ICW – Pelagic Explorers

April 13, 2018April 13, 2018

Ft. Lauderdale: Navigating through Bridge Hell

Drawbridges. Other than the shallow spots, the bridges are the next most stressful thing on the ICW (note: stressful, not scary). Though the first bridgetender in Norfolk was extremely communicative, we soon realized that’s a rarity. Eventually we got used to timing our arrival for scheduled openings and leaving space to approach the slow-opening bridges, there were still some bridges that were more exciting than they should’ve been.

Twice we had bridgetenders say, “Come on up, I’ll open when you get here,” but then not bother to tell us they were having hydraulic issues and couldn’t open. At one in NC, after some silence, I radioed to confirm the opening, and he casually told us he couldn’t open just in time for us to turn away. At another in SC, the guy was actively chatting, asking us questions about our wind generator, and it wasn’t until after we aborted our approach and asked what was going on that he was like, “Oh yeah, it’s not working. Hold on.”

ICW Bridge — Another day, another bridge.

One day in Florida we did 16 drawbridges in 33 nautical miles. It’s pure chaos on the radio with all sorts of boats talking to so many bridges on the same channel. Sometimes the bridges have 3 names, but they only respond to one – charts usually don’t have the name, so you better have a good book or website handy. Sometimes, they’ll believe you when you say you’ll arrive on time and they’ll open at the next scheduled time. Other times, if you’re not circling in front of them 5 minutes prior, they’ll tell you’re not close enough (I can’t blame them – we heard tons of people overestimating their proximity and speed to bridges. Bridges would have to be open for 15 minutes at a time if they believed these people).

Sometimes the traffic was crazy – I told a megayacht and a tugboat we’d go behind them through a bridge, which started a debate between 2 yachts and the bridgetender about who needed to go when to accommodate commercial traffic in both directions.

So when we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, we thought we were in the clear – just 3 on-demand bridges up the New River and we’d be golden. Weather looked ominous but it wasn’t supposed to hit for over an hour, which would be enough time. We had heard that the river was narrow and the current could be vicious, so we waited until around the tide change to head up. We heard 100-foot megayachts say they had space to pass each other, so how bad could it really be?

3 Rd Ave Bridge, New River , Ft. Lauderdale — This Bridge was just the beginning of our troubles in New River.

Well, as it turns out it could be VERY BAD. We called the 1^st bridge, knowing we were close, but the canal was so tight and curvy, we couldn’t yet see it. The bridge promptly filled up with car traffic, and Paul tried to hold our boat steady in the current which was not slack. Just as the bridge started to open, we lost control and had to do a 360 in a very small space to pass through successfully. I immediately called the next bridge and he gave me the bad news – the railroad bridge next to him was closed so he couldn’t open. We were stuck with only 300 yards between bridges and with a canal ~120 ft wide, minus the space taken up by boats parked on both sides. We were stuck in a bad spot. Paul managed to keep the boat steady and centered for a while with great difficulty. And then the storm decided to make an early appearance – the wind started to gust and rain fell.

I saw a megayacht coming through the bridge behind us – I radioed them and told them proceed with caution as we were having trouble holding the boat. Just after that, Paul lost the bow and we started to spin. In the rain, in my barefeet, I slipped all over the place throwing fenders into place and grabbing the boat hook. In the land of million dollar boats, I looked up and saw that our bow was headed for – THANK GOD – the only smashed, dented steel boat in sight. Paul had the engine screaming in reverse, but with a small engine and full keel it was to no avail. I ran up the bowsprit and pressed the rubber end of the boat hook into the side of the other boat with all my strength. We just barely kissed the other boat, luckily not even scratching either boats’ paint, just as the engine dug in and we began to reverse.

“Sailing vessel, what are you trying to do here?” the megayacht asked me. Though I wanted to yell, “I TOLD YOU PROCEED WITH CAUTION M#$*(@#F*(@#,” what I actually said was, “We’re losing control, we’re going to try to tie up.”

Boat damaged by new river collision. — The boat we tapped into on New River. Note the broken window was NOT caused by us.

