Movie Night and a Call from Naples

Atlantic Highlands - 2 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked, 2 miles paddled

It was a very, very slow day. After a lovely paddleboard ride around the bay on still water, then a bit of stretching, we enjoyed a leisurely morning on the boat, where the only thing of note I accomplished was finishing off our tax returns and Ana did some Glenhyrst and yacht club work. Otherwise, it was sparsely consumed with reading, drinking hot beverages, doom scrolling, and just laying in the cockpit.

Our excitement for the day was going to a movie at the Smodcastle Cinemas. The movie was called Warfare and it was tense and brutal to watch and certainly got its point across, the point being (as I understood it) war is chaotic despite appearances of order and precision, a bunch of ragtag, but enflamed invadees can beat highly equipped professional soldiers, innocent bystanders are left broken and destitute, and it really, really hurts to have your legs blown off. The cinema itself is quite remarkable. It is very old, and the theatres are small; in fact Ana and I were the only ones watching the movie - truly, a private screening. There were images of Kevin Smith, the film maker and actor, plastered everywhere, and one of the dudes working there told us Mr. Smith was from the town next door and had grown up watching films at this cinema, so when the opportunity came to buy it, that's what he did.

We received a video call from Magnus, who had arrived in Italy the previous day and after a train ride from Pisa was now in Naples at the home of our exchange student Dom and his family. Of course, he had just been fed the best meal of his life and he and Dom were on their way into town, presumably to visit the local drinking establishments and probably eat late night pizza (unlikely to contain pineapple). We had a quick video chat with Dom and his folks and reassured them that we would be the next to visit....but we'd be staying far longer! Magnus is now in the final couple days of his European holiday and returns to Edinburgh this weekend for two more weeks of school, one final trip to the continent (with his sister), then it's back to regular life in Canada, but undoubtedly returning as a changed person.

A Day Out With Our Favourite New Jerseyans

Asbury Park and Beyond - 2 miles in dinghy, 5 kilometres walked, 60 kilometres driven

One of our best weekends of the trip was with our friends John and Catherine when we joined forces on SeaLight and and first conquered the Devil's Backbone passage then conquered all the bars we could find on Harbour Island. It was like a crazy teenagers weekend, except that we had money and probably knew better. That's why it was so fun.

Well, John and Catherine happened to be home in New Jersey on a short break from their cruising adventure and live only an hour's drive from the marina (I would learn from John that everything is within one hour's drive from their place). They made arrangements to pick us up around noon for a day trip around the area, and after a short shopping expedition to the St. Agnus Thrift Store, where Ana picked up a new purse and dress for her collection, and me a few books for mine, we met our friends, jumped in the back seat, and were off for a car ride

When traveling, there is simply nothing better than having a local to show you around. Catherine and John don't just know every square foot of New Jersey, they have also been sailing the New York area for many years and know all the waterways and anchorages too.

Our first stop was at the Navesink Twin Lights lighthouses and museum at the top of a very steep hill that was much more pleasant to reach by car than by foot. We had a close-up look at a Fresnel lense then moved into the museum where they had interesting displays on the history of these lighthouses, stories about the many female lighthouse keepers, lighthouse artifacts, and a mannequin wearing a fancy lighthouse keepers suit. I was tempted to have John distract the volunteer guide so that I could pilfer the fine suit as I know our buddy Daryl back in Newport would have loved wearing it. But I'm too honest for that. And so's John.

Next up was a cruise down the Jersey "shore" (not beach...it's called shore here) where we passed many newly built commercial and residential as hurricane Sandy has wiped out this area, leaving just a few of the stately old mansions, nearly all of which has been fixed up. It is a really cool area with a beach vibe that runs through everything. We were lucky with our timing as they told us the place becomes jammed with people in the summer, and today was beautiful, sunny, with no crowds in the least.

We drove to the town of Asbury Park and saw the legendary Stone Pony bar which has hosted bands of all stripes, including local hero Bruce Springsteen, whose career and music is heavily influenced by this town. I'm not much of a Springsteen fan, but I'd never say that out loud here, as you'd probably get the same sort of brutal thrashing you'd get if you announced "The Tragically Hips sucks!" anywhere in Canada. Though I don't love his music, the guy really is an eternal legend.

