day three - light and variable

The morning's forecast is simple enough: light and variable winds.  I wonder how much motoring I will have to do to get down to the Pamlico River, out onto Pamlico Sound and east to the Bluff Point.

The morning sun paints the mainsail orange as we sail off anchor at dawn.  We motor sail in the forecast light and variable winds down Pantego Creek and through the wooden breakwater.  Just outside the breakwater the wind fills in from the west, making just over two knots at first, then soon almost four knots.  Not a cloud in the sky, cool and comfortable.  I decide I'm in no rush to go anywhere and will make the best of any wind I can find.

A tug, the Island Pilot, is pushing a barge up the Pungo River.  It looks like we will pass port to port until the tug makes a slow turn to the west and aims the barge in my direction.  I call the barge on channel 13, identify myself and ask about the tug's intended path.  He says he'll fall off a little and we can pass starboard to starboard, then wishes me a good day.  

Breakfast is a granola bar and a cup of fruit served on the waterproof chart book, the one with a fine layer of salt covering the pages and rust on the rings.

Passing Sandy Point our speed is down to 1.5 knots on the calm, peaceful morning.  A tern snatches at the water, laughing gulls cry in the distance.  I jot that down in my notebook, then wonder why laughing gulls cry.  More wind, variable wind.  Our speed goes to 2.3 knots, then 1.7, then 3.3.

At 9:00 the decks, which had been covered by morning new, are now dry.  I spread out the bivy, which had also been covered in dew, to dry up forward.

Heading SSE we sailing past the entrance to Fortescue Creek, then bear SE to Willow Point in winds stronger and more consistent then expected.  A lone dolphin plays near the point where we turn east towards marshy Judith Island.  The island, low and brown, can't be seen until we are a couple of hundred yards away.  We head to the south side of the island and cut through Judith Narrows, casting a lure along the way but probably moving too fast in a nice breeze to catch a fish.

We sail into Deep Cove, the marshy patches of the island blending together on the horizon and I use the gps to find The Narrows between Swan Quarter Island and the east end of Judith Island.  As we sail east the marsh goes from a drab brown to a bright rich green.  The sky is blue, the water brown and the marshes green.

Sailing at three knots across Swan Quarter Bay I see an Ocracoke bound ferry coming out of Swan Quarter.  A marker is about 150 yards ahead of me and I realize I will soon be directly in the path of the fast moving ferry.  I start the outboard and motor across the channel, cutting the power just after passing the marker.  

Calm water and a bright sun, I set up the solar panel on the foredeck to charge a couple of batteries.  We sail east behind Great Island, then across the mouth of Juniper Bay as the wind swings to the south.  I start to think about a place to anchor, a spot which would have protection from the south and southwest wind and also be a good jumping off place to head across the sound to Ocracoke.  

Past Juniper Bay there is a small bay, unnamed on the chart, just east of Juniper Bay Point.  I look closely at the charts and the shoreline, realizing there is no protection for me there in the increasing wind.

Just beyond that little bay, a hundred yards north on the shoreline, I see on the charts a tiny little cove heading west into the marsh.  That might be enough to tuck in out of the wind.  I think I see the cut, stand up on the cockpit seat to see a much larger expanse of water once through the narrow entrance.  The perfect spot!  I round up, drop the main, raise the cb and sail into the entrance under mizzen and jib.  Delighted with all that water tucked back in the marsh, I'm shocked to see that I had simply sailed through a cut back into the small bay I had just passed, the one with no protection.  The tiny little notch in the shoreline that I was looking at on the charts was farther to the north.  I'm hot and tired, and not happy with my navigation. 

I tack out of the bay under mizzen and jib, drop the cb, raise the main and head east to Bluff Point.

The wind is steady now and we are making almost five knots to the east.  Approaching Bluff Point the water is rough and confused as the swell builds out of the south on the Pamlico Sound.  At 3:50 we reach the point and turn north.  The water calms, then calms more as we turn into East Bluff Bay.  Sailing close along the shore of the bay we find a little cove to give us protection from the swell wrapping around the point, round up and drop the anchor.

