Fifth Time in the Dismal Swamp and the ICW

[Kyle]The time had come again for us to untie our lines from the dock at Waterside Marina and head south. It's just me and Maryanne again.

Once again, we motored through that dreadfully ugly section of the Elizabeth River between Norfolk and the turnoff to Deep Creek (a different one) and the entrance to the Dismal Swamp Canal.

Fall/Autumn colors showing as we transit the first half of the Dismal Swamp Canal

Personally, I like the name. It keeps away the crowds. Our transit this time is our fifth. This time, it was especially lovely. The winds were calm, the temperature was perfect and we were harassed by not a single bug. Best of all, the Autumn colors were right at their peak of vibrancy.

Usually, when we go through the Dismal Swamp Canal, Maryanne begs me to stop at the Visitor's Center and Museum along the way.

"No!" I bark in reply, "No time!"

This is because of Begonia's unfortunate characteristic of being slower, with her small engines, than most sailboats are under power. If we go through the first locking in the morning, we barely have enough time to make it through to the lock on the other side before the canal closes at night.

This time, we decided to do it differently. We went through the Deep Creek Lock just after lunchtime, and were able to make it to the Visitor's Center an hour before sunset. That gave me just enough light to make a quick climb up the mast to make a minor repair up there. The job had needed doing for a couple of weeks, but we had been in rolly anchorages. I knew the canal Visitor's Center dock would be second in stability only to Begonia being hauled out and resting on a concrete pad.

We stayed a whole calendar day to visit the museum and walk miles and miles of the park's trails. The following morning, we even managed another nice walk before it was time to leave for the 11:00 locking at South Mills Lock. We were enjoying that last walk, searching for shy, early-morning critters, when the peace and quiet was broken with the jarring noise of a loud two-stroke motor. The noise turned out to be an admittedly very friendly kid, wearing ear muffs and clearing fallen leaves off the boardwalk with a leaf blower. HEY NATURE!!! THE HUMANS ARE HERE!!! Honestly, would a push broom not have done the job?

A day (Halloween) in the Middle of the Dismal Swamp with the visitor center and forest walks

After clearing the South Mills Lock, we carried on to Elizabeth City, North Carolina for the night, where we were given the usual warm welcome by the Rose Buddies, a group of local volunteers who welcome boaters to the town. Unfortunately, our Portsmouth marina friend, Ron, who had greeted us so warmly on the way north last year, was not there. We had only learned about a month earlier that he had died just three weeks after that visit. Ron was a good-natured guy who loved to talk and talk about anything and everything. North Carolina is a sadder, quieter place without him.

Ron knew I loves me some Mexican food, and he always made a point of taking us to one or another of Elizabeth City's surprisingly excellent Mexican restaurants whenever we saw him. Realizing this may be my last chance for a while to get a good dose of the southwestern-style Mexican I grew up with, Maryanne and I decided to blow the diet for one night and go nuts at the best one within walking distance of the boat. It was even better than I remembered and included the most elaborate margarita I have ever seen. That thing was a meal in itself and must be good for you because it contains so many servings of different kinds of fruit.

The last locks of the Great Dismal Swamp, and soon we were in Elizabeth City where Kyle found a Mexican restaurant

Aside from a few repeat trips (the amazing museum), we also ambled around the University campus and Kyle was happy to find their flight school

South of Elizabeth City, crossing Albemarle Sound, is one of the few places on the Intracoastal Waterway that has enough elbow room to do some real sailing. On the day we crossed, we were lucky enough to have stronger-than-forecast tailwinds for the leg to the northern end of the Alligator-Pungo Canal, connecting the two rivers of the same names. Even though we had brought our spinnaker up on deck in preparation, we were able to have a fast run the whole way while using only our unrolled Genoa. We used our engines only to leave, arrive, and transit the Alligator River Swing Bridge in the middle.

As we were maneuvering to our anchor spot, I looked back and noticed we were being chased by a little snake. We got the anchor set just before it finally caught up to us. A closer look revealed that it wasn't as small as I had thought, maybe just under a meter long and as big around in some places as my wrist. Also, it was clearly some sort of venomous variety.

