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!

Log Book: November 13th

Conditions: 54 degrees, cloudy

Location: Eastham Creek

It's been a glum two days in the creek. Dad and I spent all of yesterday preparing for the foul weather. First we took down the weather cloths and the dodger. Second we launched the dingy which we have been storing on the house top under the boom. I dug out our second anchor while Dad rebraided the end of our spare anchor line. Dad rowed the dinghy out, about a hundred yards and placed the second anchor. The two anchors were each at 45 degree angles from the boat facing north. We let both anchor lines out, making it harder for them to snap. Third we hauled out the dingy, flipped it over, laid it on the foredeck over our inflatable digny, and secured it to the deck. Fourth we moved the sailboard to midships and secured it. To be honest Dad took care of the rest. He wound a halyard around the mast, all the way to the top so that the other halyards on the mast wouldn't clang in the wind. Lastly he wound a rope around the boom ensuring that the sail cover didn't take too much of a beating or become unbuckled. It was exhausting, mostly because it was freezing and every movement required an extra effort, but it was worth it.

A few days ago we heard the coast guard over the radio request vessels in the area to keep a lookout for a capsized power boat. Transmitting the boat's "last known location" the CG asked anyone in the area to give assistance. It's reports like these that are a sharp reminder that this is not always a vacation, and make our tedious preparation efforts worth while. We would receive another reminder of this soon enough.

Inside the cabin for the night Dad and I were quite comfortable. Our two anchors prevented us from being swung about and our cabin heater kept us nice and toasty. However the noise was tremendous. Thirty knot winds were howling and whistling past the mast. It was difficult to drown it out in order to sleep. Eventually another noise began to co-mingle with the gale. It was a deeper hum of a low flying helicopter. At first Dad and I didn't think much of it, we were used to seeing the increased military presence after Virginia. When the sound returned and stayed Dad got curious, he said that "even the Navy wouldn't be crazy enough to practice flight training in this." He flug open the hatch and his silhouette was bathed in light as he stared into the spotlight of a Coast Guard helicopter. The CG quickly left us, sweeping his search light down the nearest bank and then finally on the only other boat in the harbor, the French Canadians in the Catamaran. Over the radio we heard the Canadians ask the CG what was going on and if they could be of assistance. The CG responded, requesting them to continue their conversation on channel 12 instead. We switched to channel 12 as well and heard the Canadians transmit again stating they were willing to help "we won't be able to get the boat off the anchor, but we have a dingy." The CG never responded, presumably because they had found what they were looking for. After scouring the far bank the helicopter's search light suddenly stopped roaming, fixing on a small,dull light just at the end of the marsh. They hovered over the light for about ten minutes, just long enough for a ridgid inflatable CG boat to speed into the harbor. They slowed down a bit, seemingly struggling with the depth then tore to the weak light on the shore. The end. There was little to see after that. The helicopter left the two boats there, taking it's giant light with them. Dad said it was probably a skiff with engine failure or just couldn't power against the wind and got blown into the marsh. Either way that was our channel 8 news for the evening. 

In the morning the winds died down to around 20 knots but we decided to stay the day because the temperature was still below 60 and with the wind chill we decided that was too cold for us. Being cooped up in the cabin was rough, there was little to do. My stash of books that I had brought from home had finally been exhausted the day before with the ending  of Jamaica Inn, by Daphne du Maurier. It was so good that I rushed through it, now I wish I had saved it. It's days like these that make our trip feel less like a vacation and more like jail. In the late afternoon Dad and I pulled up our extra anchor, in preparation for tomorrow. With only one anchor to pull up in the morning we could make an early start. Dad and I made a quick dinner, and called it a day.

 

Log Book: November 11th

Conditions: 63 degrees, sunny

Location: Eastham Creek

When Dad and I awoke this morning all the other boats in the anchorage had gone, except for us and Teshtego. Not wanting to waste any more of the day we left the inlet without them, they're boat is larger than ours so they'd catch up to us anyhow. Down the Alligator - Pungo River Canal we went. At this point I've come to the impression that if you've seen one canal you've seen them all. In this twenty mile long canal you were hard pressed to find anything notable. The canal was dug in the wilderness. Dad and I even remarked at the lack of animals around. This looked like prime duck country, but not even the animals wanted to live here. The pines had simple taken over. The end of the canal spat us out into the Pungo River where we were finally able to maneuver and sail a bit. We even caught up to a few of the boats who had left Deep Point before us this morning. It wasn't long until we spotted more dolphins. I frantically tried to get a picture of them, for about the millionth time but was unsuccessful.

