Christmas in St. Augustine, Florida

[Hilde's log]

Tomorrow we leave St. Augustine for parts south, but not far. We will be aiming for the Matanzas River, about 15 miles from here. Anchorages are not plentiful between St. Augustine and Daytona. One was close, one was far – so we just decided to take it easy and go to the closer one tomorrow and the farther one the day after, rather than making a forced march to the farther anchorage.

The weather has finally relented and turned beautiful, after about three days of cold, oppressive, overcast skies, and strong winds. How dismal it was for me to be trapped below on the lunging boat, with the wind shrieking in the rigging. Depressed and grouchy, I was no fun to live with.

We did manage to dinghy in to shore in the dark for the 7 pm Christmas Eve service at the local Episcopal Church. It was a lovely, if cold, ride across the anchorage. I sat in the bow, holding the flashlight and looking at the liquid reflection of the lights on shore spill across the black water. The dinghy doesn’t have a mast with a steaming light, so I hold the flashlight and pretend to be a mast. We joked that we must be the only people we knew who were taking a dinghy to Christmas Eve services. The church was full of people and poinsettias and the hymns were familiar, but I surely did miss the warmth and friendliness of Christ Church in New Bern, which has been our church home for the last year.

Christmas was celebrated with a big meal made from the last of our fresh vegetables (roasted carrots, brussels sprouts, and parsnips), plus mashed potatoes and gravy and a can of potted beef. Dinner was topped off with a dessert of packaged cake that I bought at Big Lots back in New Bern. All we lacked was the Yorkshire pudding, but it’s too much trouble for too little reward as far as I’m concerned.

Finally, the weather turned and we were able to get out for more than the soggy slog to shore to walk the dog, walking all over the “ancient city” (St. Augustine is the oldest city in the U.S., established by Spain in 1545), up and down narrow cobbled streets past all sorts of architectural marvels and past every sort of shop. There are cathedrals, mansions, forts, European style homes with their outer walls flush with the street, and all sorts of inns, pubs, and bed and breakfasts. The greenery is tropical, with palms and St. Augustine grass (!), not to mention enormous trees draped with beards of Spanish moss. In short, it looks a lot like Old San Antonio. We enjoyed a sampler of local brews at an ale shop and wolfed down English pub fare (and more ale) at a pub. We walked over two miles to the Sailor’s Exchange, a store we have wanted to see since our first stop in Key West almost two years ago – only to find they were closed for the holidays. I found Caitlin’s birthday present at an alpaca store full of clothing and rugs. We dodged tourists from all over the globe. Mostly these long walks were doggy walks, since Schnitzel’s idea of a good time is to sniff and leave p-mails all over town.

We anchored in the river and paid $10 a day for the use of the city marina facilities – dinghy dock, trash disposal, showers, and laundry facilities. These reasonable rates gave us access to really nice facilities. The monthly fees here for a slip at the docks are not cheap ($13.50 a foot), but then it is St. Augustine, which is both right on the Atlantic and right on the ICW. We’ve met a few folks here this week, but not a lot. We’re in a city again, and I’m no longer used to folks ignoring each other as a way of life. It’s not cold, it’s just indifferent, and very weird after a year in friendly New Bern.

Tonight we have pulled out the boxes in the quarterberth to examine the country flags given to us by Raven’s previous owner, a very well traveled gent. We found 16 different flags, which was exciting, even though at the moment we only plan to use one of them (the Bahamas). I can hardly wait to run a courtesy flag up the rigging by our tattered old Texas flag as we slide into port. My guess is that we will have to fly the Texas flag a bit lower or risk insulting folks who don’t know Texas’ history as a sovereign nation. I don’t want to annoy people whose language I don’t speak. We’ve also come across a cruising guide to the tropics that covers such things as coral reefs and tropical climes, so I think we’ve found our bedtime book for the next month.

On the outside, Beaufort, SC to St. Augustine, FL

[Hilde's log]

Raven has arrived safely in St. Augustine. She wove her way through the channel yesterday about noon, after a great passage on the outside from Beaufort, SC. We were blessed with calm, warm weather, light winds, and mostly clear skies for the entire 36 hour trip. We got up in the dark Wednesday morning, indulged in a cup of tea, and took Schnitzel ashore for a farewell pee before pushing off just after dawn, about 6:45. Raven flew down the Beaufort River and Port Royal Sound at over 7 knots, with the help of a three-knot current, popping out into the Atlantic around 10 a.m. The sea was flat and blue, the skies clear, and the wind nonexistent, making for good motoring and no sailing. Actually, that was a good thing, saving us from wind chill. David and I enjoyed so much being out in the “big blue circle” again, after a year inside. “Just the right amount of trees,” I remarked, glorying in being able to see to the horizon in all directions. The trip was so tame, I was able to cook almost as well as on the ICW, though “cook” is stretching it. Let’s just say I am getting really good at combining cans.

Tip for those of you out there who are stuck eating canned vegetables (ick, ick, ick): if you drain the can of vegetables and add the drained contents to some good soup, the taste is overwhelmingly of soup, and the vegetables add their bulk to stretch the servings. I remain unconvinced that canned vegetables add any nutrition to one’s diet, but maybe I am just a taste snob. Actually, after a cold morning’s run, we don’t fuss about what kind of food is available, as long as it’s hot and there’s enough of it. We eat at such weird hours on a passage. Wednesday we had tea at 6 a.m., breakfast sandwiches about 8, soup at 11:30, stew at 3, and soup again around 7, with chocolate bars, oranges, apples, tea, coffee, crackers, cheese, and hot punch scattered throughout the day. It’s a wonder we don’t weigh 300 pounds each!

