Picture time

Here are the pictures, as promised. We are anchored at Georgetown, SC for a couple of days before we slowly make our way down to Charleston for a few more days. The anchorage is calm, the town is super cute, but nobody mentions the enormous scrap yard/heavy industry clanking on the other side of the little bay. There, I mentioned it.

Also, it was pointed out to me that it might seem like I’m complaining about the heat. Nothing could be further from the truth. All I’m doing is observing the heat. When I heard from our pal Jim that the temperature in Maine just broke 50 this morning as he was driving to court, I had nothing but sympathy. (When I heard from our tenants that the boiler in the house is broken and the temps are dropping to 32 tonight, I felt even worse. Turns out the necessary part is not going to arrive until tomorrow at the soonest.)

Ellen, Moss, and I are enjoying free wifi at an ice cream shop in lovely downtown Georgetown. Having a snack while we wait until it’s a reasonable hour to eat dinner.

We sailed down here from Murrells Inlet today and had another delightful reach out on the ocean before coming up the river to start a couple of weeks on the ICW. We’re heading to Charleston over the next few days and then to Hilton Head to meet my parents in the middle of the month.

Anyway, enjoy the pictures.

Cape Lookout, NC lighthouse.

Ocean side of Cape Lookout.

Ellen’s friend Pablo.

And the original.

Dolphin buddies.

Pretzels: a delicious offshore treat.

Ditch bag contents. WHERE ARE THE FLARES?

Offshore sunset.

Wiped out.

Cute little Murrells sailboat.

Georgetown Inlet islet.

Moss took a selfie in the murky swirly ICW water. This stuff is extra nasty because it’s still runoff from hurricane Florence.

The ladies and Mr. Flowerpot at Bird Island, NC (near Little River Inlet).

Scary scary at the gas dock.

We were beset by little biting flies until Ellen the Fly Ninja came to our rescue.

Ellen tried to take a picture of a Pittsburgh Steelers banner in the background. But she succeeded in taking a picture of her ruggedly good looking husband.

Our placid Little River anchorage.

Gator killers.

Look at all the birds lined up on the dock, waiting to poop on the space ship.

Bird island buddies.

And of course, a selfie.

Offshore wrap-up

Happy October!

(Still no wifi. And Oh My Goodness is the cell service slow. Pictures will have to wait.)

Because we wanted to ensure a daylight arrival at the Little Creek Inlet, we figured a mid-morning departure from Cape Lookout was the way to go. So after a morning spent making final preparations, we hoisted the mainsail, motored out of the anchorage, rounded the knuckle of the Cape, and shut down the motor for a delightful broad reach.

The wind was in the mid-teens, and because both wind and seas were from behind us, we had a relaxing easy sail under just the main through the day. Ellen learned, to her dismay, that we would be farther offshore than we’ve been since crossing to and from the Bahamas in 2012. For some reason this piece of trivia set her a little on edge. I was actually surprised to see we would only be 30 miles off the coast. In any event, the distance from shore was of course not an issue.

Late in the afternoon we were joined by a pod of dolphins. Our escorts swam alongside Cupcake, played in the bow wave, and gave us a real treat for about five minutes before scooting off to other pressing dolphin-business elsewhere.

The GPS provided a constant stream of data about, most relevant to this paragraph, when we would arrive at our destination. Throughout the afternoon we were making too much progress and were worried our arrival would be before dawn. By evening, however, things slowed and we decided to motor sail to ensure we didn’t arrive hours later than was necessary.

We had been a little concerned about the alternator’s ability to charge the batteries – some partly cloudy weather coupled with many days of four fans running nonstop and the heat making the refrigerator work very hard challenged the solar panels’ ability to fully charge the batteries. So we departed with the batteries at about 75% charged. Our batteries at six years old, are already nearing the end of their service life. So we kept a vigilant eye on their state of charge during the solar-charging hours and decided running the engine would ensure they stayed healthy overnight.

When we ran the motor, the alternator would only periodically charge the batteries. Ultimately I think the relatively deep state of discharge made the alternator struggle to feed the batteries all the power they wanted, so it would get too warm and take a break. It took hours longer than anticipated for the batteries to reach full charge. Since then, however, the panels have had no difficulty keeping up with demand, and the alternator has been healthy and happy. One more item to keep an eye on, I suppose.

The journey through the night was, quite simply, exhausting. Moss stayed up most of the night, chattering to whoever was on watch. Ellen and I alternated watches, ultimately getting an hour’s rest for each hour on watch. But at around 2am when our course demanded a sharp turn to starboard as we passed Frying Pan Shoal off Cape Fear, we needed to take down the mainsail to keep it from banging and slatting in the much lighter breeze. 