In no time at all we were in Eastham Creek, a cozy spot we had picked to anchor. There was only one other boat there, some French Canadians on a catamaran. The creek was surrounded by marsh and cypress swamp with no sign of humans habitation on shore to speak of. However we carefully picked this location because the cypress gave us ideal coverage from the expected northerly gale that would be upon us for the next two days. It's not fun being stranded inside the boat for two days but the weather report said we should expect temperatures in the low 50s and 30-35 knot winds. Better safe than sorry and cold. 

What we ate: Cobb-like salad 

Spotted: palmetto trees

Log Book: November 10th

Conditions: 25 knots W

Location: Deep Point, NC

We left the security of the North River this morning and headed across the Albermarle Sound with Teshtego (Matt and Diane). For the first mile or two we just motored. The gusts were so fierce that by the end of the day my cheeks were red with wind burn. The waves beat on the hull and constantly rolled the boat up and down, crashing hard after each wave crest. It was kind of a miserable existence, forcing us to diligently navigate and steer instead of relax. Dad finally looked at me and said "let's put the main up" I looked at him like he was crazy. How could he possibly want to go faster than this? None of the other boats in sight had sails up, everyone was battling with the motor alone like us. A double reef in the main (to make it smaller and therefore slower) and a few bone crushing waves later the mainsail was up and we were powering up the wave crests and seemingly flying over the troughs. The rest of our afternoon was enjoyable thanks to Dad's daring. Down the sound and into the Alligator River we finally got a close up of the Carolina shore that wasn't a marsh land. They aren't kidding when they call it "the land of the pine." Huge pine trees coated the shores, not a house, road, telephone pole, or water tower in sight. Between thick pine forests there were empty stretches of scorched and barren trunks. Dad said he suspected that the pines in the area were frequently hit by lightening causing forest fires. The only other thing to say about North Carolina here was that it was flat. We spent the night in a small anchorage with at least fifteen other sailboats. After the sun went down Dad and I were treated to a vivid star strewn sky. Going to bed in high spirits.

What we ate: artichoke, tomato soup, etc

Spotted: mile marker 100 on the ICW

Log Book: November 9th

Conditions: 5mph E wind

Location: North River, NC

Dad and I suffered through our first frost last night. Our cabin heater had broken a few days ago. Luckily we picked up the parts to fix it in Portsmouth so we were cozy during the night but the morning was freezing. The changing weather is a constant reminder and stimulus for us to travel faster south. Consequently we were one of the first boats to leave the dock to travel down the Albemarle & Chesapeake Canal. We could have traveled on the Great Dismal Swamp Canal and bypassed the locks entirely but I've seen what happened to Snow White, plus the Dismal Swamp Route is a tad longer (but seriously who came up with that name, surely not the builders). 

The Albemarle was full of wildlife and a handful of inconvenient bridges. In the early morning steam rose up from the water creating a mystical fog over the marsh, I wondered whether we hadent taken the Dismal Swamp by mistake. 

In the afternoon we were joined by a fleet of sailboats all on the same course south.

Soon enough we were crossing the Virginia border into North Carolina. Unfortunately we didn't start off on a good foot in the new state.

Shortly after crossing the border the channel became so narrow that we ran aground, the boat in front of us was stuck also. After the engine failed to pull us out Dad hopped in the dingy with our anchor to stick in deeper water and pull the boat out. We caught the three boats behind us on the radio, warning them of our predicament. Watching them try to navigate the water was very comical. The boats moved as if each captain was saying "no you go first." Each boat hit aground at least once but was able to motor off. They eventually made it through. After a short shouting match Dad and I got off the shoal as well, leaving one last boat stuck in the mud (also the boat that was in front of us, the first to go aground). The joint task of motoring while pulling on the anchor was actually fairly easy, it was the communication from bow to stern that was hard. We'll have to work on that or maybe get matching headset radios for Christmas - no joke I saw an older couple wearing them.

After the mishap we sped off toward the end of the canal. On our way we spotted Matt and Diane on their boat Teshtego & we anchored a short ways away, planning to depart together in the morning. Setting our sites somewhere up the Alligator river. 

Spotted: two bald eagle friends