My substitute for the dodger and bimini top readers keep asking about is to just stay put on rainy days. It works for someone on my schedule. However, after a lazy morning and lunch in Factory Creek, listening to the patter of rain on the cabin top, I got the urge to go somewhere. The rain stopped and the Doppler radar on the computer showed a break in the green blobs so I went topside and got underway on the last date we’ll ever see with the same numbers in all three slots.
It started to rain again as I was getting the anchor aboard but I wasn’t about to back out at that point. I ran down the creek and past my friends from Maine and Georgetown who must have pulled in after I did the day before. We waved. I thought briefly of stopping and anchoring but I have a lot of inertia once I’m in motion. The rain had stopped again, anyway.
I went through the bridge and docked at the town landing in Beaufort. It has recently been cleared of squatter derelicts and was an easy and convenient stop. I walked around town for a while. I spent quite a bit of time there last year with Lee and Lynn and Barbara. It felt pretty lonely on this grey and raw day. It didn’t take but a few spitting drops of rain to make being underway again seem more attractive.
I didn’t feel like dealing with the strong current and close quarters of the anchorage so I ran down around and up into Port Royal. Although the closed marina and cement plant give it a sort of post apocalypse air, it was a wide open anchorage with the rising wind blowing right off the shore. I spent a very snug and peaceful night.
The weather forecast promised clearing to partly cloudy and a wind going right my way. I looked out and realized I would have to settle for one out of two. I left under sail in the kind of blowing mist that makes a patter of rain sound on the hood of your foul weather gear but no rain rings on the water. It was raw, cold, and gloomy but I found myself quite enjoying it, channeling my inner Viking.
I was sailing under jib alone, something I used to say disdainful things about accompanied by even harsher thoughts but which I now find myself doing more and more. I still can’t abide people doing it out of laziness in nice weather but I planned to try sailing right through Skull Creek to the May River. If it wasn’t working out, I didn’t want to try furling the main in tight quarters with the current behind me.
The main wouldn’t have added much to the speed after rounding the tip of Parris Island anyway. It was a rousing sail in steadily rising wind. Sailing through the creek was much more sedate and as pleasant a time as you can have in a boat on a thoroughly gloomy day.
I sailed into the May River and was reaching along nicely at the first mark up from the mouth. I hated to start the engine but I anticipate a couple days here and the batteries needed a full charge which I prefer to do running. I ran up into Bluffton at dead low tide on what I learned later is an astronomical high and low. There are flood alerts for downtown Charleston. I’ve gotten to know this route well. I never saw less than 10 feet even though I’ve seen less at higher water levels.
I hit the tide perfectly. There was just enough ebb left to easily let the boat drop back and set the second anchor. There is a lot of current here, even without an 11 foot range forecast, and two anchors are a must. I then rowed up to the Bluffton Oyster Company to buy snack and dinner with a quick run up to the stores for a couple other things. When I got back in the dingy, I had a fair current back to the boat.
The snack was a dozen of the famous May River Oysters which are brought in by boats like these:
They are small and mostly in clusters but have a delicate and unique taste. I shucked and ate them standing at the galley counter.
Dinner was equally good, succulent, fresh shrimp from the BOC market. I made Scampi as I usually do. Say, I should probably post some recipes sometime.
Tomorrow, I plan to go to the BOC restaurant for a Low Country Boil and then return to the market to decide what kind of seafood to have for dinner. That’s what I come to this delightful little town for, the seafood. The oyster plant and market are absolutely the funkiest place I think you will ever encounter dealing in edible products. Tying up at their dock is not for the faint of heart. However, the products are as good as you will find once you have them back on the boat.
People here tell me they hardly ever see cruisers anchor up here, a half dozen miles off the ICW. Believe me, it’s worth the trip.
It started to rain again as I was getting the anchor aboard but I wasn’t about to back out at that point. I ran down the creek and past my friends from Maine and Georgetown who must have pulled in after I did the day before. We waved. I thought briefly of stopping and anchoring but I have a lot of inertia once I’m in motion. The rain had stopped again, anyway.
I went through the bridge and docked at the town landing in Beaufort. It has recently been cleared of squatter derelicts and was an easy and convenient stop. I walked around town for a while. I spent quite a bit of time there last year with Lee and Lynn and Barbara. It felt pretty lonely on this grey and raw day. It didn’t take but a few spitting drops of rain to make being underway again seem more attractive.
I didn’t feel like dealing with the strong current and close quarters of the anchorage so I ran down around and up into Port Royal. Although the closed marina and cement plant give it a sort of post apocalypse air, it was a wide open anchorage with the rising wind blowing right off the shore. I spent a very snug and peaceful night.
The weather forecast promised clearing to partly cloudy and a wind going right my way. I looked out and realized I would have to settle for one out of two. I left under sail in the kind of blowing mist that makes a patter of rain sound on the hood of your foul weather gear but no rain rings on the water. It was raw, cold, and gloomy but I found myself quite enjoying it, channeling my inner Viking.
I was sailing under jib alone, something I used to say disdainful things about accompanied by even harsher thoughts but which I now find myself doing more and more. I still can’t abide people doing it out of laziness in nice weather but I planned to try sailing right through Skull Creek to the May River. If it wasn’t working out, I didn’t want to try furling the main in tight quarters with the current behind me.
The main wouldn’t have added much to the speed after rounding the tip of Parris Island anyway. It was a rousing sail in steadily rising wind. Sailing through the creek was much more sedate and as pleasant a time as you can have in a boat on a thoroughly gloomy day.
I sailed into the May River and was reaching along nicely at the first mark up from the mouth. I hated to start the engine but I anticipate a couple days here and the batteries needed a full charge which I prefer to do running. I ran up into Bluffton at dead low tide on what I learned later is an astronomical high and low. There are flood alerts for downtown Charleston. I’ve gotten to know this route well. I never saw less than 10 feet even though I’ve seen less at higher water levels.
I hit the tide perfectly. There was just enough ebb left to easily let the boat drop back and set the second anchor. There is a lot of current here, even without an 11 foot range forecast, and two anchors are a must. I then rowed up to the Bluffton Oyster Company to buy snack and dinner with a quick run up to the stores for a couple other things. When I got back in the dingy, I had a fair current back to the boat.
The snack was a dozen of the famous May River Oysters which are brought in by boats like these:
They are small and mostly in clusters but have a delicate and unique taste. I shucked and ate them standing at the galley counter.
Dinner was equally good, succulent, fresh shrimp from the BOC market. I made Scampi as I usually do. Say, I should probably post some recipes sometime.
Tomorrow, I plan to go to the BOC restaurant for a Low Country Boil and then return to the market to decide what kind of seafood to have for dinner. That’s what I come to this delightful little town for, the seafood. The oyster plant and market are absolutely the funkiest place I think you will ever encounter dealing in edible products. Tying up at their dock is not for the faint of heart. However, the products are as good as you will find once you have them back on the boat.
People here tell me they hardly ever see cruisers anchor up here, a half dozen miles off the ICW. Believe me, it’s worth the trip.
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