Post No. Two, Day 41 LVG – A lot has happened in the past 21 days. We’ve sailed south, around Cape Hatteras (the 800 lb pink gorilla in the corner of any East Coast sailor’s mind), around Cape Lookout, around Cape Fear, and are now sitting at anchor in the Matanzas River off St. Augustine, Florida. More importantly, we have become sailors. With close to 600 offshore nautical miles under our belts, the idea of setting out to sea, into the big blue ocean, doesn’t seem as daunting as it did a mere three weeks ago, a lifetime ago really…
Our respect for the ocean has increased: we have realized we are much smaller than the smallest wave; and our respect for the weather has increased: the wind is certainly a fickle mistress. The idea of waiting for the weather to cooperate before you travel to a new destination is so contrary to our normal, previous, land-based mindset. Even being from Colorado, where a good snow storm is not uncommon, I would never have blinked at venturing out unless the roads were physically closed to traffic. I might have driven slower, to be sure, but the idea of letting the weather dictate my itinerary was laughable. Now though, our lives seem to dangle on a meteorological pendulum: from the big picture “when will we make our next passage”, to the more immediate “what should we do today”, to the constant pitch and roll of the boat at anchor, ever at the mercy of the wind and waves.
Rounding Hatteras, was thankfully, a non-event. We waited patiently in Hampton for the right weather window, and set sail at about 10am on a Wednesday. It was a trifecta of firsts: our first offshore passage, our first overnight passage, and our first time rounding Hatteras, aptly named the Graveyard of the Atlantic- with over 600 shipwrecks in the vicinity of the ever shifting Diamond Shoals, which jut out seaward 20ish miles from the cape. To be sure, most of these wrecks happened before the modern age of satellite weather and navigation, but still, heading off into the jaws of such an infamous stretch of sea still took all the pluck I’ll ever likely muster. As it was, we rounded the legendary headland in fairly calm seas, at eight o’clock on a clear sunny Thursday morning. It’s easy passages like this, however, that can lead to a loss of respect for this dangerous route- one account I found during my pre-departure planning stated that he had rounded Hatteras dozens of times, 9 out of 10 being mild, easy affairs, but on one unlucky voyage, he started off complacent of the weather and with a schedule to keep, and subsequently “found God” on the pitching decks of his 42 foot sailboat… he survived to tell his tale, but many, many more have not… In any case, we did survive, and likely won’t be back for quite some time. Even though we had it easy, I intend to leave Hatteras right where it should be: in hazy memories of our success and in bad dreams of its notoriety, never to be given another chance to become part of our reality. For the land lubber who is likely reading this, there is an alternate route south from the Chesapeake- heading down the Inter Coastal Waterway (ICW), which is a system of rivers and canals that runs inland, parallel to the coast, and offers a protected path south without having to venture out into the ocean, thus letting most boaters skip the stress of rounding Hatteras. The only caveat is that the ICW is crisscrossed by bridges, most of which have a fixed height of 65 feet. Our mast is 68 feet. Damn. Which is what necessitated our “going outside”, as they say. But, in the end, I am positive it has been for the best, and made us better sailors to boot.
After Hatteras, we landed in Beaufort, NC- pronounced B-oh-fort, rather than its twin in SC which likes to be called B-you-fert- and anchored out in the river in front of the town for almost a week. So much of our new existence turns out to be waiting for bad weather to blow by, and in this instance, we patiently sat on the hook, with extra chain laid out, as the remnants of tropical storm Ernesto made a fuss for a day and a night over our cozy floating home. The town was charming, and we enjoyed the double decker bus history tour, the free maritime museum, and hiking the trails around the Rachel Carson ecological reserve, complete with wild horses, on the island opposite our anchorage.
