ONE STEP AHEAD OF COVID: Cape Verde to Canada in 2020 by Martin Fuller

(Martin only began sailing in 2015 when a change in his life gave him the dream of one day sailing around the world. He decided that first he’d better check that he liked offshore sailing, and by the time he reached RYA Yachtmaster level had confirmed he did. The next step, in January 2017, was to look for a bluewater cruising yacht suitable for short-handed sailing and Sandpiper, a wing-keeled Sadler Starlight 39 built in 1994, met all his requirements.

Stephanie joined Martin to sail Sandpiper from the Exe to Port Solent, and they have been together ever since. Stephanie brought a wealth of experience to the team, having sailed many ocean miles including the Northwest Passage (west to east) with the Reverend Bob Shepton in 2013.)

After a wonderful cruise from North Wales to Cape Verde in 2019, to begin with everything went according to plan for our onward passage across the pond. When we left on 6th January the weather looked settled for a fast crossing and we set off downwind in a north-easterly force 6–7, predicted to ease to force 5. We settled into our passage routine of three-on three-off from 1800 to 0900, with Stephanie doing an incredible job in the galley cooking up tasty dishes even in fairly rough seas. I don’t know how she does it – but she did, from day one of the crossing.

By day three we had found the easterlies and were looking forward to using our twin headsails, bought especially for the trip, and ploughing a direct downwind line to the Caribbean. But fate had other ideas! I had chosen to use two telescopic whisker poles to poleout the headsails, for their lightness and ease of handling. We had previously used them successfully in winds under 16 knots but now had 15–20 gusting 23 knots. Both poles went out perfectly and we were making a wonderful 8 knots until, on the third day, we heard a crack like a rifle resulting in two pieces of pole swinging in the rigging amidst a collapsed sail, and the second pole impersonating a bent banana.

Skipper and author Martin Fuller

We tried to goose-wing the headsails, both with the wind vane and while handsteering, which worked but not for very long. Either the wind would shift or the waves and swell, often 3m+, would pull the bow around spilling the wind. We accepted our fate and sailed downwind as best we could while enjoying the immense skyscapes, wonderful seas and swell, glorious night skies and, of course, stunning sunsets and sunrises ... all with the occasional company of dolphins to bring a smile to the face.

The broken whisker pole

We were using PredictWind Offshore as our main weather source, which enabled us to sail around a few ‘dead spots’ and maintain 6+ knots. Strange how the days merge in one’s memory, becoming an impression or vague memory rather than a series of clear events, but Stephanie has reminded me that there were not many days when we didn’t have 2m+ waves or 16–20+ knot winds. We were never able to relax totally, but soon became accustomed to big seas and a strong breeze – good sailing weather, I like to think. Our 500 mile waypoints came up reasonably quickly, and before we knew it we were into that ridiculously long final 500 miles. However, Mother Nature had a sting in her tail for the final 100 miles as we closed Barbados on the last night of our crossing.

Stephanie, Chief Mate and fantastic partner

It was a dark, moonless night, with a couple of showers before sunset but no sign of stormy weather. But then at 0130, while I was on watch, the wind picked up and the rain started in earnest. Sudden strong gusts, rapidly changing direction by 60–90° to the main wind direction, had the seas churning and Sandpiper pitching about as we fought to keep control. The squalls continued for about six hours. Stephanie did a fantastic job on the helm in some strange and often frightening conditions, while I managed the sails. By dawn, though drenched we were through the worst of it and Barbados was visible over the horizon, allowing us to ‘enjoy’ a blustery and wet final day’s sail around the north of the island, to anchor in Port St Charles on our 16th day out. Not as quick as we had hoped, but memorable nonetheless and we were soon celebrating our arrival with a welcome cold beer. But although the Bajans were very friendly, Barbados proved somewhat disappointing. It was a pleasant point of arrival and great to swim in warm water at last, but we were glad to set sail southwest to Grenada.

