Hampton, VA to Jolly Harbour, Antigua
We left HAMPTON, in Virginia near the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, on Monday November 6th. We were in the last wave of a roughly 50-boat fleet making it’s seasonal exodus from the USA East Coast to the Caribbean.
The key thing for the start of this trip is to judge the departure for a smooth (and safe) crossing of the Gulf Stream, which can get pretty ugly if things aren’t ‘just so’ - think along the lines of the PERFECT STORM. The Gulf-stream crossing can take place in an area where the warm currents coming up the US East coast from the equatorial region mix with the cold waters coming down from the Artic areas. Tremendous flows of energy, which are visible in the interactions in, and between, the air and water. Quite incredible to see – this is my third time across, and Leanne’s second. It is said that the Gulf Stream makes its own weather, and we have seen this with various phenomena.
Anyway, despite the slightly adverse conditions, as expected, of about 5-8 knots of ‘wind-against-current’, we had a rollicking good ride across the Gulf-stream, with more than 4 knots of favourable current, giving us a ground-speed exceeding 10 knots at times in light winds.
But alas, the forecast indicated that trade winds down near 25º North had not yet arrived, as they ‘normally’ would have by mid-November. A cracking big low-pressure system north of the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas had coupled with a few ‘mega-scale’ weather systems brewing up off the US East coast just after we’d left. This resulted in a forecast that predicted southerlies for the last few hundred miles down to Antigua. Meaning that we could reasonably expect to be motoring into the breeze for the final few days. With this in mind, I was carefully watching the fuel burn after we cleared the Gulf-stream. If – against the forecast – the trades kicked in, then all would be OK. If not, we could find ourselves in a bit of a pickle. No surprise then, that I elected to divert to Bermuda in order to top up the fuel, ‘just in case’. This provisional for ‘JiC’ turned out for the best, but for another reason – read on . . . .
We were able to make our turn-around in Bermuda in 26-hours. What happens for a “pit-stop” like this? Well, it’s all pretty rush-rush. Firstly, needing to clear-in to customs & immigration – waiting in line with the other arrivals, then the whole crew has to fill out the usual forms, and then extra for some of the ship’s stores that needed to be checked into bond. That done, we have to move off the customs dock, and find somewhere else to either anchor, or tie up. With the dinghy still tied on-deck, the option of a berth on the town dock was hard to ignore, so coordinate with the adjacent boats, make arrangements with the managements, and move PERIGEE the 50 meters to the allocated space, which was right in town - great! Then some leg-stretching and sight-seeing, followed by a dinner out at a great restaurant in St Georges. The next morning it was the fuel shuttle, lugging jerry cans to and fro, as I was unwilling to move PERIGEE in close quarters while a blustery cold front was passing through. After the cold front, it was pouring rain, but that did not dampen spirits for a quick dash for the necessary visit to the local ice-cream parlour. Then retrieve our stores from bond, clear-out with customs and immigrations, and get underway into rising but favourable winds. Whew!
Most of the rest of the fleet of 50 or so boats bound for the Lesser Antilles were, despite leaving a few days earlier than us, in exactly the same predicament, suffering in the face of unseasonal winds. Some stopped in Bermuda. Others soldiered on. Whatever, we all motored for significant portions of the journey. The longest – one who departed in the first wave - took more than 2,000 chasing winds over 20 days, for a nominal rhumb line track of 1,500 miles.
We clocked up ‘only’ 1,700 miles, being underway for 11-1/2 days (not counting the extra time for the stop-over in Bermuda). Actually, this wasn’t too bad, as the planning estimate was exactly 11 days, even though we travelled an extra 100 miles or so for ice-cream. But we logged over 100 engine hours, motoring and motor-sailing, which was necessary if we were to get to Antigua in time for our crew to catch their flights out. They did, so smiles all around, and mission accomplished.
We enjoyed a pod of dolphins who came one dawn to play off our bow-wave for about 20-minutes, always enjoyable. And a small-ish sperm whale (we think) broached a few times a couple of hundred meters directly ahead of us – spectacular to see this in open ocean. We didn’t have the fishing lines out, as we were going for speed and couldn’t afford the time to stop to bring in the catch and then to gut and fillet it on deck, so nothing to report there. But we did have a few birds, including barn swallows and frigates, come and visit, one or two perching on our rails to get a little rest before continuing on their way.
We had all sorts of weather, with heaps of rain for about 50 hours continuous as we traversed a brooding area of low pressure, which also had bands of line squalls to contend with. The gusts in the squalls exceeding 30 knots, but generally in the mid-to-high 20s. We skirted the squalls whenever possible but remained as close as I dare in order to take advantage of the associated breeze.
However, more generally, for most of the time after we left Bermuda the winds were light, and coming from exactly the wrong direction. But the seas were kind, with occasional 3-4 meters, otherwise smaller, except when the swells coming from three different directions would lump up underneath, and we would find ourselves sitting high above the surrounding water, looking down to the horizon for a few brief moments, before being gently lowered into the more usual sway of the sea.
