Log Book: November 21st

Conditions: 67, sunny
Location: Southport, NC

Today Dad and I struggled to re-acclimate ourselves to life off the dock and back on the water. Although the boat was now more organized from being in a single port for a few days, it was still hard to get back in the groove. As we left a Canadian sailor we had met on the dock set sail behind us. We played leap frog with him for a few miles down the ICW. Having a brief conversation with him in the lulls, we discovered that his final destination will be Cuba, Dad is extremely jealous. Now that I think about how close Cuba is to our travel stops, it seems foolish not to go there as well. Unfair. Once we turned the engine on we left the Canadian in the dust. We no longer have the luxury of traveling at our own pace, Corinne gets to Charleston onThanksgiving Day. However, friends of ours had warned us to pass through Lockwoods Folly at high tide. We could have made it to the Folly, but not at high tide so we stopped short in Southport. The harbor at Southport was very small, the size of a cove. Docks lined the shore, two were restaurant docks, those at the very end were the public docks and they were full. Our cruising guide indicated that we could anchor right in the middle of the harbor, the trouble was that it seemed we would be in everyone's way. I would say that there is room for two boats to anchor there and hopefully no large trollers trying to leave the dock. Luckily a couple on the dock shouted to us, asking if we wanted to raft up. They had a cool 70's power boat, white with seafoam green trim, with a generator, washer and dryer on board. The couple told us of all the cool spots to go to before the sun set. Dad and I followed their directions and took a short walk downtown. Every local we met informed us that Southport is affectionately known as "the east coast Hollywood." The movie Safe Haven was filmed here, the pride and joy of the community apparently. The town didn't reveal any obvious movie making qualities however. It had some cute stores and sweet shops but nothing Hollywood-esk. We did find out that they would be holding a Charles Dickens festival the very next day in Southport. I don't know what exactly that would entail but I was dying to go. I think Dad wanted to as well but after discussing it and listening to the weather we knew that we didn't have an extra day to spare here. Before getting back on the boat Dad met a shrimper on the dock. We had a long conversation with him. He had been in the Navy, lived in Groton for a bit, and was incidentally an extra in Safe Haven. Contrary to what the Southport locals said about the major film presence in the town, the shrimp business seemed to be the life and soul of the area. We bought three pounds of shrimp from him for ten dollars. Back on the boat we steamed them and Dad made a sweet and spicy Cajun sauce. I've never had to pick the heads off a shrimp before I ate it until now. It was very time consuming but there was no doubt that these shrimp were fresh. We went to bed lamenting the time we could've had here if we stayed longer but grateful that we had full bellies and that I had something to write about. 

Spotted: at a wine & coffee shop they had a chocolate dipped bottle of wine, the owner told us how the candy store across the street sterilizes the bottles and dips then for her. 

Log Book: November 22nd

Conditions: 64 degrees, sunny

Location: Calabash River, SC

Dad and I got up this morning, made some coffee and made it through Lockwoods Folly without a hitch. We were in the middle of a parade of boats and the radio was a buzz with chatter. Each sailor was trying to convey as much helpful information to the next as possible, no one got stuck. Our journey today consisted of the same salt marshes but in almost a straight line with little to no navigating involved. The sun was shining and life was good. Around 3pm we began looking ahead at the chart for good places to anchor. The options were to stop just over the North Carolina - South Carolina border or to keep going for another thirty miles. With sun set in just two hours we decided to cross the border and drop the hook up a small creek that was marked as the Calabash River. It was beyond quiet here, it was silent. There were two sand bar islands not far from us. Around five small power boats fished lazily about. Even they knew not to disturbed the scerenity of the place, no engines on, they were just adrift.