Luckily, Paul spotted the one empty spot on the side of the canal and headed for it. Unfortunately, our stern was headed for the pilings too quickly for me to get a fender into place and SMASH! One of the welds for the support to our solar panel pole snapped. I tried to get a line over the piling but missed. When I finally lassoed a wooden board, the boat was pulling away so I pulled my line back in. At this point, 2 construction workers (my heroes!) ran up to assist. I was able to toss lines to them, and they pulled us in to safety.

The rain poured down. I looked at Paul, who looked both dazed and defeated. Paul takes being a captain very seriously. He can skate through almost any situation by the hair on his chin, but this time his number was up. Sitting on a park bench, soaked to the bone, with his head in his hands he looked up and said, “You did great. Thanks for hanging in there with me. I’m sorry I screwed up so badly. I should have never brought us in here.” After thanking the construction workers, Paul called Cooley’s Landing Marina, which is run by the city and also owns the spot we were now sitting in, to see if we could stay here, but it was reserved for the next day. The guy from the marina even drove down to the talk to us. Maybe we could try again in the evening, at the next tide change. It was true slack tide now, but the radar showed the weather was worsening.

After a half hour or so, the marina guy called us. He said the storm actually blew out and the current is fine here, why not try now? Paul checked the radar and looked me and said, “Might as well get back on the horse, no sense in staying rattled.” I don’t know how he pulled it together so quickly and I wasn’t about to ask either. We readied our lines and called the bridge to make sure they could open. The Jungle Queen – a huge tourist ferry – radioed the bridge and said they’d be right behind us. Another sailboat was coming the opposite way. I told the other sailboat we’d let the Queen go, then they could go, then we’d pass.

I watched the bridge open, and as soon as the Queen passed us I yelled, “Go! Go!” to Paul. He let go of his line and revved up the engine to get us off the dock and did another tight 180 in the canal to point us in the right direction.

It was smooth sailing through the next 2 bridges and we were into Cooley’s Landing Marina. It was time for a well deserved cheeseburger and several cold beers.

Later I read that the railroad bridge can stay closed for an hour, so it’s actually recommended that you are ready to tie up or even raft up (tie to other boats). On reflection, even before reading that, we realized that is what we should’ve done immediately. When we departed the marina the following week, we actually tied up to wait for both the railroad bridge and at the “scene of the crime” between the other bridges. Vehicle traffic on the bridge was bad, so 2 megayachts and a big fishing boat were waiting along with us for 20 minutes in that 300 yard span.

Let’s just say we’re glad there will be no drawbridges in the Bahamas.

How to safely navigate New River

New River was more challenging than anything else we encountered on the ICW but it is doable if you follow these 5

rules:

Never go unless the weather is clear. The storm we faced was actually pretty minor, but even a little wind gust when you’re trying to hold position in tight quarters can be enough to ruin your day.
Have fenders in the water on both sides and docklines ready on every cleat.
At the first sign of delay tie up to the nearest empty dock space or if none are available raft up. Don’t ask permission , just do it – safety comes first.
Know when slack tide is we found Noaa’s prediction to be accurate.
Make sure the bridges are marked and easy to see in your chartplotter. Between the curves, trees, building and boats, some of the bridges are hard to see until you’re on top of them.

Also read both of these pages from Jordan yachts part 1 & part 2.

April 7, 2018April 9, 2018

Stingrays, Manatees, and Golf Cart Shenanigans from Port Royal, SC to Pompano Beach, FL

The daily dolphin sightings continued into the busy part of Florida. My favorite part was when they’d pop up right beside the cockpit and breathe out a loud “Pfft!” – this usually startled Paul and he’d jump, then I’d laugh.

Paul thinks he can just relax in the cockpit….

Our next stop was Jekyll Island, GA. We’d heard about it from our riggers/friends Dobbs and Suzanne at Walden Rigging, who told us about the restored historic homes there. At some point on our trip, I saw an ad for the marina mentioning golf carts and bicycles – I told Paul we had to go!

We were aware that to get to the marina, we would have to scoot by the state’s sketchiest shallow spot in Jekyll Creek. Early in the day, we were looking good for an arrival prior to sunset and several hours prior to low tide. However, by the time we had the tip of the island in sight, we were a little behind schedule, and to make matters worse, the current, wind and waves were starting to work against us. I recalculated our ETA as we slowed to 3.5 knots, and it wasn’t looking good. On top of that, the marina hadn’t actually answered the phone or returned our calls.

