ESCAPE TO QUARANTINE SHORE THE TEXAS 200 IN 2020

It is almost dark. The sun has finally hit the horizon as I tack down Matagorda Bay towards Pass Cavallo.

- Chuck Pierce

When we launched at Magnolia Beach earlier in the day, we’d decided this would be our camp for tonight, and surely others would be there by now. I’ve gone back a couple of times to check on a friend who hasn’t sailed for three years due to some rough cancer treatments, and I’m running later than I’d like.

After sailing past the Port O’Connor jetties, I anchor for a half hour to give my friend a chance to catch up…but I’m running out of time. Pass Cavallo is different every time I’ve been there since Hurricane Harvey roared through the area in 2017. I do not feel confident I can find today’s version of the pass in the dark.

Filled with misgivings, I haul the anchor up and sail on.

In the last of the light I see masts a mile or so away, and an anchor light on one of the boats. I head for it. As the sun drops below the horizon it gets dark quickly—really dark. Darker than normal, even. I have read something about Saharan Desert dust in the air, maybe this is a side effect. It’s 2020, after all.

I drag my Mayfly 14, Gamaray, ashore right at 9 p.m. One of the other guys immediately texts our missing friend. He replies that he’s on a beach across from Port O’Connor with a couple of other Texas 200 boats, and that they are camping there for the night. I don’t know why I was worried about him—this guy is smarter and has more sailing experience than pretty much anyone I know. We make plans to meet up at Army Hole the next day, and as I am changing into my dry camp clothes I notice that my clip-on sunglasses are still clamped onto the frame of my glasses. The Mystery of The Darkness is solved.