The job of tying up the sail fell to me and between my exhaustion and the odd rolling of the boat, I got seasick. For hours beforehand I had felt more or less queasy, but on deck in the dark, I lost it over the side. Got the sail tied up, then Ellen gave me a precious hour to sleep while she stood an extra watch. Once I woke up and fed myself a Red Bull I was fully functional for the rest of the trip. (Ellen and Moss are laughing as I read this to them. It seems I was more than fully functional. I was manic.)

Our arrival at Little River Inlet 23 hours after setting out on our 130 mile trip was without further mishap. We motored up to a quiet anchorage just off the ICW and all went to our bunks. I was overtired and over-caffeinated so I couldn’t fall asleep. Ellen had no trouble, but Moss was a little wired as well. We relaxed for the rest of the day and went to bed early. 

As I am writing this two days after the overnight, we are all still catching up on our sleep. A full day spent without a good night’s sleep really messed with us. We have decided that more overnights are just not in our future. Despite many many sailors who profess to love big offshore jumps, despite the many benefits (the stars are spectacular at sea at night, we can cover lots of ground, things are generally safer offshore, etc.) we are day sailors at heart. 

(Side note: we prepared a ditch bag just in case we needed to abandon ship (abandon to where? Who knows?) during the overnight passage. When we get wifi I’ll post a picture of the contents of the ditch bag. We packed passports, cash, a compass, a knife, sunscreen, bug spray, a flashlight, a first aid kit, the EPIRB, Boat Bunny, a spare VHF radio. But no flares. Don’t worry mom, we didn’t ditch.)

So at Little River we relaxed for a day, got diesel and water, spent another peaceful night at anchor at Bird Island just off the inlet, and then set off this morning for a 36 mile trip down to Murrells Inlet. 

Sailed about half of the way here before the wind died away. 

Had a delightful reach 

sailing south past Myrtle Beach.

Things were good until

the wind grew still.

Ellen notes that sailing is one big art lesson: horizontal lines at sea, vertical lines with the high-rises on shore. Rectangles, triangles, circles (when there are ferris wheels). I’ll back this up with a picture later, but Ellen even thinks our anchor (a 45 lb. Mantus that we love) looks like Picasso’s Bull’s Head sculpture. She has taken to calling the anchor her friend Pablo.

This spot at Murrells is very different from anywhere we have yet been. It’s an inlet that is not connected to the ICW (which is closed between Little River and tomorrow’s stop, Georgetown, SC because of flood damage from Florence). So very few transient sailboats find themselves here. This place is all about sportfishing. Of the many hundreds of boats docked in the inlet, only three are sailboats. One of those is a half-sunk neglected 20-footer, one is a 21’ daysailer, and the third is a big cruiser that looks completely out of place surrounded by 600 horsepower sportfishers. 

When we dinghied up to a dock to ask where to find ice-cream, the dock master didn’t even know what to call Mr. Flowerpot…called her our “little boat.” Fishingboats don’t seem to use dinghies.

Anyway, there is no dock space available for transients (we didn’t really want a dock anyway) so we are anchored about 100’ off a sandy beach on the inlet lined with vacation homes. The current is very strong, and after dropping Pablo to the sandy bottom and paying out about 75’ of chain, Ellen cleated the chain and we felt Pablo dig in with a jerk and bring Cupcake to an abrupt and comforting halt. 

Tonight we’ve got beach on one side, marsh grasses on the other. It is beautiful here and we are hoping that when the sun sets the wakes from fishing boats zooming back to port will subside.

After dropping anchor early this afternoon, we took a dinghy ride about a mile and a half to the town in search of ice-cream and bread. (Found ice-cream, couldn’t find a convenience store.) Like City Island, NY it seems the best bet for a restaurant name (and this place is all restaurants and raw bars) is to name it Johnny’s something. Or to name it anything with a “z” in the name. Crazy Johnny’s. Twizted Johnny’s. Dead Sea Dogz. Bubba’s Love Nest and Crab Shack. The ice-cream shack was, of course, Twister’z.)

Ellen is making Moss her favorite dinner: fried breaded tilapia with rice. Also, we are right on schedule with our bourbon consumption. Just opened the October bottle. Yum.

Cape Lookout, North Carolina

(No wifi, weak cell signal, so no pictures for a while.)

On Friday we bade farewell to Oriental, had a delightful short sail across the mouth of the Neuse River and headed to a quiet anchorage at Cedar Creek. The wind was in the low teens and we had plenty of time because the anchorage was less than 10 miles from town. So under sail we tacked across the river back onto the ICW where it follows a narrower, river-like channel. The wind dropped but stayed steady enough for us to sail all the way to the little creek where we anchored.

