Ending the Passage in Grand Turk

[Kyle]After the big storm the wind clocked around to the north-east and we gradually bent a course south and then south-southwest towards Grand Turk. The wind was still fairly strong so the big waves remained with us, and it was not until we were almost there that moving around the boat felt relatively safe again.

As we progressed south, ticking off the minutes of latitude with each hour, temperatures gradually increased (water and air) until by the time we reached Grand Turk the water temperature was 35°C (95°F) and the night time low air temperature in the cockpit was 27°C (81°F).

With the disruption of the storm passed, the trade winds were free to resume their normal pattern. We realized that with the speeds we were making we would arrive mid-day on Sunday. Since the Turks and Caicos only allows 7 day stays without paying a significant extra fee, we wanted to be sure to arrive first thing in the morning so as not to waste one of our seven days as a partial day. (Arriving in the morning light is also prudent to identify and avoid any coral heads). Additionally arriving on a Sunday carries extra overtime fees. Since we were in no hurry, we decided to slow down and arrive with first light to enter the harbor on the Monday. We needed to reduce our speed to about 4.5 knots from the 7-8 the winds were making easy for us. We reduced sail, and then again, until we had about a half a knot above our target speed and a tiny scrap of genoa to catch the wind and assist in steering. It felt strange to be deliberately trying to go slowly but there was no point in arriving any earlier than daybreak on the Monday.

Midway between the Mona Passage (dividing Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic) and the Windward Passage (dividing Haiti and Cuba) there was little shipping traffic to be seen. We did however spot a couple of cargo ships crossing our path travelling to San Juan from Florida. A few miles later I spotted our first bird for days – a booby flying by. I lost sight of it for a second and poked my head out of the cockpit to search for it. I found it perched on one of our spreaders, attempting to secure itself to the gyrating mast. He fortunately gave up before soiling our boat but I knew land was not far off.

Shortly after reducing sail the wind picked up even more, and we spent perhaps half a day being pushed rapidly downwind towards our destination with no sail at all. At last at about 3am on the Monday we spotted the first lights of Grand Turk Island: a TV tower and then the lighthouse at the northern point. Since the island is low and flat, almost all the remaining lights materialized at the same time with only 8 miles to go.

At the very first hint of daylight we passed into the lee of the reef extending from the North side of the island, and for the first time in days had flat seas. I woke Maryanne and she helped me to prepare for landing at the government dock to the southwest of the Island. We arrived at the same time as the inter island freighter and so allowed them to tie up first (on the Southern side of the government pier). We pulled up to the northern side and were told by a worker (shouting to Maryanne on the bow) that we needed to wait a short while until they left to tie up to the South side (later we discovered homeland-security type restrictions prohibited us from being so close to unloading cargo). We assumed that would mean the dock would be available shortly and motored off the pier waiting for them to leave. We ended up loitering for over two hours before we realized the freighter was not leaving any time soon, and gave up and anchored. As we had approached the dock initially we had attempted to call the customs office or harbormaster with no success.

While we were hovering around and awaiting our turn at the dock a medium size cruise ship arrived and attempted to dock at the adjacent terminal. We listened in at their conversations with their island agent and from that understood that they only had one working bow-thruster and were unable to dock in the conditions of wind and current. They waited 40 minutes and made one more try but then abandoned Turks & Caicos as a destination and sailed away (those poor passengers).

After we’d been loitering off the pier for some time we tried again on the radio and were answered by ‘Bonefish’ who explained he was a private citizen and that there was no current harbormaster. He asked us where we were, and agreed to meet us at the government pier in 45 minutes. When the time came, he called us back and confirmed that he had spoken with the freighter people and verified they weren’t leaving any time soon (and even then there was another cargo vessel expected to arrive shortly after). We were instructed to anchor nearby and dinghy to shore.

We had setup the boat to tie up to the dock, our dinghy wasn’t ready (still in lifeboat mode) – so we had a sudden rush to anchor and prepare ourselves to row ashore; all with the pressure of knowing someone was now waiting on us! All this while having not slept since my watch began at midnight.

On the way to meet me at the beach, Bonefish had stopped at the customs office to let them know we were here and their services were needed at the government dock even though the cruise ship had already left. I splashed ashore and Bonefish introduced himself and helped me pull the dingy up to the high tide line. He then escorted me (with his jeep) to the government offices for clearance. Bonefish has no official capacity; He says he can hardly remember whatever his real name is. He’s retired and listens in on the VHF 24 hours a day and makes it his hobby to assist visiting boaters in any way he can. He is a native of the Turks Islands, but has worked in the USA and has and what sounds to me like an American accent. He doesn’t have a boat. We were very grateful for his assistance, as I would have headed in the wrong direction to an empty government office and wasted significant time in hot and muggy climate searching for all the things that were required to clear in appropriately. He also diverted to show me the best restaurants, and pick up tourist brochures along with giving me history of the island in a guided tour.

As for the government offices, it turned out they did not to exist at all! They had been completely torn down and were undergoing a three-month rebuild. Customs turned out to be a very nice woman working from her car with the all of the spare seats filled with file boxes full of forms. I completed the necessary paperwork kneeling in the parking lot while trying to keep the various documents and forms from being blown away in the trade winds. That is definitely a first for us to ‘clear in’ outdoors – no desk or seats or printer! Immigration arrived shortly thereafter in his own car and we repeated the process of flapping forms and a clipboard in the parking lot. With fees paid and forms stamped we were officially in the country.