I listen to the forecast for tomorrow.  Steady SW winds.  Ocracoke is to the SE.  I'm in a pretty good spot.  

Not too bad of a day for light and variable winds.

rained out, drying out

Sailed in the rain all morning.  Rain is not a problem if you have good foul weather gear.  I do.  What can be a problem is stowing wet sails.

Called friends who were going to meet me and said it was not a good day to be on the water.  Into the ramp as the rain tapered off.  Put the sails up in a stiff wind to let them dry out for about an hour before wrapping them up in sail covers.  Back home now.  Patches of blue, patches of dark clouds above.

day two - the swamp, the canal

Dusk.  Evening mosquitoes arrive, then depart.

Night.  Wake to brilliant stars.  Wake to swirling winds from a small thunderstorm passing to the north, the skies overhead still crystal clear.

Dawn.  Calm, with golden light on the horizon.

We sail off anchor just after 6:00 a.m., clear morning with a NNE wind.  Trees all around and I can't see the opening to get out of the swamp.  We follow the gps track from last night, curving up close to the wind in the Thorofare, then falling off to slip behind the stand of dead cypress trees as we leave the swamp and enter the river.  More wind out on the Alligator River and the dead trees rock back and forth in a surprisingly large swell.

The wind pushes us down the Alligator River, the large swells lifting Spartina's stern and we surf down the face of the waves.  I jot down 5.9 knots in my notebook, then a minute later 7.3.  I see the masts of sailboats heading north on the river, just one of them with sails raised.  They pound through the swells and I am happy to be heading south instead.  We pass by a little unnamed island that caught my eye on the charts yesterday when looking for an anchorage, but I see it would have offered no protection from the N and NE wind.  The same with Rattlesnake Bay, which we pass a few minutes later.

The marked channel heads due south then west.  With the wind behind us we cut across a spoil area and at Newport News Point we enter the narrowing section of the Alligator River that heads west.  The wind, blowing off the land to the north, feels warm.  Making 4.5 knots with wind on the beam we leave the channel and sail through some cruisers anchored in a wide bend in the river.  No signs of life this morning.  Farther west, past the crabber working his pots, is a smaller sloop, maybe 28 feet in length.  A man waves from the cockpit.

At 8:50 we enter the canal.  Tall trees on the north side block the wind so we round up to drop the sail.  Drifting to the edge of the canal there is a solid "thunk" as Spartina's steel cb hits a submerged tree stump.  With the outboard we back off.  I bring down main and jib, we motor along at just under 5 knots.  I put the solar panel on the foredeck to charge a camera battery.

Three cruising sailboats pass by headed north on the canal.  Everyone waves.  I look ahead to see large power boats headed my way, traveling fast enough to throw large wakes that turn into breaking waves on both sides of the canal.  A hundred yards away the first boat slows down.  As we pass I take off my hat to give a wave of thanks.  The captain points at Spartina and gives a thumbs up.  It is the same with the next couple of boats, yacht slows down, wave of thanks and a compliment for Spartina.  The next boat, black and looking like a space ship, slows down too.  I want to get ahead of the curve so I wave my hat in thanks, point at the million+ dollar yacht and give a thumbs up.  The captain points to Spartina and gives me a Hawaiin "hang loose" sign.  I smile.

The canal is lined by rich green trees and vines.  I enjoy motoring along, standing with legs on either side of the tiller and steering with my knees.

About a third of the way down the canal it crosses the narrow, winding beginnings of the Alligator River.  Trees disappear and I look north across a savanna of marsh grass.  A few hundred yards later the shoreline is again lined with trees.  Another loud "thunk" as we hit a log floating in the middle of the canal.

About 12:30 we pass beneath a tall bridge, then leave the canal into Wilkerson Creek.  Out of the creek into the Pungo River we round up into a nice NNE wind, raise the main and jib.  Under full sail we make 4.2 knots towards Belhaven, tiny white clouds against a deep blue sky.

