November 5, 2007

Retracing Ibis

Last May I signed on for a five day stint as crew with Roland B. on his 17-foot catboat, Ibis, as he made his journey north on the ICW from Florida Bay to Cape Cod, as he put it, joining the waters of Florida and New England that he had sailed so many years, but never navigated the in-between. Day one we went from Oriental, NC to Dowry Creek off of the Pungo River, day two from Dowry Creek to the Little Alligator River, and day three passing Elizabeth City and into the Dismal Swamp Canal. The last three days have been a wonderful reminiscence as we re-visted these places, this time from north to south.

We left Elizabeth City last Saturday about noon, after hemming and hawing over coffee at the Muddy Coffee Shop (that’s the name), whether we wanted to sail again in winds of 25 knots plus on a broad reach and this time across the infamous Albemarle Sound, the very name of which strikes fear in every cruising guide writer. We don’t want to sound tough or anything, but I’m beginning to wonder if these authors ever venture much outside of canals. The one thing that they’re definitely not afraid of is to wax poetically over every marina and town on the waterway.

The wind shifted from northeast to northwest and diminished a bit so we unlaced Journey from her web of doc lines and took off. The wind was dead astern, jib out. Wind increases, jib reefed, course shifts so the wind is on the beam, main out, main reefed, jib reefed more. It was like sailing on a caramel colored milkshake being shaken. Muddy, salty water slopped all over newly polished metal with two to three foot chaotic seas. But, it was a heck of ride, over six knots, at times pressing seven, and a quick one, making 32 nautical miles in 5 hours.

The anchorage we had in mind is just inside the Little Alligator River. We discovered in reading the guide a bit more carefully before approaching that it was good except in strong north or northwest winds. It was still blowing like crazy from the northwest. Oops! The chart showed a very narrow channel of six to eight feet that made big “s” turns went further up the river, then widened in an area of 8 feet deep in the lee of an island. A small trawler type power yacht was ahead of us and had the same idea.

The channel is not marked by buoys or by river banks. The Alligator is several miles across, and the Little Alligator is perhaps a mile wide and appears to be a nice, wide open lake-like body of water. The problem is its knee deep if that. The banks of the channel are submerged mud shoals of five, two, or a foot or less. In some places the charts read zero feet even though you see water.

We crept in for nearly two miles, the helmswoman’s eyes glued to the cockpit chart plotter, and we made it through a tense 45 minutes and set the hook. The wind died to calm. Turned out that there was no need to have done that, but very glad we did. It was our first ICW gunk holing and the sunrise Sunday morning over marshes and mist made clear it was the day the Lord hath made.

We weaved our way back to the Alligator River, then hrough the 20 mile long Pungo River – Alligator River Canal with only two very slight turns before reaching the Pungo River, then up Dowry Creek to the Dowry Creek Marina, for fuel, water, showers and the Colts-Patriots game watched with three other guys who happened to be from Boston. One of them noted that he had seen alligators on the Alligator River, but no pungo’s on the Pungo River. They had burlap bags to catch them just in case. While we watched the game, M. took the marina loner car, cautioned by the marina operator to watch out for deer and bears. She left in a tired Dodge Durango with a dirty windshield, a gearshift that registered neutral when in drive and a low fuel light lit. Unbelievable courage exhibited for a few bags of groceries, including Heinekens for the last half of the game.

Last May Roland anchored Ibis further up the creek in about two minutes, and in three minutes more were sipping our nightly ration of chardonnay. We spent a half an hour maneuvering and tying Journey to the slip’s pilings and dock with eight lines – bow, stern, and forward and aft spring lines on each side - with three people from the marina helping us. Oh, and we had to plug in the AC to recharge the toothbrush.

Today was down the Pungo, to the Pamilico River, a great run and broad reach, into Goose Creek, then motoring Upper Spring Creek, an unnamed two mile canal that goes beneath the Hobucken Bridge, into Jones Bay which leads into the Neuse River on which lies Oriental.

