Log Book: December 6th

Conditions: 70 degrees and sunny
Location: Bryan Creek

This morning Dad and I took a walk down the main road in Beaufort. We stumbled upon a beautiful park with swinging wooden benches. We swung back and forth for a few minutes for nostalgia. After taking it all in we moved on to have breakfast at a place called The Market. It was great and they had a wide selection of food to go as well. Dad brought a jar of gumbo back to the boat with us. We set sail in the early afternoon. Dad said he had gotten a glimpse of the hospital where he was born and that's all he really needed. Not long after leaving Beaufort I pointed a few military planes out to Dad, the sound of gun shots, and finally a large water tower with big black words printed on it. Dad calculated these facts together and concluded that we were passing Paris Island "where heroes come to train," he said. Paris Island meant absolutely nothing to me so Dad further explained that it is where the government trains the marines. My grandfather, my father's father, was a marine so Dad has a very strange attitude toward the lot of them. It is a mixture of both reverence and dislike, a feeling toward parents that I think all teenagers can understand. We then had a discussion about the frequency of military might that we have seen during our journey south. I asked Dad why there was such a military presence down here compared to New England. They have more land? Or fewer liberals? We had a great time making jokes along the lines of "hide it from the liberals?" Mine were funny I swear, and dad's were corny as always.
We originally planed our next stop to be Hilton Head. However the narrow gap between sandbars that led to the west side of Hilton Head was poorly plotted by our chartographers. Instead we made for Bryan Creek, less than a mile south. The creek received great reviews on one of our favorite websites, Active Captain. The reviews stressed the quiet scenery and active wildlife, so we weren't too disappointed that we would miss out on Hilton Head, which was supposedly a beautiful stop, maybe on the way back.
We crept slowly into the creek at low tide. The muddly shoal was stealthily inching further and further out into the water making it difficult to get into the creek. Once inside we found deep water, though it was very narrow, scarcely room enough for one boat. Dad was nervous that we would swing onto the bank during the night so we put out two anchors. After that we had a peaceful evening eating dinner in the cockpit and listening to the sounds of the salt marsh.

What we ate: chicken tacos

Log Book: December 5th

Conditions: Partly cloudy, 65 degrees

Location: Beaufort, SC

Dad waiting until hightide before taking the plunge this morning in the hopes that he wouldn't be swept away with the current. Unfortunately Bull River, like much of the salt marsh we traversed, was so brown that the mud clouds billowed around the hull of the boat. After thirty minutes in the water Dad came up with the trailing line. He said that the visibility was less than a foot but that he felt great, exhilarated by the cold water and the possible encounter with an alligator, we joked. We left the  River around noon and made for Beaufort, a short sail away. Beaufort is where my dad was born and lived for the early years of his life but he remembers very little of the area. Clearly his most vivid memory of Beaufort is the massive amount of bugs, affectionately known as nosyums (pronounced "no see ums") that make their home in the area. I originally thought that the nosyums were a joke of my dad's, that nobody else called them this. While we explored the town of Beaufort I discovered how wrong I was. Everyone called them nosyums. They are called nosyums because they bite you and leave before you can see them, and boy do they hurt. They are worse than Mosquitos. I asked dad for the scientific name of the bug, so I wouldn't have to sound like I was from the Deep South. Dad said that they are really "sand fleas." Unwilling to admit that I had been bitten by fleas all day I had to  stick with the more colorful term of nosyums. We didn't explore Beaufort much, just hopped on our bicycles and drove to the nearest grocery store to restock before turning in for the night. We aim to get a better view of the place in the morning before leaving. 


