The following journal was written throughout the trip. In an effort to preserve authenticity and what seemed important at the time, no information was added after the fact. The photos and videos were taken during the trip also. This is the first blog I've created, so comments, questions, and critiques are welcome.
5/13 – Sunday - Around 6AM, we (Steve, “Boompa”, Mama,
Fasha, and I) pile into the truck with outboard, gear, and clothes in the bed
to pick up the rental car. The rental
car, a half-assed Jeep Compass, or something, with a weed-eater motor is driven
from SAV airport up I-95 to the Waffle House on exit 109. Breakfast consumed. Wagon loaded; it barely fit. Steve, Boompa, and I drive north. A little after midnight, we park at Lincoln
Harbor Marina in Weehawken, NJ. Steve
and I go to Walmart and look like preppers with two grocery carts full of food
and 30 gallons of water.
5/14 – Monday - Wake up @ 10:30AM. We decided to get some rest and keep the car
another day. Steve is hoisted up the mast to retrieve the main halyard, which I failed to tie down while washing the sails before winter storage last summer. NOTE: If you ever hoist someone up the mast, PAY ATTENTION TO THE WINCH! You only need 1 or 2 wraps of halyard to provide enough friction to keep him up there. I just stared straight up at him and didn't realize I was putting a massive bird's nest in on the winch. About 35' above the water, with pretty significant waves from NY ferries, Steve clutches onto the mast to remove his weight, while I fix my F-up. The job is done and Steve is pissed. Not a great start, but better than my neighbor (below).
Steve cleaned the boat and
Boompa and I went to West Marine at 5th Ave and 37th St
for sail repair materials. Danny Zettle
and his wife Corey met Steve to see the boat before dinner at Harley’s.
Let me
take a moment to explain the best bar I’ve seen in 23 countries and more U.S.
cities. Located in Hackensack, NJ
(remember Billy Joel’s “Movin’ Out”), next to the only river in the U.S. to
ever spontaneously catch on fire.
Harley’s is an Irish pub with a grass colored ceiling and shingles on
the walls. One open room (roughly 45’ x
35’) with a rectangular bar in the center (I’d guess 22’ x 13’). The food is outrageously good in quality and
volume for the price. They have my
favorite salad and the biggest and best pork chops I’ve ever had, by far. You can get both with a side of steamed
veggies and a big plate of fries for a whopping $15. A dart board off to the side, good music,
some TVs and local Jersey bar flies for entertainment, and Irish decorations
set the scene. But the star of the show
is the barkeep (also the best of the best).
Mick McWhiggin is the most Irish person you can imagine. Chipped-tooth smirk, short dark-red hair, and
laser eyes that show he knows more than he’d ever tell. Mick pours the best Guinness I’ve had so far
and he says he’s done alright in Guinness pour competitions back in
Dublin. You would think he’s straight
off the boat from his thick authentic accent, but he stopped working as a
commercial fisherman 28 years ago when he moved to the U.S. and started working
at Harley’s.
Danny
doesn’t tell Mick that I’m coming and instead tortures him with a guessing game
of the mystery guest. Mick says I am the
last person he would have guessed. He
told me “I’ll see you when I see you” the last time I saw him, but he was
surprised it was only 9 months later.
Dinner is a riot and Steve realizes my tall-tales about New York
and New Jersey have at least some merit.
At 9PM, after way too much Guinness and Mick Specials (I think it’s
Baileys with Jameson on top), Steve and I try to help Boompa navigate to some
Walmart, somewhere in New Jersey to find batteries. We keep missing the turn off and go through
the same jug-handle intersection enough times that Boompa notices there are
Wendy’s everywhere in Jersey. Alas,
Walmart is found, conquered, and we go back to the marina.
5/15 – Tuesday - I leave the boat at 7AM to bring back the rental
car, which is due at EWR (15 miles away) at 8:36AM. At 8:08AM, I stop at McDonald’s in Newark to
ask for directions to the Airport. The
car is returned at around 8:18AM and I take public transit back. I then go say bye to New York with some 2
Bros pizza, a coke, and a cigarette. The
last thing I see before walking back into Port Authority Bus Terminal is a big
sign advertising for The Golden Nugget in Atlantic City. Something about the advertisement grabs my
attention.
The
boat is prepped like a prepper would have it and we finally take time to relax,
have a burger and Guinness/cider (try it before you judge), and watch the
Manhattan windows catch on fire, like the intro to Ninja Turtles II, with the
setting sun.
After
dinner we depart from my slip and honk
the fog horn as requested by our waiter. He walks
over and waves us goodbye. The batteries
on my boat are no good and our lights dim out.
Not good for an evening ride through one of the busiest ports on
Earth. We head back to the marina and I
am back at Walmart in the middle of the night for the 3rd time, this
time via taxi.
5/16 – Wednesday - More sleepJ The boat is really ready this time. Well sort of.
After breakfast, we take off down the Hudson and I continue straightening
up the cabin, you know, because I’m anal-retentive like that. And also because in a sh!t-storm, you want
things a certain way.
As we swing around
the lower tip of Manhattan and wave to Lady Liberty, we head west through the
Narrows and I start sewing the UV cover on the Genoa (foresail). Freedom Tower is coming along. It's the tall one on the left, shown below.
First attempt at sewing. It takes a lot of force (finesse, I find out later) to get through the dacron and UV material.
Starting to figure it out.
