Storm Update

Stripped for the storm.

After a very busy day getting the boat squared away on Tuesday, we left our girl Cupcake in the hands of marina staff. Hoping for the best. And we are surprised that we are not worrying about it. Nothing more to be done. 

No matter what happens, we will at least have one boat when all this is over: we left Mr. Flowerpot in a storage unit that new friends in the marina graciously shared with us. (Actually, it’s their unit, but they were willing to drive Mr. Flowerpot and the outboard there and store them for us.) 

Moss has really enjoyed the last two days because she loves meeting and talking with all the other sailors. We finally got to a part of the country where there are lots of other liveaboards, lots of characters, lots of friendly. And then Florence.

You’ve got to put the gear somewhere. So it is all inside. The picture does not show how humid it is in here.

Not a lot of room to move around. Just as well, we are not living aboard for now.

She (Moss, not the hurricane) was a huge help getting the boat prepared. Helped me strip the dodger and bimini off the frames, helped with zip-ties we put on just about everything. Was a huge help trundling the cart from Cupcake to the rental car with loads of gear.

Rented a car and drove to Washington, DC to visit Simon. (I am completely dumbfounded as to why anyone would buy a Chevrolet Equinox. Our rental car is one and it is in the top three worst vehicles I have driven. It is marginally better than a PT Cruiser we rented a while ago. The worst driving car overall was a friend’s totally worn out VW Karmann Ghia I drove once in graduate school. Man, was that thing awful. But its excuse was that it was old as the hills and had been neglected then poorly maintained and even more poorly modified by a series of ham-fisted shade tree mechanics for years. 

But back to this Equinox: the only things it has going for it are the color (a nice blue), the size (it holds our stuff), and the fact that it was available for rent. But it has mushy steering feel and wanders all over the road. It is so bland looking it is difficult to remember what it looks like when you leave it in a parking lot. It has utterly inexplicable controls for HVAC, radio, odometer, etc.)

Saw this truck with a BBQ in the bed, parked in front of a BBQ restaurant. BYOBBQ?

Checked into the nastiest hotel we have ever seen. It’s a Days Inn in Arlington, Virginia.

(Here come the pictures, keep the Purell handy.)

We told Moss we would find a hotel with a pool.

Bathroom window.

Ick.

Mold everywhere. Peeling wallpaper. Cigarette burns on the blankets. Broken window in the bathroom. Nasty shower/tub. WiFi doesn’t work. Weak cell service. First floor room where the shades don’t completely close. Came with a fridge where we could store all our food. Then the fridge didn’t work so the food is spoiled. Two police cars in the parking lot…never a good sign. Turns out the hotel takes Section 8 vouchers. That’s fine, but it is not what I am looking for in a hotel for my family. If that makes me sound like an elitist snob, remember that I am a yachtsman, so don’t act all surprised and judgy. Read some other blog if you like…
Funny thing: I just mentioned to some cruisers we met yesterday that I finally feel so thoroughly into the sailing life that I went into the marina bathroom barefoot and didn’t even give it a thought until afterwards. This hotel is ickier.

The restaurant at the hotel is called “The Restaurant” of course.

You’re probably thinking, “Jonathan is grumpy. He is tired. He is hungry. He is stressed about the storm.”

Not true. Fake news. I am in a pretty good mood. Had a great night’s sleep even though Moss was in bed with us because her bed seemed even more nasty. Had the included breakfast (think about how bad a donut has to taste in order to be considered inedible). This is still part of the adventure. And what great stories!

Anyway, we’ve changed to a different hotel within walking distance from Simon’s dorm and will be moving there this afternoon, we are returning the rental car (since we won’t need it while we are here and will just rent something more appropriate to our station in life when it is time to return. Thinking Range Rover or Maserati.)

That’s it for now. 

Double bow lines on each side. And a spring line on each side. Chafe gear everywhere. But when the storm surge lifts the boat 20’, all this careful preparation may be academic.

Insurance company, I’m looking at you. This is a well-secured vessel.

We hope Cupcake is waiting for us, right where we left her, when we return.

Funny story about the jerry cans in the picture: they are blocking the cockpit drain holes. Thinking about 3’ of rainfall and what that means, we moved the cans before the storm.

Lemonade

Here’s the storm update:

Don’t watch CNN or the Weather Channel or any of the other network hype-a-thons. They may have accurate predictions, but their graphics and rhetoric are so over the top they make the viewers freak out. (Mom and Dad, I’m talking to you. I’m also talking to myself.)

Anyway, we had all the time in the world over the past week or two to prepare for the storm. To move to a safe place to hide from the storm.

Unfortunately, the storm path was so uncertain, we moved ourselves right into the path of the storm. Ah. 

So here we are in New Bern, North Carolina. Two days before landfall of a historic hurricane. Peak hurricane season. Pretty much right on top of New Bern. Well played, Cupcake.

Good news? We are in a well-recommended marina, way up a river, about as far from the sea as we can get on this entire trip. The marina claims it has never lost a boat to a hurricane.

Bad news? The people at the marina say if the hurricane remains category 4 or lower we will probably be fine. But if it reaches category 5 or higher, they anticipate losing every one of the 500+ boats here. Oh boy.

More good news? Moss, Ellen, and I are all optimists. We can’t change the outcome, we have done what we can to prepare (more on that later), so here we go. Moss just told me we can change our outcome. She means we can’t change the outcome of the storm, but we can change what happens to us during the storm. And how we react to anything. This trip is an adventure. This is part of that adventure.