"Hey, Maryanne!" I said, "Come look at this."

She arrived just in time to see it haul itself out of the water onto our starboard stern steps. After a little research, Maryanne decided it was probably a cottonmouth. Cottonmouths are pretty dangerous.

It seemed content to stay there, but after a little rest, decided to start climbing toward the cockpit.

Oh, dear. That won't do.

Maryanne handed me our second longest boat hook. (She grabbed the longest one she could see) The idea was that I would kind of hook the snake and gently nudge it back into the water.

It didn't exactly work out that way. Probably for the same reason the snake found us in the first place, it wrapped itself several times around the handle and then started slowly slithering towards me. Begonia's wake was slightly warm with engine cooling water. The warm boat hook was certainly more appealing than the cold river.

My mother used to say that ALL snakes are dangerous, because they can all give you a heart attack. The sight of a diamond-headed serpent coming towards me while tasting the air with its flicking, forked tongue made me miss her. Poor thing, I thought, it just wants a rest.

Still, this was an actually dangerous snake. Letting it cuddle on my shoulders for warmth is a really bad idea. With the help of gravity, a slippery pole, and being repeatedly stirred into the river as if by an over-enthusiastic Army cook making a big tureen of soup, the snake finally let go of the hook.

Then it made a beeline for the boat again and started investigating every opening near the waterline. After several failed tries, it ended up back on its favorite step again. The sun was coming out by then, which made the area nice and toasty for it. Maryanne and I quickly decided it was a much better deal for us to have it lounging there than to be wondering which of the various drain holes under the bridge deck it has figured out how to breach.

After a few minutes, the snake was gone again, hopefully because it was now sufficiently warmed up to focus on one of the other big three snake favorites: snake food or other attractive snakes. Scaring old ladies to death would probably be classified by them as more of an amusing diversion. No, wait....divertisssssssement! I just had to...
A cottonmouth(?) snake wants to stay aboard while we were at anchor in the Alligator River, and we didn't like that plan much

Aside from the unwanted visitor, the Alligator River was peaceful

We were the first boat in the anchorage to set off the next morning into the Alligator-Pungo Canal. That is because, being slow under power, we need to make the most of the daylight.

Sure enough, within half an hour, white specks appeared on the thin slice of horizon behind us. The daily parade of snowbirds had started. In the next few hours, we were passed by every one of them, plus three or four more clusters behind. At the far end, we were able to briefly hold our own for a bit when we got some wind and unfurled some sail. Then I decided to shut down the engine, which was the wind's signal to stop blowing.

Fine. We had enough extra time to be able to go slowly for a while. It was nice to escape the drone of the engine for a few hours while all of the other boats bombed past us.

At least the flat water made for some nice sailing. This part of North Carolina isn't exactly what I would call scenic. It's so flat around here that the entire landscape crowds around a half-degree sliver at the horizon. Even ninety-five percent of that is the height of the part of the grasses and trees that grow above the waterline. I suspect if you removed the vegetation, this whole part of the state could easily be mistaken for a mirage from a boat.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, we pulled out of the channel on and headed for our local mirage. After a few minutes, it resolved itself into stands of tall, spindly trees, fronted by an impassible zone of reedy marshland. This time stopping at Eastham Creek. There were no buildings in sight and the only sign of humanity was a few minute's glance at the boats passing by on the ICW through a small gap. We even had no phone service, which was more frustrating for Maryanne than it is for me, but we will consider it both as practice for our upcoming ocean leg and a chance to have a real day of unplugged relaxation.

We nudge a little further along the ICW and stop at Eastham Creek Point, off Goose Creek/Pimlaco River

The next leg was more of the same. We mostly motored in light air, but did have occasion in the more open stretches to get some air moving over the sails. It would ordinarily have been a pleasant day on the water as we move our floating home ever closer to the equator.

Today, however, was the day after the U.S election. This cast a horrible pall over the whole day. The normal, friendly waves famously exchanged between boaters in wildly different camps, like sailors and sport fishermen, were replaced by half-assed arm lifts or suspicious glares. There was none of the usual chit-chat between buddy boats on the radio, and even the Coast Guard seemed a little testier than they normally are when chastising people for not using proper radio procedure.

