Day One Solo

As I’m writing this, I’m sitting at Long Point State Park for the third day in a row waiting on the winds. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let’s start with the beginning (a very good place to start). Christine left on Saturday at Sackets Harbor. I bought some head sanitizer at West Marine to kill the stench from the porta-potty and a new rigging knife to replace the one I lost at Fair Point. I also decided to buy a pool raft and paddle to use as a sort of dinghy to get away when I’m trapped at anchor. Anyways, after spending the night at the dock in Sackets Harbor I spent the morning viewing some of the historic sites waiting for the marina to open so I could have Jackson looked after. Well, I got sick of waiting and decided to sail off to Chaumont Bay and anchor for the night. I was rather impressed with myself when I motored away from the dock. Not a bump or a scrape or a scramble. Everything went better than I’d expected. Half way to Chaumont Bay the wind died and I had to motor, but Jackson was running fine so I didn’t mind. I motored into Long Bay, took one look at the docks and decided it was easier to anchor.
With the winds forecast from the South West I decided that I would be safe anchored on the West end of Chaumont Bay. I backed the boat down on the anchor, and tried out my little pool raft to make sure I had a good set. The anchor was in and the raft worked well. I could board from the swim ladder without even getting wet. Well, during the night the winds picked up from the West and I started to get tossed about a little. I woke up about four thirty and saw that I wasn’t quite the same place I was the night before, but I just figured I’d swung about on the anchor. So seven thirty rolls around when I’m awakened by the crashing sound of the bow plowing into a two-foot wave. I look out the windows and see nothing familiar. In fact, I can hardly see land at all there is so much fog. Immediately I realize that the anchor has dragged and I’d better do something to keep it from dragging any more. I climb on deck, slipping on the millions of dead mayflies my anchor light had attracted, working my way to the bow to let out another thirty feet or so of rode. Back in the cockpit I try desperately to figure out where I am. North doesn’t make sense and my charts aren’t helping. Well, we aren’t moving, so I sit in the fog and the swells just waiting for a little more light to figure out what happened. By eight it’s light enough I can make out three points of land one off the bow and two off the stern. I fire up my gps and get a fix showing that I’ve somehow drifted onto Herrick Shoal, three miles from where I’d anchored.
Ok. Now I know where I am good. Well, not good, but still… better. Now what? It’s obvious I can’t stay where I am, but will Jackson run in these swells? Could I sail if I had to? God I hope I don’t have to sail. I try the motor; good it’s staying in the water. But it won’t start. Crap. Try it again. Crap, nothing. I wish I’d put my reefing line in when I thought about it yesterday. One more try on the motor. Nothing. Ok, sailing it is. Tie a reef in before you raise. Good. Ok, pull in the anchor. Got that. Shit, we’re drifting. No it’s ok, we have room. Get the sail up and you’ll be ok. Got it. Good we’re sailing. Not making much progress, but still, moving. I’m in control again I can relax a little. Cassandra and I fought the wind a mile and a half before we finally dropped anchor in the lee of Long Point. Now to clean up and regroup. I spent an hour or so washing the disgusting mayflies off the deck. Why would anyone name their boat Mayfly? I split my toe open on one of the plexi patches I put in the cockpit, but a bandage and a minute or two and I was fine. Now for the motor. I’m not sailing to the dock. I opened the engine up and there was the problem, the kill switch wires shorted again. I motored into the docks without incident and tied up solo. Not a bump or a scrape or a scramble. I was proud. Scared, lonely, tired, but proud.
Since I still had the rest of the day to kill I decided I should find a repair shop for Jackson somewhere. Yeah, good luck. I picked the one island with nothing on it for miles. Well, after some help from Dad and Google back home I found out there was a service shop about five miles away. I had time, so I started walking… About half way my bandage began peeling off my toe and I was wishing I’d remembered a water bottle. When I got there it was just a summer cottage, with a barn in back and boats parked in the yard. But it was the place, and even though they didn’t have any new kill switches they did let me have some free wire to fix my old one. By seven PM Jackson was back in the water and running like new.
I celebrated with a peanut butter bar and a warm shower.