So what is going to happen to us during the storm? Taking the lemons and making lemonade. We will pick up a rental car tomorrow morning, load it with everything that fits and we can’t live without. And then we will drive to Washington, DC to visit our boy Simon. (Moss points out that Simon will then have something to blog about. We think he should blog about the party he throws his pals because of all the food we are bringing from Cupcake’s fridge.)

Storm prep: up a river, in a basin, tied every which way to a dock and pilings. Chafing gear applied at all chafe points. Boat stripped of sails, sun canvas, solar panels, jerry cans, boom, anything that can catch the wind and isn’t bolted down. Watermaker pickled so it doesn’t grow nasty on the membrane. Composting toiled clean and empty. (Ellen has visions of returning to a a flooded boat with poop floating in it like the pool scene in Caddy Shack.) Hatches and portholes closed (of course, come on.) Double lines at all the stern, marina staff tending to the lines at the bow (24/7 even at the height of the storm!)

We’ve heard they will be out on the docks even at night, even when the storm surge raises the water level 2, 3, 4, 5 feet over the top of the docks. Wow. Moss points out it is hard to believe what I am writing. We will know if it all works when we return. When? Maybe Saturday, maybe Sunday. Maybe next week. Who knows?

When we thought we were going to be staying at a hotel in New Bern (now it seems a bad idea, state of emergency and all that) I was intrigued and worried about what it would be like to experience a hurricane first hand. Days of howling wind and insane downpours. Thunder. Lightning. (Will it be dark? Will it be loud?) Intrigued to know what it would be like, worried that it would freak me out permanently.

Now it appears we will leave the area on a bright (hot, of course) calm day. And we won’t return until the weather is settled again. I’m sure we will return to destruction, possibly devastation. But if all goes according to plan, we will miss the actual violence the storm brings. That’s a curious thought.

Now, about the people here. We have finally, in the past week or so, felt like we live on Cupcake, that this boat is our home and our life. (Great timing, hmm?) And we have also gotten to spend time with friendly, open, giving sailors who also live on their boats, or near their boats. 

This marina is filled with liveaboards (one couple just sold everything and moved aboard last month). We were in the swimming pool (come on, it has been hot, we have been working hard, Moss is a fish out of the water when she is out of the water) and two guys here on vacation heard our situation and gave us a ride to Walmart to get a cooler so we can keep our perishable food cold long enough to give it to Simon and his roommates.

Then walking the dock back to Cupcake this afternoon we got an offer of some firehose from a cruiser who had dozens of feet of the stuff. He gave us a tour of his boat (air conditioned, ahh) and then about eight feet of super durable chafing gear. Tomorrow I will install it at all the chafe points where our lines rub on anything.

Another couple is letting us store Mr. Flowerpot in their storage unit. All we need to do is help them move their dinghy to storage as well. People are so friendly and welcoming. There is an end-of-the-world vibe here, people are resigned but not gloomy. Realistic but amusing. It may be a different scene when we return. That’ll be part of the adventure, I suppose.

Yesterday we were in Oriental, NC. (Favorite business: Oriental Dental. Though we could open a psychiatrist office: Oriental Mental. Or a real estate office: Oriental Rental. Or a body shop: Oriental Dental. Or become a guidance counselor: Oriental Gentle. Or a pre-school: Oriental Fundamental. Or a recycling company: Oriental Environmental. Or a urologist: Oriental Genital. And a vegetarian restaurant: Oriental Lentil. You get the picture. It was a fun walk through town.) 

If there’s anything left to Oriental when we get back, we are looking forward to spending more time there. Lots of sailboats, very sailor-focused place. Ellen did think the breakwater could have used a few feet more rock on it. That’s a reason we didn’t stay there. We are now  20 miles up the river.

Ok, I will try to get some photos of the boat stripped for the storm. That’s it.

Florence. It's all we are thinking about.

Ok. As Moss just said, "you didn't think it was going to be all cupcakes and rainbows and we would adopt a unicorn along the way, did you?"

There's no unicorn aboard, no cupcakes either. Ellen claims she is withering away from all the anchoring and all the not cooking in the heat. It is still so hot. So so hot. But in reality we are doing just fine. 

If you are reading this post between Sunday, September 9, 2018 at 4pm and around 8am Monday the 10th, check us out at the town dock in Oriental, NC. https://towndock.net/harborcam

That's Cupcake docked on the left side there.

Tomorrow morning we will be moving 15 miles up the Neuse River to Northwest Creek Marina (http://northwestcreekmarina.com/contact-northwest-creek-marina.html) because it came highly recommended by several people we met down here, as well as another sailing couple we met in 2012 who used to keep their boat at the marina in New Bern.

We should have from Monday to Wednesday to prep Cupcake for the storm. Storm prep means removing everything on deck that could catch the wind. So the sails come off, the sun canvas comes off, the cans of fuel come off, the dinghy comes off, and on and on. 

All that gear will be stored aboard, we will remove our valuables and ourselves to a hotel for the duration of the storm and hope Cupcake is well cared for by the marina staff and Poseidon.

In the meantime, we had a delightful stay in Belhaven. Dockmaster Gregg (who is also Harbormaster) was extremely helpful and informative. He gave us a ride to a lumberyard so I could pick up a pair of 2x6 boards to use as fender boards. Now I feel like a tough guy cruiser.

Belhaven is a pretty dinky town, but when we got ashore we saw a couple of Porsches, an Alfa Romeo, some Corvettes, a Miata, and some other sports cars. They were all in town to eat at the Spoon River restaurant, part of a car club outing from New Bern.