The most monumental event of our time in Beaufort had to be the repair of our dinghy motor. It had been giving me trouble ever since we started out a month earlier, firing up rarely, and if it ever did start to run, would inevitably leave us stranded at our destination, hoping for a tow back to the boat, or more often than not, me rowing back. It was a HUGE pain in the ass, to say the least. The situation was such that we wouldn’t even venture off the boat if the wind was blowing any appreciable amount, for fear of not being able to make it back under oar power- which lead to some very long days stuck aboard with a restless crew in site of land- the makings of a mutiny. For many reasons I was under the impression the problem had to do with the outboard’s fuel system, and though I’m no dummy “under the hood”, none of my efforts or countless hours of googling could permanently fix the problem. It got so bad that we were on the verge of throwing the damn thing overboard and buying a new one. Things were exasperated by the fact that no mechanic from Annapolis to Hampton would even consider looking at the motor, typically saying that they had a three or four week waitlist to get into their shop. In Beaufort, the boat yard told me 8 to 10 weeks wait time! But after some heartfelt pleading and an offer to pay “emergency service” rates, they reluctantly scheduled us for a 9am appointment the next day. Of course, that morning the damn thing fired right up and ran without a hiccup. Well, we left it with Bob the mechanic anyways, and after a few hours of diagnostics he couldn’t find anything wrong with the motor. On his third time taking it for a spin around the harbor however, it died on him too, leaving him to row back to his dock- thank goodness! He couldn’t replicate the occurrence though, and his only idea of what could be wrong was a faulty, or even just loose, kill switch wiring harness (used to turn off the motor in normal operation). Thank the heavens above and all the gods of the sea and wind for Bob! Since his grubby, calloused, magical little fingers jiggled that kill switch wiring harness, the motor hasn’t missed a beat since- miraculously transformed from ol’ Unreliable to our Magic Carpet, taking us whenever and wherever we may wish, giving us our freedom back, and quite literally saving this whole silly endeavor. Thank. You. Bob.
We jumped offshore again, this time past Cape Fear to Charleston, SC. Anchoring out in the river across from the city marina was the obvious option, considering no marina in town had any slips available (we are apparently traveling in the midst of all ten thousand other boats heading south for the season). We’d explored this belle of the South briefly on our road trip from Florida to Maryland last year, and were eager to see more of it. The weekly farmers market in the town square was memorable for an old pirate with some ragged parrots who befriended the boys and had them, the parrots that is, sitting on their shoulders like true pirates themselves. The riverside Pineapple Fountain that the kids can swim in was, as last time, a big hit, and our excursion to the local laundromat was notable for the $2 PBRs they offered, which changes doing laundry from a chore to a delight, at least from my point of view. The highlight of our time in Charleston had to be the Friday night Halloween party at the local minor league baseball stadium- where the boys got to trick or treat at a bunch of booths, do crafts and play in a free bouncy castle, and then watch a cartoon, Monsters University, on the stadium’s big screen scoreboard. The night was made better by the fact that a fellow cruising boat with kids aboard joined us at the party- our first run-in of this kind. Renee, his wife and two small girls on SV Ludicrous, from Montreal, were a delight to meet and hang out with- even as his girls only spoke French, all five kids got along famously. It was a real glimpse at things to come when we reach the islands, and are anchored out near dozens of other kid boats.
Leaving Charleston, we headed offshore again, this time an overnight passage to St. Augustine, Florida, where we sit at anchor currently. Our first day in town was punctuated by a visit from my sister Rachel, and her husband Les and daughter Raven, who live just up the road in Jacksonville. We certainly don’t get together often enough so it was a great time catching up and walking the old town and having some tasty pizza to cap things off. Now that we are in Florida, the idea of going to the beach has been a huge motivation for the crew, and so we have made a couple forays in the dinghy to find soft warm sand. Our first day here we found a calm protected beach on the west side of Anastasia State Park, and today we visited the windswept shores of Vilano Beach, just north of St. Augustine. We’ll likely be here for another few days, and then push further south towards Miami, and our true jumping off point for the islands.
Again, sorry for the lack of photos, but I’m working on them…