I am obsessed with real estate shows, especially the ones that explore my favorite places. Bahamas Life, anyone? Every now and then, when someone is buying a house on, say, Long Island (Bahamas), I say: “I could have that.” Then Rick reminds me: “If you didn’t have a boat.” Because a boat is not only a commitment of money, but also of time, and we’re in it wholeheartedly.
This year, as trip after trip got cancelled for good reasons — especially the biggie to Italy — we were reminded that our boat is not just a time and money sink. It’s also a vacation home. Although a summer cruise on the Chesapeake can be a dicey proposition given the heat (see Summer Baycation: Wine Not?), we decided to take our chances and head out the week before the 4th of July.
Introducing Calypso’s new paint job.
Although I had dreams of heading up to the sweet, nettle-free waters of Still Pond and the Sassafras River, advance reconnaissance ruled those spots out because our principal location-al requirement — robust cellular service — was not a given. Since we both had work commitments that would require us to bring our office laptops and log in to the office a few times, being a little closer to “civilization” was going to be necessary. With the likely heat, we still wanted to be able to swim, and we’d already heard of jellyfish infestations south of the Bay Bridge. So, we were off to the mighty Chester River, to visit anchorages both familiar and beloved, as well as new ones.
The day before setting off always reminds me of the beginning of a a sailing charter vacation, and not in a good way. It pretty much sucks. The mountains of gear and groceries that have to be humped and stowed aboard in the heat. The filing (of water) and emptying (of waste) tanks. The checking and double-checking to make sure all is in order. The hopes for tolerable weather.
At last, we drop the lines and clear the dock in time to make the 9:30 a.m. Spa Creek Bridge opening. Despite the wind feeling like a convection oven, it was absolutely perfect. We positively flew up the Bay, under the Bay Bridge, around Love Point and quite a distance up the Chester River on a single tack, at 7 knots or better. (For you non-sailors, that’s really fast for a sailboat.)
Sailors will understand — we are always texting each other images of our chartplotters so we can show off our blistering speed.
Eventually, we’d reached our intended destination: Queenstown Creek. We’ve been here many times, but not in the last few years. It’s not an especially popular spot for sailboats because the entry can be daunting — it’s narrow and shallow. But once you’re in, it opens wide and features a roomy bay, a sand spit of a beach, and branches to tuck into.
A sailboat tucks into one of the branches of Queenstown Creek, providing an example of social distancing.
Boats clustered around the beach show why Maryland initially prohibited recreational boating….
With our longest sail of the week behind us, it’s easy to slip into boat vacation mode, albeit punctuated with bouts of work (some of which require the familiar undertaking of hoisting the hot spot to higher ground to grab a cellular signal). Relaxation, swimming, paddling on kayak and SUP,
A quiet Sunday morning in Queenstown Creek.
Some of my friends won’t swim in the Bay or its tributaries. The stains in the lining of my swimsuit are Exhibit 1.
The only thing that really gives our days structure is mealtime, and even that is flexible. I strive to keep boat dining a cut above “camping on the water.” And, of course, since it is vacation, we have a lot more flexibility in scheduling happy hours.
Showing off some “fine dining” aboard Calypso.
“Uneventful” is the goal of these weeks on the water. Eventful is NOT restful. Eventful means storms, anchors dragging, running aground, heavy seas, other boaters anchoring too close. Once the weekend is over, the likelihood “eventful” caused by other boaters declines in a big way.
I suppose it was a successful week when the only noteworthy occurrence was the mud dauber invasion. Early on, we noticed flying waspy critters making solo round trips into and out of the cabin, or around the mast. We were able to knock a few out of the air, and I followed one to find it had snuck into a 3-ring binder and was building a nest inside. Although I am freaked out by wasps, I researched these buggers to conclude that they were not aggressive; just messy. We continued our battle with them, but it was not as urgent. When we finally unfurled the mainsail a few days later, we discovered several nests right on the sail and made quick work of them. (I fear what is happening now that the boat is unoccupied for a few weeks….)
