Charleston, SC — Cupcake Afloat

Holy cow, we have been sailing a long time and have covered a lot of miles. Today we are 966 miles from home. But that’s for the proverbial crow. Sea miles are definitely way over 1,000.

We enjoyed our stay at St. Johns Yacht Harbor, met some very friendly people. On Friday we shared a ride to Charleston with Diane and Bill. Got that diner breakfast we had been craving. Then we went our separate ways (well, Diane and Bill went one way, Ellen, Moss, and I stuck together because we are a team) to walk around Charleston.

One thing we learned in Charleston is that we are not interested in buying cheap jewelry, t-shirts, fudge, expensive paintings, real estate, plastic lawn ornaments, overpriced eyeglasses, custom-made suits, pocket squares made of feathers, plaster pineapples, door knockers, or Confederate soldier hats.

Lots of sandbags in Charleston. Tropical storm Michael didn’t flood the place, but nobody was taking chances.

We were interested in the bookstores, the history, the iced tea, and the Aleve from the CVS. Curiously, the wall chat on the historic landmark houses (that is, on just about every house in downtown Charleston) was about as dull as wall chat can be.

A sample: “Here stands the Travis Ashford house, plot #45 from the King George plot plan of 1754. The house was built ca. 1768 as a family residence. Circa 1832, a front porch was added and the siding was repainted. Circa 1876 the building was again painted. A second porch was added at approximately the same time. The garden has been weeded intermittently.” Charlestonians could take a page from the Georgetown playbook with talk of rebellion, sinkings, economic turmoil and the like.

The ubiquitous horse drawn carriage tours provided better historical information. Just as I tripped over a cobblestone, I overheard a tour guide mention that South Carolina has no naturally occurring cobblestones (which sounds crazy until you realize the whole eastern edge of the state is made of marsh and sand and mud…not granite and lobsters like Maine). So the cobblestone streets are built from ballast that came to town on the big sailing ships over the years.

When I collected my wits after my stumble, I turned around and saw one of the craziest sights I can remember. A woman stopped in the middle of the road and was giving Ellen a hug. Ellen, who has personal space issues•, was neither struggling nor screaming. Turns out her cousin Debbie spotted us as we were crossing and said hello and gave out that hug. Debbie and her daughters were in town for a girls’ getaway and just happened to cross paths with Cupcake’s crew. How do you like that?

After more swimming with Moss in the pool, we headed back out onto the ICW. Tonight we are anchored in our second marshy creek. Last night we were in Tom Creek, an utterly placid, lovely spot just off the main channel. Tonight we are in Bass Creek, ditto.

Curious thing about last night’s anchorage. We dropped our hook in a completely deserted, completely still creek, surrounded by beautiful marsh grasses and chirping birds. But about a mile to our south four big cruising sailboats were anchored within a quarter mile of one another in a spot that had less protection and more powerboat wakes. Despite the fact that we knew our spot was better, we still felt just a tiny bit of doubt: what do they know that we don’t? Anchoring really brings our a herd-impulse that Cupcake has learned to ignore. We know best what our boat and crew want.

So tonight after we got our anchor set, when a powerboat from New Brunswick came and anchored nearby, we felt we were doing something right.

Because Ellen is taking things very slowly since her fall down the steps, while she spends her days eating bon-bons and watching “Oprah” icing her back and moving carefully, Moss and I have been doing our best to take up the slack. So I’ve anchored the boat the past two nights, hauled up the anchor this morning, and will continue to be the anchor guy for the next few weeks, at a minimum. Ellen took over the anchor tasks years ago when I tweaked my back. It’s hard work and I have now learned to be less cavalier about saying things like “why don’t we pull up the anchor and try that spot over there?” I remember, with a twinge of guilt, the evening in Georgetown when Ellen had to haul up 75’ of chain a few times while we tried to get the anchor to set securely. She is a tough customer.

Moss gets really apprehensive in the afternoons when it’s time to anchor. Seems she doesn’t realize that I’ve anchored a boat before and that Ellen has helmed a boat setting an anchor. The back-injury has reminded us that we all need to be able to do every job on board, just in case. It also reminded us that we all need to take it easy.

Our next two days are pretty mild ones, then we will stay in Hilton Head for a week visiting family and friends. That schedule should give Ellen a chance to mend a bit.

Cruising tip of the day: If you see a guy diligently scrubbing the deck of his sailboat some morning, don’t think you are super clever by saying something like “how about washing my boat next?” I get this all the time at home when I wash the cars in the driveway. (Side note: I have NEVER seen any of my neighbors wash a car. Who lives like that? I wash the cars every week whether they need it or not.) My standard reply, admittedly not particularly clever, is something like “I don’t know, do you cook?” or “Do you babysit?” But I have a whole quiver full of much saltier replies that I will not type here because they are not appropriate for the Internet.

•Ellen takes issue with this characterization. She just proclaimed “I’ll hug anyone wearing cashmere.”

Charleston homes have fabulous flower boxes. Can’t see the Moss for the flowers.

Bill Clinton just called to say he wants his shorts back.