Beaufort, NC

Well, we got fed up with all the repairs and sold the boat and bought this lovely waterway home!
Just kidding - at least about selling the boat and buying this home.
Dave says that Barbie lives here.  I said that in a way, a Barbie probably does live here.

More repairs.  After spending hours trying to get the computer to work with the help of TJ over the phone, it was no use.  When we got to Wrightsville Beach, we took it to a computer fix-it shop.  Turns out my computer had a virus, big time.  Over 100 corrupt files!  Took two days, but now it's working fine.  Went to Best Buy and bought a new laptop to have as a back-up for the chart-plotter program.  Went to West Marine and bought another handheld GPS also as back-up.  Reinstalled the programs and now we've just about got it.  The refrigerator compressor is out now, but that's another story.

Wrightsville Beach is a nice beach town swarming with lovely bikini-clad women and muscle-y men walking down the streets and fit joggers everywhere, many with baby strollers.  The anchorage was pretty good, so it was an OK place to have to spend a couple of days.  We also took the bus to Wilmington where we walked along the waterfront.  It was here in the warehouse area where, during the Civil War, 21 slaves stole three ships and sailed past a Confederate fort soon to be picked up by Union ships.  All 21 joined the Union Army.  One, Benjamin Gould, later became a senator.  Also the Underground Railroad made a "stop" here "carrying" many slaves to freedom.

On the way to the next anchorage, we were sweating the 65-foot bridges (again!).  We radioed C-Gull Seeker who was behind us and asked what his mast height was, which was 55-feet.  We explained that our mast was just about 65-feet including antennas.  A few minutes later, he radioed back and said that if it were him, he'd cut a few feet off our mast.  At that moment, it seemed like a good idea.

Later on, we arrived at a bridge that, according to the guide book, was reported to often have less than 65-feet of clearance.  Gigi's Island, who was ahead of us, had overheard the previous mast height conversations so right after they went under, they kindly radioed us to tell us that the marker was a hair over 65 feet, no more.  We thanked them and told them we'd inch up and decide whether to try it or not.  The tide was coming in, so if we decided to wait, we'd have to wait about 12 hours.  We decided to go for it.  The antenna didn't even brush the underside of the bridge.  WHEW!  Afterwards, I told Dave that we'd better not get too cocky about this...

The next stop was Mile Hammock Bay, a rectangular basin near Camp Lejeune Marine base.  The guidebook explained that the marines often use the bay for water exercises, "You may be buzzed by a helicopter or inflatables full of well-armed soldiers."  It sounded less than tranquil, but there would not be another anchorage for many miles.  Back on the radio, C-Gull Seeker, a former Navy submarine man, said that the marines are friendly to the cruisers and they only shoot blanks and that it's a nice place to stop.  So we went for it, and we were sure glad we did as it was a very calm anchorage.  No buzzing.

"Well-protected anchorage" at Mile Hammock Bay near Camp Lejeune, NC

After carefully plotting the next three tall bridges, which were spread over 23 miles, we jammed to Beaufort, timing all pretty well.  Only had to wait a half an hour for one.  You would think I'm obsessed with tall bridges.  You'd be right.  Actually we were enjoying the lovely wetlands along an uninhabited stretch watching ospreys diving and...what's that... a crumpled tank?  Check the chart...oh, yea, we're passing the firing range of Camp Lejeune.  Beyond that were the occasional homes with long docks extending to the water.  As we neared Morehead City and Beaufort, NC (that's /beau/ as in /no/ as opposed to /beau/ as in /you/ as in Beaufort, SC), the area became more populated and the waterway was crazy with small boats, jet-skis, and every type of personal water craft imaginable zipping all around.  Ah, yes, Memorial Day weekend.  We thought about passing Beaufort because of the madness, but after seven hours, we decided to stop.  The anchorage is fairly calm, and it's easy to dinghy over to the public dock.  Beaufort is another quaint town with a coffee shop that reminds us of the Aqus Cafe in Petaluma - artsy, yummy fare, live music - AND they offer the best brownies that Dave and I have ever had in our lives, hands down. 

