady in the office this morning she went about describing available slips: one is thirteen feet wide, one is eleven feet wide and one is twelve and a half feet wide. Tehani's beam is seven feet. I didn't think it made much difference if the slip was eleven feet wide or thirteen. I told her I was single-handing so I would like whichever one was easiest to get in and out of.

The harbor narrows at the far end where it terminates into a series of launch ramps. There are no long docks here. There are individual slips with finger piers along the bulkhead. I can't read the numbers posted at the far end of each slip so I just pick one and turn into it. Since Tehani has no breast cleats I take a line from the stern cleat, lead it forward to the jib sheet winch and secure it with two half hitches. I step onto the dock, snub the line around a dock cleat and Tehani lays neatly along side. I smile out loud thinking what a nice job I did getting into the slip. Too bad this isn't my slip. Now I have to go find mine and do it again.

I misjudged my approach to the new slip, ducked out just in time to miss the end of the finger pier then circled around to give it another go. The sun has come out, the dock lines are secured and I survived the walk across the sweltering parking lot to check in. It must be a quarter of a mile to the harbor master's office and restrooms from here.

A fishing boat about thirty feet long is tying up two slips down as I finish putting the cover on Tehani's main sail and stuff the jib into a bag on the bow. It is two Guadalupe River boys that came to Port Aransas to go offshore fishing. They are brothers. One comes every year but this is the first trip for the other. That low-pressure system in the Gulf turned into a tropical depression and they got caught in it. It took the two of them all night and all day to get back in fighting the big sloppy seas. They are very ragged around the edges but their smiles grow big and their eyes twinkle when they tell me how the wind howled and the waves grew quickly to eight feet. The seas made no sense. Waves came from all directions. One would take the helm. The other would try to lie down in the cockpit to rest but waves would wash over the sides and stern and he would come up choking and sputtering. They are very tired but blissfully happy. They make me smile and glad that I am here.

After hiking back to the restrooms I really needed a shower and I wasn't disappointed. The floor and walls started to rock back and forth the moment I stepped in the shower reminding me how I got here. I relaxed and let the water flow. By the time I got back outside the evening had begun to cool off so I walked around the end of the harbor to Finn's restaurant to treat myself to dinner.

I scanned all the seafood entrees but I can't help being a Texas girl. I order a cold Shiner Bock and chicken fried steak. The waitress cracks an impish smile and asks if I would like a place mat and some crayons. I laugh. Being an artist I almost accept her offer. I guess single people are supposed to bring something to replace dinner conversation when they dine alone. I can see Tehani through the window pane waiting patiently on the other side of the harbor.

Laura has written day 6-

"A gentle thump resonating through the hull has drawn me out of my cozy v-berth before dawn. The dinghy is bumping into Tehani's stern as fishing boats being launched at the ramps quietly slide past. Cars are beginning to gather at the end of the main thoroughfare where the ferry will carry them across the Corpus Christi Channel to the mainland and at the convenience store across the road people are pumping gas and sipping coffee out of styrofoam cups.

I decide to walk to the convenience store and fill my gas tanks before the sun heats the day. As I return, the assistant harbor master is shoveling bits of trash that have collected at the base of the launch ramps and stops to help me carry my three gallons of gas back to the boat. I don't have any idea what I did to it yesterday but I have a pulled muscle in the back of my left leg and I am glad to have some help. I also need to fill the forward water tank that I emptied, buy a few groceries and wash some clothes. Check out time is noon and I would like to do my other chores and enjoy the day here so I head for the office to pay for another night. The assistant harbor master has offered to loan me a bicycle and while I wait for him to return I meet one of the liveaboards here at the marina. He confesses that he has been here way too long. What is it that makes cruisers stop moving? Is it fear? Is it comfort? Is it the same thing for all of them or is it different for every person? Do they just get tired?

I stuffed my laundry into a canvas bag and took a spare one for groceries. While the clothes were in the washer I used the time to take a ride around town. The main roads were lined with sidewalks and the charm of local gift shops and quiet neighborhoods of wood-framed houses was only briefly interrupted by one of those big box gift stores. I visited the library to check in with friends over the internet, got the laundry done and was delighted to find some block ice at the grocery store. I stopped for a cheeseburger at lunchtime and spent the heat of the day reading a book in the shade of the second story of a cabana overlooking the Corpus Christi Channel.

A man paced back and forth on the balcony of his condo loudly berating someone over the phone about some business deal for more than half an hour this evening. I didn't think the noise would ever end. I have picked out an anchorage for tomorrow, planned my route and Tehani is ready to go first thing in the morning. The harbor is quiet now and I am turning in early."

