home is where the boat is: Entering the ICW

Tuesday, November 12 – Sunday, November 17, 2013

Along the ICW

On Tuesday, November 12 we left Portsmouth—Statute Mile 1 of the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). We were glad to be tucked inside inland waterways, sheltered and protected from the winds that day that—on the bay—were exceeding 35 knots.

After traveling a short distance on the Elizabeth River, cruisers using the ICW have the choice of two canals: the Virginia Cut, which is deeper, wider, and faster, or the Dismal Swamp Canal, which is shallower, narrower, and meanders through the Great Dismal Swamp. The Dismal Swamp Canal route is the scenic route, and the canal and swamp are full of history.

For example:

~George Washington had surveyed the Swamp before the Revolutionary War, and had recommended its drainage.

Road-signs on the waterways

~The original canal was dug by hand with slave labor, but then later, the swamp itself was used as a refuge along the Underground Railroad, and slaves would escape into the Swamp where they hid, some formed temporary villages, and others awaited ships heading North to pass through the canal.

~The Swamp is now home to thirteen feet of peat moss (that can apparently release methane that seems to glow at night), Atlantic White Cedar (from which Evelyn is built), and illegal moonshine stills.

In North Carolina a huge segment of the Swamp is State Park, so we were able to enjoy hiking through it (and see a confiscated still, now an educational exhibit). Unfortunately, our night in the Swamp was wet with hail, so we did not have an opportunity to seek out the mysterious glows and ghosts of the Swamp.

Because it sounded like such a fascinating place, and because Lou had fond memories of the Swamp from when he was younger, we were excited to travel through it. However, in our excitement to get to it we nearly passed it—we went by, then noticed what looked like a road sign on the water, turned around to re-read the notice, and then turned back around and into the waterway.

Deep Creek Lock before rising

Soon we approached the Deep Creek Lock, the first of two locks in the Canal, and the first lock both Lou and I had ever traveled through. It was a new experience for us, and was shared with two other sailboats—one ahead and one behind—with Evelyn in the middle. When the lock was ready for us the gate was opened, and the three boats entered, one at a time, handing bow and stern lines up to the lock tender--he then wrapped them around a post before handing them back down. Our fenders were out and Evelyn was snug against a bulkhead, and when everyone was ready the water level would begin to rise, eventually lifting us eight feet. As water poured in it would run by the bows of the boats, wanting to push them away from the bulkhead, so the job of the crews was to keep the boats tight against the wall, pulling in the slack of the bow and stern lines as the boats rose in the water. We had started low down in the lock, but at the end were level with the ground, and the last gate was opened, allowing us to cruise into the Dismal Swamp Canal. The next day we would experience the reverse as we exited the Canal through the South Mills Lock, lowering eight feet before continuing into the beautiful Pasquotank River.

We enjoyed our travels through the canal—the water was the color of amber and trees and vines overhung the banks, bright with the hues of autumn. The day was overcast and made the Swamp seem even more dismal, though that added to the atmosphere. (We did learn later that its name was due to swamps being called “dismals” at the time of its mapping, and this one was a “great dismal” due to its large size—there was a wonderful Visitors/Nature Center full of fun facts) I had never experienced an environment like the Dismal Swamp, so every moment was exciting.

Dismal Swamp Canal

By late afternoon we crossed the state border into North Carolina and reached the Great Dismal Swamp Welcome Center, where there were free docks to tie up to for the evening, where boaters could spend the night awaiting the re-opening of the locks the next morning, which had strict schedules. Lou and I were happy for the opportunity to explore the Swamp by foot, and enjoyed a short hike through the State Park, a visit to the Nature Center, and a longer trek the following morning. The ground was spongy underfoot due to layers of peat moss, and vines twisted around the trees and thick undergrowth. The trails and paths were wonderful to walk along, but it was easy to imagine how difficult it would be to move through the Swamp without them.

Our night rafted between boats in the Dismal Swamp was a chilly one—hail and freezing rain kept us inside after dark—but we were nice and cozy. Our diesel heater had broken more than a month before while we were still in Maine, and that afternoon we acquired the final piece to make it work, having stopped alongside a pier following the Deep Creek Lock to run across the street to a Napa Auto Parts store. Heat was finally restored to Evelyn, and we spent the cold evening warm in our cabin.

The Dismal Swamp was stunning and the Pasquotank river equally so, and our meander along its banks made for an enjoyable journey the next day. There seemed to be no shoreline—instead trees rose straight out of the water, decorated with vines, moss, and brilliant foliage.

Pasquotank River

Towards the end of the River we reached Elizabeth City, North Carolina, described as the “Harbor of Hospitality.” The city welcomes boaters with free slips and docks, and about seventeen boats were making use of them. For the first time we felt like we were part of this community of migrants, traveling alongside others moving south for the winter. The next day the feeling was even stronger—we anchored that night in the Alligator River, and counted at least sixteen others also anchored in the River, many of whom we’d seen in Elizabeth City the night before. We were part of the migration, part of the parade of boats, like a flock of birds heading down. It was an interesting feeling to be part of the procession—there was something comforting about it, making us feel part of a community, but also something sad—making the trip that was so exciting to us seem very usual and ordinary. We were definitely the slow-pokes of the bunch though, and while we went to sleep each evening surrounded by others, we found ourselves alone again as we casually sipped our coffee the next morning. And so it was not too long before the procession passed us by—and after we returned to the ICW following a pause in our own trip to crew on a delivery—we found the route through the Carolinas and Georgia mostly quiet, and the mass of cruisers disappeared until Florida.

Between Elizabeth City and the Alligator River lay the Albemarle Sound, open and wide and a good opportunity for sailing along the ICW route, which is mostly narrow and shallow and restricts sailors with deep drafts to its channel. It felt good to raise sails again, knowing that in choosing to travel this scenic inside route, we were choosing sightseeing over coastal sailing, and might not be able to do as much sailing as we’d done in earlier portions of our trip.

All tied up at Dowry Creek Marina

The sailing that day brought us to anchor in the Alligator River (where we saw no gators), and the next day we travelled through the River into the Pungo River Canal, and then the Pungo itself. That evening we came to Dowry Creek, where we pulled into Dowry Creek Marina, the spot we’d decided to leave Evelyn during our upcoming absence. The Marina was warm and friendly and we instantly felt at-home in such a welcoming environment.

The next day was spent preparing Evelyn for her rest, and then we were off—heading back North to travel down the coast again. Unlike our own trip, where the goal was to enjoy each day and the places we found ourselves in, the goal of the delivery was simply to reach a destination—so the trip would be sailed offshore from New England to the Keys, as quickly as weather would allow. Once the destination was reached, we’d return North to Evelyn and our own Southbound trip, to travel at a slower pace and enjoy the coastal environments, wildlife, towns, cities, and communities that cannot be seen from the ocean.

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