We soon learnt that local chart and pilotage information had to be taken with a pinch of salt. Channel marks are often missing – probably blown away by the last hurricane and never replaced. We cleared into Grenada at Grenville on the east coast and saw first-hand why some of the reefs are not as flush with fish as they once were – the local fish market was buzzing with activity and we saw more colourful reef fish on sale than on most of our scuba dives. We moved slowly around the island, establishing a relaxed routine of stopping off for lunch in an attractive anchorage, having a swim, then moving on to another anchorage for the night. We found many splendid anchorages, not all of them full of charter boats! We carried on up through the renowned anchorages of the Windward chain, bumping into many OCC members en route.

Not many things beat a good toothache. Approaching Antigua, Stephanie broke a crown eating the hard crust on a boat-made pizza ... not too much sympathy from the skipper. The helpful three-lady customs team at Jolly Harbour produced the name and number of a dentist who, amazingly, agreed to an appointment the following day. Four hours and a serious number of dollars later, Stephanie emerged root-canalled and re-crowned. The following day we explored the island, including the Sir Vivian Richards Cricket Stadium where sadly the wicket was in need of some serious attention before the season resumed.

The immigration and customs The memorial to cricket icon Viv Richards staff we met in the Caribbean were a mixed bag, good in parts like the curate’s egg. Nevis was one of the bad parts. Perhaps it was the increasing seriousness of COVID-19 that upset them. We were glad we only wanted a short stop-over to see the Horatio Nelson Museum and the hot sulphur baths – both worth the trip and the hassle. One night was enough and we pushed on to St Kitts, another isolated, palm-fringed beach en route to Saba and another fascinating dive site – along with a bonus, close encounter with a grey tip shark chasing and catching a tuna close to the dinghy as we headed to the reef to snorkel.

The memorial to cricket icon Viv Richards

After enduring one bouncy night at Saba we decided on an overnight passage to the British Virgin Islands rather than suffer in a rolly bed for a second night. The decision paid off, with a good fast passage to the badly battered, hurricane-hit marina at St Thomas Bay, Virgin Gorda. We enjoyed a visit to the nearby Baths, an area of huge granite rocks, pathways and pools. Before leaving Porto, Stephanie had discovered Mojito cocktails. These became something of a benchmark in scoring locations and Rosy’s Jungle Bar at St Thomas Bay marina definitely scored well – the crew slept soundly that night.

Our onward moves were now dictated by the Six Nations rugby calendar and the need to be at Nanny Cay Marina by 6th March for the England v Wales match. We made it, and celebrated the result in Mulligan’s Sports Bar along with the best surf and turf platter of the voyage. We continued to enjoy good day sails between frequently empty anchorages as we moved through the USVI, and it was not until we reached San Juan, Puerto Rico on 14th March that we learnt that curfews and lockdowns were being imposed around the globe. San Juan was no exception, as we discovered on checking in at 1730. The curfew was due to start at 1800 that night with an immediate three-week lockdown. We realised that our cruising plans had been washed overboard.

Fortunately, there were not many yachts in the islands just then and our application, direct to the Governor, for an exemption to sail on to a marina in Providenciales in the Turks and Caicos archipelago was granted. That saw us locked down in small, friendly South Side Marina along with five other yachts to wait out the lockdown, until we could find a way to safety – somewhere, anywhere – before the start of hurricane season.

In times of crisis we often see the best side of people and this was no exception. We were fortunate to link into the Salty Dawg Sailing Association, which was taking a lead in helping USA-bound vessels return home from the Caribbean and generously opened their doors to all sailors in the region. This created the possibility that we could use our existing American visas and cruising permit to enter the USA and continue to head north to Nova Scotia. Our long-term passage plan appeared to be back on the rails.

