Droning along the long miles of the ICW alone provides lots of time for thinking. Without the input of human conversation, some if gets a bit far afield. I understand that part of what motivates terrorist suicide bombers is the promise of seven virgins a night for eternity. Do they push that button believing that night 4,587,232 is going to be just as exciting and interesting as the first night?
Hey, where did that thought come from? Does it have anything to do with my present situation? The grass of this endless cruise still looks greener on this side but part of such an odyssey is self discovery. One thing I’m pretty sure of is that I’m not going to do this ICW trip alone again. It’s just too long. My girlfriend has dogs, cats, house, and elderly ladies to care for so it’s hard for her to commit to more than a week to ten days which is probably about her limit for life on a boat anyway. I’m not sure how this conundrum will play out.
I was running along a section of land cut paralleled by a road and watching cars go by. I suddenly realized that I was looking at the cars the way I used to look at boats while standing on the shore. The idea of getting in one and going somewhere seems incredibly free and exotic.
I’m even thinking of not going to Canada at this point. My youngest son (first year in college) called me last night and we talked like adults for half an hour. He’d like to do some day sailing and was wondering how much I would be in Portland next summer. If they are both getting through that important phase where they break away and don’t want anything to do with parents, the grass looks a bit greener on the Portland side after covering more than four thousand miles since June.
I ran 66 miles yesterday from Surf City to Beaufort. It was a pleasant run since the day didn’t start out cold, at least dressed in long underwear and heavy sweater over multiple layers under foul weather gear. I’d thought to anchor on the Taylor Creek waterfront and did a quick tour up and down. It’s become quite crowded with moorings and “cruisers” who don’t actually go anywhere. I could have fitted in but I would have been worrying about anchors all night so I went through the bridge to a very nice spot I know. It was the first night in weeks I haven’t been woken by the sound of 2-3 knots of current rushing past the hull. It’s nice to be getting back into the region of minimal tides.
I’d planned to do some of that exploring and sailing I’ve been talking about the next day by going up to New Bern. There was a beautiful breeze that promised a screaming beam reach up the river. By the time I’d made my way though Adams Creek however, the wind had veered and increased so that I was facing a three and a half hour slog to windward. I didn’t want to be anchored in exposed Oriental but I threw the dice with a marker on the municipal dock (free for 48 hours). It was early in the day and I could always sail back to Cedar Creek and anchor. With AM thunderstorms forecast, being tied to a dock would be nice.
I rolled sevens on the dock and was secured early in the afternoon close to buildings and power lines which would make me a bit less lightning bait. I had an excellent meal at the only restaurant open. The thunderstorms never materialized. I didn’t even have to bail out the dinghy before my usual early departure.
A brisk wind was forecast and I was determined to sail so I unrolled the jib and shut down the engine as soon as I was clear of the entrance. I then spent an hour getting used to life at four quiet knots wondering where the wind was. It was great to be out in wide open spaces again so I set the wind vane and got out “Noble House” (nearly as long as the ICW, I can’t remember when I wasn’t reading it).
The boat wasn’t holding course well. The usual solution is to tighten up the control lines for the vane gear. I pulled and a lot of line came out. I pulled on the other line and there was a strange noise. I pulled some more and the main quadrant came out of the lazarett on the end of the line! A bolt had sheered and I had just lost my only crew member.
They say cruising is fixing your boat in exotic places but this is my first significant failure since leaving Portland in July. The water pump seals are normal maintenance. The only other failure has been a burned out steaming light.
I steered for a while but it was hard to enjoy sailing wondering how I was going to deal with this without the tools to extract a broken off bolt. I soon started the engine and was damn glad I did when I turned the corner at Neuse River Junction. The wind chose that moment to veer and jump up to a near gale. It was a long three and a half miles bucking into it without being able to dodge the spray or sit close behind the cabin.
I tied up at R. E. Mayo Company, one of the treasures of the waterway. It’s primarily a fisherman’s base with $0.40 per foot dockage (you read that right), fresh seafood, and a store with every kind of bolt, part, and fitting a fisherman could ever need. They called up someone who fixes things for them and he drove over. I gave him the quadrant. A couple hours and forty five bucks later, I was putting it back in the boat and it’s all ready for my morning departure.
If you are ever in need of some mechanical work in this part of the world, tie up at R. E. Mayo (Mile 157) and call Wayne M Manish, 252 229 6267. He lost most of his machine shop in Irene but is gradually rebuilding. He certainly pulled my chestnuts out of the fire. When you don’t have anyone to talk to except an autopilot, it’s a very vital piece of equipment.