We chatted up the Miata owners, found out they are cruising sailors as well, and got hurricane recommendations from them. They did not like our chances at Belhaven at all, but strongly recommended Northwest Creek Marina and its staff. When we double-checked the recommendation with our friends Chris and Gretchen, the marina was confirmed as a great option. In fact, several people say it is the best choice in the area.

So that is where we are headed. (Interestingly, the couple who recommended the marina mentioned that if we met with resistance, we should drop their names in order to help move things along. Gretchen also implied it may be a "who you know" kind of place.

Sure enough, when Ellen called to ask if the marina could take us, she got a lot of push back. They thought we were dissatisfied with our marina's storm prep and wanted to ride out the weather at their place. When they found out we were transients (doesn't have bad connotations in the sailing world) and heard who referred us, (thanks Ann!) they said we could stay. So that's that.

And Ellen just made hotel reservations for us for Wednesday through the weekend so we can be safely off the boat. (Moss is excited about the pool. I am pleased there will be a refrigerator where we can keep Cupcake's provisions. Ellen is pleased we will all be safe and sound.)

We don't want to admit it, but the notion of AC, WiFi, non-triangular sleeping surfaces, and video screens larger than a sheet of paper is fairly appealing.

There is a lot of work and stress coming our way in the days ahead. But we have as good a plan as we can put together, we will be safe, and we will do what we can to keep our girl Cupcake safe so we can resume our travels when this weather has passed through.

Cupcake sporting her new fenderboards at the dock in Oriental.

The fishing fleet in Oriental seems to be planning on weathering the storm in place.

Ellen decided she would have liked to see about ten feet more rock on that breakwater. We aren’t staying here for the storm anyway.

Alligator River, part 2

This will be brief because I just spent a lot of time uploading pictures to this and the first Alligator River post.

Since the last post, we spent a lonely night anchored in East Lake at the start of the Alligator River. The holding was great (all this muddy bottom is great for anchoring), the wind was up just enough to create some flow through the boat. Other than that, nothing worth looking at on shore. But the stars at night were fantastic.

But the bugs were out of control. It turns out we hit the two weeks when some mosquito-looking bugs make their appearance in the millions. I know I sometimes exaggerate my numbers (like temperature) but I'm not kidding when I say the boat had thousands of the little monsters stuck in the dew on the deck in the morning. And probably hundreds of them found their way inside. Fortunately they do not bite. But they buzz. And they land on you. And they make nasty smears when squashed. Yuck yuck yuck.

Incidentally, I never lie about boat speed or depth. All that business in the last post is completely accurate. Which is why it is very impressive and a testament to the skill and bravery of Cupcake's crew.

Anyway, we went through the Alligator River bridge (a swing bridge whose operator's drawl is only slightly more understandable than Ben, the other operator who runs traffic control on some other part of the bridge). Talk about marbles in your mouth.

Once through the bridge we shut off the engine and hoisted the asymmetrical sail (close enough to a spinnaker for non-sailors) and had a relaxing ride to our anchorage at the end of the river where it joins another canal.

This morning we upped anchor and motored down the canal. On the way we saw:

1. A little green frog sitting on deck. We do not know how it got on board. To get off the boat, it hopped.

2. Two bald eagles.

3. One black bear swimming across the canal.

4. One alligator swimming across the canal.

We will not be swimming any time soon.

Now we are at a dock in Belhaven, NC. There is laundry, there is fresh water for the tanks, there is wifi, there is an air-conditioned shower. There are restaurants. There is a hardware store.

When we leave here, the plan is to anchor out for a couple of nights as we slowly make our way to a very protected marina in New Bern, NC. There we will likely hole up for a week and wait to see what happens with all this weather out in the ocean.

Alligator River Bridge (local pronunciation: "gatabata ribbagah bage")

Alligator. Looks like a log but isn't.

Asymmetrical sail. Looks like a spinnaker but isn't.

Bald eagle in a tree. 

Black bear getting out of the canal. Let me repeat that bit: we saw a bear swimming in the canal! 

Wee froggie on deck. It was probably a quarter that size when it got on board, but blew up like a blimp (see previous post) after eating its fill of nasty bugs.

Alligator River

It. Is. So. Hot.

Feeble measures have been taken to try to mitigate the heat: we have a piece of cloth blocking the sun that blasts in the main hatch (we still get breeze). We have reflect-o bubble foil covering the big fixed ports (deadlights to the sailors). We have the dinghy hoisted to direct massive amounts of air down the forward hatch. All three fans run on high, around the clock.

But it is still so hot. Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot.

And there is no way any of us is going in the brown water. Especially in a place called the Alligator River. No way.

Anyway, we passed a very pleasant two days in Elizabeth City, NC. It was only about eight miles or so from the Goat Island anchorage, so we took our time getting the boat ready in the morning and then had a short ride down the Pasquatank River to Elizabeth City.

The city is making efforts to become a welcoming stop for ICW cruisers. The city provides free dock space (with wifi and showers), Mid-Atlantic Christian University also provides free docks. Because MACU was a much better-protected spot and had water available in addition to the showers, we stayed there for two nights. Excellent choice.

Dan, our connection at the school, could not have been more gracious and friendly and helpful. The docks were in great shape, the school was lovely, he even loaned us his car so we could go grocery shopping. Fantastic.

The dock to which we tied up was a face dock (as opposed to a slip…always more challenging to enter and leave) so the approach was about as easy as could be. There were fender boards we could use for our stay. Really, it could not have been a more safe, calm, pleasant spot to stay.

