Things Don't Go Quite as Planned

In perfect weather, high in the low 80s, sunny with a nice steady breeze, we sail up to anchor in Abel Bay, near the Swanquarter National Wildlife Refuge and enjoy a lovely moonlit anchorage with only a few pesky skeeters. It's nice and cool for sleeping, so we sleep in and enjoy a leisurely breakfast.

Out on the water conditions are perfect again and we fly around Pamlico Point, out into the sound, skim between the military firing range (off-limits) and the marshes, zipping across in these crazy five knot tacks, just a fantastic time, enjoying the sun and breeze and the smell of the ocean. Skirting the firing range,we pass a little open cockpit sailboat just flying downwind with a crazy spinnaker. We are too busy sailing to even take a picture, but boy, are we having some fun!

We cruise into Jones Bay and start looking for this little canal that Eric had seen on the chart. It goes right up into Middle Bay, which would have been new territory for us. From there we could cut through to Big Porpoise and then back to Mouse Harbor, a tricky inside passage we were keen to try. Since our boat only draws eighteen inches of water, we can get into these little places other boats can't. And we love to try them!

The opening is narrow, but passable. 

We'd done these things before and thought nothing of it. But it gets narrower. We squeeze past a few trees overhanging the ditch. No problem, Eric says, we're almost halfway. Up ahead we spot an even larger tree leaning into the ditch with a pipe sticking up on the other side. By this time we are so tight in this little ditch, we can't even think about turning around. We have a few feet of clearance on either side, at best. Anyway, we're nearly there.

We squeeze past a pine tree and the shrouds take off a branch.  I get the silly giggles as pine cones rain down on the deck.  Eric keeps on motoring. The deck is littered with debris. Eric hands me the boat hook and instructs me to fend off as we pass a tree trunk jutting into our path. We clear it by one inch, the other side of the boat scraping the marsh.

A little farther and I can see the bay on the other side. We're almost there. Except the way is blocked by ten feet of brush and a substantial tree. There is almost room to turn around at the end. Almost. Eric fearlessly slips over the side and disappears up to his thighs in mud and up to his chest in water. A splash nearby and Eric crows, “Alligator!” I shiver. He pulls the bow around, dislodging a derelict crab pot on the way and releasing several large crabs, while I try to fend off the stern, now jammed in the marsh grass.

He's pulling with the boat hook, so I untie the kayak paddles and proceed to push off the marsh and paddle to move the stern around. The rudder has kicked up and is sticking out and catching on the grass, so I have to climb down the swim ladder to lift it. I do my best not to think about alligators. Finally, we're headed back out and I titter uncomforably as I realize we have to run that unbelievable gauntlet of trees and brush again. With me at the helm (since I was no use at fending) we barely make it past the tree with one inch clearance. It rubs the hull. I fail at steering too.

Delighted to see the open water of Jones Bay again, we are greeted by dolphins and more incredible weather and a perfect wind to blow us up the ICW to Goose Creek. We sail up to anchor again, get up before dawn and head out. Another perfect day, except the wind shifted 180 degrees and is now in our teeth. It's also really blowing. Willadine is heeled over and with a reefed main and a hankie of jib we're making five knots. Eric is in heaven as we tack back and forth to get out of Goose Creek. We even manage quite a bit of traffic, three big power yachts, a sailboat and a tug and barge. Whew. Close-hauled, we make one incredible tack all the way back to the mouth of North Creek. Willadine is going four and five knots steady with Eric at the helm the whole way, in sailing heaven, total bliss. He's pumped up with the thrill of such an amazing sail, but by this time, I'm exhausted. We spend a few glorious hours anchored out at Frying Pan, resting and eating lunch and then, very reluctantly head back to the dock. Our only consolation is that we get to come back next week!!

Picture Blog

After our little "incident" we left the camera on the boat and didn't get to post any of the pictures, so here they are:

After the accident, we holed up here just inside Goose Creek and were rewarded with this amazing sunset.

We were a little nervous about these thunderheads, but we were safe in our little anchorage.

Sailing back to North Creek the next day we saw yet another of these amazing circumzenithal arcs.

Climbing back on that horse the following weekend was nerve-wracking too, but we very much enjoyed the company of our friends Jimmy and Rob aboard their 30-foot Morgan, Jimmyville.

