9 Days of Sail Camping on S/V Ghe Ho Dep
My first extended cruise...Part 2
Article series by Dave Nghiem
Nestled in Pirate's Cove
I wanted to turn into the river, but kept feeling like the boat was making leeway every while I tried to keep it on a straight course. The swing keel was about 2/3rds down, so I wasn't sure what was happening. Then there was an accidental jibe.
Suddenly the yankee jib snapped out of the furler, and started swinging wildly in the wind! Then the boom ripped out of the mast. I had to immediately get the motor started, tighten the storm jib, and then get up on the rocking bow to lower the yankee jib and dump it unceremoniously into the forward cabin hatch. Then retreat to the cockpit to lower the boom and fold up the mainsail. My adrenaline was rushing.
The boom refused to lower itself past the boom rack, so I had to tie it up as best I could and motor into Trippe Creek. I kept motoring around the land forms I’d memorized from the charts until I got to pirate's cove, where I set anchor and collapsed from the stress and relief of getting the boat back under control again. I went into the cabin t rest. My mind was calm, but the incident bugged me. What went wrong?
I texted Dean my progress and sent him a picture of where I was anchored. While doing repairs, I assessed the damage. The wild thrashing of the wind shook the yankee jib off the carabiner. That was the wrong hardware to use. I got inside and grabbed the bag with the working jib, removed the snap swivel that was in the large grommet, and attached it to the yankee. Then I hand-wound the furler since it seemed to have problems reefing the jib fully. I attached the yankee jib and pulled the halyard really tight. Then I furled the yankee and finished the sheets with double figure eight knots, before collapsing inside the cabin.
After resting for a half hour I set up the fishing poles, minnow traps, and crab traps. I didn't catch anything. The minnow trap line got cut by the engine prop as the boat constantly shifted in the wind, and then I lost the trap while taking it in Dismayed, I watched it sink.
When I realized it'd been sliced, I got down on my stomach and put my head in the water to feel around the prop and make sure nothing was wrapped around it. In the process, my arm swiped some sea nettles, and I got a bad sting on my forearm. It started to swell.
The next morning I slept in. I should've known better though, because the wind died and things got really hot aboard the boat. It must've been about 100 degrees, and it was fatiguing. I spent most of the day in the cabin laying in the bunk.
I wanted to jump in the water, but the sea nettles were everywhere. I spent most of the day reading the cruising guide, and going through the chart of the area as to where I could go next. It wasn't until 6:30 that I decided to motor the boat a bit towards a spit of land to look and see if it was a better point to fish from. I did that, and I noticed the water seemed really shallow.
Unfortunately, something else happened when the wind died down. The bugs came out. I improvised some protection with the mosquito nets I had onboard, and covered the front hatch with one of the ones that came with the boat, while my camping mosquito net was draped over the companion way hatch. I used some duct tape that I had wrapped around my Nalgene bottle to hold them in place. It wasn't a great solution, and I would need a better one, but for the time being it did the trick.
I made some Tang to improve my morale, and played some music while I enjoyed the evening. During my reading and planning I realized I was very much out of my element, and since my next day's destination was Oxford/Town Creek, I wanted a moment to to reset my expectations, and figure out some proper boat routines to make the trip easier.
Dean responded to my text about it being ridiculously hot, saying there was a wind scoop aboard. Wind scoop? I looked it up online and realized it was the skinny bag in my starboard bunk. I pulled it out, and examined it. I'd never used one of these things before. I strung it up the storm jib halyard, and checked it before going back inside. It seemed to make the wind go through the cabin and it cooled things off some.
Meanwhile I kept hearing popping sounds all around my boat so I grabbed my spot light and checked the water. There was bait fish everywhere! Silvery bait fish, pipe fish, sea nettles, and the occasional crab swam all around the boat. It was kind of shocking to see given how barren everything appeared during the day. At first I wondered if the soft music I played brought them around, till I turned off the mast light to look at the stars. Suddenly the popping sounds stopped. So I turned the mast light back on, and again, all the fish came back up around the boat. It was the light's glow on the water that brought them around. I realized that it simulated moon light.
I got into the cockpit, and standing on the seat, gave myself a sponge bath to refresh myself, which was another morale booster. Not leaving my boat for two days gave me cabin fever. In regular camping, I could go for a hike. In sail camping, while anchored in a place where there was no shoreline, in water full of stinging jellyfish, I couldn't go anywhere. I was starting to get stir crazy.