We gave our broker, John Nelson, a call to say hello as this is his hometown.  Yesterday morning we met John - for me, the first time in person.  What a genuinely nice fellow.  He drove us around to show us the lay of the land and even offered up a car to borrow, should we need it for provisions. 

Later on, while sitting on a bench in the shade, we saw a couple nearby, the man was calling a taxi.  I recognized the voice - C-Gull Seeker!  We chatted with Kathy and Mike and exchanged boat cards.  Kathy offered to share the taxi to the grocery store with us, so off we went to Lion King.  Afterwards, back on the boat, we called Mike who gave us some ideas to try with the refrigerator compressor, but no luck.  Looks like it's another repairman to the rescue, we hope. 

Oh, and on Saturday night we sat out in the cockpit and enjoyed the mid-seventies breeze while watching the Memorial Day fireworks over Beaufort.  Everything put into perspective again. 

                                         

Dave with C-Gull Seeker behind him and Linda sporting her "Homage to Bob Dylan's 70th Birthday" hairdo.

                                                                                                          

Ahh.  Home, sweet home for a night.  Very quiet and calm. 

A few days later found us motoring through the Cape Fear Sound - a broad expanse of water though most is unnavigable due to shallow depths.  My computer went haywire, so we did not have our chart plotter.  The advantage of this electronic device is that by using a plug-in GPS, a little red boat, (us!), shows up on the chart so that we know exactly where we are which especially comes in handy in narrow channels.  We have paper charts and a GPS, but plotting our position on the chart is not as instantaneous, and by the time we've plotted ourselves on the paper chart, we've moved to a new position.  We made it through without grounding or getting off course.  Then it was up the Cape Fear River.  The first possible anchorages were in creeks too shallow for us.  The next was in a city harbor too small for us.  The next was in the middle of an expanse of water, which, without the chart plotter, we'd surely have gone aground.  It was getting late in the afternoon, so we found a wide spot "in the road" and pulled over just off the shipping channel.  We anchored, and though it was windy, we were set.  During dinner, a giant barge came by pushing up a huge mound of water on its bow.  Moments after it passed we experienced what felt like a 6.0 earthquake.  Not bad.  We can handle this.  That evening, exhausted, we fell into bed. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, we awoke to major rockin' and rollin', another "6.0 earthquake" and Dave was up announcing the freighter that had just passed by.  I went right back to sleep.  Awhile later, another big shaker, this time with the sliding door to the head slamming open and shut, BAM! BAM!  I latched the door and looked out the porthole at the well-lit outline of the passing ship.    Again I went right back to sleep.  That night, it turns out, it was Dave's turn to worry.  He was up several times making sure that we did not drag anchor and drift into the shipping lane.  You can see how close we were to the passing ships.

We motored just a short distance to Carolina Beach where we rested.  The next day we motored to Wrightsville Beach and anchored in the wide anchorage for three nights.  We had the computer repaired in nearby Wilmington.  This morning we walked through the old town area located right on the river.  Before the Civil War, this was a warehouse area.  One night 21 slaves stole three ships and sailed past a Confederate fort out to Union ships where they were picked up. All joined the Union Army.  One, Benjamin Gould, later became a senator.  Also the wharf was an area where part of the Underground Railroad was located.  This was a system for helping slaves escape the South to journey overland to the North to gain their freedom. 

Factories and Ospreys

(This was written yesterday, 5/19)

Today we motored to a lovely anchorage on an oxbow bend off the ICW at Enterprise Landing, 27 miles north of Georgetown, SC, where we left this morning.  Upon arriving at the marina as soon as it opened, we filled up with diesel, water, and pumped out ye ol’ holding tank then immediately passed under a 65-foot bridge as early as we could.  Even though it was only 2.5 hours after low tide, our one-foot antenna on top of the mast just grazed the first girder of the bridge.  YIKES!   That was way too close!

Will we make it?