Spotted: the Christmas spirit - Xmas tree at the top of another boats mast

Log Book: December 9th

Conditions: 73 degrees

Location: Brunswick Point

We left our quiet anchorage at Crescent River, wishing that they could all be that peaceful. After dragging our anchor at Kilkenny Creek, it is hard to go to bed on the anchor without some level of anxiety. There was no need for anxiety last night but I still found it hard to sleep. In the morning Dad and I made breakfast and set off for Brunswick Point. Entering the Buttermilk Sound we spotted our same Canadian mates from Kilkenny Creek. Their boat, Beaujolais, was anchored precariously inside the channel. Dad got them on the radio and discovered that their engine had died. We offered Beaujolais assistance and began to tow them through the sound. It was slow going, but I guessed we owed them a favor. Luckily they got their engine running by the time we reached the end of the Sound. Beaujolais soon melted into the horizon, sailing fast in front on us. On our crossing of the St. Simons Sound we made a hard right to pull into Brunswick Point. And who do you think was at the marina there? We docked right beside Beaujolais and reminisced about the lengthening experience that we have begun to share. At the dock office we received a town map, directions to the nearest sushi restaurant, and instructions to stay out of "the bad part of town." Whatever that means. The main street in Brunswick was beautifully lined with trees, wide sidewalks, and park benches. You would never have imagined that there was a bad part of town here, with such a cozy little district in the heart of the neighborhood. After sushi, Dad was drawn into the bar sporting a live band just around the corner. As it turned out the bar happened to be hosting somewhat of live mic night, except with bands. Dad and I enjoyed watching the variety of artists perform immeasurably. We especially liked an older gentleman who sang, jumped up and down, and jammed on his American flag guitar. He was someone's small grandpa going wild on this small stage in front of a handful of bar patrons and he was quite good. Dad and I turned in for the night feeling that we had made a good choice in Brunswick Point. 

What we ate: sushi & pad Thai

Log Book: December 4th

Conditions: 65 degrees & sunny
Location: Bull River, SC

We set out early this morning from John's Island. What started as a quiet, slow morning soon became an eventful day. A handful of boats were traveling down the ICW now, spewing a torrent of talk over the radio. Many captains were telling their friends and followers where it was shallow, deep, or just plain dangerous. Unfortunately there are some obstacles that a boat is bound to collide with.
Some may call these things fate, others would like to blame a skill-less captain but season sailors widely attribute unfortunate occurrences to lack of devotion to Poisedon. If you are not pouring a sip of beer a day into the sea as tribute you are asking for it. Today Dad and I were those forgetful sailors. Coming down the Wadmalaw River a sudden crunching, grinding sound issued from underneath the boat. Rushing to the transom I looked down to see the almost unrecognizable remains of a crab pot. It looked like someone had placed styrofoam in a food processor. Oops, Dad was driving. Luckily the engine didn't stall or skip a beat and the prop seemed unaffected. We trudged on, resigned to be more aware of our surroundings. As it turns out we needed to be. An hour later we made our way into Fenwick Cut. This was a small canal that many sailors had been issing warnings over on the radio. One unlucky sailor was already stuck in the sand on the left side of the channel, but we just sailed closer to the reds like everybody else and got through just fine. When we got out the other side we continued to follow the boat in front of us. Unfortunaty we soon discovered that he had been leading us in the wrong direction. We had to turn around to get back on the ICW. Our fearless leader eventually turned around as well to follow us. Back on track we headed through one last canal, the Ashepoo Coosaw Cutoff. Back on track we headed through one last canal, the Ashepoo Coosaw Cutoff. The Cutoff was a little more than a mile long. As we traveled further along it we started to become more aware of the muddy banks that were creeping closer and closer to the dug channel. Soon the depth sounder rang out its alarm, signaling an end to the deep water. Soon the dial read 0.0, zero feet, zero inches of water under the keel, but we were still moving. The end of the canal was so close. Dad reved the engine up and we powered through the last few yards of mud. We dropped the hook at Bull River, thankful to have gotten through the day relatively unscathed. Little did we know the day's events were not entirely over. As I switched the engine into reverse, to back down on the anchor, it spluttered and died. Dad guessed that we had a leftover suveniour from the crab pot that we ran over, meaning it would be a wet morning.

Log Book: December 3rd

Conditions: S wind

Location: St. John's Island

It took us awhile to get off the dock this morning. Following a tip we waited to leave until the turn of the tide, around 1pm. This left us plenty of time to shower and organize before setting off but we were unable to travel very far. Mistaking the tides we were forced to battle down a narrow canal. With our engine running full force we still barely made any headway against the strong current. We anchored just after the canal. Although we didn't get very far it feel great to get off the dock. Ships and ports are a strange contradiction. A ship is freedom, the dock is a prison. Eventually the relationship changes. After being alone and isolated on the boat for a long time, running out of supplies and activities, the boat can become a prison itself. The open air is not so open, and the vessel that once enabled you to go anywhere is stuck nowhere at all. The dock is safety, security, the freedom to leave where ever , whenever you please. It is a connection to people and supplies. They are too extremes that seem incapable of balance. It is one or the other, freedom or incarceration, and the switch happens in the blink of an eye. Today Dad and I both basked in the light of the freedom. Tomorrow our world may change.