Jimmy was kind enough to take some nice pix of Willadine (that's us!) but he couldn't figure out why we refused to put up our head sail.  We told him we were too chicken (it looks clear, but there were storms about!) but he didn't really get it.  How do you like her "earmuffs"?  LOL!

After sailing across the river with Jimmyville, we anchored up in our new favorite anchorage at the mouth of Long Creek inside South Creek.  It was special fun anchoring with friends and we swam and paddled the kayaks around.  Next morning Eric and I paddled over to a little beach for our yoga practice.  Boy, that was fun.

We had a wonderful weekend and are feeling better about sailing again.  But we're still pretty nervous about storms and running downwind in particular (which is how I got knocked down).  We stayed away this weekend because of the crummy forecast, but hope to get back next weekend. Both Eric and I are pining away for our Willadine and for the beautiful Pamlico.

Love Bites

If a person beats you up, it’s going to take some time.  One punch here, a kick there, maybe some scratches.  It’s gotta hurt and hurt and go on hurting.  I can’t imagine.  It must be terrible.  But when a boat beats you up it can do all that damage in just a split second.  Anyway, you know it’s your own fault, not the boat’s fault.  And besides, it’s so worth it, so infinitely worth it, to get to be out on this amazing water with sights and sounds that can’t be imagined, just waiting to reveal themselves.

We sail out to Mouse Harbor, going in through a special passage Eric and Ansel discovered last month.  We get through the narrow opening and then we notice a crab pot float with something floating in the water next to it.  It looks just like a partly submerged crab pot.  Oh, wait, it is a crab pot and it’s sitting on the bottom.  Just about this time we realize we have stopped moving and are aground.  While I sit gaping in the cockpit, Eric heaves up the keel, tugs up the rudder, throws out the swim ladder and jumps off the boat.  He grins up at me, the water up to his knees.  He pushes us off.  Later I kick myself that I didn’t jump off and get a picture.  It’s a beautiful setting with the marsh grass lit up in circle around a blue pool.

The wind picks up around 5pm and we decide not to tempt fate and just to stay put inside the harbor.  It blows for a few hours, we get a little rain and by morning it’s dead calm.  At dawn I sit in the cockpit and watch the stars go out and listen to the sound of the surf coming from the sound side of the protective marsh.

The wind picks up after breakfast and we make a nice loop out into the sound past Pamlico Point and back around into the river towards Oyster Creek.  The wind dies.  I suggest we grill some lunch.  Eric fires up the BBQ and lays on some burgers, squash and potatoes from the farm.  We flop around, inching along for a couple of hours and then it picks up.  We’ve been watching a thunderhead build all day and now we’re getting the leading edge of its wind.  In less than two minutes, it’s blowing a gale.  The water is streaked with white, the chop flattened by the wind and marked with cat’s feet.  Eric happens to be at the helm, so I grab the sheets and furling line to bring down the headsail.  We’re running downwind and the main is all the way out.  I give the furling line a tug and the sail begins to roll up.  I go to pull it again and the sheet is jerked out of my hand.  The wind has jibed the sail to the other side.  It’s luffing violently and I lose the other sheet.  Next thing I know I’m flying across the cockpit and coming to what felt at the time like a soft landing on the lifeline.

I stand up and realize that the hand that was holding the furling line hurts pretty badly.  I look and see that all the skin is gone from the inside of my index finger and all four fingers are white with blisters.  I have to look away.  I knot my hand into a fist and look at Eric.  His face is terrifying.  I put my hand to my neck and realize my neck really hurts too.  But it’s not bleeding, so that’s good, right?  Eric chokes out, “Your face,” and I put my hand up to my mouth, which I now realize feels a little funny.  My hand comes away bloody and I decide this is not good either and we turn to the task at hand, reducing sail.  I sit shakily in the cockpit at the tiller while Eric drops the motor, cranks her up (god bless Trusty!) and instructs me to steer upwind.  The turn causes the boat to heel rather alarmingly (25 degrees?), but she comes around upwind and stops.  Somehow I manage to steer with my undamaged hand while Eric gets both sails safely stowed. 

