YOU’VE SEEN IT. . But, Do you Believe it?

A seasoned Captain once told me. . .”Just remember what you know. .and believe what you are seeing”. . .Ah, there it is again. .that proverbial learning curve. The story goes something like this and I’m sticking to it! Leaving the relatively protected waters of the Potomac River and rounding Smith Point Light, the Chesapeake was living it up! Downbound for Norfolk on a blustery, rainy, grey, and dismal kind of day, “Chessie” was dishing out a 3-4 foot following sea complemented by a 30-40 knot southwind as we “surfed” our way cautiously towards the eventual safety and predictability of the intercoastal waterway and the Great Bridge Locks, my personal perception of the “Gateway to the south!” With every 4th or 5th wave set, a “Green Monster” would surely reacquaint your senses to the potential peril at hand and keep your stomach in a double half-hitch. Having become fairly familiar with the best helm technique for managing this rather able 41’ Sport yacht, we had been underway on the Bay for a few hours when someone casually inquired as to how we were looking on fuel. A perfectly normal consideration on any voyage, this particular vessel was enjoying something close to a Sea Trial under her current command, as she was brand spankin’ new and running a pair of Cummins Diesels that had not as of yet, seen much “time and distance” for a cruising range evaluation! Having been “Topped off” in the Upper Potomac, the fuel scenario had not been the primary concern until now.

Once posed, the question deserved due consideration, and under the prevailing weather conditions, added another layer to the equation for sure. Well, as any good Captain would surely opt for the most prudent path of least resistance, and with the fuel gauges bobbing at about a third full, it made perfectly good sense to insure adequate fuel for our sojourn down the bay. Mind you, this decision fell squarely on the shoulders of the Captain, as the rest of the crew were much more acquainted with the ways of a Golf Ball than having anything to do with matters of the sea! A quick analysis of our current position and possibilities, with the occasional assistance of a laptop and some paper charts, indicated that we had already gone well past our most obvious fuel stop at Windmill Point, just up inside the mouth of the Rappahannock River, where we could have even chatted with the past-dockmaster, and longtime friend, Bill Barnes! The nasty conditions of the bay that day would have made the short north westerly detour an obnoxiously brutal objective to say the least. . .pounding, and spanking the bow into that blustery rain, wind, and sea just did not have an attractive appeal about it and quickly turned our attentions to plan B, which was rather like foraging into the unknown. Using the prevailing conditions to our advantage, seeking a safe port with diesel along the shorelines south of Reedville would be our best bet, and for my money (even though it was theirs) the sooner the better. Binoculars, charts and visual observations of the shoreline found another possibility just south of the Piankatank River where I witnessed a fairly large grouping of daymarkers in a nesting kind of posture, all appearing rather similar, with few distinguishing features on that gray day.

One could see a local waterman in his fishing scow darting from one crab pot to the next in clear possession of local navigational knowledge, the other feature being numerous flocks of birds standing about on several shoals that created a labyrinth littered with daymarkers. I came to the obvious conclusion that in these unfamiliar circumstances, I might do well to rely upon the wisdom of my many mentors and always remember. . .to “remember what you know”. .and to “Believe what you are seeing.” Suddenly an inner voice spoke to me that said, “Gee Whiz, I guess we’re going to have to do this pretty much by the numbers,” and so I did!! Having resolved my direction in life, it was time for some commitment! I cautiously approached the first of these many markers and said to myself, thats right, ”Red Right Return!” And knowing that these “marker numbers” would continually climb as we made our way upstream, I felt a certain sense of self affirmation as if to put a big period after each thought.