The sail was one of those perfect afternoons where the destination arrives before the wind dies or the sailing becomes a chore. We worked our way into the little side creek and dropped anchor in about 7 feet of dark brown water. Later in the evening another sailboat anchored for the night.

We were treated to the drama of thunderstorms on and off all night. Lots of lightning and distant thunder, but no big winds, no big rains, no drama. After dark we watched a tug and barge make their way past our anchorage, headed for Beaufort. Glad we were not on the water in the dark with that scary rig.

Sunday morning we got up earlier than we have in a long time so we could catch the tide for our 26 mile run down the ICW, through Beaufort, then out into the ocean (!) and up to Cape Lookout. Didn’t really figure the tide right. Somehow we caught a great ebb tide and were zipping along at 6 knots as we motored down the canal. But when we got to the Beaufort end of things it turned into a flood tide and really slowed us down. Yet just an hour or two later when we were flying along under sail towards the Cape, we were again on an ebb tide. Peculiar.

Sunday was another day when the destination arrived well before we wanted to stop sailing. After overhearing some sailors chattering on the VHF about the big wind as they sailed up to Cape Lookout about an hour ahead of us, we figured the wind on the outside was up, so we hoisted the mainsail with a double reef. (Side note: the jiffy-reefing system I’ve been planning since the winter utterly failed. Somehow after the boom was reinstalled post-hurricane, things have not been working properly with the reefing. It led to difficulty hoisting the mainsail, strong words among the crew, and frustration for the chief engineer aboard. Alas.

Out on the ocean it turned out the wind was a perfect 16 knots or so. We (ultimately) hoisted the whole mainsail and unfurled all of the jib and were rewarded with a sparkling ride for the 7 miles or so before getting to the anchorage in the bight at Cape Lookout. Saw dolphins for the first time in weeks.

Dropped anchor onto a sandy bottom in blue-green water for the first time since Virginia. (Didn’t check the tide height ahead of time, so the 9’ of water rapidly decreased to 7’ and headed for about 3.5’ as Moss and I got in the dinghy with our lead line to find a spot deep enough that we wouldn’t be on the bottom at low tide.) Found eleven feet, moved Cupcake and that was that. 

After that we re-anchored and dinghied the half mile over to the lighthouse to check things out. On the way to the lighthouse we crossed a shoal with about 2’ of water. Moss wanted desperately to swim, so we stopped and she hopped out. And promptly lost her green Croc. After a flash of panic (with only one shoe, she would need to become a peg leg, we think) we spotted her Croc and reinstalled it on her foot.

The lighthouse at Cape Lookout is one of those beautiful black and white jobs that are common on the Carolina coast. (In New England our beacons are much less showy – I almost said “less flashy” but that would be inaccurate.) I always attributed the spirals and stripes and diamonds that are common on the lighthouses down here to some southern immodesty. But we learned that this lighthouse, at least, uses its diamond pattern to provide additional information to mariners: if you see black diamonds, you are headed north/south. If you see white ones you are headed east/west. And with the relatively featureless coastline (no hills to speak of) the spirals or stripes or whatever let you know where you are. Clever.

Not so clever, perhaps, were the Carolinians who built the first iteration of the lighthouse. It was too short to be seen from far enough out to sea to warn sailors off the shoals. Seems like a basic trigonometry problem that should have been worked out well before construction began. Maybe the builders used all their energies coming up with the black and white pattern, leaving nothing for mathematics. The art teacher aboard does not like the implications.

Immediately after we were secure at anchor, three of our neighbors in the anchorage came over by dinghy. We assumed they were going to tell us what we already knew, that we were in too-shallow water. But instead they invited us to a beach bonfire in the evening. Turns out about eight of the boats here were out of the Oriental area and meet up annually for a dinner and fire. Very welcoming. We did not make it to the beach because by the time we were back aboard from visiting the lighthouse, the ocean side of the cape, another swim, we were all a little cold, tired, and not too interested in another long wet dinghy ride after dark. (Yes, you read that right – cold. Temperatures were in the frigid high 70s – Moss got the shivers after her swim. She is currently wearing a long sleeve shirt with a picture of a mug of hot cocoa on it, and polar fleece pajama bottoms. Winter is coming.)

Today is being passed reading, learning, fixing things, and preparing for our 130 mile overnight run offshore tomorrow. Because the wind looks ideal, we will leave here tomorrow in the mid-morning and head to the Little River Inlet in South Carolina. It’s just up the coast from Myrtle Beach. 