When we finally set anchor in a wide, shallow bay (Cedar Creek) filled with gulls and terns, we were ready to draw all of the shades and pretend we weren't home.

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Early starts, an easy transit, and sunsets at anchor in Cedar Creek - while we ponder the humanity and sense of the American voters

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Anchorage at Tuckahoe Point/Winn Bay, Alligator River >> On google maps

Anchorage at Eastham Creek Point, Off Goose Creek/Pimlaco River >> On google maps

Anchorage at Cedar Creek, Off Adams Creek / Neuse River, NC >> On google maps

Norfolk/Portsmouth/Virginia Beach (the closest we get to "home")

[Kyle]From Deltaville, we were now getting close enough to our long stop in Norfolk Virginia that we were able to start scheduling appointments, etc. This in turn meant that even though we still didn't need to rush, our next weather window definitely now had a schedule and so a latest arrival date.

Sailing down to the Poquoson with a cute hitchhiker/stow-away

Sunsets and sunrises on Chisman Creek

Sailing in calm waters on to Portsmouth, and anchored at Hospital point (with the Norfolk Skyline as a view)

With appointment dates in mind, we found two days that would allow for lovely, downwind spinnaker sailing, with a two-day rest stop in Chisman Creek along the way. This would actually get us to Norfolk three days earlier than our first obligation.

This seems like it would be a good thing, but that turned out to kind of not be the case. Just before we set off, we got the news that the OCC (Offshore Cruising Club) dock, where we had stayed at the beginning of last year, and were hoping to make use of again, was not going to be available under the same conditions. Their new policy had gone from ridiculously generous to quite a bit more limiting, so we would only be able to stay there for 4 days, rather than for our full schedule of events planned for Norfolk.

I want to stress that this has nothing to do with our gracious hosts Greta and Gary, who kindly offer use of their dock to other OCC members. The problem seems to come from the association within their condo development that is responsible for their docks. We don't know if it's because of abuse, bad apples, or some reason unrelated to us boaties, but the new policies contain so many "Thou shalt not..." rules to make a stay so inconvenient as to effectively lose any appeal. It's unfortunate, but staying more than a night or two or taking anything more than a few hours away from the boat is just not possible anymore.

A few days in Norfolk as guests of the OCC members:Greta and Gary

This brings us to Norfolk's other berthing problem. Ocean Marine, where we lived for almost five years, has fallen into disrepair and is not being maintained. The owners have apparently decided the solution to this problem is to charge more, so that no one comes in to wear out the docks. I heard a rumor, which I can't verify, that they may be deliberately trying to run the facility out of business so they can get a buyout. There is a free anchorage at Hospital Point, but shore access is expensive, and we don't trust leaving the boat unattended overnight there either.

Okay, that leaves the two main remaining marinas, Tidewater and Waterside. Due to the pressures of supply and demand, as mentioned in our New York City post, they have taken to charging ridiculous rates (for our thrifty leanings), with none of the usual lower fees for longer-term stays (no weekly rate, or even monthy rates in the peak season. I'm sorry but Norfolk is NOT New York City, even though they move more gross tonnage.

So now, instead of having the luxury of staying for a good chunk of time so that our friends and chores can fall into place whenever is convenient, we now have to purchase berthing space piecemeal, buying a marina slip on the weekends, so Maryanne and I can both leave the boat simultaneously, and use the less convenient and secure free methods, where someone needs to stay behind and mind the boat, during the week.

Our first two tasks, at the OCC dock, were to pick up the mountain of parcels we had had shipped to poor Greta, and then to cram in years worth of routine medical exams and testing in a few days, like doing an oil change and tune-up before the big road trip. It's not exactly fun, but it's nice to get that stuff ticked off the list.

After a day of walking from one medical facility to another, we had an easy, one-block walk to Angie's apartment, where she made us a grand dinner and gave us the full tour.

