End of Season Fin & Tonic

X-ing File #6_A Gulf Stream Crossing & the Atlantic ICW

Norfolk to Deltaville

By the time we got tucked in to Deltaville Marina's snug dock, we too badly needed a (very) large Fin & Tonic.  WJ3 deserved one too, having grown a healthy moustache!  Indeed we were so happy to arrive we almost forgot that we had achieved quite the milestone.  There indeed, we will have "crossed our wake" of an Atlantic circumnavigation!!  Who'd have thought!

Finally at home in Jackson Creek, Deltaville VA

Let's not get ahead of ourselves though, the voyage back to Deltaville resumes.

Our departure from Norfolk went awry with the engine overheating – thankfully not in front of those vast, grey Navy warships where anchoring is NOT permitted.  Security staff have big, nasty guns mounted on the front of their boats (as do the Coast Guard).  We crept back to the anchorage and the Cap’n put to work on finding the culprit.  At least the early morning downpour had cleared somewhat.  After our Cap’n Resolute crawled all over the engine, cleaned sea creatures from water filters and took a dip in less-than-appealing river waters (to check drains), off we set again.  Only to watch the temperature gauge rise steadily again.  Oh dear, back to the anchorage and time to consult those (many) manuals.  By the time we found the culprits – two not-so-tight hose clips allowing coolant to leak into the bilge, it was too late in the day to start off for a 50 mile run up the Chesapeake.  Pity really as the next day conditions were worse; wind and swell on the nose and lots of rain.  

So, for our last 'leg" of this long, long voyage we geared up in now standard attire – thermals and wet weather gear.  We’d even taken to wearing beanies...warm yes, but flattering, no.  We waved goodbye to Warship 64 wondering if she’d remembered our 2011 encounter mid-Atlantic, then negotiated our way passed all the commercial traffic and out this busy port.   

Conditions began to improve slowly as we inched our way up Chesapeake Bay.  By the time we had reached our cosy anchorage in Jackson Creek, the sun was out, the temperature (and barometer) was up and there was hardly a ripple on the creek.  Deltaville is such a magic place and we were so happy to be back!  And content to have survived the 6,460nm journey to get there.  

A nice quiet crossing of the Turks Caicos Banks

Our figures for our 2017 & 2018 Atlantic Crossing marathon, came in as follows:

From: Lagos, Portugal Lat/Long: 37:06.60N 8:40.53W  Date/Time: 01/12/17: 1130

To: Deltaville, USA Lat/Long: 37:32.921N 76:19.772W  Date/Time: 07/05/18: 1555

Time Taken: (2017-18): 1122 hrs  Distance: (2017-18): 6460nm

Distance Total: (since 2008): 24,744.5nm  

Longest Open Ocean Distance: (2017&18): 2181nm (Cape Verdes to Antigua, Caribbean)

Weather: Challenging weather throughout with the Caribbean unexpectedly blowy too.  Lots of wind action off the US east coast kept us pinned in the ICW; at least we had a good run there.

Fastest Speed: We didn’t set any speed records but had good winds to sail (no motoring) across the Atlantic.  This was followed by a mixed bag in the Caribbean with some really great sailing weather then motoring when things weren’t going our way.  We bumped along the ICW doing the standard 5 - 6.5kts with the occasional burst from tidal currents.  

 
We will be “readjusting” to our regular cruising schedule in 2019, all things being equal, so there will be little to report until about April/May next year.  Yes, a long break but it really does snow here in winter and ice skating’s not for us.  Besides, we’ve paid our winter dues having just completed two, repeat two, winters in a row….  We (or should I say certain crew members) also need time to get over all that blue water excitement.  So, it seems fitting to end with this quote: 

“Once you have travelled, the voyage never ends, 

but is played out over and over again in the quietest chambers, 

that the mind can never break off from the journey.”  

Pat Conroy

Amen, and a couple of Stugeron to that!

Unforgettable blue waters. WJ3 on a mooring at Warderwick Wells, a land &
sea park in the Exuma Cays, Bahamas. We did have some good weather days!

Yeah Buoy

X-ing File #6_A Gulf Stream Crossing & the Atlantic ICW

Belhaven to Norfolk

(I think we shouted, "Yeah Buoy!" all the way up the ICW. It seemed so American frat boy really.  Maybe we just watch too many movies?)

All this...and in pink. Still it is a deep water frontage with a lighthouse...

Having previously visited Belhaven, and with our sites firmly set on reaching Virginia at the start of May, planned side trips to historic cities dotted along the Neuse and Pamlico Rivers and up Albemarle Sound were slated for “another” day.  We plugged on through the long and stumpy Alligator-Pungo Canal, wondered at the number of bridges offering openings only on the hour and dodged more commercial traffic than we’d previously seen.  For your edification, Captains of commercial traffic advise either "a slow pass" or "meet me on" the one whistle (or tap) indicating a pass to port.  Two whistles (or taps) indicates starboard.  Fascinating reminder or times before radio communications.   We watched and felt for a hot water boat that managed to impale itself on an underwater stump just outside the channel; fortunately reversing off. 