This morning when I went up on deck to ensure Cupcake was more or less where we parked her the day before, I was treated to the sight of a pod of dolphins hunting for fish. It is wonderful being back in clean water again. There was no sign of the brown murk evident in that satellite photo from September 19, thank goodness. (Although I have no doubt the harm to the ecosystem did not just wash away.)

Ellen and Moss baked brownies. (The crew-minus-Ellen (who is off sugar because of a control issue) has had a bit of The Shugs lately. Craving chocolate and ice cream and whipped cream and cookies and brownies and sweet tea…mmmm. Today it was finally cool enough to justify running the oven for snackery.) Yesterday we mentioned to the neighbors that we were looking for somewhere we could get ice cream (a curious goal here at the end of the earth, surrounded by nothing much more than dunes). About 30 minutes later their friends dinghied over with three freeze-pops. That’s southern hospitality.

Apology section: I apologize to our Canadian foes* if I offended them in an earlier post. The point was not to say that all Canadians are rude and entitled. Just the ones on the boat docked next to us in Oriental. Heck, some of my best friends are Canadians. Nobody is less anti-Canadian than I am. Trust me.

*Since the groper** in the Whitehouse decided that the Europeans are our foes, I assume the same logic applies to Canadians.

**That’s a Canadian cousin’s term. Her words, not mine.***

***Sean Spicer’s words. Not mine.

On the hook

Here’s a quick one. The Oriental town dock was hotter, noisier, wind-lessier, fish-stinkier, and shrimp-boatier than we really wanted. Ellen, already worked up about soon-to-be-hurricane Leslie, had a rough night and was awakened by the shrimp boat crews at around 6am.

Also a Beneteau 39 came in to the dock this afternoon. The captain asked if we would be leaving soon because their buddy boat was coming in. I asked when they needed the dock, because we were considering moving to the anchorage. They said “immediately.” When I told them we were likely to leave in an hour or so we got a grumpy, Gallic look. (They were Canadians from Montreal.) We took our time heading out. Ellen points out that cleaning the composting head is not a job to be rushed. Also, a merci would have been nice.

The neighbors, Ellen’s early start to the day, and the fact that it is still incredibly hot and humid down here, led us to decide that after walking around town and then getting some boat chores completed, it did make sense to move about a tenth of a mile out to the anchorage. Now we have less shrimp stink, fewer Canadians (zero), and more breeze.

I installed the bilge blower fan (tomorrow we will see how it does at keeping the engine heat out of the boat) and a fourth cabin fan. 

It. Is. So. Hot.

By the weekend we hope to be somewhere we can swim so the hot won’t be as much of an issue. It is still so hot. So hot. So. HOT.

However, we are finally back at anchor and that’s a treat.

Moss is back in her favorite spot.

Sunset over Oriental.

Bureau of Waits and Measures

As grateful as we are to have been kept safe at the marina in New Bern, we nevertheless were very eager to get back out on the water. Our days at the marina were been fairly productive and we got to the tasks that would otherwise have stayed low on the to do list.

Ellen modified the mainsail cover so the spinnaker bail can stick out even when the cover is zipped. (Landlubbers: sailors who fly true spinnakers use the bail, a stainless steel ring permanently fixed to the mast, to attach a spinnaker pole to the spinnaker sail because spinnakers need a pole to act kind of like a boom. We do not fly a spinnaker because downwind we fly our asymmetrical sail which does not require a pole.* (We actually sold the pole this spring…it’s a 14’ aluminum tube that telescopes to around 20’ long. Takes up tons of space on the deck and is a great object on which to stub a toe.)) We use the bail on the mast as an attachment point for our laundry line which also serves as an anti-foul line – keeps the multitude of lines from snagging on the hatch or on Mr. Flowerpot when we are underway.

Our little short wave buddy.

Yesterday I started messing with the short wave radio. We are not really in a place where we need the weather broadcasts yet, but it makes sense to re-familiarize ourselves with the care and feeding of the radio. So this morning I got up at 6:30 to catch the weather and the cruise net checkins. We picked up some chatter from at least as far away as Florida.

What we learned, aside from the welcome news that this week’s crop of Atlantic storms will not be impacting the East Coast in a meaningful way, is that the ICW is closed for much of northern South Carolina. We also learned that winds predicted for Monday and Tuesday look promising for the overnight sail south.

So our plan to sail offshore has become a necessity. We are glad it was our choice first and only became a requirement after we committed. I’m guessing there are a lot of snowbirds up in New England and the Chesapeake and Norfolk who are panicking. Lots of those guys really do not like to venture out into the ocean.