We parked and walked the streets of Asbury Park, dipping into a groovy bookstore then a groovier vintage clothing/antique/record/barware/jewelery/intimate products shop called Severed Wing. Catherine then led us into her favourite dive bar, on Bond Street, where the ladies enjoyed pairs of miniature Corona and Stella beers and John and I stuck with the, but always delicious, PBR. It was awesome and we talked and laughed non-stop. Last time we were doing drinks at a bar it was in Harbour Island where the cost of each round exceeded a standard mortgage payment. But here? Fourteen bucks.

We wandered a bit more then dipped into The Black Swan for lunch where we were led to our own private room and served fine beers and amazing meals as we visited at a leisurely pace, catching up on news since we'd last met and scheming for the future.

As fellow boaters, Catherine and John fully understand the luxury and scarcity of private transport, so on the way back to the marina (where we took the scenic route, covering every side street and hitting every traffic light in half a dozen towns, you know, to see how the regular people live) we stopped at a grocery store for us to pick up a few supplies for the boat. Then we jammed it all in the back of their vehicle and effortlessly returned to the marina instead of having to slog down highways and parking lots dragging our rapidly disintegrating shopping buggy.

At the marina we said our see-ya-laters (never goodbye...) then Catherine and John coasted away, back to their home, which we hope to visit one day in the very near future, and we hope they too will visit ours.

I must say, the greatest thing we will take away from this incredible adventure are the friends we have made. Full stop.

Walking the Highlands

Sandy Hook - 2 miles in dinghy, 10 kilometres walked

This area in the crook of Sandy Hook is truly beautiful. It was laundry day, and as cruisers know, laundry does take an entire day so it's a good thing we have few time restrictions these days. We walked a gorgeous and well maintained trail east along the waterfront, shadowed by the mansions stubbornly clinging to the steep cliffs above, and passing through thick thatches of Dr. Seussian weed stalks to the left, sometimes obscuring our view to the bay, and the NYC skyline and Carolina forest to the right. The sunny conditions were shaping up to provide for the warmest day we've had for a while - up to the mid 20's.

Nature today was showing her strength. There had been a pollen explosion last night and a powdery yellow coating had dusted everything, including the dinghy and SeaLight herself who taken on a mustardy sheen and was aching for a washdown. Along the trail we were treated to frequent whiffs of fishy ocean smells, not unpleasant, and other sniffs of forest life when the slight breeze shifted direction. Near the town of Highlands the trail ended and we continued into a residential neighbourhood where the more recently planted trees were dotted with emerging green buds. The landscapes had changed greatly in the last few hundred miles; everything was now looking and feeling very Canadian-like - the Spanish moss, scurrying lizards, warm and humid evenings, and palm trees had been replaced by pine and oak, blue recycling receptacles, arrow-straight streets, and that chill and excitement and variability of springtime air, where you need to put on then remove your sweater twenty times per day.

The village of Highlands was cute and the laundry facility was great. I noticed a Stop sign that was circled with flashing red lights, powered by solar, and wondered why I'd never seen any of these in Canada, as it seems a cheap and easy way to provide additional visiblity at problem intersections. I'll have to check this with the traffic folks back home.

With our sack of clean clothes we started the return trip, but this time went up the hill and walked along the streets. It was entirely residential except for one small strip mall where we were drawn into a sushi restaurant, harbouring low expectations, but were rewarded with a stupendous bento box stuffed with teriyaki beef, veggies, a California roll, a spring roll, and rice, plus a pad thai as good as any we'd had.

Our journey then led us to the ridge of the highlands and the Mount Mitchell Scenic Overlook where we found a sombre 911 memorial, a lush park, a lengthy pergola structure buzzing with bumble bees, and an extraordinary view over the bay with a hazy NYC skyline in the distance. From here the streets began a long, slow decline to the coast, passing though beautiful wooded neighbourhoods with residences ranging from classy mansions to cute cottages. One area had a series of urgently blooming cherry trees and we stopped to inhale the sweet fragrance from the flowers, and took our time doing it.

