The bolder option is not always best

Delaware Bay goes on forever. The water is muddy and there are acres of sandbanks waiting for the unsuspecting navigator. The entrance is dangerous, with narrow channels that don’t conform to expectations of symmetry. They lie waiting with malicious intent. A dark heart rejoices in the carnage of wind over its considerable tide. That said, it offered an exciting finale to one of those sails that really stand out. We were heading south for Chesapeake Bay where we needed to find a hurricane hole with some urgency. There was a hurricane out there and some wag had slapped the name Florence on its backside. Florence evoked fond childhood memories of The Magic Roundabout, Dougal and that distinctive theme tune. A more inappropriate name for this harridan of destruction would be hard to come by.

Things had been building since an amazing day motoring from Long Island Sound through New York to Sandy Hook. We serenaded the Statue of Liberty with Frank Sinatra blasting out New York, New York on the cockpit speakers and popped some fizz. But we don’t do night sails unless we have to, so it was a long day ahead of us to Atlantic City.

Wind was in the wings though, so we started early the next day and were soon down to two reefs and poled out headsail – 9, 10, 11 knots and loving it. It was a grey day with erratic squalls throwing their delinquent weight about. The seas were building and it looked like we would make the entrance to Delaware Bay too early, so it would be wind against tide. What to do? Have a sniff at the inshore channel, pop in to Cape May to wait or head out to sea for the main shipping channel?

It was blowing 25 knots and the tide would be 2.5 knots against it – I don’t think so. I knew the inner channel, having left the bay that way on our journey north. Mad to consider it or unconventional; was I being seduced by the prospect of saving a handful of hours? I can imagine the inquiry, ‘What were you thinking?’ My water told me that despite convention, it was worth a look. The seas were large and standing up on the tide. I wavered but decided to have a sniff close inshore. As we closed the harbour, the visibility dropped with heavy rain, the wind rose to 35 knots and I watched a yacht struggling to make the entrance. No options looked promising and time was the only card I had to play. I hove to and Pearl quietly sat out the maelstrom.

An appreciative smile spread on my face as we eased our way towards the beach at 1.5 knots and the seas settled as we’d hoped. The saying ‘If faced with a dilemma take the bolder option’ was not appropriate here but patience was. Pearl’s docile nature gave us the confidence to wait and sure enough the wind eased to 20 knots, the skies lifted and we were rewarded by a perfect window of opportunity. Cautiously, a mere 200 metres off the beach, we eased our way round the notorious Cape May. The shallowest it got was four metres under the keel, and like thieves in the night we made the bay. Out to sea, breakers vented their frustration.

Wind, the sea’s cousin, decided to take revenge as it rose again and headed us but to no avail. We were in high spirits. Tracey and I ran about changing down to staysail, putting a cuppa on and settling Pearl down for a 40-mile slog up the bay. We dodged the tide behind sandbanks where we could and before we knew it the bay was done. It had been fun.

Dusk and serenading cicadas welcomed us to the Chesapeake & Delaware canal. The sense of achievement was intoxicating. Perhaps once you get to know her, Delaware Bay isn’t so bad after all.

Was I being seduced by the prospect of saving a handful of hours?