2014/11/12 - Fernandian Beach to Palm Coast, Florida

2014/11/ 12 - Fernandina Beach, FL to Palm Coast, FL

2014/10/30 Brickhill River to Bell River, Fernandina, FL 21 nm

2014/11/04 Bell River to Pine Island, FL 43 nm

2014/11/06 Pine Island to Palm Coast, FL 33 nm

Total Miles to Date: 600 nm

Ibis Headed Home for Night

“I find the great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as what direction we are moving; to reach port, we must sail sometimes with the wind and sometimes against it – but we must sail, and not drift, nor lie at anchor.” Oliver Wendell Holmes

Small World - Jimmy Copelan & Dale Tingle

Friday, the 31^st of October, was the day before the Georgia / Florida football game and Fernandina, like all towns within 50 miles of Jacksonville, was packed with football fans gettin' “prepped” for the big game. When in Fernandina Gigi always gets her a “mani and a pedi” and I always go to the Palace Saloon and drink beer – do what ya do best I always say. 

Fermandina By Night

I left Gigi at the “Mani & Pedi” store and headed for the Palace. The town was full of fans dressed in Red and Black with a sprinkling of fans of the “other” persuasion – clearly Fernandina was a Georgia town that just happened to be in Florida. The Palace was filled to overflowing with “Dawgs” already well oiled and it was only 2:00 PM, the day before the game. The Georgia fight song was blowing the doors open on the Palace and sounds of “Ooof Ooofs” were echoing in my ears. The Palace was no place for me today! I headed for the Green Turtle Bar about 2 blocks away to do my duty and suck down a beer or two.

Walk the Dog

As I crossed the street there was a man with a GA shirt sitting on a bench in front of one of the stores obviously doing what most men do, wait for their shopping wives. We struck up a conversation. Being originally from Georgia my self I asked where he was from. He said Edenton to my surprise. I told him I was from Sparta a scant 30 miles from Edenton and introduced my self. His eyes widened. He was Jessie Copeland originally from Greensboro and he had met and had nothing but respect for my Grandaddy, Jimmy Copelan. He said, “Mr. Jimmy”planted and cut hay for his Grandad.” When he called him “Mr. Jimmy” I knew he was the genuine article - a Green County boy that truly did know my Grandad. When you meet someone like Jessie that actually knew your Grandady it, in away, brings him back to life for a warm moment or two. It is a small world. But that was not the only surprise Fernandina had in store for me that day...

Bell River Sunset

After “a few” beers at the Green Turtle and some pleasant conversation with new friends Gigi called and asked me to meet her at the Ice cream Store...don't remember a time I've turned down ice cream. While waiting out front of the Ice Cream Store (you always wait on women..think it must be a rule) I noticed a couple with red and black “Oconee” shirts on some folk. I introduced my self and told them the story of my boat “Oconee.” They were from Watkinsville, a small town that is now part of Athens. My cousin Steve Tingle has a business in Watkinsville and I asked if by chance they knew Stevie. The husband said he did not but...his wife piped up and said “but I'm distant kin to Dale, Steve's wife. Dale and I grew up in the same town.” For the life of me I can't remember names..wish I did. They too were nice folk.

All and all, it was a really good day. I enjoyed the company of some new friends. Drank me some good Florida beer...and Florida makes some good beer. Ate some good food. And had me some real pleasant surprises. But best of all, I got to remember my Granddad.

The Broken Rule:

One of my all time sailing heroes was Dick Bradley. Dick wrote a column for Motor Boat & Sailing in 60s and 70s. Dick's columns on boating (of course) and on life yielded bucket loads of simple wisdom. Dick used to say that you didn't need courses in “seamanship” you needed courses in “landsmanship.” “God,” Dick said, “would teach you all ya needed to know about seamanship.” On land it was a complicated “crapshoot.” He also had a hard fast rule he called the rule of “Chicken seamanship: Never put yourself in a position you might need seamanship.” I have done my best to live by Dick's rule...occasionally I fail.

We left Fermandian and rode the height of the tide down the Amelia River. The first part of the Amelia can be a little skinny and G and I like to have at least a couple of feet of tide under us for this section. We hit 10 knots in places between Fernandian and the crossing of the St. Johns river. I commented to Gigi that we were seeing more current than normal in this section and was not looking forward to pushing that current once we crossed the St. Johns. I had no idea...

1960 Crocker

After we crossed the St. John's River our speed dropped to 4.5 knots - one whale of a current and now we had us a convoy of boats in front of us to add to the mix. The current thru the first bridge turned us every where but loose. The second bridge in this section always has the worst current. The ICW narrows here and all the water of the Sound flows between the fenders of the second bridge. Our friend Dan Boeny often anchors and waits for slack before attempting the passage thru the bridge..Dan is a wise man. Ahead of us was a couple of catamarans, Slow Fight – another Defever 44 like the Turtle, and last in line just ahead of us was an about 60' express cruiser. Express cruisers can create a huge wake when they apply power. Their stern digs a hole in the water – result huge wakes. 

