I got underway in Charleston at dawn even though I couldn’t get through the bridge at the Isle of Palms until 0900 as I wanted to take a closer look at Fort Sumter. I was hoping for some nice early morning light but haze dulled the sunrise so this was the best I could do:
By the time I had run past the Isle of Palms, the sun was baking my back. This was a very nice change from the previous day which began in hand numbing cold deep enough to make getting the anchor up difficult. I spent most of the day in long underwear hunched against the cold headwind while negotiating twisty and challenging parts of the ICW. Having my speed reduce the slight southerly breeze so that I was steadily shedding layers was great.
The tide was very high as I traversed the marshes north of Charleston and they looked quite different. Much of what I remembered now looked like open water with the day beacons poking up and islands of very short grass on either side. It made staying in the channel much more difficult, especially with strong side currents. A key trick to this kind of navigation, once you know you can head straight towards a distant mark, it to watch it against the distant background. It is very easy to see if it is moving one way or the other against the horizon and you simply steer so as to eliminate any apparent motion. If it is not moving one way or another, you are heading straight towards it and only if there is no apparent motion. Cross currents show up instantlywhen you keep this viewpoint. It isn’t so much a matter of keeping the mark lined up with any specific point, but just keeping the side motion against the background to a minimum. Once you get close, you can then swing a bit to pass at the desired distance.
I eventually got into the long land cuts leading up to Winyah Bay. The air by this time had taken on that intoxicating character of the first really nice April day in New England when you know that winter has finally lost its grip. I was also getting close to trees again. For days, the trees have mostly been farther away than when I used to fly airplanes around at 2500 feet, just distant humps across the marshes. Having them close enough to see individual leaves and hear the wind in them was wonderful. It helped that they were also mostly of species that look a lot like what I’m used to in the Northeast. It was nice to start having hints of home on a day when I covered so many miles.
I could have sailed a lot of this portion but the forecast when I left was for heavy thunderstorms the next day and I wanted to be in Georgetown for those instead of anchored out in the open marshes I would come to later. So, I just kept droning along, fortunate to hit the tides just right. I rode the flood up to the top and hit the tidal watershed so as to ride the ebb back down the other side.
The wind began to rise insistently as I ran the final cut to the bay. Running up the bay to Georgetown, my quarter wave was breaking and I was experiencing rolling and motion unlike anything I have seen for months. I pulled into Georgetown after 62 miles in 10.5 hours and was rowing ashore minutes after anchoring for dinner at Aunny’s, my favorite restaurant. It was still light when I walked back to the boat. The days are getting longer.
By the time I had run past the Isle of Palms, the sun was baking my back. This was a very nice change from the previous day which began in hand numbing cold deep enough to make getting the anchor up difficult. I spent most of the day in long underwear hunched against the cold headwind while negotiating twisty and challenging parts of the ICW. Having my speed reduce the slight southerly breeze so that I was steadily shedding layers was great.
The tide was very high as I traversed the marshes north of Charleston and they looked quite different. Much of what I remembered now looked like open water with the day beacons poking up and islands of very short grass on either side. It made staying in the channel much more difficult, especially with strong side currents. A key trick to this kind of navigation, once you know you can head straight towards a distant mark, it to watch it against the distant background. It is very easy to see if it is moving one way or the other against the horizon and you simply steer so as to eliminate any apparent motion. If it is not moving one way or another, you are heading straight towards it and only if there is no apparent motion. Cross currents show up instantlywhen you keep this viewpoint. It isn’t so much a matter of keeping the mark lined up with any specific point, but just keeping the side motion against the background to a minimum. Once you get close, you can then swing a bit to pass at the desired distance.
I eventually got into the long land cuts leading up to Winyah Bay. The air by this time had taken on that intoxicating character of the first really nice April day in New England when you know that winter has finally lost its grip. I was also getting close to trees again. For days, the trees have mostly been farther away than when I used to fly airplanes around at 2500 feet, just distant humps across the marshes. Having them close enough to see individual leaves and hear the wind in them was wonderful. It helped that they were also mostly of species that look a lot like what I’m used to in the Northeast. It was nice to start having hints of home on a day when I covered so many miles.
I could have sailed a lot of this portion but the forecast when I left was for heavy thunderstorms the next day and I wanted to be in Georgetown for those instead of anchored out in the open marshes I would come to later. So, I just kept droning along, fortunate to hit the tides just right. I rode the flood up to the top and hit the tidal watershed so as to ride the ebb back down the other side.
The wind began to rise insistently as I ran the final cut to the bay. Running up the bay to Georgetown, my quarter wave was breaking and I was experiencing rolling and motion unlike anything I have seen for months. I pulled into Georgetown after 62 miles in 10.5 hours and was rowing ashore minutes after anchoring for dinner at Aunny’s, my favorite restaurant. It was still light when I walked back to the boat. The days are getting longer.
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