Dad and I got the paddle board launched. He bet me that I wouldn't paddle over to one of the sand bars. I told him that if I did he'd be on dish duty tonight. So I paddled over, I never lose a bet. I couldn't walk on the bar with my bare feet though, the place was covered in oyster shells that were licked clean. It looked like someone had a raucous clam bake and dumped all the shells here. There wasn't even a hint of sand, it was a shell bar. When Dad and I went to the ocean up in Wrightsville Beach I looked for shells. The pretty ones I took with me but how a shell looks isn't the only thing that makes one worth keeping. I told Dad my secret and I'll tell you too, I look for the baby hand shells or rocks. They are the ones that the ocean has beaten against so fiercely for so long that their rough wrinkles are smoothed away. They feel like baby hands, soft, smooth, and perfect. It's funny how time has the opposite effect on baby hands and shells. I have noticed two wrinkles on my forehead since we began this trip (Dad's fault I'm sure), and I'm not happy about it. However, as I thought about the baby hand shells I became sort of fond of the wrinkles. They are a mark of something much more than age but of life. A mark that we are still breathing and beating and not being washed away by the forces of nature and time, yet.

After the philosophy course, Dad got on the paddle board in his bathing suit. He used it as a seat and washed the bottom of the boat. At least the water line looks pretty now, even if we didn't make her any faster. We then prepared for tomorrow at the chart table. Tomorrow's adventure will bring us passed The Rockpile as they call it here because everywhere else is mud. New Englanders will say that we have "rockpiles" all over the place. This Rockpile is a twenty mile long canal that can be fifty feet wide in places. We have constantly heard of the dreaded Rockpile from locals and sailors so we thought we'd get a jump on the territory. Unfortunately there's not much studying to do, the charts show few depth measurements and the channel is mostly drawn as a single line. Usually a channel is drawn so it looks more or less like a road and you sail down the middle of the road. In these narrow canals one must sail on the line instead, not much wiggle room if you catch my drift. Therefore tomorrow we will be motoring the entire day, zero sailing. Motoring is not as fun but it will also rain tomorrow so motoring under our warm cockpit cover will be nice. 

What we ate: Thai chicken and rice

Spotted: honestly not much 

Log Book: November 23rd

Conditions: 55 degrees, rainy

Location: Bull Creek

As it turned out The Rockpile was no big deal. The canal was very narrow but plenty deep enough. It rained for most of the day. Dad and I stayed cozy and dry under the cockpit cover and it stood up nicely to the most rain we've seen so far. Through the rain we were able to catch glimpses of the houses situated on the hill above the canal. Most were huge Mediterranean style mansions with red terra cotta roofs, unlike anything you would expect to find in South Carolina. Then we came upon an unfinished development. The development houses were tall, skinny town houses that you would see in the city, so close to each other that they could see into their neighbors living room. The town houses were even more out of place here than the California mansions. There was so much land around them one could hardly see the need to choose their neighbor's living room for a good view. 

Past the rockpile and down Waccamaw River we could relax. The rain even let up for a bit. The Waccamaw was wide and deep. It would have been easy to navigate except for the large clumps of swamp bushes, called floating hyacinth. Hyacinth is generally chunks of leafy stuff that floats out of the swamp. They were all over the place. It wasn't that we couldn't hit them, we hit plenty of them, but you just never know what's inside of those bushes. Eventually some natives showed us how to navigate the hyacinth, you just run them right over. We learned this from the father-son duo wake boarding down the river. Don't be jealous, it was cold and they were crazy, although it did look fun. We stopped for the night in Bull Creek, about twenty miles from Georgetown. It was already cold but when the sun went down it was icy. Dad turned the cabin heater on first thing and we settled down with hot chocolate. After traveling all day in the cold it becomes very hard to motivate yourself to do anything but sleep, even eating is a struggle. We skipped dinner promising each other a big breakfast in the morning. With only twenty miles between us and Georgetown we wouldn't have to depart the creek very early and could sleep in. 