I had indicated that I wanted to move to the main town anchorage and Bonefish was kind enough to detour me there in his jeep to give me advice on the best holding, the location of the dingy dock, etc. On the return journey he even stopped at immigration to collect my receipt for the $15 fee (which they still didn’t have). As I was waiting outside in Bonefish’s jeep, I called Maryanne on our portable VHF to let her know we were official and I’d be home in 15 minutes. With the news that she was no longer confined to the boat she quickly took the opportunity to jump in to the clear blue water and swim to the beach to meet me. We took a few photos from the government end of town, and then returned and moved Begonia to the main town anchorage.

We had expected a bustling anchorage and to be jostling for space and swinging room. It turned out we are the only visiting boat on the island and the only tourists. It was surreal. I mentioned this to Bonefish earlier when he was showing me the anchorage. He explained that most visiting sailboats don’t start showing up until mid December.

Ah, of course! Maryanne and I were here basically as a stopover on the offshore passage to Panama. We would have had to sail practically within sight of the islands on the way, so it seemed silly not to stop. Our arrival time was basically determined by the need to be out of North Carolina before the winter gales started.

Most cruisers, however, pass through on the so-called “Thorny Path”, an uncomfortable route beating to windward from island to island that stretches from Florida to the Windward Islands. The advantage of the route is that none of the gaps between islands is more than one hundred miles so it is possible to pick your weather to a degree. Most of this group is just leaving Florida now. The Turks and Caicos will see them one more time, again as a group, taking the easy route home probably around mid March. We seem to have beat the crowds again.

One of the unfortunate things about arriving by boat rather than airplane is that there is immediately a ton of work to do to secure the boat and this prevents us from jumping right in to tourist mode. We burned though the jobs as quickly as we could, but soon I succumbed to fatigue, and decided on a nap before any fun could be had. Maryanne awoke me with a couple of remaining hours of daylight, and we headed ashore to gain our bearings in the small Cockburn Town (which is also the capital for the country). With no cruise ship, and with it being later in the afternoon, we found most stores closed, and the few that remained seemed in the last stages of their day.

Arriving at the dinghy dock, it was not long before we spotted our first of many wild donkeys

We walked the empty streets populated as much with the infrequent car as wild donkeys. We doubled back through dark and abandoned streets toward a restaurant that Bonefish had driven me by and recommend as ‘Not the best, but the most consistently good’. The island had suffered a downturn since the last major hurricane and was still struggling to rebuild. Many of the properties were unusable and abandoned, and many were for sale (some of the for sale signs were falling down!). Once we actually arrived at the restaurant and checked out the menu we found it expensive and uninspiring, and returned unfed to Begonia for the evening. {Maryanne: Luckily we'd found a bakery on our evening wander and purchased a nice pastry for breakfast.. so we just ate it on our walk back to the dingy to keep us going!

Of course a HUGE thank you to Bonefish for easing us into the country and assisting us with clearance. We were so greatful for this amazing act of kindness on his behalf.}

The island is made up of 'fancy' tourist boutiques, and mixed quality living accommodation (with new and historic mansions and with plenty on the more simple end of the spectrum)

Passage to Grand Turk - Day Three through Eight

Passage to Grand Turk - Day Three through Eight

On day three a long swell started coming in from the north, being pushed ahead by the storm that was headed our way. The wind arrived shortly thereafter and for the first time in days, the sails filled and stopped their incessant slatting back and forth.

Just after I woke Maryanne for dinner, I was sitting at the helm watching the sea grow and the increasing waves smash into one another when I noticed a strange vortex to our right. It looked kind of like what we see behind the rudder when making a hard turn, but we weren't using that much rudder and it was too far off to the side of our wake and too big.

Then I saw it. The sea right beside the boat flattened and a gray mass surfaced. In the middle of it, a blowhole four inches across opened up and let out a great blast of air like a steam train whistle. The blowhole was only about five feet away, so the side of this leviathan could have been practically touching the boat.

I went to the cabin door, slid it open, drew a deep breath, made eye contact with Maryanne, and then yelled, "WHAAALLE!!" I realize now that it was probably overkill for me to do that, but c'mon, WHALE!

That one and perhaps one other fell behind, just touching the surface. We didn't get to see enough to be able to say which kind of whale it was, but nothing with a blowhole that big is not a whale.

The sea had been pretty empty for a couple of days, so it was cool to have that to break the monotony. It was also a little unnerving. We have read enough accounts of boats being stove in by angry or startled whales to be a little wary of them. I've read that they like to cruise around at about three knots. Perhaps we snuck up on them. Hopefully they saw us first and just came over to see what we were.

The cloudy skies have been providing stunning sunsets and sunrises for the passage
By the midnight watch at the beginning of day four, the wind had picked up to twenty or so. I went forward to reef the mainsail while there were still two of us awake, and then Maryanne went off watch for what must have been a terrible night's sleep.

When she awoke, we needed another reef, which didn't seem to slow us down at all. The waves grew and soon we were careening down them in wild bouts of surfing. The timing of the storm was such that Maryanne got the brunt of it on her morning watch. I was lying in bed on my off watch worrying about what was going on out there.

I would manage to fall asleep for fifteen minutes or so, and then there would be a side load that was too much and too long. I would wake up with a yell, thinking, "This is it!" I would rush to the porthole and see that the waves, while impressive from the low vantage point of the porthole, were probably only ten or twelve feet, with the occasional fifteen-footer. My knowledge of oceanography tells me that waves of this size, while being able to make for some frightening motion, are not physically capable of putting enough force high enough up to flip a boat Begonia's size, even with a perfect hit of the worst type of wave, provided we don't have too much sail up. Our wave height number is twenty-one feet, AND it has to be a curler, AND it has to break right when it hits us. If the boat were really going over, I would end up on one wall or the other.

I would repeat this to myself over and over until I could get my heart rate down far enough to sleep again. Then fifteen minutes later, it would happen all over again. Auch!

