I left my anchorage by the Beaufort airport and retraced my track up Russell Slough in order to join the main waterway and see the channel I hadn’t taken either way last year. It was clear and cold with the new, low sun lighting up fog drifting down from the marshes and Adams Creek Canal.
I saw my first dolphins of the trip just off Moorhead City and then started the long run down Bogue Sound standing in the companionway with the drop boards in and the slide pulled back to keep my lower body in the pool of warmth. The sound looked rather uninteresting and familiar, sort of like a road that a commuter sees every day. So, far I’ve found most of what I’ve seen as enjoyable for being somewhat familiar and now part of my now “home” waters as it was when I was discovering it. I can’t account for the difference.
Passing Swansboro, I could hear, and even feel, the heavy concussions of artillery so I knew there would probably be a delay at the Camp Lejeune range. Sure enough, there were two boats anchored when I came around the bend in sight of the tower. I no sooner had the anchor down and was getting out things for lunch when the radio announcement came that the waterway was open. Just as I was getting the anchor on deck, the boat which had been following me a considerable distance behind went by without having to even touch the throttle.
We both anchored for the night in Mile Hammock Bay, my first time there. It would have been a pleasant enough spot but for a larger generator running in a collection of camouflage painted equipment on shore. Just after dark, an armada of helicopters began flying around and hovering over Onslow Beach accompanied by the firing of heavy weapons. I managed to fall asleep but had science fiction like dreams of invading aliens and massive mechanical monsters.
The silence, when the imaginary practice foe had been vanquished by our Marines, woke me about two in the morning. I took a look around at the moonlight on the marshes and slept for another three hours before rising for a leisurely breakfast and slow start dictated by the Surf City Bridge schedule.
I’d figured the time conservatively but hadn’t counted on the strong and fair current. I realized, with some dismay, a mile down the channel that, if I had left a few minutes earlier and kept the RPM’s up right from the start, I could have made the earlier bridge opening. Since I would only miss it by about ten minutes, I ended up running the whole two and a half hours at idle. It was peaceful but I hate to do that to my engine.
Running at maximum cruise got me to the Figure Eight Island Bridge just in time for the 1230 opening but it was poor planning again. I could have taken it easy, passed at 1300, and then run a more comfortable RPM for Wrightsville. Even at low idle, I was going to be early and doing a lot of uncomfortable station holding with the current behind me in a busy place. A glance at the masthead revealed a solution. I unrolled the jib and shut down the engine. The sail just barely gave me steerage way but the fair current kept the shore going by at a pleasant pace. I rolled up half the jib to slow down further.
The waterway is a whole new experience when you can hear it. The predominant sound, of course, is the whine of lawn maintenance equipment but I could hear the calls of huge flocks of birds in the trees, the blowing of dolphins, people talking on shore, the scrape and crunch of a large power boat ignoring the offset buoy at an inlet and grounding on the shoal. The curses came through clearly as did the prop tips flailing at the sand.
I couldn’t maintain control with the jib rolled up enough to produce the right ETA number on the GPS so I still ended up working the throttles and shift lever and doing a few 360’s in the tight and crowded space upstream of the bridge.
Once through Wrightsville Beach, the air turned cold and it became chilly again with an almost forgotten sight in the sky, high clouds and haze. The weather is changing. I’ve been very fortunate with this beautiful and mostly calm weather, even if it has been cold. It can’t last.
I’m now anchored in Carolina Beach listening to the sound of the surf on the other side of the row of beachfront condos. There’s another noise, what sounds like dozens of police, fire truck, and other emergency vehicles have been going for nearly an hour. I can’t see anything but something very big is happening down in Carolina Beach center. If anyone finds out what it is, please post.
I saw my first dolphins of the trip just off Moorhead City and then started the long run down Bogue Sound standing in the companionway with the drop boards in and the slide pulled back to keep my lower body in the pool of warmth. The sound looked rather uninteresting and familiar, sort of like a road that a commuter sees every day. So, far I’ve found most of what I’ve seen as enjoyable for being somewhat familiar and now part of my now “home” waters as it was when I was discovering it. I can’t account for the difference.
Passing Swansboro, I could hear, and even feel, the heavy concussions of artillery so I knew there would probably be a delay at the Camp Lejeune range. Sure enough, there were two boats anchored when I came around the bend in sight of the tower. I no sooner had the anchor down and was getting out things for lunch when the radio announcement came that the waterway was open. Just as I was getting the anchor on deck, the boat which had been following me a considerable distance behind went by without having to even touch the throttle.
We both anchored for the night in Mile Hammock Bay, my first time there. It would have been a pleasant enough spot but for a larger generator running in a collection of camouflage painted equipment on shore. Just after dark, an armada of helicopters began flying around and hovering over Onslow Beach accompanied by the firing of heavy weapons. I managed to fall asleep but had science fiction like dreams of invading aliens and massive mechanical monsters.
The silence, when the imaginary practice foe had been vanquished by our Marines, woke me about two in the morning. I took a look around at the moonlight on the marshes and slept for another three hours before rising for a leisurely breakfast and slow start dictated by the Surf City Bridge schedule.
I’d figured the time conservatively but hadn’t counted on the strong and fair current. I realized, with some dismay, a mile down the channel that, if I had left a few minutes earlier and kept the RPM’s up right from the start, I could have made the earlier bridge opening. Since I would only miss it by about ten minutes, I ended up running the whole two and a half hours at idle. It was peaceful but I hate to do that to my engine.
Running at maximum cruise got me to the Figure Eight Island Bridge just in time for the 1230 opening but it was poor planning again. I could have taken it easy, passed at 1300, and then run a more comfortable RPM for Wrightsville. Even at low idle, I was going to be early and doing a lot of uncomfortable station holding with the current behind me in a busy place. A glance at the masthead revealed a solution. I unrolled the jib and shut down the engine. The sail just barely gave me steerage way but the fair current kept the shore going by at a pleasant pace. I rolled up half the jib to slow down further.
The waterway is a whole new experience when you can hear it. The predominant sound, of course, is the whine of lawn maintenance equipment but I could hear the calls of huge flocks of birds in the trees, the blowing of dolphins, people talking on shore, the scrape and crunch of a large power boat ignoring the offset buoy at an inlet and grounding on the shoal. The curses came through clearly as did the prop tips flailing at the sand.
I couldn’t maintain control with the jib rolled up enough to produce the right ETA number on the GPS so I still ended up working the throttles and shift lever and doing a few 360’s in the tight and crowded space upstream of the bridge.
Once through Wrightsville Beach, the air turned cold and it became chilly again with an almost forgotten sight in the sky, high clouds and haze. The weather is changing. I’ve been very fortunate with this beautiful and mostly calm weather, even if it has been cold. It can’t last.
I’m now anchored in Carolina Beach listening to the sound of the surf on the other side of the row of beachfront condos. There’s another noise, what sounds like dozens of police, fire truck, and other emergency vehicles have been going for nearly an hour. I can’t see anything but something very big is happening down in Carolina Beach center. If anyone finds out what it is, please post.