Fender boards, by the way, are long boards (these were 2”x6”x12’) that go between the dock and our fenders (“bumpers” to the non sailors) so our boat is protected from the pilings or cleats or rusty bits protruding from the dock. (The MACU docks had nothing nasty, just pilings that can be challenging to rig a fender against.) The next time we have access to a lumberyard we will see about getting a pair of 6’ boards to carry with us.

Anyway, while we were in Elizabeth City, we walked around town, met our first fellow southbound cruisers, drove to Walmart and spent a whopping $350 on groceries (we should be set for a month except for fresh vegetables), hydrated hydrated hydrated, filled the water tanks, played a little soccer, and I even went for a run yesterday morning. 

About that run. I thought I had a grasp of the layout of the school and the town, so I set off to circumnavigate the general neighborhood as my am 5k. But at a critical junction I got mixed up and instead of running down North Road Street (yes, the actual name of the street was “Road.” I was thinking that if all you have to name the street after is “Road” why not call it “Jonathan” at least?) I ran up East Road Street. Had I kept going, I would have ended up in South Carolina in all likelihood. Instead I asked for directions. (Let me repeat: I asked for directions!) Ended up going for a long long run in the heat (which started in the high 70s and was certainly in the 80s by the time I dragged myself back to the dock, dripping). Positive side: got to know the town a little bit better. Beautiful old homes on Main Street. I also now have a policy of carrying ID when I run in case I collapse so the authorities know where to deliver my carcass. 

The cruisers we met were an interesting pair. The captain is a young guy (in his 30s…makes me seem like an old guy) with a friend who has never gone sailing before today. She and her chihuahua joined him this week and today they set off for Key West. He bought the boat two years ago in Erie, PA and sailed down the Hudson, took time off to earn money last winter in NYC, set back on his way south this spring. He had been single handing his Catalina 30 the whole way. No autopilot, no dinghy that we could see, no Ellen to do all the hard work. Ah, the energy of youth.

He told us that his anchor got fouled in Atlantic City and he had to cut the line and abandon the hook (I shudder at the though, we love our anchor too much to abandon it). When we read that the anchorage we are in tonight has a high chance of fouling an anchor, we buoyed the Mantus. That means we tied a line to the front of the anchor and put a float on that line. (The big anchor chain goes on the back of the anchor shank.) This way if the anchor gets stuck, we can release it by pulling up on the line tied to the buoy. Although in 6.5’ of mud, I don’t think we will have any problems. Still, best practices.

This morning we caught the 7:30 opening of the Elizabeth City bascule bridge (that’s a draw bridge to the non-sailors), motored the remaining 10 miles down the Pasquatank River (saw a blimp on shore…those things are crazy-looking) and then set our sails for a beautiful reach across the Albermarle Sound. It was a treat to be able to sail the majority of the day. Cupcake is a sweet and delightful craft. I took a nap and Ellen and Moss spent an hour talking about how much they miss the first day of school. 

I love what I do in my non-sailing life but I do not miss it at all. 

When we got settled in our anchorage at the mouth of the Alligator River (in East Lake) Moss did some boat school. 

Incidentally, Moss used the term “school-sick” in her post today. We have been talking about how we sometimes get boat-sick. That doesn’t mean we are sick of the boat, on the contrary, it means that sometimes when we are away from Cupcake for too long (shopping, touring, whatever) we miss the boat too much and need to get back to her. There are a number of factors that determine when boat-sickness will hit…proximity to the boat, time of day, strength of the wind, quality of the anchorage, etc.

So the thing that has been on our minds for the past week or so is hurricane Florence. It looks like if it does hit the US, it will not happen until next week. That’s one reason we are not in any hurry to get beyond Moorehead City/Cape Hatteras. South of that region, the ICW runs very close to the coast. Up here it is relatively inland, protected (to a degree) by the Outer Banks and all that business. So we will be keeping our eye on Florence and may scoot up to New Berne to get more protection if landfall anywhere along the coast looks likely. 

Of course, there are the two other tropical waves behind Florence to worry about. The optimist in me says that although we are at peak hurricane season (September 10, for those of you keeping score, is the peak of the peak) and we are at the spot on the coast most likely to be hit in any given year, once we are past the 10th it’s all downhill from here.

Speaking of downhill and foolish optimism, today for the second time ever, we sailed faster in knots (5.7) than the depth of the water in feet (5.5). It was not intentional like it was six years ago in the crystal clear waters of the Sea of Abaco. This time it happened in the chocolate waters of the ICW because we were skirting a little closer to the edge of a shoal than was ideal. But the wind was so nice, Cupcake is so stout, and now we have a great story. Don’t worry Mom, despite the hurricanes and the shallow water, we are being really safe.

Cruising tip of the day: Don't store Red Bull cans in the bilge. The combination of the salty damp on the outside and the nasty Red Bull on the inside will eat through the cans in no time. Then you will wonder why the bilge has a sweet-smelling green something in it.

We think it is a Coast Guard blimp. It's definitely somebody's blimp.

Air conditioning on Cupcake.

Elizabeth City, NC.

Moss spotted this deer when it jumped in the water at the MACU and then swam across the Elizabeth River.

The big wind scoop.

Dock spider in Elizabeth City, NC.

Duck blinds at the mouth of the Alligator River.

Moss took this one. She thinks we look happy.

Another Ellen selfie.

Elizabeth City lift bridge.

Fenderboards at Elizabeth City, NC.

Very proud of this innovation. It's a pill bottle zip tied to a post. I use it as a flashlight holder. Genius.

Big chair. Little girls.

Lookout.

Another gazebo.

On watch.