Log book: December 2nd

Conditions: 68-55 degrees

Location: Charleston, SC

My sister, Corinne, met Dad and I in Charleston on Wednesday afternoon. Since then we have had a week of eating out, touring the town, and let's face it living the life. My girlfriends came down to visit on Friday so needless to say the trip got crazier from there. Between the rich southern food, the Black Friday shopping, and the bar hopping my wallet was feeling skinny and my waistband was feeling... well otherwise. It was a blast. Especially seeing my sister. It was like having home in Charleston. Thanksgiving doesn't change where ever you go as long as you have a surrogate family to spend it with. However I am ready to leave Charleston. The town is definitely a must see with beautiful gardens, homes, and old architecture, but you do visit feel free to skip the marina. I walked up and down the dock for seven long days without one dockhand, passing in a golf cart, offering me or anyone else a ride. It wasn't simply the long walk. Two days ago we awoke to three loud bangs, all within seconds of each other. Dad, Corinne, and I scrambled up on deck to see the boom laying across the deck (instead of up in the air). The sailboat behind us had attempted to leave the dock and had, very inexpertly, slid passed our boat barely squeaking by. He did not miss the boom however. His shrouds caught on our topping lift, our boom had been swung out to the side of the boat so we could have more space in the cockpit. This caused his sailboat to swing into our own, creating the first loud bang, which then caused our boat to swing into the dock, creating the second loud bang, and eventually the topping lift snapped, creating the third loud bang when the doom hit the deck. Upon seeing us the deck hand said comfortingly that he had "thought that he would squeak by." Clearly that wasn't the case and the kid did nothing to help the other boat avoid our own. When the topping lift snapped it go launched high over the mast and down the other side. It turned out not to be a huge deal, a rigger came later and scaled the mast to fix it. This instance was more of an emotional trigger screaming for Dad and I that it was time to leave Charleston. Corinne's plane will arrive in the morning and upon her departure we will take our leave as well. 

Side Notes: We scrubbed down the entire boat today, well all the important parts. During these times I am glad to be on one of the smaller boats traveling down the ICW or else it would have taken us all day and by the time it was clean we would've had to start all over again. We also stumbled upon a large parade, where a raucous jam band played christmas carols from the bed of a truck and the lead singer used a megaphone. Lastly, Charleston was gorgeous and none of my pictures can ever do it justice.

What we ate: Rabbit loin, fried okra, gumbo, fried chicken, mint juleps, moscow mules

Log book: November 26th

Conditions: 15-20 knot SW 

Location: Chatleston, SC

Dad and I got up around five to leave the creek, but decided it was too dark. We pulled up the second anchor, hauled the dingy out, and organized the cockpit to kill time. Once it got light enough we left the inlet without a hitch. The sunrise was gorgeous, the most beautiful we've seen yet. Just after we left dolphins came so close to the boat that I could have jumped overboard and ridden on ones back. So it was worth getting up early. We were definitely beating the storm to Charleston at this point. The weather was still gorgeous. But nine o'clock found us waiting at a drawbridge for rush hour to end. Two other sailboats were waiting as well. There was plenty of room for all of us to wait in the channel there. However there was barely two feet of water under the keel everywhere you went. We listened to the depth sounder alarm for about thirty minutes before the bridge finally opened and we were off once again. The canal emptied out into Charleston Harbor. All three boats put up their mainsail at this point. The harbor leads to the ocean, making choppy waves. The slow up at the bridge didn't help and the storm was catching up to us. The mainsail steadied the boats as they rolled over the waves, adding some much needed pace. This enabled all three boats to get out of the open water before the storm really fell on us. A single barge was anchored in the middle of the harbor, waiting for the tide direction to change. A cargo ship was making its way into the harbor. We all made a mad dash for the opposite shore, trying to get across the channel before the ship. Cargo ships do not stop or change course for simple worries like sailboats. She could crush us without loosing a knot. All three sailboats gave up the race, unwilling to risk it and cut across the ships stern. 

On the far shore of the harbor some nut was sailing a moth boat in the strong wind/current. It looked like he or she was having the time of their lives, though they must be soaked. I would love one of those boats, but I really have to master the wind surfer before I move on to a second summer sport. 

