The changes in scenery could not be more dramatic. From the urbanized surrounds of Hampton and Norfolk in Virginia to the utter remoteness of the swamps in northern North Carolina, there is an infinite world of difference.
The changes in scenery could not be more dramatic. From the urbanized surrounds of Hampton and Norfolk in Virginia to the utter remoteness of the swamps in northern North Carolina, there is an infinite world of difference.
After slogging to windward for several days last week, we took the day off in Deltaville to wait for the cold front to pass, bringing with it northerly winds for the final 40 miles down the bay. Both Sunday and Monday were warm enough to warrant a swim but after the cold front passed, we dove deep into our clothes locker for socks and sweaters for the first time since May. Many other south bound boats were keeping company in Deltaville as well. If you ever want to find cruisers in a waterfront town, forget looking in the bars; look instead at either the library, grocery store or laundry. In fact, we had quite the assembly at Deltaville's little library. Just after we showed up, we recognized the folks on the boat Angel, anchored nearby. Turns out that Mark and Allison also have a cat on board as well. Soon after, George and Julie arrived. Later when we went to the grocery store; you guessed it, we met more cruisers from the boats Aeolus and Phantom. They are all easy enough to recognize, just look for the worn out boat shoes!
We had just a wee bit of excitement that night as the front came through with a brisk northerly breeze. The small boat anchored in front apparently dragged down on us to within 10 feet; so radioed the folks on Phantom the next morning. Hard to believe as most people know that I'm usually the first one up on a change in the wind speed or direction. And it was not to be the last time this happened to us this week.
We rocked, rolled and surfed our way down the bay on Tuesday under reefed main and jib in blustery 20-25 knot winds and 4 foot seas. Early on there seemed to be some current running against the wind as the seas seemed steep with breaking tops. One even broke into our cockpit drenching Joyce who was driving at the time. Both we and the cats eventually got used to the motion and even enjoyed making the boat surf down the face of the waves, often achieving speeds that are not normally possible with a displacement hull. We briefly saw 11 knots when our maximum speed should be around 7. But all was calm as 45 miles later we entered the southern Virginia town of Hampton.
Hampton likes boaters. You can tell. They have a place to plug in your computer for as long as you want, they have a 25-cent trolley that takes you all over town, and they hired a dockmaster from New Zealand who lets you use all the facilities whether you stay at the dock or anchor out. The only down side to our visit is that we suffered our first equipment failure: the handle off of our head cracked leaving only a stump of plastic to grab on to. So the search was on for at least a temporary handle if not the actual replacement (eventually solved by a plastic tee fitting and two nuts). If Hampton has nothing else, it has discount stores. The trolley dropped us off at Boaters World but in the same shopping complex was a dollar store and another discount department store. Further down the road was not just a Walmart but a Super Walmart. I thought I'd have to sneak the boat away while Joyce was asleep in order to get her out of the place!
Oh, I almost forgot. Our second anchorage fiasco began later the following night. A small sailboat arrived at dusk and settled in between us and another sailboat whose owner Bill works at the marina part time. But just as soon as the wind picked up around 11 p.m., they dragged down on us with their bow actually hitting our back quarter. I refused to get up hoping Joyce would sort things out. Here she was fending off the sailboat, trying to get the owners up to do something and all I want to do is go to sleep. Eventually they re-anchored with two anchors a ways off, in what appeared to be a safe distance. But by the next morning, they had themselves in a tangle with Bill's boat. Fortunately for Bill, he wasn't around for as I helped them untangle the mess, I got completed coated in the muddy goo from both of their anchors. At least I figured that we'd seen the last of them. So imagine my surprise when they motored past us as we were tied up in Great Bridge. They're out there now, somewhere, terrorizing anchorages along the ICW. Boaters beware!
We probably shouldn't be too hard on these fellow boaters. After all, everyone must learn sometimes the hard way and everyone makes dumb mistakes. Made a few myself. Why, in the same anchorage, I put the boat in reverse as we normally do to set the anchor. Moments later, I went forward to see what Joyce was doing on the bow with the boat still in reverse. But instead of the anchor setting, our anchor was dragging and now we are going backwards toward the marina at warp speed!