The hot water bottles saved my life on my overnight watches. It really wasn’t cold, temperature-wise, hovering in the high 50s and low 60s as we drifted south. But I have found that even moderate cold can seep into my bones over the course of the night, chilling me dangerously close to hypothermia, so I am really paranoid about staying warm. This time, I had good foul weather gear (Gill) over 3 layers of clothes, and my feet were snug in rubber boots. The hot water bottles alternated between my back and on my lap and kept me toasty in between hopping up to check the horizon. David and I tried one hour watches which worked well for me. Late in the evening we did a couple of two hour stretches so each of us could catch more than 30 minutes’ shut-eye down below. We enjoyed being able to stretch out in the v-berth for those longer naps. On our voyage last year the v-berth was crammed with boxes; this year we have stuff stowed all over the place, but the v-berth remains our bedroom and that’s a huge improvement. In the calm water, it felt like sleeping in a cradle, rocking gently, with the slop, slop, slop of the waves against the hull. We’ll see what it’s like in rougher water…I may migrate back to the salon in questionable weather.

The scenery was spectacular during the night. First came a glorious sunset as the sun spilled pink and gold bands across the surface of the dark green water (see photo). A mist rolled in from the edges of the horizon, purple at the surface of the water. The moon shone through the mist above us, looking like a bright headlight in thick fog and unfortunately having the same effect on visibility. Later in the night, we were followed by an enormous “God’s eye” filling the sky above us – the moon at the center of a crystal clear circle of night sky rimmed by a ring of frozen ice crystals. As she set, about 3 am, she passed through layer upon layer of dark clouds, weaving in and out of them like a bright shuttle on a weaver’s loom. After moonset, the clouds dissipated and the stars took over, glinting above us in the black sky. I was on watch at my favorite time of day, when the morning star rises just before dawn, trailing a pale shimmer of starshine over the water.

The coming of day is a joyous occasion! Mysterious lights resolve themselves into fishing boats, tankers, and shoreline and I can put away the binocs and the bearing gun and relax behind the wheel. Daylight showed us the busy outline of Jacksonville, FL to starboard and sunrise to port. We had coffee and comforted ourselves that the entrance to St. Augustine was fairly close and we’d reach it in the daylight. Circling all night in front of an entrance that we’ve timed badly is not something we like to do, as you can imagine.

We dropped the hook in the harbor and put on the tea kettle, ecstatic to be baking in the sun – yes, baking! Just then, we saw friends from New Bern motor by, headed to the fuel dock. We hailed Cygnet on the VHF, amazed that we’d see someone we knew just minutes after arriving. Not ten minutes later, we were hailed by a dinghy carrying friends we had met at Pipeline Canal on Worth W8N4 (Worth Waiting For). We spent a lovely evening with them on their boat before returning to Raven to snatch a bite to eat and fall into bed.

Alas, it was not to be. The y-valve to the head broke off and David got to spend an hour doing some very smelly and messy plumbing. We finally made it to bed about 9, but were awakened at 2 a.m. by strong winds and rain thundering through in an unexpected storm. It wasn’t bad, as storms go, but our anchor chained rubbed hard against the bow roller, sounding a lot like someone dragging a very heavy desk over cobblestones, making it impossible to relax, much less sleep. So we got up, David to check the anchor and me to wash the dishes I’d left out when we had collapsed into bed earlier. We got back to sleep around 3:30, and woke this morning about 8 to bright blue skies, gusty winds, and NOAA’s promise of high 70s later this afternoon and winds decreasing to 5-10 knots. Ha. The clouds rolled back in, the temperatures remained in the 60s, and the wind has rattled the rigging for hours now, at about 20-25 knots.

We dinghied in to shore this afternoon, Schnitzel crazed with excitement to be on land again after three long days on board. We walked some of the downtown, window shopping and people looking. St. Augustine has some beautiful Spanish style architecture downtown, and the Episcopal church bells were belting out seasonal hymns, making us feel at home. We plan to do some sightseeing on the tour coach while we’re here so cross your fingers that the sun comes out.

Here’s a reason to celebrate – it’s the Winter Solstice, and from today forward the days will be getting longer and longer, minute by minute. Add that to the warmer temperatures we are anticipating and you know things are looking up for Raven and crew.

By the way, thanks so much to our friend Paul who offers the spelling “coaming” for the…uh…coaming. He’s ex-Navy, so I’m going to go with his spelling. Microsoft spell check thinks he’s nuts.

We send our best wishes to all of you for a blessed holiday season and the very best of new years, bringing each of you your heart’s desire.

views of Beaufort, SC

The photos are of (1) one of the beautiful mansions in the old part of town, (2) a tree shrouded in Spanish moss, (3) view of a marshy inlet from a residential neighborhood, (4) downtown Beaufort, and (5) Raven at the dock in the marina in Beaufort - she's the white boat with the little dinghy tethered alongside.

at the dock, Beaufort, SC 12-17-07

[Hilde’s log]

I must confess, I am happy to be plugged into the electricity at the dock this morning. The cold front finally arrived, ushered in by strong winds and rain, and the temperatures dipped into the lower 30s late last night. Other than being splattered occasionally from the condensation dripping off the forward hatch, it was very pleasant to lie in bed and not see my breath before my face. I thoroughly enjoyed going to bed clean last night and not having to wear a hat and socks and other garments that make me look really ridiculous. When we got up, we crowed happily when the thermometer told us it was 34 outside and 69 inside. Yes! Schnitzel is still waiting for her morning walk. I’m not going anywhere until it hits 40. I distracted her by making pancakes, a breakfast I only make at the dock or in a calm anchorage.

We will be shoving off early, early Wednesday morning, having at least a 4 day window to travel. We hope to go straight from here to St. Augustine in one hop, so we need the good weather and some decent wind to make landfall in the daylight. David tells me St. Augustine is 150 miles from here, so that’s about 1 ½ days, hopefully only one overnight. If we get slowed down too much, we can always duck into Jacksonville, which is 130 miles. In any event, we will be spare the tortuous Georgia ICW, which adds 100 miles to the trip. If it weren’t for the chronic low water and shoaling on that stretch of the waterway, I’d love to see the area, but it’s no fun to slowly bump your way along, panicked that you will run aground.