Looking up the mast whilst under a 65-foot bridge

In the next 20 miles, we must pass under SIX of these 65-footers as well as two swingbbridges.  I spent time last evening and again this afternoon calculating low tides and when to best approach these bridges.  Even if we leave at the optimal time, 6:30am, it’s doubtful that we’ll be able to pass under all six and may have to anchor for several hours to wait for low tide again or else go to a marina for the night and continue the next day.  This is one of the several aspects of boating, especially with a tall mast, that is not relaxing.  (1/20 - Editor's Note - We did make it under all six bridges plus the two swing bridges!)

Linda calculating tides, times, and bridge distances

What is relaxing however, is this gorgeous anchorage.  After dropping the hook, we sat in the shade of the cockpit and watched an osprey chase around a buzzard that was clearly not welcome in this osprey’s territory.  Aerial acrobatics.  Beautiful.  The buzzard got the message.  Also we heard the hammering of a not-too-distant woodpecker.  The occasional speed boat goes by in the ICW, but that’s OK, too.  Even saw someone go by on waterskis and four kayakers, too.  And the weather is perfect with a gentle cooling breeze.  Dave is napping and I may, too.

 

Georgetown

We spent the past two nights and one full day in Georgetown.  When we arrived at the anchorage, it was crowded with boats and quite shallow.  We bottomed out on our first spot and as we tried another, we heard a loud whistle.  There on the riverfront walkway were our friends, Nancy and Roddy.  They shouted that around the corner were more room and more depth.  Hooray!  We’d come 47 miles in 8.5 hours so were ready to call it a day.  They dinghied out to us and called, “After you get settled, we’ll pick you up and take you in to town for ice cream.”  Double Hooray!

Nancy and Roddy driving their dinghy back to Delusions, their trawler.

They’d gotten there the night before so had spent the day getting to know the town and visiting the museums so gave us the Georgetown lowdown.  We strolled with our ice cream through the quaint town.  Many iron front buildings.  We saw the old market place where slaves were sold.  It still is unsettling to me to walk the ground where humans were traded like animals and treated worse than animals.  But this is our history. 

The next day the four of us went to the County Museum which had an excellent local collection.  Indigo and rice were important crops early on, and by the 1840s Georgetown produced half of the rice consumed in the US.  Afterwards we ate lunch at The River House.  I had Cajun catfish, red beans and rice, and grilled veggies.  Dave had a fried flounder sandwich.  All was tasty.  Filled to the brim, we walked the ten blocks to the Piggly Wiggly and stocked up on provisions.  And that’s how the day went. 

(I'm sure there is a way to rotate this...)

The only downside is that we were anchored in front of a smoking steel factory and a pulp mill.  The first night, I was awoken at 4:00am from the tooting of horns – probably signals to the drivers at the factory.  Of course, I had to get up three times just to make sure that a barge wasn’t barging up the channel about to smash us to bits.  The next night, the wind shifted so that odor reminiscent of stinky bathroom air freshener that they use to cover up the stench of the toxins billowed right toward our boat.  We really enjoyed the town, but tonight’s anchorage is a welcome change.

Lucy Point Creek, SC

Here we are on Wayward Wind on the Coosaw River, north of Beaufort, SC. Our new friend, Mike Harris - boat mechanic extraordinaire and "Floating Poet" - took this photo of us. You're supposed to notice that the boathouse in the background was featured in Forest Gump.  The docks behind our boat were also in the film when Forest runs his boat into the dock and greets Major Dan. 

About Mike, what a godsend!  What a character!  At the anchorage at Bull Creek, our windlass (the motor that pulls up the anchor) stopped working!  Dave ratcheted by hand the anchor on 100 feet of chain.  Dave had been pretty perky about the frustrations of dealing with the mechanics of the boat, unlike me who gets really frustrated.  But this one even got to Dave.  Feeling kind of low, we pulled into Beaufort and got in touch with a mechanic who said he could come the next day and suggested we dock at the city courtesy day dock in the morning.  

