On the Road Again

Thursday, December 5 – Monday, December 9, 2013

Leaving the Marina on a foggy morning.

By early December we were on the road again, driving from Florida northward to reunite with Evelyn in North Carolina.  It was the longest time we’d ever been separated from Evelyn, and we were anxious to see how she fared.  We were nervous—we had received a very thoughtful email warning us that she’d been damaged—the strong winds of a recent storm had pushed water into the creek late at night, raising the water level, which slackened the docklines of all the boats very quickly, and caused some, including Evelyn, to knock into pilings before the lines could be re-adjusted.  Evelyn’s cap rail had rubbed hard against a piling during these gusts, and so a section of the rail had been worn away.  (For the time being we have sanded and oiled it, and it is nothing that Lou can’t fix in the future…we’ll just need some time and materials for the project.)

We were anxious to see the other effects of her time alone, and there were some—the most notable being that her port side was dripping with condensation.  Temperatures had fluctuated between freezing and hot, and Evelyn’s cabin was like a cave—dark, cool, and covered in moisture.  We took rags and soaked up the water, nearly filling a bowl with water.  We turned on the heater to dry the air, and the next day opened all the ports and hatches.  Soon she was warm and dry again—but she had not liked the way we left her, that much was evident.  In case of rain and snow, and to thwart bugs, we had shut all the ports and hatches, and then covered the hatches with canvas to protect their varnish and help deter leaks.  We hoped that the cowl vents would circulate a reasonable amount of air, but having the dinghy atop the cabin likely blocked a consistent flow.  It was an interesting learning experience—having never left Evelyn for more than a few days, we had not known how she would fare alone, and what habits and idiosyncrasies she might have.  To us she was always lived in, never stored—so this separation of two and a half weeks was a lesson in storage.

As we drove towards Evelyn from Florida we reflected on another unusual experience—driving home without knowing how to get there.  We have lived on Evelyn for a few years, and know her so well.  When we are aboard we are home; when we are in the cabin, it is easy to forget where we are geographically, because we are always simply home.  For our first two years aboard when we’d lived year-round in Maine, our community also felt like home—and when we would take trips away to visit family or friends or to ski or hike somewhere new, we’d always return to a community we knew, a place we felt connected to—we’d always return home.  Now, as we were driving from Florida to return to our home, we had no idea where we were going.  The scenery was all new, the roads were unfamiliar, and the neighbors were strangers.  The GPS counted down the minutes and we knew that soon we’d be back aboard, but even though we were so close to what we call home, we didn’t know how to get there.  It was well past midnight when we finally turned down the last country roads, winding through cotton fields, and then onto the drive that would take us to the marina—our temporary community, and where our home waited.  It was good to be back.

Some of the damage to Evelyn's rail during the storm.

We spent the next couple of days there—regrouping, cleaning Evelyn, doing laundry, and enjoying the friendly company of the other boaters.  In the evenings we wandered up to the clubhouse for potlucks or cocktails and conversation, as well as some of the yummiest pickles I’ve ever tasted.  Dowry Creek Marina is such a friendly, comfortable place that we could have stayed forever.

It was tempting to pause there and stay longer, but we decided to keep moving.  There were a couple of stops in the Carolinas we were anxious to see—and they weren’t too far away.  So on Monday, December 9, we cast our lines and maneuvered out the Creek, back into the Pungo River.  The fog was thick, and our radar was on, helping us to pick out the channel markers we were aiming for.  As the River widened the fog engulfed the landscape, and for the next few hours we could have been anywhere… so feeling a little homesick, we pretended we were in Maine.  When the fog cleared we were once again cruising the Carolinas, crossing Pamlico Sound, staring at our charts and wondering where we might stop that evening. 

Previous posts: Our visit to the Schooner Lily and our entrance into the ICW and arrival at Dowry Creek.
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