Prologue

s/v Kerry Deare of Barnegat is a 28 foot sloop designed by Carl Alberg and built in 1981 by Cape Dory Yachts of Massachusetts. I've owned her since she was built, and have made many modifications and additions to her for single-handed ocean sailing. This is the story of her first passage to the Bermuda Islands in 1987, and of some of the things that happened to her along the way.

Part One: Introduction

I had first planned a Bermuda cruise for the 1984 season. By then I had sailed Kerry Deare for three seasons. We had made a straight shot to Nantucket (about 210 NM) the preceding year, and Bermuda (some 640 NM) seemed a logical next step. This plan was aggressive considering my sailing experience, but my crew was to consist of 2 who had sailed the Marion-Bermuda Race, one as navigator. (At left, a view of the Bermuda Islands and the reefs.)

However when the complexity of (1) getting three bodies to Bermuda (followed by three wives and countless suitcases), (2) arranging insurance riders, (3) making plane and hotel reservations, (4) juggling vacation and work schedules and (5) procuring food, gear, medical and sailing equipment began to sink in, I got cold feet. Actually, "frustrated" is slightly more accurate than "cold feet." An insurance rider with respectable limits was outrageously expensive. Add in multiple airfares, a life raft, a self steerer, hotel rooms, provisions, and the general level of prices in Bermuda, and the conclusion was clear: enough, already. So the idea was shelved.

Except for tripping over my pile of Bermuda charts and my Bermuda courtesy flag as I rumbled around the boat, I thought no more about the project for quite some time. We went to Woods Hole, Massachusetts during that summer and cruised Chesapeake Bay the next. A few years passed. Then one day at Tices Shoal, a popular Barnegat Bay anchorage, I hoisted the Bermuda ensign to air it out (or something). Boom! Someone on an adjoining yacht almost blew a fuse. It seemed he'd sailed to Bermuda. As our resident authority (that day) he advised that the only justification for raising the ensign was to commemorate a similar voyage. I immediately realized there was a way to remedy the situation. This time, however, things would be simpler.

To allow flexibility in departure, length of stay, and time of return, I decided to go alone. This plan would both eliminate insurance problems and reduce logistic complications. It was a big first bite but it definitely was not a stunt. I had sailed Kerry Deare single-handed on short trips for years by then. For example I had completed a solo cruise along the New Jersey coast to Cape May in quite breezy conditions. However I'd done no solo overnights up to that time. (Right above, a "plan view" of Bermuda.)

Yet I wanted to complete a Bermuda cruise, and single-handing was the simplest way. Besides I was curious about being alone for 6 to 8 days. Could I actually stand me?

Part Two: Equipment

The boat was well equipped after 6 seasons. In fact for a boat her size she was lavishly equipped. Sail inventory included a 150% (#1) genoa, a 110% (#3) genoa, a 90% LP jib, a storm jib (65 sq ft), a 3/4 oz conventional tri-radial spinnaker, and a mainsail with 2 reefs. All were in good shape except the main (heavy UV exposure). My "advisers" suggested a new main, but instead I was able to borrow an old CD 28 main to hold in reserve. All her jibs were of the hank-on variety and fitted with large #2 snaps, and all had their own sheets permanently secured. I borrowed a spitfire (#5) jib from another boat and added a 3 foot tack pennant to this 110 sq ft sail that raised it off the foredeck and allowed a good lead to the existing storm jib block. In total I carried 8 bags of sails.

Deck gear included 7 winches (with self tailing primaries), a self tacking rig for the 90% jib, and a jib downhaul that allowed control of the hoist and douse from the mast rather than the bow. I'd fitted the downhaul years earlier but since it adds complexity on the foredeck it was little used on Barnegat Bay. Even though the distance from mast to bow on a 28 footer isn't large (J = 11+ feet), the downhaul earned a berth on this trip. I discuss it in the Log below and now recommend it for ocean sailing.

We already had safety harness jacklines running from the foredeck to each quarter, plus heavy padeyes on deck and in the cockpit. I did not intend to get off the boat (even for a short period) between New Jersey and Bermuda and felt a new Larakis safety harness would help achieve that goal. During the trip I never left the cabin without hooking on.

I was offered and gladly accepted the loan of an Avon life raft. Although presently I own my own raft and have for many years, this item is perhaps something you want your best friend to own and properly maintain. Typical life raft prices run $2 to 3 thousand and an annual inspection and repack about $300. Since no one believes they'll ever need a raft, the economics are not convincing. However I will not fall into a discussion of the oxymoron "sailing economics." (At left, the "official" Bermuda Yachting Guide.)