I chcked the Windy app's wind report for the next day. Very light winds, about 4-5 knots, westerly. I decided against deploying the sails for the next day, as I'd already had enough trouble with them, and elected instead to motor to Town Creek. The Cruising Guide said to avoid Oxford, and instead dock in Town Creek, the neighboring town, as it was easier to find a more secure place to dock and resupply. I checked the charts again before falling asleep.
The next morning I woke up to overcast skies and cooler temperatures. I went through my routine, and for the head I added some extra bags, which kind of helped to contain the smell a little. My frustration with my head had come to a head—no pun intended—so I knew it was time to buy a new one. I made a breakfast of eggs and avocado and washed it downed with Tang.
I motored out to a busy waterway where fisherman set trot-lines for blue crabs. Blue crabs are the major export of the area, and they fetch high prices in the markets up and down the East Coast. It's the signature seafood of Maryland, other than Striped Bass, colloquially known as Rock Fish. Oysters used to be the major export, but habitat destruction, overfishing, and pollution removed many oyster areas. That said, there was still a lot of oysters to be had, as I later found out.
Oxford/Town Creek
On my way out, at the junction with the Tred Avon River, I had trouble trying read the navigation markers, and for a moment, was lost. The compass that came with the boat was very slow in settling on the right direction, so I had to use my hiking compass to get a proper bearing. I finally found the right channel heading towards Oxford.
Ahead of me I noticed the wind started to pickup. The shortwave weather radio, which I made a habit of listening to twice a day, had indicated storms starting in the afternoon. I got to the last marina on the port side, Campbell's Marina and boat yard, just as the wind arrived in force.
Unfortunately as I scrambled on the deck to drop the fenders and attach the dock lines, the motor revved up out of control, causing me to panic and run back to the cockpit, kicking the vent cap off into the water in the process. I managed to guide the boat into the dock, but it came in fast and with a thud. In the heat of the moment I jumped off with only one line, causing the boat to float away from the dock. I had to run and jump back in.
The boat banged up against the dock, finally stabilizing in the wind. I got out and quickly secured the stern and bow lines, in that order. I then secured the spring line, and spent some time tying up the fenders up so that they’d stay between the boat and the dock. I took a picture and sent it to Dean to see what he thought of my tie up job.
Doc's Grill was open in town. I started walking in that general direction, after going back to the boat twice to check on it. I walked a ways down the road before I realized I was going the wrong way, and walked back. A mile down the road I found Doc's Grill. It was on the water facing the opening of the Choptank River, which looked like an ocean. I ordered some fried calamari, orange juice, and a main course of fried shrimp, fries, and sauerkraut for lunch.
My food came out at the same time the storm hit, with high winds and sheets of rain. I was glad to be indoors. While eating, my sea legs hit me hard, and I was literally getting seasick just sitting and having lunch.
At 4PM, the rain finally stopped. I paid my bill, said thanks, and headed back to the boat yard. There, I met the owner, Daryl. He said it was $2 per foot, so my boat would cost $40 for the night. That was great. I could stay on the boat, use the showers, and relax. There were even bicycles!
It felt fantastic getting a good shower! Then I grabbed a bicycle and headed to the general store in town to get more D cell batteries for the camp lantern, which was running down the rechargeable batteries, and more triple A's for the mast lights. I also treated myself to some ice cream.
Oxford and Town Creek are both small bay towns, with Oxford having a combination of working boats and pleasure craft. Town Creek had a small number of facilities—mainly for pleasure craft and the occasional working vessel.
I woke up the next morning and got washed up. I biked back to town to check out the historic Robert Morris Inn and to get some breakfast, but I got there ten minutes after the kitchen closed, so I biked to Oxford Social, a small coffee shop in the center of town across from the General Store.
After a chai tea latte and egg roll up sandwich, I biked back to the boat yard to get ready to leave. After I finished preparations, I motored out to the main channel, and motored my way south from Oxford towards the Choptank River Light marker.
Overshooting Irish Creek into Broad Creek
The winds for the day were light, at about 3-5 knots westerly. This meant I might have a beam reach, which at this point was my most comfortable point of sail. I knew as soon as I reached the Choptank River light and turned northwest it was all headwinds—this meant I would motor the entire way to the mouth of Irish Creek.
While I was motoring I followed a 38-foot sailboat, while another larger, 45 or 50 foot boat was also motoring into the main Choptank River. I matched speeds with them, and watched them raise sail as soon as we hit the mouth. The 38-footer hoisted sail and soon was off in the distance. I decided I wanted to motor to one more marker
to make sure I had enough room to deploy sails for the 4 nautical miles I would travel to the river light marker.