Spotted: boat bus (last picture)

Log Book: November 20th

Conditions: 73-55 degrees, mostly sunny
Location: Wrightsville Beach, NC

Our last few days at Wrightsville Beach were full of runs, bike rides to the beach (no swimming), seventy-three degree weather, trips to West Marine, Napa, Car Quest, the grocery store, the hardware store but most notably there were oysters. In this part of North Carolina, or maybe in all of North Carolina, everyone was catching oysters. 

Down the road from the marina was Mott's Channel Seafood. There we got a two dozen oysters for around fourteen dollars. Although this was the best deal that you could never find in New England Dad still said that it's a shame to buy them when everyone is bringing them in by the bushel for free. He was right, as we walked down the dock at Mott's to check out their fishing trollers we spotted thousands of oysters fighting for space on the pilings. That's not all we saw, looking down into the mud under the dock we saw the perfectly preserved skeletons of six foot long grouper, among other fish. We also peaked our heads in the back and watched the employees cleaning, trimming, and packaging fresh fish, the whole process was pretty cool. Back at the boat we feasted on the oysters and watched the sun set. Having fixed the engine we made plans to leave the next morning for South Port. My sister, Corinne had finally booked a flight to meet us in Charleston for Thanksgiving so we had to start making some progress. For our last night in Wrightsville we decided to walk down to the beach bars and visit a good Mexican place that friends had recommended to us called Tower 9. We both ordered great margaritas and had a good time talking to the bartender, a local who told us about the culture we had missed in Wrightsville (flannels and shotguns being a highlight). By the end of the night she was putting free shots of tequila down in front of us (I can't take any credit, my Dad's the big talker). Setting out we never thought that shots were in our future. In fact I have never taken a shot of anything with my father and I wasn't quite comfortable with breaking the unspoken tradition. However we are sort of on vacation and it would have been rude to refuse. I think the night felt warmer for the both of us on our walk back to the marina. We both remarked at how nice a stay Wrightsville Beach had been, made all the better with the warm weather we were enjoying. It finally felt like we were on vacation. I think it was also the town that made us feel that way. In New England the beach towns empty out in the winter, making them lonely and unwelcome. Wrightsville Beach was still alive. Even on the colder nights boaters got together for sunset cocktails on the dock or barbecues and they were all so friendly. Here's to hoping South Carolina can match up. 

What we ate: oysters, tacos, steaks, Utz Carolina BBQ chips (amazing.)

Spotted: warm water fish, Dad napping, kids at the beach - I wish I didn't care what the water temperature was.

Log Book: November 17th

Conditions: 63, sunny

Location: Wrightsville Beach, NC

Dad and I woke up in the dark this morning around five o'clock. We slowly got organized and dressed for the day, not pulling the anchor up until almost sunrise so we could leave in some light. Wrightsville Beach is around fifty miles away, so we needed almost the whole day to make it. We hope to stay there a few days to restock, explore, and wait out the harsher winds expected in the next few days. When we left the early morning was quiet and clear, but within two hours we were surrounded by pea soup fog. After suffering through the gloom for a bit we decided to pull over to a piling and wait for the sun to burn it off in time. A few boats crawled passed us but at such a slow pace that we didn't join them. Instead we made egg sandwiches with avocado, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. It was worth it. Thirty minutes later we were back on track. 

Eventually we came across a stretch of beach that Dad got very excited about. Taking up a prime piece of beach house real estate was Camp Lejune, a marine base where Dad had lived as a child. He immediately texted his siblings a picture with the caption "get in the Buick kids were going to the beach." 

While not much of the base could be seen from the channel there were some unmistakable signs that we had arrived.

At this part of the channel the marines sometimes hold artillery practice firing shells over the ICW and into the ocean. There's a red and white sign next to the channel imploring travelers to "stop when the red light are flashing" and there are no houses. It was pretty cool. There was also a sand road near the base that disappeared into the east side of the channel reappearing on the west side for amphibious vehicles, though we didn't see any. Dad got a little annoyed at the base's bridge operator when we passed the marine camp. The bridge refused to open early, even though two boats (including us) had been waiting since eight forty five and there were no cars crossing. He wouldn't open for us until nine o'clock on the dot. Dad said "I wonder if they make him wear a uniform too."