To secure the raft I built a rig with cable, a snap shackle, and 4 padeyes and mounted the canister on the cabin top for immediate release. The raft I borrowed hadn't been inspected for some time, and I did not have it repacked. Even though I never came close to needing it, I recognize now that I should have had it repacked.

In addition to a CQR 25 anchor, I decided to carry a 12H and a 20H Danforth, each with 2 fathoms of chain and 200 foot 1/2 inch nylon rodes. Our inventory at the time included two CQR 25 plows, a 5H, two 12H and two 20H Danforths, over 150 feet of assorted chain, and over 1000 feet of assorted 1/2 inch nylon. This is elaborate for a 28 footer but each piece of gear has proved itself at least once. Although I never anchored in Bermuda (there was always room at dockside or on a mooring), I would later carry at least as much ground tackle on all future cruises.

Both lightly crewed and fully crewed yachts need self-steering for anything beyond a short duration cruise. By then we had used an electronic Autohelm 1000 autopilot successfully for 5 seasons when it suddenly quit on the last sailing day of 1986. The unit went in for a total rebuild over the winter, and I also had access to a second Autohelm 1000 as back-up. In addition I added a windvane self-steerer. For reasons of design and economy I chose a Navik double pendulum system. This French unit is popular with single handers and has many ocean miles and Ostar races to its credit. Installation was simple and the unit steered well during the trip. I would choose Navik again for Bermuda; for longer range ocean sailing a more robust unit (e.g., Monitor) might be appropriate. One problem with any self-steerer is that a vane on the transom is an easy target for docks, flotsam, and visiting dinks. (Above right, the Bermuda Botanical Gardens.)

Our aluminum Davis radar reflector was visible on radar at 8 to 10 miles. Prior to this cruise one ship captain had told me that at that distance I looked like a large fishing boat. He'd been surprised to come up on a small sailboat. A 3 point attachment rig I developed kept chafe down, but even with chafe and windage problems a reflector is mandatory. I also rigged a man overboard pole and related gear. Later I was asked how it might benefit a singlehander, and I was stumped. Yet it did look "shippy" and I did intend to cruise the Bermuda Islands with my wife after her arrival by plane, so...

We already had dual sets of running lights, a set at deck level for steaming and a tricolor at the masthead for sailing. The tricolor serves several functions, namely as a backup for the lower lights, as a visible sailing light (40 plus feet off the water), and as a light for the Windex. It also eliminated sternlight glare from reflections off gear on the stern rail and backstay. The tricolor light is illegal when steaming, but I believe its effectiveness and visibility should be taken into account when the rules are next revised. We treat our masthead tricolor as standard minimum equipment for coastal and offshore sailing.

For electronics we carried a depth sounder (helpful when approaching Bermuda), a knotmeter, a distance log, a direction finder, a loran, two EPIRB's (Class B and Class C), and a VHF radio. I borrowed a multi-band radio receiver with BFO for time ticks and high seas weather forecasts. In addition, I carried a complete set of charts, pilots, cruising guides, 3 compasses, and the usual plotting gear. I had plotting sheets, a calculator, and home made work forms for celestial navigation, but at that time I did not have my own sextant. Fortunately my "advisers" provided both a plastic Davis and an alloy Tamaya sextant.

We had added several "offshore" items below deck over the years, so few modifications were needed. All lockers and seatbacks on the boat had positive stainless steel catches. Additional handholds had been bolted through bulkheads, and canvas lee cloths had been fitted to each sea berth. The head and navigation area were set up for rough weather, and gear that might move in rough conditions was well secured (thank goodness for shock cord). My perennial wish list includes a practical wet locker, but I haven't yet seen one on a 28 foot sailboat. Over the years we've re-bedded just about every piece of deck hardware and the boat is very tight below. This is not to say we've never shipped a sea or two through the companionway.

Once in Bermuda we planned to leave the harbor of St. George's to cruise the Islands. I therefore carried the usual complement of cruising (as opposed to voyaging) equipment, including an inflatable dinghy, an outboard motor, a cockpit dodger, awnings, 6 large fenders, 8 long docklines, the anchors and rodes listed above, a stereo with about 50 cassettes, sun showers, water hoses, reading material, snorkel gear, shore and beach wear, a 35 mm camera with 3 lenses and 10 rolls of film, spot and search lights, and more. Considering that Kerry Deare is just 22 feet on the water, I was amazed to see her down on her lines only an inch or so when loaded and fully provisioned. (Above right, a South Shore beach.)