I keep steering toward the nearest land (Oyster Creek) trying not to think about how much my hand hurts, while Eric lowers the bimini and readies the anchor.  I have to stand up to see to avoid the crab pots and my legs feel like jelly.  I have to bounce up every now and then and sit right back down.  My legs just won’t hold me up for more than a few seconds.

We finally get anchored and Eric pulls out the first aid kit.  I keep telling him I’m ok, and I really am, although my hand is really burning now.  I don’t want him to see how bad it is, because I know he feels responsible and I’m afraid it will make him feel worse.  I’m afraid the first aid will make it hurt even more.  Seeing the wound makes me feel ill and I have to put my head back and breathe into my good hand for a minute.  Then I remember that we have rum on board.  I take a tentative swig and it burns my throat.  But the aftertaste is sweet.  I know it will help with pain control, so I take a few more swigs and then Eric fixes me a Dark and Stormy, cold ginger ale with dark rum.  This goes down very nicely thankyouverymuch. 

I let Eric bandage my hand and put first aid cream on my neck, which is beginning to sting from two four-inch rope burns.  The first aid cream stings so bad my eyes water and I can’t breathe.  But after about thirty seconds of torture, it stops.  I like this first aid cream with lidocaine.  I like it a lot.  I like this rum too; it’s making everything better.  I pull an ice pack out of the cooler and hold it in my injured hand.  It takes the burning away completely. I take Ibuprofen as a precaution and I realize I should eat something.  I’m starving.  Luckily we have lunch on the grill!  The rum makes me giggly.  I keep telling Eric I’m fine, and I am.  Eric pops out to the cockpit and returns with a delectable plate of burgers, squash and potatoes from the farm.  We devour all the food.  We agree that some hard liquor is a necessary safety supply to keep on board.   Exhausted, but safe and content, we lie down for a nap.

Understandably freaked out, we nevertheless decide to jump right back on that horse and sail west.  This goes fine and we anchor in the mouth of Goose Creek as the clouds are building to the south.  They look very scary.  I’m in no shape to be handling any blow.  My hand has stopped hurting, but an alarming amount of skin is missing from my index finger, the skin on my neck is sore and my shoulder and knee have serious bruises.

Eric puts out both anchors just in case and we spend another peaceful night.  The weather looks threatening in the morning and we hightail it to North Creek, but no storm materializes.  The clouds wax and wane as we watch nervously.  I’m up for a little bit of sailing, but I feel exhausted and have to take frequent breaks.  It’s very beautiful on the river, the water all sparkly, the sun in out of clouds, just enough wind to move us gently along.  Dolphin fins break the smooth surface of the water in slow arcs.  We watch the lovely green and white tugboat Beaufort Belle slide downriver, something fine about a well-kept working boat.  I remember with fondness my conversation with her captain on our last trip, such a nice man.  Otherwise, it’s very quiet on the river and we like it that way.

We talk about what happened and how we’ll prevent it in future.  We agree that Willadine is great boat and we love her.  I tell Eric over and over that it was so worth it.  I’m really fine and we had a great time.  And boy, that rum really helps.  –giggle-

Visiting

We drive down the long way, through New Bern to visit our new friends in Stonewall, Doug, Wanda, Newell and the lovely Schooner SarahG.  It looks a lot different from the road and I’m confused by the map and think we’ve missed the turn, but eventually we find it (after passing the now-familiar Quik-Shop) and we hit the end of the road.  There is a chain-link fence, rather serious-looking, and a gate, but the gate is open.  I lean into the windshield and look up and there, clear as day, are the three white-topped masts of SarahG.

Doug comes out with a handful of compost and we follow him out to the pile to see how he does it.  Eric and I both use different methods with varying success and we’re always keen to see others.  Along the way we are distracted by the enormous fig tree, nothing like fresh figs off a tree.  Wanda pours cold sweet white wine (that Jennifer brought last time we were there) into small, etched crystal glasses.  It’s very refreshing.

Eric goes down to SarahG to get Newell and he comes up and we ask him about the boat.  We chat about everything from music to the weather and our past lives.  Turns out Doug and I were in Manhattan at the same time.  Wanda goes into the galley-like kitchen and brings out a plate of Ritz crackers, cream cheese and homemade pepper jelly, which is amazing.  We bemoan the rain, which is preventing Wanda from getting her seeds planted.  Eric watches the time and finally suggests we go to catch the ferry.  It seems all too soon.