We are both happy with our travel plan and happy to stay in Beaufort at the dock while it’s cold. For one thing, Schnitzel had a bout of respiratory illness when we first left New Bern. Poor thing, she just lay in her bed and wheezed for several days. Fortunately, I had a full course of doggy antibiotics on board and after taking all of them she is her old self, playful and alert, although hoarse as can be. Her usual yodel is now a gruff, raspy bark, making her sound quite ferocious, which I’m sure pleases her. Anyway, we don’t want any more cold aggravated illness and want to make sure she is fully recovered before we venture out. Of course there is always laundry (our dirty clothes are so gross, they mumble in the laundry bin) and we are pretty much out of fresh fruits and veggies so a trip to the grocery store is in order. The marina has a courtesy car, which is a boon. I’m sure we’ll also duck into a hardware store for whatever gadget David has on his mind, and we need to fill the propane tanks. Add to that finishing the teak and enjoying some walks here in Beaufort, and that will fill our days quite nicely, just in time to catch the good weather and head south once more.

Here’s the silly part – when we listen to the cruisers’ net on the SSB in the morning and hear all the boats calling in from Florida and the Bahamas and then the last few boats here in the Carolinas zip on past, we feel such a tug to push off and rush after them. Such lemmings we are! I feel like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, hopping around looking at the calendar and squeaking, “We’re late! We’re late! Oh my ears and whiskers, we’re late, we’re late, we’re late!” Hold on…no we aren’t, we’re just where we want to be. Such a vortex pulling me to join the exodus, when I don’t even want to. The urge to rush after everyone else must be a survival mechanism not attached to one’s thinking brain. Let’s see, which is better, freezing to death in my smelly clothes in an open cockpit or eating pancakes in my clean jammies, enjoying a second cup of coffee and knowing that I can have a hot shower tonight? Cake or death? (borrowing from Eddie Izzard) Cake, please.

On the hook at Beaufort, SC 12-15-07

[Hilde's log]

And what does one do on the hook in a strange harbor? Depends entirely on the day! Our first full day here, yesterday, was sunny and warm, so we took advantage of the weather to enjoy a walk along the waterfront and through the small downtown to stretch our legs and Schnitzel’s. We peeked into the shops lining the downtown, peered at a few gorgeously preserved Southern mansions, and sat on a bench watching a big traffic jam on the Lady Island Bridge. Then back to the boat. We knew bad weather was coming, so we decided to do some overdue work on deck while the temperatures were mild and the sun was out.

My first chore was to swab the deck with a bucket of water and a brush, dislodging the mud that trickles into the cracks and crannies from the anchor and chain whenever we drop anchor in a muddy spot. So far, I can count on one hand the number of anchorages that have not been muddy, so swabbing is a recurring sport. I even wiped off the deck with a wet rag, and it looked great until Schnitzel came trotting down the side to admire my efforts and left little doggy footprints everywhere.

Swabbing complete, I started in to strip teak. I began stripping teak the first week we were at the dock in New Bern, in October, 2006, and I’m still stripping it. I finished the port handrail, bowsprit, the “eyebrows” (the little strips of wood down the cabin roof over the portholes), and most of the port and starboard toe rails before winter showed up in 2006. In the month or so before we left November 30, I stripped the rest of the toe rails, the stern, and the cockpit combings. As I finish any area of wood, David follows along behind me with teak wash and brightener, and then once the wood is dry we brush on several coats of teak oil and sit back to admire the result. It’s beautiful!! It is my dearest wish never to strip another inch of wood, so let’s hope the teak oil stands up. So far, two weeks into the trip, it has done just fine.

I have no idea how to spell “combings” and neither does Microsoft – sailing words are often spelled completely differently from the way they sound, such as “gunwales” which is pronounced “gunnels”. So pronounce “combing” and you will know what the word is, if not how to spell it.

Yesterday I stripped the starboard handrail, and this morning, before the rain blew in, I stripped the sides of the sliding hatch pocket (the raised bit on the coach roof that the hatch slides into when you push it open). We are going to take a slip at the marina for the three days of forecast cold weather, having had quite enough of freezing our little tushies off at Pipeline Creek. We will have access to fresh water, so David can clean, brighten, and oil the teak I just stripped. When we’re done, we’ll have renewed all the wood but the winch blocks, the Dorade vent blocks, and the companionway.

While I was hacking away at the teak (I started out last year worrying so about the grain of the wood and was I pushing too hard, etc., and have ended up whacking at it and yelling “come OFF!” to the leprous old varnish), David was polishing the stanchions with Collinite, which is, hands down, the best stainless polish we have come across. Raven must feel as though she has been to the spa. The old girl looks like she’s just had a dye job and a manicure!

Chores done, we cleaned up (which is the thing you do after everything – get up, clean up, make tea, clean up, eat, clean up, do a chore, clean up…) and dinghied into shore with Schnitzel for the evening run and then enjoyed a couple of beers and a can of nuts while reading our latest Sue Grafton mystery to each other. Then dinner (clean up) and I am embarrassed to admit I was in bed at 8:30 p.m. Which is how I see all those sunrises.

And thus passes the day on the hook, for those of you who were wondering.

Awendaw, SC to Beaufort, SC 12-11 to 12-13, 2007

[Hilde's log]

Some places on the earth are so serene, so quiet, so still, I can hear the blood beating in my ears. It’s hard to get away from the sound of motors. Cars whosh, wires whine, lawnmowers growl, outboards putter, boats chug. On the boat, the chugging gets to me after a while, but there’s no alternative on the ICW. It’s far too narrow and far too shallow for any sailing, so we chug, chug, chug like the African Queen down the canals, watching the scenery pass by. Not that that’s unpleasant. It’s quite like sitting on your porch on a sunny fall day, as the world rolls past the steps. But the constant noise makes the silence of anchoring very, very sweet.