Angie was another of the boaters living at Ocean Marine with us, just a few slips down, while Maryanne and I saved and crammed for tests in preparation for cruising. Angie was an engineer on an ocean-going tugboat. Now, she works with smaller working boats much closer to home. She is quite a colorful character and can always tell a great sea yarn. The last time we saw her was at her house in the Dominican Republic in 2016, more than eight years earlier. She greeted us with big hugs, and then we all fell into easy, familiar conversation as if we had only been apart for eight days. She had to leave for work in the dark the next morning, so we tried not to stay too late, but all three of us couldn't help but drag out the teary goodbyes.

It didn't turn out to be long before we saw her again. When she heard about our leaking kayak, she agreed to take it off our hands for us. Fixing something like that is child's play for her and we told her that if she could fix it, she could have it. We were walking it to her apartment to drop it off, expecting her to be at work, when she unexpectedly appeared at the door, having just cleaned up after being pelted with yogurt.

Apparently, there had just been an "incident" at work, where some sailor, in a pique of adolescent carelessness, threw a full yogurt container from the deck of his aircraft carrier at the little patrol boat below. Luckily, it didn't hit Angie, or the other guy on the patrol boat, but it did explode and make a huge mess. When Angie's boss found out, the whole thing turned into an inquest, culminating in a call to the Admiral in charge of this particular group of aircraft carriers - on his day off. That will certainly not go well for the impetuous sailor. Angie and her companion had to stay and present their caked-on clothing as evidence, until released from the investigation to go home and take showers. Like I said, she's always got a good story to tell.

From the OCC dock, we moved Begonia the short distance to Waterside Marina so that we could both leave the boat and spend a weekend with our friends Kate and that guy she lives with... Mike, I think it is, or is it Matt?

I feel like that sometimes. Maryanne and... Kurt? Karl? Clod? Mark and I are both lucky to have such lovely, interesting wives that light up a room such that it feels utterly empty when they are gone.

"Hey, Mark. How long have you been sitting there?"

"Who said that?"

I realized that, of all of the places we have lived, including our childhood homes, It is our time in Portsmouth (with Maryanne working in Nofolk) that we have spent the longest in one place. Kate and Maryanne became good friends at that time since they met working in the same office. Kate and Mark's house is the one place Maryanne and I have been returning to for the longest of any of them. It's not the house itself, but the home of their warm friendship within. Maryanne and I enjoy our lives as nomads/wanderers/itinerant people, but the draw to return to Kate and Mark's is the closest thing we have to a desire to return home. There, we can reset and fortify ourselves for another journey. When people ask us where we are from, the best answer might be "Kate's!", but that would be weird for everybody else on so many levels. Also, there's the danger that if I did it, Maryanne might give me a little bit of a look. Perhaps I'll stick with "Denver" or "California" for the time being.

Previously, in an earlier blog entry, I mentioned that I had a plan to not screw up Maryanne's Birthday. Weeks later, the time had finally come. Kate, Mark and I were going to join her while she smashed things.

For months, when Maryanne and I would see one of those scenes in a movie where one of the characters throws a cupboard full of dishes or takes a baseball bat to a boyfriend's trophy case, she would say, "Ooooh! I reeealy want to do that!!" I cannot think of any reason why she would have any pent-up anger to release.

Well, this time I remembered something and booked her a session at a "Rage Room" with her friends, where you can pay to do just that. When we got there, she insisted I join in as well. After all, it is her birthday gift. I agreed, but only on the proviso that I get one of the better helmets.

A late birthday gift from Kyle - some time in a RAGE ROOM - where it feels strangely delightful to be permitted to smash things up!

We had a great time throwing plates, smashing furniture and putting dents in everything else. The proprietress even brought in an especially big lamp for Maryanne in honor of the occasion. Maryanne pulverized the thing into a cloud of dust and flying pottery shards with a big smile on her face. We all emerged with grins as we picked sharp bits out of our clothes and shoes. Then we celebrated with a meal at a nice restaurant on the water. Our lives can seem so surreal at times.

A day or so later, Kate and Maryanne were in some fancy kitchenware shop. Kate found a nice crystal glass and handed it to Maryanne to see. Maryanne said her first instinct was to hurl it at the wall, before she stopped herself and realized it wasn't that kind of place.