View back along the stumpy Pungo

Another black river adding colour to WJ3's moustache

At least these stumps are not floating...yet

Passing a big tow "on the two" & taking
the Captain's advice so as not to snag a stump

Winds piped up for our crossing of Albemarle Sound; WJ3 found her sea-legs enjoying the romp.  We set the hook in the open waters of North River rather late in the day but otherwise celebrated our arrival at the Virginia Cut.  We were only 57 miles from Norfolk, Mile Zero.

Green 37. Most importantly, MILE 100! Yes!

The next day’s run took us through Coinjock, having to give the famous 32oz prime rib a miss, before finally crossing into Virginia at Pungo Ferry.  At Great Bridge we were “spoken to” by the bridge operator for not responding on VHF Channel 13.  We had no idea that he was even calling us, his accent quite broad and southern…  There’s a plethora of bridges in this section of the ICW, and as the weather was extraordinarily warm, we called it quits and tied up to the free dock before the Great Bridge Lock.  Better to take the next 10 miles in the morning.  Besides, families of geese were out taking their babies for walks and a swim.  And the local rowing team were dodging canal traffic like professionals during their practice sessions.  Sadly, it was too cold for crabs to be out yet (we caught a nice pot-full last time) so we had to settle for something from the freezer yet again.  The lock continued to be busy; we breathed in when that mini-cruise ship squeezed passed us though, lights blazing in the dark.  Now that’s the way to travel the ICW!

Early morning swimming lessons with mum & dad at Great Bridge Lock

This looked alarming; a school bus teetering on the edge of a cliff;
we think it was a training prop for emergency services though.

Norfolk in our sights

The hardworking end of Portsmouth

So, here we are, sitting on anchor off Hospital Point in Norfolk, feeling very pleased with ourselves.  Its only a day’s run to Deltaville, so we’re having a few days off here in this busy port city (the largest Naval Port in the world) to prepare for the madness of bedding down WJ3.  This will be our last post of the season (unless something really interesting happens in Deltaville), except for the End of Season tallies.  After this long and heroic season (2017 & 2018), we’re thinking of just gunkholing the Chesapeake next year.  Still, that’s 12 months away and anything can (& will) happen…

Cosmic Karma*

X-ing File #6_A Gulf Stream Crossing & the Atlantic ICW

Georgetown to Belhaven

( Yes really, this floating vision was complete with pink flamingo (plastic of course) tied to the pulpit and induced a "trip" back to the psychedelic 60’s & a need to hum something Jimi Hendrix.)

Off on a shopping trip in Georgetown 

Georgetown, once famed rice growing capital of the south, was also a seaport, vital to plantation resupply and to carry their produce to markets, both locally and overseas.  Here, tucked up inside its tiny harbour, we withstood a nasty off-shore weather system (a day of solid rain & continuing wild winds) before taking time to bike to a grocery store and explore the town.  We made a dash to the Gullah Museum and were given a thorough insight into the history of African-Americans in the area by a well-read and knowledgeable docent.  He began by showing us a quilt his wife had made in honour of Michelle Obama’s ancestors who came from this area.  Well, quilts and history - all the makings for another movie (as in “How to Make an American Quilt“ fame) and GS was kindly allowed to take photos of them.  The Gullah specialise in finely woven sweet-grass baskets with some pretty examples on show at the museum. Regrettably, it was time to move on…

Michelle Obama Quilt

We made for Bucksport, a favourite stop set on the upper reaches of the Waccamaw River in the midst of old rice plantations and cedar swamps.  It’s beautifully scenic, feels so remote, everyone’s friendly and we were given to understand that the fishing’s excellent in these black, brackish and fresh waters.  Nearby, tortoises sunned themselves on old cedar stumps, and we, like them, watched the world go by from our vantage point.  It was hard not to break out with a roaring (if not out-of-tune) rendition of “Summertime” (from Gershwin’s 1935 Opera “Porgy and Bess”). 

Tortoises enjoying the morning sun along the river

Spirit of Jefferson (a floating casino?) comin' round the bend off Bucksport

Early morning reflections on the Waccamaw River at Bucksport 

We now had the North Carolina border in our sights so didn’t dally.  The day was going to be long and trying.  The ICW runs along Myrtle Beach in a section known as The Rockpile.  Lined with shale, sharp, shallow and narrow, it’s not the place to meet a tow (a tug & barge(s) combo) or a large hot water boat with an even larger wake.  Once across the border (yahooo!!), it was time to negotiate several shoaled inlets, also noted infamous spots along the ICW.  Luckily, we managed to find ourselves zig-zagging across them on a rising tide.  So, it was with some relief we found the open but calm Cape Fear River anchorage and could finally set the hook.  We did wonder how "fear" came into its naming...

Here's a new angle on your boat house...

And the house with the Mermaid is for sale 

Noisy birds on a nearby spoil island provided us with a “wake-up” dawn chorus, so we took Snow’s cut at speeds we never thought Windjammer capable of achieving.  Deep water anchorages along this section, close behind North Carolina’s barrier islands are few and far between.  Meaning more long days and even longer distances, so it was fortunate indeed to find space in (and be allowed to use) Mile Hammock, a military boat ramp and basin tacked on the end of Camp LeJeune.  Old APC's line the live fire range, fortunately no sailboats.       