Here's day 7-

Charlie called yesterday to tell me the tropical depression in the Gulf of Mexico became hurricane Humberto, the fastest developing hurricane in recorded history. It went ashore at High Island near Galveston as a category one storm. The offshore breeze here this morning is barely perceptible. Tehani and I take advantage of a break in the launching at the ramps to slip out of the harbor at sunrise. I had thought I would begin to make my way home today but the forecast for more northeast winds convinced me to go with the flow. My plan is to follow the Corpus Christi Channel to Ingleside where turning southbound in the ICW will lead me to Corpus Christi Bay. Then I'll sail toward Mustang Island until I reach Shamrock Cove. Its northeast end should provide a snug anchorage.

I catch myself being drawn into a dreamlike state listening to the hypnotic thrum of the outboard while watching the glazed surface of the water slip past so I sit up straight and try to make myself more alert. I thought the stream of cooling water from the outboard appeared a little weak when I left this morning and now I am sure. It is down to a trickle. I have to stop and find the problem. Since there is nowhere else to go I take my chances with the water depth, ease just outside the channel markers, drop the anchor on the north side of the channel and shut down the motor.

Care and maintenance of the outboard has always been Charlie's realm and I knew I would regret not paying closer attention. I peek through the opening in the outboard well, locate the spot where the cooling water comes out and try to make some sense of the situation. You can do this, Laura. I duck into the cabin and grab the manual but it is worthless. What I need is a shop manual. I do not want to mess up this motor. I am going to call Charlie. I tell him my problem and I know by the silence that he is picturing the inner workings of the cooling system in his mind. Then he begins, "If the pump is working there will also be water coming out the front of the motor, down towards the foot." I yank on the starter rope. Yes, there is water coming out there. "Take the cowling off and you'll see two black hoses on the left side of the head. Disconnect them from the motor and see if they are clogged." I tell him I am going to hang up the phone and call him back once I've checked those lines. Beginning where the cooling water exits I follow the line back to the motor then remove it, grab a pair of pliers, pull the plastic tip from the hose then use a toothpick to clear out some tiny pieces of debris. I put the cooling line back on and start the motor. Yay! It is pumping a nice steady stream. I pick up the phone and call Charlie to tell him I'm on my way again. He knows how much I hate asking for help so before we say goodbye he tries to console me, telling me that next time I will know what to do.

A little before 9 a.m. I reach the end of Harbor Island where the Morris and Cummings Cut opens up to the north. The cut eventually winds its way north and east into Corpus Christi Bayou just west of the ICW in Aransas Bay. A fixed bridge with only eight feet of vertical clearance prohibits sailboats but the area between here and the bridge could hold some nice anchorages so I try to get a feel for the area as I pass. Just beyond that the ICW crosses the Corpus Christi Channel near the town of Ingleside then enters Corpus Christi Bay. The waterway looks straight on the chart but there is a shoal extending from the southern spoil area and I watch the towboat ahead of me sashay through the narrow opening.

The route to my anchorage seems pretty straight forward. Exit the ICW at marker 69, sail between 160 and 165 degrees until I get close to Mustang Island then hang a left into Shamrock Cove for a total distance of about six miles. I raise sail shortly after leaving the waterway to find that I can only make about 1.5 miles per hour. Then the wind drops. I think the well-head to port might be gaining on me. I give up and start the motor again.

There is nine feet of water in the cove but I am startled by the pvc pipes I see ahead of me. They are often used by fishermen to mark shoals. Pairs of them running east and west finally give them away as marking a private channel and I pass with no problem. I should be close to the end of the cove. Something doesn't seem right. The land I see appears too far way. I see a large container ship through a break in the islands along the Corpus Christi Channel. If I am seeing that I should be seeing the end of the cove. Where the heck am I? I check my coordinates on the gps then pick the lines of latitude and longitude off the chart and get a quick estimate of my position. Oops. I have sailed right over the end of the cove. My chart shows a marshy area at the end of the cove but it apparently has at least 3'3" of water over it. I quickly turn around, sail right back over it and drop the anchor.

I spent the rest of the afternoon preparing Tehani's bright work for a final coat of finish in the morning and thanking my lucky stars that I was not punished for taking navigation so lightly.

Ah Great story. I think once the good Captn, gets the blog FINALLY  ;)  in order  this should be put in it's own blog story. Easy to find and read through by future members, and re-read, caught up by current.


