If this were a novel, the first day on the river could not have been a better set scene. The run up, twenty six days before, was on a flat calm, Indian summer like day, full of the hope and promise of new adventures of a different sort. I retraced my route downstream encased in raw damp mist that obscured all but the vague outlines of the shorelines. The only things I saw clearly that long day back to Cobb Island were a few buoys and raindrops. The similarity between the navigational view over the bow and my future occupied my thoughts for hours.
I began this long cruise sure that there would be frequent days that I wished I were somewhere ashore engaged in a more normal life. A surprise has been that there were almost none for thousands of miles and many months. It seemed to come all at once; for reasons I’ve covered in previous posts. I began this account saying that I intended to cruise until someone had to carry me off the boat. I’m not sure I really believed that but it was a way to give myself a mental space to match the scale of this seacoast I intended to claim as my home cruising waters. I don’t have a plan now. Is that true cruising or drifting?
Sun lifted my spirits considerably the next morning. A brisk wind was forecast so I took the mainsail cover off for the first time since I was in the Chesapeake last fall. The wind failed to materialize. What little came up was dead astern. Still, it was pleasant motorsailing with the jib out. I’d planned to stop at fourmite elle’s dock but it was too nice being underway again to turn into the creek with the sun feeling warm on my back for the first time in weeks. I also decided I should get around the often nasty corner or Smith Point in such fine weather in case the weather system was moving slower than forecast making the following day windy and cold. So, I ran on around into Reedville and anchored for the night.
I called Jennings Boatyard the next morning and arranged for a quick haul out to put new zincs on the shaft. They did that quickly and efficiently. The bottom was remarkably clean. The zincs were gone but there was no sign of electrical activity anywhere. The only concern is that the Cutlass bearing, new last August, is already worn to the point of needing replacement. Running through all that shallow water in the ICW stirring up mud and sand wears them quickly. That is going to make the haul out for bottom painting a lot more logistically difficult as it must be in a yard with the tools to pull the bearing without removing the shaft and rudder. No vibration yet, just the clunking wiggle I could feel pushing and pulling on the prop.
Elle showed up not long after and took me back for a tour of her boyfriend’s shop and we all had dinner before I returned to spend the night at Jenning’s dock. The best thing about this forum for me has been all the great people I have met up and down the coast.
I moved up the creek into a cove this morning for protection from the rain and near gale arriving soon. I’ll have a long day to read in the warmth of the cabin heater while the rain pounds on the cabin top, the anchor rode creaks in the chocks, and the wind howls in the rigging. I’m home and “home” now stretches from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Saint Marys, Georgia. Like many homebound people, I’m dreaming of far horizons and how I might slip the bonds of my circumstances to see them.
I began this long cruise sure that there would be frequent days that I wished I were somewhere ashore engaged in a more normal life. A surprise has been that there were almost none for thousands of miles and many months. It seemed to come all at once; for reasons I’ve covered in previous posts. I began this account saying that I intended to cruise until someone had to carry me off the boat. I’m not sure I really believed that but it was a way to give myself a mental space to match the scale of this seacoast I intended to claim as my home cruising waters. I don’t have a plan now. Is that true cruising or drifting?
Sun lifted my spirits considerably the next morning. A brisk wind was forecast so I took the mainsail cover off for the first time since I was in the Chesapeake last fall. The wind failed to materialize. What little came up was dead astern. Still, it was pleasant motorsailing with the jib out. I’d planned to stop at fourmite elle’s dock but it was too nice being underway again to turn into the creek with the sun feeling warm on my back for the first time in weeks. I also decided I should get around the often nasty corner or Smith Point in such fine weather in case the weather system was moving slower than forecast making the following day windy and cold. So, I ran on around into Reedville and anchored for the night.
I called Jennings Boatyard the next morning and arranged for a quick haul out to put new zincs on the shaft. They did that quickly and efficiently. The bottom was remarkably clean. The zincs were gone but there was no sign of electrical activity anywhere. The only concern is that the Cutlass bearing, new last August, is already worn to the point of needing replacement. Running through all that shallow water in the ICW stirring up mud and sand wears them quickly. That is going to make the haul out for bottom painting a lot more logistically difficult as it must be in a yard with the tools to pull the bearing without removing the shaft and rudder. No vibration yet, just the clunking wiggle I could feel pushing and pulling on the prop.
Elle showed up not long after and took me back for a tour of her boyfriend’s shop and we all had dinner before I returned to spend the night at Jenning’s dock. The best thing about this forum for me has been all the great people I have met up and down the coast.
I moved up the creek into a cove this morning for protection from the rain and near gale arriving soon. I’ll have a long day to read in the warmth of the cabin heater while the rain pounds on the cabin top, the anchor rode creaks in the chocks, and the wind howls in the rigging. I’m home and “home” now stretches from Halifax, Nova Scotia to Saint Marys, Georgia. Like many homebound people, I’m dreaming of far horizons and how I might slip the bonds of my circumstances to see them.