Speaking of provisions (and if you're not yet totally bored with this tale), the next section covers fuels, fluids, food, drink, medical supplies, spares, etc. Stay tuned.

Part Three: Provisions and Stores

"The greatest thing since Dacron" aptly describes the Seal-A-Meal food storage system. For those not familiar with it, the system uses transparent bags designed for heat sealing. The bags are filled with freshly prepared hot (or cold) food, pressed to remove most of the air, and then heat sealed with a special unit that resembles an electrified 3 hole punch. The bags are next deep frozen. In use food is prepared by simply boiling the bags for 4 to 5 minutes. We sized the bags to fit into a swing stove that used canned butane and allowed cooking under most weather conditions. (At left, the "Natural Arches.")

Two aspects of our particular method are worth noting. First, each individual food bag was coded by number and listed in a computer. We then arranged food items in the ice box so that, for example, chicken soup did not show up 3 days in a row, etc. Second, once the bags were sealed and frozen they did not need to remain frozen, or even cold. Provided the bags had not leaked and there was no evidence of expansion (which would have indicated bacteria), the food was considered "safe." During the trip and for some time afterward the food remained edible, with only 1 or 2 leakers or discards.

In early 1987 my loving Italian mother agreed to take on the challenge of provisioning for the trip, and the results were spectacular. About 106 food bags were prepared, including soups, fruits, vegetables, entrees, and desserts. These were individually frozen and later sorted into packs labeled Day # 1, Day # 2, etc., up to Day # 26. The 26 day figure was arrived at based on the following estimates: 8 days down and 8 days back as a "normal" time limit, plus 50%. This totals 24 days, with the extra 2 days attributable to my ethnic heritage. In addition to the Seal-a-Meal foodstuffs, I also shipped a 4 week supply of canned goods.

In practice I ate less than planned, due initially to a delicate stomach for the first day and a half, and also to the generous portions Mom had cooked up. All in all I ate very well. Sitting in the companionway on the evening of my second day offshore, savoring the aroma of veal scaloppini and listening to Mozart, I realized I could actually get to like this sailing thing. Maybe.

My clothing needs were simple. I carried 2 complete sets of weather gear, 6 bathing suits, tee shirts, several sweaters, and 3 pairs of blue jeans. Most of these items were individually wrapped in waterproof plastic bags, but I took very little water below so this precaution went untested. I also carried 2 pairs each of boat shoes and sailing boots. Of course we had a complete supply of towels, wash cloths, dish washing cloths, etc. Dirty items were wrapped in plastic garbage bags and dried on the lifeline when possible.

Kerry Deare's standard diesel tankage is 12 gallons. To this I added two separate 2 1/2 gallon jerry cans, carried on deck. At cruising revs Kerry Deare's Volvo MD 7A (since replaced) used 0.3 GPH, which translated to about 57 hours engine time based on available fuel. In a calm we could motor at 5.7 knots, but with any kind of sea we generally made about 5.2. Range under power was therefore just under 300 NM. Once clear of the coast on the trip down I used the diesel only to charge the batteries. The air turned light halfway through on the return trip, and I chose to go motorsailing. However by running at 1400 to 1600 RPM (instead of the usual 2200) I improved the GPH figure by at least a factor of 2 and arrived in New Jersey with over 8 gallons of diesel in the tanks.

Standard fresh water tankage on the Cape Dory 28 is 60 gallons (in port and starboard under berth tanks). Many yachts with larger crews cross oceans with less water than this, so I was not concerned. I even managed a few fresh water showers (but no shaves) and finished on either end with a substantial amount of water.

A big concern in single-handed sailing is sickness or physical injury. Any disability is magnified by the solitude factor, so to back up my extra caution on deck and below I wanted to carry an elaborate medical kit. My preparations began months before the trip with a Red Cross advanced first aid course. I then scoured the sailing literature and assembled two lists, one for supplies and one for medications. Each list was reviewed by several friends who are medical professionals, and they suggested additions or deletions. The final lists I carried on board gave each drug's name and a detailed description of its use, so in a practical situation I could look up a symptom and match it with a medication. (Above left, replica of the "Deliverance" in St. Georges.)