A couple hours later, the sail is in pretty
good shape and we are in the ocean. We
take shifts, cook food, and sail through the night out in big blue. Steve gets sea sick.
5/17 – Thursday – This is a long day. I wake up around 8:30AM and take the
tiller.
The waves are big and Steve is
still sea sick. Boompa and I sail
through the growing waves (4-6 foot waves feel like 8-10). Boompa goes down below to take a nap around
11AM. Boompa gets sick and he and Steve
share the bucket. The waves immediately
start growing (6-8ft) and I ask Steve, who hasn’t slept in 2 days if he can
help me on deck. The waves have a short
period due to bad wind position and sailing back toward shore will put us in an
orientation that will allow waves to easily come over the back of the
boat. We are about 25 miles off shore at
this point.
We “heave to” (google it)
and stay in this position for about 3 hours trying to make radio contact. A clam fisherman forwards info for us to
SEATOW, who says they won’t come out. We
find out later there is a clause in their agreement (Boompa and I are members)
for bad weather, so they don’t have to help us.
The Coast Guard hears our situation and asks if we need assistance. I am reluctant, but our senior passenger
cannot keep his daily meds down and weather is not forecasted to improve for
24-36hrs.
We try
heading toward the Coast Guard to save time.
The motor is more helpful than the sails for the direction we are heading and we do a lot of surfing. Surprisingly, very little water gets in the
boat. It was actually a beautiful day
aside from the choppy waves beating the hell out of us. We follow the Coast Guard for about 2 hours
until the motor gets swamped by the following seas and dies. We continue sailing and surfing for another 3
hours. Boompa is getting very dehydrated
and needs to get on land. A tow-strap is
hooked onto the forestay connection and we are dragged behind the super-boat
(40ft CG Cutter) for another 5 miles like an inner-tube before the line
snaps. Steve and I wait for the mast to
land on us. Luckily the carabineer
failed and now our only concern is the jetty rocks 50 feet away that the waves
are pushing us toward. The super-boat
does a James Bond move and slips between us and the rocks. The two of us drift toward the rocks as they
tie us to their starboard side. They are
very competent and we start moving in about 20 seconds. A few minutes later we are in the CG harbor
docking. It is 1:30AM and the only place
to stay is the Golden Nugget in Atlantic City next door. I eat a filet mignon, drink a beer, and pass
out on the hotel floor.
5/18 through 5/22. The room only cost $99, so we ask to book
again. The cost for another night is
$512. We go to a marina across the water
instead.
After draining the water out of the carburetors bowl, the motor runs like a champ. We have to get back on the ocean for another 30 miles before we can duck into the Deleware Bay. Our route changes from an open ocean voyage to the intra-coastal waterway. There is a small-craft advisory for the next 4 days and we sleep on the boat, eat at the local restaurants, and meet two cool sailors heading the opposite direction. Both pretty much retired, Farol is a badass photographer (showed me some sweet resources for photo editing), and Larry teaches college journalism classes. He and Steve play guitar and he introduces Steve to Tom Rush. They are hilarious characters, inspire us, and give us great advice. For example: when you go on a first date, take her to McDonald's. If she agrees to go on a second date, take her to McDonald's again. If she agrees to go on a third date, take her somewhere nice. Priceless information.
After draining the water out of the carburetors bowl, the motor runs like a champ. We have to get back on the ocean for another 30 miles before we can duck into the Deleware Bay. Our route changes from an open ocean voyage to the intra-coastal waterway. There is a small-craft advisory for the next 4 days and we sleep on the boat, eat at the local restaurants, and meet two cool sailors heading the opposite direction. Both pretty much retired, Farol is a badass photographer (showed me some sweet resources for photo editing), and Larry teaches college journalism classes. He and Steve play guitar and he introduces Steve to Tom Rush. They are hilarious characters, inspire us, and give us great advice. For example: when you go on a first date, take her to McDonald's. If she agrees to go on a second date, take her to McDonald's again. If she agrees to go on a third date, take her somewhere nice. Priceless information.
Kammerman’s Marina is awesome and
has very cool people. Ed is about as
salty as it gets and advises on waiting for good weather. We check out the Boardwalk, eat world
renowned cheese steaks at the White House Sub Shop, and look across the water
at the Golden Nugget. It haunts me,
because that was the last thing I saw advertised before leaving NYC. Steve and I go back to the Golden Nugget to
find whatever it is that it wants to give me.
I see the folly in their bar of gold give-away and decide to play some
blackjack instead. I come out two-fifty ahead. $2.50. I watch the other gamblers and realize that
no jackpot is as good as good health. I
decide to start taking better care of my body immediately.
5/23 – Wednesday – 6:00AM.
The fog is so thick that we can’t see boats passing our marina. We hit the water around 10AM and can see over
a mile in each direction. Once we get
into the open ocean, the fog consumes us and we see only a couple hundred
yards. It is in and out through the
afternoon and we don’t have any close encounters. We arrive at Utch’s Marina in Cape May before
dark.
5/24 – Thursday – Head up the Delaware Bay with warnings of
heavy traffic. We see 30 boats in as
many miles. At night, towers in the
horizon look like buoys right in front of us.
One of the channel markers I pass turns out to be a giant ship. Steve takes the tiller around midnight as we
go into the C&D Canal. It looks like
you are driving down a two-lane with street lamps every 500ft and I go to
sleep.
