Month: June 2019

So we’re claiming to have started the Down East Circle at Spring Cove Marina.*  “Spring Cove Marina” sounds a lot sexier than, say, “a green channel marker covered in bird poop.”  That makes today—instead of the second half of yesterday—our first day on the Circle.

Up and at it this morning, because good travel days have been as hard to find as Tennessee Volunteer touchdowns.  And a gorgeous day it was.

Somehow we’re supposed to feel wiser and more competent today, because after all, we’re GOLD LOOPERS.  When we started this thing, we thought of Gold Loopers as gurus on the mountain, sages in the wilderness, folks to be revered.

In reality, it doesn’t seem work that way.  At least for us.  Doug still was absurdly confident that everyone in our general vicinity intentionally was trying to screw with us.  Dana still believed with all her heart that we were about to run into every single crab pot on the Bay.  Crab pots, or maybe pool toys.

Somewhere in Maryland there’s either a crying child or a crabber with a sense of humor.  We tend to think it’s the former because a few hundred yards further along we passed a beach ball that appeared to belong with the watermelon.  We promise we would’ve retrieved them both but the water was a bit churny at that spot, even if the photo doesn’t show it.

Anyway, we managed to muddle up to Herrington Harbour South.

This is where we picked up Brent and Karen—and where they left their car—so it kind of made sense for them to get off here as well.  Good times.  We’re sad to see them go but glad they traveled with us for a few days.  They were a huge part of our Loop experience.  We’re trusting that someplace down the waterways we’ll boat with them again.  Hopefully soon.

Tomorrow a long day up to Bohemia Bay at the top of the Chesapeake.

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* That doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll end back there, of course.  The trip up to Manhattan is kind of like a balloon tail.  Once we get past the Statue of Liberty we’ll take the Hudson north but then in about September we’ll come back through Long Island Sound and down the East River to the same statue, assuming we can find it.

 

When we left at 6:55 this morning, the Chesapeake was smooth.  Almost too smooth.  Doug thought it looked like the surface of the mountain lake in a movie where the girls are swimming and then their classmate who they drowned in a bullying-incident-gone-bad a year earlier but never told anyone about reached up with bloody hands and dragged them down one by one to a watery grave, their screams of terror turning quiet as they pay the ultimate price for being part of a mean-girl clique.

Dana thinks Doug’s an idiot.

A big boat loomed in the haze.

Doug thought it looked like a ghost ship, left adrift when the crew mysteriously vanished with no trace shortly after a final desperate radio call reporting bright lights silently hovering just above the superstructure.

Dana thinks Doug’s an idiot.

Ok maybe it was just so smooth that Doug’s imagination ran a tad wild.  But at least Dana was able to use the dog-retrieving net to snag some garbage.

Even though the message on the balloon certainly was appropriate for Doug, balloons are deadly for wildlife.  Come on people, stop with the balloons.  Or at least don’t put helium in them.

Back under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.

Past Annapolis, and St. Michael’s, and Baltimore.  Several hours later, another balloon.

What the hell is wrong with people?  Where do they think balloons go after the two seconds of watching them flutter in the air before going back to the picnic table for more of that delicious barbecue?

Despite the litter, the water and weather were nice enough that we contemplated going on to Delaware City, but Oscar has a long run up the Atlantic coast in his future so we figured seven hours was enough for today.  Speaking of Oscar, he spent the afternoon sunning himself on the flybridge, no doubt day-dreaming about strangers with endless treats and a willingness to share them with a small black-but-graying senior dog.

All day, smooth water.  As smooth as whipped butter.  As smooth as Doug’s head.  Smooth, baby.

Doug took a long shower, because underway we have nearly unlimited hot water.  Dana took a nap, because underway or not she really likes naps.

The only troublesome patch was the shallow entry up the Bohemia River.  At a few spots we had only an inch or two under the keel.  It felt kind of like Canal Lake.  But we spotted the lighthouse and eased on in.

The stuck us out at the end of the long dock, because, they said, that’s where the “deep water” lives.

By “deep water” we mean four feet of water.  Which means we’re on the bottom at low tide.  Being stuck on the bottom isn’t a big deal, of course, because we know how to handle being stuck on the bottom.  We’ve been to Alton, Illinois.  On the positive side of things, the lighthouse can guide us back to the boat if we get lost.  Getting lost seems unlikely though, because we ain’t leaving the boat.  Inside we have AC.  And good WiFi.  Outside it’s hot.  And muggy.  And it just started raining.

Tomorrow we leave the Chesapeake Bay, after what seems like an eternity since we danced with Warship 61.

Monday night we stayed inside and caught up on the last season of Survivor.  Count us in the group who thinks the whole “Edge of Extinction” thing was ridiculous.  Chris coming back at the end and stealing the title from Devens was completely bogus.