Hey, where did that thought come from? Does it have anything to do with my present situation? The grass of this endless cruise still looks greener on this side but part of such an odyssey is self discovery. One thing I’m pretty sure of is that I’m not going to do this ICW trip alone again. It’s just too long. My girlfriend has dogs, cats, house, and elderly ladies to care for so it’s hard for her to commit to more than a week to ten days which is probably about her limit for life on a boat anyway. I’m not sure how this conundrum will play out.
I was running along a section of land cut paralleled by a road and watching cars go by. I suddenly realized that I was looking at the cars the way I used to look at boats while standing on the shore. The idea of getting in one and going somewhere seems incredibly free and exotic.
I’m even thinking of not going to Canada at this point. My youngest son (first year in college) called me last night and we talked like adults for half an hour. He’d like to do some day sailing and was wondering how much I would be in Portland next summer. If they are both getting through that important phase where they break away and don’t want anything to do with parents, the grass looks a bit greener on the Portland side after covering more than four thousand miles since June.
I ran 66 miles yesterday from Surf City to Beaufort. It was a pleasant run since the day didn’t start out cold, at least dressed in long underwear and heavy sweater over multiple layers under foul weather gear. I’d thought to anchor on the Taylor Creek waterfront and did a quick tour up and down. It’s become quite crowded with moorings and “cruisers” who don’t actually go anywhere. I could have fitted in but I would have been worrying about anchors all night so I went through the bridge to a very nice spot I know. It was the first night in weeks I haven’t been woken by the sound of 2-3 knots of current rushing past the hull. It’s nice to be getting back into the region of minimal tides.
I’d planned to do some of that exploring and sailing I’ve been talking about the next day by going up to New Bern. There was a beautiful breeze that promised a screaming beam reach up the river. By the time I’d made my way though Adams Creek however, the wind had veered and increased so that I was facing a three and a half hour slog to windward. I didn’t want to be anchored in exposed Oriental but I threw the dice with a marker on the municipal dock (free for 48 hours). It was early in the day and I could always sail back to Cedar Creek and anchor. With AM thunderstorms forecast, being tied to a dock would be nice.
I rolled sevens on the dock and was secured early in the afternoon close to buildings and power lines which would make me a bit less lightning bait. I had an excellent meal at the only restaurant open. The thunderstorms never materialized. I didn’t even have to bail out the dinghy before my usual early departure.
A brisk wind was forecast and I was determined to sail so I unrolled the jib and shut down the engine as soon as I was clear of the entrance. I then spent an hour getting used to life at four quiet knots wondering where the wind was. It was great to be out in wide open spaces again so I set the wind vane and got out “Noble House” (nearly as long as the ICW, I can’t remember when I wasn’t reading it).
The boat wasn’t holding course well. The usual solution is to tighten up the control lines for the vane gear. I pulled and a lot of line came out. I pulled on the other line and there was a strange noise. I pulled some more and the main quadrant came out of the lazarett on the end of the line! A bolt had sheered and I had just lost my only crew member.
They say cruising is fixing your boat in exotic places but this is my first significant failure since leaving Portland in July. The water pump seals are normal maintenance. The only other failure has been a burned out steaming light.
I steered for a while but it was hard to enjoy sailing wondering how I was going to deal with this without the tools to extract a broken off bolt. I soon started the engine and was damn glad I did when I turned the corner at Neuse River Junction. The wind chose that moment to veer and jump up to a near gale. It was a long three and a half miles bucking into it without being able to dodge the spray or sit close behind the cabin.
I tied up at R. E. Mayo Company, one of the treasures of the waterway. It’s primarily a fisherman’s base with $0.40 per foot dockage (you read that right), fresh seafood, and a store with every kind of bolt, part, and fitting a fisherman could ever need. They called up someone who fixes things for them and he drove over. I gave him the quadrant. A couple hours and forty five bucks later, I was putting it back in the boat and it’s all ready for my morning departure.
If you are ever in need of some mechanical work in this part of the world, tie up at R. E. Mayo (Mile 157) and call Wayne M Manish, 252 229 6267. He lost most of his machine shop in Irene but is gradually rebuilding. He certainly pulled my chestnuts out of the fire. When you don’t have anyone to talk to except an autopilot, it’s a very vital piece of equipment.