5/25 – Friday – 6:30AM Steve wakes us up to help figure out
a shallow approach to the docks. No
offices so we head down the Chesapeake a few more miles. The sun is beaming. Lunch and cold beer are consumed. We gas up and head to Annapolis. The I-97 Bridge is something to behold.
Steve makes fun of me for my bridge fetish. I have a makeshift “bimini” and the tiller is tied. I play guitar, Steve plays ukulele, and we make up songs about bridges, tuna pizza, and “piss on yo’ jet ski”.
We arrive at the sailing capitol of the U.S. It’s like driving in New York, except on the water and the cars are million dollar yachts. The motor dies at the same moment we tie off in a slip that obviously belongs to someone else. The marina is already closed, so we try to figure out why the motor died. The motor won’t crank and gas is spewing out of the back. We call T-Pool. This is more than enough information for him to know what’s happening inside of the outboard. He tells us to tap on a certain spot on the motor with a screwdriver while cranking the motor. The leaking gas stops, the motor fires up, and we don’t have another problem. Thanks Pool. We go to a marina across the water because there are many open slips. The marina attendant puts diesel in our gas tank and tells us they have no empty slips. Boompa talks to him in his office and he gives us a slip.
Steve makes fun of me for my bridge fetish. I have a makeshift “bimini” and the tiller is tied. I play guitar, Steve plays ukulele, and we make up songs about bridges, tuna pizza, and “piss on yo’ jet ski”.
We arrive at the sailing capitol of the U.S. It’s like driving in New York, except on the water and the cars are million dollar yachts. The motor dies at the same moment we tie off in a slip that obviously belongs to someone else. The marina is already closed, so we try to figure out why the motor died. The motor won’t crank and gas is spewing out of the back. We call T-Pool. This is more than enough information for him to know what’s happening inside of the outboard. He tells us to tap on a certain spot on the motor with a screwdriver while cranking the motor. The leaking gas stops, the motor fires up, and we don’t have another problem. Thanks Pool. We go to a marina across the water because there are many open slips. The marina attendant puts diesel in our gas tank and tells us they have no empty slips. Boompa talks to him in his office and he gives us a slip.
5-26 – Saturday – We ask the marina attendant if he knows
any marinas closer to downtown Annapolis.
He says, “You can take your dinghy across the water if you have
one.” He sees the gas can in my hand and
says, “Of course you have one.” We move
to a different marina (Annapolis City Marina) walking distance from the Naval
Academy.
The museum is a crucial investment
of our time with info about wars and boats.
Prisoners of war were allowed to build ships out of any available
material in the jail cells. Beautiful
ship models are carved out of beef bones using glass shards and rocks. Some of the models were made by teams of
prisoners, taking more than two years to complete. We also see a relative of ours (Adm. Andrew
H. Foote) who served in the Civil War. I
call my friend, Eric Zawacki, to give him an update on our trip and see how
Jersey is treating him. He says he is in
Annapolis for the night and invites us to eat dinner at his daughter and
son-in-law’s house. Good food, good
people, good times.
5-27 – Sunday – Boompa reserves a rental car (he has an eye
appointment in TN and doesn’t want to get stuck somewhere on the water and miss
it) for Tuesday. We stay at ACM for
another two nights. We decide 50% of
people in Maryland are douche bags. Our
waitress is nice. Our bartender is a
prick. A gas station owner is really
cool. The gas station attendant is a
dick. The bank teller starts out nice,
but grows tired of us and stops being friendly.
They act like New Yorkers, but there is no hurry. In Maryland’s defense, we only stayed in
marinas on the Chesapeake. Strange
culture though.
5-28 – Monday – Last full day in Annapolis. We find Boat Yard Bar and Grille. Cool place and the people aren’t stuck up.
5-29 – Tuesday – Early breakfast at Boat Yard. I have a breakfast pizza with 6 eggs with
bacon on a wheat crust. Boompa’s rental
car is late and the Hertz guy is a dick.
Big surprise. Steve and I walk
for a few miles and find a tiller handle at a marine store. We then walk around the shady parts of Annapolis
with a tiller handle each. The people
are nice on this side of town. We attach
the beautiful new wooden handle and head south.
The seas are rough and we only make it 10 miles before anchoring about
30 minutes before night. There is a
storm closing in fast. The anchor is set
minutes before the wind starts howling.
We button up the cabin and eat a delicious chicken and dumpling canned
dinner. Steve pulled up the table. Classy.
The storm gets a little hairy, but is over in an hour.
5-30 – Wednesday – Hot sun, no wind. It feels like we will never leave
Maryland. We stop before a draw bridge and Steve and I get into a small
argument about hitting the dock. We are
really sick of MD. There is a sign that
says they charge 3x the normal rate for docking on the fuel dock. We skidaddle and go under the raised draw
bridge. We make it another few miles and
anchor for the night in front of more super mansions. Tomorrow we want to GTFO of MD.
5-31 – Thursday – A day for the
books. 7:15am, we take off. Best case scenario, we somehow sail 44 miles
as the crow flies (more like 54, zig-zagging) before dark to make the Maryland
border. If we averaged 5 knots, it would
take us about 11 hours. We are on a
broad reach most of the morning and really learn how to “steer the waves”
a.k.a. surf. The theoretical hull speed
for my boat is about 6.3 knots. While
running from the wind and surfing waves we hit 7.8 knots. Later, we hit 8.2 knots. That is wicked fast for a Catalina 27. We roll into a marina south of the VA border
around 8:30PM. We sailed 80 miles. Our course looks like it was planned on a
computer. Perfect day and cheeseburgers
and beer for dinner. Fairport is the
name of the town. If you ever get a
chance to stay at the marina, do it. Smells
like shrimp, but cool people and a cool place.