Mike Harris showed up bright and early and started right in with testing the switches, finding the relay, and cleaning all of the battery terminals.  While doing so, this spunky, happy guy said in his southern accent, "I'm the floating poet.  You can find me on YouTube under 'floatingpoet.'  I like to write po-ems and I like to make people laugh.  Can I tell you a poem?"  He then told a funny poem, which did make us laugh.  This is not the poem he told, but it will give you a flavor, if you dare... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiihBqXOWFg    Then he went to work on the windlass in earnest and with pounding, and that's what did it.  Some of the bearings were stuck, and he unstuck them and got it to work.  So between the po-ems and the working windlass, we were happy. 



We enjoyed the town of Beaufort, SC.  We anchored out for three nights and walked around looking at the revitalized downtown area and antebellum homes along the river.  Beaufort was one of the first southern towns to fall to the Union Army during the Civil War.  The residents fled and the Union leaders set-up headquarters and other operations in the mansions; therefore, they were not burned to the ground during Sherman's March to the Sea.  It's difficult to view the opulence of these homes without thinking of the slaves upon whose backs the South rose to wealth.  Actually this is stated on the historical plaques in the city river park area. 

The day before Mike fixed the windlass, a neighbor at the anchorage was riding by in his dinghy.  We waved hello, so he came by the boat.  Turns out Roddy and his wife, Nancy, are from Quincy, Calif.  (Sierra foothills).  He's a retired psychologist who didn't know a thing about boats when they bought their motor vessel, Delusions.  It's as if Dave had paid him to say, "The first year and a half, a day didn't go by without something breaking.  It drove me crazy, but it got better after that."  I said that I could completely relate.  The next thing we knew, he was on the boat, getting on his hands and knees to help us figure out the windlass problem.  That's how people are on boats.  They bend over backwards to help you out.  It's really something.  We decided to get together that night with Roddy and Nancy for dinner in town to have some southern cooking.  Turned out to be a bit upscale so not exactly "down home cookin" but very good.  I tried the soft-shelled crab, a first for me.  The soft shell gives the crab a crunch.  Even though I prefer crab meat as we have it on the West Coast, I'm glad I tried it.  The chicken and sausage gumbo was tangy and hearty.  

Yesterday we left Beaufort, but in less than a mile, the engine began to overheate.  We anchored and tried to figure out what to do.  So discouraging.  We found that if we ran the engine very slowly, it did not get too hot.  Mike had invited us to visit him at his dock about eleven miles up the river, so we called him to see if he could help us out if we got up to his place.  He said that he was taking his son fishing but to come on by and he could help us later in the afternoon.  With permission, we docked in front of a dock house across from Mike's that belongs to a Dr. Bell, a "feller with lots of money" who doesn't use the dock much.  Mike drove his golf cart across the bridge to the dock.  He figured out the problem right away.  The sea water intake was clogged, probably with grass, so he showed us how to clear it out.  He also spent time showing us some other maintenance that we should do.   

Afterwards, we walked over the bridge to the boathouse where Mike works for another man, Stan, who runs a little tourboat operation.  They told us that Lucy Point Creek is the best place in the world.  Nothing bad ever happens, and it hardly ever gets up to 100 degrees, and they haven't had a hurricane in years, and the last one was in the 70's and that didn't amount to much, and the one before that was in 1959 and that was all wind and no water and the one before that was in 1940.  Mike showed us some large glossy photos from the filming of Forest Gump and then let us take his golf cart up the road for a spin just to see the countryside.  It is beautiful and peaceful, and I can understand their love for the place.

   

It was a calm night and being tied to the dock meant no rocking at all.  That night, we had the best sleep.  

Tonight is a different story.  We had a good sail to Church Creek on the Wadmalaw Sound, but we are having a flood tide (an exceptionally high tide) along with stout winds.  The boat is turning on its anchor and the wavelets are slapping at the stern, which makes it hard to sleep.  Not to mention that the stuffing box on the engine shaft is dripping more than it should which makes the automatic bilge pump go off more than it should.  The manual bilge pump isn't working properly, we discovered.  That's two things to fix tomorrow.  Good thing we had good sleep last night.  Always an adventure. 