The greatest gift of this adventure of ours has been the gift of time. Our time has been our own to do with as we please. Going to sleep when we are tired, waking up when our bodies are ready, not having to rush from place to place checking chore items off a perpetually expanding list, stopping to sit on park benches, taking time to smell the cherry blossoms, and having the luxury most days of waking up and saying, "What shall we do today?" It has been soothing for the soul and nourishing for the body. We'd told many people before this trip that we were using it as a practice retirement, and in many ways that is what it has been like, with one key exception: there is an end date. This end date has provided us with an manageable sense of urgency, and not having an end date would have changed the spirit of the trip, because then we would be faced with the perpetual question of What comes next? Unlike regular life with two day weekends and occasional seven day vacations, this sense of urgency has been clocked in months instead of days, which has been a perfect countermeasure to the downside of a directionless perpetual holiday.

Time has been on our side. But, this may be easier for me to say, as just over one week from now, Ana will be back at her job in Glenhyrst Gardens bringing art, beauty, and culture to the citizens of Brant and beyond and I will be hanging out with my dad on SeaLight as we slowly work our way back up the Hudson River, continuing the adventure.

Atlantic Highlands - Buying Basil, Curling Egg Salad, and Rolling the Rrrrrr's

Atlantic Highlands - 2 miles in dinghy, 4 kilometres walked

After a truthfully pleasant ocean voyage with no collisions, sinkings, or issues of any type, besides trying to stay awake overnight as we passed over abnormally calm seas, we sailed into the New York harbour at 7 am and were the only boat there. As we worked our way up the channel and around the Sandy Hook pensinsula then south across the bay, we met just two fishing boats heading out to sea. Strangely quiet.

It was around 8 am when we finally reached the anchorage behind the breakwall at the south end of Raritan Bay and dropped the hook then crashed out for a couple of hours to catch up on sleep lost from the overnight passage.

By early afternoon we'd taken the dinghy into town and had a look around. I was completely unfamiliar with the geography of this area but learned that Sandy Hook refers to the 6-mile-long sand spit that runs south to north and creates a large, moderately sheltered bay. And it is not the same Sandy Hook where the horrible school shooting happened - this is in Newtown, Connecticut, which is a couple of hours away from here. In the nook of the hook are a series of smaller towns, the closest of which is Atlantic Highlands - where we spent the afternoon exploring.

Atlantic Highlands is a cute town, with an interesting high street, but not much was open on a Monday, particularly the Monday after Easter. We did find a grocery store and picked up a lovely little basil plant, which was the same price as buying a small clump of basil. I was also intrigued when Ana walked up to me carrying scruffy-looking egg salad sandwich, hermetically sealed with a triple layer of plastic over the plastic casing and a plastic sticker announcing the price of $5.99 in strengthy US dollars, translating into a ten dollar snack.

"Want to split this?" Ana asked me, as she fluttered her lengthy and luscious eyelashes and smiled.

"Didn't we just leave the boat?" I asked her. "I had lunch before we left and thought you did too?"

"All I had was toast."

"Why didn't you eat more? Man, you're meal planning is atrocious," I said, realizing these overnight passages tend to flatten my kindness.

"That's all I wanted for breakfast. Fine, I won't get it," she said, flinging the sandwich down the toilet paper aisle where it slid like a curling rock, slowly turning and coming to rest right on the button and, ironically, right beside where a teenage worker was sweeping the floor. He was clearly not a curler; if he was he would have been Hurrying Hard instead of watching it just slide down the floor.

"Damn, don't be so hasty! You can get the sandwich, I just don't want any," I said, trying to dig myself out of the hole I'd slipped into. But by that time she'd already moved on and found a couple of freshly baked rolls and an apple for half the price. Disaster averted.

After a stop at an antique/junktique store where they had a lovely collection of knick-knackery, but sadly no vintage Playboys or Hustlers like you often find in these places (and are rarely shielded from viewing in plastic packaging), we returned to SeaLight to chill out for the rest of the day as neither of us were feeling at the top of our game. Yet, we were relieved and pleased to have made it to NYC and finished our final overnight passage.

I scanned the FM radio, looking for a good Latino station and made an astounding discovery. You know the radio voice that comes on saying station's call letters, slogans, promos, and that sort of thing. After scanning a dozen stations, and recalling all previous Spanish FM radio stations I've listened to over the years, I realized it's the SAME GUY. It's the same guy on every station. The voice is identical, with it's baritone texture, frantic, yet understandable delivery, animated inflections, hoppity rhythm, and rolling those double r's like a motherfucker. That dude must have nailed his first radio job in his teens and cornered the entire market.