$20/night for the slip and we are looking for work in the morning.
6-1 – Friday – We wake up early to
look for work. The boat yard recommends
talking to the owner of our marina, a one-legged man with a Virginia accent
that sounds Cajun. Roy says there is no
work today, but can’t get his boat lift engine to start. He offers us the job of fixing it. We bypass a faulty power check (as had
already been done on the lift engine next to it) and it runs fine. Roy gives us $40, which pays for our
slip. We meet one of Roy’s employees,
Ryan, who trades us a case of beer for a microwave we are getting rid of. We go to Ryan’s friend’s house to drink beer
and see how they do it in VA.
Ryan’s
friend Tony was put in our path for a reason.
Tony built a kayak a while back and paddled it from the
Virginia/Maryland border to Charleston.
He was heading to the Florida keys until a bolt of lightning landed so
close to his kayak that it blew out his ear drum. He thought this was a bad sign and headed
back. He financed his journey with work
he found down the coast and had a lot of good advice. He also had a lot of equipment. In exchange for a keyboard that we no longer
needed, Tony hooked us up with ridiculously useful tools, gadgets, books, and
insisted that we take some dry-food. We
got all kinds of goodies for our boat projects, comfort, and making money down
the coast. Tony and Ryan are cool
people.
Tony
has a cool retro silver trailer next to a beautiful wheat field. We hung out getting drunk and playing music
while a crazy storm came through the area.
A yacht club nearby was wrecked by a couple of tornados. Good time to be away from the boat. Tony grilled chicken and smoked sausage. Mmmmmmmm.
6-2 – Saturday – I wake up around
3AM and can’t get back to sleep. I get
out of the boat around 5AM to do some Kung Fu.
It is awesome and I watch the sun come up, balancing on top of a piling
on the dock. I sing in the shower and
realize me and Steve can also play music.
We wait for Ryan to get off work, but he must have been exhausted (he
goes to work at 3:15AM) and we don’t see him.
We leave him a really nice inflatable boat for his use or sale and take
off for Deltaville.
No wind during the day makes for a tireless trip. Steve and I get into an argument along the way, work it out, and arrive at Deltaville around 9:00PM. The marina we park at is already closed and we look for someone that works there. No luck. We walk to a bar called CoCoMo’s and then walk around following music. We finally find the music on the other side of a river. No way to get across. We go to sleep and leave before the sun comes up.
6-3 – Sunday – Long day. Slow sailing and then the wind died. Hot sun, so Steve makes a bimini out of his
marine pancho liner. Ballin. We are comfortable and don’t mind taking 15
hours to get to Norfolk. The Navy ships
are cool. There are at least 30 aircraft
carriers in a row. Next to them is the
Port of Virginia and there are two huge ships with an estimated 2800
containers. A container, like the ones
on the back of a semi, full of blue jeans is worth about $1M. There is a lot of money on these two
boats. Forklifts look like cartoons and
the guy playing the claw game is a rock star.
We
arrive at the marina in Norfolk. Pretty
sweet place. Much more space as compared
to Maryland (think of Times Square on the water) and everything is clean. The part of the city we stayed in was as clean
as a city in Germany. Steve and I walk
to WacArnold’s on a less clean side of town.
It’s great not eating boat cooked canned meals, although the gimble
stove (swings as the boat rocks) I crafted out of some wire mesh and a copper
tube makes cooking possible even in high seas.
The boat next to us just came from the Chesapeake. They are our age, on our size boat, starting from the same location, ending about 80 miles apart. We find out in the next few days we have stuff in common, too. They ask if we want to start a two-boat convoy to cross a section of the Atlantic. We are down.
The boat next to us just came from the Chesapeake. They are our age, on our size boat, starting from the same location, ending about 80 miles apart. We find out in the next few days we have stuff in common, too. They ask if we want to start a two-boat convoy to cross a section of the Atlantic. We are down.
6-4 – Monday – Andy is
in the Coast Guard and has been dreaming about living life at sea since he was
a kid (not unlike Steve). He even has a
Hawaiian sling. He found a sailboat in
New Jersey and tried sailing it down twice.
He was alone both times and got rocked by the seas off the coast of
NJ. This time he got a crew that he was
able to keep until Annapolis. He called
everyone he knew to help him complete the trip and found his old roommate,
Chris, was able. Chris is funny as hell,
a very educated and intelligent young man living in Chicago with a bunch of
standup comedians. They crack us up and
we find out we watch all of the same tv shows, adult cartoons, and Chris is one of the
only people I’ve met travelling that knows about Zevon.
We
leave after coffee and head into the Dismal Swamp. It’s beautiful and narrow, a nice change from
the wide open bays and ocean. It looks
like the Okeefenokee Swamp and I even see a deer swimming in the water. There are some floating logs and their ’68
Bristol is in front because of a shallower draft, so we have warning when
obstructions are found. We pass some
cool boats and arrive at our first lock.
The lock tender is a really cool old dude that hails us on his conch
shell. Apparently an old tradition is to
bring tropical seashells when you travel back north. This guy has a ton of them and can play them
like a jazz trumpet. We are impressed
and its really cool being in a water elevator.