After a few of these episodes, I became aware that I really had to pee, creating another obstacle to sleeping. I sat down (you can't stand in these conditions, unless you want bruises), and was immediately mesmerized by the view out of the downward facing escape hatch. Firstly, the water in the deep ocean is blue, not brown or green, but crazy, artificially colored, bottomless blue. It's the same color as the water in all of those tropical beaches that instantly hypnotizes you into thinking you want nothing more than to jump in. Additionally, the hypnotic blue water is whooshing by, making a little rooster tail where the wakes meet between the hulls. I had finished my pee ages ago, but I was transfixed at the window like a cat in front of a washing machine.

Stunning views from the head and the cockpit... Nice colors
A wave hit the window and there was a complete chaos of churning water. Then there was a flash of clarity as the window was submerged and for a second or so, I could see the seemingly peaceful world under the boat. I could see the keel on the other side, as well as the feathered prop and the rudder, all looking fixed and serene. Then it was gone.

I went to get up and suddenly there was an acceleration holding me back and the water outside turned into a blur. We were surfing again. The whole boat rumbled. When it subsided, I got up and was immediately mashed forward into the sink as the boat came to a very abrupt stop.

I went to find Maryanne, who was looking surprisingly calm at the helm. I asked her how fast we got. She replied, "Now? Thirteen point one, thirteen point two, Thirteen point one again."

"How fast did we get?"

"Oh", she scrolled through the menu to on the gauge to the 'max' screen. "Twenty-one knots."

HO LEE CRAP! That is too fast! We're glad she tracked straight and didn't wipe out. Maryanne also had the highest winds: 37.1 knots (luckily tail winds).

The wind had decreased by my watch, but the waves were still building. Most were around fifteen feet, with the occasional eighteen or nineteen-footer. I saw the high teens surfing down a couple of those, but I hope that twenty-one knot record stands for a long time.

With the arrival of the storm, the wind shifted from west to north, and then to northeast, finally bending our course south toward Grand Turk. After a day or so, the clouds passed and the wind died back to the high teens. The waves subsided very slowly. Two days after the storm, they were still around twelve feet. The forecast says it'll be another three or so before they finally stabilize at five to eight.

So it's still a bit too choppy to be too comfortable, but we are now heading toward our destination. We passed our furthest point of land on day eight and are now closing on Grand Turk. Even over-reefed, we're still going way too fast to arrive when we want to, so we have dropped the mainsail completely and are down to five or six knots on a reefed jib alone.

As we sail south, the days and nights are getting warmer and the waxing moon is lighting up the sea for us at night. Once the sea calms down a little more, we expect the last few days to be pretty nice.

Passage to Turks and Caicos - First Three Days

We left Beaufort on a cold, sunny mid-afternoon. While still in the protection of the harbor, we hoisted sail and were quickly flushed out into the Atlantic by a strong ebb through the short channel. We even got to see a few dolphins along the way.

Leaving Beaufort, NC
Things were pretty nice for a while after that. We rounded up as far into the wind as we could while still being able to clear the sand bar at Cape Lookout and had a fast sail in flat conditions.

Once we approached the point, seas converging from the other side tumbled through the gaps in the shallows and met ours in a confusing jumble that caused Begonia to pitch and roll in a staccato of small, quick, uncomfortable jerks. I was hoping that a little more distance would steady the situation and it seemed to for a while.

I went off watch and fell quickly to sleep, although it didn't last long. There were too many strange motions as well as bangs and creaks to worry about. I had been spending so much time at anchor or at a dock that the boat's normal sea noises would take some getting used to.

Maryanne woke me for my watch at midnight and seemed more nervous than I had expected her to be. While I was dozing in fits, she had sailed right into the Gulf Stream. The strong current was pushing Begonia sideways right into twenty knots of wind in a heaped up mess of a sea. Once I was standing up in the cockpit on my own two feet, I understood her concern. Moving about the boat was pretty difficult and even trying to stand still took some work.

I was confused and annoyed by this. I had taken great care to check on the forecast location of the Gulf Stream from a variety of sources and had been watching its progress for weeks. The Gulf Stream is a dangerous piece of water when the wind is blowing against it and finding a safe way across had been the lion's share of my planning and worry about the passage.

I had specifically planned our route to stay on the west side of it until we were well south, where it was forecast to take a brief but favorable turn to the east-southeast. We planned to join it there and motor the length of the bend in calm winds where we would exit as it resumed its run north.

We were over one hundred miles west of the Gulf Stream's forecast position, yet we were being set north at over three knots and the water temperature had risen 10C in minutes. If this wasn't it, it sure seemed like it. Perhaps it was a mini-side eddy. At that point, there was nothing left to do for my watch but ride it out and hope it would be over in a few hours.

When I got Maryanne up at six, the current had died down to a knot but the winds were up, so we got no relief from the seas for a while. At least it was considerably warmer than it had been the last few days in Beaufort. The warm water was helping with that. As the day wore on, the wind slowly faded to nothing. At least they had the forecast right about that.

With the wind gone, the seas started to subside. By nightfall, the sails were down and we were motoring in a smooth swell. I was still optimistically headed for my rendezvous with the eastbound turn that was still showing ahead of us on the morning's forecast. My hope was that if it was going to be calm and if we were going to have to motor, I at least wanted a little help getting in some easting. The Turks and Caicos are mostly south of Beaufort, but the hard part of the sail is getting far enough east before the trade winds push you back west further south. Progress is measured less in miles sailed than lines of longitude crossed.

With the opposite side engine providing a nice hum, sleeping conditions were perfect in the slow swell and we were both soon caught up on our rest. It was more of the same the next day.