I just had an interesting thought. Out of all the members here, the only ones with full length sailing stories are the ladies...

guys...hmmmmmm  :-X  :D

Ok , so not quite true... but close  ;D

Hey, I've been posting video at least. :D

After a bit of a wait -she went cruising again - Laura has written Day 8

I am comforted by the warmth of Tehani's teak sole under my bare feet as I slip out of the v-berth. I have slept longer than usual and missed seeing the sun rise. I poke my head out the companionway to see what the day has brought. A catamaran that I watched slip between the shoreline and me after dark last night is anchored about a quarter of a mile upwind. Two men are wadefishing the shallows along the marshy shore. Several small powerboats cut through the cove on their way, I suppose, to their favorite fishing holes. One speeds by and another slows respectfully. I am not sure which has left the worst wake. A steady northeast breeze blows. It seems a shame to waste it sitting here but I feel the need to bring Tehani home looking better than when she left so I will finish her brightwork and sail tomorrow.

I put one finish coat on the brightwork, clean my brush, measuring and mixing tools then gather and all my tools from the cockpit floor which I have been using as my workbench and put them away. Trying not to mar the finish on the companionway again I go below and finish reading the last few chapters of "The Reader", a novel by Bernhard Schlink. The end describing life lessons learned the hard way, the cost of inaction and the ensuing regret has ruined my favorable mood. I don't want to think about large ideas. A perfect sunlit, warm and breezy day carries on outside but I don't care. I just want to curl up on the v-berth and sleep. I had not realized how tired I am.

I am up after an hour's nap making myself eat something to regain my strength. I have been trying to eat on a regular schedule as much as possible. Most people would probably find the menu substandard but it suits me. I have a power bar with coffee in the morning, fruit or an apple with peanut butter for a mid-morning snack and a sandwich with chips or a plate of cheese, crackers and fruit for lunch. Then it is coffee or a soda with a snack again around four in the afternoon and a hot dinner some time in the evening. The cold water I keep in the ice box is priceless during the heat of the day.

I have spent the entire day in the v-berth taking turns napping, reading and snacking. With dusk approaching and not feeling up to putting a meal together I reach under the cushion at the foot of the starboard settee, pry the locker open then reach for one of the MRE's I keep aboard. Carefully following the directions I pour water into the heavy plastic sleeve to activate the heater that will warm the entree. The caustic fumes and acrid odor spewing from the bag send me to the cockpit to wait. Fifteen minutes later I think to myself that whoever chose pasta as a side dish for chicken and pasta must have known the entree was inedible. I dump it overboard in hopes it won't be wasted on the sea life below the surface. The raspberry applesauce is good and the crackers palatable. The bright pink package of Skittles for dessert makes me feel like a kid again. It takes so little to make me happy at times then other times it seems unattainable.

Standing in the companionway after dark I watch for the running lights of fishing boats late to return home. As one approaches I flip on the bright light over the galley to make sure there is no question we are here. I can see the lights of Port Aransas to the northeast, Ingleside to the west and Corpus Christi to the southwest. Earlier in the day I could see the bridge over the Laguna Madre. I will sail under that bridge one day but not this trip. Tomorrow I begin my journey toward home.

Here's day 9 of Laura's cruise-

A spattering of rain collects around the inside of the coaming on the forward hatch and two tiny streams of water flow from bronze screws along the starboard cabin side. I watched the storm advance until it was nearly on top of us then ducked inside and slipped the hatch boards in place. I draw a circle around the leaking screws with a pencil so I will remember to fix them later then glance up at the hatch with resentment. I have not been able to find a gasket for it and my bed is getting wet. Outside it is pouring and I think of the fishermen in their open boats. They must be soaked.

I am two hours later pulling the anchor than I had wanted but I should still have enough daylight to get to my anchorage thirty miles away. I plan to follow the ICW along the coast then anchor in the lee of San Jose Island on the eastern side of Aransas Bay. The anchor is directly below me but no matter how hard I try I cannot pull it out of the bottom. I cleat it off at the bow then motor over it letting Tehani's weight pull it free. Breaking waves expose the hidden shoals at the end of the cove this morning. They extend for a quarter of a mile after the land disappears into the bay. I give them a wide berth then set sail for the ICW.

It is a close reach along the ICW and I have just been able to hold the windward side of the channel. Towboats and weekend traffic forced me to start the motor near Aransas Pass but it is quiet again as I reach City by the Sea where Redfish Bay opens to the east letting the wind blow uninterrupted. With the sails full and drawing I quietly go aground. It takes me a moment to realize we are not moving. I let the sheets loose and try to back off with the motor. When that doesn't work I sheet in the sails and heel the boat over in an attempt to sail off but the wind is too far forward and all I do is put us further aground.

