After attending a rainy soccer game in Richmond on Friday night, I got to the boat about 11:00, determined to make two full days of sailing over the weekend. Mechanic Jason had told me that my engine was ready to go, and relieved me greatly by telling me that he couldn't get that oil filter on either, without removing a water hose. (Maybe I'm not quite the mechanical moron that I seem to be!)

So Saturday morning I got up early, ready to go - but the weather was not. NOAA radio was calling for 20-25 knot winds with 30+ gusts and 2-3 foot seas. Now Chuck and I might have handled close to that on our sail in July, but with nobody there but me, I'm cautious. Fortunately, a couple of more experienced sailors on my dock returned from giving it a go and confirmed my caution.

As the day wore on and I got more and more antsy to get out there, the winds seemed to subside (as they were predicted to), the whitecaps on the windy part of the river didn't look as bad, and I formulated a plan! For reasons I won't bore you with, I decided to sail downriver and down wind to Kinsale, spend the night at the marina there, and sail back Sunday where the winds are predicted to be lighter and from a better direction.

It was a good plan and in the end was a great plan, but the first glitch in it was that I didn't make my turn into the Yeocomico River until after sundown, still a good mile or two from the marina. So it was looking like my first night time passage into relatively (for me) narrow waters, and that was spooking me more than a bit! I made the first up-river mark with no difficulty (motoring by this point), but just as I got to the more technical part of the passage, it's well after dark.

The problem with the Yeocomico and other rivers flowing into the Potomac is that they have several coves or creeks just inside the mouth, so there were plenty of places I could have gone wrong - and aground! But I'd completed my coastal navigation class under Capt. Chris Daniels at the Oriental Sailing School, and I knew I could do it. Well, let's say I was pretty sure I could do it, but more than that, I definitely did not want to spend the night at anchor when I wasn't even sure I knew how to unhook the bloody thing!

So, chart and flashlight in hand, I crept onward looking for any sign of marks in the water. Thanks to a clear night with a bit of moon lighting the way, I was able to spot things in the water and with my $10 West Marine 20 gazillion candle-power torch I found good old red #2 channel marker. And then #4, and then #6. I felt like a real navigator!

Unfortunately, I was having less luck (make that NO luck) raising the marina on the radio. Now it is late and I don't really expect them to sit by their radio all night, but I was not able to raise anybody on the radio; couldn't even get the restaurant on the cell phone! So here I sit out in the river seeing the warm glow of the restaurant, knowing there's a bacon cheeseburger in there with my name on it, and not sure exactly how to get there!!

Thankfully, a small motor boat went by and into the marina, so I figured that, even though he needs a whole lot less water under him than I do, I had no choice but to follow his path, creeping along as slow as my engine would go, giving the big triangular DANGER sign on my port side a wide berth, eyes glued to the depth gauge, and listening for any scraping sound from my keel.

It was a piece of cake, said the brave captain after he'd done it! I found a slip that I thought I could get into and out of easily, tied up and went in for that cheeseburger. It tasted like nectar of the gods!

The next morning I awoke to a beautiful day and took a couple of pictures of the marina.

After enjoying a shower and the mammoth Sunday Brunch at the marina restaurant (and vowing to not eat any lunch), I got the Goober ready for the return voyage. The marina is relatively sheltered, but the wind was kicking up its heels every now and then, and I did not want to make the trip back into the same 20+ knots that had pushed me down here on Saturday. The weather radio, however, assured me that 5-10 was the forecast and the buoy report for Cole's Point was only showing 6-8 knots.

As I motored out towards the Potomac, I noticed a couple of boats under sail, so I decided to give it a go. Unfortunately, the wind direction didn't really allow me to move in the direction I wanted, so I left the sails up, but motored until I got out in the Potomac. The trip home was looking like a long one as the promised wind direction had not fully developed and I was looking at a whole lot of tacking to get home.

I made for the Maryland side, vowed that I'd just use the tacking as some of that experience that I desperately need, and just get back when I got back. (I'd already called Patsy and told her that I was not real comfortable promising that I'd be home in time for dinner!)

After my tack back to the Virginia side, the wind shifted just enough to give me a shot at making straight for Cole's Point, or at least it seemed. I got on a good tack, got the sails set, and settled in for the trip home. Unfortunately, the winds were squirrelly in both velocity and direction, so I had to throw a combination of tacking and motor power in every now and then.

Eventually, the problem became just velocity and I just left the sails set and waited for the next puff to show up. The last couple of hours of the trip were just perfect. The wind wasn't perfect, but it was just a magical day on the water. I had enough wind to keep me moving. I had calm seas. I had a cool, clear day. And I didn't have to work my butt off.

I settled in and just enjoyed the ride.

Everything seemed to work right. Just as I was thinking I'd need to turn the engine on, wind would start to ruffle over the water in the distance and fill my sails a minute or two later. The stereo even seemed to have just the right songs on it; rocky songs when the wind picked up, and soothing songs during the calm stretches.

I suppose I sound hopelessly naive to experienced sailors and maybe a little nuts to non-sailors, but the discipline and patience that sailing forces on you overwhelms me more and more. On the Sunday stretch all I had to do was sit back and wait for the breeze, something I had no control over. I just had to patiently take whatever the wind gods dealt me! Contrast that peaceful picture to the night before where I was inching my way in the dark through unknown waters, being forced to be constantly vigilant. And contrast that to my trip with Chuck in late July where we not only had to be constantly vigilant, but had to work our butts off to maintain control in rough winds and seas. I'm not sure I've ever experienced any endeavor quite like sailing!

I really felt like a sailor on this trip. I did things I'd never done before, I took chances and succeeded, I actually went somewhere, and I actually got back. Pure magic!

I headed back to the boat Labor Day in hopes of a couple of long, adventuresome days on the water, but 'twas not to be! I did manage a nice sail across the Potomac on Monday - relatively light winds, but a pleasant sail. Unfortunately, shortly after turning downriver after the crossing, the wind just died! That left me little to do but motor back to the marina. After getting her all settled into the slip, I got this relatively nice picture of the helm at sunset.

The next day, I had hoped to change the oil (again, after the over-heating) and oil filter and get in a good day before returning home. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say that I'm not the engine mechanic that Jason is. I never got out on Tuesday - DANG!!

I did manage to get a couple of good things done on the boat, however, and headed for home mid-afternoon. On the way out, I remembered a conversation with Jen, the bartender, and Chris, a patron, at AC's the night before over a cheeseburger about the grave of Richard Henry Lee which I'd read was just off Cole's Point Road. They gave me directions, so I decided to check it out. Sure enough, there in the midst of a field of soy beans (I think) was a very well-maintainted brick wall with four graves inside.[The Northern Neck of Virginia is just crawling with historical sites. Check out the August, 2007, issue of "Chesapeake Bay Magazine" if that's of any interest to you.]

In addition to this nifty historical find, I was floored as I rode down the dirt road leading to the grave site when I saw a BALD EAGLE! I had seen a large bird move out of the corner of my eye high in the trees but hadn't gotten much of a look at it. Suddenly, it appeard flying beside the truck just above eye level only about 50 yards away! I'd heard that there were eagles on the point and had even seen one at a long distance at the marina, but this was a much closer encounter.

That almost made up for the lousy sailing - almost!