We were by no means the largest sailboat out of the three of us but we managed to beat the other two around the bend and into the designated anchorage. Here we pulled into the Charleston City Marina. It was still calm enough to tie up without much difficulty. Dad was not happy. On the phone the marina had said that we would be on the inside of the face dock. When we arrived they said that our spot was no longer available and we were stuck on the outside with all the large powerboats. And by large I mean huge. There was one mega yacht named Turmoil that was two hundred and twelve feet long. Two hours after we arrived it started to get really rough. I had to bail out on the boat for awhile because I was afraid I was going to be sick... Yes on the dock it was that bad. The Megadock that we were on was 1,500 feet long, it was more that a quarter of a mile walk to put your feet on land. We were at the very, very end of the dock. The first walk down didn't seem that long, but it got old fast. Needless to say it was not a good start to the trip. 

What we ate: BBQ chicken, broccoli 

Spotted: private marble sidewalk

Log Book: November 25th

Conditions: 60 degrees, N wind

Location: ICW mile 450

Dad and I prepared to leave quite early this morning. Only one other boat followed us out of the harbor. It was a cold start but it did warm up eventually. Today we were in more dense salt marshes, with firm ground on all sides of us in the distance, but there were still dolphins. They must like the muddy water here. I have to admit it crossed my mind that other creatures would like the muddy water here too, alligators. We haven't seen any yet but I'm keeping a watchful eye. We motor sailed for most of the day in the marshes, just with the jib but it was so nice to sail again. Throughout the morning we heard all manner of guns going off, the duck hunters were out at it again. Here they transformed their skiffs into camouflaged huts. I even spotted one or two decoy rubber duckies in the water. Needless to say duck hunting is a big deal down here. Eventually we pulled into a small creek off  of the channel. We were the only boat there. The creek was so narrow that we weren't sure if the boat had enough room to swing. Dad was very nervous that we would wake up in the marsh high and dry. So we launched the dingy and set our second anchor. By that time we were exhausted. We didn't even bother hauling the dingy out, we just had a quick dinner and went straight to bed.

What we ate: grilled cheese & tomato soup

Log Book: November 24th

Conditions: 55 degrees cloudy

Location: Georgetown, SC

Dad and I left Bull Creek in the early afternoon after a chocolate chip pancake breakfast. It was still pretty cold, the seventy-five degree weather we saw in Wrightsville Beach was torturing our memories. Upon entering Georgetown we had a some navigational confusion. Just before the inlet to Georgetown two rivers meet, the Waccamaw and the Great Pee Dee (do you think a river named the Great Pee Dee is as funny as I do?). The converging rivers and inlet mean an excess of channel markers. We actually passed Georgetown at first and hand to battle back upstream to the town. Upon anchoring all we could think about was getting ashore. We did and found a strange restaurant that served pizza, sushi, nachos, and wings. Dad made friends with the restaurant manager as always and he insisted that we try their Carolina roll. It was excellent. We stayed for awhile and watched the Sunday football that was on. A family sat down next to us with their seven year old son. He talked to everyone, the waiter, the bar patrons, he even got up and talked to the guy behind the sushi bar. The boy's name was David and soon enough he turned around in his chair and talked to me. He asked, without any form of introduction "are you a Gamecock?" (University of South Carolina's mascot). David had the thickest southern accent. It was hard not to laugh at how cute he sounded. I told him no, I am a husky, grr. He was beyond confused. He tilted his head to the side, looked at the Cowboys playing on the tv, opened his eyes in awe, looked back at me and said "you're one of them with the dtars?" It took a few seconds for me to realize that he meant to say stars and he was asking if I was a Dallas Cowboy. I laughed and explained to him about the Uconn Huskies. Then it was my turn to ask him a question. I asked David if he wanted to be a Gamecock when he grows up. Without skipping a beat he responded, "I am a Gamecock." He only forgot to leave out the duh. At the end of our meals David gave Dad a high five as a farewell. He then came over to me. I put my hand up waiting for the high five, instead he flung out his arms and game me a hug goodbye. It was very sweet. 

We met a few boaters at the restaurant as well. They all had planned to stay in Georgetown for the next few days because of the bad weather ahead. Instead of staying like the rest of them, we would be making a mad dash for Charleston. It will take us two days. Tomorrow we'll stop in the marsh somewhere, about twenty miles from Charleston. The next morning we will pull into the city just before the winds start to pick up, hopefully. 

What we ate: sushi, nachos, wings

Spotted: iron schooner