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Charleston park |
07.13.13
We had a good and uneventful overnight passage from Charleston through Masonboro Inlet to Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina. We’d originally planned on doing two days up
the ICW to Georgetown, then out in the Atlantic directly to Beaufort, but on Saturday,
while doing the pre-start-up checks, I found that the knob for the gear lube dipstick
was broken. Someone (me) had apparently
over-tightened it and part of it was broken and stuck inside. (I know, Darrell. I know. Don’t over-tighten.) Unsure of how to get that piece out without
dropping orange plastic bits into the gear area, we decided to call someone for
help and figured we would have to wait until Monday. The City Marina suggested for weekend help
that we call Dave from Moxy Marine Services, who lives with his wife on their
sailboat just a few docks over from where we were docked. I called and he was able to come right
away. He got the piece out, and he
called a friend who has spare parts and was able to find us a used dipstick,
which normally sells for $120(!) for a more reasonable $40. So by the end of the day, we were set to go
again.
In rechecking the weather, we decided to go to Plan B and do
our overnight to Wrightsville
Beach and then go up the
ICW two days to Beaufort. This ended up
working well. The waves had come down
from 4-5 feet to 2-3 feet. This also
meant that the wind had come down to 10-15 knots, rather light, but we were
able to sail at least one third of the way and motor sailed the rest. And no precipitation is always a plus. We had to go a long way around Frying Pan
Shoals off of Cape
Fear, but we were glad
that we did this trip because we covered a lot of miles northward in one hop.
After anchoring in Wrightsville Beach,
a family beach town we’d visited on foot on our last visit, we ate supper, went
to bed early and slept well. We left
early the next morning to time our low tide passing under a 65-foot fixed
bridge and headed for Mile Hammock Bay
in Camp Lejeune, a US Marine Corps Base. Once we passed the bridge later in the
morning, we raised the jib and sailed the rest of the day with the current
helping us out the entire way doing 4.0 to 4.5 knots. It was soooo quiet and peaceful. We were delighted. We anchored at Camp Lejeune
where the helicopter/planes were practicing until about 10:00 at night. It was somewhat loud, but we didn’t mind and
were grateful that the camp provides a protected little anchorage for us
cruisers.
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Sailing along on the river |
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Happy face house |
Rising early again the next morning, we put the pedal to the
metal to get under the first 65-foot bridge while it was still a fairly low, though
rising, tide. No problema. After that, we jib-sailed, again with the
current in our favor, slowly for the next 20 miles. We wanted to allow the high tide to peak,
then fall low enough so we would be able to cross under the next 65-foot
bridge. We had another lovely, lazy sail
till mid-afternoon. We arrived at the Atlantic Beach Bridge
just before 2:00. I’d just read in our
guide book that several cruisers had reported that the bridge does not really provide
65 feet of clearance at high tide. We’d
been under it twice before with no problems, but reading this was a bit
unsettling, especially because even though we’d been sailing slowly, we arrived
earlier than I’d wanted.
As we approached, I looked through the binoculars at the
tide board at the base of the bridge…barely at 65 feet. At this time also, three power boats were
zooming in and would pass us at the same time making wakes that could bounce
our mast right into the underneath side of the bridge. “No!
Come about!” We turned the boat
around and decided to wait an hour. We
slowly sailed up current…one knot, while boats zipped past, probably wondering
what in the heck we were doing. Right at
that time, Jessica phoned to wish Dave a happy birthday. Perfect timing! After the call we made another pass in front
of the tide board. Only a bit over 65
feet, so we delayed awhile longer and took another lap upstream. At 3:15, we found there to be enough
clearance at 65.5ish, so under we went.
No problem, but it was close. The
timing of low tide is not an exact science, so we’re glad for the bridges that have
tide boards as not all do.
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Beaufort pirate ship! |
The anchorage in Beaufort is always crowded and this time
was no different.
It took quite a while
to find a good spot to anchor.
By the
time we settled in, it was nearly 7:00, and between worrying about the 65-foot
bridge and finding a place to anchor, we were worn out.
But, being that it was Dave’s birthday, we
found our second wind, dropped the dinghy and rowed over to the dock.
We saw a shaggy though friendly looking
sailor at the marina and asked if we could tie our dinghy next to his boat so
we didn’t have to row all the way to the dinghy dock.
He obliged.
I wish I’d gotten a photo of him because he is the quintessential
single-hander dude.
Slightly grizzled,
with a black bandana attempting to hold back sun-bleached scruffy dark curls
(and conceal a receding hairline), tattoos covering his tanned arms, chest and
back, a slight paunch, a few gray hairs and laugh lines edging dark though
merry eyes, dressed in dirty cut offs.
“My name is
Temple,”
he said in his
Florida
drawl as we shook each other’s hands.