It remains to be seen if we will get the swimming we crave at Cape Lookout. Our pal Matthew told us what he read about the nastiness that has been washing out to sea as the floodwaters make their way down the rivers and out into the Atlantic. Then we saw this beautiful/horrifying satellite photo from September 19.  

We are pinning our hopes for a cool cabin on this little devil.

Our departure from New Bern today was dependent on another UPS delivery. We decided to place an order for two new cabin fans and a bilge blower. When we run the engine for longer than 15 minutes or so, the Westerbeke puts an incredible amount of heat into the cabin. The last thing we need is more heat around here, so the bilge blower will suck all the engine heat out and exhaust it through a vent at the stern. There was a blower in the bilge when we bought the boat, but it never worked well because its bearings were shot. So all the ducting and wiring is in place and the installation should be a piece of cake. 

UPS made the delivery before 12:30 so we filled up the water tanks and headed down to Oriental this afternoon. We are now tied up at the Oriental Town Dock. Once again, if you are reading this between September 26 and September 28 you can see Cupcake at the dock. https://towndock.net/harborcam 

At sea once again (ok, just the Neuse River, but still…)

While that page is loading for you let me explain the title of today’s post. “Waits” because we have been waiting for storms to pass, waiting for deliveries to arrive, waiting to get back on the move. Northwest Creek Marina is a pleasant place, but it’s not near anything. As soon as we got to Oriental, we went for a walk in town. (And this town got beat up by Florence. There’s a smell throughout town that’s a mixture of wet insulation and shrimp boat. It’s not offensive or oppressive, but I will forever associate this pre-mildew odor with hurricanes.)

The “Measures” part of the title has to do with what I learned when I filled the water tanks this morning. We already knew that our stern and our bow tanks are about the same size because we regularly pump the full stern tank forward to the empty bow tank. (Remember that the water maker only fills the stern tank, we generally draw water from the bow tank. When the bow tank is empty we transfer water from stern to bow and then fill the stern tank using the water maker.)

Today was the first time the stern tank was empty and I had to fill it with jerry cans instead of directly from a hose. (The marina only had water available at A and B docks, too far for our hose to reach. So I trundled jug after jug to the boat and filled the tanks that way.) Figured that it would make sense to mark on my tank gauge where the water level was at 15, 25, 35, 45 gallons since I knew how much I was putting in.

To my astonishment, although Pearson advertised the boat as holding 100 gallons of fresh water, the stern tank was overflowing at just under 35 gallons! Our 110 gallon capacity (counting both tanks and the two jerry cans we keep full on deck) just shrank to less than 80 gallons. This piece of information changes our water consumption not one bit. But really, how does a manufacturer make a 30 gallon mistake? Tomorrow we are measuring the boat to make sure she really is 36’ long.

More sailboat math: If a boat that travels at an average speed of 5 knots must travel 20 miles to reach its destination in Oriental and prefers to tied up to the dock by 5pm, what time is the latest she can depart the dock in New Bern?

*The asymmetrical sail is Ellen’s favorite piece of sailing equipment. We fly it when winds are below about 15 knots and we are heading more or less downwind. The sail is beautiful, the boat behaves predictably and calmly and smoothly with it up. Generally if the asymmetrical is flying, we are having a very relaxed time and are pretty proud of our saltiness. 

Alternatively, downwind sailing without the asymmetrical is slow and sloppy and frustrating. Sailing with a true spinnaker is a frustrating, hands-on, high-stress proposition. A spinnaker may be faster than the asymmetrical, but the tradeoff is not worth it to us.

Nothing goes to waste on Cupcake. A cooler full of ice water invited some dunking…

some dumping…

and some dripping.

Also: sailboat gear tidbit. I got two of these fantastic little siphons for maybe ten bucks apiece. We use one for fresh water, the other for diesel and other petroleum products. They aren’t much more than a tube connected to a brass fitting with a marble inside. Put the marble end in the jug of liquid, shake the tube up and down until there’s fluid in the tube, and you’ve got a siphon.

Years of getting a mouthful of gasoline every time I tried to siphon gas into one empty old car or another and all I needed was one of these marvels. Go get two. They are excellent.

Eyes on the Atlantic Basin

Cupcake and crew are still hanging out at Northwest Creek Marina in New Bern. Part of the reason we are not back out on the water moving south is that we were waiting for a delivery of boat stuff. That delivery arrived on Friday and we got the 150’ of line we need to replace the dock lines which were worn out by the storm.

The repeated yanking seems to have heated the lines to the point that they are pretty stiff…an indication that they heated up and started melting perhaps. In any event, new lines seems like cheap insurance.