One thing of interest, was that one night towards the end, Leanne noted a strange light, flickering intermittently low on the horizon behind us, and checked it out on radar – there was definitely something out there. But it was behaving ‘not quite right’ – an erratic track, and slow speed, almost like drifting with the wind. So we turned around to head back 3 or 4 miles to investigate. We hailed on our VHF radio. Firstly nothing. As we closed in we could see a light clearly bobbing through the waves, so we continued on and kept calling. Eventually a guy responded on the radio, and through broken transmissions we could make out that his boat had been dis-masted in strong winds the day before. The delayed response, bobbing light and scratchy radio then all made sense. He had probably been asleep below, exhausted; the radio aerial had gone down with the mast, along with his normal lights, so what we saw was a camping light strapped onto his boom, well below the height a riding light would normally be.
It was extremely fortunate for him that Leanne was keeping a studious lookout, especially considering the time of day …. her least favourite watch at 4am. It turned out that Jacek, a Polish single-hander and at least 70 by my reckoning, was sailing his 80’s vintage AMEL Kirk down to St Maartin. He was uninjured, with adequate food and water, but with not enough fuel to get to his planned destination almost 300 miles south. So, once the sun came up, we hove-to near-by and, after a few tries, sent across as much fuel as we could spare – 60 litres in three jerry cans, leaving us with one in reserve. Jacek was adamant that he would complete his journey by himself, and asked us not to alert his family of his predicament.
Unusual for that time of the day (dawn), our whole crew was awake all at the same time in order to attend to the fuel transfer (or rescue, if it came to that). So, having sorted things out, before getting underway again we enjoyed a leisurely cooked breakfast together in the cockpit. Whilst doing so, Jacek motored away from us unannounced. It was clear by this action that there was nothing more we could do, or that Jacek wanted us to do. So we furnished details via satphone to our Shoreside coordinator, along with a “please do not disturb” message per his request, and left it at that. After we arrived in Antigua, we heard that another of the Salty Dawg fleet had given him some more fuel, and that the search-and-rescue authorities had taken an interest in proceedings. I also called his family after we arrived, but no-one ever picked up. We had to be content with leaving messages on an answering machine somewhere. So, it is that we don’t yet know how it all turned out but, we trust that, as the appropriate authorities were aware of things as they progressed, all will be well in the fullness of time.
We eventually arrived in Jolly Harbour, Antigua, on Sunday 19-Nov; and, without delay, immersed ourselves in the series of social events that typically follow such an Ocean crossing, and this is how we celebrated our arrival in the Caribbean, and the kick-off the cruising season here.
..... David
The key thing for the start of this trip is to judge the departure for a smooth (and safe) crossing of the Gulf Stream, which can get pretty ugly if things aren’t ‘just so’ - think along the lines of the PERFECT STORM. The Gulf-stream crossing can take place in an area where the warm currents coming up the US East coast from the equatorial region mix with the cold waters coming down from the Artic areas. Tremendous flows of energy, which are visible in the interactions in, and between, the air and water. Quite incredible to see – this is my third time across, and Leanne’s second. It is said that the Gulf Stream makes its own weather, and we have seen this with various phenomena.
Anyway, despite the slightly adverse conditions, as expected, of about 5-8 knots of ‘wind-against-current’, we had a rollicking good ride across the Gulf-stream, with more than 4 knots of favourable current, giving us a ground-speed exceeding 10 knots at times in light winds.
But alas, the forecast indicated that trade winds down near 25º North had not yet arrived, as they ‘normally’ would have by mid-November. A cracking big low-pressure system north of the Virgin Islands and the Bahamas had coupled with a few ‘mega-scale’ weather systems brewing up off the US East coast just after we’d left. This resulted in a forecast that predicted southerlies for the last few hundred miles down to Antigua. Meaning that we could reasonably expect to be motoring into the breeze for the final few days. With this in mind, I was carefully watching the fuel burn after we cleared the Gulf-stream. If – against the forecast – the trades kicked in, then all would be OK. If not, we could find ourselves in a bit of a pickle. No surprise then, that I elected to divert to Bermuda in order to top up the fuel, ‘just in case’. This provisional for ‘JiC’ turned out for the best, but for another reason – read on . . . .
We were able to make our turn-around in Bermuda in 26-hours. What happens for a “pit-stop” like this? Well, it’s all pretty rush-rush. Firstly, needing to clear-in to customs & immigration – waiting in line with the other arrivals, then the whole crew has to fill out the usual forms, and then extra for some of the ship’s stores that needed to be checked into bond. That done, we have to move off the customs dock, and find somewhere else to either anchor, or tie up. With the dinghy still tied on-deck, the option of a berth on the town dock was hard to ignore, so coordinate with the adjacent boats, make arrangements with the managements, and move PERIGEE the 50 meters to the allocated space, which was right in town - great! Then some leg-stretching and sight-seeing, followed by a dinner out at a great restaurant in St Georges. The next morning it was the fuel shuttle, lugging jerry cans to and fro, as I was unwilling to move PERIGEE in close quarters while a blustery cold front was passing through. After the cold front, it was pouring rain, but that did not dampen spirits for a quick dash for the necessary visit to the local ice-cream parlour. Then retrieve our stores from bond, clear-out with customs and immigrations, and get underway into rising but favourable winds. Whew!