I finally resigned myself to kedging off and it wouldn't have been so bad if I had rowed the dinghy more often in the past. It took me three tries to get the anchor into deeper water, the second of which I spent laughing so hard at my feeble attempts to get my left hand to cooperate with my right that all I could do was watch the anchor chain slide over the end of the dinghy into what I imagined was one big lump in the murky bottom. After that I got serious. I put the anchor back in the dinghy and loaded all seventy-five feet of my chain in the stern. I closed my eyes, remembered the way it really feels to row and finally got the anchor well into deeper water. I led a line from the chain back to the sheet winch and cranked. I cranked some more. I rested in the shade of the bimini and sipped on cold water. Then I braced myself with my foot against the cockpit coaming and cranked some more. It was then that I heard a man's voice ask if I was anchored or aground. He was in a cherry red fishing boat with a center console. I told him I was aground. He asked if I would like him to pull us off. I said I sure would. As we came free from the ground I held up my arms in victory and yelled with a big grin on my face that he was a dream. I probably embarrassed him.

I am under way again but I am beginning to worry. I am four and a half hours later than planned and daylight is dwindling. The full strength of the wind blows in my face as the ICW makes its turn to the east and the calm water turns rough. The east wind has fetched four-foot waves and stacked them up where we enter Aransas Bay. I think it may calm a little as we get further into the bay but the motor continues to scream as we rise on each wave and every other one brings us almost to a halt. I can't take these waves head on. I reach below and grab the chart to see if there are shoals to port. The wind crumples it in my hand and all I can do is hold it to the cockpit floor under my foot to get a look.

I steer off to port while my mind races. I am on a lee shore. I cannot motor into the wind. I can't do much better off the wind. I can put up sail. I cannot sail past the ICW to starboard here because there are shoals. I cannot cross the ICW where it runs north because there are spoils on this side of it. If I sail I will have to tack out and cross the ICW right at the point that it makes its turn north. That is three miles away and it will take me more than an hour to get there. If it is not dark by then it will be soon after and the sky is cloudy. When it gets dark it will be pitch dark. There is a piercing alarm going off and I think I have overheated the outboard.

What is this fear I feel in my gut? I am not afraid dying. I think I am afraid of failing. To fail would be to decide to go forward in this mess, make a mistake and wind up in real trouble. I am too tired to do this. I think back to the protected waterway. Was there someplace I could anchor? I look to the west and notice the tiller pilot flashing on the cockpit seat. I forgot to put it on standby when I released it from the tiller and it is squealing at me. The outboard is fine.

I tied up in front of a boatyard that was closed for the evening then I called Charlie. I told him I had a long day and I thought he should drive down and take me out to dinner. It will take me two days to get home from here but it is only an hour's drive by car. It is remarkable that I can be on a journey so close to home and yet be so far away.

Laura-

Great post. It is ironic that you can be only an hour's drive away, but two days by boat.  Of course, Charlie can do 65 mph on the highways... and Tehani probably only makes 4-5 knots, and not in as direct a route as the roads probably are.   I wish you fair winds for the rest of your journey. 

"but it is only an hour's drive by car. It is remarkable that I can be on a journey so close to home and yet be so far away"

I feel that way every time I go to the SF Bay. I can get there in less than an hour by car ( 30 -45 min) yet it takes ALL day to do it by boat.

Keep up the good work Laura!

And rather quickly, here's day 10

The gates of the boatyard had been swung shut and chained while we were gone to dinner last night. Fortunately, the slot between them allowed just enough space for us to sneak back in. A few minutes after we woke this morning, Charlie quietly slipped back through the gates and left me to face my crime of trespass alone. He thought my trial would go smoother if I was still a woman alone on the boat. It might have gone well because the owner is quite fond of older boats and admired Tehani's lines or it might have been that I forgot to brush my hair this morning and looked more bedraggled than I felt. I would like to believe the owner was gracious because people that spend time on the water understand its demands. In any case, I was thankful and prepared to leave as soon as it was light enough to run safely.

The onshore breeze moderated last night but remains strong enough that Tehani and I have a lively beam reach across the bay. She speeds forward in the gusts and as we near the protected waterway at the north end of the bay I play the sheets to keep her on an even keel. A forecast for the wind to return to the southeast later in the day had given me hope of making good speed along this forty-five mile stretch of desolate waterway but by 10 a.m. I am motor sailing. Most of the breeze is blocked by the land and it is only the gusts that have enough momentum to reach us and carry us forward. The motor keeps us moving at a steady five miles per hour and when the gusts hit, Tehani gains an extra one to one and a half miles per hour. I try to let the tiller pilot take the helm while I eat my mid-morning snack but it cannot handle it today. Tehani darts for the shore in the gusts and the tiller pilot is too slow to bring her back on course. I am frugal with my fuel and I don't want to give up the extra speed provided by the wind so I resign myself to sitting at the tiller.