I set the storm jib and yankee jib, and as soon as I had some thrust, I turned off the motor. I raised the mainsail and that's when Ghe Ho Dep took off with some actual speed. By now I was used to the heeling of the boat. I still didn't have enough understanding on how to properly set the swing keel depth though.
Ghe Ho Dep raced along and soon I put the 48-foot sailboat far behind me. I saw a marker on a stone platform in the water. I didn't realize it was the river marker light, and I blew past it. On realizing my error, I turned the boat heading to northwest, about 45 degrees. I doused the sails, and turned on the motor as I had a long motor journey ahead of me.
Soon I saw multiple large sails on the horizon. That had to be the regatta! I was headed in the opposite direction, but since I had trouble matching the land forms on the horizon with those of the chart, being able to assume that their point of origin was Saint Michaels was helpful. So as long as I headed in that direction and kept the land to my right, I was doing okay.
Once in Broad Creek, and about a day ahead of time, I motored up to an unnamed anchorage in Leadenham Creek. I’d done 13 nautical miles, the longest so far of the trip. Once I set anchor, I checked all the equipment, set up the wind scoop, and rested. It was about 4PM.
I set the mast light to shine upside down, and settled in for the night. I was much more relaxed now, since I finally had an established routine for the morning, day, and evening, and that kind of structure brought a sense of understanding and calm. This was very comforting for me, since for the first few days I was out of my element. I once rode a bicycle across South and Central America over two and a half years, so I know having a good routine with your equipment gives you a lot of confidence.
Since I was feeling more relaxed, I played some Pink Floyd, and broke out my fiddle to play some music. The spot I anchored was behind a farm field with a screen of trees. I think someone heard me playing, because above the treeline I saw a drone go up in the sky and come relatively close to the boat, before retreating.
I heard splashing and realized that the boat was literally surrounded with life. This time the crabs swimming around were large, so I grabbed my net and caught a few. I also caught some of the minnows and pipe fish to examine, and for bait.
I was having a great night so far. The sky was clear, and the stars were out. I wanted to re-acquaint myself with the night sky again, so I reversed the mast light, and turned on Stellarium on the computer. It'd been a long time. Once upon a time I was an outdoor education science teacher. I knew most of the sky. I could find and spot constellations quickly. I also knew of the easiest deep-sky objects to find with a decent telescope. And I taught and inspired many students in my field groups with the joys of astronomy.
I missed those nights when I’d go out on my own into the field after a long day of teaching and spend an hour or two with telescopes. It took me a while to re-acquaint myself with the sky again. Cassiopeia was an easy one to find. So was Ursa Major. Ursa Minor was a little trickier. Draco, Epsilon Bootes, Pegasus, Cygnus the Swan, soon the names and patterns started feeling familiar again.
When I was a kid I was a total space cadet. I wanted to be an astronaut. Now, as an adult, I finally got myself a ship, and in a way I was still traveling in the stars. It was pure bliss to realize this. .
Not more than four years ago I was in dire financial straits. My tech startup was going nowhere—I had literally nothing to my name, I was living on a thread, and I had to take a lowly mechanic job at a bike shop to survive.
Now I was sailing in my own boat, enjoying nature, solitude, and the skies. I finally have some semblance of financial security, a working business—and I manage that same shop. Tomorrow, since I was ahead of schedule, I would make my way to a set of islands in Broad Creek, just three nautical miles away.
Sail Camping on the Deserted Island
The next morning I had to motor off the anchor, but then after rounding the fourth marker I turned north, and with the low winds, gingerly jibed the boat towards the islands. I reached an island, got in close to the shore and set anchor.
I had to go to the bathroom and worried about how to avoid the sea nettles, until I realized I had a skin suit. I’d completely forgotten about it! I put it on, grabbed the scraper from the toolbox, and reminded myself to include a hand trowel in the essential boat equipment list—or at least a camp shovel.
I set up the swim ladder and got in the water. It was only about two and a half feet deep. I walked through the water to the beach, and noted that I didn't get stung at all. The skin suit worked well.
The plant life on the island looked like Lob Lolly pines, American Holly trees, and Roundleaf Green Briar, with shoots on the tops that were delicious to break off and eat. It tasted a bit like asparagus. For some reason a lot of the briar shoots had large ants on them. The ants on the island were really large—on average they were 1/4 inch long, red and black colored, and they reminded me of the massive ants I saw in the Amazon. There were bumble bees buzzing around flowers and raspberry bushes.
