As I’m flying home from Virginia and pouring through my photo album I’m reliving an incredible 392 nautical mile sail from Newport to Norfolk. It took a crew of 4 to sail Colin and Natalie’s home, a Sabre 36 named Carina, about 2 days and 13 hours to get from Rhode Island to Virginia. We left Newport in the rain on Thursday around noon and and hit Virginia by Sunday morning around 7am on a gorgeous sunny day. Conditions were challenging right from the get go and persisted without any break in the weather and seas until early Saturday morning. Right outside Newport we hit large swell and high winds which pushed us along at a good clip towards Block Island. The crew had little time to ease in to the pitching of the boat as each wave rocketed us forward but we quickly settled into our watch schedule and prepped for our long journey South.
In what seemed like no time at all we were passing West of Block Island and East of Montauk and approached our waypoint to head down Long Island. As we rounded Montauk daylight quickly disappeared at around 5:00 and we mentally prepared for what we knew would be a very long and dark night. Our plan was to head parallel to Long Island and then bear off further out to sea at the West end to avoid the busy shipping lanes outside of NYC but the wind had us pointing SE bringing us about 7 miles offshore until we gybed and again headed SW along the outskirts of a fishing zone. We would follow this course with the wind and waves at our stern, for what seemed like an eternity, gradually taking us farther out to open ocean and finally maxing out at roughly 45 miles offshore. We were sailing in complete and utter darkness with no moon or stars and no light from land illuminating our way. The only light in our tiny 36 foot universe being from our chart plotter, running lights, the soft red glow down below in the cabin and the very dim bioluminescence in the waves behind us. When I mean complete darkness I mean there was absolutely nothing but a thick inky blackness beyond the dimensions of the boat. No sky. No horizon. No ocean. No Earth. Even being tethered to the boat with a life jacket and harness at all times when on deck you can’t help but maintain a healthy fear of falling overboard and being swallowed whole by the dark void upon which we were floating. Steering by the chart plotter, compass and wind angle alone we made our way across Long Island with one reef in the main and no headsail at an average speed of 7kts but easily hit 8+. To keep ourselves busy we listened to the invisible waves roar by and wondered just how big they were but we weren’t sure if we even wanted to know, we chatted and joked about many things, shared stories and experiences, and discussed our course and the weather forecast.
After an extremely long sleepless night due to the pounding of the waves and howling of the wind we finally saw daybreak at last which came as a relief to the crew. We had made it to the first of the three the NYC shipping lanes Friday morning. At this point we managed to put some 45nm between us and the nearest point of land and felt comfortable knowing we wouldn’t be sailing directly across busy commercial shipping traffic. We kept our radar on at all times to spot and avoid any ships in the area of which we did see a number of. It took us an entire day to sail clear of the final shipping lane South of NYC. We experienced much of the same conditions as the night before - intermittent rain, winds 20+ kts sustained and gusting to 30, estimated seas around 10-12ft or more, still sailing very fast with a very small sail area at 7-9kts. Nobody had slept since we left the dock. Sleeping was impossible, being tossed about in the berth. I tried a number of tricks I developed on past voyages to secure myself from rolling side to side, like spooning my duffel bag, but to no effect. I tried ear plugs and podcasts to quiet the sound of the wind and waves but also to no avail. Eating was not practical as our appetites were just about nonexistent but we snacked here and there on light foods. Despite all of this we were still in high spirits and were having a great time white knuckling the helm and surfing waves! Sometime that afternoon we had a pod of 10 or so dolphins riding our bow for a short period of time which caused a lot of excitement on board. They played in our wake and got close enough that we could have reached out and touched them. They were such beautiful creatures! I had noted that this was a sign of good luck...
By the end of Friday and as the sun was going down a second time we prepared Carina the for what would be a continuation of the previous 30ish hours. We decided to take down the main entirely and secure it with sail ties and unfurled the headsail to maybe 70%. We then heated up some delicious lentils with sausage on the stove which was no small feat. Eating a hot meal was a much needed morale booster even if at first it seemed unappealing to have a full stomach. That night as I was groggily getting myself ready for my 1-4am watch, I stepped out of the aft cabin and poked my head into the cockpit to take a peek at the current conditions. Colin saw me and very calmly stated that there was a bird in the cabin. I was still shaking off my zombie-like state after trying to force myself to sleep for 3 hours and I didn’t understand what he was saying. He repeated again that there was a bird down below. The words still didn’t register in my brain and I was trying to process what the heck a “bird” was and why this bird thing was in the cabin. In my daze I just figured colin needed something so I began to walk forward towards the v-berth and as I went by the nav station a dark shadow jolted up and in front of my face and flew around my head. I tripped over backwards onto the floor as a wave lifted the boat sideways and at that moment my brain finally remembered that birds existed and that one was loose inside the cabin. I ducked and dodged as the bird frantically flew around trying to escape. It landed right on Natalie as she was sleeping and due to sheer terror it pooped on the blanket. I shooed it away and it then landed on a pillow where it again pooped. I lunged to grab it and it took off so I grabbed the pillow to block it from going further up into the v-berth and it ended up landing on the pillow while I was holding it so I brought it up and out into the cockpit where it tried to fly off but it got stuck under the dodger. It made another break for the cabin but I slid the hatch shut just in time for it to collide into it and it took off again this time out of the dodger and into the night. What are the odds of a bird making it in through the narrow companionway so far off shore?!