Kyle and Mark spent time at the airfield

While they were off doing that, Mark and I went out to the RC airport to fly some of his radio-controlled planes. That's where we got to see some real destruction. During one flight, the radio link to the plane became intermittent. Mark managed to coax it back to our part of the field before it nose-dived into the ground and obliterated itself in a burst of flying parts. That, my friends, is why real passengers are going to want someone up there in the cockpit for the time being.

The rest of our too-short weekend with Kate and Mark was the usual: Great food, great conversation, great friendship, and plenty of laughs. It was hard to pull ourselves away, but it helped to know it was only until the following weekend.

In the meantime, we moved Begonia from the marina to the free public wall across the Elizabeth River at Portsmouth, Virginia. This spot is a short-term one with a high tidal range and no security, so we didn't feel comfortable leaving the boat unattended for long, especially overnight. Maryanne really wanted to spend time with her friend Liz, so we decided to split up. She would stay with Liz for a couple of nights, while I stayed home to watch over Begonia.

While Liz and Maryanne spent time together, including running errands collecting heavy things from various stores, I revelled in the delicious solitude of Alone Time.

After some time with Kate and Mark, Kyle hung out in Portsmouth, while Maryanne spent some time with Liz in Virginia Beach

I'm kidding. My uninspired itinerary was pretty much the same thing I would have done had Maryanne been around, minus the um... gentle prodding. I got caught up on routine engine maintenance and did a couple of minor electrical installations. Between jobs, I also had time to take a few walks through the old neighborhoods where we were based for almost five years.

Our old marina, which we used to complain was too upscale for us regular folks, because they shamelessly catered to the mega yacht crowd, has now gone the other way and seems to be a kind of floating salvage yard for boats whose bilge pumps will soon not be able to keep up. Many of our favorite restaurants and pubs now stand vacant.

I took a walk to the local liquor store to try to find a nice bottle of whisky for pulling out at special occasions. In a reversal of the usual paradigm, instead of encasing the cashier in bulletproof glass, the large store was accessible only to the staff, while us customers ordered through a hole in a bulletproof vestibule. In the end, I was too afraid to walk out of there with anything that would be considered valuable to someone who can outrun me.

Maryanne's experience in Portsmouth was very different. She and Liz arrived with a carful of heavy groceries to a smiling welcome from me. As we were stowing everything away, the friendly couple in the boat behind us introduced themselves, told us they had reservations for dinner, and invited us to come along.

Tony and Sally had also started their year in Lake Erie. They left through the Erie Canal just a month ago, right at the end of the boating season there. They both agreed that they had waited too long and their tales of the canal trip sound cold and miserable. They were glad to finally be where it's warm for a change. Here we were thinking it was just starting to get a little chilly.

The restaurant they had suggestsed, High Street Pizza & Pour House, had just been opened by a friend they had met here when coming through a couple of years ago. When we arrived, all four of us were greeted with big hugs and shown to our table. They had a deal going for a pizza and a bottle of wine for $40. That seemed a little on the steep side for a small pizza, but Maryanne and I figured "what the hell" and ordered one to share, while Tony and Sally did the same.

I was so wrong! The Detroit-style pizzas, while only being about a foot square, were also about four inches thick. There was sooo much food! Also, the pizza was a masterpiece of absolutely delectable, gooey, drippy magnificence. Hands down, that is the best pizza I've had in at least a decade.

So, for anyone heading down the Intracoastal Waterway, forget what I said earlier and DO make sure to stop in Portsmouth for a pizza. You will NOT be disappointed. Just stock up on your spirits somewhere else.

Having experienced most of what Portsmouth had to offer, we were glad to cross the Elizabeth River back to the Norfolk side for another weekend with Kate and Mitch. In an ideal world (for me), we would live two doors down from each other, like in a sitcom, and be constantly in each other's space, getting into zany situations and cracking jokes. The big rub seems to be that none of us wants to take the leap and move into the other's neighborhood. My favorite third option of a villa in the Mediterranean with a big dock out back may still be a little unrealistic for all of us. For now, we'll have to settle for far-too-infrequent visits where we luxuriate in their company and then disappear for long stints away. Then we spend our time trying not to miss them too much.