Four nights ago we dropped anchor in Awendaw Creek. There is an Awendaw, SC, which you can find in your atlas. The town is not far from this anchorage. You’d never know it, though. The ICW passes between two national parks right before you get to Awendaw Creek, the Frances Marion National Forest and the Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge, so there’s a lot of scenery blessedly empty of human construction for several hours before you turn south into the creek. The creek is the size of a river in Texas (the size of the rivers in the Carolinas continue to astonish me), maybe 400 yards wide, a crescent of blue water bordered by gold and russet marshland, opening out into an even larger body of water that looked like the sea. By the time we’d taken care of the anchoring and the trip to shore (“shore” being a euphemism for mussel shoals, gooey, sticky mud, and acres of slough grass) for the dog, it was evening, darkening into night. The shoreline was fading away into mist and fog. The air and water were so still the stars were reflected beneath us.

The stillness lingered through the morning, as the night’s fog slowly burned off under the rising sun. Raven looked like a toy boat glued to a mirror. Her mast and hull, the surrounding marshland, the deep blue sky, and the last shards of dark grey fog were reflected perfectly in the water. As we motored toward the inlet, our wake creamed the water’s reflection into rolling fragments. And then, amazingly, we turned the bend and emerged from the wilderness next to a beautiful little waterfront community, with houses, trees, boats, and a camping area. The air was as crisp and sweet as a green apple, spiced with the scent of woodsmoke from the outdoor fires at the campground. What a perfect time to be outdoors and on the move.

That perfect sunny day melted into the next as we wandered down the waterway, which was sometimes perilously shallow, sometimes amazingly wide, sometimes populated, sometimes barren. The borders of the waterway were all marsh, rough yellow grass shot through with small inlets or streams stretching back to more solid ground covered with forest. In the foreground were live oaks, their branches twisted in fantastical shapes, then palms, their fronds light green pinwheels against the darker background stands of pines.

As we approached each populated section of the ICW, houses would appear on the landward shore, each house with its own 300 foot pier, long strands of wooden walkway ending in a boat house or a gazebo or both. Some of the gazebos were furnished for the next dock party with dock boxes, hammocks, freezers, fish tubs, lawn chairs, and ice chests. Others were empty, waiting for summer to roll around again. Birds roosted everywhere, but seemed especially happy to congregate on long private piers. Segregated by species, they seemed content to sit and watch us motor by. We’d pass clusters of four or five isolated pilings, in upright groupings like candles on a drowned cake, each piling topped with its own large bird. I wondered if the piers and pilings were safer roosts for the birds than spending the nights in the wild. Surely a bird sitting in the marsh grass would tempt any predator to pounce. As we passed the curve of these waterfront communities, the piers slipped by like the fingers of a hand. Then they’d be gone, and we’d be back in the marshes.

We motored across Charleston harbor, pointing happily at the places we remembered from our two week stay two summers ago. After a night parked in front of some beautiful and very expensive homes just to the west of town we journeyed the next day through the same warm, blue sky. No one could bear to go below for more than a few minutes before popping back up for more of the heady air and clear sky.

The last few miles of our day found us creeping carefully through some pretty shallow water at dead low tide, so we were thankful to turn off the waterway at last to the deep and serene South Edisto River. Anchored in 16 feet of water, we spent another silent night under a sharp black sky studded with fiery stars. The morning brought more fog, but it burned off quickly and we were underway for Beaufort, SC by 9 a.m. today.

That day’s trip took us across an absolutely enormous river, the Combahee, which had to have been five miles across. I say that because I was at the helm for over an hour at 5 knots, our course was almost a straight line, and when I surrendered the helm to David after my hour we were still on that river. Raven sped across the blue prairie in the stiff wind while I gloried in the view. The water spread out in all directions almost to the horizon and it was all I could do to turn away from the Atlantic outlet and head toward Beaufort. It was a quick travel day. We passed under the Lady Island Bridge in Beaufort at 2:30. Three o’clock saw us anchored. We took an evening stroll down the waterfront and then spent 30 minutes on deck admiring the harbor, the lights of the city, and yet another gorgeous sunset. I am amazed at how many sunrises and sunsets I have missed in my life. I was always getting ready for work, or driving, or fixing dinner, or something, but I was not seeing the sun rise or set. On the water, I hardly ever miss either, and I remain fascinated.

Wishing you lots of sunrises and sunsets and moments to savor!

Raven - Charleston, SC

[From Captain Dave]

Hi! Everyone:

It was June 2006 when Raven was last in Charleston, SC. We had made a long trek “on the outside” from Jacksonville, FL, and were so glad of an opportunity to rest that we anchored for two weeks in the Ashley River. Today, as we followed a reversed track from Winyah Bay down the ICW into the east side of Charleston harbor, we felt much more at ease than we did one year ago. Dare I say that we are getting the hang of this cruising life at last?

Tonight we are at anchor in Wappoo Creek, just off the west side of the harbor, again in the ICW. We arrived around 1530, in plenty of time to set two anchors, ready for when the current turns 180 degrees in this narrow channel. We are expecting dense fog again, tomorrow morning. It socked us in this morning at Awendaw Creek in Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge. This is now one of my favorite anchorages. There is nothing around for miles but marshes. I stepped outside last night and easily saw the Milky Way. All the stars of Orion were mirrored in the still water, so clear that there were in effect two Orions visible, one on top of the other. The fog began to form around 2200, the glow from the anchor light being reflected back down to the deck. Animals on the marshes rustled and called. Something with large lungs yawned loudly, stimulating images of alligators. If animals think at all, they must wonder if they will survive the night. It used to be that way for humans, too.

On the run from Georgetown to Awendaw Creek we were passed by only one boat, a motor trawler who hailed us to request us to slow down to let him pass. In return, he went by with minimal wake. Like so many trawler owners, he opened his cabin door close the steering station to come outside and shout greetings. We were so impressed by the compactness of his craft that we hailed him for a short chat on the VHF. Turns out it is a thirty year old Pearson motor cruiser that he’s had for over twenty years. It is powered by two, 4-cylinder John Deere tractor motors, each burning 1.3 gallons per hour. To our eyes, it was a sturdy, unpretentious vessel. So many that we see are huge and extravagant, conspicuous consumption afloat. Still, compared to Raven’s 0.6 gallons per hour, it is horrendously fuel-hungry.