Or.....maybe it's just a clever AI.

Disaster At Sea

Cape May to Sandy Hook, New Jersey – 116 nautical miles sailed

When things go wrong on a sailboat, they can go wrong very quickly.

It was 11pm when SeaLight hit something big in the water. We were three miles off the coast of Atlantic City, in the darkness of an ocean passage, halfway through our 19 hour run to Sandy Hook, near New York City. Ana was at the helm on first watch and I was asleep in the v-berth. I was awoken by a massive crash and leaped out of bed as the boat came to a near standstill. I could hear surging water then heard Ana screaming my name as I flicked on the cabin lights to see what had happened. There, just in front of the chart table, was a massive hole in the hull with cold ocean water gushing through in an unstoppable torrent. Ana had opened the companionway hatch and was standing on the stairs, eyes wide and hands over her mouth as she looked down, frozen by the sight of the cabin floor filling with water.

“What happened?” I yelled as I quickly pulled on my pants and a shirt then started grabbing pillows from the bed and tossing them into the cabin.

“I don’t know. We hit something big in the water but I couldn’t see what it was. It was too dark!” she said, panicking, as she descended the stairs, completely in shock.

“Make sure the bilge pump is on,” I said as I crammed two of the pillows into the gaping hole, which was roundish and looked to be at least a foot in diameter and jagged with fibreglass shards, which needled into my hands and arms as I adjusted the pillows. There was a large crack running lengthwise from it, also leaking a lot of water. Ana checked the electrical panel and told me the bilge pumps were on.

“Can we stop it? Can we repair it?” she said as she rolled up her pant legs.

“I don’t know, the pillows are slowing it, but I don’t know if the bilge pumps can keep up,” I said as Ana handed me another pillow plus one of the dinette cushions. “Ana, get the ditch bag and whatever else we need in case we need to abandon ship.”

“What? Is it that bad?”

“Look at the fucking hole! The water level’s rising even with these pillows in. Can you lower the dinghy?”

“No, it’s too high, I can’t reach it, remember?”

“Okay, just get all the stuff we need. We can dinghy into Atlantic City, it’s only a few miles. Grab the ditch bag and whatever else we need to save. I can hold this while you do that, the pumps are working but that water’s coming in too fast, and it’s probably getting on the batteries so I don’t know how long they’ll keep working. Hurry!”

Fortunately we had prepared a ditch bag which had all the emergency items we would need – a portable VHF radio, water, food, compass, signalling device, flares, flashlight, first aid kit, passport, and boat documents. While I held the cushions and pillows in place Ana grabbed my empty backpack and stuffed in her jewelry, our phones, our wallets, the laptop, a couple of hats, a blanket, some clothes, and a few other things.

“Okay, here’s the stuff, should I put it in the dinghy?”

“Yes, then come back and we’re going to trade positions so I can drop it in the water. Shit, this isn’t working great, look at the goddamn water pouring in.”

“Do we need to do a mayday call?”

“Yes, we should, but first get that dinghy loaded.”

Ana climbed the stairs with the gear and was back in seconds. The water was rising and now more than ankle deep. I was very scared, but trying not to show it.

“OK, do we have everything we need?”

“I think so,” Ana said, now crying. “But we’re going to lose all our stuff.”

“Hey, if you want to grab more things, go ahead, we have time, I can hold it.”

“No, forget it, it’s just stuff. OK, do you want me to hold that while you get the dinghy ready?”

“Can you do the mayday call first?” I said as I jammed in another dry pillow. “Say Mayday three times, give a boat description, say there’s two of us, and read our GPS coordinates off the radio. Oh, push the Distress button on the radio too. Wait, just tell them we’re three miles off the coast of Atlantic City. The Distress button will send our GPS coordinates automatically.”

“Maydays are for life or death situations, right? Are we definitely sinking?”

