The Carolinas

Monday, December 9 – Thursday, December 19, 2013

 

Beginning in the Carolinas, Spanish Moss
decorated the trees along the banks.

As we crossed Pamlico Sound, we were not sure where we would stop that evening.  We’d heard of some anchorages just past the town of Oriental, NC, and were considering these when a passing boat hailed us on the radio, calling the “Tahiti Ketch.”  Lou and I looked at each other—not everyone can identify Evelyn so quickly and easily, so we knew this would be an interesting conversation.   We switched channels and had a great chat, exchanging information about our boats with this fellow cruiser who had sailed his own wooden boat for years.  He gave us a beautiful compliment, saying that it “was nice to see people who appreciated a wooden boat and weren’t afraid to use it.”  He then encouraged us to stop in Oriental, a place he thought we’d like—We’d find plenty of sailors and boating enthusiasts there, he assured us.  He shared tips on where to anchor, but suggested we check the town dock first to see if there was an opening.  Then he wished us luck, and continued on his way.

We took his advice, and soon found ourselves pulling up to the dock in Oriental, North Carolina.  We knew we were going to like Oriental as we navigated them the Harbor—we liked the mix of pleasure and fishing boats, and we could see masts hidden inside every creek.  We learned later that Oriental is the sailing capital of North Carolina, and a tiny town (just about 900 residents) with more than 3500 boats.

It seemed like everyone in Oriental was a boater—adventurers who had sailed the world, cruised the coast, built their own boats, visited islands and harbors—they had tips on places to stop, knew the stories of other visitors also travelling the coast this year, and loved talking about sailboats.  And we loved it too—we didn’t go anywhere in Oriental without striking up a conversation, and we spent hours in The Bean our first morning, sipping coffee while being introduced to all the regulars.  Friendly,  welcoming, outgoing, interesting—every positive adjective you can think of can be applied to the residents of Oriental.

We loved our stay in Oriental, and look forward to visiting again in the future!

 

North Carolina

Oriental was fun for another reason too—at the Town Dock we met another cruiser also wandering down the coast, with whom our paths crossed often over the next two weeks.  Like us, he had lived year-round on his boat in a cold climate (Rochester, NY) while working in the marine industry during the summer—and this year decided to travel during the winter season.  It was fun to meet and travel alongside someone who was also wandering south for the first time, who would also be heading North in the early spring, and who was also in his twenties.  We’d been making wonderful connections and meeting fantastic people the whole way down, but most other cruisers we met were retired and it was nice to have met a peer with whom we could discuss our adventures from a similar perspective, being at similar stages in our own lives.  We hadn’t yet encountered that opportunity during our trip, and so our conversations were refreshing.

It was also good to know someone else travelling the ICW at the same time, and as we took turns passing each other over the next few weeks, it was helpful to have someone ahead warning of shoal areas, good anchorages, and strict bridge schedules.  A couple of times we paused in the same locations, which made evenings and mornings more social and fun.

After leaving Oriental we next stopped in Swansboro, another lovely town full of friendly folk.  There we met up with family friends, who introduced us to their local watering hole, the Swansboro Yacht Club,  helped us with a few errands (groceries, propane, and laundry) and treated us to warm showers and a delicious home-cooked breakfast.

It was cold but sunny when we left Swansboro, and a strong breeze blew from the North, so we raised our sails to take advantage of it.  But that day we learned a few things about the ICW:

 

Sailing with the Buzzard aboard
prior to grounding nearby an inlet.

1.  At times it is very shallow and narrow.

2. It tends to shoal often, especially when approaching inlets.

3. Shoaling makes some areas impossible to pass through at low tides, particularly so for sailboats.

4. The bottom is generally pretty soft, so upon grounding it is usually possible to work yourself off.

5. Sailing through the ICW can complicate things—especially in shallow and narrow shoal-prone areas nearby inlets at low tide when you run aground.

6. There are dolphins everywhere!  They will cheer you up, even when you are aground.

We tried to back off after grounding to no avail, and tried to use our full sails to shift our weight—hoping to heel far enough to reduce our draft the small bit we needed.  Neither worked, as our sails had given us enough speed and momentum to dig in pretty good.  So we lowered our sails, and then lowered the Buzzard into the water for the first time since we’d put the it atop our cabin in Reedville, and the beat-up old dinghy nearly sank.  The Buzzard wants to invite water in more than it want to sit atop it, and it seems like the boat is a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to sink.  But until it does, we are going to put it to work.

Lou bailed the water from the Buzzard and then rowed it tenderly around Evelyn (a broken oarlock fitting was eager to jump out of the rail), sounding with the lead to find the best approach towards deeper water, then rowing out our CQR anchor and setting it.  We then worked together to haul in the line, slowly moving Evelyn into deeper water.  Soon we were back on track, but unfortunately, the sails stayed down the rest of that day.