We passed 100, and then 200 nautical miles from land with only about a ship or two passing in the far distance. The radar picked up a couple of others too far away to see. There were no birds or marine mammals or fish evident. The only sign of life was the bioluminescence streaming past the hulls at night. Our wakes looked like two rockets with green fire, the brighter of the two being churned up by our propeller.

Our Gulf Stream boost seems to be missing so far. Perhaps it's just a little south of where they thought.

As much as I would prefer to shut down the engine and wait for the wind to return, the forecasts are becoming increasingly clear that there is a gale coming in a few days. All indications are that it's best to be as far south and east as possible when it hits. Hudson Canyon off New York is expecting 55kt winds and 20-foot seas. Way down where we expect to be, it looks like we should see 33kt winds and 15-foot seas, which at least will be going our way. After the initial blast, we should be able to enjoy a fast sleigh ride the rest of the way in trade wind conditions - provided we can get far enough east.

Meal time, sunrises and sunset 'together time' are the clock for our day
[Maryanne]I've been amazed how quickly the two of us have fallen into our watches. Neither of us seem especially tired; this time at least it seems to have come naturally. Also neither of us have been seasick, nor had any of those uncomfortable periods on the edge that sometimes happens at the start of a passage. Yay - good news for this passage. The water is already an amazing blue. Strangely the best view of this is not from the boat looking down across the water (where it appears more of a sparkling gray), but from the bathroom escape hatch window; it's just beautiful!

Hanging out in Beaufort

[Maryanne]Kyle and I warmed to Beaufort pretty quickly once we’d fully settled in. From our anchored boat we regularly see dolphins swim along the creek, and one sunset we spent an hour or so watching two of the area’s famous wild horses grazing on the bank. Aside from such treasured sights, we found good dining, the local tourist stores, and generally wandering about the picturesque waterfront all rather relaxing. Once we found the dinghy docks and figured the correct one to use based on the state of the tides (and our expected times to arrive and depart), it was easy to go ashore, and that certainly helped too.

Anchored beside this channel marker, we suddenly have a cormorant as our special new neighbour

We hadn’t intended to stay long in Beaufort, but a snafu at Kyle’s work had him called in for some extra training during his first official vacation week. This meant we had to scramble to rent a car, and miss a perfect weather window to head out to sea. Frustrating all around, but, of course, there are positives too. Having a car meant I could make a few extra runs for groceries (Yes, we probably have a year of provisions now!), fuel, etc. The run to Raleigh-Durham airport was just under three hours, but on the drive there to drop off Kyle we were treated to wooded hills in a blaze of autumn glory, just stunning. Cotton fields were bursting with puffy white cotton balls. The drive put us in a full sense of time and place. Unfortunately all subsequent drives on that route were in the dark, with only road surface and the fear of deer crossing the road to occupy our minds.

Maryanne takes a break on a walk around Beaufort, and trust me - that there IS a wild horse in the dim light

Before Kyle left for work I persuaded (bullied?) him into touring the local museum. It helped that the museum was free, but having arrived we discovered it was also very well presented; highlights being the Blackbeard pirate wreck site and history, sperm whale skeleton and artefacts from one washed ashore relatively recently, and extensive information on local boat styles and history. I was saving a trip to the local Beaufort Historic Site (a collection of historically preserved/renovated homes with living history programs). Kyle promised we’d do it on his return to work, but of course events overtook us and suddenly with a strong storm approaching we needed to leave as soon as possible after Kyle’s return and the ‘fun list’ I’d planned had to be abandoned.

So, it’s Friday and I’m writing this while we are under-way and leaving the USA – headed off shore for a trip to the Turks and Caicos where we are looking to cast off the quilt in the bedroom, and delegate the sweaters to the bottom of the clothes pile. As we leave fishermen line the banks and small boats line the channels, all hoping for the big catch, as the current propels us out and away from America and on towards the tropics (being fickle, soon the current will hinder our passage, but for now all is well).

Beaufort - First Impressions

[Kyle]We had basically the same six unwelcome wake up calls as the previous day. There would be a gust, the anchor alarm would go off, and then one of us would have to get up and see if we really were dragging. It’s hard to tell at night while squinting through rain-spattered windows if the various lights are changing position relative to one another, so it was always necessary to stay up a while and study the situation.

When we finally had finished a cumulative approximation of a full night’s sleep, we arose to find that the weather was just slightly better than forecast. The wind was less and it was hardly raining at all. We decided the time had come to finally go ashore.

Beaufort was surprising. Although most southbound boats passing through are on just another stop on their way to Florida or possibly the Bahamas, almost all of the boats headed offshore to the eastern Caribbean stop here as their last port in the U.S., having gone through the ICW in order to avoid the dangers of Cape Hatteras, which is very dangerous indeed. Because of this, I had expected Beaufort to be more of a nautical town. There was a free dinghy dock for transients, but so far we've found few obvious cruiser (or any boater) facilities (chandleries, sail lofts, etc). There are town docks, but this is just a friendly name for a pricey marina rather than providing general (anchored boat facilities), i.e. charging crazy prices for dockage on an overnight basis with showers and tantalizing WIFI for paying customers only.

{Maryanne: My biggest surprise regarding Beaufort is its size; I'd expected a much bigger town, but it is a small, and rather quaint, waterfront town with a beautiful rural feel to it (helped by the stunning sandy spits just across the creek).}

Instead, the town seems set up to cater to the many car tourists who stop in on their tours of the Outer Banks. The waterfront, which is most of the town, is very pretty and has the usual assortment of art galleries, bars and little stores selling nautically themed kitsch. You can’t buy rope here, but you can get a cheaply made Greek fisherman’s cap or a little wooden sailboat for your study that has “Beaufort, NC” on the sails.