This morning I had the brainstorm to mark the different length dock lines with different color whipping on the ends (for the landlubbers, whipping is a waxed twine used to keep the ends of the lines from fraying and unravelling). I figure I will use black whipping for the ends of the bow and stern lines, and use white whipping for the ends of longer spring lines. Genius.

A few years ago Ellen and I decided that as far as dock lines go, fancy braided line with spliced loops on the ends were less useful than standard-issue three-strand anchor line. Braided line catches on splintery docks easier, it’s more expensive, it just seems less salty and utilitarian. We also realized that lines without spliced loops are more useful because we can always tie a loop when we need one (landlubbers: learn to tie a bowline, it’s the most useful knot).

Another reason we are still in the marina is that there is a lot of storm debris in the waterways and we don’t need to rush out onto the Neuse River after surviving the storm, just to clonk into some log or dock or submerged boat or floating pig carcass.

Yet another reason we are in no hurry to leave is that the storms in the Atlantic Basin are not going away. There is Kirk, there is Leslie, there is “a broad area of low pressure located between Bermuda and the Bahamas,” there is the remnants of tropical depression Eleven. Plenty of reason to wait and see. Check out “https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/gtwo.php” to see how I start my day and end my day.

And a final reason we are delaying our departure is that we have met some really nice people at the marina and are in no great hurry to leave.

Our daughter has become a fantastic helper. She is also getting long and lean.

So what are we doing with ourselves? Sweating, primarily. Every day the forecast promises temperatures in the mid-80s and every day the temperatures rise to the high 80s or low 90s. Fortunately the nights have been cool - in the high 60s so the boat cools down and the sleeping is pleasant.

It was odd, with Ellen stitching the sail and Moss washing the laundry, I had nothing to do.

Laundry day.

And doing projects and maintenance. Ellen stitched up a torn reef point in the mainsail. Moss did a huge bunch of laundry (in a dock cart). I changed the transmission fluid, changed the raw water impeller, cleaned the instrument panel, whipped the line, rebuilt another winch, bleached the water tanks, organized the big storage locker, and so on.

Moss finished her first math unit and took an assessment test. Killed it. Smart kid, talented teachers. As a reward, we all went dumpster diving. Lots of interesting storm detritus out on the curb near the rec center and the marina.

And every evening we take delightful cold showers in the still-without-power marina bathrooms. It’s fun, it’s definitely part of the adventure, and it cools us right down.

Had a bit of a scare the other day when the fan in the v-berth stopped working. Panicked, then realized it had overheated because its cooling vents got blocked by some clothing we had jammed behind the fan to keep it from driving us crazy with its vibration. I tightened the screws attaching the fan to the boat, let the thing cool down, and now it is working fine and not making noise. Success.

The plans for the future are to head out on Tuesday or Wednesday and spend a day or two in Oriental. Then spend a day or two anchored out in a nearby creek. Then spend a day or three anchored at Cape Lookout waiting for favorable weather for an overnight sail down to Cape Fear (great name) or Little River.

Generally speaking we have not always enjoyed overnight sails. But we are going at it with a different attitude this time because it will allow us to stay relaxing at anchor for considerably longer, waiting for favorable winds instead of motoring motoring motoring down the ICW every day. A 120 mile passage can save us three or four days of driving down the ICW worrying about shallows, cursing the wakes of big powerboats, watching out for barges and buoys and logs and shifting shoals and so on.

If we enjoy the overnight, it will empower us to do more of them. And more overnight offshore sails will free up our schedule immeasurably. Also, it gets us back out on the big ocean in the clean water we love so much.

A few days ago we took a dinghy ride up a nearby creek to see how the boats up there did during the storm. Many did not do well at all. New Bern got pretty torn up. The nearest grocery store is still closed. The marina still has no power or internet (but the water is now potable). To our great dismay (well…) the New Bern synagogue cancelled Yom Kippur services because of the hurricane.

We’ve been reading the Oriental, NC website (check out towndock.net it’s very funny) and for a town that got whacked pretty hard, they seem to have a great attitude and are putting things back together well. We enjoyed our stay there earlier this month and are looking forward to seeing Oriental again.

Took a dinghy ride up a nearby creek. Many boats did well, but the loss of one line (in this case a stern line) and the boat ends up in a very unfortunate place.

It appears that whether a boat survived unscathed or not depended as much on luck as on preparation. Boy, were we lucky.

This is a 40+’ catamaran parked in someone’s yard. The storm surge came up so high the cat tore loose from wherever it was docked and then floated (more or less gently) into someone else’s yard.

We assume this is the home of New Bern residents celebrating Rosh Hashana.

An optimist would say this boat is half floating.