After a while of speeding along heading SSW 30-40 miles off the coast of New Jersey the conditions quickly deteriorated even further at about 4am. Winds picked up into the 30’s and the waves increased in size and frequency. Carina was still graciously handling everything that the sea was throwing at her but we made the decision to reef the headsail beyond all three reefing points and just kept a fraction of sail area out. We still managed to frequently hit 9+ kts with almost no sail out. I was relieved of my watch at 4 and went down below to rest for another 3 hours. I awoke at 6:45 to find much calmer seas, moderate winds, clear skies and suddenly I realized I had actually gotten real sleep for the first time since leaving on Thursday. What a relief it was to look out and see an absolutely gorgeous day. The entirety of Saturday I attribute to the lucky dolphin encounter the previous day. The crew was finally able to sleep, eat well, and relax. There were almost no clouds in the sky and the sun was beaming down and dried us all of the salty sea spray and rain that had drenched us the past few days. The best part was that we were still crushing the miles and we managed to get up full sail for a good length of time. There was lots of excitement in the air as we were nearing the final leg of the journey. Morale was at an all time high and the toughest sailing was behind us. Or so we thought.
After an indescribably astonishing sunset the wind had died to 4kts and the engine came on. No sailor enjoys motoring. We set the auto pilot and set a course for the entrance to the channel that led to Norfolk Harbor. It would be another 13ish hours of motoring at 6kts to make it to the marina. As we approached the harbor we began to near land enough to get spotty cell service. We sent messages to our family and friends to let them know all is well. 5 hours of motoring and we made it to the harbor. We encountered an increasing number of ships the closer we got and it took all our focus to keep tabs on AIS, radar, and our charts to navigate an unknown channel at night. I had gone to sleep after my watch expecting to get some good rest and wake up with some decent miles behind us. After what seemed like minutes of sleep I awoke around 1 or 2am to the sound of a dying engine. That was not a good feeling. I jumped out of the bed and as I threw on my gear the engine started back up but Colin then came down the companionway and reported that the engine had unexpectedly died but was able to start it back up. We popped open the engine compartment to investigate why it died and found a significant diesel leak spraying out from the engine. We tried peering through the fine mist spraying at our faces and all over the engine compartment to locate the leak but it was difficult to see. With Cerie and Natalie at the helm and Colin and I below we located the leak and determined it was coming from a hole in the fuel line going to the injectors but it was in quite a difficult spot to get to. Colin slowed the leak with his finger and Natalie and I traded places.
Cerie and I got the headsail unfurled and began navigating the shipping lane in the dark and avoided cargo ships. We ended up having to hail one on the vhf to make them aware of our position. Colin and Natalie were down below working hard to stop the leak and I attempted contacting sea tow on the vhf with no luck. Natalie also tried calling and reached a captain by phone after struggling to speak with two other people. The captain didn’t want to assist us at our current position and advised we alter course to a location an hour across the shipping lanes where he would meet us as the captain claimed he did not want to spend his night searching the harbor for us. This was frustrating as it wasn’t like we didn’t have our exact coordinates and navigational aids around us for reference. How ridiculous! We decided to not put our lives in danger crossing a busy shipping lane at night under sail in an unknown harbor and continued on with an attempt to fix the engine underway. Cerie and I shut down the engine and sailed along and Colin and Natalie came up with a plan and got to work. They got creative and were eventually able get the leak fixed using flex tape and zip ties. Phew! We got the engine back up and running and then it was all hands on deck as we motor sailed for a while longer, checking to see if the fix was holding. After we decided that it was working well we furled the sail and limped another 2 hours to our final destination at Tidewater Marina. We tied up to the dock at 7:30am and hopped off and let out a sigh of relief.
We had just sailed 392 nautical miles without stopping. We snapped a selfie, high-fived, poured victory rum shots (yes, it was 7:30am and, no, you have no right to judge). Natalie and Cerie headed up for a shower and Colin and I indulged in victory beers and victory cookies. What a wild and life changing adventure we had. Despite the “oh shit” moments, the sleep deprivation, the never ending nights, and the difficult weather conditions, we immediately said we’d do it again. I want to thank the entire Carina crew for a good time and wish them a safe journey the rest of the way down to their ultimate destination, Charleston South Carolina. You can continue to follow them at sailing.carina on Instagram. Cheers to another sailing trip in the books!
Photo cred: Colin Mosgrove, Natalie Zucker, Cerie Mosgrove
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