I looked at the water level then said, “You’re right. Let me get that dinghy dropped first then I’ll make the call. Can you take over from me? Push here and jam in more dry pillows if you need to. I’ll be right back.” We transferred positions then I grabbed one of the head lamps and ran up to the cockpit and to the stern to the dinghy, which was full of the stuff Ana had tossed in, plus two lifejackets we always keep in there. I added in the spare gas tank we keep in the stern locker, then dropped the dinghy down from the davits, released the clips, then did a quick bowline knot to tie it to the arch. I also realized the engine was still running and remembered something I’d seen in an online post a few months back.

“Ana, I have an idea,” I said as I bounded back down the stairs. She was soaked with water and doing her best to hold the cushions in place. “I can remove the engine water intake hose and let that suck up the water in the cabin. That might be enough to keep the water level where it’s at, especially if those bilge pumps keep running. Then we can drive the boat into shore and get help.”

“So we can save the boat?”

“It’s worth a try.”

I opened up the chart table seat and pulled out my toolbox, which was still dry, and got a screwdriver and pliers. I then got on my hands and knees in the frigid water, opened up the engine compartment, and tried to remove the water intake hose from the seacock, but I couldn’t yank it off, despite the gallons of adrenaline pumping through my body. I grabbed a utility knife from the toolbox and cut a line up the hose which enabled it to slide off. I shut the seacock then directed the hose to the cabin floor where it began greedily inhaling water.

“What do you think?”

“It’s sucking up a lot of water. I don’t think the level is rising anymore, but it’s hard to tell with it all sloshing around in here.”

“Ok, why don’t we try to drive the boat into Atlantic City. If we can get it to a marina and get through the night maybe they can lift us out. Do you want to drive the boat or hold the cushions?”

“You drive, I’m okay here.”

I went back to the helm, pointed SeaLight towards the flashing lights of Atlantic City, and throttled up to maximum. With my headlamp I looked around the boat to see what it was that we had hit but couldn’t see anything. Maybe a floating container? I dropped a waypoint on the GPS and checked the depth – 36 feet.

“Kris!” came a scream from in the cabin. I put it on autopilot and stuck my head below.

“What’s happening, are you okay?”

“Slow down! Slow way down – I’m not able to keep the cushions in place and the water’s pouring in!”

I returned to the helm and throttled down. “Is that better?” I yelled into the cabin.

“Yeah, better. It’s okay there.”

I went back down into the cabin and helped Ana rearrange the pillow plugs then said, “OK, we better make a radio call to the Coast Guard. I don’t think we’re in a mayday situation anymore, but we need to let them know we’re in trouble. Maybe they have a high speed pump they can use.”

“Are you sure it’s not a mayday?”

“I’ll just call them and tell them what’s going on and ask for help.”

I lifted the handset, put on my non-panicked voice, clicked the button and said, “US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard, US Coast Guard. This is sailing vessel SeaLight, a 43 foot Beneteau with two aboard. We’ve hit something in the water and punctured our hull and there’s a major water breach. But we look to have stabilized the water level and are motoring towards Atlantic City. We are currently three miles offshore,” I said, then paused.

“Sealight, Sealight, this is the Coast Guard, sector New York. Are you in distress?” came a call on the radio.

“Coast Guard, this is SeaLight. Yes, we are in distress, but I think we can make it into Atlantic City. We have the engine pumping water from the cabin and the hole mostly blocked with cushions. But we need some direction from you on what to do next.”

“What is your position? What is the condition of the passengers? Did you hit another vessel?”

I read out the GPS coordinates then said the two of us were all right, but panicked, and weren’t able to see what we hit, but it wasn’t another vessel, unless it had no lights and immediately took off. I told them we were motoring at half speed to the Atlantic City inlet. They gave me a cell phone number to continue the discussion and I used Ana’s phone to call them. I explained the situation to them and that the leak was currently under control. They gave me the name of the marina that has a travel lift and told us to go directly there and tie up at the lift out location and that a nearby Coast Guard vessel would meet us there.

I hung up the call then helped Ana with plugging the hole. We looked at each other and eked out smiles. We were going to be okay.