At Georgetown, we stayed at Georgetown Landing Marina. We took on fuel and water. We deposited trash and black water. Service here was excellent and the rates very reasonable. We walked about a mile into town. Schnitzel was as delighted to be stretching her legs as we were. Our mission was to find Ice cream, which we did. Front Street was quiet (Sunday Afternoon) and very picturesque. I took many photos and we enjoyed walking the boardwalk along the river’s edge, wondering what it might have been like to anchor in such a narrow channel. By the time we returned to Raven, we were all dragging our feet.

Next morning, before leaving, we walked to the BP gas station and bought the essentials: milk, bread, and potato chips. The only bread available was Wonder Bread, an appropriate name because we wonder if it is really bread at all. Nearby is Schofield’s hardware store. This is an Aladdin’s Cave for all sorts of boat parts: galvanized shackles, funnels, hose connectors, propane cylinders, etc. What a barn of a place.

Tonight, I remembered to check Raven’s engine oil while the engine was still warm. Engine oil just doesn’t flow well in the morning, when it is cold. (I sympathize. I’m the same way.) My other chore tonight was to clean the paddle when on the knot meter sensor. I am always reluctant to do this because when I remove the sensor from the keel, a 1.5” column of water rushed into the bilge, until I insert the blank plug into the hole. I am always fearful of dropping something and sinking Raven on the spot. The reality is much less trouble than my fears predict. The Neuse River growth was like hairy mud, containing tiny barnacles. The cleaned sensor is now back in place and for the first time in weeks, we shall be able to compare our speed through the water and our speed over the bottom. Why bother? To determine the effects of current on Raven’s progress. In still water, both readings should be the same. A difference in readings indicates current, either helping or hindering our progress.

The warm, calm weather is very welcome. The cabin remains warm at night, even at anchor, when we cannot run our heat pump. Heat in these conditions comes from a small Coleman propane heater. It is rated at 1000 BTU, which is little better than a single candle might emit, or so it feels sometimes.

In two more days, we should be in Beaufort, SC, where we shall reprovision and make ready for the hop “on the outside” to St Mary’s, GA, close to the GA-FL state line, and Fernandina Beach, FL.

Best regards from Raven.

Pipeline Canal, NC to Awendaw Creek, SC

Greetings from anchor in Awendaw Creek, about 60 miles from Charleston, SC. It’s been the most gorgeous day of the trip, 80 degrees and bright sunshine all the way, although the breeze made it feel more like 70 on the water.

We left Pipeline Creek early Friday morning. The sun was bright, but cold, and we were grateful that there was no wind. Our trip through the last bit of North Carolina was a bit like travelling through Venice on a huge canal. We passed through neighborhood after development, home after home, in all styles and price ranges, from double wides to mansions. To our amazement, as we crossed the South Carolina line, the houses suddenly stopped and we were treated to empty, tree lined shores. Further along we passed more development, but it wasn't the wall of homes we left behind in North Carolina.

Around sunset we turned off into Calabash Creek, anchoring to the side of the creek with four other boats. We knew the couple aboard Mon Isle, as they were neighbors for a short time on the docks in New Bern. They, in turn, had befriended the couple on the boat behind us, Airborne. Mon Isle invited us over for strawberry shortcake, and we accepted, eager to make new friends. After a quick trip to shore to walk Schnitzel, we enjoyed the company of our fellow boaters for the evening. We especially admired Mon Isle's dinghy, a Portland Pudgy (I didn't make that up.). Sturdy and squat, it is rated as a lifeboat as well as a dinghy. Like our Walker Bay, it has a sailing rig. Unlike the WB, though, you can stow the paddles, sails, and masts in the dinghy itself. That's one of the interesting things that happens when we meet fellow boaters -we get to admire their equipment and get new ideas about gear that would be useful to us.

Saturday turned into a trail ride. We were one of five boats that motored down the ICW in a long string, bunching up quickly as we approached bridges and then stringing out again once we left the bridges behind. Bridges on the ICW come in two types, namely those that are high enough to pass under and those that aren't. The low bridges all open, some on a schedule and some on demand. Everyone tries to time the scheduled openings as closely as possible in order to avoid having to hold station with a gaggle of other boats while waiting for the opening. We've met a lot of bridge tenders on the VHF and I wonder what that job would be like, watching for boat traffic, coaxing all the boats toward the bridge, so that it will be open as short a time as possible, and then working the mechanisms that lower the caution railings, release all the catches, and cause tons and tons of steel and concrete to swing out over the water.

In the afternoon the ICW left the canal and wandered into the Waccamaw River. It's a wild place, mostly cypress swamp, that winds along the coastland. Occasionally a small marina or a cluster of houses was visible through the trees, but mostly I could pretend I was along in a wilderness (as long as I didn't look at the boats behind us). The forest was a real Hansel and Gretel forest, dark and strange, with the trees perched on their bulbous root system in the dark mud. We turned off the river into Prince Creek, a horseshoe shaped tributary about a third the width of the main channel. We anchored in 25 feet of water, surrounded by forest and marsh, floating on the black water of the creek.

Airborne and Mon Isle joined us in the anchorage and we made a cozy threesome. I made pasta and invited the other two crews over for dinner. Airborne provided hot, fresh bread and a bottle of Haitian rum; Mon Isle brought cheese and crackers. Six people made just the right compliment for the cabin and we spent the evening getting better acquainted, telling stories, and laughing a lot. It was simply delightful.

Airborne is relatively new to cruising and earlier in the day, when we had decided to go to the same anchorage, David helpfully suggested they rig up a trip line since we were anchoring in the swamp. A trip line, for those of you who don’t know, is a float tied to a line that is in turn tied to the anchor. The float lets you know where your anchor is, since the boat has a lot of rode laid down between it and the actual anchor and drifts away from the point where the anchor is set. When you are pulling up the anchor to leave, the line also lets you pull the anchor from a different angle since it’s attached at a different point on the anchor than the chain, thus helping you get unstuck from tree roots and other underwater obstructions. Airborne agreed to rig up a trip line, taking our advice no doubt because we are experienced cruisers and know what we’re doing. Hoo, boy.