Finally, we reached Morehead City, from our viewpoint a jumble of industrial and port facilities, and a river alive with recreational fishing boats – enough to make you feel very sorry for the fish.  It was the weekend and Morehead City is renown for its fishing tournaments of all varieties.  We’d planned a stop at nearby Beaufort (this one said “bow fert”) but didn’t like our chances of anchoring, so headed up Newport River, through Adams Creek and out into the wide Neuse River.  It was such a pleasure to see plenty of sailboats enjoying a romp in early afternoon breezes. 

Cedar swamps aplenty 

And interesting collection of craft along the river too

Late in the afternoon, winds increased on Pamlico Sound almost instantly clearing the fleet but we persevered, turning at Bay River into a crab-pot infested Long Creek for another well protected, marsh anchorage.  Cap’n Tenacious had set a record – a 90nm, 13 hour day.  Still, we weren't too far off the ICW, and well placed to reach Belhaven the next day for a well-earned afternoon rest in their sheltered harbour. 

Lil’E & Miss Ashley

X-ing File #6_A Gulf Stream Crossing & the Atlantic ICW

Beaufort to Georgetown

(Just a couple of hardworking tugs & said slowly in your best Southern drawl)

Shrimp Boats tied to the dock near Thunderbolt

We tried for a mooring at Beaufort (said “bew fert”) but took a space dockside – a more secure solution as it turned out, when later in the day we watched boats bounce in strong winds opposing a strong river current.  From our vantage point (when a huge tide was in!) we overlooked a pleasant park that doubled as a tourist hub, providing us with close proximity to many activities, including a town bus, buggy rides, restaurants and pretty main street.

Beaufort Arsenal and History Museum within

Beaufort Arsenal details

Hunting was obviously a pastime too

We started with an enjoyable brunch then made a B line for the friendly Tourist Information Centre housed in the historic Beaufort Arsenal.  On recommendation, we visited the Arsenal Museum.  Gary, no less than a walking encyclopedia on Beaufort’s history, gave us a guided tour of this interesting collection.  This area was settled by the Spanish in 1514, followed by the French English and Union forces.  

The area was made wealthy by firstly being a protected deep-water seaport, then from many plantations growing rice, indigo and sea-island cotton.  On the strength of this wealth, plantation owners were able to build large, attractive homes in Beaufort.  This ensured a pleasant lifestyle mingling with peers, cooling river breezes in stifling summer heat and opportunity to leave the plantation work to others.  Angus, the handsome Clydesdale, took us for a slow and very pleasant buggy ride around these beautifully maintained homes, most still privately owned. 

We took a tour of this historic Beaufort landmark:
The John Mark Verdier House

What a handsome lad is young Angus

After all the excitement of Beaufort, we made it as far as Church Creek, another “wild” marsh anchorage where we spent the night relaxing in the middle of nowhere doing nothing.  Because we could.  Perhaps our most entertaining viewing of the day was along quiet reaches of the Stono River.  A dolphin had “partnered” local crabbers; a cunning plan to ensure first dibs on pot spoils tossed overboard (undersized, female crabs, etc) as they hauled each pot.  You could swear it was a circus trick but no doubt rather trying for the crabbers.

Charleston was next on our radar, but having visited some years ago, we decided not to stop.  It’s just as well, the anchorage is now a mooring field and strong winds whistled up river.  We picked our way across the river, dodging huge tows, fishing fanatics and a flotilla of parasailers.  We swept by those wonderful heritage homes lining the river.  More recently, Charleston was home to Pat Conroy, a novelist noted for capturing the spirit of the South (The Prince of Tides). 

Palatial Charleston Townhouses

Parasailing in rough conditions across Charleston Harbor 

After crossing Charleston’s busy port (Is that an aircraft carrier coming down river?), it was time to face up for another long, shallow stretch.  At least we had a rising tide.  The winds were still up, blowing in from the Atlantic, so we threaded our way to Long Creek, off Deewees Creek.  (Don’t you just love these local names!)  This is another picturesque “wild” but quite well protected anchorage in the marshes.  The irony was that many of these creeks offered deeper water than many sections of the ICW.  We began to feel like locals, recognising many of our fellow travellers along the now busy ICW highway – it’s transit season in full swing. 

A very, very long tow

Finally, an end in sight to this tow...

Next stop was thankfully off the deep, black waters of Winyah River.  Cedar swamps and disused rice plantations line the river making it seem so remote and pristine despite the unusual colour from tannins.  We headed into Georgetown and set about making a spectacle of ourselves as we set anchor, then reset the anchor with a stern anchor, then reset the stern anchor again.  All in black oily mud dredged up by our chain.  And in front of a merry local crowd at a harbourside bar/restaurant.  Our efforts paid off though when we noticed a local boat (and its mooring) washed ashore after the stormy night. 

Oh dear! So glad we set that stern anchor last night...