Eagle

We waited our turn, backed way off on the throttles and put about 100 yards between us and the Cruiser. We could see it was not going to be fun from the way the other boats were getting kicked around but it looked do able. It was all we could do to hold position in the 5 knot current. When the last cat cleared the bridge and the Express kicked her engines to life with all but full throttle and pushed a huge wake thru the bridge. I powered up the Salty Turtle and started to follow the Express thru the bridge. Gigi mumbled something like, “Do you think we should wait..?” At that slim point I had a choice - go or spin the Turtle and wait a bit for the wakes to die down. Right here is where a lifetime rule was broken. I applied more power. I had no idea how big a trouble I was in. 

One hundred feet off the bridge fenders the Cruiser's wake ricocheted off the shore and combined with the standing way under the bridge creating 4' waves that seemed to be coming at the Turtle from all directions – sort of like trying to push a 52 thousand pound boat up a mountain cataract. I pushed the throttles to unknown territory around 2000 RPMs, A-framed my legs to brace my self, and did what the boat told me. This is one of those situations you can't think thru you just have to react. Waves and current were kicking Turtle all over the place. We were rolling 15 degree from port to starboard at the whim of the standing waves and kicking Turtle's stern about like a ping-pong ball. I was making 20 degree rudder corrections and the Turtle was still not responding. It took adding every drop of power we had to port or starboard engines as required (steering with engines) to keep us from careening off the bridge fenders...and even then it was a matter of slim feet. Slowly, ever slow slowly I was able to regain control of the boat. By the time we were exiting the bridge fenders the Turtle was just fighting current and I was able to ease off on the throttles a bit. At this point I glanced at the GPS and we were doing a screaming 3 knots...and safe.

Gigi took a breath..I think her first since we hit the wake...and said,” Were you scared?” I took my first breath and said, “No, too damn busy to be scared.”

Dick Bradley don't ever let me break that rule again!!!!

Memories:

Memories are our most prized possessions..maybe our only true possession. A good one is like gold in the bank to warm our hearts, minds, and yes..bodies. They can change a back day light and shift our moods in a blink of an eye. It was like that the other evening at anchor South of Pine Island. It had been an especially grueling day (see above). The Turtle was swinging to her anchor and I was sucking down a well deserved “sundowner” when I looked up to see a navy blue Island Packet swing off the ICW and quietly anchor a couple of hundred feet ahead of us in the creek. I knew that boat? I grabbed the glasses and took a closer look. It was...it was... “Slow Dancing” and suddenly, in a flood of memories, it was 8 years past in January and Mike Yount and I had just finished a long wait for weather to cross to Bimini...

Pine Island Morning

The night was dark and there were 29 boats that were crossing at the same time, about 10 going to Bimini the rest headed to Nassau, Morgan's Bluff, or Chub Cay. For some reason we struck up a conversation with Paul and Diane Kline (?), also first timers, on Slow Dancing...and we did not know it at the time but a friendship was born and one of my lifetime memories was deposited in the bank. 

Pine Island Sunset

In Bimini Mike and I ate our first Bahamian lobster cooked by Diane aboard Slow Dancing. We crossed the banks a few days later together and held up for a three day 30-40 knot Northeaster in Fraiser Hog Cay – Slow Dancing at the Berry Island Club and Oconee at anchor. That storm is still the storm by which I measure all others. The Mule and I turned Slow Dancing's bow and pushed them off the Berry Island Club dock after the blow and helped them escape the grip of the dock and bottom (they were aground). We met again in Marsh Harbor in the Abacos and they “shepherded” me a bit since they knew I was now single handing.

Pine Island Moon Rise

  Paul and Diane sold Slow Dancing, moved to (of all places) Washington, NC and took up golf and became a CLOD (that's “Cruisers Living On Dirt”). But..Slow Dancing kept her name and is still cruising fulfilling another couple's dreams...and salting away gold in their memory banks. Me? Just seeing that boat sail once again into my life brightened my day. 

Slow Dancing

We are in Palm Coast waiting the arrival of Victoria Gaye, Temptation, and Skat with long time cruising friends NC aboard. Today there will be one hell of a reunion on the back deck of the Turtle. Tomorrow Salty Turtle will start her plod South again. Next destination Titusville and a visit with Steve and Aggie Knox (another set of CLODs).

Fairwinds and Rum Drinks,

Vic C.

2014-10-31 Long Creek, SC to Cumberland Island, GA

10/13/2014 Long Ck to Bull River, SC 61 nm

10/14/2014 Bull River to Ladies Island Marina, Beaufort, SC 17 nm

10/18/2014 Ladies Island Marina to Beaufort Anchorage, SC 2 nm

10/20/2014 Beaufort to Bull Ck, SC 25 nm

10/21/2014 Bull Ck to Herb River, GA 18nm

10/22/2014 Herb River to Thunderbolt Marina, GA 2 nm

10/24/2014 Thunderbolt Marina to Buckhead Ck, GA 24 nm

10/26/2014 Buckhead Ck to Thunderbolt Marina, GA 24 nm

10/27/2014 Thunderbolt Marina to Wahoo River, GA 40 nm

10/28/2014 Wahoo River to Brickhill River, Cumberland Island, GA 59 nm

Total Miles To date: 502 nm

“Is it possible for us to struggle and overcome fate..or are we merely being swept along a course which all our efforts fail to alter or change?” Elizabeth Cochran (Nellie Bly)

The Boarding:

The Turtle hauled her anchor in Long Ck and headed for the 4 mile stretch of the ICW between the bridges off Mt (un)Pleasant with 2' of tide under us. Over the last 3 years this section has shoaled in and in conjunction with cross currents that move water in and out of numerous small creeks make this area just pain unsettling at low tide. We hurtled S. at a screaming 6 knots, thru the panorama of Charleston Harbor, pushed the 3 knot current down Elliots Cut to the Stono River and started our slow trip South on the Stono. Our plan was to reach the shallow entrance to the Dahoo River and the shallow water of the S. Ashepoo / Coosaw Cutoff at the top of the tide.