We travel under his drawbridge and go 20 miles further to the next
lock. This guy sucks. His first remark is asking us where our
American flag is. With a former Marine
and current Coast Guard riding with us, we wonder why the Army Corps of Engineers
employee is so pissed. He has no conch
shells.
When
we pull up to Elizabeth City, there is a 4-piece jazz band playing on the
dock. We pull up and (mainly because I didn't grab the dock) smack the bow-sprit
of our boat right into the ¼” thick steel sheer wall. Elizabeth City feels like a much smaller
version of downtown Savannah without the oak trees. We walk down a highway riddled with fast food
and stop at Mamasita’s Mexican Grille.
The menu had great Spanglish, which I don’t think the locals knew was a
joke. Two
pitchers, lots of laughter, and a delicious meal later, we leave to find some
more beer. There are really, really tiny
beer cans at a gas station, so we grab a 12 pack. Back at the boat, we drink and laugh some
more and wait for the occupied port-a-potty.
Two hours later we check on the plastic shit house and realize that
someone LIVES there! We say that we feel
bad through our uncontrollable laughter.
That is pretty rough.
6-5 – Tuesday – Heading for the other side of the Albermarle Sound. Team Bristol ran aground and surprisingly continued to sail opposite of the bouys. We had great sailing and went through a swing bridge under sail. Very sketchy with only about 40’ of clearance. The bridge tender is terrified and impressed and the boats are nearly overlapping. We anchor at the end of the Alligator River in front of the Pungo Canal. The boats are hooked up in the dark and we anchor together.
6-5 – Tuesday – Heading for the other side of the Albermarle Sound. Team Bristol ran aground and surprisingly continued to sail opposite of the bouys. We had great sailing and went through a swing bridge under sail. Very sketchy with only about 40’ of clearance. The bridge tender is terrified and impressed and the boats are nearly overlapping. We anchor at the end of the Alligator River in front of the Pungo Canal. The boats are hooked up in the dark and we anchor together.
6-6 – Wednesday – We wake up
surrounded by crab pots after having nightmares about crab pots. We have amazing coffee brewed through the
percolator and head through the canal. A
log gets stuck in our prop, but no real damage.
Got gas before Belhaven and started worrying about the motor and really
hot water coming through the pisser.
Folks there are really nice and after a cold drink decide the motor is
ok. Started heading down the Pungo River
and crossed Pamlico River and enter Gale Creek into the Pamlico Sound. It’s rough out there, but the gimble stove
makes cooking dinner easy. We finally
arrive in Oriental around midnight. The
city dock was full, our friend’s almost landed on top of jetty rocks, and we
went under a 43’ bridge. We thought the
mast was 41’, and now we know it’s no taller than 42’. We anchored next to a pink boat which got us
all excited.
6-7 – Thursday – We go to the city
dock and double-park. There is a webcam
at www.towndock.net/harborcam. The people in Oriental are extremely nice and
give us tons of advice on fixing the holes drilled for the motor mount. The last owner must not have realized that
there is a slight gap between the transom and interior wall, which when filled
with water, drops straight into the old inboard motor housing.
Steve is already up the mast of a really cool old guy's 20’ Flicka sailboat and I go across the street for ice cream. I have to get the mainsail repaired today. To get my genoa UV cover stitched in NY, it cost about $300. With less than $80, we are a little nervous. The guy from the marine store gives us ideas for the transom hole and gives me a ride to a sailmaker across town. The sailmaker is a true pro and 10 minutes and $20 later is giving me a ride back to the boat. He and his wife sailed down to Florida in ’78 with $20 and lived on the boat for 6 years. When they came back home, they had $40. Cool guy, wizard with sails, gave me some good advice: 3 things that ruin sails are UV, chafing, and flapping. He said when he sees a boat flapping its sails, he can see $20’s flying out the back.
Steve is already up the mast of a really cool old guy's 20’ Flicka sailboat and I go across the street for ice cream. I have to get the mainsail repaired today. To get my genoa UV cover stitched in NY, it cost about $300. With less than $80, we are a little nervous. The guy from the marine store gives us ideas for the transom hole and gives me a ride to a sailmaker across town. The sailmaker is a true pro and 10 minutes and $20 later is giving me a ride back to the boat. He and his wife sailed down to Florida in ’78 with $20 and lived on the boat for 6 years. When they came back home, they had $40. Cool guy, wizard with sails, gave me some good advice: 3 things that ruin sails are UV, chafing, and flapping. He said when he sees a boat flapping its sails, he can see $20’s flying out the back.
We patch the boat
with a ton of 5200 and try to follow all of the old people’s conflicting
advice. After 7 hours of following their
advice it is clear they will never stop.
I tell them we are putting the motor back on and will not fix things
that are not yet broken. We have a
shower. I feel like a grown man who was
just born. Since we expected to spend
more on the sail and are planning on sailing for a long time, we have a good
dinner at the marina restaurant. The
burgers live up to their reputation.
Amazing. Too many fries to eat,
but we eat every last one. We sleep from
11PM til 2AM to start off into the night.
6-8 – Friday – The moon gives enough
light to leave Oriental. The weather is
looking bad, so the plan is to stop in Beaufort and wait for good weather. We pull over in the Beaufort inlet and Steve
shimmies half way up the mast to screw in a loose spreader light. The boats are going slow enough to make this
possible and we are back on our way. I
am going to back Steve on his decision of whether or not to move forward. I am anticipating his response to be
something along the lines of “We have to wait for the weather” which is fine
with me. I ask him 3 times how he feels
about it and he says he feels good about it.