At 1:50 the Belhaven water tower is in sight, an hour later sleek grey dolphins pass by Spartina outside of the breakwater.  By 3:00 we are tied to the town dock.  I plan to walk to the gas station, but Ron and his son Ronald jr say it is too far and offer a ride in their golf cart.  It is too far, the nearer of the two gas stations being closed for the day, the open station more than twice as far away.  At the gas station - I needed less that a quart of gas - I offer to buy drinks for Ron and Ronald.  Ron says thanks, but no, it's not necessary.  They drop me off at the docks and leave with a friendly wave.

I walk around Belhaven, quiet and hot on a Saturday afternoon of a holiday weekend.  I visit a couple of shops, sit on a bench and relax.  At 5:00 Fish Hooks Cafe opens and I enjoy crab cakes for dinner.  For a quiet town the restaurant is surprisingly busy.  The waitress serving the tables next to mine walks like a soldier, stomping back and forth.  I read my book, enjoy the air conditioning and have another glass of iced tea.

We push off from the town dock and motor across Pantego Creek, anchoring far enough away from the south shore to avoid the mosquitoes, and far enough away from the boat channel to the north with power boats running back and forth to the dock.  

I hear music coming across the river.  A crowd is arriving at Farm Boys, an open air restaurant just off the water, to celebrate the holiday weekend.  Maybe the town isn't as quiet as I had thought

day one - clean air

Pink and orange clouds over a calm Pasquotank River, I listen to the wind blowing through the trees next to the boat ramp.  A front had rolled through in the middle of the night, thunderstorms and reports of tornadoes to the north.  Morning comes with cool, dry air and a steady NW breeze.

We motor away from the ramp at 7:00 a.m.  It's just a short run to the pier at Millie's place and I could easily motor there.  But the wind is so perfect I raise sail, noticing that I had run the main halyards - peak and throat - through the wrong blocks, something to be easily fixed at Millie's.  I reach the dock nearly an hour before I had told my friend that I would be there, hoping to be able to walk back to the ramp and get my jeep without bothering her.  Walking around the corner I see Millie sitting on her porch reading the paper.  She smiles, knowing she caught me.  She drives me back to the ramp, we get the jeep and trailer, then tuck them around the corner at her place.  

I say goodbye a little after 8:00, pushing off from the dock, raising sail in a building wind.  We sail downriver at 4.3 to 5 knots, markers backlit by the rising sun and easily visible.  The river water is stained the color of tea by the swamps to the north.  Orange crab pot markers tilt downwind.  We pass Brickhouse Point and Newbegun Creek to starboard, a crabber working pots on the shoal at Miller Point to port.  We jibe at 10:30, then find a comfortable path wing and wing with Albemarle Sound ahead of us.  Nearing Wade Point I jibe accidentally while looking through the binoculars, then another unplanned jibe while taking photographs.  Maybe I should pay attention.

The wind falls off at the river entrance, then fills in once out on the sound.  The water is rougher on Albemarle Sound, but rolling in our direction.  Making over 5 knots, then 6.4 sliding down the face of a wave.  Blues skies and looking east I can see the Outer Banks on the horizon.

The crossing is pleasant.  Steady wind, a friendly wave from a cruising couple on a sailboat headed north.

The wind falls off approaching the Alligator River early afternoon, we motor sail past the entrance markers and duck blinds, dark shapes moving east and west on the horizon are cars and trucks on the Alligator River Bridge.  Leaving the entrance channel the wind fills in out of the west.  We have a nice run for the bridge as I request an opening on channel 13.  The bridge tender tells me to keep on coming.  I reply that I'll come through under power, then ask if he wants me to drop my sails.  "You can leave your sails up as long as you can control your boat," he says.  The sails carrying us into the opening, the outboard carries us through the dead spot in the wind shadow.  I look up and wave to the bridge tender.  "Have a nice trip" he says over the radio.