I looked at Paul and asked him what he wanted to do. There was a possible anchorage at the northern end of the island that we could pull into, instead of pressing our luck. We both knew this was the better decision, even if it meant skipping this stop altogether to stay on schedule. I tried to sound honest and reassuring as I told him safety was more important than…. golf carts and Rockefeller homes. He sighed, sensing my true desire for adventure, and said, “Let’s do this. I promised you those damned golf carts!”

Luckily, the marina answered our next call and told us to stay 30-45 feet off of marker 19. I checked the map and saw, based on that advice, that we’d be staying to the left to avoid the sediment that a side stream was dumping into the right side of the channel.

Unfortunately, we weren’t gaining any speed. We would now be arriving after dark and at low tide. As we passed the jetties at the creek’s entrance, we still had enough sunlight to identify the rocks we didn’t want to hit. Darkness set in just as we spotted marker 19 up ahead. We shined the spotlight on it and lined ourselves up to pass at the specified distance. We watched the depth drop on the chartplotter – 6 feet, 4 feet, 2 feet… we were crawling at barely 2 knots and holding our breaths… 1.5 feet below the keel… when it dropped below 1 foot I looked away and braced for impact.

“It’s going up!” cheered Paul, who had the guts to still be watching the numbers. Astonished and relieved not to be spending the night stuck in the mud, I prepped the dock lines. We had an easy end spot on the dock, but the marina was nearly adjacent to a bridge, limiting our room for maneuvers. Luckily, a couple ran over to assist us and pulled us safely to the dock.

“Good thing I grew out this beard,” Paul said to me, “because we just made it here by the hair on my chin!”

A bit amped up by the close call, we decided to walk into town. Jekyll is a cool place. Though touristy, the town has sidewalks and Adirondack chairs under palm trees all along the beach. The next day we borrowed bikes from the marina to head into the historical part of town – the restored vacation homes of America’s railroad tycoons and other such rich folk. Apparently those aspiring to be like that still come here – We saw people dressed in all white playing a serious game of croquet on the green front lawn of the clubhouse (where it would have cost the two of us $80 for brunch). We then borrowed the marina’s golf cart to tour the whole island.

Jekyll Island – our first beach stop of the trip!

Jekyll Island Historic District – lovely by bike or by golf cart!

Ready to explore Jekyll Island by golf cart

I had been nervous about 9 foot tides in Georgia, but with low tide hitting when we usually weren’t traveling, Georgia ended up being much more relaxing than expected.

Savannah River – First cargo ship we’d had to dodge since leaving the Chesapeake.

White pelicans in the marshes of Georgia – when our boat would approach, they would take off flying in neat formation. Of course when I had my camera ready, they just hid in the grass instead of flying.

The whole trip had been very calm as far as boat traffic, so it was Daytona before things started to get busy with other sailors, fishermen, tour boats, and jet skis. At one point, I stood up to watch some boats passing in front of us and I see a STINGRAY leap out of the water!

I thought that was the best thing ever until the next day in the Haulover Canal when we topped it. The guide book said “lots and lots of manatees” in this area, to which I said, “Yeah, right, we’ll never see them.” But there they were, a huge group of manatees beside the canal, popping out of the water to eat leaves off the bushes. They were all over the canal, just floating along. We also saw our first sea turtle and an island full of all sorts of birds.

I’m so ridiculously excited about this manatee coming up for a snack, I can’t even explain.

Ok, not birds, but a flock of skydivers still counts, right?

After this the water finally started to turn get bluer. We tried to go to a snorkel park near North Palm Beach but the visibility was awful, so instead I walked 20 minutes across a bridge to get a pizza, since we hadn’t had pizza since New Bern. SO WORTH IT.

It’s funny being in Florida though. In the southern states, people were so polite on the water and on the radio. Here it’s a rude free-for-all. People yelling at each other on the radio. Coast guard scolding people for using channel 16 incorrectly. Huge power boats ripping by with giant wakes. No more pre-tied lines and fenders at the fuel docks. It doesn’t bother us much, but the contrast is just starting.