Dismal Swamp, part 2

Well we have certainly slowed right down. That was the plan: get to Norfolk in a month or so, without any excessive dawdling, then dawdle as much as we like on the way down to South Carolina.

Yesterday we checked out the Dismal Swamp State Park by touring the Visitor Center (air conditioned!) and then renting bicycles for a ride down a path through the swamp (NOT air conditioned). If I haven’t sufficiently conveyed how oppressively hot it has been down here, let me try again. It was so hot we could only make it about four miles before we were all completely done in. I love the heat, generally, but this is just too much. And there is no end in sight according to the weather forecasts.

Anyway, Moss completed the junior ranger program, took an oath (don’t litter, care for the critters, enjoy the woods, try to do good), and got a patch. She is getting quite a collection of state park and national park badges. As for Ellen and me, we don’t need no…ah, nevermind.

The rental bikes Ellen and I rode were so awful we figure that if all bicycles were that miserable, nobody would ride bikes. My first indoors job (a term we picked up from the fellow-Schenectadian back in Chincoteague) was at my uncle Hy’s bike shop. He sold, among other brands, Raleigh and Huffy. I was not at all pleased to learn that Huffy still makes a really terrible excuse for a bicycle. Just. Abysmal.

Moss, on the other hand, had a bike that was pretty much identical to the Raleigh she has at home. Her bike was so fast she almost beat me in the home-stretch race we had, too.

On the ride we smelled what reminded us of the sweet-fermenty smell that hangs around a prolific apple tree later in the season. On the ground we saw what looked like a fruity potato or lonely pickle. Turns out we had crossed paths with the Paw Paw, largest fruit native to the Americas, according to the park ranger who administered the oath to Moss.

After finishing up at the park, we crossed back over the foot bridge spanning the Canal so we could return to Cupcake and head down to the South Mills Lock and Bridge. The foot bridge opened at our request so Cupcake could slide through, and we said our goodbyes to the state park and canal visitor center.

Because the South Mills Lock and Bridge only open at 8:30am, 1:30pm, and 3:30pm, we did not want to be late for the last opportunity to make it through. We arrived early, tied up to the pilings, and Moss and I walked to the nearby gas station and convenience store to see about ice cream bars. Success. No vegetables to be had, but you can always count on getting sweets, salts, and fats wherever anything is sold in this country.

Shortly after the lock master started lowering us the 8 feet back to sea level, we got hit with a thunderstorm. The rain (and thunder and lightning) got fairly intense, but the rain did an excellent job cooling things down. We motored the eight miles or so down to our anchorage behind Goat Island. There is nothing else here. No lights. No houses. No other boats. No people. Definitely no wifi. It is peaceful, calm, quiet. It looks like a Hudson River School painting, just beautiful. It would be a perfect spot to stay for a week if the water was swimmable. (Locals do swim, claiming there are no alligators or man-eating whatever and that the brown color of the water is just staining from the cedar and cypress roots. Sure.)

In any event we decided to spend two nights here. Today was passed reading, sweating, snacking, fussing with the wind scoop, and attending a poetry reading Moss organized. She created a writing studio in her cabin and regaled us with a selection of her work. In addition to the humans, the reading was enjoyed by a menagerie of soft friends: fox, elephant, bear, lamb, slothicorn, monkey. The platypus slept through the entire event.

Then, this afternoon when the heat was just about half a degree shy of becoming utterly unbearable, we had another thunderstorm and the temperature outside dropped about 15 degrees. The rain was so strong, I went outside and took a rain bath. There was enough force to the rain that I could do the full job, soap, shampoo, rinse, shave. Also, we closed portholes and hatches in plenty of time. The hatch umbrella worked great. We are learning.

Cruising tip of the day: there is no prize for the closest shave…the hair is just going to grow again. But there is a penalty for too close a shave: blood and pain. 

Playing with beauty berries in the swamp.

Our trusty steeds.

Cupcake in repose at the Dismal Swamp Visitor Center dock.

Idyllic Goat Island.

Completing the junior ranger program workbook.

Ice cream team at the South Mills Bridge.

Moss wants you yo know she took this picture.

Moss on the swamp trail.

This is a recreation of a backwoods moonshine still. The picture is specifically for Zoë.

For some reason, the poetry reading required Moss to wear pajamas on her head.

Racer girls.

Downpour. (Another Moss photo.)

Heavy downpour. (Another other Moss photo.)

Ellen always takes selfies. I thought I would try one too.

Moss in her writing studio.

Dismal Swamp

So yesterday’s post was pretty thin on narrative. I’m hoping to make up for it with today’s post. 

After our day in Norfolk (which was a glorified laundry run where we took that ferry across the river, walked all over town in the heat and humidity, ate sketchy Chinese food while waiting for our laundry, checked out a railroad museum - the Norfolk and Southern? spent some time in a bookstore, and got back aboard Cupcake to head down the ICW) we rode down the Elizabeth River to the junction where the ICW splits between the Virginia Cut and the Dismal Swamp branches of the Waterway.

That stretch of the river before the split is chock full of hard-core industry. Lots of container ships being loaded and unloaded, military ships being constructed, barges being pushed every which way, gravel and coal and oil and gas being moved all over the place.

The Virginia Cut, one of two options for heading down the ICW in Virginia and North Carolina, is a little shorter but has more commercial traffic (barges) and more powerboats (and their wakes) than the Dismal Swamp route. It also has a more appealing name. 

Swamp house.