It wasn't long after Camp Lejune that Dad and I noticed the smell of the salt marsh lifting, being overpowered by the ocean. The salt marsh smells strongly of mud and low tide, the strong salty ocean air was a welcome change, along with the breeze. The water was now an aqua blue, very different from the stealy blue of the ocean in New England and the muddy salt marshes from before.

Unfortunately the day was not all positive. About an hour before sunset, an hour until we reached our destination the engine died. It died the same way as it did last time, like some invisible hand throttled her back and starved the engine of gas. This time it wasn't a fish. To say that Dad was unhappy is an understatement. We called Tow Boat US and arrived at Wrightsville Beach very disheartened. Dad obsessively took the engine apart when we arrived on the dock. Knowing nothing about engines I went up to shower. This would be my second on shore shower since, wait for it, ANNAPOLIS. The last shore shower being three days ago in Belhaven. Maybe for guys showering on a boat is no big deal, less room, less privacy, less warmth who cares? I don't pretend to be much of a girl but us warm blooded, land loving, spa treating women know how to shower so I milked it for all it was worth.  By the time I got back Dad was in good spirits, he had figured out what was wrong with the engine and it would only take a day to fix. We went out for pizza at the Mellow Mushroom to celebrate. On tap at the restaurant were all microbrew beers, types we had never heard of. I got the Rogue Hazelnut and we won't be leaving Wrightsville without a six pack. It was amazing. Today felt like it began last week, the longest day yet. Needless to say sleep came upon us quickly. 

What we ate: pizza! Egg avocado tomato sandwiches.

Spotted: it's always nice to know some people out here have it tougher than us like the boats pictured below

Log Book: November 16th

Conditions: 73 degrees sunny

Location: Swansboro, NC

We left Cedar Creek this morning in a dry cockpit thanks to our canvas enclosure. The morning was gorgeous and warm, a great day to make our way to Swansboro. Although we have been in North Carolina for some time now we have yet to see a true town, to get the feel of it. Luckily the ICW changed it's scenery today. This part of the North Carolina ICW is still dug in the salt marsh but very close to the ocean, so close that you can hear the waves. The lure of the sea makes both sides of the canal a popular places for summer homes.

The east side of the canal is mostly made up of dunes that lead to the beach and small beach towns or houses if they can fit. Dolphins swim freely in and out of the many openings in the dunes to and from the ocean. 

Moorhead City is where the scenery change began and with the change came a new collection of problems. The previously lonely ICW was now full of people.

There was as much boat traffic here as there was in New York City, although here the traffic was mostly made up of small skiffs. The number of small motor boats drifting around fishing, or powering around to fish elsewhere was staggering. Between the numerous power boats, the large ship traffic, the heavy current, and the many different confusing channel markers, sailing through Moorhead City was like trying to navigate through a pinball machine. 

Finally out the other side we were able to sight see and catch a glimpse of those North Carolina beach houses. However Dad and I discussed how they didn't seem to have much of a style pattern. Some were large stucco, some were small ranches, still others were medium with cedar shakes. We still didn't have the feel for what style North Carolina was.  The only thing that every house had in common was they all had a dock to the ICW. Every single house. We tried to guess what the real estate market was like here and what these homes cost. It was tricky, the homes weren't on the beach but like I said this waterway was busy and every house had it's own dock. It would be like living on a beautiful, quiet highway. We passed a sign on an empty lot with a dock that said the plot is on the market for $300,000. No house just the land and a dock. Pretty steep but the area was gorgeous.