My medical kit gave me enough confidence to attempt a heart transplant, although this was unlikely. There was a much stronger chance of gear or mechanical failure so I shipped tools and spares to cover most situations. It was in this area of preparation that the advantages of sailing the same boat for a number of years became clear. Over time I'd built up a broad collection of obscure spares for just about all parts and systems on board. These included: (1) complete engine spares, including lube oil; (2) extensive sail repair materials, including spare cloth, line, and hardware; (3) rigging spares, including blocks and shackles (but no spare standing rigging); (4) electrical spares, including batteries, sockets, connectors, wire, bulbs; (5) hardware spares, including custom fastenings for all hatches, portlights, and catches; (6) extra cordage, both nylon and dacron.

My tool collection was divided into 3 categories. The "standard" tool box held wrenches, screw drivers, clamps, Allen wrenches, drill bits, pliers, and other items for most routine jobs on board. The "engine" tool box held metric wrenches, metric sockets, oil filter tools, a rubber mallet, an outboard motor wheel puller, and particular items for both the diesel and the dinghy outboard. The "electrical" tool box held specialty electrical tools such as wire strippers, soldering materials, electrical lugs and connectors, spare electrical sockets, wiring, and spares such as an extra antenna for the direction finder, spare desiccants for the knot meter and depth sounder, fuses, etc.

Part Four: Navigation and Piloting

Bermuda is harder to find than New Jersey and I have heard of boats sailing right on by to Africa. But most yachts find St. George's, and usually on the first try. It's the reefs that give cause for concern. In this section I'll cover navigational preparations and their practice as used on my first offshore passage.

Charts are of course the basic tools. There are six DMA charts for Bermuda; all should be carried. They are based on British Admiralty charts but are printed and issued by the United States Government. Bermuda uses IALA Region B (Red Right Returning) with the peculiarity that red aids bear odd numbers. During 1983 the entire Bermuda plan including major lights had been changed, so any older charts had to be heavily corrected. (At right, Fort St. Catherine's.)

As an example the Kitchen Shoals and Northeast Breakers lights had both been moved in to the very edge of the reefs. Leaving these lights to port (even close aboard) when approaching from the north will put you square onto the rocks. I was sure to purchase the latest charts and correct them to the latest Notices.

The Kerry Deare navigational arsenal included loran C, direction finding, dead reckoning, local radio stations, and celestial navigation. GPS wasn't even a fond wish for small boat sailors in 1987. All of the methods I had available were used, especially as cross checks. I was (and am) of the opinion that each navigation method should independently allow the safe completion of the voyage. If all systems but one were to fail, the residual system must be able to take the yacht safely into harbor. With the exception of DR, this was and remains the case on Kerry Deare.

I've heard stories of yachts reaching Bermuda on DR alone, but this is foolish. The principal navigational feature of any Bermuda cruise is the Gulf Stream (see below), and the DR cannot take the Stream into account. Of course the DR must be run in proper fashion per good navigational practice.

The principal aid to navigation when making landfall has traditionally been the St. David's radio beacon. This signal has a nominal range of 150 NM and is the most reliable electronic aid in the region. I picked it up weakly at about 175 NM and strongly at its advertised 150 NM. It seemed to be saying "This way to Bermuda," an obvious comfort. St. David's Light gave a bearing to Bermuda, and I crossed it with a late day sun line for daily positions.

I hate to admit that my first offshore astro position line was about 21 miles off, but from other evidence I think it was. With practice I achieved the 2 to 3 mile accuracy I expected, and this seemed fine considering sea state and boat motion. I learned quickly that practice is the key to astro navigation. I'd had no trouble confirming the precise position of Seaside Park NJ while standing on the beach and practicing with a sextant the preceding winter. Learning to handle the motion of a small sailing boat at sea is what makes navigation an "art."

I was curious about the quality of loran C performance I would find in and around Bermuda. The Islands are in a fringe area and reception is in general quite weak. However in my view the real problem is that TD lines near Bermuda have very poor crossing angles. Even with good signal strength the uncertainties remain quite large. My plan was to let the loran C instrument run and collect data, but to rely principally on other methods. As mentioned earlier, the GPS system and inexpensive receivers were not available at this time.

So there's the plan: let the loran run, keep the DR, and confirm all by DF and celestial. The plan worked well, particularly through the Gulf Stream. And sailing through the Gulf Stream is the keynote of any Bermuda trip.

Part Five: The Gulf Stream

Gulf Stream planning should begin at least a month before departure. The first thing to do is to get your hands on an HF radio receiver with single sideband and BFO capability. Sony makes one of the smallest and best. This will allow reception government Gulf Stream bulletins. (At left, a Gulf Stream "planning" image.)