Moss went up the mast twice to do some rigging work. She is a handy kid to have on board: light enough that she is easy to winch up the mast, better than a monkey because she more or less understands English and can follow directions.

This is the view from about 30’ up (Moss was disinclined to go to the top of the mast).

Safe and sound in New Bern

On Tuesday, the drive from DC back to the marina in New Bern was, thankfully, uneventful. It rained most of the way down I-95, but the rain stopped before we got to the marina. Highway 95 was closed, but not until south of where we turned off. None of the secondary roads we needed were closed, and it wasn’t until about 30 miles from the marina that we started seeing evidence of storm damage – trees down, yards that looked like ponds, that sort of thing.

The only water we saw on roadways was about half a mile from the marina, and even that was just a little section less than 6” deep – easily forded by the Chevy.

Back at Northwest Creek Marina the scene was more dire. The water level during the storm rose to above 6’ in the marina buildings. That’s probably 9 or 10’ at the docks. So all the buildings and pools flooded, many of the cars flooded, all of the machinery like ice machines, washing machines, fuel pumps were destroyed. There is no electricity, wifi, or potable water at the marina and it’s not expected to be restored for weeks or months.

Dozens of boats were utterly destroyed – they were thrown about, landing on top of one another, on top of the docks, upside down in the water. Utter chaos on D-dock. 

Cupcake is just fine. Not a scratch. Not a leak. One of our stern lines chafed through (but we doubled all the lines in case one failed), another line tore the cleat out of the dock (and appears to have torn the little finger-pier off the main dock too). That’s it.

On Tuesday, once we got over our amazement at our good fortune, we set to work reinstalling the sun canvas, the solar panels, the boom. Got everything pretty much back in place in about an hour and a half. Down below, Cupcake was not the wet, moldy mess we anticipated. There was water in the bilge, but not more than I could dry out with a sponge (wasn’t enough for the bilge pumps to move). Maybe a gallon and a half in total (and some of that was beer – Budweiser cans will corrode through in the bilge, it appears). It’s not clear if there ever was enough water to activate the pumps. Remarkable. This boat is lucky, stout, and dry. 

Today we went grocery shopping to replace the perishables we brought to DC for Simon. While Ellen returned the rental car, Moss went up the mast (in a safety harness or course) to rig the lines we took down for the storm. Then we did a little boat school. Tomorrow we will bend on the sails (that means install the sails, you landlubbers) do some more boat school, move the boat to the next slip over because that one hasn’t been beaten up like ours, and maybe get the dinghy from the storage unit.

Karen and Paul, the friendly neighbors on the next dock over, stored Mr. Flowerpot and the outboard at their storage unit. Paul is a little upset about that deal because now he wants a dinghy just like ours (we sang Mr. F’s praises: she is a great little boat). Karen and Paul put all their stored gear in their dinghy and our dinghy. That way, when the storage unit flooded everything floated and was fine.

So things with Cupcake and crew are returning to normal. We will probably stay at the marina through the weekend. Just placed an order for some boat gear including 150’ of dock line because even the good lines are showing their age. Once that delivery arrives, we will head back down the river. We want to take some time to visit Oriental a little longer than before. We also want to get out to the barrier islands to see what they are like and to get back in to water where we can swim.

Albino squirrel we spotted in DC.

Moss is appreciating the Baselitz upside-down paintings we enjoyed.

Ellen is about to return the rental car. Good riddance (to the car, not the girl.)

The kids and George.

Carnage photo 1.

Carnage photo 2.

Carnage photo 3. This is the fuel dock. It’s going to be closed for a while.

Carnage photo 4. This is D-dock. Thank goodness we were put on C-dock.

And this is the view we enjoyed as I typed this post. Idyllic. (Also hot, of course.)

Air & Space & Other Fun

D-dock carnage.

This morning we got another Cupcake scare when we found this picture of severely damaged boats on D-dock at our marina. We are at C-dock and our alphabet skills tell us that we are just one dock away from this chaos. Didn’t know what happened overnight, but got nervous all over again.

Best picture we’ve got of Cupcake.

After a few hours, our friends Karen and Paul sent this photo showing Cupcake safe and sound. She looks lonely and bare, stained from the ICW water, but the photo is one of the most beautiful shots of the boat we have ever seen because we at last know for certain she is ok. Now we are done worrying about Cupcake’s safety at the marina and will enjoy our remaining time in DC with Simon and the museums. (Simon and the Museums is not a particularly good name for a rock and roll band).

The plan is to check out of our hotel bright and early on Monday, stop at a West Marine to purchase a new VHF handheld radio to replace the failing VHF we have owned since 2001 and pick up a few hundred feet of line to replace our stressed dock lines. We will also load up on groceries to replace all the perishables we donated to Simon, then head down to New Bern to start putting Cupcake to rights.