The grounding cost us some time, so it was sunset when we reached the next possible anchorage.  We tried to nestle into the spot, but it was too shallow, and we hit bottom…again.  We managed to back off easily this time.  We sounded around, trying to ease our way in…but we didn’t want to run aground again, and decided we weren’t comfortable with this spot.

 

By the light of the moon...

We thought about our options.  Darkness was setting in, but a nearly-full moon had already risen.  The sky was clear.  The night was cold—in the twenties—but we had already eaten a warm dinner and were cozy in our thick layer.  A look at the chart showed that many of the navigational aids ahead were placed at bends in the ICW and were lit, and a test of our faithful Maglite showed that its beam easily caught the reflective whites of day-markers, making them easy to find in the darkness.  As added incentive the forecast that evening for a few days travel further south was in the thirties instead of twenties, and a few days still further was in the forties—we were on the cusp of warmer weather, and it was starting to tease us in a way we had not expected.

So with a clear winter sky and nearly full moon we kept going—travelling the ICW in the dark until the cold finally penetrated our warm layers, and we started to grow tired.  Keeping a sharp lookout along the narrow ICW required an alert attention, so six hours after sunset we decided it was time to rest.

We woke up early the next morning to travel again, and temperatures grew warmer throughout the day, tempting us further south.  So when the sun set and the sky was once again clear, we did as before and kept going.  That night we left North Carolina, passed Myrtle Beach, and entered the winding Waccamaw River.  In Oriental we had been told we would enjoy the beauty of the Waccamaw, so we stopped there, finding an anchorage in the dark.  The water in the river was deep, so for the first time in a long time our concern in anchoring was not about whether it would hold enough water at low tide, but whether or not—with our long scope—we had enough swinging room between the river's steep banks.  We backed down on our anchor in as many directions as we could, coming within feet of trees while still in plenty of water, and pulling in our chain foot by foot until it was comfortable, opting to ride on shorter rode that we prefer in favor of not swinging into trees.

 

Waccamaw River

Confident with our decision and knowing we’d hooked well, we went below just as clouds covered the moon we’d used to light our way.  We stayed put in our beautiful anchorage the next day, as periods of partial sun and rain alternated throughout the day.  Heavy winds rustled through the trees hung with vines and moss, creating a spooky and grim atmosphere that was beautiful in its gloom.

That night the area had a tornado watch, and cruisers in nearby anchorages told us of boats that had drug anchor due to the strong winds.  But the high trees protected us and we managed alright—glad that we had opted to stay in a lonely anchorage instead of the more crowded atmosphere of a town.  Wind whipped, but if tornadoes touched down that night, they did not come close to our little anchorage.

We had enjoyed our quiet, rainy day at rest--admiring the scenery, reading, and playing multiple rounds of scrabble.

The next day was again overcast and breezy, but we decided to leave our quiet spot, and travelled down the lovely Waccamaw River, stopping that afternoon in Georgetown.  We spent the afternoon enjoying the town (and listening to carols in the Park) before leaving at sunset to anchor in the Sampit River, away from the dozens of boats nestled in to the tight anchorage nearby Georgetown’s town center.

 

An industrial sunrise along the Sampit River

We were rewarded the next morning with a stunning sunrise—sea smoke at dawn hovered above the river, and light slowly wandered through the reeds.  Left-over pilings from abandoned wharves slowly emerged through the mist as we travelled out the river.  At the river’s mouth a bridge and factories became visible, whose industrial smoke merged with that of the water.  The lights of the factory twinkled in the morning light—I don’t often find industrialism beautiful, but on this river on this morning, it was.

We continued along shallow but beautiful sections of the ICW that day, hoping to catch sight of gators but happily settling for dolphins, and heading for Charleston.  We reached the city at sunset and decided not to go ashore—we had loved Charleston when we visited during a delivery a few weeks before, and while we would have happily returned, we were also excited to spend time in new places.  So we spent the evening giving our engine some T.L.C.—it had given us signs earlier that day that it would like its fuel filters changed, and so we were more than happy to oblige these warnings.  With two new fuel filters successfully installed the engine was much happier the next day, and so was our diesel heater that night.

The next day was sunny, cold, and windy and we left early in the morning to catch the last bridge opening before a rush-hour block-out.  We didn’t know it then, but this fortuitously set us up for catching the last bridge opening before the evening rush-hour block-out in Beaufort that night. 

 

Beautiful Beaufort

Between the two cities lay the Low Country, which was beautiful, open and marshy, and much less developed than the ICW through North Carolina had been.  When we reached Beaufort we anchored, rowed in and were met with more beauty—the public park along the waterfront was our favorite of the trip thus far. The space was so well thought-out, nicely executed, clean and perfectly designed—with areas for different forms of recreation such as concerts, chats over coffee, romantic views of the sunset, playgrounds, and fields for light sport.  The front of the park ran alongside the water and the back was lined with restaurants offering outdoor seating that merged the park with the social atmosphere of the downtown district.  Different sections wove together but were also secluded from one another with hedges, trellises, and landscaping that defined each area, making a rest in the park feel both open and private.  Families or friends could sit on a bench, and feel as if they had the place to themselves.