The day heated up and soon we were sailing in shorts. Dad even hopped in to scrub the prop quickly. We spent most of our time relaxing listening to tunes. Navigating wasn't hard but because of the winding channel and boats we couldn't use the auto pilot much. We arrived in Swansboro about an hour before sunset. From the boat we could see that the town was alight with Christmas decorations. While we anchored a house boat drove by blaring music as people danced and drank on the housetop. When the sun finally set Dad and I ate dinner in the cockpit and debated going ashore. The town did seem lovely, we could even hear a live band playing from inside a bar but we planned on leaving early in the morning to reach Wrightsville Beach. Tonight we'd sacrifice a night of fun for more sleep.

What we ate: Spaghetti and meatballs

Spotted: Barbie's dream home

Log Book: November 15th

Conditions: under 10 knots, W 

Location: Cedar Creek, NC

We left Belhaven at four in the morning. This would be our second experience sailing in the dark, the first was when we left Atlantic Highlands. This time it was much easier to wake up. Since the beginning of the trip our sleep schedules have changed dramatically. We no longer rely on clocks to tell us the time of day, the only thing we use is the sun when it rises we arise, when it sets we sleep. We are now quite use to waking up by six thirty for the sun rise and going to sleep just after sunset, five thirty. Seriously there are days that by six pm Dad and I are fast asleep in our bunks. What was once a rough 4 am wakeup call is now just rising a couple hours earlier. We sailed out of the harbor with steaming cups of coffee in hand and watched the sun rise. The water was unnaturally still and the light reflections made it hard to tell where the water ended and the sky began. We made good time with our early start and we were soon passing Eastham Creek, where we had the engine problems and making our way down the Pamlico River-N. Bay River canal. Here the canal was flanked endlessly with shrimping boats. Dad wished aloud that we had time to stop here and find out where they sold their shrimp so we could get some fresh, but we were on a schedule.

When you rise early everything other part of your day schedule is earlier too, for example we had lunch at ten o'clock. We passed Oriental, NC around noon. Oriental is where we had planned to have as our next stop, before we had engine problems. Today we planned on continuing to Beaufort, around eighteen nautical miles further south. Beaufort is a big stopping port for all ICW travelers, making space to anchor hard to come by, not to mention that the anchorage is difficult to get to and is shallow. Knowing this Dad decided it would be better if we ended our day a little earlier than we had planned, picking out Cedar Creek as our new home for the evening, just passed Oriental. We arrived by three o'clock and hardly knew what to do with ourselves. We made dinner on our propane grill that hangs off the transom, something we hadn't done in awhile because the weather had been too cold. We spent the rest of the day hanging out above deck. I sat up on the bow by myself for awhile, its hard to get any time by yourself here and the Creek was very peaceful. The forecast for the next day said that we should be expecting rain so Dad and I put up our full cockpit enclosure. We had worked on the canvas all summer, painfully sewing like mad until it was finished, which it still isn't finished but we decided that it was good enough besides we had some sewing machine complications. The enclosure is like a canvas tent that goes over the cockpit, with windows and everything. We admired our hard work for a bit then called it a night, picking out Swansboro as our next stopping point.