By 19th April we were reprovisioned, had applied for clearance to sail through Bahamian waters, and were ready to go. Fair winds and sunshine gave us a good 90 mile run out to Hogsty Reef, an oval, 3-mile-long reef in the middle of nowhere with two small sandy islands at its western end. Our anchorage in the lee of the largest one gave us a chance to stretch our legs, pick up another bamboo pole as a spare whisker pole, and enjoy more swimming in turquoise waters. For the first time, despite no land within 35 miles, we found small plastic fragments suspended in the water – a sad reminder of the pollution we are causing.

Sandpiper carries two kayaks aboard

The following day we had a short passage to the eastern edge of the Bahamian Bank and decided to anchor in the shadow of the abandoned lighthouse at deserted Castle Island, southwest of Acklins Island, in order to give us a full day to cross the Bank in daylight. But before embarking for the Tongue of the Ocean we learnt that permission to transit Bahamian waters had not yet been issued, so rather than risk an unfriendly reception we decided to head west for Miami. During this 445-mile passage we enjoyed the company of dolphins, fishing displays by beautiful terns and a spectacular but slightly worrying all-night lightning storm ahead of us as we approached the Florida coast. With favourable winds and some Gulf Stream assistance in the last stages, we soon swapped the splendid isolation of the open seas for the congestion of an anchorage in downtown Miami on the edge of the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). We had deliberately chosen this anchorage due to its proximity to the Customs and Border Protection Agency office. We were eventually permitted to clear in and escape – but not before being required to provide a destination address, which we didn’t have. Following a rapid, frantic Google search we gave a random boatyard address in Maine, allowing ourselves some scope for more sailing.

Anchored in the Turks and Caicos

Moving north, we had a choice of inside, using the ICW, or outside. From Miami we sailed 110 miles outside to Fort Pierce, avoiding the multitude of bascule bridges on the lower ICW, then moved into the ICW. Surprisingly, we rather enjoyed the inside passage. Typically, we would cover 35–45 miles in a day, passing through a fantastic assortment of landscapes. The wildlife was ever-changing, especially around the Cape Canaveral area where we sighted pelicans, flamingos, terns, bald eagles, ospreys (feeding their young), dolphins and manatees in significant numbers. We never did deploy the main, but frequently used the headsail albeit sometimes with the ‘lee shore’ of the channel rather too close for comfort. At times the channel changes from narrow swampy, forested areas to vast tracts of open water, inviting the sailor in us all to break free of the magenta-coloured ‘preferred route’ marked on the charts. Sadly, with one or two exceptions, these huge expanses of water could often be waded across. Not that we ever became stuck – perhaps temporarily delayed, but nothing too serious.

Dwarfed in downtown Miami

As we passed Cape Canaveral in early May I was beginning to miss the clear water and warmth of the Caribbean. Long sleeves and trousers came out of storage for windier days and we looked in dismay at the brown, murky water which offered absolutely no temptation to go swimming. Spring might have arrived, but definitely not summer. Good anchorages are limited in the ICW. One can ‘pull over’ and anchor on the edge of the channel, but straying too far risks ending up on the bottom at low tide. We avoided marinas and anchored whenever possible, often in remote locations, frequently amongst marshlands with just the birds as company. There weren’t too many bugs, thankfully, so we enjoyed many sunset dinners and drinks in the cockpit with no other boats in sight.

COVID-19 had closed many facilities, certainly all those run by the State, but businesses opened up as we moved north and the locals were extremely welcoming and friendly. We moved steadily north through Georgia, and popped outside in a southerly wind window to reach Savannah, a must-visit historic city with wonderful parkland. Prevalent northerlies drove us back inside to transit South Carolina, where we enjoyed being woken by bird song in more remote anchorages, along with visits to charming historic towns such as Charleston.

June was fast approaching as we moved slowly through North Carolina, a mixture of very monotonous motoring in narrow channels and wide-open areas of shoal-ridden water, especially the 30 miles through Bogue Sound. Any attraction the ICW might once have had had by now worn very thin. On the border of North Carolina and Virginia we made our way through the murky waters of Alligator Creek, avoiding a force 6–7 off the Outer Banks and Cape Hatteras’s notoriously difficult waters. We’d been told that it was too far north for alligators but, along with plentiful deer, bald and golden eagles, vultures and a few wild turkeys, we did see and photograph a lone ’gator.