The line for the ferry contains two trucks when we get there.  Two more come and that’s it.  Thunder rumbles and the sky flashes over and over.  No more rain falls. A rainbow appears over PCS, the phosphate plant.  I think about our new friend, E.T., and how he might be at work there so late on a Saturday night, Angela and the kids waiting at home, watching TV.

When we’re launching the boat, Conway, who is using his tractor because the truck keys are in the van and the van is in the shop, says, “How ya liking your earmuffs?”  And Eric has to think a minute before he realizes he’s talking about the orange kayaks on either side of Willadine.  “We love them.”  Later in our bunk, the wind is twanging the rigging around and I swear it’s playing a tune.

Tail-slapping Dolphin, a Swimming Bear, a very big storm and a very pretty boat

11 July 2012

On the way into Goose Creek we saw quite a few dolphins.  One took a dive and slapped its tail on the water.  Never seen that before.  One came so close we could see the nicks in the dorsal fin.

Halfway down the ICW (link to Intracoastal Waterway) I saw a dark head moving across the water some distance ahead.  Eric grabbed the binoculars and just as the creature lumbered out of the water with a splash he said quietly, “Bear.”

We stopped at R. E. Mayo Seafood Company and bought scallops and took in the store with some awe.  Here we can get fuel, water, ice, miscellaneous hardware, t-shirts, rubber boots, cold sodas, candy bars and anything you could possibly want for fishing.

RE Mayo Seafood Company in Hobucken, NC  Great seafood, fresh as it gets!

To avoid passing a gigantic tug and barge in the narrow ICW canal, we scooted up Jones Bay and down Ditch Creek to the tiny ditch:

Looking down Ditch Creek from Jones Bay:  Notice how funky that sky looks.

I turned around to take Eric's picture just as the severe weather alert tone sounded.  Crap.

Halfway through, the sky began to look eerie and we heard the familiar tones of a weather alert on the VHF.  We slipped through into the aptly named Gale Creek where it almost immediately began to blow a gale.  We anchored in 25-30 kts of wind and before we were through setting the second anchor, it was gusting to 45.  The wind pushed Willadine over so hard I was afraid Eric would fall off the bow while putting out the anchor.

The National Weather Service reported a possible tornado and waterspout up near Englehard and we were a little sick with fear it might come our way, but it moved off to the east instead.  I sat in the cockpit and admired the rain pounding the water and whipping in the wind until I got a chill.  I stripped off my foulies and stuffed them in the rope locker and scrambled inside in my underwear.

Next morning the anchor lines were all twisted, we’d spun several 360-degree turns in the blow, but they came up with only minor difficulty, glad to know we were really dug in!  In a gentle, but favorable wind, we sailed off up the Bay River toward Bayboro.

We didn’t make it quite all the way and anchored in Vandemere Creek, which was quiet and lovely:

An early morning explore turned up this cool shipwreck.

 Next morning we headed out, determined to find Bayboro.  We were almost up to where the “town” supposedly was when we passed a pink house with an incredibly beautiful eighty-foot, three-masted schooner.  As much as is possible in a moving boat, we screeched to halt in the narrow channel to ogle this incredible sight.  We could hardly take our eyes of her.  Most steel boats are clunky, ugly and rusty.  We both agreed that Sarah G is the sexiest steel boat we’d ever seen.  I’m sure you’ll agree:

The lovely Schooner Sarah G

Desperate for ice for our rapidly warming cooler, we pressed on.  Down one finger of water, I spotted a convenience store.  Eric swung around and we landed (nicely, I might add) on a bulkhead next to a private boat ramp.  There was nothing to tie the boat to, so I stood in the yard of this house and held the boat while Eric ran across the road and came back toting two bags of ice (hurrah!) and a cold diet Coke.  Not wanting to overstay our welcome (such as it was) we shoved off and immediately the door of the house opened and two large dogs came pounding out, barking.  Later we learned that the lady of the house had become withdrawn after losing her husband in a tragic motorcycle accident.