Our thought is that the dock lines we used to secure Cupcake were old to begin with, and the repeated shock loading from the storm probably rendered them unreliable. Certainly wouldn’t want to trust them in another storm (which we will try to do a better job avoiding).

Last night we enjoyed the particular treat of eating dinner at Simon’s place. He and his roommate Ethan cooked the meal for us. Cauliflower, pasta and sauce, good company. It is such a pleasure to see Simon in his element, happy and thriving, surrounded by intelligent, interesting people.

Today we woke up late (enjoying sleeping in a normal rectangular bed) had big sandwiches for breakfast, then headed to the National Mall. Moss completed the exploration program at the Air & Space Museum and earned a badge. Now she wants to be an astronaut for Halloween.

Shocking revelations about Amelia Earhart. Moss was stunned to learn from the audio tour that Earhart never returned from the Pacific.

Then we met up with Simon at the National Portrait Gallery and checked out the presidential portraits (and a whole lot of other excellent art).

Simon and Barack. We are big fans of each.

After a delicious dinner at a ramen house we are now home watching Star Wars on the television box. Civilization has its pleasures, but Moss and I decided we are ready for the peace and quiet we get when Cupcake is at anchor. We may be getting overstimulated in the big city.

Moss isn’t waving because she is afraid a bee, attracted to her sandwich, will take advantage of her inattention and GET her.

And another selfie. Ellen fears no bee.

The DC-3 is one sexy plane. I’m also fond of that super cool TWA mail plane. The Ford Tri-Motor sounds like it provided one heck of a ride: unable to fly high enough to get above most turbulence, the ride could get so bouncy the seats came loose and the fuselage sides would bulge and flex. The plane was so noisy people could suffer hearing loss. The romance of air travel.

Meanwhile, in DC...

Because there’s nothing we can do about the situation with Cupcake and Florence, we figured we might as well enjoy our time in Washington. Got to see Simon, something we did not expect to happen until December. We have missed our boy. Look at the happy college boy!

Visited with cousins Amanda and Sean. Got to meet Simon’s roommates. Got to see Simon’s pal Siena (who was eager to meet little sister Moss). Visited to the Air & Space Museum. Briefly checked out the National Museum of the American Indian. (We ran out of time but are planning to return to each tomorrow.) And I’d like to find time to check out the portraits of the Obamas and go for a run or two.

Today, however, we are so worn out from the rollercoaster of emotions we felt from figuring out our next move if the boat was sunk to immediately getting the glimmer of hope that Cupcake will be fine. Decided to walk back to the hotel after our late brunch and just relax, read, and do some boat school with Moss.

Moss made all-gone with her yummy drink. Thumbs up if you like dirty dishes!

Look Facebook friends: I ate breakfast!

So here are a few photos from yesterday. And a picture of my breakfast plate. I don’t understand the impulse to share photos of every meal you Facebookers eat at a restaurant. Far more fun to show the empty plate. My breakfast was delicious. Moss enjoyed her hot chocolate.

Now this is one fine canoe.

Ellen is laughing at the gridlock on Capitol Hill. Moss is dismayed at the future we are bequeathing her.

Saw these guys marching up Pennsylvania Avenue. Made us wonder if perhaps DC wasn’t due for more rain than forecast.

Space cadet.

Super cool Peruvian reed boat.

Cautiously optimistic

We (ok, probably just me) spent the morning resigned to the loss of the boat. Couldn’t see how she could possibly be ok with a storm surge so great that people in New Bern were getting rescued because their ground floors were inundated with water.

Then we got word about some photos of the marina, taken this morning. We anxiously scrutinized them, and among the many photos, we found this shot of Cupcake. Afloat.

She is the boat farthest on the left. The one with radar at her top set of spreaders.

She looks fine to us: floating at her waterline (not low in the water as if she is leaking or sinking). She is where we left her (next to her sister ship – another Pearson 36-2 parked stern towards the camera). In another shot you can even see that the fenders we left over Cupcake’s port side are still hanging from the lifelines.

The tide/surge may still come up high enough to imperil her, but at this point with the majority of the big winds and waves moved to the south and with the rain past its heaviest, we are feeling a little bit better. We couldn’t see any listing/sinking/damaged boats at all in the marina. That fact is just amazing.

We still don’t know when we can or should head back to New Bern, but boy are we boat-sick like never before. It’s unlikely Cupcake escaped completely unscathed. At a minimum, we anticipate chaos in the cabin, possibly some water damage and mold and all that. But we can deal with those things if she is still afloat.