You'll also need Chart 5161. This unusual chart is designed specifically for the Newport-to-Bermuda Ocean Race. One side of the chart gives the rhumb line running north-south with a loran C overlay. Many sailors find the other side even more useful. It depicts the US East Coast out to Bermuda and is drawn to a scale appropriate for daily plotting of the Gulf Stream. In combination with the NMN High Seas Forecast and the Gulf Stream Bulletin out of Norfolk VA (broadcast several times each day on various HF frequencies) it allows the navigator to construct a "road map" of the route, including the various meanders and eddies that characterize the Stream.

If plotting the Gulf Stream sounds like something only for racing yachts, it definitely is not. I started plotting for practice in early May, at first only every few days, and as June and departure got closer, on a daily basis. As soon as you begin to understand the system of eddies around the Stream, things start to fall into place. There are two kinds of eddies, warm (clockwise) eddies above the Stream and cold (counter-clockwise) eddies below, usually 50 to 100 NM in diameter. It's easy to see that hopping on and off one of these powerful eddies at the right place and at the right time just might improve your daily mileage. You also realize that hopping on and off at the wrong place can add frustration and time to any passage. I logged one 167 NM day by hitting a cold eddy right on, and I can assure you that the exercise is worth the trouble. It is difficult to measure the actual speed of the current in the Stream (especially without reference to an outside standard like GPS) but 1 to 2 knots is about right. In a small boat the addition (or subtraction) of up to 50 NM per day is something to worry about.

The daily Gulf Stream positions broadcast on SSB are based on infrared satellite images. They represent the best information available, but are at least a day old when received. To back up all this high technology, I carried a thermometer (a swimming pool model). Every few hours I filled the head with sea water and took a temperature reading. When I saw the water temperature rise 8 degrees in under 10 hours, I knew we were sailing in the Gulf Stream.

Another old sailor's "trick" that helps confirm the presence of an eddy is wave shape. I was fortunate to have very steady wind conditions for the entire trip down to Bermuda (basically north to east at 15 to 25 knots). As I sailed into an eddy, and depending upon its spin, the current was either with the wind or opposed. This meant that the shape of the seas, short and steep with wind and tide opposed, and longer with a lee going tide, confirmed the existence of an eddy. When all the available information from wave shapes, temperatures, speed, and general conditions was analyzed, it was almost like having a "road map" to Bermuda with recognizable intersections, highways, etc.

Part Six: Bermuda Landfalls (General)

The reefs extend up to 12 miles offshore north and west of the Islands and are the major hazards. The Bermuda Islands are actually the tops of several old volcanic mountains that rise sharply from the sea floor about 3 miles below. I sailed from "off soundings" into 180 feet of water in under 10 minutes, so approaching at night or under self-steering has its risks.

Yet the approach is easy in clear weather, especially at night. The 2 major lights, Gibbs Hill (26 miles, photo at right) and St. David's (16 miles), are backed up by several 12 mile beacons at the edge of the reef, and although it gets windy, fog is rare. Ideally one should time a landfall for just before dawn to pick up the major lights and confirm position, and then make a final approach at first light. I was fortunate enough to do this, getting the loom of Gibbs Hill 38 miles out at about 0200 local time. Of course this meant another 8 hours sailing and never actual seeing the lights themselves (it was daylight when I cam within range). I was thus able to confirm position and plot a final approach with confidence.

All this piloting and navigational activity takes time (from sleeping, eating, reading, and sail handling) and that's why some yachts carry an individual whose sole assignment is navigation. Imagine the luxury! It's easy to keep busy on a solo trip.

Part Seven: The Voyage

Let's now discuss actually sailing to Bermuda, specific weather conditions, boat and equipment performance, and finally, sailor performance. I'll do so by reporting information directly from the logbook. This will paint as realistic a picture of sailing conditions and activities during the trip as I can provide.

Every yachting season is a busy one in Bermuda, and 1987 was no exception. The Bermuda One-Two (single-handed down and double-handed back) was scheduled to depart Newport June 13th, the same day the Newport-to-Bermuda multihull race was to start. The Marion-to-Bermuda Cruising Yacht Race was scheduled for a June 19th start. Since the practical Bermuda "window" of relatively hurricane-free weather lasts only to mid-July at the very latest, I had to go during June. To limit dockside crowds and to beat the racing fleets to Bermuda, I'd originally planned to depart at the first good weather after June 10th. However since fitting out and provisioning had come off on or slightly ahead of schedule, I decided to leave on the first reasonable weather after June 1st. (Above left, the start of the 1994 Newport-to-Bermuda Race.)