(Feb 21-Mar 6 – by Lindsey)

February 21, 2018April 7, 2018

2018, February 10-21 New Bern, NC to Port Royal, SC

Quit jobs: check. Pack up stuff out of Lindsey’s parents’ house: (mostly) check. Move stuff into Paul’s parents’ house: check. Head to New Bern, meet with mechanic, pick up sail, pack more food than you thought possible into boat, check out the birthplace of Pepsi, learn about how to make money blogging from a dude at the marina, untie the lines, and go: check!

Birthplace of Pepsi – Naomi’s favorite drink

Paul’s mom bravely agreed to join us for this (still cold) part of the trip. Paul and I actually really enjoyed the first part of the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) and were excited to share this part of it with her. And it didn’t disappoint! We saw a dolphin as soon as we neared the ocean at Morehead City the first day, and we saw dolphins nearly every day for the rest of the ICW. One day we headed out to sea (St Helena Sound) to avoid a shallow part of the ICW, and we saw about 40 dolphins – they swam alongside us, watching us curiously just as we watched them.

Paul and Naomi trying to stay warm on the ICW.

Lindsey and Paul chillin’ in the cockpit (on the cushions Lindsey made)

Dolphin in Saint Helena Sound saying “heyyyy”

This was the first dolphin to swim beside us for several minutes

We traveled typically 40-60 miles a day and anchored most nights. We anchored in fog, in swamps, in marshes, and in front of houses. I have never seen so many waterfront mansions in my life. We saw sunken boats. By Camp Lejuene, we watched ospreys fly (both the military aircraft and the birds) and experienced our first crazy storm (all wind, no lightning). At Charleston, we crossed paths with cargo ships. At Elliot’s Cut, the current helped us to set our boat’s speed record – 8.8 knots (~11 mph – not exciting for you but very exciting for us)!

Typical waterfront mansion along the ICW

We made a friend named Steven on the radio, a solo-sailor that had moved to the east coast from California. Steven was having a hell of a time on the ICW. He’d already grounded and called Sea Tow (like AAA for boaters) several times. He crossed the Abermarle in December, ran aground, and was frozen in for 3 weeks. We’ve kept in touch, relaying messages about the shallow spots we find.

Speaking of which, we ran aground! They say on the ICW there are sailors that run aground and those that lie about it. First at Lashallotte Inlet, which we knew was a problem spot, we tried to take the Coast Guard’s advice to “hug the reds” – well, we hugged too close, the incoming tide pushed us aside, and we were in the sand. Construction workers watched from the docks while we bounced around for half an hour until the tide rose and we were off. Our second grounding was approaching Charleston, in the middle of the channel according to the chartplotter, but at a spot known for shoaling (that I read about only afterwards, oops). Once again, it was low tide, so 30 minutes later we had more water and with the aid of some powerboat wakes, we bounced back into deeper water. This part of the trip was definitely more stressful at low tide, and we were thankful many times we only draw 4 feet. Eventually we started using the Army Corps of Engineers surveys in combo with Robert Sherer’s ICW book – this was insanely helpful because often the chartplotter and charts are just wrong.

Expressing our feelings towards the spot where we ran aground.

Turtles, bald eagles, herons, egrets, owls, pelicans – armed with binoculars, Naomi became the official wildlife spotter.

Pelicans so bold they were sitting on the crab boat’s engine

We spent Valentine’s Day at the Myrtle Beach Yacht Club and treated ourselves to SHOWERS (!!!) and a fancy dinner ashore.

Always hoping that you didn’t get wrong information about the height of the bridge

We weren’t on land again until the 19^th when we hit Port Royal (near Beaufort), SC. Why is SC so damn charming? Spanish moss, little pastel houses, historic buildings made of oyster cement, egrets walking through the tall grass. And it was even warm here! If not for the biting gnats, it would have been near perfection.

This was Naomi’s departure point – but not before visiting the Kazoo Museum. Yes, the Kazoo Museum! It’s more like a gift shop in their warehouse, but it was well worth the laugh and we purchased one to be the waking alarm for our onboard guests (here’s looking at you, Stanley).