We thought there would be more to the town than we could see from the boat, so we were surprised to be finished seeing the entire business district in twenty minutes. We headed away from the waterfront hoping to find more, but found only houses, so we circled back to where we started.

We found a bar with upstairs seating on a deck overlooking Begonia and had a couple of drinks as well as an uninspiring plate of nachos that was only half a step above stadium grade. Oh, well. We were here for the atmosphere, not the food, and it was a great view.

We wandered around a bit more and found a couple more interesting looking pubs for another time. Passing the last, a place called Clawson’s, they sucked us in with a free tasting of local North Carolina IPA beers by Oskar Blues Brewery. Maryanne went to the table and was handed a tray of six varieties in four ounce sample cups. I was intending to walk away and share hers when the guy handed me my own tray. Well, fine!

I’m sorry to say this, but they were all pretty awful; I guess we are not really IPA fans. Maryanne found one she liked. I found a different variety to be tolerable in the four-ounce quantity. Had I ordered a full one from the bar out of curiosity, I would not have asked for a second round. The bar was nice, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find us in again having a different drink.

As a topper for the evening, we stopped at a local store just before closing time and picked up a pint of ice cream for dessert and took it back to the boat. It was just reaching the perfect level of softness when we broke out the spoons.

Stunning sunsets from anchor in Beaufort

ICW: Last Day; Into Beaufort

[Kyle]We were the first ones up again and managed to be in the short canal connecting Campbell Creek to the Bay River by the time the sun rose over the misty landscape in an amazing fiery sunrise, guzumping all of those other lazy boaters still sleeping back at the anchorage.

Three hours later, they all passed us. There hadn’t been any wind for days and I was dying to show them all how differently it would go if we could have a proper sails-up race.

It was another canal, creek, river, bay, river, creek, canal, repeat kind of a day. By the end, we started to see more of the big shrimp boats working in Pamlico Sound. At the last section between very beautiful Adams Creek and Beaufort, the canal gradually changed from banks of muddy marsh to beachy looking sandy marsh.

The last time we came this way in Footprint, we stayed at Morehead City for our last couple of days in the U.S. That turned out to be a pretty big mistake. There was little to do and the marina was expensive and nickel-and-dimey. We later learned we should have gone instead to nearby Beaufort (this one is pronounced BOW-furt, the one in South Carolina gets to be BYOO-furt).

There are basically two places to anchor in Beaufort: Town Creek, which is kind of out of town, but not too far, and Taylor Creek, which is right in the middle of the pretty town waterfront district. We knew it was supposed to blow pretty hard in a few days, so we pulled into Town Creek since it seemed like it would have better protection. The place was small and packed with mostly derelict local boats and after looking for an hour, we couldn’t find anywhere suitable in which to squeeze Begonia.

Defeated, we got the last drawbridge opening for a couple of hours (it doesn’t open for rush hour. Wait a minute, rush hour?) and headed into Taylor Creek. Taylor Creek seemed much larger, but was also pretty much full of moored local boats. There was a fairway between the moorings and the marinas along the waterfront.

It seemed from watching all of the boats that had passed us earlier that it was standard practice to “cheat” the mooring field by anchoring in a line on the mooring edge of the fairway. The problem was that the water was fairly deep and anchored boats need more swinging room than moored boats, particularly if it was going to blow hard. Pinch the channel too much and you might get run off. Anchor too close to the moored boats and you could swing into them. We knew we were going to be here for a while, so we wanted good room all around. We searched for an hour way up and down the creek and then finally settled on a spot right in the middle of town by the dinghy dock.

It had been a pretty long day and we were pretty beat and hungry, so we decided to make the first night an “in” night. Deploying the dinghy seemed like just one too many post-sailing jobs at that hour. Maryanne made up a big pot of potato soup and we were able to turn in relatively early. I was so pleased that we would be able to sleep in the next day

Finally in Beaufort, North Carolina

It didn’t happen. Our anchor alarm woke us both from a deep sleep at about 4:30. We weren’t dragging; we had just swung beyond the alarm limits that we had set too tight. Still, THAT will wake you up.

We were fast asleep again when another alarm went off. This time, it was our barometer in the other room. I had pressed a button to turn on the light in the dark of the previous morning and had somehow turned on a six o’clock alarm at the same time.

An hour later, some bill collector called looking for somebody we didn’t know. Fine! We’re up.

It was all well and good. It was supposed to blow later as well as start raining. We wanted to get our first reconnaissance of the town done and be back on the boat before all of that happened just in case we didn’t like the swinging situation.

We never made it. The rain and wind arrived earlier than forecast, so we decided to just stay put. As the wind picked up from the southwest, it was blowing us right into the fairway. There was still plenty of space for passing boats, but we were clearly the one sticking out the most. We were expecting the harbormaster or the Coast Guard to come by and tell us to find another spot, but they never did.

Maryanne did some work getting the ham radio and the sat phone ready. I did some routine maintenance on the engines. When we were done, those docks were looking awfully close. We took a couple of sights and after half an hour or so, we determined that we were actually dragging anchor.

Aw, crap! Luckily, it was happening very slowly. Also luckily, one of the boats nearest us last night, who had been in a much better spot to begin with, had left earlier. We re-anchored further out of the channel in their old spot. I backed down using a whole lot more power than I generally ask of these engines, even in forward, and we were satisfied that we were now in good holding.

We shut everything down and were tidying up when it started to look like we were getting close to that dock again. What the hell? I backed down like crazy on that thing! We had out a lot of chain and it was possible that we were just swinging and not actually dragging. The anchor was a real pig to get off of the bottom, so it was probably fine, but we didn’t want to take any chances, so we moved a little further on and anchored again.