In reality, none of the above happened. We had a surprisingly calm and pleasant overnight run to Sandy Hook, across the bay from New York City. But I often like to imagine these kinds of scenarios and run through my mind how we would handle them and ensure we are prepared as we can be to survive the most likely problems at sea. For example, having a ditch bag, spare gas, a spare VHF, and easily accessible flashlights. Most potential sailing issues can be foreseen and are not even that hard to picture. Some of these include an engine breakdown, sails ripping, a de-masting, a failed thru-hull letting in water, getting caught in an unexpected storm, getting a crab line or fishing net wrapped around your prop, a boat fire, or a collision as I imagined above. Running through the sequence of likely events after each of these then allows you to ensure you have what you need in place to handle the situation. For example, if our prop gets fouled at night by a crab pot, we’d need to have diving equipment (which we do), an underwater light (which we do not), and at least a couple sturdy cutting knives (which we do). If the engine fails, we need spares of the most common parts (which we do) and know how to replace them (which we do, because we do as much boat maintenance work as possible on our own so we can learn it). If our mast broke off we’d need a saw or bolt cutters to cut the rigging clear (which we have), then lots of rope (which we have) to jury rig a replacement to get us to harbour in the case we lost the engine too.

This is also a test to see if people read the post right to the end!

Sorry to freak you out Mom.

Battle of the Dolphins

Cape May, New Jersey – 10 kilometres walked, 3 miles in dinghy

There’s a lot to like about Cape May, New Jersey. There are classy mansions, a clean fine sand beach that runs for miles, upscale hotels, downscale motels, vacation rentals, a beach promenade for walkers complete with public washrooms and showers, bars and restaurants of every possible description, a racially diverse crowd, whale and dolphin watching tours (three times daily), historical trolley tours, walking tours, kitschy tourist shops, elegant boutiques alongside thrift and consignment stores, a lighthouse, a schedule packed full of festivals and events, beachside cafes and coffee shops, accessible grocery and hardware store, a public library, a craft brewery, a laundromat.

We’ve had two days to fully explore this town and we liked it. We liked it a lot, especially with the warmer temperature today, sunny skies, and that community mood of overwhelming happiness knowing winter is over and summer is on its way. Like in Canadian resort towns, late spring is a great time of the year to be here to enjoy the bubbly optimism and thinner crowds than you get in peak summer season.

Now, the dolphin wars. As Ana and I were sitting in SeaLight’s cockpit enjoying a happy hour drink (we can no longer call them sundowners as the sun isn’t setting now until 8pm and by then we are usually snuggled down in the cabin), we saw a pod of local Cape May dolphins surfacing, chasing fish, joking around, and having a pretty good time. Then, across the channel and in from the bay we saw a different pod of dolphins entering cautiously. This was a gang from Atlantic City - flashy hustlers, hot shots, slickster dolphins, moving in on the Cape May territory, looking for trouble.

The Cape May pod suddenly went quiet as they noticed the intruders, here to steal their fish, to claim their underwater turf. This Atlantic City pod had tried this in the past and failed, but today they looked more prepared, cocky and aggressive.

“Scud, we meet again,” said Captain Beaky, the leader of the Cape May pod.

“You and your little buddies have held claim on the prized Cape May fish stocks long enough,” Scud squeaked as he rubbed his fins together. “Now scram, or there’s going to be trouble.”

“Make me.”

“What?”

“Make me, you ignoramus,” dared Captain Beaky, cracking his fin knuckles and spitting out the side of his beak.

“That’s it. C’mon boys,” Scud said as his porpoise posse lined up behind him in a perfect V formation. The Cape May pod similarly lined up, energized, and in form. They were ready.

The dolphin dance off began. Scud began with a magnificent forward flip as two of his henchmen backflipped behind him, to a chorus of squeaks and clicks from the supporting cast. Captain Beaky and his top three lieutenants dove high into the air, in a perfectly synchronized aerial display, sun shining off their teeth as they smiled and winked on their way down.

Back and forth they went, showing off their best leaps, flips, spins, turns, and surface tricks as they danced for dominance. Ana and I sat in the cockpit, gobsmacked, on the edge of our seats, as we watched the glorious battle between these equally skilled pods. But, in the end, there could only be one winner.

Scud hung his head, eyes downcast, dorsal fin limp, after seeing the Cape May pod’s grand finale, finishing with a triple flip two and a half gainer tail twerk from every dolphin in the pod, expertly executed with flawless synchronization. He knew that he’d been beat.

“Next time,” Scud said as he turned and swam back up the channel, his discouraged team trailing behind him. “Next time.”