The town was nothing but a largely deserted fish house, but on the way back we were magically invited in by the owner of the pink house and wonder of wonders we got to tour the Sarah G and meet her owner, the man who built her.  We spent a rather charmed afternoon with Newell, who built Sarah G (after first building a barn to build her in) and Wanda and Doug, who now own the pink house.  Newell not only built her, but he cut all the trees for the masts (since been replaced with aluminum) and all the interior wood.  She’s easily as beautiful on the inside as she is outside and she sports a washer/dryer and a bathtub.  A truly amazing boat, we can’t believe our good fortune in getting to tour her.

There is more, much more, but I’m determined to keep these posts short.  Well short-like, anyway.  Saturday we entertained three friends on Willadine and had a fantastic time.  Here are a couple of pics from that day:

It was so calm we were able to launch a kayak and Michael took this picture.

Eric grilled the shrimp we'd gotten at RE Mayo the previous day.

Sunday we reluctantly pulled her out after a brilliantly slow sail downriver and back in almost no wind.  We love the calms as much as the storms, it’s all good.   

From the Pamlico River looking out at the Sound.  Judith Bay to left, Mouse Harbor to right.

And we did really well on food, with very little left over.  Can’t wait to get back.  (Seems like that’s how all my boat posts end, eh?)

Here's how we cool off without getting stung by jellyfish.

We Glimpse Pamlico Sound

North Creek to Cedar Island, Judith Island, through Mouse Harbor Ditch and back: Oh big fun!

11 & 12 May 2012

One of the great things about the Pamlico River area is that we can go virtually any direction to make the most of the wind.  From our little marina on North Creek we’ve gone west to Bath, south to South Creek and into the tiny town of Aurora, east to the Pungo River (ICW) and southeast into Goose Creek (ICW).  And the cool thing is that there are so many more places we have yet to see.  We haven’t yet been to Little Washington, Belhaven or, the ultimate destination:  Okracoke.

This weekend, finally, the wind was just right to head out toward Pamlico Sound.  I have wanted to get out there since we brought the boat here in March.  We got a late start, but the wind was perfect and we breezed Oyster Creek and anchored among the crab pots behind Cedar Island, which is not so much an island as a bunch of marsh grass.  We didn’t want much protection from the wind because we wanted the wind to blow the skeeters away.  It worked great and we slept like babies.

 

The sunset was particularly dramatic

The next day we were up at dawn, like two kids on summer vacation, sailing with the wind again up to Judith Island, where Eric had seen a tiny island with a nice beach on the satellite photo.  According to our trusty GPS, we sailed right over that little island, which apparently washed away in Irene and found a lovely little beach on this scrap of land:

On Judith Island

We beached the boat easily this time and Eric held her while I jumped around taking pictures and observing new birds, who were none to pleased to find us invading their nesting grounds.  It was the farthest we’d been out in the sound and we were very pleased with ourselves for being so brave in our itty bitty boat.

Once again the wind carried us right down to Mouse Harbor.  Eric said he couldn’t resist seeing a place with a name like that.  Unfortunately the (really nice) beach was posted so we decided to try navigating the “Ditch.”  It was very shallow, but our girl only draws eighteen inches and she made it through just fine.  In fact, with our motor idling we flew up the ditch going over three knots!  Again, the wind was with us.  I would have preferred to take it more slowly, there was so much to see:

 

 

Mouse Harbor Ditch

Since we had the wind with us again, we decided to keep going and made it all the way back to the dock in North Creek before dusk.  It was a rousing downwind sail with a three-foot chop surfing us along and we were rewarded with a circumzenithal arc on the way:

It was over all too soon.  Can’t wait to get back!

Happiness

Moonrise on the Pungo

5 May 2012
 

We spent a fitful night slapping at our ears and sweating under the sheet.  Killed dozens of skeeters in the cabin, smearing our own blood on the bulkheads while consuming much Benedryl in an effort to subdue the relentless itching.

It was a perfect sail in to the Pungo River, a nice easy reach going a comfortable two knots and then wing-on-wing downwind into Fortescue Creek.  Then the skeeters descended.  Eric put on his bug-proof shirt with hood and face screen and managed to single-handedly get the anchor down while I slaughtered skeeters in the cabin.

We slept and woke several times, turning on the cabin lights to try to kill the whiny little buggers.  At dawn I gave up and got dressed, killed a half dozen more while Eric did the same in the V-berth.

Eric says as long as I’m on the water, I’m happy.  He’s totally right.  Even with the skeeter nightmare, it’s worth it to be on the water.