Raven reached the anchorage first. David fastened the trip line to the anchor, lowered the anchor…..and watched the float sink. We hung over the side in astonishment and chagrin, having no idea what had happened. We’ve dropped a trip line so many times before and it has never sunk! Airborne arrived just in time to watch the entire exercise and enjoy our clueless expressions. We had to haul the anchor up, very carefully, without putting the engine in gear (so the line wouldn’t foul the prop). Once he examined the float on board, while I held station at the helm, David decided that the new weight he had attached to the float was too heavy for it. We added an empty vinegar bottle to the end of the line as a second float and this time when we lowered the anchor the float actually floated. We managed to set the hook just as the sun set. So much for anchoring gracefully and competently.

The next day Mon Isle left before we did and Airborne left afterward, so we had the water almost to ourselves as we journeyed down the Waccamaw River. Our destination was Georgetown, SC which sits at the point where the Waccamaw River joins the north end of Winyah Bay. The ICW was so broad – imagine a twelve lane highway made of water – thickly lined with leafless grey cypress trees. The forest/swamp was dusted with autumn colors from the leaves of other bushes and trees and the broad sweep of water in front of us was speckled with floating clumps of green leaves. I thought at first that they were floating branches but then discovered as we passed by that they were some sort of broad-leafed plant, a kind of succulent that seems to live exclusively on the water. I so enjoyed being alone on the river, pretending to be a valiant explorer, and was quite disappointed when a sailboat appeared on our horizon about two hours into our day and preceded us all the way to Georgetown.

Georgetown is a charming place, a working town with two large factories (steel and paper mills) that has made the most of its waterfront to give tourists a pleasant destination. Our marina was about a mile from the downtown area (Georgetown Landing Marina – we highly recommend it), so David and Schnitzel and I walked in through the businesses that line Hwy 17, and then through the old residential part of town where vintage homes are framed by classic gnarled oak trees and buckled sidewalks. All sorts of businesses, cafes, and art galleries border Front Street, the main drag, and behind Front Street is the city marina and harbor with a boardwalk crowded with restaurants and gift shops. We quickly located the ice cream parlor and then enjoyed our ice cream while sitting by the water. In additon to our afternoon of sightseeing, we took care of the chores that had brought us to shore, namely fueling the boat, getting a pump out, topping up the water tanks, doing the laundry, unplugging a sluggish sink, taking the trash ashore, and picking up a few supplies and tools at a nearby convenience store and hardware store.

Back on the water this morning, we sped south, enjoying a strong current that pushed Raven to 7 knots across the bay. We covered 30 miles in about 5 ½ hours, really good time. The scenery has been perfect. Because it is marshland and park area, there are few houses or other manmade structures. At times we were surrounded by land that spread its golden crewcut of rough marsh grass for a mile in every direction. I felt as though we were floating across the prairie. In other places there were bushes and trees, sometimes crowding the banks, but mostly growing sparsely and well back from the waterway. I spotted a bald eagle in one tall tree and that made my whole day. We saw a pair of bald eagles in Maine in the summer of 2006; this is only the third one I’ve seen.

Our anchorage tonight is on the other side of an island that borders the ICW. One other boat shares the spot with us; other than that it is just us and the stars and something in the marsh that coughs occasionally and makes the roosting ducks squawk and flap in the tall grass. Maybe an alligator?? Or a cougar? We pulled up the boat ladder, just in case it can both swim and climb… There’s a new moon tonight, and the sky is very, very dark except for the glow of distant cities to the west and north. The Milky Way is splattered across the sky above us, from horizon to horizon, and I amused myself for awhile renaming various star clusters. There’s the Arrowhead, Woman with a Basket, and a Scorpion (David assures me it’s not Scorpio, but it looks like a Scorpion to me). A deep fog is seeping its way toward us over the islands next to the sea, and it is so profoundly quiet my ears hurt.

Tomorrow we will make more progress toward Beaufort, SC, past Charleston, right on the border with Georgia. Hopefully the good weather will hold another few days. Once in Beaufort we’ll see what the weather is like and then decide when to pop outside for an overnight down the Georgia coast. We have heard over and over again that in addition to adding 100 miles to the trip because it is so winding, the Georgia stretch of the ICW is shallow because of the drought they’ve had all year and poorly maintained to boot. So we’ll wait for the next bit of warm, clear weather and bypass the whole issue.

On the road again, sorta

[Hilde's log from December 5, 2007]

Ahoy, y’all. I’m sitting at the nav station aboard Raven enjoying a couple of days of R & R at anchor in Pipeline Canal, a small anchorage just to the west of Southport, NC, off the Inter Coastal Waterway (ICW). For those of you who don’t know, David and I have failed miserably to adapt to land life and have once again set off on Raven, this time heading south. We are aiming for St. Augustine, FL for Christmas, and after that will take a big breath and plunge eastward to the Bahamas. It’s not a new voyage for Raven, who spent three years in the Bahamas and Caribbean with her previous owner, but it’s a new trip for us. David bare boated in the BVIs in the 80s; I’ve never been to that part of the world at all.

One lure is the warmth – neither of us was looking forward to another winter on Raven in northern climes. When the weather is mild, you can sit out in the cockpit or on the cabin roof, you can read or do chores or wander around town if you feel like it. But when the wind pipes up and frosts your nose, you tend to become a badger, burrowing down in the cabin for warmth. Cozy as a badger hole is, it’s also dark, small, and claustrophobic after a few days.

When you’re underway, the cabin is just cozy and a welcome shelter after several hours at the wheel. Unlike some boaters, we have no enclosure for the cockpit, so when it’s cold, our noses turn bright red, our eyes water, and we drink gallons of hot tea. We also wear layers and layers and layers, and look a little bit like Robbie, Ralph’s younger brother in A Christmas Story, who looked like the Michelin man in his snow suit and couldn’t get up if he fell down. I routinely wear 5 layers on my torso, 4 layers on my legs, and a couple of hats, rubber boots, etc. If I ever took my hats off, I’d probably be appalled by “hat head” but they only come off when I wash my hair!