M’s sister and brother-in-law, Mary Caryl and Ron, arrived by car from Minneapolis and were on the dock as we made another complicated tie-up to pilings with the help of a veteran dock master who was worried about more blows from the northwest. We ate at the M and M restaurant in Oriental, the site where we celebrated with Roland his 70th birthday on the eve of departure on Ibis last May. Took a road trip the next day to New Bern, 25 miles away, and visited the first colonial governor’s reconstructed palace and several adjacent homes of mid to late 1700’s vintage filled with museum quality period furniture all of which were the result of efforts in the 1950’s by a dedicated grand dame of New Bern philanthropy. It is well worth noting again how bone-headed Brits taxed the locals, in this instance so the governor could have the cash to add personal quarters on the upper floors, a little addition that the 5,000 pounds the crown had already given him wouldn’t cover. The people of New Bern were so irked they sent a ship of supplies to the more numerous and active rebels in Boston.

On Wednesday, November 7, Ron crewed on Journey and MC and M. traveled by car to rendezvous in Beaufort, pronounced BO-fert in these parts. With strong north winds we ran a few miles down the Neuse River, gybed repeatedly to sail east then south in Adams Creek, Adams Creek Canal, Russell Creek, Gallants Channel, and Town Creek into Beaufort. We walked this town of old houses and burial grounds, ate terrific steamed oysters, and then next morning said good bye to M.C and R.

The ICW offers a collector galleries of land and seascapes that display art that changes as dramatically as moving from a room of Picassos to an exhibit of Botticelli. The geometry of Norfolk’s military industry leads to swamps and forests of the Albemarle and Neuse which leads to the sensuous dunes and sea grass that begin a few miles above Beaufort and now dominate the landscape. To navigate these galleries we peer at captions of charts, chart plotters, and guide books and regularly retie our walking shoes of jib, spinnaker and main. Its gallery going without limits and such fine art to see: towns, dunes, islands, cottages, boats, ships, waves and water of all sizes, shapes and colors vivid in the low angle of the late autumn sun that we have seen the day before and the day before and the day before. If we could only sail through life, not in the triteness of ease conveyed by that cliché, but with the vigilance and receptivity to see, truly see.

Today, Friday, November 11 we’ll soon be in Wrightsville beach having left Beaufort yesterday to navigate the ICW as it passes through Camp LeJeune, where jets and that new hybrid helicopter/airplane called Osprey buzzed by and things we’re being blown up. There’s a sign with lights as you approach camp waters that says if flashing don’t proceed on the ICW because their firing live, or who knows, mucking across the ICW to their beach where they practice invasions from the sea. We stayed last night at anchor with about 30 other boats in Mile Hammock Bay which the Marines have dredged for a boat landing (three small navy patrol boat outboards were launched while we lifted anchor this morning).

Hats off…

There are big expanses of shallow water that the dredged ICW channel traverses in a narrow, straight line, and that we traverse watching the little triangle that is our boat move down a white road on the chart plotter, and even with that I ran aground under sail, turned on the engine, left up the sails and added to the heel by leaning off the shrouds, and M calmly deduced to straighten the rudder rather than have it turned, which reduced resistance and, voila!, we oozed back into the channel, which makes me take my first hat off to Bill and Liz T. They did this passage a decade ago in their Southern Cross, Sonnet, before chart plotters. They moved a bronze pelican weight on their charts from navigation marker to marker. Before we left they gave us their guidebooks, the chance to read their log, and their pelican which we hold in trust. Well done you two!

The second “hats off” is to the captain of Ibis. My five days on board were fair winds and for the most part easy seas. Now we’re south of North Carolina’s inland seas, putting along behind barrier islands in swift currents, timing bridge lifts, slowing and speeding for passing power boats, watching the depth finder move up and down and there are two of us. Roland did a lot of this in a 17 foot boat that one of his crew noted requires a centipede to sail it, on big and small bodies of water, read the guide books, and cooked, most of it solo. Quite an achievement.

There is art, but there’s also kitsch on the ICW as the photos show. Marlene just called from the cockpit that I have to see something. I looked, saw and heard the following exchange on the radio:

“There’s a giant giraffe.”

“Come again.”

“There’s a giant giraffe.”

“That’s real cute.”

We’re anchored now in Wrightsville Beach and discovered our alternator seems to have quit this afternoon, and we’re headed in the morning for a marina with a mechanic in Wilmington. Our special needs engine has acute episodes on Friday’s. Must be the stress of the week. M. noted considerately, that for the third chilly night in a row, I have started the propane heater without removing a rubber shock cord, that goes from its stainless steel flue to hold the head door tight while sailing. It doesn’t smell good. Stay tuned.