That ain't three feet

Does anyone know

Where the love of God goes

When the waves turn the minutes to hours

Those lyrics from Gordon Lightfoot's famous ballad "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" were passing through my mildly seasick brain as the predicted 3-foot waves were clearly significantly higher.

Moving our boat from New York City back to Chesapeake Bay involved 122 miles of open North Atlantic Ocean, and I had waited patiently for a benign weather forecast. On the day of departure my many weather apps predicted light winds and less than 3-foot waves. No mention of fog.

Naturally the fog hit about 30 miles o...

 

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