Yesterday’s theme was Fifty Shades of Gray.  Not the kinky kind of gray, of course, but the gray shades that permeate your soul.   It started when we awoke for the short hop across the C & D Canal to Delaware City.

Hey, at least we caught the current down the canal.  We had packages waiting for us at the marina and figured to be there well before lunch.

Here’s the C & D Canal Railroad Bridge.  Again.

Mostly this bridge is significant for its insignificance.  When we came through here the first time, this was the coolest thing we’d seen.  A bridge that goes up and down?  For trains?  It was so awe-inspiring that we took roughly a gazillion photos of it.  How could we possibly know these things would become more of a nuisance than a marvel.  In fact, we almost got stopped for a train this time.

Shortly before reaching the Delaware River, we started thinking about Cape May and the weather.  The waves were minimal.  We maybe could catch the current and be there before dark.  Oscar was sleeping too soundly to voice concern about the additional time aboard.  Crap, what about the packages?  The Delaware City Marina is really cool, but somewhat difficult to navigate.  We called to see if the current would allow us to come in, dock, pick up the packages, flip around, and get out.  Tim the Dockmaster volunteered that doing all that would add two hours to the trip down the Bay.  So he jumped in his work boat, met us in the river, tossed the packages to Dana, and even refused our offer of money.  In his honor, we named the ray of sunshine “Tim.”*

Heading south the gray continued in various degrees.

Gross.  And it drizzled from time to time.

Even the herons looked grayer than usual.

But we made Cape May, tied up nicely, and Oscar was able to do everything he needed to do, all before the massive thunderstorm hit.

Sunday now appears to be the next decent day for the long run from Atlantic City to Great Kills.  We have no interest in Manasquan, where death nearly is certain.  We’d rather stay a few extra days in Atlantic City than go into Manasquan, because certain death is about the only thing worse than staying in Atlantic City.

Last time through here we docked at Canyon Club, which wasn’t close to much of anything other than the drunk shark fishermen and the even drunker old dudes on the sailboat.  This time we’re almost in town.  Cape May is pretty cool after all.

What isn’t cool?  Continuing Legal Education.  CLE is the annual pain-in-the-butt that requires completion by the end of June.  Fortunately it’s now all online.  Unfortunately it still sucks.  But we both finished up today.

Docktails with Shingebiss, Carolina Dream, and Time to Breathe.  Good times.  Tomorrow, Atlantic City.

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* We also nominated him for AGLCA’s Dockmaster of the Year.

Apart from that one time between Key Largo and Miami when we thought in one order or the other we’d be pitching cookies and calling for Coast Guard rescue, we’ve basically had a good relationship with the Atlantic Ocean.  The main thing is it’s about like crossing the Gulf of Mexico: something to be experienced but not necessarily enjoyed.  But it has to be done if we want to see Quebec.

Thursday morning Misty Pearl backed out of the garden, weaved around the fishing boats, and left the southern tip of the Garden State.

Out the inlet we returned to the mighty Atlantic for the run up to Atlantic City.

Atlantic City is where The Band (whose version is far better than Springsteen’s) says the sand’s turning to gold after they blew up The Chicken Man in Philly last night.  RIP Phil Testa.

We don’t really see the gold part.  Mostly Atlantic City is just a pit, but we can’t make it to Staten Island without the pit stop.

Between the loud music, the cigarette boats, and the people who don’t look like they can afford to be giving money to the Golden Nugget, we’ve had about all we can take, although we did get to the boardwalk early enough to avoid the worst of it.

We were a bit surprised to find that Park Place isn’t blue and Indiana Avenue isn’t red.

An evening with Escapade and a different evening with Jadip, Escapade, Gallus, and Linda Anne probably were the highlights of our three days at Farley State Marina.  Last time here we were the newbies.  This time people seem to think we’re competent.  Weird.

Tomorrow, we’re outta here.

If any newcomers to this blog expect zany excitement, it’s probably best to move along for now.  Basically we just want to get north of the Erie Canal so we can see some new stuff.  But since this is our cruising diary, we might as well make a few notes.

Last time we did the trip up to Great Kills, we still were full of pie-eyed wonder.  It didn’t help that the group generally (1) was traumatized by the AC/DC tribute band and (2) was terrified of the Atlantic.  Ahhh, what a difference a year makes.  This time we knew we weren’t fooling around with the Manasquan Inlet, so we left shortly after dawn, mostly confident we could make it.

Mostly we were confident we’d make it because we anticipated smooth seas.  Last year, the Absecon Inlet was a horrendous mess.  The only upside (and a big upside it was) was that the Absecon Inlet directly was responsible for our bonding with Second Wave.  Yesterday?  Scarcely a ripple.

In fact, the entire day gave us nothing more than one-footers.   Beautiful.  All ten-plus hours of it.  Not much to see from three miles off the Jersey shore, but nice and easy.