I find out later that he was just saying this because he didn’t want to
be a drag. Not good. He knows how bad the weather is going to be
for us. Andy’s boat is going faster than
ours and the only reason for us to stay together is safety, which was the reason
for the last 4 days of travelling together.
It is decided that the weather is not threatening and we part ways. We stay closer to the shore and they go out
into big blue.
Because the wind
is directly in our face, we tack back and forth and the original 12 hour leg
turns into a 25 hour leg. (Note to
reader: wait for the fucking weather.)
Around nightfall, I go into the cabin to get some rest and it sounds
like I’m in a horror movie. The walls of
the boat are twisting and creaking. The
boat is listing because we are beating into the wind so I have to sleep on the
little couch in the cabin. I am leaning
up against the wall/hull and feel every wave on my back. The keel and bottom of the boat are slamming
on waves every 4 seconds and it sounds like a tremor off the Kevin Bacon 90’s
action/horror movie. The water is
rushing past the boat walls as if I were hugging a giant water pipe. There is a charcoal hibachi grill under the
bench that keeps jumping up and hitting the bottom of my bed. I walk up to the cockpit and tell Steve,
“Dude, it is terrifying in here.
Seriously.” Then I try to go back
and get some sleep. The last thing I
read was a rigging book. It is so dry
and matter-of-fact that it echoes in my head: Failure to maintain adequate
shroud pressure can lead to dismasting.
That is some scary, factual shit!
On the cusp of sleeping and day-dreaming I think about the rigging.
I wake up. “Mike!” Steve calls my name. It’s dark and Steve is wearing rain
gear. He tells me to come out there quick
and furl up the genny. I put pants and a
jacket on and pull it in as fast as I can.
Steve’s voice tells me there is more wrong than strong wind. About 3 minutes later when we are situated, I
look at him. “Lay it on me, what’s
up?” He shines the light on the forward
port lower-shroud. The braided
stainless-steel wire looks like a hula skirt.
“What do you want
to do?” he asks me. “Drop the main. We gotta motor in.” “Okay.”
We drop it about 20 seconds later and start looking for an inlet. Steve remembers Ryan from Fairport saying, "If you ever lose a shroud, use a Halyard to limp back to harbor."
There are no marked bouys on the next two inlets and New Topsail Inlet looks sketchy. The ICW book tells us it is shallow, so we try to call the Coast Guard for more info. The guy is half asleep and tells us there are no lit bouys. “Can we get in at night?” we ask him. “You can try.” Thanks dude. It is 7 miles away aka 1:30 away. The next inlet is 16 miles away and it’s about midnight. We call back the Coast Guard. Same dick waffle answers the phone and says, “I can’t tell you turn right and then turn left. You can call a salvage company to guide you and that will cost money.” What a dick bag. I decide we will go for another 2 or 3 hours and make for the Masonboro Inlet.
There are no marked bouys on the next two inlets and New Topsail Inlet looks sketchy. The ICW book tells us it is shallow, so we try to call the Coast Guard for more info. The guy is half asleep and tells us there are no lit bouys. “Can we get in at night?” we ask him. “You can try.” Thanks dude. It is 7 miles away aka 1:30 away. The next inlet is 16 miles away and it’s about midnight. We call back the Coast Guard. Same dick waffle answers the phone and says, “I can’t tell you turn right and then turn left. You can call a salvage company to guide you and that will cost money.” What a dick bag. I decide we will go for another 2 or 3 hours and make for the Masonboro Inlet.
Lucy (our outboard
motor) makes it through the waves and the night and delivers us to the
river. We motor up while shining the
pilings and channel markers with a small LED flash light. The GPS shows us in 8ft of water and we hit
ground. Fast reverse, and we determine
the shoal has moved. We wiggle into a
small bay and drop anchor just before the sun peeks over the horizon.
6-9 – Saturday – We wake up on a
little sand bar, but the wake from passing boats rocks us and we are able to
float back into the river and motor down to Joyner’s Marina. Nice people, not too small, not too big. The miniature rock jetties seem strange for a
marina with only 4 T-docks. As we
approach the marina, which is just across from a bridge covered river, there is
a definite color change from aqua-green to dark brown. There is a crisp diagonal line starting at
the mouth of the river and coming all the way across to the entrance of the
marina that makes it look like a thick cloud is always hovering on the south
side of the river.
We
try to track down a shroud and are directed to the local sailing guru, Kevin. Kevin says he thinks he can help us and to
call him back Monday.
Bob
tells us we can park next to him. Bob is
cool, about 65, and is much more adventurous than we are. He trained special forces in the army for
Vietnam. They sent him to live on a glacier
for a week. They sent him to live in a
jungle for a week. He said he got into
the airborne because he was on a plane
and they asked for volunteers and two of his buddies raised his hands. He pulled them back down, but it was too
late. 101st, 82nd,
51st. He made 156 jumps. He’s travelled all over the world and showed
us a picture of him, his wife, and son on a kayak in front of a glacier in
Alaska. Bob helped us out a bunch,
too. He and his wife Patty drove us into
town to get pizza, drove us to TrueValue Island Tackle, and bought us about 40
AA batteries. He showed us how to use
compound to clean up the hull and gelcoat.
He sanded a part of the teak to show me how to prep it. Great guy.