We had assumed that the Dismal Swamp would be a remote and mystical area. Our free overnight mooring at the Town Dock in Elizabeth City, the entry point for the canal, and an evening walk around its deserted streets, should have warned us not to be too optimistic. We moved steadily along the first 18 miles of the Pasquotank River, enchanted by the remoteness, wildlife and calm feel of the waterway, but the canal itself failed to impress. The entry to the first lock at South Mills was not marked at a key river junction and we took a short but annoying diversion down a cul-de-sac ... time for a bit of reversing practice. We frequently scraped the bottom as the canal did not have the charted 6ft along its centre line and, with a highway along its eastern side, it was not remote. We pushed through quickly to overnight at the northern end and were glad to be out of it.

Dangerous mud banks are never far from the channel...

Norfolk was another story – it was amazing, if only for the amount of naval hardware gathered in one place. After a guided boat tour of the harbour and Naval Yards we set off once more with the promise of good southwest winds for sailing up the Chesapeake – it was good to shake out the main and find open, deep water without worrying about canal banks or shoals. Five delightful day cruises, along with lovely quiet anchorages in the many side creeks, brought us safely to Annapolis and the quiet backwater of Weems Creek. The area appeared prone to thunderstorms at that time of year but the excellent local weather service, with good radar images of approaching storm clouds, meant we mostly stayed dry and out of trouble.

The Dismal Swamp Canal – straight and narrow

We decided to take a short break to explore the hinterland, so hired a car to visit the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia and took a fascinating evening drive around Washington DC, where we saw more joggers than cars. But we were soon leaving the marina and heading north up the Chesapeake to ultimately find our way back to the ocean via the Delaware River, or so we thought.

How many times have you changed your impeller? We have done so several times, never giving too much thought to where all the bits of missing rubber had gone. Out of the exhaust? Well actually NO, as we found out. The engine alarm sounded as we negotiated the tight channel out of Back Creek, requiring a hastily-raised headsail to clear the breakwater (a lee shore – what else could it be?) and find safe water to anchor and investigate the problem. Having changed the shredded impeller, cleared the intake pipe, checked the second feeder pipe from the water filter and checked that the gas/water exchanger was functioning, we still had a problem. We were towed back into Back Creek and fortunately found a mechanic to look at the engine that evening. It turned out that years of shredded impeller bits had clogged both the pipe from the impeller to the heat exchanger and the intake itself. Two hours later the engine was purring. Despite the considerably lighter wallet it was a relief to deal with a problem that had clearly been building up for years, probably since before I had bought the boat. It is now on my preventative maintenance list.

Years of impeller debris excavated from the cooling system

We were back on the move next day and our weather window held good. We sailed up the final stretch of the Chesapeake towards the Chesapeake-Delaware Canal and had a surprisingly pleasant passage through the 14- mile canal seeing only three other pleasure craft. A couple of nights later we were snug in the family-run Utscher’s Marina at Cape May, New Jersey, having scraped the mud (again!) on the way in. A warm reception was cemented with a complimentary bottle of wine in the welcome pack.

Passing through Hell Gate on New York’s East River

Wanderlust and a favourable weather report saw us slipping out of the harbour for an overnight passage of 120 miles up to New York, a significant milestone on our trip. That iconic skyline greeted us when we arrived at 0730 and there was a bonus, a free anchorage in the shadow of the green lady – the Statue of Liberty. COVID-19 restrictions kept us aboard, but we enjoyed a short sail up the Hudson River and the night-time panorama of New York, before an early start to catch the tide at The Battery to head up the East River and through the notorious Hell Gate. Like many such narrows, if you time it right you wonder why it is notorious. We did reach 9∙6 knots, and despite our spot-on timing experienced some interesting whirlpools – not on the scale of Corryvreckan, but enough to remind us that such waters should never be taken for granted.