About 10 miles down the Stono we noticed a Charleston City Police boat slowly overtaking us. The VHF sprang to life and the courteous but firm voice of a Southern Gentleman said, “Salty Turtle this is US Customs would mind if we boarded you.” Of course it was not really a question..was it. I Southern Gentlemaned right back at him, “We will slow to idle. Meet me at the starboard gate and I'll help you aboard.” I gave Lt.Daniel Maddock, Charleston County Sheriff, and Kenzie Driggers with US Customs and Border Protection a hand aboard. Both were very courteous and allow us to return to speed. They wanted to see the boat's documentation. Gigi keeps all our papers filed so I turned them over to her and I took over on the bridge.

Odd combination, a Customs supervisor, a Sheriff's Lieutenant, and a Charleston Police boat clearly outside Charleston's jurisdiction. Odd? Ten minutes went by, then twenty, and I was beginning to worry when Gigi finally returned on deck and took over the helm while I helped the officers to re-board their vessel and they were off after apologizing in their best Southern manner for our delay. Gigi said all they wanted to see was Turtle's documentation and our driver's licenses...nothing else – not the heads, not lifejackets, not passports, not nothing. They called our licenses numbers in to Columbia and waited for a response. To this day we do not know why they boarded us. Our best guess was they were looking for someone. 'Tis a mystery. Certainly was not normal.

A Mooing in the Marsh:

Once we crossed into Coosaw Sound the current was in our face and (more importantly) it was approaching cocktail hour - by 5:00 our anchor was now in Bull River about a 20 miles N. of Beaufort. We'd make that run tomorrow morning with a rising tide and the current with us.

Bull river has a habit of giving us a dolphin show and it did again this day. We had sundowner's with dolphin doing tail walks and back flips what could be better. That night the sound of dolphin pinging the hull lulled us quickly off to sleep. Mornings just as the sun's first rays first starts to paint the sky a deep blue with hints of color usually finds me on the aft deck enjoying a cup of coffee – a peaceful way to greet the new day. This morning had a surprise in store. I was startled out of my contentment too the sound of “mooing” in the marsh. I've seen deer, raccoon, hogs, eagle, stork, all sorts of wildlife in the marsh but cows? Never. What the heck were cows doing in a marsh..besides the obvious - eating of course. This trip seems to be full of mysteries.

Marsh Cows

Ladies Island Marina – Beaufort, SC:

Cruisers (us included) rush South on a mission to get to “Paradise” in the warm waters of Bahamas and as a consequence miss some great places and people in doing so. It was supposed to blow like a mother with a cold front passing over the area. Usually we anchor off Beaufort and dingy into the town. Gigi said, “Vic, why don't we stop at Ladies Island Marina and enjoy the luxury of a dock for the night. That will put us within walking distance to a Publix and a liquor store (we needed ships stores).” “OK by me,” said I. This was to turn out to be a near disaster.

Steve, the dockmaster, moved some boats around to fit the Turtle in on the T head and Gigi headed for Ladies Island Marina – I handle lines and Gigi steers the boat. Gigi did her usual perfect job of bringing us in and I hustled the lines ashore to eager, competent, hands. When I slowed up enough to look up it seemed almost everyone at the Marina had showed up to welcome the Turtle “home.” Home? This is not home? How could this be home? We are headed South...weren't we?

We planed on staying one night and stayed 4. This is a dangerous place – a dream killer. We had not settled in good before we had offers of a car, a truck, and even a “an ice cream truck” to run errands. Everyone treated us like long lost friends. The marina even has a huge, well equipped shop..did I mention this place was cheap. It even has a restaurant and bar next door...sort of.

“The Filling Station” is a local dive with character of it's own. In the parking lot it is not unusual to find beat up pickup trucks of unknown lineage side by side with brand new BMWs. The bar is run by an former Marine (everyone know that there's no such thing as an ex-Marine) and his Philippine wife. They don't serve food but...on Wednesday you can get a hamburger, hotdog, and fries for $4, Thursday 2 pork chops and 3 home cooked sides for $5, and on Friday a huge ribeye steak and 3 sides for $10. Gigi and I did pork chop night and were wowed...decided to stay to Friday and try “steak night” and were wowed again. Their steaks and pork chops are some of the best I've ever eaten.

Friday night after supper at the Filling Station Steve, the dockmaster, came aboard for a gam and touch of rum and did his worst to talk us into staying thru the following week. When Steve left. I looked at G and she at me. We both said, “We gotta get out of here or we might never leave.” See what I mean, Laddies Island is a dangerous place, a dream killer..a place you could call “home.”

