Two Ways to Go: John Dean half  

By John Dean 

1993

[Editor's note:John's lifelong dream of a solo voyage of seven weeks is being continued. It began in last year's High Tidings with his reminiscence of Henry Dodge, "dock master nonpareil."]

Having lived in Douglaston from the age of two, I waited until I was eleven to begin plotting wit hmy friend Roger Smith our get-away down the Inland Waterway. We read about it and knew it went 0 the way around Florida, across the Gulf Coast and down to Mexico. Never really thinking I'd do it, I nevertheless kept the dream in the back of my head from then on. I'm not capable of expressing adequately the feeling of joy and adventure that were mine for the next seven weeks. It was really a dream come true and better than the dream.  

But sometimes, believe it or not, the opportunity comes and you can make a dream come true. I had been studying the charts and the Coast Pilot and equipping the DoyenIII, a 20-yearold, 30-foot Morgan sloop, to make it easy to handle-my geriatric single-hander. And one day the insidious thought came. Why not ? Now I bought more charts and studied them longer. I wasn't sure I could get a crew for the whole trip, which turned out to be the case.

October 7,1991. THE BIG DAY! Last night and this morning small craft advisories. Awoke feeling considerable trepidation. Thought "no fool like an old fool"...Departed Douglaston dock at 10:50. Brisk, clear autumn day. NW wind gusting to 30 knots. Cleared Throgs Neck at 1120, Verrazano Narrows at 1300. Pulled out jib at Statue of Liberty and killed engine. Boisterous ride and strong favoring tide all the way---e-,,en across Lower Bay. Anchored in 15 feet behind breakwater at I mile W of Shrewsbury River. Wind still strong at 1720.

This was it. The bridges are low between Atlantic City and Cape May, so you have to go outside for that 30 miles. Sandy Hook to Atlantic City would require some night sailing, O.K. with an- other experienced person, but too tiring alone at my age. But, you can go inside at Manasquan Inlet and go down Barnegat Bay. Listen to the radio; pick your weather. A snap. A little adventure.

And so my second night was at anchor some- where near Toms River. A cold autumn sunset. Another lone waterman half a mile distant. A pan- broiled steak, some hot coffee. A safe lee. Sweet dreams.

The next day was cold and felt colder with the wind against us. I wished I could have saved up that southerly for the coming trip up Delaware Bay. In October, northerlies are more to be expected. Fortunately, I had thought to bring my ski mask, and with that and multiple layers of clothing topped with the slicker suit to break the wind, I was prepared to motor the winding channel to Atlantic City in reasonable comfort. Atlantic City is not part of the dream. I dropped anchor behind a big hotel with one of 36 giant neon signs that light the sky all night.

It's tempting to relive the whole trip on paper, but I'll spare you gentle readers all but the following highlights.

About four miles offshore on the leg to Cape May, I was visited by a warbler which flew right down into the cabin. Putting the helm on autopilot, I went below to see what the birdie might like to eat. Bits of fresh apple and pear, it turned out.

Shallow Delaware Bay had worried me the most in my planning. One needs the incoming tide to get to the canal at the head of the bay before dark in October. Harbors of refuge are nearly nonexistent. With a northerly wind probable, an uncomfortable chop was to be expected. It turned out to be very uncomfortable and for the first hour I was tempted to turn back. But the wind dropped some, and in the deep but narrow shipping channel the chop was less. And this day I was visited by five warblers and one other small bird, I think a wren.

Chesapeake Bay is another dream. It is as beautiful and its shellfish as delicious as I've al- ways heard. But except for a three day visit to St.Michael's where I was a guest of Douglaston's own Henry Hock at the Miles River Yacht Club, it was mainly a part of my passage south., The only significant mishap of the trip occurred the last night before reaching Norfolk. The fuel dock attendant handed me the wrong hose, and my nose wasn't working. Thus the gas tank was filled with diesel oil. There was just enough gas in the lines to get the boat out of the channel next morning and into a force-six norther. We made the fifty miles in seven hours under jib alone-a great sleigh ride.

At Portsmouth I was joined by my old friend, Charlie Darcy.