What we ate: turkey wraps, cheeseburgers with avocado, tomato, lettuce, onion

Log Book: November 14th

Conditions: 65 degrees, partly cloudy

Location: Belhaven, NC

I must first begin this story with the disclaimer that today was a long long day, therefore it's a long story. This morning we awoke to a calm Eastham Creek. We awoke at sunrise, 6:30, hoping to make a lot of headway in order to get to Oriental, NC with ample amount of daylight to restock, refuel, and rewater. On deck the morning was ice cold and the boat was aground. It turns out that when we had taken the extra anchor out the day before we forgot to choke up on our main anchor line. This left the boat the ability to swing into the shallows. Dad and I tried everything we could think of. We launched the dingy and set out our second anchor again hoping we could use it to pull us off but no go. We put the mainsail up hoping we could tilt the hull enough to lift the keel out of the sand, but that didn't work either. It was so cold that it was hard to maintain a firm grip on the ropes. My gloves were of no help, after the wet anchor line soaked them through. I pulled on the rest of the line barehanded. Each cold handful of rope felt as if it seared my palms, pins and needles kind of stuff. It was a miserable morning and after an hour of trying we finally gave up hope and called Towboat US. Unfortunately giving up hope for Dad is not the same as giving up. We moved the heavy objects to the port side of the boat, hoping again to tilt the hull. It was two hours before Towboat US arrived, by then the day had warmed up and it wasn't quite as painful to move above deck. The Towboat US operator, Tom, told us that it was about five feet deep. We knew that we weren't aground much, but enough to keep us from moving, we draw four and a half, the extra half a foot was lost somewhere between the tow boat and us I guess. In no time at all we were off the sand, parting ways with tow boat Tom, and sailing away. We hadn't gone a half of a mile before I noticed that the knot meter failed, and was pointing to zero. I pointed this out to Dad, he tapped on the glass of the meter briefly and seconds later the engine stalled. So Towboat US got another call. While we waiting Dad began taking the engine apart, madly wondering what the problem was and how much it would cost us in time, money, happiness, etc. In the sea water strainer, that takes in water to cool down the engine, Dad found a bait fish cooked through stopping water flow to the engine causing it to overheat and stall. By this time tow boat Tom was back. He began to tow us to Belhaven, the closest main point but for us it was a twelve mile back track. While a mere twelve miles might not seem far it is to us. Getting out of a main harbor like Belhaven can take an hour and that on top of the milage means we would lose almost a quarter of a day of traveling screwing up our loose schedule dramatically. After putting the engine back together Dad turned the key and voila it ran. It was around 3pm at this point, and we were already halfway to Belhaven so we continued knowing that there wasn't much point in turning around to make more headway. Although we had lost a precious whole day Dad and I were grateful and congratulated ourselves that our engine trouble was a mere fish.
Inside Belhaven we went to the first marina we saw, River Forest. We refueled, restocked, rewatered, and hit the showers. After being on the boat for so long returning to shore feels a bit strange. We were fish out of water and like Ariel, simple human everyday things become captivating. Showers, for example, are one of those things. Along with television, internet, and any form of face to face contact with other humans. Fish out of water syndrome really makes one realize and appreciate everything we have available to us as well as the kindness of others.
With a car lent to us by the marina, we ventured into town to treat ourselves to dinner. We ate at the Spoon River Restaurant. The restaurant was a storefront that reminded us of those in Watch Hill, RI. Inside the decor made you want to live there. It was the perfect mix of bohemian and country, like a backyard wedding but inside with big white lanterns, whimsical chandeliers in the windows, original tin ceilings, and a piano in the center of the room. Attached to the restaurant was a wine shop, where you could pick through their large wine selection for the perfect bottle to be served to you at dinner. The food was excellent. I had the mahi mahi and Dad had the shrimp and grits. The mahi mahi sauce reminded me, in the best way possible, of my mother's manhattan clam chowder with a little something extra and Dad wouldn't stop talking about how great his meal was. The portions were generous, I didn't think dessert was going to happen for me, but we heard the selections anyway and decided we couldn't leave without the pumpkin cheesecake so we shared a slice. Next we met the owner, Teresa, and heard her story. She began as an interior designer, no surprise there. She started the restaurant about a year ago and has since bought three other buildings on the block I believe. She has a mind to turn at least one of them into a antique shop, finally clearing out her house she joked. She was the spark of life to the street and town. I really hope her dreams come true but it seems that the ball is rolling for her and that she's off to a great start.
The day didn't begin well but we arrived back at the boat with smiles on our faces. We made a plan at dinner that we would get up before dawn and try to make up some time that we lost today. Four am tomorrow we will leave for Oriental.

Spotted: dream house (hotel actually) and it's for sale!