To Hell and Back...and Back:

Cruising boats are really a combination “private island and time machine” that slowly drift with the tides and currents in the general direction their inhabitants wish. Occasionally, we allow special people to share our island and even more rarely we are transported back in time by circumstance and company. John and Nancy Holmes joined us in Thunderbolt, GA for a weekend cruise. It was to be special in both place and time.

Buckhead Ck

John (Monk) Holmes was my best friend in high school. I had met Nancy at our Sparta High reunions but had not had the chance to know her well. This trip was going to fix that. I wanted to give John and Nancy a taste of our life – a little of what it takes to cruise and a little of the beauty the marshes and tidal creeks of Georgia could provide. Within a short 25 mile trip we could do some of both. Hell's Gate is a cut with swirling currents and shallows that should be run at half tide or better and require a little planning or luck (the challenge). Five miles further South lay Buckhead Creek, one of the most remote anchorages on the ICW (the beauty). Buckhead was our destination.

Eagles for Breakfast

Within minutes of John and Nancy coming aboard John had transported me back to the 60s growing up in Sparta, Georgia our friendship a warm as ever. Gigi, usually takes a little time to warm up to strangers. Nancy Holmes turned out to be an exception. Before the anchor was down in Buckhead Ck she and Nancy were (scarily) comfortable with each other. Talking and yes... giggling (quite un-nerving – when ya don't know what a woman is up to, you don't know what a woman is up to).

Buckhead delivered and then some. Beautiful sunsets (and good sundowner's), coffee with Bald Eagles in the morning, time to relax and catch up on each other's lives, time to solve most of the world problems, and most importantly, time to re-discover the joys of each other's company. All too soon it was time to cross Hells Gate for the second time on the voyage back to Thunderbolt Marina and time to part ways. Thank you John and Nancy from the bottom of my heart...time is the greatest gift that can be given.

Vic, Gigi, John, & Nancy

The next day we passed thru Hells Gate for the third time this trip headed South for our date with Cumberland Island.

Cumberland Island:

Cumberland is one of the “Sea Islands” of Georgia. Originally a private island owned by Nathaniel Green and developed during the “railroad baron” era of the 1800s by Thomas Carnegie the brother of Andrew as an opulent estate / cotton plantation. Lighthorse Harry Lee, Robert E. Lee's father, came here to die and was buried here for a time. Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin on Cumberland. Today it is a US Park and open to us all...and man are we lucky. Cumberland is one of the most beautiful places on this earth.

We spent 3 days anchored in the Brickhill River off the North end of Cumberland Island. Gigi and I had explored the S end near the ruins of Dungeness Estate in past years but had never had seen the N end. We explored the shore line until we lucked upon some primitive camp sites shaded by live oak and were able to beach the dingy there and spent a pleasant afternoon wandering the sand roads canopied with live oak. If you like wildlife this is the place deer, raccoon, pileated woodpecker, snakes (yep), fox squirrel, turkey, and plenty of bugs (bring your bug spray here). Cumberland has a large herd of wild horses but while we saw piles and piles of “evidence” we saw none this day.

Coon Tracks

John John Kennedy was married in the small Black Anglican Church in the Black Settlement on the N. end in a very private, very secret ceremony. I wanted to photograph the preserved settlement but it was not to be for this trip anyway. We were still 4 miles S of the settlement and that was too much of a walk for Old Vic. 

 

The next morning we jumped in Mule and ran the Brickhill 4 miles S to the Plum Orchard Docks for a little walkabout. Plum Orchard is the second of 3 estates on Cumberland build by the Carnegies and maintained by the Park Service. On an island like Cumberland where every inch is special the beauty of Plum Orchard stands out with acres of sweeping manicured lawn, live oak lined drives, and (yes) Cumberland horses wandering the grounds.

Plum Orchard

Cumberland is personal for me at least. It is my vision of what Eden must have been like...and in some ways still is. While I'm on the island I feel like it is mine and I'm the first and only person here. It is primordially quiet, natural, and breath takingly beautiful. The best part, you don't have to be a boater to visit Cumberland. You can reach the island by ferry from St. Mary's, Georgia. You owe it to yourself to put Cumberland on your “bucket list.” You will not be sorry. It is Eden still.

We are anchored in Bell River off Fernandian Beach, FL and plan to leave here tomorrow for Pine Island and Palm Coast the next day to visit Gigi's cousin Tom and his wife Olga.

Faiwinds and Rum Drinks,

Vic C.

October 12, 2014 - Wrightsville to Charleston

October 12, 2014 – Wrightsville Beach to Charleston

Barefoot Landing

10/06/2014 Wrightsville Beach to Barefoot Landing (Myrtle Beach, SC) 66 nm

10/07/2014 Barefoot Landing to Enterprise Ck, SC (Waccamaw River) 19 nm

10/08/2014 Enterprise Ck to Prince Creek, SC 7 nm

10/09/2014 Prince Ck to Throughfare Ck, SC 9 nm

10/10/2014 Throughfare Ck to South Santee River, SC 27 nm

10/11/2014 South Santee River to Dewees Ck / Long Ck, SC 31 nm

Total Miles To Date: 234 nm

“This is one of the few sports whose technique never quite match the demands. Throughout a sailing career, we never stop finding new skills to master and new problems to solve.”