We decided to give the Dismal Swamp route a try. Much of the literature on the topic made it seem like the Dismal Swamp was a better choice for us - because the canal is controlled at either end by a lock (the level of the water in the canal is about 10’ higher than sea level) it winnows out the powerboats in a hurry to cover ground, and it winnows out the big commercial traffic that can’t fit.

Swamp pilot and swamp co-pilot.

Some of the perceived downsides of the Dismal Swamp are its limited depth (we have been seeing between 7’ and 11’ feet but will likely find some 5’ spots tomorrow) and the overhanging tree branches. A few times this morning we came within a few feet of catching branches on our mast. Careful piloting (and luck) make that issue less of a concern. All these issues keep the crowds out of the Dismal Swamp.

Speaking of crowds, we are probably about a month early for the flocks of snowbirds heading south for the winter. On the one hand, we would like to meet up with fellow travelers. On the other hand, we are thrilled that we were literally the only boat we saw on the waterway today. We drove down the center of the canal and did’t give a thought to moving over. We have the dock to ourselves tonight and do not have to worry about finding space in anchorages or dock space in the coming days.

Swamp state line.

The night before entering the northern end of the Dismal Swamp canal, we anchored in some thick mud just outside the northern lock. At 8:30am, the lock master opened the lock and in we went. He was a wealth of information about the canal. Told us it’s the oldest continually operating canal in the Americas. (Rideau Canal in Canada is 7 years younger.) George Washington came up with the idea for a canal through the Dismal Swamp – he owned much of the land the canal would cross – and much of the digging work was done by slaves.

After a month of hustling along offshore to get to Norfolk and the start of the ICW, we are now taking things really easy. We don’t need to be anywhere until October 16 when we meet my parents in Hilton Head. That distant deadline means we do not need to cover 50 miles each day like many cruisers. So today we had a leisurely 15 mile morning from the lock to the Dismal Swamp Visitor Center where we are tied to a free dock. 

The Center has free wifi and is air conditioned. The weather has been incredibly hot and humid. Although I love the heat, this is a bit much, even for me. Ellen does not love the heat but is managing pretty well because she is a tough customer. Moss naps and sweats.

The ride down the canal was smooth and pleasant. Because we are not in a hurry, our days can be short and easy. The canal is about 150’ wide with the depth we need in the center. Today’s trip was a super treat because the tall trees on the east side of the canal sheltered us from the sun until nearly noon. We had our coolest ride in days. In fact, we have never sailed in the shade before, and it was delightful.

The water in our tanks has been pretty nasty smelling lately. Don’t exactly know why*, but we do know the way to fix it. Today I bleach-shocked the forward tank and then took advantage of the dockside water to run 100 gallons through the system to flush out the bleach and all the nasty it killed. Now our water smells and tastes clean and fresh.  

I also used the hose to scrub the decks to get rid of a month’s worth of salt and dirt. I do spend a lot of my time thinking about water.

Tonight Ellen made a jambalaya (in honor of the swamp, I think) and we are watching a movie she downloaded with the wifi. It’s an animated film about an orphan ballerina in Paris. As you can probably imagine, I am riveted.

Boat projects update: yesterday I broke a thing and then fixed the thing.

Leaving the portholes open during the rain update: two days ago we remembered to close the porthole over the navigation station and thus did not ruin our paperwork again or our electronics or the three rolls of toilet paper sitting on the desk. But it was close.

*Check out the water maker section for a more thorough explanation.

Smooth and glossy swamp wake.

Swamp cows.

Swamp view looking south.

Swamp view looking further south.

Swamp view looking still further south. (The canal is straight as an arrow in this section.)

Swamp view looking north. You can see by the wiggle in the wake where Ellen got the hiccups while driving.

Norfolk area and start of the ICW

Ok, now that I am caught up on posting photos, I am way behind on posting words. So for the time being, words will wait and photos will suffice.

Anchorage in Hampton, Virginia.

Briefly: we stopped for the night in Hampton, VA. Lovely little town, great calm anchorage. We will probably stop there on our way back next year. On our way in past the Thimble Lighthouse, we were politely asked by the US Navy to move to the side of the channel so a submarine could pass. We obliged.

Then we went down Hampton Roads to Norfolk and got a free dock at the city of Portsmouth for the night. Had a fantastic sail from Hampton to Portsmouth.

Docked in Portsmouth, Virginia.

Hanging out at the laundromat.

The next day we took a ferry across the Elizabeth River to Norfolk the next day so we could do laundry. Misunderstood our friend Siri and ended up walking 200 miles in the 900 degree heat to the laundromat. Super friendly person working there, showed her this blog and answered all sorts of questions. Took an Uber back to the waterfront.

Moss got wiped out in the heat.

Incidentally, it has been obscenely hot for about a week. High 90s and super humid. Ellen is melting. Moss falls asleep every afternoon (in lieu of falling apart, which mercifully, has not happened much at all). I just soldier on.

Start of the ICW.

Then we headed down the ICW to start our trip down the Dismal Swamp route. It is lovely and calm and a nice treat so far. Anchored at the lock for the night (last lock through was before we got there). At low tide we were in 5' of water. Those who follow our anchoring-madness will be delighted to know that we set out about 35' of chain. The boat, not surprisingly, did not budge in the one knot of current and five knots of wind. 

Locked through this morning and now we are staying at another free dock at the Visitors Center. 

I'll probably leave the pictures in their current order and just get more organized in the next post.

Enjoy.

Military might.

Sailboat passing Norfolk ships.

Norfolk shipbuilding.

More Norfolk shipbuilding.

Dismal Swamp Deep Creek lock.

Dismal Swamp dragonfly.

Ellen with her new tattoo.