We're sailing south with the wind on the beam at five knots just outside of the channel.  Skies are clear but the weather tells me we are under thunderstorm watch #178.  I leave the weather radio on hoping to get an overnight and next day forecast, the automated voice repeatedly interrupting the local forecast for the thunderstorm watch.  We head towards the western shore, hoping to be near shelter should a thunderstorm erupt from the clear skies.  

We sail to the mouth of Second Creek, a possible anchorage for the night, but I'm not impressed.  We continue south to the mouth of Goose Creek, where I bring down the main and the jib, and drop the anchor.  If the wind is out of the W all night maybe I could stay here.  Two more warnings about watch #178, then, without pause, watch #178 is cancelled.  And finally the local forecast comes through, strong winds out of the NE and E, making the entrance to Goose Creek a terrible place to be.  Sails up, we head south.

I look on the charts at Rattlesnake Bay but I'm not sure how protected that would be.  On the way there I notice a body of water heading off the river to the west, The Frying Pan.  A narrow, winding entrance, but - according to the chart - deep water.  I head there, blindly passing the entrance hidden behind cypress trees.  Seeing on my gps that I have missed the entrance, I turn back and decide to trust the gps.  A wall of cypress trees to the west, a patch of cypress stumps and dying trees to the east, we work our way under full sail into the swamp.  We turn west into a narrow passage marked the Thorofare as an eagle lands on a tree.  The water opens to the west, shallow water to the south - maybe less than a foot deep - but marked with a depth of 17 feet near a little point straight ahead.  We round up and drop the anchor, paying out enough line to tell us it was every bit of 17 feet deep.  

Just after 7:00 I cook dinner - beef stroganoff - and clean up the boat.  Sleeping gear set out, I relax, read and enjoy being completely surround by a cypress marsh.  The wind may be blowing out on the river, but it is quiet and peaceful tucked back in The Frying Pan.

some advice

If somebody says they like your boat, like seeing it on the waterfront and they have a slip right downtown with a floating dock that is protected from wind and waves from every direction, and it would be nice to have that boat there for people to look at and you're welcome to tie up there anytime you like..... then I would suggest you take them up on that offer.

I think I will.

editing

I had hoped to start publishing the daily log for the Easy in the Islands 292 trip, but time has gotten away from me.  I got in late from yesterday's sail, had to spend this evening washing down Spartina and running the outboard in fresh water.

I have begun editing the images.  These screen shots show some of the photographs from the first day.  This was down the Pasquotank to Albemarle Sound, across the sound to Alligator River, through the Alligator River Bridge and then a few more miles down the river before anchoring for the night.

I'll get it edited down to five or six images tonight, and hope to start writing day one tomorrow night.

Father's Day

It is easy to remember Dad when I'm out sailing.  I do it all the time.  I did it today, a day with light breezes out of the north and a deep blue sky.  Look forward I see the main mast, look aft I see the mizzen mast.  We built them together, a day of running 20-foot douglas fir staves through a table saw to get the "V" cut for bird's mouth masts, then a day of laying up the masts, eight staves to each, while my daughters mixed the pots of epoxy glue.

Then out to California where, later that summer, we cut the gaff jaws on Dad's woodworking tools, the last project we would do together.

Then there's the quarter under the main mast, from Dad's birth year.  I see it every time I set the mast.  Then there's the photo I pinned up aft of the foredeck on the day Spartina was launched.  The photograph is gone, but I notice the tiny pin hole every time I rig the boat.

Yes, it's easy to remember Dad when I'm out sailing.  I enjoy doing it.  

Happy Father's Day.

steve

new signage on the waterfront

Happy Father's Day!

frozen, steamed

Sometimes leftovers are pretty good.

I know, I know.  Sailing.  We're going 

sailing tomorrow.

San Diego to Hawaii, a passage log

Webb Chiles has posted his passage log for the 18 days of sailing GANNET to Hilo, Hawaii.  You can find it here.

I do hope to start the logs for my last sail, the Easy in the Islands 292, on Monday.