David bought a little propane heater before we left New Bern, and it keeps the cabin tolerable at night. We turn it off when we go to bed and the temperature drops rapidly. Schnitzel is curled up on the settee in her dog bed, wearing a sweater and covered in her blanket and often my jacket. David and I crawl into the v-berth on top of memory foam (ahhhh) and under a light blanket and our trusty sleeping bag, opened to make a full sized cover. We take with us a hot water bottle that toasts our feet. It gradually makes its way north to my stomach and keeps us warm all night. Our breaths frost the air in the morning, and David bravely makes a run for the propane heater to take the ice out of the air in the morning. We’re the comic sight, holding our clothes over the heater to warm them up as we wrap up for the coming day. As I said, warmth is a real draw!

This is the 6th day since we left New Bern on November 30th. We’ve wandered down the ICW the entire way, traveling through some beautiful marshland, large rivers, and narrow, shallow channels lined with houses. Those last are a bit like sailing down a city street and certainly aren’t my favorite byways. I was actually grateful for the military at Camp LeJeune because the land there is left wild and undeveloped, a peaceful and beautiful passage of marshland, scrubby shrubs and tall pines, lined by sandy banks and punctuated with big grey herons who hunch on the sand and look into the water, considering the possibility of breakfast. Of course occasionally the military is shooting the place up on maneuvers but they are kind enough to post that kind of activity and fortunately they were standing down as we passed.

We pulled in here to get out of the 25-30 knot winds (although we did get in some great sailing coming down the Cape Fear River) and the choppy waters. We’re trying to take it easy as we wander southward, and to rest a couple of days a week at a conducive anchorage. Tomorrow we up anchor and head for South Carolina, which I hope is at least 5 degrees warmer. It was actually quite nice this morning, and I sat out on deck for about an hour, putting another coat of teak oil on the port toe rail. We enjoyed a dinghy into land and a longish walk, with Schnitzel even getting to run off leash. But then the temperature took a dive, so I came in and made a casserole to heat up the boat and my guess is we’ll pass the afternoon reading, knitting, chart-plotting, and washing up (always washing up).

Pipeline Canal - Southport, NC

[Cap'n Dave's log]

Hi! Everyone:

It’s been over one year since you received tales of our travels on Raven. We are on the move again. 

We arrived in New Bern, NC, in October 2006, in time for the Southbound Cruisers’ Rendezvous. After six months of living aboard and over 4000 miles under the keel (from Galveston, TX, to Islesboro, ME, and back south to North Carolina) we were exhausted and ready for a break. We became enchanted by New Bern and early in 2007 decided to settle there. Our vision included part time jobs and time to sail on Pamlico Sound. Reality became more and more like the life we had left behind: long hours, no time off, and this time for little pay. When the Sheraton Marina doubled the dockage fees, we would have had to give up downtown living and add a commute to our lives. Enough! We began to convert Raven from live-aboard mode to cruising mode. Stuff had to be sorted, pared down, and stored. Maintenance that I’d ignored for too long had to be done. We got it all done just before the rate increase came into effect. We left Friday, November 30th, 2007.

The trip down the Neuse River was in sunshine but very cold. The air temp was 58 °F and the chilling effects of a 15 knot breeze easily penetrated our clothes. We toughed it out, enjoying the brilliant colors and the familiar scenery. Raven’s cabin was still a shambles, with clutter everywhere. All those last-minute “essential” supplies that hadn’t yet found permanent homes were scattered on settees, the vee berth, and the cabin sole. I knew that we’d sort it all out eventually – or heave them all overboard.

We turned into the Adams Creek Canal and settled into Cedar Creek for the night. One boat was already there and two more followed us in. It was wonderfully quiet, almost too quiet, causing our ears to ring. The familiar traffic sounds from Highway 70 had disappeared, replaced with bird calls and the gentle slap of water against the hull. We slept deep and hard.

We woke with the sun and got under way first thing. We find that having breakfast at anchor makes for a disproportionately late start. We prefer to get going, then enjoy breakfast as a warming snack as we travel. The air is always chill on the face at this time of year, so a hot cup of tea or coffee heats us from the inside.

Adams Creek Canal is relatively undeveloped compared to much of the Intracoastal Waterway. Other sections of the ICW are about as natural as Disney World. Large houses lie side by side, each one challenging Snow White’s Castle for grandeur. Many of them appear to be unoccupied; the yards are bare and no lights burn inside.

We negotiated Morehead City, passing under Highway 17 and past the large silos and warehouses. Both landmarks had become familiar to us on road trips to Beaufort, a town as charming as New Bern.

Just before dark, we turned into the harbor at Swansboro. We anchored between red #4 and the road bridge, per cruising guide instructions, but I doubt that we were out of the channel, as suggested. The waterfront buildings reminded me of Rockport, MA. At night, the windows were lit like a decorative Christmas village. We didn’t look too hard, instead preferring to hover over our little propane heater below. It was mighty cold.

We left Swansboro on Sunday morning at 0730, surprised at that hour to be the last of three boats to leave. We had no good plan for an anchorage that night. The closer of two possibilities was Sloop Point, which on the chart looked like swamp in the middle of nowhere, with a narrow, tricky, poorly marked channel. Further on was an nice looking anchorage at Wrightsville Beach, at the end of Motts Channel, which appeared to be narrow but well marked. It would be a late arrival, after dark. That became one element in our running aground.

Early that day, we managed to bump the keel at Green #61A. It was a temporary mark that indicated shoaling from an inlet. We found a way through about two boat lengths from the mark. It was, apparently, positioned in shallow water. S/v Gem, one of the two boats at anchor overnight in Swansboro was kind enough to hail us with a warning while they waited for the Onslow Beach Bridge to open. Their warning allowed us to slow to a crawl, so backing off was easy and I just gently tried different spots until Raven eased through.

