The goal for Missitain was its home base, Ocracoke, North Carolina. Beginning at Liberty Landing Marina across the Hudson from the World Financial and Trade Centers in New York, the trip to Ocracoke looked like a long, but relatively easy three day trip. I would proceed down the coasts of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland and Virginia via the ocean, into Norfolk to catch up with wife Sandy and Nick my twenty year old son. Then Nick and I would take Misstian on the last leg down the Intercoastal to Currituck Sound and then through Albemarie and Pamlico Sounds to Ocracoke.
Sandy had misgivings about the solo trip to Norfolk, but Nick and I did a thorough sell. Missitian, a one year old Albin 28 Tournament Express was as seaworthy and reliable they come. Nick and his older brother Steve piloted the Albin up from Ocracoke to New York last August and had many a tale to tell. The trip down the Delaware Bay in a fierce storm convinced both Nick and Steve that this was the only boat they would trust under extreme duress. They related that the Dockmaster at Cape May came up and wanted to shake their hands as Misstian was the only boat headed for Cape May that survived the storm. He had orders to go out and pick up nine downed and beached boats that did not make it.
My experience with the Albin, up to this point, had been in fair weather with less than five-foot seas. Nick had conveyed in great detail how the Albin handled in severe weather, but the hands-on feel of the craft under duress is the best way to imprint the handling characteristics. I doubted if I would have to worry about it, as all the long-range weather forecasts I had downloaded to the computer had been very favorable.
We had purchased the Albin after an exhaustive seven-month search. We knew what we wanted, a hull design that would handle sudden severe weather, a reasonably powerful diesel powerplant, a pilot house cabin to shield us and extend the boating season year round, creature comforts including heat, air, shower, kitchen, and room to fish for five to six people. Essentially what we wanted was the needed usability with a large measure of insurance in case of emergency. A handsome boat would be an added plus. We tried boat after boat before finding the Albin. Our first impression was that it was like a big Swiss Army knife - sturdy, practical and easy to handle with a flash of design flair. Just the thing for long distance touring and hard fishing after you arrived.
The trip down the coast was uneventful with the first overnight stop at Cape May, averaging 19 knots. The next morning began with a quick read of the weather reports. Nothing major was noted and I set off down the coast for Norfolk. After a stop at Ocean City, Maryland to top off the tank, I set off again down he coast about three to four miles from shore following a course previously plotted on my GPS chart plotter.
Near Chincoteague, Virginia, the first sign of impending trouble came over the radio. A storm had developed northeast of Baltimore and was forecasted to proceed in a southeasterly direction. As I charted its course, it appeared that it should hit well north of my position by the time before it reached the Virginia coast. Even so, I stepped up my speed to 21 knots to give it even more clearance.
An hour and a half passed before any other mention was heard of the storm over the radio. The message indicated the storm around Baltimore was gathering in intensity with high winds and rain. The skies to the west and north were still clear, but were becoming increasingly cloudy to the south as a line of thunderstorms was forming. Having more than passed the midway point, I had no choice now, the nearest port was Norfolk.
The messages now came quicker. Tornadoes were being spawned by the storm.
The speed of the storm was picking up and the direction was now down the Chesapeake.
As I approached the tip of Virginia, the Coast Guard was advising all boats
to make port as quickly as possible. The skies to the south were darkening.
The Albin was about to be sandwiched between two storms unless I made port
quickly.
This was my first trip to Norfolk by ocean. I brought up the area on the GPS chart plotter and weighed my options. Move out further from land in the ocean and ride it out, or try to beat the storm and make port in Norfolk. I tried to raise my family on cell phone, but could not get connected. Listening to the reports and calculating the possibilities with GPS and chart plotter, I believed I should be able to make it to Norfolk, but it would be close. I decided to try and make Norfolk.
I cranked the Albin up and proceeded in from the ocean. More warnings came from the Coast Guard to make port as soon as possible. Reports now indicated that the wind and storm speeds were rising with one report of gusts to 85 miles per hour. That must be wrong, I thought to myself. But, I could now see the storm to the northwest, a gray amorphous mass.