He’s sailed his Morgan sloop up the East Coast solo.
He’d just come in from two nights out and got
hammered by 65-knot winds and eight-foot seas, 60 miles out.
(Glad we missed that fun!)
He said his cabin looked as if someone had
gone below and just threw things all over, even into the engine compartment,
but he was pleased at how
White Pearl
had handled the rolling seas.
He has a
friend in
Rhode Island who wants him to visit,
but
Temple’s
not sure about spending the winter there because he really doesn’t like the
cold.
We emphasized that it will,
indeed, be cold in
Rhode Island
in the winter.
It’s funny that he’s not
sure if he wants to go there, but he’s already about halfway there!
What a character.
Maybe we’ll cross paths with
White Pearl again.
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1709 home, the oldest in Beaufort |
Dave and I had a nice dinner at the Dock House where there
was no doubt that we were in the south.
Dave had flounder – a mound of flounder – which was deep fried and came
with French fries and a scoop of shredded cabbage with a sweet mayo
dressing.
I had shrimp and grits and,
man, was it spicy but delicious.
Between
my dish and the bloody Mary, my lips were burning!
But it was a good burn.
In Beaufort we visited the Old Burying Grounds, a place we’d
missed on the two previous visits. It is
a fascinating graveyard going back to the Revolutionary War period. Perhaps the most unusual was one grave that
was covered with toys and trinkets. The
story is that in the mid-1700s, an English family, including an infant daughter
came to Beaufort. When the girl was much
older, she had a desire to see her homeland and persuaded her mother to allow
her father, a sea captain, to take her.
The father promised the mother that he would return the daughter
safely. The girl enjoyed her visit to London but died on the
voyage home. She would have been buried
at sea, but her father could not bear to break his promise. He purchased a barrel of rum from the
captain, placed her body in it and brought it to Beaufort for burial.
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Old Burying Ground |
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Rum girl grave |
There were many intriguing stories from the Revolutionary
and Civil Wars, and tales of the seas abounded.
One inscription on the grave of a sea captain who died in 1879 was
written:
The form that fills
this silent grave
Once tossed on
ocean’s rolling wave,
But in a port
securely fast,
He’s dropped his
anchor here at last.
We also visited the Watercraft Center. It is here that wooden boats are restored and
built. Classes are given, as well. Apparently this place is also affectionately
known as “day care for senior guys”.
It rained a lot while we were in Beaufort, so we were glad
to be in a calm anchorage. On Sunday
morning, we left for Oriental, just over 20 miles away. We’d left early to pass under another 65-foot
bridge at low tide, which worked out well.
We were able to get a little sailing in again, which was great. It was fairly blustery and choppy inside Oriental Harbor, and the best place to anchor was
rather close to the docks of the marina, so we stayed aboard until about 5:00
when things calmed a bit. Oriental is a
sweet little town that supports a theater for local productions. We walked to the grocery store and had dinner
at the local marina…deep fried (of course) cod, corn on the cob, garlic mashed potatoes. Delish. We topped it off with ice cream from the
local coffee house, The Bean, and then a walk around town.
We left early on Monday, and motored in choppy seas into the
wind down the Neuse River and into the Pamlico Sound. Once we turned the corner back up into the
canal into the Pamlico and Pungo
Rivers, things smoothed
out a bit and we were able to sail, though slowly, in light airs. We dropped the hook in an anchorage that was
new to us up Pungo Creek. It was serene
and beautiful. Only one other boat, a
catamaran, was there. The sunset seemed
to last forever and was spectacular.
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Along the peaceful Pungo River |
This morning we left the clam of the Pungo Creek anchorage
to have our heartbeat quicken just a couple of miles up the
Alligator River
–
Pungo River
Canal as we neared the
Wilkerson Bridge, which is just 64 feet tall.
The water level board showed 64 feet and
change.
Hmm…We’d been under it twice, so
we knew it was possible.
Dave slowed
Wayward Wind way down.
Here we go…Ting…Ting.
Our antenna just kissed the first and third
girders.
Whew!
That is the last of the “iffy” bridges.
Only four more 65-footers to go before
Norfolk, in addition to
the seven opening bridges and one lock.
Keeps you on your toes.
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A boat we passed anchored out along the way |
Tonight we are relaxing at a calm anchorage on the Little
Alligator River.
It is odd because it is
so open, but the wind is almost non-existent, so it should be a calm
night.
We had to dodge numerous fish
traps to get in, but it was worth it.
Very peaceful.
Tomorrow we’ll
cross the Albemarle Sound and the next day, if all goes well, we’ll be in
Norfolk at the south end of the
Chesapeake.
Dave tells me I need to come up to the cockpit to see the sunset.
And I always do what Dave tells me to
do!