After Surf City Bridge, which we timed to perfection, we came upon Sloop Point. It was as uninviting as we had feared, so we pressed on to Wrightsville Beach, undeterred by an arrival after dark. By setting waypoints for Figure Eight Island and Wrightsville Beach bridges into the GPS, we were able to arrive at each just prior to their scheduled openings. At the latter, I was already concerned by how dark it was, in spite of the city lights. Only a few hundred yards after passing the bridge I made the left turn into Motts Channel. I don’t know if the current carried us faster than I anticipated or if I was confused by the chart plotter being set to show “track up” instead of “north up”, but I made the turn at Green 25 too wide and put us hard aground. I could swing Raven to port or starboard using the rudder in forward, but she wouldn’t budge in reverse. We were broadside in the channel and clearly a hazard. I called Tow Boat US on the VHF and thirty minutes later we were secure at Dockside Marina and Restaurant, a mere 100 yards across the ICW from our grounding.

I can’t speak too highly of Tow Boat US, or of Boat US insurance. Each year, we cough up $120 for unlimited towing insurance. It is one of the few bills I don’t mind paying. I try not to use it, of course, but I was glad of it on this occasion. The bill for thirty minutes work was almost $600: time, gasoline, wear and tear for towing, and a premium for Sunday evening, I expect. The operator was cheerful and, more to the point, skillful. He passed me the one-inch polypropylene line, with instructions to attach it to something substantial. On Raven, that meant through a bow chock to one of the 8” bronze, foredeck cleats. Everything about a Cape Dory is “substantial” but I was momentarily worried when Raven tipped to twenty degrees or so as the bow was pulled around.

We enjoyed a couple of beers each in the restaurant bar, then walked back down the ramp to the fuel dock where Raven was dwarfed by a 70’ motor yacht tied within ten feet of her transom. Hilde rustled up some wonderful hot food and we were soon asleep, from too much excitement and good living.

Some early Monday morning rain arrived with very mild air, although the breeze was strong. We checked the weather forecast and decided it was better to travel when the air is warm and take our lumps with the gusts. We topped up the water tanks and dumped our trash. Neither diesel nor a pump out was available, but we were not desperate for either. We had been cruising with (our engine) Big Blue turning at only 2000 rpm, burning only half a gallon of fuel every hour. Just before we shoved off, Chris, a friend from New Bern, passed by on m/v Victory. He yelled greetings to us and we chatted on the VHF. Shoaling was bad at Masonboro Inlet, where Chris ran aground and was rescued by Tow Boat US. I got Raven through with one minor bump. My muscles were taught as bow strings, my dreading having to be rescued by Tow Boat US two days in a row. All was well until Carolina Beach Inlet, where Raven hit hard on the shoaling, marked by a temporary red buoy #152A, that forced us into the blue shallows of the chart plotter, far from the magenta line that indicates center channel. I was horrified, fearing my nightmare was coming true by the minute. This time, Raven backed off OK and I tried going by on the wrong side, closer to the magenta line. No go! I could see the shoaling across the supposed channel. I tried again, leaving the mark to starboard. No go! Was this an ICW mark or a returning channel marker for the inlet? There was no yellow reflective patch denoting an ICW mark. The reflective patch was red, which on a red buoy didn’t make any sense. Finally, with the red buoy about a boat length off starboard, Raven seemed to bump her way through. We touched several times, sometimes feeling like we were atop two sand ridges. It was not a good time, although I was hugely relieved once we were though.

We selected Pipeline Canal, just past Southport, as our anchorage for Monday night. It is “dog friendly”, according to the cruising guide and we didn’t want to force (our Schnauzer) Schnitzel to “explode” as she’d had to on Sunday. The current in Swansboro had been too strong for my dubious rowing skill, so Schnitzel had had to “bottle it” for over twenty-four hours. Our outboard motor had croaked our first night out. The fuel contained water and sludge. I managed to remove and clean the carburetor on the bridge deck, while we were under way and the weather was warm. I was delighted when the motor roared into life.

The cruising guide also mentioned a submerged dam at the entrance to Pipeline Canal. By this time I was phobic about running aground, but I was encouraged by our estimated arrival exactly at high tide. We entered the canal with three feet under the keel and discovered a beautiful, protected anchorage. Protection was a high priority since it had been blowing a steady 25 knots all afternoon, with gusts over 30. Although it was the peak of high tide, the flood was still running west into the ICW against the strong west wind, causing two feet tall standing waves that all but stopped our progress as we chugged west along the channel, with Big Blue spinning at 2500 rpm. Our run down the Cape Fear River from Carolina Beach to Southport had been a thrilling motor sail into the wind. The staysail helped us against the flooding tide but caused Raven to heel 20 degrees. At least on this stretch the wind and current were running together. It was huge fun to use the many lighted range marks, just like the big ships.

We had terrible trouble setting the anchor in the basin. After five tries with the CQR, we abandoned it in favor of the Danforth. It, too, refused to set, even with careful lowering by hand. Finally, I added twenty feet of chain between rode and shank. The extra weight kept the shank low and we haven’t budged since.

Tuesday, December 5th, 2007, we stood down and relaxed. We took Schnitzel ashore mid morning; the dinghy motor worked great. We walked the shoreline of the canal. We took the dinghy up the canal for a joy ride.

Wednesday, December 05, 2007, we again took Schnitzel for her morning walk along the canal, ending up at the entrance from the ICW. We stood in the still-brisk breeze and watched three motor yachts and one 40 foot plus sailboat chug their ways westbound. So far, so good!

My salient memories of the trip from New Bern so far must be the multiple groundings, more in the last few days than in many years of sailing. It is an inevitable part of the experience and usually not life-threatening. Nonetheless, my neck and shoulder muscles are still tense from hours at the helm, willing Raven safe passage through obviously dubious channels. It has convinced us to avoid Georgia’s ICW, especially since the entire state is under severe drought conditions. Weather-permitting, we shall hop from Beaufort, SC, to St. Mary’s River, on the Georgia-Florida state line.

Best regards to you all.