John Sousmaniere

The Waccamaw River:

We left Wrightsville on a mission to check off a long cherished item from our “bucket list.” In years past we had sped thru the Waccamaw River spending no more than a brief night at anchor on our way South. Always we had looked wistfully at the myriad of cypress lined creeks and always we had said, “next time.” “Next time” was upon us and we planed to spend the next few days relaxing, enjoying and exploring the Waccamaw.

moon rise

To me the Waccamaw has always meant peace and a respite from tensions of daily life and the shallow water navigation the rest of the ICW brings. The Waccamaw is an old river meandering its way South in snake like fashion leaving oxbows and cutoffs in it's wake. It's peaceful, quiet, deep, tea colored, fast flowing water is, lined with cypress, cattails, waterlilies, wildflowers, and is inhabited with all types of wildlife. Here live feisty little King Fisher, Red Wings singing the morning away in the marsh, owls of all kind herald the late night hours, heron fish for their supper and (of course) alligator quietly doing what alligators do. The Waccamaw to me seems a magic place – a place out of time. A place to collect one's self. A place of peace.

The River was named for the Waccamaw Indians who called this area home. They were river dwellers similar in lifestyle to Lumbee Nation who lived on the banks of the Lumber River in NC. The Waccamaw Indians hold the dubious distinction of being the some of first American Indians enslaved by the Spanish explorers ( the Spanish and Portuguese were a tough bunch). The Waccamaw river basin runs from up above Winston-Salem, NC to where it empties into Winyah Bay near Georgetown, SC and is navigable by Salty Turtle as far as Conway, SC. The ICW joins the Waccamaw about 20 miles South of Myrtle Beach near Enterprise Creek. We were to spend our first night there anchored in the swift current of the river with River marker No. 2 in sight leading the way to Conway 15 river miles North.

Exploring in Mule

Every creek and anchorage has it's own distinct personality Enterprise was no exception..I call it Enterprise but, I guess, technically it was the Waccamaw its self. Where we anchored was fairly shallow for this river – only 13 feet. We dropped Mule in the water and headed North poking our collective noses into little tributaries as we went. Spanish moss hung from the popular and oak lending a cool protective feeling to the exploration with flowering waterlilies and water hyacinth gently being pushed aside by the bow of Mule. We explored about 5 miles North and returned to the Turtle for sundowners accompanied by a little good music. As we sat on the aft deck enjoying our drinks we watched rafts of water hyacinth sail past headed down river with the current and wind. They looked like little green schooners with all sail set headed for ports unknown. Gigi wanted me to photoshop some little green men on board the rafts but I just couldn't do it (not that I wouldn't I just don't know how).

Water Hyacinth

The next morning the Turtle upped anchor and headed for Prince Ck about 7 miles down the Waccamaw. Prince is narrow deep and lined with cypress and occasionally a small tributary choked with cattails. It is really a cutoff that begins and ends in the Waccamaw. We anchored around a bend in a secluded spot about half way down Prince. We need Mule fodder (read gas) so we dropped her in the water and headed for Wacca Wache Marina about 3 miles from our anchorage on the Waccamaw...and got lucky. Not only did they have gas they had a nice little restaurant - K-Rayes Bar and Grill..and they were right in the middle of “Octoberfest.” I had knockwurst & sauerkraut with course German mustard, potato pancakes with homemade spicy applesauce...and beer of course - so good we did it again the next day before we moved to Throughfare Creek. On the way back to the Turtle we explored Bull Ck., another great anchorage complete with a rare sand beach, sand bank and rope “swinging” tree.

Mornings in Prince Creek are my idea of how “mornings” should be. Picture, we are floating in a mirror of tea colored water at a slight bend in the creek with water and bank indistinguishable in the reflected water, the coffee is hot and the sky is just starting to show signs of pink and ever lighting blue. I am sitting on the aft deck when a concert slowly starts to build – warblers, carolina chickadees, red wings, great blue heron all playing their parts in morning song. Prince Creek is the kind of place that leaves you speechless and cleanses the soul. Prince has earned a place in my heart and I will anchor here again.

After lunch at K-Rays (told you we'd do it again) we headed down river for Throughfare Creek and again a different experience. Much of Throughfare is part of a park owned by the Nature Conservancy complete with a nice walking trail. It is a unique habitat with high sand dunes apparently left over from when the shore was here eons ago. Behind the dunes is a small lake and what is left of a development most only accessible by water. Gigi and I ran the Mule into the lake and most of the canals. It looks like many of the homes are abandoned and some of the sites have been re-claimed by nature with only hints of the humans that once lived there. We found one spot with brilliant red lilies growing along the bank with the sign nailed to the tree all that was left of the homesite.

The next morning we headed South for Dewees / Long Creek just North of Charleston one of my all time favorite anchorages on the ICW. The Waccamaw and the Pee Dee join to become Winyah Bay at Georgetown, SC and flow East to the sea. About half way down the Bay the ICW takes a hard right and enters the SC Low Country. The stark difference between the cypress lined deep running Waccamaw and the shallow marshes, creeks, and rivers of the low country offer quite a contrast – 15 miles and everything is different...very different. The Low country is just as beautiful as the Waccamaw just different. Here we saw our first eagle this trip riding the morning thermals just North of McCellansville. We anchored in Long Creek after a night in the S Santee just North of Charleston and settled in for a pleasant 2 days on the hook with it's salt marsh and ever changing light palate of reds, greens, and fall orange painting the marsh for our private entertainment.