Still keeping an ever watchful eye upon those hideous flocks of sea birds, I carefully negotiated the next marker, and then the next, and the next, all while monitoring the local waterman’s movements off my port bow, as if there were no apparent obstructions to navigation. Suddenly, a bright object catches my peripheral vision off my starboard quarter. . .Oh Gees, now what? Even on this dismally grey and rainy seascape, that international safety orange inflatable, is unmistakably identifiable. None less than a team of United States “Coasties,” likewise, choosing to get off that unforgivable following sea. Four or five fellahs in swat clothes zoom by my starboard side, paying little attention to the birds, shoals, or channel that I was so tediously negotiating. I think to myself, now there is an affirmation, if the Coasties are comin’ in off that bay, it must be as nasty as I have imagined all day long! Finally wrestling my vessel successfully through the last of the many daymarkers and well beyond those perilous shoals, I utter a mental sigh of relief and take stock of my next task at hand. I look ahead and observe the very rural pasture and a sparse group of cows spattered across the landscape, giving me little indication as to where the fuel might be, if any. To make matters a little more “corn-fusing”, I also take note that I am poised at the crossroads of this little burg. Left?. . or right?. .to port?. . or to starboard? A little like going to Tims Rivershore by land for the first time, once leaving civilization! I remember the Coasties, ah ha, they went that-a-way. . and thats where I am going.

So, once committed to my direction, I continue to starboard, foraging up the creek for fuel, all the while, observing the ever escalating numerals on the daymarkers and feeling a mild sense of gratitude that these markers are here at all. “Signs of Life” as it were, I felt confident that we could be hopeful of finding fuel. What is this?. . .am I seeing this correctly? . .Why are these numberals suddenly declining in value as opposed to increasing??? Is this some navigational oddity or have I been at Sea too long?? As I bring my vessel to a standstill to pontificate this unusual scenario, those words, so long ago spoken, echo in my head. . .”Just remember what you know to be so, and believe what you are seeing.” Thinking long and hard about the protocol of navigational markers, I conclude, It could only be one thing:, there are two inlets here and this is the point where the two waterways converge. . .yep, I am downbound! OK, “just put one foot in front of the other and do whats next!” “Red Right Return?”. . not anymore! Now, leaving red to my portside, I am confident that I should proceed, as I am sure, so many mariners have done before me. A few markers downstream later, and rounding the next bend, there she was, civilization! Other boats, a bridge, and even more gratifying, a fuel pier!! Nothing less than “Door Number Three,” No pot, No rainbow (remember, this was a nasty, nasty, day!) Just fuel, . . Sweet, sweet, #2 diesel! “Top-it-off,” I say! There lies one of the most gratifying experiences a Captain can enjoy! To have made a series of judgement calls, given the set of circumstances at hand, and to have cautiously executed each of those calls, to ultimately bask in the affirmation that lay at the end of that tunnel. . .in this case, to have identified this unusual channel as an Island created by two converging channels from two sources that have met in the middle, and there’s the bridge to prove it!

Clearly, The moral of this story goes well beyond the obvious, “remembering what you know”or “believing what you see,”more importantly, as the Captain of your vessel, the level of commitment that you put behind your “sound judgment calls,” as each scenario presents itself, and the level of confidence you place in yourself as you execute each of your decisions are paramountly important to your success. “Remember what you know,” of course, should begin with “knowing.” This is something you have control over well before you take to the water! So you may ask? Why wasn’t this fellow utilizing his charts?, His GPS?. His Raytheon? or even that laptop charting system he said was onboard? Adversities, adversities!. . .Foul weather, a hungry following sea that can literally swallow your stern, poor visibility, an obnoxious wind, and a navigational objective that was not in the original float plan, can all create a level of chaos onboard that presents a new kind of scenario where your priorities take on a “pecking order of importance.” Oft-times, a detour of this type is the direct result of some difficulty with the vessel or someone on it, and as most mariners know, issues of a mechanical nature aboard can compound themselves in short order. The point here is that any pause in your attention span can have greater consequences than the ones you are already negotiating. I would guess, this type of navigating could be called “Norseman Nav” The helmsman goes from one objective to the next, working his way up or down the waterway with little assistance beyond the present landscape and scenery. (“Norseman Nav”, next issue!!!)