He and his wife walked us down to the beach, where you can drive your
trucks and hundreds of people go to hang out by real bon fires and camp out. I resist the urge to go out and party because
I am exhausted and am genuinely not in a gregarious mood. It’s a tough decision, but I don’t want to
conjure up inauthentic charisma and put on a façade.
6-10 – Sunday – I sleep in late and
feel great. We have a plan. We will motor out to a mooring, which are
free, and figure out what we are going to do for the broken shroud. Bob takes us out to lunch the next day for
some award winning seafood chowder. The
potatoes in the chowder were just perfect.
If you are ever in Carolina Beach, go to Michael’s Seafood Restaurant. Thanks again Bob.
Lucy
did her job, but when we start up the motor to head out to the mooring, Bob
points out that our outboard was not pissing like it should and then helped us
take it apart. Symptoms pointed to a bad impeller. We suspected this earlier due a hot
motor. In hindsight, we should have
tried a little harder to see if there was a clog, because we may have messed up
the lower unit.
6-11 – Monday – We try again to get in touch
with Kevin. He says he’s busy and will
call back tomorrow. We head down to a
marine parts store to get a new impeller and place an order. Parts should be in by Wednesday. We walk around looking for work all day to no
avail. Couldn’t even get a temp Joe Dirt
job working at the local fair. Lady
looked at me like I was nuts. We head
home defeated and Steve buys a snorkel & mask to try to clean boats with. Bob recommends we try a bar at the pier to
hang out at. Matt is there. Matt tells us about his life as a pro surfer
and his many Italian restaurants. But
most importantly, Matt tells us about filet mignon in his fridge at home. We are sold.
His girlfriend isn’t real happy, but we are asked to stay and eat
steak. Good night.
6-12 – Tuesday – Need to get a
shroud cause $40/night is getting expensive and the engine parts aren’t gonna
be here until tomorrow. I ride the bike
in a torrential downpour for 9.8 miles to get on the Wave public bus route
towards Wilmington. 3 busses and I’m at
WestMarine in Wilmington to use their workshop to build a shroud. Their “workshop” is a 6 foot bench with a
tape measure and some spools of wire.
They don’t have 5/32” 1x19. They
don’t have 5/16” Norseman fittings. They
don’t have what I need. The guy at the
store knows a lot about boats and helps me get the parts ordered to be
delivered next day at the marina. Saved
about $100, too. He also planted the
seed in my brain about delivering boats, which is what he did for a long time
on the west coast. I bike around
downtown Wilmington, which resembles all other southeastern cities such as Savannah and Charleston, eat delicious NY pizza and bus it back to the marina.
Matt calls and offers to pick me
up. He invites us to eat pizza and his
girlfriend wants to apologize. I am
hesitant, but the arrangements have been made and pizza is waiting for us. What the hell. After hangin out for a bit we go to meet up
with some of his employees and go to a bar.
Matt is a little controlling toward the girls and their guy friend
doesn’t like it. He and Matt start
arguing and the door is shut on Matts toe and finger, hard enough to make them
bleed. Matt punches the guy twice in the
face, says some expletives and we go to hang out at the bar. A little excitement is a good change. We crash at Matt’s place again.
6-13 – Wednesday – We get back to
the marina and after noon the motor parts are in. We spend most of the day putting it back
together, and I have to ride back and forth 3 miles, three times to get everything
we need, which isn’t enough. It starts
getting messy and thankfully, we can’t get off the gear box without two unique,
special tools that the mechanic does not have.
We replace the critical parts, but one of the bolts holding the water
pump housing onto the oil seal housing stripped out. SOL.
We covered it with RTV and hope for the best. It’s late and we are tired. Low morale needs sleep.
6-14 – Thursday – Sleep is had and
we feel better. Seems like containing
all of our problems doesn’t solve them or make us feel better about them. We tell everyone that everything is ok as we
watch our money supply dissipate and chance of getting home diminish. Not sure what to do about those situations
except scream like a crazy old lady.
The
shroud arrives and we are happy. We
attach the motor and because the shroud is the correct size, we feel the need
to celebrate. Besides, we can’t leave
for a couple more days anyway due to weather.
We pull up 7 crabs from our buddy’s traps and have a boil. I score a steam pot from the consignment shop
in town, some Soul Seasoning, knock-off Cheese Whiz, Louisiana style hot sauce,
and a six-pack of PBR. We eat crabs,
collard greens, ramen noodles, and rice&beans until we are absolutely
stuffed. Music is played, the boat is
cleaned, and we go to sleep.
6-15 – Friday – The weather is
looking good for tomorrow night and the wind is light enough today to tune the
mast. After Steve comes down from
attaching the new shroud to the middle of the mast, we carefully read several
sets of mast tuning instructions. Turns
out it’s not rocket science. It’s
structural engineering. Good thing I
have a masters degree in it J. It’s really not that hard and we
overcomplicate it just because we have the time and want to feel good about
something for a change. The mast is
straight and tight. We do feel good and
order a pizza. I find out that I need to
do 4 things each day if possible to feel balanced: Kung Fu, learn Spanish, play
music, and learn about sailing. That’s
my life for the next few months at least.