A few more days here to shop and take advantage of the marina’s free bikes and YMCA passes (hot tub, pool, and 2 saunas!), and we were back on the move.

I like to stand and steer with the helm behind me… just to make people wonder

Paul… by the wind generator mounted just high enough as to not take his head off

Cuddling while steering…. you could say we are risk takers

December 20, 2017April 7, 2018

2017, November 27-December 2 – Abermarle Sound to New Bern, NC

The rest of the trip was surprisingly pleasant. We weren’t as cold (partially due to heading south, but more due to Jace helping Paul fix the heater).

The Abermarle Sound, with it’s nasty reputation, was calm as can be. Paul and Jace embraced calling me “Smash Squirrel” (their commentary on my steering abilities). Boaters on the radio had good southern manners (“Good morning, Captain! Thank you for the slow pass!”) We anchored a couple nights in wide, open remoteness – just us and the stars, with water smooth as glass…. plus the occasional military jet overhead or duck hunter zipping by. Each night we anchored, I’d sit outside after dark and just listen to the silence.

Alligator River, heading for the Alligator-Pungo canal

A boat named Dror, who had chatted with us on the radio in the Alligator River, talked us into docking at Downy Creek Marina in Belhaven, NC – several boats stayed there that night and it was fun to meet some other people. This was also our first courtesy car experience – some marinas have a vehicle you can use without charge, but they’re often pretty sketchy and this one was no different. Jace departed us here because we would have nowhere to drop him off the next day. Hgot a ride to the Enterprise rental car, which was an hour away. I tried not to rub it in when we got to put sails up the next day after having motored every day he was aboard.

We left the boat at Northwest Creek Marina in New Bern, NC (very friendly staff, excellent monthly rates). We took the sail to Omar Sails to repair the reef point blown out the same day as the water pump incident. Our sails are homemade (by a previous owner) SailRite sails – the sailmaker was quite impressed with how good of shape the mainsail was in for its age and was really fascinated that it is so old school that you can’t even buy the tools to make them that way any more.

First time on the trip with just the 2 of us on the boat!

It was so weird to say goodbye to the boat. I wasn’t quite ready to leave. We’d been on the boat almost every weekend for almost 2 years. Now I wouldn’t see her for 2 months. In addition, I had to go back to home and work and start to think seriously about saying goodbye to people there. I had to prep for not seeing Paul for weeks while he worked in TN. All the ups and downs of doing something like this were no longer worries or fantasies – they were now realities.

Finding our descriptors at the Wright Brothers monument…

December 17, 2017April 7, 2018

2017, November 26 – Getting Stuck in the Dirty Dismal

You ever watch a video of something bad happen to someone else and think it couldn’t happen to you? I suppose that’s how we felt about the all the sailing blogs we read and YouTube vlogs we watched – they’re just showcasing the crazy! This stuff doesn’t happen to everyone!

After the water pump incident, we should have known, but we needed one more event for reality to set in: Lots of things will go wrong, often, for every sailor.

We were very excited that the Dismal Swamp had recently reopened after a long closure due to Hurricane Matthew damages. With its tea-colored water and overhanging trees, plus miles of remote wildnerness and the bonus of getting to experience two locks, it sounded lovelier than the alternative Virginia Cut. We were warned that the duckweed growing on the water’s surface was clogging engine strainers, but it just added to the charm of the swamp.

After breakfast and history lessons with lockmaster Robert and saying goodbye to Stanley (his client cancelled for Monday – I tried to use this to convince him to stay but he wasn’t falling for it any more), we were off and through the drawbridge.

A Cutter Marina tradition – “coffee on the porch” – revived at the lockmaster’s house

Despite the excitement of having to worry about hitting logs floating under the boat as well as hitting branches above with the mast, it was a pretty, relatively calm trip. Very little duckweed got sucked into our strainer, which we checked religiously. In a few hours, we cleared the next draw bridge with another sail boat and headed for the final lock.