This time, we let the wind build Begonia’s speed before she was jerked to an abrupt stop at the end of her rode, and then we used ALL of the power to give everything a good tug. She’s not going anywhere, but we’ll stay aboard through the worst of it, just to be safe. For once, we have the luxury of staying somewhere longer than a day or two, so we can afford to lose a couple of tourism days aboard.

ICW: Alligator-Pungo

[Kyle]We were the first boat to pull up anchor in the almost light of morning. Within a half mile, we were motoring through the Alligator-Pungo canal which connects the two rivers of respective names. The Alligator-Pungo canal is similar to the Dismal Swamp canal in that it is dead straight for two and a half hours on each end with a nine-degree turn in the middle that actually is huge excitement by the time it arrives. This canal is much wider than the last, though, with room enough for six boats abreast instead of the almost two on the Dismal Swamp. Well, maybe four; there were a lot of partially exposed stumps by the banks.

Sunrise in the Alligator River

About an hour or so in, we started spotting other sailboats behind through the binoculars. Since we travel at about 4.5 knots with one engine and most of the other boats seemed to be going 6 to 6 1/2, our main entertainment was watching them all pass us over the course of the day.

There was also plenty of chatter on the radio amongst what sounded like two or three groups travelling together, the main participant being a boat called Just Desserts. We never actually saw him as I think he was one anchorage ahead of us the whole time. He seemed to fancy himself the leader of his particular group and he obviously loved the sound of his own voice, so he would not shut up about anything that crossed his mind. I exercised restraint by not actually doing so, but I was always right on the verge of saying, “Hey, don’t you people have cell phones?”

The canal itself was actually kind of pretty. It went through swamp and grassland, and had a few Cypress trees with big, buttress roots, so there were lots of cranes and herons to be seen as well as the occasional eagle. The big wildlife spot of the day looked initially like a duck crossing the canal ahead, except it looked like it was swimming backwards – the tall, skinny part was at the back. A look through the binoculars showed it to be a head. The skinny part was stubby antlers. At the other bank a big deer clambered out of the canal and quickly disappeared into the reeds. Two more followed, the last of which we almost had to slow down to keep from hitting.

Although the canals are a quiet affair; there is plenty of wildlife to enjoy

Once we exited the canal into the Pungo River, things got really boring. The river widened until the banks were far enough away to be a thin, dark strip in the windless haze. With nothing going by, it felt like we had slowed even further down. It didn’t start to get interesting again until we made it to Campbell creek several hours later. There, the river narrowed and got prettier until we were tucked up in our anchorage in the shallows past many of the boats that had passed us during the day.

Further South on the ICW - A Short One (For a Change)

[Kyle]After Elizabeth City, our next day was a very long trip down the Pasquotank, across Albemarle Sound and up the Alligator River.

An early start means another great sunrise view
(although to be fair, sunrise is getting later and later)

This part of the world has little in the way of scenery apart from a thin line of marsh at the edges of the water. There was no wind to speak of, so the day was basically a series of three-hour legs separated by ten-degree turns.

Another ICW Bridge, and the crowd catches ups with us eventually..

The only real drama came when the Alligator River Bridge tender yelled at us to hurry up so he could get us and a boat ahead through in one go. After we got through, seven more boats went through on the next opening. Since we were single engine and therefore slower than all of the other boats by a knot or so, the whole day was spent watching them get bigger very slowly, and then smaller again. We made up for our lack of speed by taking shortcuts across the shallows that the keelboats couldn’t manage, so we all ended up anchoring within a couple of miles of each other within fifteen minutes of each other.

We were so far into the boonies that we couldn’t get a phone signal of any kind, so Maryanne fired up the ham radio and sent our position update out that way.

So calm it is hard to tell sky from water - definitely not a sailing day.

Since the anchorage is surrounded by marshland, it is bug heaven. This time it was good that it was getting kind of cold because we didn’t mind hiding inside the protected cabin for the night.

Another Farewell to Portsmouth, VA

[Kyle]Growing up in Denver (Colorado), I had hardly even heard of Norfolk, Virginia before I got a job that had me flying into there from time to time. When Maryanne and I first arrived as live-aboard cruisers in our Tartan 30, we only initially expected to be staying for a winter, maybe two, to regroup and fill up the cruising kitty before moving on to other sailing areas.

Well, one thing led to another, as things do, and we ended up staying there a few extra years. I realize I get itchy feet and move around more than most people; I don’t tend to stay anywhere for too long. At first, it was necessity – chasing jobs to keep my career going, then it became a desire to see as many places as I could in the time that I had.

Norfolk/Portsmouth had started as a somewhat logical stopover along the meandering line across the map that is my life, rather than being a place I was drawn to as a destination, but it ended up being the unexpected single place where I have lived the longest since I moved out of my Mom’s house to give adulthood a shot.

I never got really attached to the place itself. While there is something nice about being somewhere familiar, I wasn’t overwhelmed with a sense of being back “home” when we sailed in. The best thing about the area for us was all of the wonderful friends we made while we were living there. If they suddenly all moved out of town en masse, I’d have a much stronger urge to go where they are than to go back and see Norfolk for its own sake. The two will probably always be intertwined though, so in that sense Norfolk has a place in our hearts.

Living just past Mile 0 on the Intracoastal Waterway while we saved and got the boat ready, it was hard not to feel left behind as the cruisers passed us by every year on their way south to escape winter, then north in spring, all tanned from months in the tropics.

This made for a swirling mix of confused emotions for me as we headed south for the second time: I was already missing friends I saw last night that I usually spent months without seeing. I wanted to hang back a few more days and get my fill of their warm companionship. On the other hand, I was so glad to be moving again, living in our chosen way. Norfolk would not hold us back from a life of adventure.