Our favorite was the swings—big wooden benches lining the waterfront that, instead of the usual stationary kind, hung from trellises covered with vines and backed by hedges.  From a swinging bench we watched boats passing by, and then later, the sunset.

Wandering the streets of Beaufort

The town itself was beautiful too—lovely architectures, big dramatic live oak trees hung with Spanish moss, and an eclectic selection of shops and restaurants.  In the morning we met with our friend cruising from Rochester who had met up with his own friend from up North wintering down South—and the four of us enjoyed a delicious Southern Breakfast at Blackstones, a cafe with one wall decorated with images and stories of boats, and the other hung with college burgees.  When we left Beaufort we didn’t know it yet, but we had said goodbye to towns and cities for a few days.

We left Beaufort in search of a quieter anchorage that night.  Winds had been strong and gusty throughout the previous night, and Beaufort boasted a strong current as well.  A good number of boats were anchored there to enjoy the town, and we noticed that Evelyn liked to handle herself a bit differently from the others when the current switched.  Evelyn barely moved.

Generally not moving is a good thing—but in relationship to other boats that are moving, it becomes a little unsettling—especially because you begin to wonder what other strange things she might do if you venture ashore and leave her alone.

We anchored with plenty of distance from other boats, the anchor caught well, and we backed down on it to double-check our hold and distances.  Everything was fine.  Current and wind, both strong, were headed with the current, and Evelyn did not want to fully extend her chain…she let it hang without stress on it, and sat nicely.

 

The marshy banks of the Low Country

Hours later the current switched and all the other boats swung around to be pulled by the current, stern to the wind.  They fully extended their anchor rode in this opposite direction, so everything looked more or less the same but reversed.  Except for Evelyn.  She stayed right where she had been, not caring whether wind or current passed her bow or stern—both curved ends were the same to her.  Meanwhile boats that had swung were now much closer, because Evelyn was opposed to swinging in the same direction as the others.  One of those nearby boats veered wildly throughout the night—perhaps the rudder was unlocked—looking as if she might pop out her anchor during her wildly sharp turns.  We didn’t sleep well—watching the others swing and come closer, continually confirming that Evelyn was in fact in the same place—her relationship to the land was always the same, but her relationship to other boats was much different.

When we left the next morning we were looking forward to finding a quiet creek with fewer boats and a good, muddy bottom, where we could enjoy a good rest without worry.

Along the way to our quiet anchorage that day we had one more shock.  We were lazily travelling along, sitting in the cockpit.  I was lounging with my hand hanging over the side.  Because Evelyn has no coaming—her cockpit goes right up to the bulwarks—sitting in the cockpit positions you very close to the water.  Suddenly I screamed out of surprise, Lou yelped as I startled him, and then we settled back down to relax and enjoy.  A dolphin had leapt from the water, alongside our stern, and therefore inches away from my dangling fingers.  It stayed for a while, and it was easy to watch the playful creature from where we sat.

 

Evelyn & Moonshadow, at anchor.

That night we anchored in the New River, just North of the Georgia border.  We were joined in our anchorage by our friend aboard Moonshadow and the three of us spent the evening rowing around the marshy shores to enjoy the beautiful sunset, before climbing back aboard Evelyn to enjoy dinner, drinks, and camaraderie.  Tomorrow we would cross into Georgia, and from there our paths would diverge.

More photos from the Carolinas:

Pelican Pirates!

Lou at the helm...with a dolphin in the background.

Waccamaw River

Waccamaw River

Waccamaw River (with clearer skies!)

Leaving the Waccamaw

A sign from Georgetown confirms the existence
 of gators, though we have yet to spot any!

Sunrise on the Sampit River

Sunrise on the Sampit River

Sunrise on the Sampit River

Sunrise on the Sampit River

Along the ICW, SC

Along the ICW, SC

Early morning south of Charleston

Morning light on the ICW

Along the ICW, SC

Spanish Moss

Spanish Moss in Beaufort

A reminder that Christmas was nearing...

Beautiful Beaufort

Along the ICW, SC

Anchored in the New River, SC

Anchored in the New River, SC

Anchored in the New River, SC, with Moonshadow

Marshy Banks of the Low Country

Anchored in the New River, SC

Rowing about, just before sunset.

Evelyn & Moonshadow at Sunset

Sunset on the New River, SC

Last night in South Carolina

And more photos from our travels through the Carolinas were posted on Facebook & Instagram!

Previous Posts Include: On the Road Again, leaving a stay in Dowry Creek to begin travelling once more, and Entering the ICW, to begin our trip in the Intracoastal Waterway.