By the last week in May I had a good idea of Gulf Stream conditions. However a northward moving tropical depression off Florida was making weather headlines offshore and presented the major unknown. The system was soon upgraded to a storm, but by June 1st it had broken up along the Carolina coast and showed little chance of reforming. My departure date decision was resolved by the practical realization that during the 6 to 8 day trip I would probably go through a complete weather cycle, so waiting for "ideal" conditions didn't make sense. I decided to go on June 3rd if conditions were at all reasonable.

Wednesday, June 3rd, dawned over New Jersey with heavy cloud cover, some fog, and winds out of the east at 15. A cold front was expected to push through the area late Thursday or early Friday. I decided to go, but in easterly conditions the Barnegat Inlet is quite a bit less than attractive. We would instead be required go out the Mansquan Inlet to our north.

Slack at the famous (or infamous) Point Pleasant Canal just south of Manasquan was at a reasonable time during the morning, so I slipped the lines at 0730 and moved down the Toms River under power for the 10 or so mile ride to Manasquan Inlet. The trip up gave me time to ponder my fate, and once I'd cleared all the bridges and arrived at the Inlet I decided to tie alongside at the Shrimp Box Restaurant, a half mile in from the ocean, for a final check of systems and crew. I walked over to the USCG Station Manasquan facility and spoke to them about my float plan. Unlike the reception I'd received at USCG Station Barnegat where I'd originally planned to go offshore, the folks at Manasquan refused to take any information. So I asked for a barometer reading to check my calibration and headed back to the boat to ready for sea.

By that time a dockside stranger had appeared and was checking out the boat. He asked where I was headed and I confessed. He asked when the crew would arrive. I said all of the intended crew was already on board. When he realized my meaning he asked if he could take some final photos. I didn't attach undue significance to the word "final." ( Photo above, The Dockyard.)

I had now run out of excuses for delay so I set my 3 quartz watches to GMT (added 4 hours), got the latest NMN Gulf Stream Bulletin, and slipped the lines at 1330 local time. I headed out Manasquan Inlet into 10 to 12 knots ENE and let the engine kick over while setting the mainsail under the #3 genoa. I then shut down the diesel, set the windvane, and we were off. I was unaware that this was one of the few times I'd be able to set a full mainsail during the entire trip down.

The following paragraphs are summary entries from the Kerry Deare logbook (all times in GMT).

Part Eight: The Log

[Explanatory notes and comments in brackets.]

3 Jun 1900Z (3:00 PM local): Stomach "alive" but boat settling down to at-sea routine. Happened to look at wind vane and noticed that 2 of the 3 bolts holding the steering quadrant in place had come completely loose, almost sending the quadrant to the bottom. Lesson one: stay alert. [Loss or destruction of this part would have ended the trip then and there.]

4 Jun 0300Z: Changed up to #1. Speed under 5 knots but laying course to Bermuda. Just under 600 NM to St. George's Harbor. First night out. Clearing and cool, jacket needed on deck. [I just about always get a chill at night offshore. In particular, I am cold right after sleep due to slow circulation.]

4 Jun 0930Z: Very light easterly conditions and motorsailed through the fishing fleet for about 3 hours. Quite a crowd. Caught 2 hours sleep earlier but have to stay awake now to thread my way through about 15 fishing vessels. Now about 75 NM offshore, and no equipment casualties yet.

4 Jun 1150Z: Working on the foredeck this bright morning and spot container ship Long Beach southbound. He actually bears off to pass astern of Kerry Deare and informs me over the VHF that he first picked us up on radar at 8 to 10 miles. At that time we looked like a large fishing vessel. Good news and a strong vote for the radar reflector. Wind NE at 10 - 12. [Encouraging news, especially since I did plan to sleep a bit during the trip.] (Above left, Somerset Bridge, the smallest drawbridge in the world.)

4 Jun 1600Z: Stomach still settling down and I'm heating up Mom's chicken stew. Yummy. Cold front cloud structure to the west, sea temperature 68 degrees F. Received and plotted the latest Gulf Stream data, and may get a favorable hitch on a large warm eddy. Does this Gulf Stream hocus pocus really work? [The only strategic choices on this route concern Gulf Stream eddies. The consequences can be rather large.]

4 Jun 2000Z: Comparing DR and loran shows we may have caught the warm eddy with about a 1 knot favorable lift. Wind up to 15 E so laid in 1st reef to ease the ship. Still #1 genoa and bright sun. Fine sailing with manageable seas. Heading about 2 points below rhumb line and footing well. Lasagna for lunch, turkey with brown gravy for dinner.