Most of the rest of the fleet of 50 or so boats bound for the Lesser Antilles were, despite leaving a few days earlier than us, in exactly the same predicament, suffering in the face of unseasonal winds. Some stopped in Bermuda. Others soldiered on. Whatever, we all motored for significant portions of the journey. The longest – one who departed in the first wave - took more than 2,000 chasing winds over 20 days, for a nominal rhumb line track of 1,500 miles.
We clocked up ‘only’ 1,700 miles, being underway for 11-1/2 days (not counting the extra time for the stop-over in Bermuda). Actually, this wasn’t too bad, as the planning estimate was exactly 11 days, even though we travelled an extra 100 miles or so for ice-cream. But we logged over 100 engine hours, motoring and motor-sailing, which was necessary if we were to get to Antigua in time for our crew to catch their flights out. They did, so smiles all around, and mission accomplished.
We enjoyed a pod of dolphins who came one dawn to play off our bow-wave for about 20-minutes, always enjoyable. And a small-ish sperm whale (we think) broached a few times a couple of hundred meters directly ahead of us – spectacular to see this in open ocean. We didn’t have the fishing lines out, as we were going for speed and couldn’t afford the time to stop to bring in the catch and then to gut and fillet it on deck, so nothing to report there. But we did have a few birds, including barn swallows and frigates, come and visit, one or two perching on our rails to get a little rest before continuing on their way.
 |
| Squalls on the radar |
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| Squall on the horizon |
However, more generally, for most of the time after we left Bermuda the winds were light, and coming from exactly the wrong direction. But the seas were kind, with occasional 3-4 meters, otherwise smaller, except when the swells coming from three different directions would lump up underneath, and we would find ourselves sitting high above the surrounding water, looking down to the horizon for a few brief moments, before being gently lowered into the more usual sway of the sea.
One thing of interest, was that one night towards the end, Leanne noted a strange light, flickering intermittently low on the horizon behind us, and checked it out on radar – there was definitely something out there. But it was behaving ‘not quite right’ – an erratic track, and slow speed, almost like drifting with the wind. So we turned around to head back 3 or 4 miles to investigate. We hailed on our VHF radio. Firstly nothing. As we closed in we could see a light clearly bobbing through the waves, so we continued on and kept calling. Eventually a guy responded on the radio, and through broken transmissions we could make out that his boat had been dis-masted in strong winds the day before. The delayed response, bobbing light and scratchy radio then all made sense. He had probably been asleep below, exhausted; the radio aerial had gone down with the mast, along with his normal lights, so what we saw was a camping light strapped onto his boom, well below the height a riding light would normally be.
It was extremely fortunate for him that Leanne was keeping a studious lookout, especially considering the time of day …. her least favourite watch at 4am. It turned out that Jacek, a Polish single-hander and at least 70 by my reckoning, was sailing his 80’s vintage AMEL Kirk down to St Maartin. He was uninjured, with adequate food and water, but with not enough fuel to get to his planned destination almost 300 miles south. So, once the sun came up, we hove-to near-by and, after a few tries, sent across as much fuel as we could spare – 60 litres in three jerry cans, leaving us with one in reserve. Jacek was adamant that he would complete his journey by himself, and asked us not to alert his family of his predicament.
Unusual for that time of the day (dawn), our whole crew was awake all at the same time in order to attend to the fuel transfer (or rescue, if it came to that). So, having sorted things out, before getting underway again we enjoyed a leisurely cooked breakfast together in the cockpit. Whilst doing so, Jacek motored away from us unannounced. It was clear by this action that there was nothing more we could do, or that Jacek wanted us to do. So we furnished details via satphone to our Shoreside coordinator, along with a “please do not disturb” message per his request, and left it at that. After we arrived in Antigua, we heard that another of the Salty Dawg fleet had given him some more fuel, and that the search-and-rescue authorities had taken an interest in proceedings. I also called his family after we arrived, but no-one ever picked up. We had to be content with leaving messages on an answering machine somewhere. So, it is that we don’t yet know how it all turned out but, we trust that, as the appropriate authorities were aware of things as they progressed, all will be well in the fullness of time.
We eventually arrived in Jolly Harbour, Antigua, on Sunday 19-Nov; and, without delay, immersed ourselves in the series of social events that typically follow such an Ocean crossing, and this is how we celebrated our arrival in the Caribbean, and the kick-off the cruising season here.
..... David
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