After Hampton, it was onto the Intracoastal Waterway. Mile 0 begins in Norfolk, about 9 miles south of Hampton. As if to wish me a pleasant goodbye to sailing and the Chesapeake, the wind allowed for a fast jib only sail to just about mile marker zero. After which, on went the engine as we motored into the ICW in route to Great Bridge. The shipping interests through Norfolk are intense. Norfolk Naval station sits to port with aircraft carriers sitting side by side with submarines and a great variety of every naval craft in between. To starboard is the container yard of the Portsmouth docks, covering several square miles of waterfront. On our approach, a container ship came up on our stern. Knowing he would be docking somewhere and really really wanting to stay out of his way in the narrow channel (with a shoal outside), we called him on the radio. With even a hint of gratitude, he politely responded and told us where he was going and how we should best avoid him. Can you picture this captain sitting 40 stories up on a ship as long as four city blocks talking without the least bit of sarcasm to our dinky little boat! Reminds me of my favorite joke: Captain pulls into port and the harbor master asked him if he saw any sailboats out there. "Why, not a one, the captain responds." "Well, you should have," says the harbor master, "there's one hanging off of your bow."
The Intracoastal Waterway is measured in statute miles, much like a modern highway. Once in the waterway, everything is measured and reported on by mile markers. Something like the Jersey turnpike; you know the joke, "what exit." For example, the first bridge that must open for a sailboat is at mile marker mile 2.6. The first anchorage is at mile marker 8.5. Charleston is at mile marker 469.3 and so on all the way to Florida and beyond. Many of the channels and canals are straight and narrow so that at times thus far, one gets the feeling that you're driving a slow truck down a long highway.
The lock at Great Bridge raised the boat a whopping two feet. Beyond is the bedroom community of Great Bridge where we stopped for the evening. The town kindly provides a free dock to tie your boat up to for the night in order the shop at the towns many stores. As we arrived late in the afternoon, the dock at first appeared full. But as we approached, we spied an opening just big enough for us to squeeze into. Joyce quickly readied the lines and jumped onto the dock as we approached. I'm not sure what happened next but the next thing I know, Joyce is in the water, still holding onto the line. As casually as I could, I told Joyce that if she really wanted to swim, at least she could wait until we've tied the boat up!
Blue Moon, a Valiant 40, whom we had met sharing an anchorage in Connecticut waiting for Hurricane Dennis, had arrived a few hours earlier. Taking the direct route, Walter and Christine had left Atlantic Highlands, NJ Tuesday and completed two overnighters offshore to arrive in Great Bridge, VA on Thursday. Despite this, they appeared to be relatively rested. We were to travel and socialize with them for the next two days as we made our way south, they to Beaufort, NC from which they intend to head out to the Carribean.
South of Great Bridge, you enter a landscape in which you feel as though you are the last human being alive. Stark, marshy, desolate, wild and beautiful. After anchoring and securing the engine, the silence grew pervasive. Just then I realized just how rare the absence of sound is. Quiet. Not even the wind rustling the leaves could be heard as there were few trees and little wind. Erie.
Another 8-hour day of motoring brought us another 45 miles south through the Alligator River to another remote anchorage. Three bald eagles noted our arrival without the least bit of interest. But not a house in sight. Not only no houses, but nary any sign of human presence. Anybody remember the Burt Reynold's movie Deliverance?
But today, we've returned to a small patch of civilization in the town of Belhaven. And to remind ourselves that we were really a sailboat, we shut down the engine and sailed the last six miles through a wide-open stretch. Sunday in the bible belt, we didn't expect to find much open. And there wasn't. But we did go down to one of the marinas where they lent us a golf cart and pointed us in the direction of the nearest market. These aren't just any golf carts however. These babies are equipped and licensed for on the road use. "Don't let the cars push you around," chimed the nice lady at the marina. "They're used to the golf carts," she added. What a great idea. We loved it as we tooled down the street waving at everybody. Even pulled into the Hardees near the market for ice cream.
The weather has warmed considerably since we left Deltaville. It's been back to shorts and tee shirts these past two days under sunny skies. I have the feeling that it's soon going to change as tomorrow some rain is expected with possible thunderstorms.
