As water filled my boots, I sat wedged between the cockpit table and steering pedestal where somehow my safety tether had ensnarled the spoked wheel. I worked in the near-continuous strobe of massive purple-blue electrical burst to untangle my self. A rush of bitterly cold air shocked me out of step by methodical step assessment of taking in another reef vs. maintaining speed and considering the likelihood of facing a massive breaking wave over the stern. My ears crackled then popped with a radicle change in pressure, and those two events in quick succession gave me a reason to pause. I looked up from the winch I was cranking to see clear skies above and a stream of meteorites pouring into the top of a massive supercell storm violently rippling in shades of orange, blue and purple electric light. Beneath the spectacle, a series of waterspouts slow danced to a song that echoed in tones of thunder.
The air was electric, loud and filled with a deafening roar as a torrent of hail pummeled me. I shivered violently and my ears rang with a high pitch insect whine as the storm intensified. For a moment I thought it was going to be the end.
A calm anchorage, great beaches, places for trash and easy access to water was a no brainer. Although we felt a pressure to move on, to see other sites and develop an itinerary, we also realized that we didn’t have to do any of that. We found a place that we liked, and it was okay to stay a little longer.
As night fell across the anchorage, the sea of stars that hung about Caprica was slowly enveloped by thick cloud cover dotting our hatches with speckles of rain. By midnight, our weather window north blew the window in with thunderstorms, wind and torrential rain. Caprica tugged at her snubber and anchor chain, and I felt the stress of the lee shore just a few hundred feet from our stern. Using our high definition radar, I dialed in the surroundings locating the rocky beach and our neighbors as pulsing red blobs. Tuning the gain, I filtered out the thousands of green and blue dots that filled the radar screen with interference until we had a perfect picture of our surroundings. From the warmth of my dry cabin, I was able to stand anchor watch through the night watching the radar and making sure that other boats weren’t dragging down on us.
On our way back to Caprica, the heat of the day was growing more intense, and I grumbled that we had been stuck in Chesapeake City for so long. “By this date, we’re usually in Maine,” I said and pointed the tiller towards our little floating island. Then I thought about the people we met, the stories we heard, and the few that we had come to be acquainted with. The town was beautiful, friendly, and welcoming. It was the longest I’d ever stayed in Chesapeake City, and I’d come to find the town to be more than a cruising crossroads; it was a destination.