Haunted Mansions and Joke Shops in Cape May

Cape May, New Jersey – 6 kilometres walked, 3 miles in dinghy

We floated into the anchorage in Cape May, New Jersey shortly after 6 am, making it a 24-hour run. This had been among the most pleasant of ocean runs we’ve done on the trip – small waves, minor swell, light wind, and hardly any boat traffic. We motored the entire time, only having sufficient wind to motorsail for a few hours, and our route took us near shore so we were in sight of land the entire time.

After catching up on sleep for a few hours, we took the dinghy into shore and tied up at the South Jersey Marina, for free, and it was completely dead with only a handful of boats in the water, very much unlike our previous visit when the marina was chock-a-block. The anchorage too had only one other boat; last time there were many more, so it does feel like we are well ahead of the pack this time.

The crowds that were absent from the water were more than made up for on land – Cape May’s downtown was packed full of visitors, particularly families, likely because it was Good Friday and kids were off school. Ana and I had worn long pants, jackets, socks, closed shoes, and I sported a toque, but the touristos were wearing shorts and t-shirts and eating ice cream in the glorious springtime 14-degree weather. Just looking at them made me shiver.

We encountered an enormous old building with a wooden sign hanging in front that read Southern Mansion so we went up to the front door and rang the doorbell to see if we could have a tour. The man that answered told it was a 24-room bed and breakfast and the owner had renovated it from a derelict state in the 1990’s to the glorious mansion it was today. He told us to take our time and have a look around then went back to what he was doing, leaving us on our own to explore. It was a truly magnificent place, with all you would expect from a haunted mansion – a huge parlour with standing mirrors and wingback chairs and floral couches, a grand spiral staircase, intricately weaved carpets, classic monochrome images hung in elaborate frames, original oil paintings, and the mysterious sense of the paranormal around every corner. We thought it would be a lovely place for our 25th anniversary “re-wedding” in 2026. We’ll be coving the cost of everything and the first 22 of you to respond with the coupon code “CAPEMAYSOIREE” get to come.

Washington Street is the pedestrian mall in downtown Cape Map and lined with many tourist-oriented shops. One is called Swede Things and has Scandinavian themed merchandise such as aromatics for your Christmas glogg, elf and fairy figurines, elaborately embroidered kitchen towels (one which was threaded with a ponnukukor recipe), toques embroidered with Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Iceland (take your pick), humorous viking t-shirts, an awesome black cap with SKOL! in large white letters, and an array of other Scandinavian knick-knackery. Ana really wanted me to buy the Skol hat, as my current cap is dirty, smelly, falling apart, but still functional, so instead I saved our money for lunch.

We stopped at an Irish pub to share fries and a sloppy burger of mediocre quality and I had a pint of the local IPA which was just dandy. Our lunch reminded me of so many similar springtime lunches we’ve had in Canada on barely-open restaurant patios where the sun is shining but the air is cool, yet everybody is so desperate to get to summer than they are forcing themselves warm in insufficient clothing. It was nice, it felt good, with the promise of better weather in the air and the happy smiles of the passersby as they enjoyed their Friday off.

Before stopping at the grocery store to pick up a couple of things, we paused at the Just For Laughs joke shop to have a look around. There used to be one in Saskatoon called Dirk’s Discount (commonly known as Dirty Dirk’s) and you had to be 19 to go in (unless accompanied by a parent – thanks Dad!) as they had some very adult-appropriate products, you know – the stuff that’s commonplace today in these modern love shops (and online), but was otherwise impossible to find back in the day. We’re talking blow-up dolls, rubber penises, and porno mags, but also non-sexual gag gear like snapping chewing gum, stink bombs, puke-scented candles, hand buzzers, hillbilly teeth, cigarette bombs, exploding golf balls, fart machines, plastic vomit, rubber dog poo, and Whoopee cushions. It was always a treat visiting Dirty Dirks and it was impossible to leave empty-handed.

Well, Just For Laughs had a few gag items, but seemed to specialize in rude tshirts, socks, and drying towels. There’s one I really liked and would have been perfect for me, but like the SKOL! hat, it just cost more than I was willing to part with.

It was 6 pm when we returned to SeaLight, exhausted, but gathered enough energy to have a light dinner of leftovers, do some work on taxes, then watch one episode of Black Mirror before retiring for the evening.