I had already donned the Class One Life preserver normally fastened to the back of the captain's chair, secured all loose gear and closed off half the back of the pilot house. I changed the screen on the chart plotter to zoom in on the area ahead. I tried to use the phone again and still no response. I placed the phone in a zip lock bag and into my shirt pocket. Into another zip lock bag I placed my hand-held GPS unit that I had activated fifteen minutes earlier.
I have been boating for 50 years and had my share of storms, but as this one came closer and the reports became more ominous, with reports of missing boats and the first May Day call, this had all the trappings of potentially being the worst.
The wind began to pick up as I cleared the first bridge. Then I saw the storm off my starboard bow. There was no sky, no waterline, just a solid gray wall punctuated with a broad band of lightning strike. I tried to reach the marine by radio, but could not get through and then it hit.
First there was a loud pop as lightning struck just aft of the boat, then the rain came on in huge torrential sheets, smashing into the boat and pilothouse windows. I had all three windscreen wipers going. The seas began to rise and I pushed the Albin's bow into the waves, slightly quartering. It was beginning to look very bad. I tried to memorize my position and repeated it again and again to burn it into my head. I still didn't trust the operation of my hand-held GPS under these conditions.
I have been boating for 50 years and had my share of storms |
The Albin responded requiring more steering as the wave size increased and the keel bit into the waves. Strangely, the worse it got, the more my confidence grew in Albin. As the waves smashed into the bow and I worked the throttle and the wheel, I could feel the Albin power through the wave, settle and brace for the next onslaught. We were now becoming a team. I was dry in my pilothouse as water rushed over and slammed into the Albin.
I kept checking my place on the chart plotter map and tried to look in the distance for the lighthouse supposedly positioned off the port bow. All of a sudden, the winds suddenly intensified and changed direction just as I crested a nine to ten foot wave. I was hit with a blast of water and wind on the port bow that blew the middle wiper off and spun the Albin 140 degrees to starboard exposing the stern to the waves. I cut the wheel hard to port to ride the narrow trough and then cut it again applying all the power I could draw from the 330 horsepower Cummins. The port bow of the Albin smashed into the waves, raising its hull and shooting into the next set of waves. Throughout it all, the Albin never creaked or groaned, taking repeated massive hits and coming back for more.
My shoulders and neck were burning from what seemed like an eternity of time, actually over 45 minutes. But now I was feeling more confident that I could handle anything that this storm might put out. The waves and wind continued with a lessening of the rain, I could see an occasional light. Then my cell phone rang as Nick finally got through. I hit the button and shouted that I was holding my own. (when we received the phone bill on his cell phone, he had tried to call 33 times.) The storm had hit Norfolk with a fury and the concern was evident in his voice.
The insurance that we sought at the purchase had paid its dividend again. The Albin never faltered and aside from the two broken wipers, did not sustain any damage. Even the back curtain to the pilothouse was intact. The pilothouse and its weary pilot were still dry. The GPS antenna had been spun in it's mount and bent over. The cabin showed a need for some drawer latches, but otherwise was in good shape.
As I finally pulled into the marina an hour and a half later, Sandy, Nick and the Dockmaster came up. Earlier, the Dockmaster, after hearing I was piloting an Albin 28 TE from Nick, told my son that I had just the right boat to survive the storm. Many other had not been so lucky. My decision to run for Norfolk was vindicated by the unfortunate loss of two boats and their crews off the Virginia/North Carolina coast. The one thing that is still the most vivid is the way the Albin handled and kept absorbing the crushing punishment dealt out by the storm. A true thorobred design proves itself in a very difficult set of circumstances, just like a fine sports car driven at the limits of its adhesion. The hard part was now over.
The rest of the trip was a joy. We caught a lot of fish. Sandy, Nick and I took my six grand nephews and nieces and tier parents for a memorable fishing trip in confidence that I had the safest and surest boat out that day.
Michael L. Lucas
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