Despite Long Island Sound’s reputation as a cruising destination, we had no intention of lingering there but day-sailed our way east, enjoying picturesque anchorages. At Greenport we lifted Sandpiper to check and clean the bottom. Just as well we did, because I found an anode had not only wasted to nothing but the steel bolt securing it had also rusted away ... we must have been within days of having a hole in the hull. Regardless of copper coating doing its job against growth, I will now haul out on a regular basis – one never stops learning with a boat. We reached Block Island harbour on 2nd July, and it seemed half of Cape Cod had come early for the 4th of July celebrations despite all official festivities having been cancelled. The excellent anchorage was full of all manner of craft flying the Stars and Stripes, some larger than the boat.

We pushed on to Martha’s Vineyard, where we had our first real sailing winds for some time – force 5 northeasterly. The change in air temperature became noticeable, and even Stephanie wore long sleeves and a jacket as we faced the cool wind and drizzle. As we closed the island it was sheer delight to see our first seals since leaving home waters. Once again the effects of the pandemic limited the opportunities ashore at both Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket Island and, after a few hours’ walk around the cobbled streets, and more delicious seafood, we were ready to leave.

We rounded Cape Cod to make landfall at Provincetown, a long day’s sail made memorable with the sight of four humpback whales blowing close inshore as we beat upwind to round the headland and make harbour in the falling light. Every landfall is different and Provincetown, with its tall, grand, granite tower marking the site where the Pilgrim Fathers first landed, was an interesting introduction to Cape Cod. The following night we anchored for free in the middle of Gloucester, famous as the setting for the films Manchester by the Sea and The Perfect Storm. It was refreshing to find a working fisheries town with such strong links to the sea. To avoid imminent bad weather, we moved onwards to the granite shorelines of Maine, a reminder of Scottish lochs (minus the mountains) and a welcome relief from the sandy shores to the south. A tropical depression moving through the area caused even more fog banks than normal, and we sailed for 10 hours in light winds to Cape Porpoise seeing nothing but a 100m radius bubble of fog, both of us on watch throughout and the radar doing a great job picking out the maze of crab and lobster pot markers.

4th July extravaganza!

Maine is a friendly and wonderful cruising area, despite the lobster pots. But the season was moving on far too quickly and with July half gone we decided to push on for Canada with a potential crossing to Greenland at the start of August. We had considered over-wintering north of Nuuk, but with problems getting insurance, and our acknowledgement of our limited Arctic experience, we decided that particular challenge must wait for another year. Therefore, after a short period of R&R in Portland, we set out for Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, planning to make it our final leg for this year. It turned out to be a splendid 165 mile overnight sail with the inevitable fog bank at the end, but clear water, AIS and radar helped us locate the outer marker for Yarmouth. As we entered the channel the fog eased and we cruised peacefully up to Killen Brothers Wharf. Another milestone on our journey had been reached – Canada.

We were not allowed to clear in at Yarmouth, though we were given ‘right of innocent passage’ to Newfoundland provided we did not leave the boat at any time. Having dropped the idea of continuing on to Greenland, we decided to head for Lewisporte on Newfoundland’s northeast coast and leave Sandpiper there for the winter and for minor repairs to be made. We then had to depart as soon as possible, and were not allowed to come ashore except to go direct to the airport!

I was a novice sailor on leaving Wales – would I have set out if I had the knowledge of hindsight? Definitely, something just draws one on. I know that I have learnt even more than I realise and am now a little wiser and, most importantly, now know a lot more of what I don’t know. Stephanie and I will be continuing our passage north to explore the high latitudes – may it be challenging, rewarding and fun.

Martin also forwarded a great deal of useful information about harbours from Port St Charles, Barbados to Castle Island, Bahamas, all of which will be found in the Cruising Information section of the Forum at https://forum.oceancruisingclub.org/.

To the next adventure – wherever it may take us!