4 Jun 2200Z: About 1.5 knot favorable current from the eddy and making 6 plus knots over the bottom. Slightly seasick. [This was the first real confirmation that Gulf Stream eddies were going to be important.]

5 Jun 0900Z: Wind up and down, and still getting the coastal breeze effect. Motorsailed into a very light easterly, but now under #1 with 4 to 6 knots ExN. Estimate about 35 NM to the Gulf Stream proper. Sea temp 70F. [The approach to the Gulf Stream is always a bit tense. Gulf Stream waves can be quite out of proportion to what one might expect from normal wind effects.] (Photo at left, Flatts Inlet.)

5 Jun 1230Z: First not enough wind, and then too much. Was on the foredeck changing down to #3 genoa and I noticed that she's making 5.8 knots under main alone, so tied #3 to the lifelines. Wind 15 - 20 N, sea temp 73 F. Getting my sea legs (and stomach). [This pattern of "up jib, down jib," "in reef, out reef" became standard. The wind just kept coming from the right direction, sometimes up and sometimes not.]

5 Jun 1600Z: Set #3 with 2 reefs and pick up almost a knot thanks to the genoa. ExN 20 - 25, speed about 6.5 through the water, sea temp 77 F, and we're in the Gulf Stream. Short chop with wind and tide opposed. Clouds and ideal sailing. Good introduction to the Gulf Stream. [My little boat was now performing about as well as possible.]

6 Jun 0700Z: Same rig. Holding over 6 knots and humming. Little to do for the last 8 to 10 hours but watch the waves. Wind vane on the money and steering very accurately. Seas much longer and smoother since we're out of the Gulf Stream. SMG from loran seems too high (over 7 knots) unless we've picked up a big cold eddy that was supposed to be about 60 miles north of our present position. A "this can't last much longer" perfect situation. Have begun talking to the boat, the ocean, the wind, and the steering vane out loud. Not lonely, just busy. [I had expected to miss the eddy referred to here, which I thought was well to the north. But something was giving us a big lift. What?]

6 Jun 1030Z: Kenyon Speedo still showing 6.5 through the water. Seas looking aggressive but holding onto as much cloth as I can, as long as I can. Cloudy but improving N and W. Loran reception still looks satisfactory. [The yacht was making very good time. A reef was indicated, but hey, ... we were moving quite well.]

6 Jun 1330Z: Average speeds since leaving New Jersey: Per log 5.5 knots, per loran 5.9 knots. This compares with normal cruise average of 4.5 knots. Based on the wave action and observed SMG, it seems that the big cold eddy must have moved south toward the rhumb line and given us quite a lift. Impressive seas and we are cooking. [And in fact I later confirmed that the big eddy was well below its predicted position and in an ideal location to give us a big push.] (Photo at left, bike path in Somerset.)

6 Jun 1600Z: Received and plotted the latest Gulf Stream data and as suspected that big cold eddy moved about 60 NM south to give us our big boost. Luck of the Irish? [Now they tell me! The government weather forecasters just caught up with my part of the world.]

6 Jun 2000Z: Making 6.5 through the water on a beautiful sunny day. Bob Dylan on the stereo, and feeling good and rested. Foredeck visit showed jib halyard chafing headstay, so re-led sheet. No other gear problems. Sailing on this side of the Gulf Stream is the best I've seen. Water deep blue. Wind still N 20 - 25. Petrels sailing along the wave troughs. Seas 6 to 8 feet. [The view was quite lovely. We were truly at sea by now and pelagic birds were our only company.]

6 Jun 2255Z: First equipment casualty: Log giving erroneous mileage data.

7 Jun 0730Z: About 4 hours ago was running the diesel to charge up the batteries and considering shaking out the second reef. Then about 1/2 hour ago I was almost thrown out of my berth while napping due to the violent motion of the boat. Kerry Deare was on her ear doing just under 7 knots with a quartering wind at 30 knots or so. Headed up on deck and into the blackness. Down came the #3 (thanks, jib downhaul). Now making 5.5 knots under double reefed main alone. Dark, cold, and wet. Where's the dawn? [Even though the downhaul rig was a bit of a bother, it had permitted me to avoid the bow of the boat in the dark and in windy conditions. Worth the trouble.] (Above right, "Queen's View.")

7 Jun 1100Z: Set the spitfire (#5) with double reefed main, giving just under 6 knots with a high-footed rig. Wind N at 20 to 25 knots with higher gusts. Very clear, with fine sailing.