Since the last time we left, we been so far and had seen so much that we never could have dreamed. We had finally made it to the tropics ourselves before turning north-east and sailing until we made it all the way to Norwegian Fjords without night. We got as far east as Turkey before turning back west to where Footprint was tragically lost on a dark night on an Italian beach.

From that low point, uncertain whether or not we’d be able to get our “normal” life back, we once again went through the steps of becoming cruisers, this time with the benefit of experience to help speed things up.

Now we were back on a boat and once again, the tremendously unsightly first five miles of the Elizabeth River south of Portsmouth was a portal beyond which lay an almost completely different whole world of adventure and possibilities. The summer shakedown was over; we were becoming blue water cruisers again.

An early start, left us with an unexpectedly long wait at the first closed bridge... Pretty though!

Since it was a weekend this time, we no longer had to worry about rush hour restrictions on bridge openings. This meant that we could leave early the same morning and still make the first locking up at the Deep Creek lock on the north end of the Dismal Swamp Canal.

It was starting to get pretty cold. As we untied from the harbor wall in Portsmouth, I found myself sliding around on a deck covered in frost. It melted once we got some air moving over the boat. Once we got near the Gilmerton lift bridge (our first of the day) it became apparent from radio traffic that it was not opening on demand, as I had assumed, but was instead on a once an hour schedule. We would end up being about five minutes late. We would have to loiter for an hour before the next opening. The next lift time would be the same as the first locking at the canal five miles further away. We would then have to wait two and a half hours for the day’s second locking.

By the time the bridge finally opened, I was shivering from the cold. Perhaps we left going south a bit too long. Maryanne hid in the warm cabin and occasionally popped out to give me hot cups of tea. First through the bridge was an enormous barge going the other way being gingerly fed through the narrow gap by two tugboats. We were next, followed by a handful of other sailboats that had collected during the wait.

At the turnoff for the Dismal Swamp route, the other boats stayed on the main route while we turned off. Throughout the previous week, there had been several reports of boats on the Dismal Swamp route that had overheated due to water intakes clogged by mats of duckweed that was in some places thicker than a foot. Many had to be towed out. Several boats also had to fish their cats out of the water after the poor felines thought they were jumping off onto dry grass.

Maryanne had kept herself on top of the situation with first-hand reports from some of the boaters as well as frequent calls to the lockkeepers for status updates. They had been actively trying to flush the weed through and had finally assured us the day before that it would be okay to go through. Begonia’s water intakes are pretty deep out of the weed zone, so we felt comfortable giving it a go.

Getting the second locking up had another complication: Chris, one of our Norfolk friends who had gone sailing with us the previous week, had planned to meet up with us at the lock for breakfast, which she was bringing along with her. We made a quick change of plans and arranged to pick her up at a boat ramp along the way and take her through the lock with us.

When she arrived, she had enough food to feed sixteen people, which to be fair was probably the normal amount at her house, since she has two teenage boys. I’d like to say I gobbled it all up, but I was stuffed way before that. It was all delicious.

Deep Creek Lock and the Dismal Swamp canal

At the lock, Chris called her boys, who had dropped her off at the boat ramp, and arranged a pickup much further along at about the halfway mark. This helped pass the time as we went through the canal.

The Dismal swamp Canal is pretty, but it is arrow straight (except for one bend in the middle) and all pretty much the same. If the person not steering fell asleep in the cockpit for a couple of hours, they could wake up not knowing they had lost a second. Steering is another matter. There’s a regular enough supply of downed branches one side or the other to dodge to keep alert.

After dropping off Chris, it became increasingly clear that our normal one-engine mode of motoring wouldn’t get us to the South Mills lock at the far end of the canal before the last locking down of the day. We fired up the other engine, which improved our ETA to just five minutes after the scheduled opening. A couple of miles out, I called the lockkeeper to let him know we were coming and he was kind enough to look the other way at locking time until we got there.

Eventually making it to the South Mills lock for the final locking down of the day

Once we were through and back at sea level, we shut down the first engine and went back to economy one-engine mode for the ride down the ever-widening Pasquotank River. We had the whole thing to ourselves as we were treated to a beautiful sunset over mirror-flat water.

It was fully dark by the time we were approaching the gauntlet every boat that goes this way has to run: The Elizabeth City Bridge. Remembering my last encounter with the bridge tender the year before, I made a point of speaking very slowly and clearly into the microphone, using my best airline captain calm voice. It may not be the same guy, after all.

Me: “Elizabeth City Bridge, Elizabeth City Bridge, Elizabeth City Bridge, This is the southbound sailing catamaran Begonia, One-half mile north, requesting an opening please.”

Bridge tender: “(Unintelligible hillbilly dialect)”

Oh, no. It was the same guy. I had no clue what he said, so I just did my whole transmission all over again.

Bridge tender: “Cap’n, Bring it on back.”

Huh? What does that mean? Maybe he wants me to back off the speed to give him more time.

Me: “Say again.”

Bridge tender, sounding clearly disgusted with me for being so daft: “Cap’n, Bring it on back! I cain’t understand yew!”

Perhaps I was too wordy before. Me, speaking very slowly, enunciating every syllable (Yes, I can do it!): “Sailboat. North. Request opening. Please.”

Bridge tender: “Where y’all at? I cain’t…oh wait, I see yuh. I’ll git ‘er up.”

When we got to the bridge, he came out of the office and yelled something. We couldn’t hear him because of the noise and the distance, but it seemed to be along the lines of, “Damn Hippies, Get off my lawn!”