Navy hospital ship.

Jonathan with his new tattoo.

A lift bridge lowered.

A lift bridge lifted.

Moss introducing the Portsmouth Lightship.

Lockmaster Robert.

Moss with a new tattoo.

Nearly in Norfolk

It has been a busy few days of making tracks. After we departed Lewes, Delaware we headed south to Ocean City. It was a motorboat ride the whole way and at the end we had the treat of entering a fairly choppy channel with a strong current on our nose. 

View of the inlet from the Ferris wheel.

The Ocean City entrance is protected north and south by a pair of substantial breakwaters, one of which is labeled on the chart as both “submerged jetty” and “partially submerged jetty.” Neither is conducive to casual navigating. Or relaxing at the end of a long, hot day. I would not want to try that entrance in any kind of rough weather or at night. Fortunately we had calm seas and plenty of daylight.

We entered the inlet in company with a couple of big sport fishing boats, a gaggle of jetskis, some smaller recreational fishing boats, and a big trawler. Lots to pay attention to in addition to the big amusement park on the pier.

The anchorage we chose was to the south of the city, down a shallow riverish channel where hundreds of little powerboats and pontoon boats and jet skis were beached and anchored for the sunny Saturday. We anchored just off the main channel, but not before we touched bottom a few times. Fortunately, the bottom down here is sand and mud. A pleasant change from the granite at home. 

Wagon boat.

Until all the day boaters went home for the night, the anchorage was a mess of confused wakes. We saw all kinds of strange watercraft including a “pirate” ship, a “horse” drawn wagon, and myriad little bass boats.

Launched Mr. Flowerpot so we could check out the town. It was honky-tonk heaven: crowds, noise, neon, food smells, Jeeps everywhere, carnival barkers, music. We walked about and then took a ride on the big ferris wheel. Got a great view of the beach, the town, the inlet. Pretty fun. 

Pirate ship.

One of the things we have noticed is that people from Maryland love to fly their flag (people from Ocean City also seem to love flying their Trump flags, but that is something on which I do not care to dwell). Ellen thinks the person who designed the Cadillac crest also designed the Maryland flag. Or perhaps it was J. K. Rowling. Both flags are very heraldic and a bit Arthurian for our taste.

Boardwalk in OC.

Then we walked down the boardwalk checking out the sights. Saw a sand sculpture all about Jesus. Although it was well sculpted, the artist was not particularly eloquent in his explanation/missionarying – told us that the Last Supper was full of symbolism: “Jesus was Jewish you know.” We walked on filled with admiration for his technical skill if not for his compelling rhetoric.

Lots of symbolism.

Found an Italian restaurant for dinner (no great trick) and tanked up our bellies. Ellen and I were getting fairly antsy to get back to the boat. All the hubbub was a little overwhelming to us country-mice and we missed our peaceful Cupcake.

Moss has been eating lots of potato chips.

Zoom in on this shot to see all the boat traffic.

The boat was lovely in the sunset so we took some glamor shots of her.

Lovely.

Next morning was another early start for the ride down to Chincoteague, Virginia. Our fourth state of the week. The inlet to Chincoteague was dramatically different from anything we had seen before. It looked like a broad river mouth, maybe a mile or two across, with very low-lying marshes on shore. But the channel was narrow – no more than a few dozen feet wide in places, with shoal water on either side…as shallow as two or three feet. We played our first game of Connect the Dots as we worked our way from channel buoy to channel buoy. Out of an abundance of caution, Ellen called the Coast Guard to make sure there was sufficient depth (we need about 4.5’) for us to make it up the inlet. She was assured there was.

Head shot.

The ride to Chincoteague (aka Chicken City because of its former prominence as a chicken and egg town) was several miles long and afforded us views of salt marsh, a summer camper/RV community (this time there were more American flags and enormous crosses than state flags or Trumpery), and a plethora of long long empty docks stretching out into the channel.

A dolphin escort swam in with us part of the way. We also saw our first pelicans. Curious bird, the pelican - its beak can hold more than its belly can.

Our anchorage was in a very shallow spot, just 6.5’ at low tide. A sailboat came by to tell us that the tide was super low because of the full moon (he thought we were aground). About half an hour later he radioed us to tell us where we could rent a slip in town. Very friendly and helpful. But we stayed hooked.

Soon afterwards, a pontoon tour boat came by to warn us about the shallow water, then to tell us we had chosen a great safe place to anchor, then to welcome us to town. Again, super friendly, great way to arrive at Chincoteague. One thing we learned is that the people of Chincoteague have a bit of a chip on their shoulder about Ocean City. The pontoon boat guy wouldn’t even say the name of that town.

Small town barbershop.

Once ashore, we set off in search of icecream. On the way we stopped in a bookstore and met the owner, a man who identified us as Mainers from our hats (mine is a “Maine Law” hat, Ellen’s is a “Save the Goslings - Casco Bay” hat). He told us he used to vacation in Freeport. We talked a bit longer and learned that he, like me, grew up in the secret hub of the Universe: Schenectady, New York. Small world.

The ice cream was cool and creamy, just as it should be. We found a nice-sized grocery store and provisioned for the coming week, then went back to our girl Cupcake.

Mr. Flowerpot loaded with groceries.

Next morning, up with the sun for another long drive to Machipongo Inlet, Virginia. This inlet, like Chincoteague, was broad and shallow everywhere but the narrow channel. Line Chincoteague, you can't distinguish the channel from the broad mouth of the inlet.