Hello! Not the kind of visitor we relish.
Next up: Reed Creek. This creek is totally new to us, and also has a reputation for a difficult entry. Instead of cliffs and wooded shores, this creek is bounded by marshy reeds (or is it reedy marshes). Thus, while you get the impression that the anchorage is not especially protected, it is. And because the weather was getting warmer and warmer, being open to the breezes was more than welcome. We were virtually alone here, and liked it so much we stayed for 2 nights. Uneventful.
Reed Creek doesn’t look very well-protected, but it’s fine for a summertime anchorage.
Just another sunset.
Similarly uneventful was our next day in the Corsica River. Weekday sailing feels like we’re pulling a fast one. We were alone as we anchored in a bight opposite Emory Creek, which featured a Tilghman Creek to explore by paddle. (I say A Tilghman Creek because there are multiple Chesapeake Bay tributaries with the same name, including a favorite one off the Miles River.)
The cliffs bordering the Corsica River.
Kayaking in Tilgman Creek. Lots of submerged roots here, so I had to take care not to puncture my kayak’s inflatable bottom.
Loving the ingenuity behind this private green channel mark: green hose pieces nailed to a piling.
It’s now Wednesday, and we are thoroughly mellow. But things are becoming “eventful” in that one event is NOT happening: sleep. I suppose it’s no surprise to find stifling nights in July. Steady breezes and frequent dips are keeping us comfortable during the day. But nights down below are another matter, and hungry mosquitoes make sleeping above deck a non-starter. By now, however, even the daytime breezes are waning. As much as I’d planned to visit marinas solely for the purposes of pumping out, the siren song of being able to plug in and run the air-conditioning was growing ever more tempting.
Long Cove Marina was pretty empty. We were told to choose any slip we wanted, so we took 2.
And so we succumb and book a slip at Long Cove Marina on Lankford Creek. It’s a bare bones yard, and features a boat-building operation, but it has all the necessities: pump out, bath house, and slips with electricity. Even for a weekday, the marina is empty; the manager told us that the clientele is generally from the New York and New Jersey area, and older than average, so the pandemic kept most of them from even putting their boats in this season. Empty is OK when you’re trying to socially distance.
Our views at Long Cove.
In addition to visiting marinas, the heat has induced us to cut our trip a day short. After a lunch and swimming stop anchored off Cacaway Island in Lankford Creek, we enjoy a gorgeous sail to Castle Harbor Marina.
Castle Harbor is a resort-style marina — with a pool, shop, and restaurants on-site. We’ve been sequestering ourselves fairly strictly since early March, so this is our first foray into civilization. And I have to say, civilization had not proved itself very civilized. As someone who reflexively follows rules, this is very frustrating.
To borrow a passage I saw on a friend’s Facebook page:
Aspects of our COVID exhaustion are due to the reality that many of us are carrying the weight of other’s irresponsibility. Many go about their lives, unencumbered with any feeling of social responsibility, then feel justified in their carelessness, at least partially protected by the herculean efforts of others. Not only are we carefully navigating a context foreign to us, sacrificially bearing a collective burden, we have to watch those efforts devalued by those who then pretend their carelessness is justified. We’re holding a societal umbrella in a downpour; they’re laughing and pretending it’s not raining because they’re not wet. It’s exhausting.
As we docked in our assigned slip in the sweltering heat of the late afternoon, with sweat running down our bodies and pooling inside our masks — a stressful exercise in ordinary circumstances — we saw our mask-wearing was the exception. As uncomfortable as we made ourselves, it was all for the benefit of those around us, few of whom bothered to return the courtesy.
And so, on July 3, we sailed for our home marina, frankly glad to get ourselves safely home before the hordes ventured out for the 4th.
Calypso's Odyssey 
Spiffy new red paint job!
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