Strangely there were cockroaches. Lots of and lots of naturalized brown cockroaches living on the island. They darted everywhere around the leaves and brush. At first, I thought I was looking at a strange beetle, until I recognized their shape and familiar movement. I'd never seen cockroaches outside of an urban setting before. I reminded myself to make sure to double check my bags before leaving the island.
I went back to the boat, then walked around the shoreline in the water. There were fallen trees on both the western and eastern side of the island, but at the points there were no tree's, indicating that the incoming and outgoing tide tended to keep these sections clear. As I walked around I stepped on something hard with my Crocs. I reached down and pulled up a massive oyster.
My eyes practically bugged out. This was huge! It was the size of my hand! I walked and felt some more, and pulled another up. A huge clump of oysters. Pretty soon, I had a dinner's worth.
Evening came, and the sun set behind a sliver of the island. I pulled the box galley into the cockpit as the air temperature dropped to a cooler, more tolerable feel. I set up a makeshift steamer using a steel colander on top of a small soup pot. After about an hour wrestling against a 5-knot wind that seemed to diminish the burner, I gave up trying to steam the oysters. I also got out of the boat to reposition it by resetting the anchor, hoping to get a sweet spot of breeze to keep cool.
Instead, I boiled the oysters. Dinner was pasta and tomato sauce with boiled oysters. I knew there was a chance I’d catch this meal, which is why I brought lemons, salt and pepper.
The next morning I went back to the island and decided to camp there for the night. After all, this was supposed to be a sail camping trip. It took about five trips to transport the things I felt I needed. I noted I should've brought my hammock tent setup, and a smaller camping stove.
On land I used the boom tent tarp a ground tarp, and setup the lines for the mosquito net—which makes an Amazon rainforest style camp. I hadn't set one of these up in almost 16 years, which was the last time I was in the Amazon rainforest. The boat cushions made a decent sleeping pad.
After setting up I took a nap. When I woke up I saw heavy dark clouds in the horizon. Fearing an impending thunderstorm, I rearranged the camp so that the tarp was a shelter, went out to the boat and took down the scoop, and closed the hatches.
There was no storm. It passed over without incident, so I went for hike through the water to the other island, which was about a mile away. The maximum depth of the water was about three feet, and along the way I found more oysters. The other end of the island was a tiny spit of land with a single pine tree, a juniper bush, and some smelly marshes. I walked back to the main island, where I found more oysters.
As night fell, I made a fire, and roasted the oysters on the embers, while making a proper pasta with the leftover noodles, tomato sauce and parmesan cheese. I sat back against a tree to admire the view. This was a great way to finish up the trip.
After dinner I washed up, took a sponge bath, and then retired into the mosquito canopy to sleep. It was nice to be out in the woods again, on my own deserted island, after a feast of fresh oysters. Come to think of it, the last time I camped in a deserted island was during a seven day canoe trip through the Everglades in 2009.
All through the night I heard geese landing in the waters, and a family of storks screeching like some ancient dinosaurs as the mother or father fed the hatchlings.
The last morning I woke to the sounds of working boats chugging to their trotlines, and far in the distance the high-pitched whine of lawn mowers and wood chippers. I cleaned up, and packed everything away.
I got a text from Dean that he’d be late getting to the pickup point, so I spent part of the morning taking notes and exploring a bit more around the island. Then I got in the boat, and motored away and back into the main channel. Once I rounded
the point, I deployed the headsails in the 3-knot southerly wind.
It took about two hours to motor back to the town of Wittman, but by the time I got to the boat launch there was an incoming thunderstorm. My timing was impeccable. I had a mishap at the concrete launch that caused me to bounce against one side. Once again, I only managed to grab one dock line and I had to run and jump back in the boat as it drifted to the other side before bouncing off of the dock.
I reminded myself I needed more practice. But I did get back safe and sound, and the boat—despite some of the bumps—was in great shape, and I had a fantastic experience. I did a total of 40 nautical miles, and I was still using the same propane tank I started the trip with.
I dropped the sails and mast while waiting for Dean. When he got there we loaded the boat and drove to our friend's house. Several neighbors came over to congratulate me on a successful sailing trip, since they knew how little experience I had with not just the boat, but also with sailing in general. We celebrated my trip with two shots of rum. •SCA•
Great write up and sounds like you could do another on that seven days in the Everglades ;)
Thanks for the story. Everyone has a first trip. Glad yours was so nice. It only gets better.