We thanked him on the radio, but never got a reply. Perhaps I went about it wrong and should have gone about it in kind, using nautical gibberish:

Me: “Lisbeth Bridge, sloop Begonia, six cables out, half east by northeast. Crow’s nest gonna whack ‘em, smack ‘em.”

Bridge tender: “Yumptuh flaing y’all!”

Me: “Yardarm. Bo’sun, Breech loader, Yaaargghh!”

Bells ring as traffic barrier goes down and bridge rises. Bridge tender comes out with a big smile and a hearty wave.

It could have just been unfortunate timing. It was about quarter to the hour. We may have been interrupting the season premier of “Glee”. Now he’ll never know if they got to sing that song or not. Instead of, “Get off my lawn!” he may have been yelling, “Damn boaters! You ruined my “Glee” again! I quit!!”

Let’s hope so.

We tied up to the town wall in exactly the same spot we tied up Footprint five years earlier. A nice Canadian couple helped us tie up and then left us to finish our checklist. We took a brief walk along the waterfront to look at the other boats, and then popped into a pub for a pint and an appetizer.

The last time we were here, we didn’t have the time to really look around. Elizabeth City is kind of a strange place. The waterfront and the street with the pub were nice, but in between, there were a lot of boarded up houses and businesses. It’s pretty clear the town has been in decline for a while. Still, it’s peaceful enough and we do appreciate the boat-friendly atmosphere.

Not all boaters are passing through, this duck blind boat was towed in and caused Kyle to chuckle. The highlight of the day was a visit from Ron.

We slept in the next morning and were met for lunch by our friend Ron, who we met many years ago when we were living at Ocean Marine in Portsmouth. Ron is friendly and talkative and always has something interesting going on. He treated us to a delicious Mexican meal at a place that was packed, even though it was three o’clock. I had my fill of cheeses and multi-colored hot sauces and was full into the next day. Thanks, Ron, That was marvelous!

Lunch was over much too quickly and before we knew it, we were back at Begonia fixing things. Maryanne had been having difficulty with our pactor modem kicking off when trying to use the ham radio. She had replaced some of the data cables and installed ferrites (anti-interference devices) as well as checking that all of the connections were tight. I had found a corroded spot on our ground plane antenna, which snakes its way through both bilges, effectively shortening it by 15 feet. I cut out the corroded part and spliced the rest together. A test of the whole system came up failed again. We tried a couple of different frequencies using other ground stations and were finally able to successfully send a short email from our fancy-schmancy ham radio to my iPhone via a station in Florida.

The ham radio procedure is pretty complicated and tedious. First, atmospheric propagation charts have to be consulted to find a decent station and frequency band for the time of day, then the specific frequency has to be looked up and then set into the radio. We tried several different frequency ranges and were finally able to get about a 75% success rate using stations as far away as Panama and Trinidad. That’s pretty good for ham radio in the daytime. It’s nowhere near as intuitive as a smartphone, but it’s still pretty cool to have a radio that can transmit thousands of miles on a boat that actually needs to be able to do that. You can tell it’s a long way, though. The radios innards hum with the strain while transmitting and all of the lights on the boat go dim. Data comes back about as quickly as an average person can type. Individual letters appear on the screen at about three words every five seconds or so.

Once we had satisfied ourselves that we could make and maintain a connection, Maryanne downloaded our first ever weather forecast file, officially making our expensive satellite phone the backup method until we feel confident enough to mothball it entirely.

Not a bad place to spend an evening though some boats clearly get stuck here a lot longer

All told, our stopover in Elizabeth City was a good one, apart from the bridge thing. We had a lovely meal with a good friend and successfully made it over a pretty big technological hurdle. It was time to wind down with a nice glass of wine.

Last Minute Chores and Catching up with Friends

[Maryanne]Kyle and I lived in Portsmouth, VA for almost 5 years before we set off for overseas adventures; we have many friends that we wanted to catch up with, and some favourite haunts we wanted to visit.

Of course friends have their own schedules to keep and some of those favourite haunts have closed down (most likely due to our lack of patronage since 2008). Luckily we did manage to meet up with everyone we hoped to see, although not always as often nor for as long as we liked. We had mail delivered for spare parts and useful objects that we know we’ll not be able to source readily as we travel, and of course there were provisions to purchase, and all the numerous boat chores. I even managed an epic trip to my old (and favourite ever) doctor for a host of just-in-case medications for Begonia. Interspersed we made sure to have plenty of fun.

Mark finishes off the creme brulee with a serious flame thrower - and Liz gets a well deserved break from all her running around on my behalf

We even managed to take a few friends sailing for the day (a miracle that Kyle’s work schedule and the weather actually cooperated). After being at anchor for a couple of weeks, we moved Begonia into the free harbour in Portsmouth to make life a little easier for me while Kyle was away a work.

The dinghy had a lot of outings while we were at anchor, and could finally be stowed once we settled in at Portsmouth High St landing.

We ate in new restaurants (perhaps more than we needed… Oops), and I went to the theatre and the cinema (rare treats).

Thanks to so many friends that caught up with us, but a special thank you to Liz, a wonderful friend that spoiled me with meals and movies, and long trips to grocery stores while I’m sure she had plenty of other things she should be doing! Liz deserves a medal for her many gifts of time and friendship to make my life so much easier - it is REALLY appreciated.

A GIANT shopping trip (thanks Liz), and catching up with sewing (with only a few minor glitches)

We spent our last evening with Kate and Mark (Kyle landed at 6:30pm, and was picked up at the airport) with a few nibbles aboard Begonia and then a few more at a new fancy tapas bar. We are headed south now, and need to eat quite a bit less to balance out an amazing time in Portsmouth and Norfolk. Thank you to all we caught up with.