Unlike Chincoteague, the land on either side was so low we couldn’t really even see some of it until we were very close. In fact, the landmass to the south behind which we planned to anchor wasn’t visible at all, it was so low-lying.

Because invisible land doesn’t offer much protection from wind or waves, we worked our way, very cautiously, behind a spit of sand to the north. There has been so much erosion and rearrangement of the dunes that our GPS and paper charts were way off. We managed to download the most recent NOAA chart (from late June 2018) to our phone and used that to work our way past a super shallow spot of around 3' so we could anchor just off shore.

Machipongo anchorage.

Even the newest NOAA charts were inaccurate  - the Coast Guard moves the channel buoys regularly to reflect the changes to the inlet approach. But several buoys were missing, others were not where we anticipated they would be. For the final several hundred yards, I piloted us in from the helm while Ellen stood on the bow throwing the lead line to sound the bottom. Moss stood on the deck and relayed. “Twelve feet…ten feet…eight feet…FIVE FEET!…ok nine feet…” and so on. We got hooked without incident. (That anchor is fantastic, by the way.)

Launched Mr. Flowerpot for a ride to the beach and a look around. We saw footprints in the sand, but did not see any people. We did see lots of huge dead horseshoe crabs, lots of tiny little sand crabs, and plenty of birds. The water on the ocean side stayed shallow very far out so we just waded. The water on the inlet side was murky enough that my primordial fear of swimming where I can’t see what’s around me kicked in. We all promised each other we would swim off the boat upon our return, but as Ellen and I jumped in from the bow, we spotted jellyfish with tentacles. We don’t know our stinging from non-stinging jellyfish and decided not to push our luck. Everyone showered and we ended the day with a delicious lamb, rice, and apricot dish for dinner.

Machipongo beach.

We were completely alone in our anchorage. There were no lights from shore, there was only one building visible - some kind of fishing shack about a mile up the beach, there were no other boats in sight. Nothing for miles and miles. Just us and the moon and the wind and the sand and the dunes and the marsh grass. And the greenhead flies. We have good screens and a good flyswatter. Whack!

We all went to bed early because our last long day of open ocean travel for a while was the voyage from Machipongo to Norfolk, Virginia. In the morning, the exit through the inlet was uneventful because we had our GPS track from the day before and because this time the tide was rising, not at dead low as it had been when we arrived.

It was a hot hot sweaty day and plenty hazy as well. Nothing much of interest happened all day besides sighting dolphins and pelicans until we approached the Chesapeake. Then things got hopping. Saw an aircraft carrier head out to sea, saw a submarine head out to sea, saw two more warships head out to sea. Saw two Coast Guard cutters, saw four speedy little Navy RIBs with guns mounted fore and aft, saw plenty of helicopters, saw eleven (!) oil tankers waiting at anchor. Saw two enormous container ships and a smaller tanker pass us. Then we got hailed on the VHF by a Navy security boat asking us to please go to the side of the channel to make way for another submarine to head out to sea. Very cool.

Tonight we are anchored across a creek from Hampton University (in Hampton Virginia, just across Hampton Roads from Norfolk). Everyone is so wiped out from the long day and the heat that we retreated to the cabin once the anchor was down. We are trying to muster the energy to launch Mr. Flowerpot and head to town to see what is what.

Mother monkey.

Ukulele girl.

Delmarva

Delaware. Maryland. Virginia.

Delmarva. 

We have made it out of the Northeast and are now Mid-Atlantic. Made the short hop across the mouth of the Delaware Bay. It was anything but treacherous today. Light winds, no seas to speak of. Just a short, sunny-day motorboat ride. (By the way, despite my dire predictions, we sailed the majority of the New Jersey coast. Just motored our way in and out of anchorages. That’s pretty good stuff.)

We are anchored (finally, back on the hook!) behind one of the three breakwaters here at Cape Henlopen, Delaware. It’s a calm spot. We had a pleasant day. After settling in and eating a delicious lunch (bacon, lettuce, and avocado sandwiches) we all jumped in the water to give Cupcake’s hull some cleaning.

While the Ellen scrubbed the waterline and Moss scrubbed the rudder, I dove underneath and put two new zincs on the propellor shaft. The water was warm and murky. Not ideal swimming, but possibly the cleanest water we are likely to see for some time.

One zinc that I installed in May when Cupcake was still high and dry. And two zincs I installed in Delaware. When will I do the next set? Bahamas I hope.

After the scrubbing, we rinsed off and hopped in Mr. Flowerpot to check out the beach. On the way back we saw a pod of about four dolphins (looked bottlenose to us) hunting about 100’ from the dinghy. 

Now Cupcake, clean waterline and protected metal bits, is the picture of domestic bliss: Ellen is baking bread, Moss is sending pictures to Simon. We even managed to poach some free wifi from a hotspot we are picking up with our antenna. (It's too slow for pictures, so be patient and I will upload images when I can.)

Before we left Cape May this morning, we had one more beach day. Saw an interesting bicycle in the marsh. Took a picture of the cookie-cutter condos on the way to the beach.

Yesterday evening a 34' Freedom was towed into the marina by a Sea Tow boat. The guys aboard were bringing the newly-purchased boat from somewhere up the Chesapeake Bay all the way to Connecticut when they had an engine problem. We loaned them some tools so they could remove the broken heat exchanger in preparation for getting a new one.

Then we went back to Cupcake and ate a delicious pizza.

Cape May fishing boats.

This is Moss on a bike we found in a marsh.

This is me. Ellen is too much of a lady to get down in the mud.

Row after row of condos in Cape May. Everyone wants their slice of heaven.

Pizza dinner in Cape May.