Monday we head South toward Beaufort and another adventure.

Fairwinds and Rum Drinks,

Vic C

PS – Bucket Lists have a way of expanding. Next year I want to go all the way up the Waccamaw to Conway, SC

2014/10/04 Morehead City to Wrightsville Beach

October 4, 2014: Wrightsville Beach – The Voyage Begins

10/02/2014 Morehead City Yacht Basin to Wrightsville Beach, NC         74 nm

Total Miles For Voyage: 74 nm

O're the glad waters

of the dark blue sea,

our thoughts as boundless,

and our souls as free.

Lord Byron

Spritsail Skiff

 Sometimes You Da Entertainment

“Sometimes you da audience and sometimes you da entertainment,” or so the saying goes. It was our time to be on “stage”... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was an absolute “bluebird” day – a good day for beginnings and heading South. Not a cloud in the sky with light NW winds and 1 to 2 foot waves - a prefect day for the run off shore from Morehead City to Wrightsville Beach, NC. Galen Newton and friends helped us slip our docklines and we were away by 7:30. We even had the current with us and cleared the inlet by 8:30.

The only fly in our ointment was the watermaker. I had rebuilt it this summer and needed sea water to test it but there was a “but.” In a casual conversation with the manufacture of the membranes he said, “Oh they only have a shelf life of 6 months before they should be installed.” We had had ours stored in the bilge for 2 years. The kind man speculated they would probably not work. If not we had just pounded $900 and 2 days work down a rat hole.

Once off shore and in clean water I cranked the generator, brought up the watermaker and held my breath. After an hours run time we were making water with only 184 ppm salt, better than that straight out of the tap at the Yacht Basin. Life is beautiful...and we were lucky! More to the point we were $900 richer and I don't have to rebuild the damn thing again.

Rickshaw

The Fates really were with us on this day. We caught a nice Spanish for supper. Had dolphin dancing our bow. Scared hell out of a lot of flying fish. Our new friends on Rickshaw (another Defever-44), and Kenny on Tortuga, a friend that runs a dive charter out of Morehead, caught us just before Wrightsville Beach Inlet. We anchored just before the bridge in Banks Channel. Dropped the dink in the water and had sundowners with Jim and Belinda Wolfe on Rickshaw – a perfect end to a perfect day...or so we thought.

Tortuga

 The weather was supposed to continue to be trouble free until late Friday night when a significant front was supposed to pass thru Wrightsville. At 2:00 AM in the morning (Friday morning not Saturday morning) a squall hit with probably 40 k gusts. It was about then that the horns started blaring announcing someone was dragging. Why! Why I ask! Is it always 2 in the morning when shit happens! Rain was blowing sideways, visibility sucked, and as it turned out the Turtle and Rickshaw were the someone and consequently ordained as the entertainment for the evening. I'm still not convinced we were going walkabout but we were closer to the boat behind us and elected to move.

Let me tell you getting up an anchor in a driving rainstorm with a 52 thousand pound boat to hoss around is no small task. An hour later drenched to the skin after wandering around a bit we re-anchored a little further South in Banks Channel off the Wrightsville Beach Yacht Club. Like I said, if you voyage sometimes you are gonna be the entertainment and not the entertained.

Wrightsville Beach Morning

 There is a little “Ying and Yang” in everything however. We may have lost a bit of sleep and got soaked to the skin but we did get our clothes washed for free even if they were on us at the time.

Morning Peace

 Faiwinds and Rum Drinks,

Vic C.

PS – The Saturday night front was a non-event...go figure.

Nov 26, 2013 - Morehead City to Palm Coast

 Log of the Salty Turtle: October 24^th thru November 26, 2013

• 10/24/2013 Morehead City to Mile Hammock's Bay, NC 37nm
• 10/25/2013 Mile Hammock's Bay to Wrightsville Beach, NC 35nm
• 10/26/2013 Wrightsville Beach to Southport, NC 23nm
• 10/28/2013 Southport to Doster's Loop (Waccamaw River, SC) 64nm
• 10/29/2013 Doster's Loop to Butler Island, SC 19nm
• 10/30/2013 Butler Island to Dewees / Long Ck, SC 52nm
• 10/31/2013 Long Ck to Beaufort, SC 72nm
• 11/3/2012 Beaufort to Herb River, GA 42nm
• 11/4/2013 Herb River to Wahoo River, GA 42nm
• 11/5/2013 Wahoo River to Frederica River, GA 37nm
• 11/6/2013 Frederica River to Bell River (off Fernandian, FL) 43nm
• 11/7/2013 Bell River to Fernandian Harbor Marina, FL 1nm
• 11/9/2013 Fernandian Harbor Marina to Pine Island, FL 43nm
• 11/10/2013 Pine Island to St. Augustine Mooring Field, FL 12 nm
• 11/12/2013 St. Augustine, to Palm Coast Marina, FL 22nm

            Total Miles To Date: 537nm

 

“Yacht Design is rather like making love to a woman. The approach is completely empirical. In the end, the male, even though he might be successful, usually had no idea how and why he had succeeded.”

Prof. E. J. Richards

“Music washes from the soul the dust of everyday life.” 