Deep Creek Drawbridge at the Dismal Swamp Canal

Dismal Swamp Canal… and duckweed floating on the surface

Tea colored water and floating duckweed in the Dismal Swamp Canal

The boat ahead of us slowed first. The duckweed thickened and their engine was overheating. We started to pass them, thinking we may fair better, but as we passed, we started to overheat and had to shut down as well – we checked the strainer but nothing clogged it. We dipped the boat hook into the weeds – they were inches thick, in some places approaching a foot. They were blocking our intake so the water to cool the engine couldn’t even be sucked into in the boat. The weeds were so think we weren’t sure the boats could move through it!

We were 100 feet from the lock entrance and unsure how to get there. We radioed the lockmaster but anything she could do with the water would only make our situation worse. We tried throwing a line – the guys on our boat and the other boat made several attempts to get the line to shore, but fell short. Paul started to dress in his wetsuit, thinking he’d swim the line to shore, while I begged him not to, just envisioning him totally tangled in the weeds. Finally we attached a plastic chug to the end of the line and someone heaved that to shore. The lockmaster, and one of many neighbors who came out to assist (i.e., watch the show), tied our line to a cleat inside the lock, we tied our stern to the bow of the other boat, and we began to winch/pull ourselves through the weeds and into the lock.

Pulling Miss Fe into the Dismal Swamp lock, through the thick, thick duckweed

Towing the other boat through the Dismal Swamp duckweed

The lockmaster and neighbor pulling us through the duckweed into the lock

Watching the Dismal Swamp lock open after Miss Fe was lowered

The lockmaster told us we may have set the record for the longest lock ever – 2.5 hours, and we were through!

Unfortunately at this point, we were still far from the next decent stopping point in Elizabeth City. And it was starting to get dark. We passed the other boat after they lost the light at the top of their mast to a tree (Paul: Lindsey, tell them they’re heading for a tree. Me: They got it. The guy on the bow is looking up. Boat: SMASH! Light: SPLASH! Guy on other boat, to guy driving: Sorry, I thought you saw it! Paul: I told you – boating is like TSA – see something, say something!).

The night couldn’t end without our own hiccups of course. We were aware of a railroad swing bridge that should typically be open to boat traffic, but when we got near it, it was dark and the bridge was unlit. As we got closer, our flashlights lit up a reflector – but only one so we couldn’t see which side of the opening it marked or if the bridge was even open. We approached super slowly and were uncomfortably close by the time we could see our way through.

At Elizabeth City, we called the drawbridge over and over with no response. Finally the bridgetender came through: “This is the bridge! Do you need an opening?!” I tried to respond on both radios, but he couldn’t seem to hear me even though we were 100 yards or less from him. Eventually he just opened and we pulled into the Elizabeth City docks. We’d heard how much fun EC is for boaters, but we were obviously way too late in the season. We were the only boat there, a shady character tried to help us tie up the boat, and there was likely a drug deal happening in a car sitting in front of the docks. (Note to other boaters: It’s sounds like the Elizabeth City College docks are the way to go, as we later heard they let you use the showers and cafeteria).

The city saved its reputation (kind of) with surprisingly good Japanese food at the only restaurant open past 8 pm on a Sunday. It was a nice to meet you Elizabeth City, but we’ll be gone in the morning!

December 15, 2017August 21, 2018

2017, November 22-25– Chesapeake Bay Herrington Harbour MD to Dismal Swamp Canal, VA

After Paul’s multi-day struggle to obtain the Vetus waterlock, it took him literally 20 minutes to install it, making this the first-ever boat project to be completed within its estimated time frame.

Our days at the marina went by quickly. Marina staff took pity on our “distress” situation and gave us some discounts. We enjoyed some beers overlooking the docks of Deale, but sadly we arrived too late in the evening to get the 25 cent oysters. We read the pilot notes for the Bay’s military zones and had a good laugh at all the ways the military will notify you to get out during training exercises, including but not limited to buzzing and dive bombing your vessel.

These couple days also gave Stanley and Jace time to scheme about how they were going to get back on the boat, and soon enough, Paul was driving back to Baltimore to pick up Stanley, who would stay through Norfolk. Jace was working in Norfolk over Thanksgiving and would join us there.