We were just about to continue south when our doctor called to tell me she wanted to run a few more tests on me before we left for good. So now, with another week to kill, we headed up the James River for some time in a couple of anchorages that were less hectic than the one by the city. Since the water is cleaner up there and is also getting colder by the day, I decided to wipe some of the accumulated slime off our antifouling paint while I could still stand the temperature. It's not my favorite maintenance job, but it needs doing. It will be easier when the cold, murky James River gives way to the shining blue tropics.

One more visit with Kate and Mark - where we enjoyed hanging out witht the pets and having some quality "Friends Time"

We got back from our sojourn up the James River a day early for our marina reservation. Rather than anchor out, we returned to Portsmouth for another pizza.

After a second one, I decided I had misrepresented the pizza the first time. It is waaay better than I said up there five paragraphs ago. I am told that, since it opened a couple years ago, High Street Pizza & Pour House has become much more than a local Portsmouth gem. People come in from all over the Hampton Roads area to eat here. If we lived as far out as Roanoke or Washington, DC, the place would be on our regular rota for special weekends. If I was still working, I would make sure every Norfolk overnight included a cab ride with the crew to a much better dinner than can be found in the immediate footprint of the hotel. I'm glad we got to go before it becomes necessary to reserve weeks in advance. I'm sure that's coming.

As we were walking off our (okay, mostly my) meal, we were walking together through Olde Towne when we passed by the street of Peter and Sarah, boating friends that we had met when we lived here twenty years ago. We took a short detour to their house on the off chance that they were still there.

As soon as we rounded the corner, and then ducked a little to see under the boughs of the trees, we could see them both sitting together in their front garden.

Maryanne called out, "Hey, Peter and Sarah!" Peter returned the greeting with a friendly wave. Sarah, not recognizing us, high-tailed it inside, worried she was about to be subjected to a high-pressure sales pitch. Peter hadn't recognized us either, but he's a fixture in the local community, so lots of people stop by to say hello. Perhaps we were two of them.

Of course, standing in front of their last known address, we had hoped we would spot at least one of them. As far as Peter knew, we had left for good almost two decades ago and were now completely on the other side of the world somewhere. Maryanne and I were literally the last two people he would expect to see sauntering past his house on an evening stroll. Even after Maryanne's English-accented greeting, it took him a second to realize who we were. Once he did, his face lit up in a big smile and then insisted that we come inside with him. In the range of possible reactions to our long absence, that is definitely on the preferred end.

Peter is still great, as always. I worked out that I was now the age he was when Maryanne and I first arrived in Portsmouth as relative newlyweds, and then met him while he tinkered on his boat a few slips away. He is still older than we are, technically, but it has always seemed the other way around. Just listening to the list of projects he's working on makes me feel like I'm overdue for my nap.

After a long catch-up, Peter invited us for coffee in the morning at the cafe on High Street. After we agreed, he said, "Great! See you there at 7:00."

"In the morning!" I blubbered. "Peter, the sun doesn't even come up until 7:25."

"Yeah, but they don't open until 7:00."

That's a shame. Well, it's good to get an early start.

At coffee, Peter offered to lend us his truck if we would like to run any errands. As it happened, our whole plan was to get to the Norfolk side of the Elizabeth River in time to run a whole long list of errands on foot before one last tearful, bonus parting dinner with Kate and Mort. Taking the truck would be much easier, thank you. Without it, we would have really been struggling to get all that we did finished in time. This way, we were able to show up for dinner freshly polished and relaxed, rather than frazzled and distracted by the half of the list we hadn't completed.

We totally failed to get pictures when visiting with both Angie, and Peter - so here are some older ones - Maryanne with Angie in 2006, and Peter in his workshop in 2008 (Yikes, time flies)

Kate and Max were great as always. We lingered over a long dinner of stories and laughs. Beneath it all, though, I felt melancholic knowing that once again, it will likely be years before we are reunited with our treasured friends. They dropped us back at the boat, which gave us the chance to invite them aboard for a two-hour nightcap. Eventually, we had to part for real. They have jobs, after all, and need some sleep. It was time to bid goodbye to the very last of our American cohort of friends and family.