Isle of Hope and More

We had hoped to head south, but for several reasons including our lack of experience and ability, Conan felt that we were not ready to go offshore, so he left the boat.  It was the right thing to do.  After much discussion, we are now heading north on the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) bound for the Chesapeake Bay.  Not quite as exotic as the Caribbean, but that will hopefully come later.  We feel that it is best to become completely familiar with Wayward Wind, learn ALL of her systems, and become comfortable with how she sails and motors before taking a long journey. 

We started south but had a bumpy motor into the wind only to Mayport (outside of Jacksonville) where we stayed the night at a marina.  After Conan left, Dave and I regrouped and made the decision to head north.  That afternoon, Dave and I sailed about five miles offshore back up to Fernandina Beach where we anchored out near the marina.  We had a wonderful sail up the coast and made good time with a 15 knot south wind behind us.  (Hope to upload some videos here when we have a stronger internet connection.)

In Fernandina Beach, we had a refrigeration guy look at our system because it seems to be cooling very slowly, but he tells us that the system is fine, so that's good.  On the blustery sail back from Mayport, our bimini ripped.  I was about to try stitching it myself when a neighbor at the dock recommended an older fellow, Roy Durden, who lived just down the road, "the first two-story house on the left with several boats in the backyard and he does good work and 'll give you a good deal and he's a character."  So we rolled up the bimini and walked about 20 minutes in the heat of the afternoon to Roy's house.  It was an old house that used to be white surrounded by lots of trees and the landmark backyard boats.  It was one of those places where the residents don't use the front door, so you're not quite sure if you should go up to the back door, which entered a screened-in porch, but we did.  A few moments after knocking, a bespectacled, white-haired gentleman sporting a white tank-T-shirt, blue jeans and suspenders came to the screen door.  He greeted us and then told us that his wife wasn't feeling well.  After telling him our canvas dilemma, he said, "Let's roll it out on the hood of the truck and see what we can do," and he gingerly walked bare-footed over to his dusty white Ford pick-up.  After several moments of scrutinizing "mmm's,"  he said that he could indeed make the repairs (actually there were several small tears, too).  He asked if we were leaving right away because he didn't normally work on Sunday but would if we were in a hurry, otherwise he'd have it ready the next afternoon.  We told him that would be fine.  Then we had one of those conversations that you don't want to end.  He asked where we were going and gave us many sage pieces of advice as to what areas to avoid on the ICW and what to see.  He would slowly say, "When you know these waters as well as I do, (fill in the blank) you'll want to stay right next to the shore of Cumberland Island."  We found out later that he taught at the local college and both he and his wife hold more than one Master's degree.  The next afternoon, Roy's wife, Linda, called to let us know that Roy would drive the bimini over to the dock.  So kind.  And the work was beautiful!  And a good deal, too.  But the best deal was having the pleasure of spending some moments with this wise man.

Also while in Fernandina Beach, we met a wonderful couple on Compass Rose, a fine ketch with lots of woodwork done by Ray and varnished by his wife, Bonnie.  Hailing from New Hampshire, they have that fabulous way of saying "chaht" and "hahbah."  They offered to drive us to town in their van, which was so sweet, so I asked them for a ride to the "hahdware store" and knew that they were rubbing off on us.  We went together to the Shrimp Festival, which, I might add, is gigantic!  Many streets blocked off for art, antiques, and shrimp, of course.  And GREAT music!  Afterwards we enjoyed dinner together at Applebees.  Each year, Bonnie and Ray spend several months sailing in the Caribbean.  Sounds like a good plan to me.  They will put their boat on the hard for the summer while they go home, then travel south again in January or February.  They told us that if we're ready, we can travel together.  We had them over for "suppah" (love it!) on Wayward Wind and great conversation.  Ray says often, "It's supposed to be fun."  Note to self.  