Well, nice and easy unless your boat is Troublemaker.  We don’t know that boat, but along with everyone else on the Atlantic coast with VHF marine radios we got to listen in to the drama, which started when they radioed a Mayday because the boat was sinking some 60 miles offshore.  (We’re guessing the small waves and blue skies weren’t much consolation.)  Anyway, the Coast Guard dispatched a rescue ship, but said it would take more than 2 HOURS to get out there.  How is that possible?  Dozens of the noisy annoying stupid cigarette boats in the Farley Marina could’ve been there in half that time.  The Coast Guard ordered radio silence for “search and rescue operations.”  High drama indeed.  The radio chatter between rescuers and rescuees was constant as those involved raced against the clock.  Would they make it it time?  The Coast Guard told the captain to keep the boat on plane, conjuring up images of Sandra Bullock trying to keep the commuter bus from exploding.  Then the helicopter reported that it was overhead.  Thank goodness.  By now we felt we knew these people.  We couldn’t wait to hear the story.  How’d the boat take on water?  Did the crew have to jump overboard?  Was everyone rescued?  Nope.  All we know is that at one point the Coast Guard had lassoed the boat and was pulling it towards Manasquan.  It was like they ended the book without writing the last chapter.  Doesn’t the Coast Guard care that we were emotionally invested?  This just isn’t right.

At least in the midst of the chaos, Old Barney stood proud, beckoning the Troublemaker to safety, just like he’s done since the beginning of time.

Shortly before Sandy Hook, we moved close enough to see the crowded beaches.

It’s kind of hard from the water to see what they’re all doing, but we assume the children are collecting hypodermic needles and used condoms the way children in, say, Florida collect seashells.  “Hey Ma!  Look!  I found a purple one!”*

We made it in to Great Kills Yacht Club, had a great dinner with Linda Anne, Jadip, and Antonia, and collapsed.

We were extra glad to see Mark and Lezlie.  We last saw Antonia at the Old Henry Lock Wall.   Good times with old friends.  Of course, we forgot to take any pictures and we couldn’t take one before we left because they still were asleep when we left.  At 9:45.  Too bad, because Mark’s beard has become epic.

So off we went to The Big Apple again.  This time, we put on a Pandora station playing Broadway show-tunes.  As an aside, Broadway shows seem to have an edge to them.  For example:  “When push comes to shove, I’ll kill all your friends and family to remind you of my love.”  You can’t get away with that in real life, but put it to happy music and you can make a fortune.

Under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, where even at 11 o’clock the poor slobs were bumper to bumper.  And for that privilege they apparently pay $19.   As the girls would say, it sucks to suck.

No traffic for us though.  Unlike last year, there was no jet ski parade.  The ferries were sparse.  The tourists mostly were elsewhere.  We just cruised up easy as you please.

We barely had to slow down while Dana took Linda Anne’s Statute of Liberty Money Shot.

Wait, this is new.  If you live in one of the densest cities in the world but need to work on your golf game during your lunch break, what can you do?  Apparently just head on down to the Hudson River.

We suppose we just missed it last year through, because years ago Kate Beckinsale put her hand in the gross gum wad that Jonathan stuck under a seat in a place just like that.  Serendipity baby.

Hey is that a cruise ship around the corner?  Why yes it is.  Turns out Antonia isn’t the only familiar boat we’ve seen in the past couple of days.  Right there docked in Manhattan was the Carnival Sunrise.  

We last Carnival Sunrise spinning in circles in Norfolk.  We figured the Captain probably recognized us as well but we missed seeing him wave hello because we needed to get on up the river.

Another little something we didn’t recall from last time was the Frying Pan.  Dana snapped a photo.  Thank goodness.

It’s a boat.  It’s also a restaurant.  Which isn’t really all that cool by itself but becomes much more cool in context.  Because a couple of hours later we reached the Tappan Zee bridge.  Where a car exploded or something.  Big fire on zee bridge.  Dana snapped a photo.  Thank goodness.

That’s right people.  Soak it in.  We literally went from the Frying Pan to the fire.  That’s just damn funny right there.  And we have the photos to prove it.

We stopped giggling at the absurdity of boating through a cliché long enough to pull in to Half Moon Bay.  We’re in the exact same spot where Doug helped tie up our friends John and Marilyn on Blue Goose last time around, after Steve the Dockmaster had an emergency and shoved his radio in Doug’s hand and disappeared.  The Loop is great for making friends and for making memories.

Tomorrow it’s supposed to storm, but tonight we got another sunset from the flybridge.

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* Ok, we know that’s sort of a cheap shot.  The Syringe Tide—no joke, that’s what they called it—was a few years ago.   But anything that becomes scarce makes a good collectible, right?