The wind came up nicely as we left the Pasquotank and entered Albemarle Sound. I took off the sail cover with some trepidation. Would rats and birds have made nests in the sail? Would I remember which lines to pull? Would the cloth simply have rotted away since its last, barely remembered, use? All was well however, and it was a delightful sail, close reaching almost exactly along the route line on the chartplotter.
Sails were furled and covered again about four miles from our day’s destination, the Little Alligator River just past Middle Ground. The day was fairly short which suits my current ambition and state of mind perfectly. Maggie, the alpha dog of the armada, demands frequent walks ashore and, what Maggie wants, Maggie gets.
I had found a road and a place called Southshore Landing on the chart which looked promising for both human and dog walking and Google Earth confirmed the presence of the road. It was a 2.5 mile run in the RIB up to the landing. I was invited but should have declined since it turned into a long wet trip that probably would have been much drier for them without my extra weight.
We found the landing so choked with logs under the surface that we couldn’t get near the decrepit dock which didn’t seem to be connected to anything remotely walkable in any event. It’s been a long time since anything without wings landed here. We then tried the point across the river. With cypress knees sticking up and numerous sticks and snags, these shores are guarded more effectively against landing than even the beaches of D-Day.
Speaking of armed assault, every outboard boat in the area is painted in camouflage and groups of men dressed the same way keep going by with the boats so bristling with guns that they look like those fish trap stakes in Chesapeake Bay. I haven’t been following the news. Has political polarization reached the point of armed insurrection or have I anchored in the middle of some militia training camp? No gunfire, so far.
Poor Maggie was beside herself so they dropped me off back at Strider for greater speed and went to try their luck at the dock of a closed up waterfront cottage. The “cottages” here are, to say the least, very down home and biodegradable. I watched with binoculars because I was, by now, quite invested in the outcome, or should I say, “outflow”, of this expedition. The cottage next door was occupied and flying a confederate flag. Two New Yorkers landing on a foreign shore. I thought. This should be interesting. However, no apparent excitement, no gunfire, and they returned to their boat without incident.
I sat in the cockpit watching the sun set in an absolutely clear sky and the beautiful deepening red spreading up from the horizon until I noticed a mist. Suddenly, I realized that the mist was MOSQUITOS! I quickly retreated inside to a cabin with portholes darkened by bugs trying desperately to join their thousands of companions already inside. War did rage for a couple of hours. Bloodied and exhausted, I finally fell asleep. Not even in Maine’s infamous Robinhnood Cove have I seen the like.
It is beautiful here but it is also very, very, well defended.
Sails were furled and covered again about four miles from our day’s destination, the Little Alligator River just past Middle Ground. The day was fairly short which suits my current ambition and state of mind perfectly. Maggie, the alpha dog of the armada, demands frequent walks ashore and, what Maggie wants, Maggie gets.
I had found a road and a place called Southshore Landing on the chart which looked promising for both human and dog walking and Google Earth confirmed the presence of the road. It was a 2.5 mile run in the RIB up to the landing. I was invited but should have declined since it turned into a long wet trip that probably would have been much drier for them without my extra weight.
We found the landing so choked with logs under the surface that we couldn’t get near the decrepit dock which didn’t seem to be connected to anything remotely walkable in any event. It’s been a long time since anything without wings landed here. We then tried the point across the river. With cypress knees sticking up and numerous sticks and snags, these shores are guarded more effectively against landing than even the beaches of D-Day.
Speaking of armed assault, every outboard boat in the area is painted in camouflage and groups of men dressed the same way keep going by with the boats so bristling with guns that they look like those fish trap stakes in Chesapeake Bay. I haven’t been following the news. Has political polarization reached the point of armed insurrection or have I anchored in the middle of some militia training camp? No gunfire, so far.
Poor Maggie was beside herself so they dropped me off back at Strider for greater speed and went to try their luck at the dock of a closed up waterfront cottage. The “cottages” here are, to say the least, very down home and biodegradable. I watched with binoculars because I was, by now, quite invested in the outcome, or should I say, “outflow”, of this expedition. The cottage next door was occupied and flying a confederate flag. Two New Yorkers landing on a foreign shore. I thought. This should be interesting. However, no apparent excitement, no gunfire, and they returned to their boat without incident.
I sat in the cockpit watching the sun set in an absolutely clear sky and the beautiful deepening red spreading up from the horizon until I noticed a mist. Suddenly, I realized that the mist was MOSQUITOS! I quickly retreated inside to a cabin with portholes darkened by bugs trying desperately to join their thousands of companions already inside. War did rage for a couple of hours. Bloodied and exhausted, I finally fell asleep. Not even in Maine’s infamous Robinhnood Cove have I seen the like.
It is beautiful here but it is also very, very, well defended.