 Berthold Auerbach

Moon Set At Dawn

 

“Stroke it..Ride It...Pound It” and Wait and Wait Some More:

The trip down the ICW, to me, is always a joy and an adventure in it's own right especially with good crew like Paul and Stacy Brannon aboard – boat people to core and enjoying every minute on the water. The thing about the ICW is there is no telling what will be around the next bend.

Mile Hammock's Bay (actually a part of the Marine Corp Base at Camp LeJeune) has always been a source of entertainment. This year was no exception. Just as we got the anchor down and our traditional anchors' down drinks in hand we heard the approach of a couple of big Sea Stallion helicopters flying in low from the West. They began a slow circle of the Bay, stirring the waters with their down drafts and sending up clouds of dust from the land. Then the first Stallion in line slowed in flight and hovered with it's rotors just visible above the tree line next to the anchorage. Then the rhythmic beat of the engines completely changed to a throaty roar of engines under full power and obvious strain. The chopper lifted above the tree line and we could see what looked like an I-beam slung under it's belly. The helicopters were doing heavy lift drills and we were in for a show. Each chopper in turn would circle the Bay a couple of times, hover over the lift site, and discharge or pickup it's “cargo.”

They did this until just about dark. We enjoyed sundowner's, hors d'oeuvre, a free show...and a bit of noise. 

Sea Stallion Heavy Lift

  Turtle and company left next morning bright and early and were at anchor in Banks Channel off Wrightsville Beach in time for lunch ashore and to stock up on Robert's Grocery's famous chicken salad and pimento cheese. Our plan was to leave at first light the next morning for Southport and be tied up well before noon. Our intent was to spend a couple of days there just enjoying the town before continuing on our journey South. The “early” part was not to be.

Stroke it, Ride it, Pound it

We arose as planed around 6:30, made coffee, cranked the engines, and headed on deck. We were greeted to the splash of 1500 swimmers in flights of around 300 all “hell bent for election” to round the turning mark just to our South and then down channel toward the ICW. Turned out it was a Mini-Iron Man and both exits to the anchorage were blocked. We had lost our opportunity to leave for at least the next 2 hours...but man what a show. I used to work corners as part of the safety crew in SSCA Sports Car Races but this is the first time I ever saw “corner workers” on paddle boards one complete with his own “rescue dog” - a big yellow labrador apparently having the time of his life. Paul told me the Iron Man motto was “Stroke it, Ride it, Pound it”...has sort of has a ring to it doesn't it. We made Southport by 2:00 AM after enjoying our second surprise in two days.

Safety Workers

You see what I mean about the ICW? Some people would see the chopper noise as an irritating pain in the butt or would go ballistic over the “un-called for delay” at Wrightsville Beach. Me, I see entertainment, a chance to enjoy a second cup of coffee, and the addition of a little spice to our journey. The ICW can be heaven or hell. The choice is yours.

Pigs Can Surf:

The old Salty Turtle is not a fast boat. She lumbers along at a steady 7 knots and doesn't get in a hurry to do anything. I always said that if the Turtle ever hit 12 knots she have to have fallen over a water fall and a steep one at that. In short the old girl is built of comfort and a bit of a “pig” in the speed department...but she was to prove me wrong in the Sounds of Georgia.

We lumbered our way South thru the always beautiful Waccamaw – in Spring with it's coat of new life green and fall with the orange glow of warmth from the low sun on the brown of the cypress. It is beautiful and there is a settling peace about the place. South to our favorite anchorage in Dewees / Long Creeks. With it's full marshes and hint of Charlestown on the horizon. South thru the skinny ever changing waters of the Low Country and on to Beaufort, SC where we took a break and enjoyed the hospitality of the town. South to Herb River near Thunderbolt, Georgia where the ICW starts it's winding road thru the Sounds. 

Charleston Harbor

  Georgia is notorious for it's skinny water but in truth Georgia is easy – you just play their 8' tides. And you only have to play the tides in 3 places: Hells Gate just South of Isle of Hope, Little Mud River North of St. Simons Island, and Jeckyll Island and Sound. The rest is deep. The only problem this year was weather and an abundance of wind. It was in Jeckyll Sound that the Turtle showed me a thing or two.

We anchored along with half a dozen other boats in the Fredrecia River off St.Simon's Island and rode out a blow of 25 to 30 knots over night. The weather looked iffy but the forecast was for improving conditions with NE winds below 15k. Our next stop was to be Fernandian Beach, FL, a trip of just over 40 miles, but to get there the ICW passes just to the West side of Jeckyll Island and East into the inlet where you round Red 32 and turn almost 180 degrees back West into Jeckyll Sound and the shelter of Cumberland Island. Gigi polled the crew and we decided to go for it. With a rising tide and wind and current in the same direction at the notorious R32 it should not be too bad. Yea Right. 

 

The 8' tide was almost full when we passed thru the ICW behind Jeckyll and eased out into the inlet and the 2 mile journey to R32. The inlet quickly turned into a bash with 5 foot seas with an occasional 6 footer's on the nose. Not unsafe but a bit more than we bargained for. At R32, we waited for an opening in the waves, put the helm hard over and turned our stern to the seas for our run back inshore. Things went from a “bash” to “peace” in a matter of seconds. It was then that this old, lumbering, pig of boat surprised me (I think everyone). We went from a 5 knot bash to a steady 8 knots...then her stern would rise to an on coming wave and she would surf at 12 knots down the face, riding like some ancient pig on a surfboard for about 100 yards until the sea slid under her and then she would slow to 8 and rise to the next and again build until she was surfing at 12 and start the process all over again. We surfed our ass off all the way in behind Cumberland Island. So you see, at that point I knew “Pigs” can surf.