We have spent the last several days motoring - sometimes with the jib hoisted adding to our speed - up the rivers and sounds of Georgia and are now in South Carolina on Bull Creek off of the Cooper River.  Until Isle of Hope, we've anchored out at night away from civilization.  Except for navigating the shallow waters, it's been a mostly relaxing loll.  This will give you a taste:  Rollin' on the River.

And here is another that I call "Dave's Exercise in Futility, Flies."

On Tuesday afternoon, 5/3, we motored to Cumberland Island less than an hour away and anchored out.  The next day we had a lovely hike on Cumberland Island.  So peaceful and lush with moss dripping off the live oak trees.  Years ago, Andrew Carnegie's brother and his wife bought many acres there and built several buildings, most of which are is varying degrees of ruin.  Now only wild horses and other animals inhabit this part of the island, a National Seashore. 

On 5/5 we motored up the Cumberland River to Shellbine Creek - the quietest anchorage for the most peaceful night's sleep in three months.  Before bed, we watched rays jumping fully out of the water and slapping back down, belly flop style.  Awesome! 

The next day we motor-sailed with the jib up and anchored at Jekyll Island.  We invited "neighbors" Jim and Elaine on the trawler The Last One over for a visit along with their cute Lhasa Apso mix.  They are from Nova Scotia and Newfoundland.  Elaine says that Nova Scotia is actually not that cold because of the Gulf Stream effect.  Jim solved the mystery of our hand pump so we could finally pump up the dinghy all the way.  Later we scooted from the boat to the nearby marina in a flash.  But there looming above the river ahead of us was the Jekyll Island Bridge, supposedly 65 feet tall, to be faced in the morning.  Our mast is 63 feet with about two feet of wind vane, antenna, lightening dissipater and such on top.  Will we make it?

We left early the next day at low tide where the marker said 68 feet.  A bearded fellow was standing on his boat watching, waiting for a disaster, or so I thought to myself.  I called, "Do you think we'll make it?"  He said, "Plenty to spare!"  He was right!  We made it.  Our first bridge!  Whew!  Only 61 more to go!

We seem to be averaging five (the ICW is measured in statute mileage) miles per hour.  The next day we traveled 50 miles in eleven hours with an hour detour up a side river for diesel.  Anchored out on the Sapelo River at the Mud River confluence.  Although it was wide and open, it was another beautiful and quiet anchorage.  The next day we encountered our first low bridge.  I used the VHF handheld to radio the bridge tender that we were coming so that he would raise it.  He replied abruptly," What is your hailing port?"  I thought, "Oh, no!  I did something wrong.  We're in trouble!"  I said, "Our hailing port is San Francisco, California, Sir."  (Oh, that's really going to make a good impression here in rural Georgia.)  "You won't even have to slow down, Captain.  Bring her through," came the friendly Georgia drawl.  Whew!  The Coast Guard is not coming for us after all!  It's a little nerve racking as you approach the bridge and the cars are still going across.  Finally they stop and the bridge raises.  Dave masterfully steered her right through the opening.  The bridge tender radioed, "Y'all have a nice day."  I radioed back, "Thank you, Sir.  I was hoping that San Francisco would work for us."  "It always does," he said.  I could tell he was smiling.

The day before yesterday we anchored near a marina at Isle of Hope, Georgia.  We filled the diesel tank, pumped out the holding (poop) tank, and filled the water tank.  We did three loads of laundry and took real showers and washed our hair!  Good Lord, it's great to be clean!  We rode the marina's bikes into town to stock up on groceries at the Piggly Wiggly.  So we are set to go again.  In the afternoon, we also rode down the lane adjacent to the marina where majestic homes surrounded by ancient oaks sit watching the Skidaway River rolling by.  So beautiful.  And one had the cutest little red and white Nash Rambler parked in front.  Thinking of you, Ben Timmons!  (Ben is an Orchard View School graduate who is the proud owner of a aqua and white Nash Rambler.)

I'll add some photos and more videos to this post when we have a stronger signal, but need to get going now.  I can feel the tide changing as the boat is turning on its anchor.  We are well.  We are blessed.  Hope you all are well, too.  Much love.