Just past noon I reach San Antonio Bay where it reaches for ten miles along the waterway and I am able to shut down the motor for a while. The wind has not gone to the southeast yet and we are on a close reach. Spoils are piled on the south side of the channel blocking the wave action, more in some spots than others. Even though I don't want to go today, it would be nice to know I could duck into the bay and reach across to Matagorda Island. I don't know where or even if there is a safe passage through the spoils. I watch the waves to see if they expose the most likely spot. My response to Tehani's helm becomes automatic and we sail on without word or thought as I am absorbed in the pattern of the waves.

The wind still hadn't moved to the southeast and I was forced to start the motor when we left the bay and fell into the lee of the land again. I haven't been able to eat lunch and I tire of the gusts and sitting at the tiller. I take the sails down and put the tiller pilot in charge of the helm where the channel widens at the entrance to the Victoria barge canal. I eat and brew a pot of coffee. Then I sit on the bow, sip my coffee and watch the world pass by as I rest.

I did not want to return to my first anchorage behind Matagorda Island. It would not be so nice in these east winds. My only option was to anchor behind Sundown Island and its shoals that extend toward the jetties cut through the Matagorda Peninsula. The current sweeps through the narrow pass and into the Gulf of Mexico at five to six knots and it is a little frightening to be this close to the big ships and tows that traverse it. I put out seventy-five feet of chain and an extra twenty-five feet of nylon rode in six feet of water then keep an eye on my position for more than two hours before feeling sufficiently confident. Tehani rides to the current while waves approach from starboard. The wind has finally gone southeast. I tuck myself in against the starboard side of the v-berth to keep from rolling about and try not to think about tomorrow.

I'm shocked and horrified at the criminality of your brazen breaking and entering... ;)

Fair winds Laura... :)

Hey- we didn't break a thing ;D

If the chain on the gate is THAT loose, and YOUR boat ( and bed) was on the other side, what would YOU do????

Besides- we TRIED to call both the regular number and the emergency number with no answer- sooooooooooooooooooooooo ;D ;D

Load the shotgun... :D  and prepare to repel boarders... :)

Here's the final installment of Laura's cruise..  Hope you have enjoyed the  posts.

Day 11

As the sky begins to lighten I move from the cockpit where I had been sipping my morning coffee to the lazarette on the stern. I sit with my legs dangling overboard and peer into the water. Last night it was thick with phosphorescence. I had dipped buckets of it then poured it back into the bay just to see it sparkle. As the sun rises I carefully open the velvet bag I have kept safe in Charlie's locker then I hold it over the water and let my brother's ashes go in the golden waters of Matagorda Bay on the outgoing tide. I hope he found peace.

I am ready to go home. Thunderstorms approach from the south. An immense black cloud advances, slowly thundering along the coast only two miles away. The wind pumps through Tehani's rig even though the sun continues to shine on us. Whenever a break appears in the storms I check the weather report: thunderstorms developing through 9 a.m., thunderstorms developing through 11 a.m. then thunderstorms developing through the afternoon. I quit listening. It would be dumb to leave a safe anchorage and risk getting caught in a thunderstorm. I crawl in the v-berth and nap. When I wake Tehani feels motionless and I notice it is quiet outside. I check the clock, two in the afternoon. I pop my head out the companionway to see clear skies to the south and only a small lingering thunderstorm to the north. It will be gone by the time I get there. It is twenty miles to the marina and I have a little more than five hours of daylight. I can make that run. It's time to go home.

I know my journey is over. Waves left from the storms roll up behind but the wind is gone. I grip the tiller. The motor churns and my only thought is to make miles. Once past Gallinipper Reef I know I only have a couple miles to go. Charlie will be waiting for me at the marina. A seagull circles overhead then disappears. I think he is on top of the bimini. I am startled when I see him there. He flies off only to come back and land facing me from across the cockpit. I yelp in surprise and it scares him away. I remember the feather found on the bimini the day I left. Maybe this was supposed to be a message. Do we control our destiny or are we just floating on the breeze? Then again, maybe it was just a seagull glad to see his roost return.

Here's a link to a google earth image showing Laura's route and places she stopped-

http://www.griffithart.com/googleearth/solocruise.kmz

And the image if you don't have google earth

(http://downloads.c-2.com/photos/1195328923.jpg)

Thanks Laura for sharing.  I really needed to be reminded of how good it feels.  I never kept a log of my travels.

A grog for you.

Thanks for the map. :) Grog to you for the stories and photos.