Thanksgiving Sunrise on the Chesapeake Bay

We departed Wednesday, with a gorgeous 10-15 knot wind from the north. We had just the jib out and sailed like that all day, hitting over 7 knots at times. Paul took a very long nap down below, letting the smooth motion of the boat rock him to sleep. Thirty-five nautical miles later, we anchored in the Patuxent River before sundown.

The next day – Happy Thanksgiving – we motorsailed, then motored, our way to Fishing Bay (about 50 NM). It was dark when we arrived, and we noticed the bioluminescence in the water behind us. After 12 hours on the move, we opted to save our Thanksgiving meal for the next day and celebrated with hot dogs.

Stanley embraces the true benefits of “working remotely.”

Nothing says “sexy sailor” like a fur cap… right?!

Friday we motored into Norfolk at sunset. I started to bake a pecan pie and prepped the turkey. The numbers on the military vessels lit up and Stanley listened to taps over the Naval base’s speakers. We kept a sharp lookout for tugs and barges against the city lights as we headed for our Portsmouth marina. After showers (yay, showers!), I continued to cook an entire Thanksgiving feast – bone-in turkey breast, stuffing, corn, mashed potatoes, gravy and dessert – my first time ever cooking Thanksgiving by myself (with gravy-master Paul’s brief assistance)!

Jace arrived with a growler-size bottle of rum, and we made the mistake of having pre-dinner dark’n’stormies. We had to celebrate the gang being back together! We then stuffed ourselves, since I had made enough food for twice as many people, and Paul immediately headed for bed. Jace and Stanley poured more rum, resulting in hours of karaoke, dancing, and waking up Paul to handfeed him pie.

The next morning we were slow to rise (gee, wonder why) and I convinced Stanley he could surely stay one more day. After fuel and pumpout at a neighboring marina, we were barely on our way at 1 pm. Though only a short day of travel, it promised to be an exciting one (for the nerds we are) – with a closeup look at industrial/military Norfolk, our first “drawbridge”, and our first lock! I was actually pretty nervous about the bridge, which seems silly now – up to this point I hadn’t talked much on the VHF and none of us were sure how the whole thing really worked (even though we knew it should be basic: call bridge, ask to pass, pass when bridge opens, say thank you). I entered Hazard markers into our chartplotter for the drawbridges so they would be easy to spot and we could calculate our timing. Luckily, this first bridgetender communicated very well – I chimed into the conversation when another boat told the bridge we were coming around the bend, and the bridgetender told us to maintain pace and he timed the bridge opening perfectly for our arrival. Success!

I’d seen pictures of the Dismal Swamp sign online and thought for sure we couldn’t miss it, so I didn’t mark the turn in the GPS – so I laughed after Paul suddenly did a sudden 360 and yelled “Whoops!” fifty yards past the sign that none of us saw. We cruised up to the dismal swamp lock about 45 minutes prior to the next scheduled opening, so we dropped anchor to wait. The lock opened and we proceeded forward.

The lockmaster Robert seems to have some internet fame, so I knew we were in for an experience. We secured our lines and Robert gave us a history lesson as the lock filled – George Washington owned much of the swamp but sold it and died before the completion of the canal. Supposedly Edgar Allen Poe wrote “The Raven” while in the swamp. Although tea-colored, the water of the swamp is extremely clean – NASA had planned to use it for the Apollo missions until they moved to reverse osmosis filtering instead. The lockmaster house is lined with conch shells that sailors have brought back to Robert, and he gave us a demo on how to play the shells as horns. He also asked us how, at our age, could we be doing this trip, since we’re not Canadian (apparently Canadian federal employees have a program where they can save part of their salary in order to take a paid year off) – a combo of hard work, budgeting, and a little insanity, I suppose.

The lock is graffitied with the names of the boats that have passed through it.

The crew left their mark at the Dismal Swamp Deep Creek Lock

Since this was the last lock time of the day and stopping points in the canal are limited, Robert gave us an option we didn’t know we had – we could stay on the dock between the lock and the bridge and join him for coffee in the morning. How could we say no to that!

A friend of mine from college took us to dinner in Virginia Beach (Repeal Burgers = awesome) that night, but we couldn’t keep up the energy to hang out late – and we needed our energy because we didn’t know the adventure that awaited us the next day!