Paul & Stacy

We anchored in Bell River, a well protected anchorage, about a half mile from the dingy dock in Fernandina. The next morning we moved Salty Turtle to Fernandina Harbor Marina to make it easier for Paul and Stacy jump ship. The next morning we each in our own way cruised the town and rendezvoused at the Palace Saloon, the oldest Saloon in Florida, and took what has become “the” traditional photo. By 4:00 in afternoon Paul and Stacy, had packed their stuff in a rental car and headed back home to take care of my Aunt and Uncle in Athen, Georgia. I know for a fact their car had at least one more thing than they had when they signed on as crew. They left with a car full of “dreams.” Dreams of cruising again in their own boat.

Palace Saloon

How Not To Take a Mooring Vol. 2:

After the winds died down (winds again – winds seem to define this trip), we headed for Pine Island 112 miles above St. Augustine, FL. We were thru the Bridge of Lions the following day around 10ish and headed for our assigned mooring ball near the back of the field absolutely determine not to make as spectacular a show of our selves as we did the previous year (if you remember, last year we managed to get the ball stuck on our shaft struts and actually moor backward – hard to do but we did it just the same).

We cautiously approached the ball (Gigi put us right on it). I hooked the short pennant that barely reached the cleat and hauled it over the rail and slipped the eye around one horn of the cleat. Right here is where things started to slip out of our grasp....and turn a bit ugly.

I was focused on the ball and had already fed a line from the bow thru the eye in the pennant when the wake from a sportfish bounced the shit out of the Turtle, ripped out our starboard bow cleat and left it dandling like an errant earring from the bow. The Turtle was washed backwards at a good clip and I snatched the cleat and dropped the pennant before it sucked both me and that damn cleat overboard. We regrouped and tried again..but were rattled by now and each pass was a near miss. By this time 3 dingies from other boats had come to our rescue, with their help, the Turtle was soon secured to a mooring pennant on the port cleat. After a rum, I put the shit back together and added the starboard mooring line.

What happened? A number of things. First, the pennants are quite short and short pennants are always a pain in the tail. Second, the perfect timing of that damn sportfish and his significant wake. Third, Vic getting his come-up-ins for thinking again. All the boats I've ever been on the cleats were backed from hell and gone. To pull them out you literally have to pull the bow off. The cleats on the Turtle are designed to pull thru a hole in the center of the cleat and held on with wood screws– strong as all get out used as directed, weak and worthless if you pull in the opposite direction as I did. Old Vic did a permanent fix in Palm Coast a few days later with epoxy, wood plugs, and 5200 calk/adhesive.

I learned a valuable life lesson. I don't think St. Augustine Mooring Field likes us...and a little about our cleats.

To Give a Shit...or That Bloody Head:

We arrived at Palm Coast Marina for a planed stay of a week...and are still here two weeks later. We do love it here but, as usual, have stayed well beyond our planned stop over and but don't know why but it always seems to work out that way. Tom and Olga, Gigi's cousin and wife, live here and Bill another of her cousins lives in Orlando a couple of hours drive away so we do Thanksgiving while we are here and visit back and forth. It is a great spot to replenish supplies and fix what we have broke to this point.

The list: Fix a coolant leak on both engines, replace the injector pipe seals on the starboard engine (minor but needed doing), rebuild the horn that quit on the way down, and fix that damn bow cleat. We had all that done and our visiting finished by the first weekend and we were on schedule to leave Monday (we hate traveling on the weekend in FL. It is a zoo). Monday came around on the jukebox and it was blowing a gale and raining in buckets we stayed. It was about then that the head reared its... ugly head. It had been running slower and slower since we left Morehead. I knew what it was and dreaded the thought. It had to be calcification in the pipes from the head thru the ParaSand (small waste treatment plant) to the overboard thru hull fitting. I don't so much mind wallowing in my on poop but dealing with head plumbing is brutal.

That Bloody Head

Better to do it here since we have a dock and access to transportation. Gigi ordered new hose, a Y-valve, and when the parts arrived late Wednesday I tore the head system down Thursday morning. It took half a day of getting my language right and a pure bloody struggle (if you know me you can take that bloody part literally). There was no way to get to most of the plumbing without pulling the head. Those of you that know what working with PVC chemical, odor free hose is like will understand, the language and blood bath (mine) that followed. The next day I put it back together with even more blood and gnashing of teeth.

The head won every battle but I, Old Vic, won the war. I have not been that sore and beat up in a long long time, but the good news is we can “give a shit again” and man does it flow (not us the head).

 

The plan was to leave Monday the 25^th and be in Vero for Thanksgiving but a cold front is moving thru (again) and we will stay in Palm Coast until probably Thanksgiving morning or break a hard fast rule and leave Friday after Thanksgiving and travel on the weekend (god forbid).

Fairwinds & Rum Drinks,

Vic