After a delicious “last supper” Bob gets his boat ready to escort us out of Snow’s Cut and into the Cape Fear River. The untested, rebuilt motor is a little nerve racking. If the gear box is not sealed well enough from the RTV, the seawater will destroy the motor instantaneously. We hook up the gas and battery and crank it. It locks up. We try to crank again. Nothing. Shit. Randy recommends we pull start it. I hold the motor with my foot and pull as hard as I can on the rope. The handle comes off and the engine does nothing. Shit. I tie a knot in the rope to keep the handle on and pull again. This time the engine putts a little. Awesome. We hit the crank while rapping on the carburetor and she starts up with a little hesitation. A little throttle adjustment and it runs great. Too great actually. I’ve never heard it run so smoothly and we come to the conclusion that FSM’s noodly appendage is propelling the boat. In the river, we say our goodbyes over the radio and headed for the ocean with a reefed mainsail. I take a nap while Steve takes us to the Cape Fear inlet. At the last bend of the river before the ocean we are close reached at 8 knots out of the river with the 2 knot current behind us. The boat feels like it is on ice. The tuning and balancing of the boat really showed a great improvement in performance. After we exit the inlet, the seas gradually pick up until we are seeing 5’ swells regularly. I wake up around 11PM and check the shrouds. I make some more adjustments, hold the loose leeward shrouds with bunjee cords, and we both stay up to sail through the night.
6-17 – Sunday – The seas are
constantly 4’ until 7PM. I got at most a
combined 3 hours of sleep so it is a bit irritating. In these conditions, you can’t do anything right. Can’t use the bathroom, can’t cook, can’t
walk around without loosing balance. The
air is so salty, my hands turn white and my right eye constantly waters. I wait for Steve to wake up, cook some tasty
sausage patties and make sausage and cheese whiz wraps. Yum. I
crash out for 6 hours and take my time getting up. I make Ramen noodles and green beans and we
split an oatmeal cream pie. Steve goes
to sleep and the weather changes from good to perfect. With
very little cruise control (rope tied around the tiller and two cleats) I
am able to hang a fishing line off the back of the boat, call dad for father’s
day, and play tons of ukulele. J I wake Steve around 1AM to celebrate passing
Charleston, drink a cup of coffee, and have a smoke. We study star constellations and I work on my
book as Steve sails us through the night.
6-18 – Monday – We should get home
tonight. The weather is beautiful and we
drag a line all day trying to catch a fish, but all we catch is chunks of kelp
floating on the water. We pass some
massive kelp beds where shade is provided for fish to hang out underneath, but
I steer way to close and we get a huge snag and break the line. We pull in the pole and trade off turns
sleeping to get ready for the night.
Steve wakes me up as we pass Tybee and prepare to go through the
shipping channel. There are some unlit
channel markers and we try to judge which ships and barges are anchored and
which are going through the channel.
They look like miniature cities floating in the distance, but can move 4
to 10 times as fast as us, so it is imperative that we time the channel crossing
well, as we have only the strength of the wind to rely on. We tack around to give a ship room to pass
and there is a slight traffic jam as one of the large ships goes outside of the
channel to pass another. Alas we cross
and continue into the night. The rising
crescent moon has a star just visible on the black edge so it looks like it’s
inside.
6-19 – Tuesday – We should really
get there today. The sun is coming up as
we pass St. Catherine’s Island. The 2005
charts do not match up well with the current positions of the shoals so we are
forced to cross sandbars Columbus style.
We listen for breakers to avoid getting beached near the beach and
whatever other horrible scenarios that go along with that. We hear what sounds like waves crashing on
the beach, but we are between the sound and the beach, which is not good. The morning light shows waves crashing in
front of us, behind us, and beside us and we are in 5’ of water. The GPS shows us already in the deep channel,
so we know we are close. Dodging the
waves like a video game, we finally hit the deep water and cruise into the St.
Catherine’s Sound.
The wind calms to
almost nothing, so now we are home free.
With no force on the sails or rigging to speak of, the pin holding the
mainsheet tackle flies apart. The
retaining pin is found, but the pin has disappeared. As Steve searches through the boat for a
replacement, I hold the block with one hand and the tiller with the opposite
foot. A few minutes later, a replacement
is found from the unused clew downhaul and it is nap time. I wake up and we are at anchor with the wind
picking up. Half asleep, I take up
anchor and start sailing in the weak wind.
As I struggle to make progress up the winding, narrowing river, the
challenge overcomes my fatigue and I see an opportunity to make the last 5
miles of the trip. T-Pool gets off work
at 4pm and will help us dock at his house on the river.
The wind and tide
becomes unfavorable and we are forced to anchor about a mile from our friend’s
dock. We wait a few hours for the
current to reverse. Patience has been
learned throughout the trip and we enjoy taking time to do things other than A
to B sailing. I throw a casting net off
of the bow and Steve stretches and exercises a bit. After an undetermined nap, the tides are
looking better so we give it a shot.
Close-hauled, we tack up the 100’ wide river and around the last few
bends. Steep edges allow us to get
within feet of the grass between tacks.
T-Pool gets in his boat to clear a space for us just as we round the
last turn. It’s not beautiful, but we
are able to dock gently under sail, which is a first for this boat. On the very last dock post of the trip, I
finally get the quick-tie clove hitch right and we are home.
That night around 3AM, sharing the upstairs bed at our parents' house, two things happen simultaneously. Stephen wakes up and looks at the ceiling, which has a steep angular portion, as many 2-story houses do. He thinks it is a sail, and comments on its nice shape, and then remembers he is no longer on a boat. He looks over at me, and I am sitting on the side of the bed with my feet on the floor, reaching into the darkness behind me. He asks, what I am doing and I say, "Damn. I was looking for the tiller." At least it provides a good laugh at the breakfast table the next morning.