7 Jun 1130Z: Just picked up Sunday morning AM religious programming on the AM/FM stereo. It's ZBM1, Bermuda! [This was an exciting moment. Hadn't heard another voice in quite some time.]

7 Jun 1745Z: Another superb sail day. Sunshine, warm, ExN at 15 - 20, making 5.5 knots with the spitfire and one reef. Looking at AM landfall. Made the St. David's beacon "BSD" at about 150 NM.

8 Jun 0500Z: Changed up to #3 and shook out all reefs. Fine close reach in 12 - 15 NE. Clear night. No sleep tonight since we're close to the Islands and commercial or cruise ship traffic is possible. Big moon bouncing a silvery trail of light off the dancing waves.

8 Jun 0600Z: Spoke a northbound cruise ship who confirmed my position and stated that his radar showed me on course 310 degrees true. That would have taken me back to New Jersey. I assured him I was heading toward, not from, Bermuda. Will ignore his position information for the present. [And this fellow had the lives of an untold number of innocents in his hands!]

8 Jun 0705Z: Picked up loom of Gibbs Hill Light at about 38 NM. Estimate 28 NM to North Rock. Wind going light so "Good bye, Lynn and Larry Pardey, hello Volvo." Motorsailing with #3 and main, wind light and on the nose. Change over to local time. Excited.

8 Jun 0736 Local: Visual on the Bermuda Islands in light haze. Many pastels, so definitely not Africa. About 1 to 2 knots foul current here above the reef. Even when you're at Bermuda, it takes a long time to get there. [This was not the first time I'd seen the Islands from the sea, but it was the first time from my own boat. Very beautiful.]

8 Jun 0815: Visual on Northeast Breakers Tower. Came on soundings at 180 feet and immediately tacked offshore. After sailing in 3000 fathoms for a while, 180 feet seemed very very shallow. This attitude from a Barnegat Bay sailor! [Yes, I was spooked by the 180 feet sounding.]

8 Jun 1140: Tied at Market Wharf, St. George's, Bermuda, waiting for customs. Elapsed time from Manasquan, New Jersey to St. George's, Bermuda: 4 days, 221 hours.

Part Nine: Bermuda

There I was, sitting in the sunshine, tied alongside a friendly Pearson 35 from Florida, and feeling very pleased. I was about the smallest boat in the harbor. I'd shaved an entire day off my most optimistic estimate. The boat was in good order. We'd even entered port with ice left in the ice box. (At left, The Scaur.)

The only problem was that at some point I'd have to leave.

Within a day or two my wife flew in and we spent the next week and a half in one beautiful anchorage after another. I was beginning to understand that most visiting yachts miss this great cruising area by remaining in the yacht "ghetto" in St. George's. They never learn and experience the many beautiful and uncrowded anchorages throughout the Islands. I admit that the temptation to "just sit" after a few days at sea is a strong one, but it should be resisted. The major treat during our visit was the open and friendly reception of Bermudans at all levels. Our visit coincided with the Queen's Birthday Celebration, and we enjoyed the hospitality of several clubs and sailing organizations, especially in Sandys and Somerset parishes.

Of course departure time came all too soon. My wife left for the airport and a return flight, and after a few mechanical adventures with the diesel and a final swim in St. George's Harbor, I cleared Her Majesty's Customs and sailed out Town Cut at about 1700 local time on Saturday, June 20th. The cruise back to New Jersey was bumpy, wet, and took just under 6 days. I was relaxed about finding the New Jersey coast, but the major error on my return was my casual attitude toward the Gulf Stream.

My efforts on the trip down had been very successful, but I didn't realize that at least as much work should have been put into negotiating the Stream on the return cruise. It was hard to get motivated at the finish of the adventure, and that lapse cost me the better part of a full sailing day due to missing the exact positions of 2 important eddies.

After some dramatic thunderstorm activity in the Gulf Stream, a visit from a lost storm petrel, a VHF conversation with an Exxon supertanker, and two encounters with dolphins also apparently headed for the Jersey shore (for the weekend?), the Barnegat Inlet lighthouse, "Old Barney," showed up on the money. As I reached up Barnegat Bay and spruced up the boat (and the crew) for my arrival at the boatyard, I felt pretty good. The welcome at Stump Creek Slip Ways, our old boatyard, didn't hurt my feelings much either. (View at right of the South Coast.)

Let's see. If we begin planning now, we can leave for St. George's about the first week in June 1989. But this time we'll definitely visit Castle Harbor, Ely's Harbor, Paradise Cove, and ...