Clown Car …

No, I'm not talking about the still-a-year-to-go Presidential campaign. (Though I completely understand why “clown car” has become the catch phrase to describe many of those trying out for the position. It is tempting to compare them to little girls trying out for the cheerleading squad, but those kids are all smarter, more adult, and probably better leaders. Hell, any one of them would probably make for a better POTUS. I'll vote for the 14 year old who got an “A” in science class – thank you very much.) Unfortunately, today's clown car was Kintala bashing her way across the Albermarle sound.

With yours truly behind the wheel.

This was our third day out after our stay at Severn River. Day one put us at Hospital Point. It was kind of fun to be there again, two years after our first trip. We met and rafted up with Kokopelli and her crew, having last seen them in Back Creek. There were a dozen or so other boats there as well, and the next morning we headed off with the rest of the pack. At the end of day two we were rafted up with Kokopelli once again, this time at the dock at Coinjock. (Sometimes it is hard to stay off of docks, particularly in the ICW. It can be hard to find a good anchorage when you need one.) Today, day 3, had us aiming to cross the Albermarle; a bit of water with a nasty reputation. Not today though; the forecast had the winds at less than 10 knots, waves less than 1 foot.

And I believed them.

We were near the end of a long line of boats leaving Coinjock this morning, so I wasn't the only one skunked by the weather guessers. Everybody was getting thumped a bit, with Kintala's bow regularly going clean under in the steep, short coupled waves. The anchor is on the bow; its big, flat, spade shaped blade hitting the waves broad side on. So it is a good idea to have it securely mounted in its roller; chain pinned, cable looped over the shank to keep it from bouncing, and lashed to the bow pulpit. Kintala had 1 out of 3.

To me the big risk on the ICW is the WesterBeast calling it a day at a bridge or in a narrow cut. Should that happen the best option for avoiding disaster is having the hook pretty much set to pitch off the deck to bring proceedings to a damage-less halt. In the Albermarle today the big risk was pitching the hook off the deck and bringing proceedings to a disastrous, hull crunching halt. As soon as we had room we turned off the wind so I could go forward and fix my mistake, but it was a somewhat tense few minutes before we had that kind of room.

Then there was the sail work … or lack thereof. Kintala needs horse power to plow through waves, something sorely lacking in the Beast. The main, with at least one reef and maybe two, would have been perfect. Along with the staysail, Kintala could have punched her way happily through the waves all day long. Unfortunately the main was rigged to go up full but the jack lines were not rigged at all. (We are in the ICW, who needs jack lines to keep from falling off the boat in the ICW?) The head sails could provide the needed push to help the Beast, but I could not seem to make anything work right today. The roller furlings would not roll or furl without snags, snarls, and various “now what's the matter”s. Twice the staysail sheets got so tangled up someone had to go out on the foredeck to untie the knots. (Fortunately at times when the jack lines weren't missed.) Near the end of the day we were far, far off the wind. The jib jibed, un-jibed, back winded, flopped around, got put away (painfully slowly) and replaced by the staysail – again. Then the staysail jibed, un-jibed, back winded, flopped around, and got put away (also painfully slowly). All of this while trying to stay in the excruciatingly narrow channels that make up parts of the ICW. (It is hard to hold a point of sail when the water a few boat lengths off the channel is two or three feet deep.)

Fenders flopped around – which happens when they get tied at only one end. My toes got tangled up in lines. (Fortunately I was wearing shoes, which doesn't happen that often anymore!) The anchorage we were planning to use looked untenable in the winds and waves, so we pushed on south while watching the sky, finally finding a place to anchor that looked protected from the oncoming weather.

Weather that promptly died once the anchor was set.

It was that kind of day.

Kokopelli at anchor at the north end of the Alligator Pungo Canal

Not as bad as it sounds ...

As Deb has mentioned, Kintala's Deck Monkey is operating at far less than 100%. A full day's rest in Styron Creek helped, but impending weather made getting a move-on imperative. A second day's rest was not to be. The anchor was weighed and Kintala set forth, but the weight of said weighing did me in. For the rest of the day just moving brought a gasp and a wince, though by day's end I could stand at the helm to help un-weigh the anchor just north of the Alligator River Swing Bridge, at a place called "Sandy Point".

The holding at Sandy Point is pretty good, the only good thing about the place. It is completely exposed in every direction, a deficiency exacerbated by it being nearly completely choked off with crab pots. We had followed a power cruiser in. Both boats spent much time sniffing around for a spot free enough to swing. We each found one, which pretty much used up all the space left by the crabbers. (We also found pots strewn haphazardly across the ICW in the Albermarle, black ones nearly impossible to see – I would like to meet the idiot who thinks that is a good idea. Indeed, crabbers are falling way down my list of watermen to be respected. I'm not asking that the whole ocean be a crab-pot free zone, just enough of it so the rest of us can still find it useful, and find a place to stop for the night.)

Come this morning we really needed to make our escape. Forecasts had the impending weather really, well, impending. The choice was to go back to a marina several miles in the wrong direction, or on to Coinjock, thirty miles in the direction we needed to go. Our take on the weather had going to Coinjock as the better option.

Coinjock lay on the other side of the Albermarle Sound from Sandy Point. The Albermarle has a bit of a reputation among those who sail the ICW. Compared to places like The Dismal Swamp, the Albermarle is a big body of water nearly open to the Atlantic, shallow, and prone to throwing steep and closely-spaced pounding waves at the incautious or unlucky. It was pond quiet and sunny when we motored across it back in 2013, with several people telling us how lucky we had been. There was little hope that it would be the same today.

The first task to going was that whole “weighing the anchor” thing, something well beyond my poorly functioning self. The best I could do was stand at the helm and hope Deb wouldn't get hurt trying to get the Mantus on board. Silly me. First the chain came aboard an easy armful at a time as she had me move the boat this way and that to stay over the rode. She got the anchor off the bottom and to the surface, but couldn't get it lifted onto the roller. I feared that would be the case. It is often all I can do to get it there myself. I was sure we would have to drift among the crab pots so I could go forward and add my manly efforts to help the Lady make the lift.

Silly me.

Deb shushed me back behind the helm where I could actually be of some use. Going to the mast she freed the spinnaker halyard, moved forward, clipped it to the anchor chain. Back at the mast a wrap or two went around the winch and, with the aid of the small winch handle, she cranked the anchor up onto the roller without a strain. Anchor secure, deck cleared, everything stowed, we went about crossing the Albermarle.

Somewhat chagrined at my obvious status of being redundant equipment, I insisted on staying at the wheel. Actually, the nature of my hurt is such that standing slightly hunched over, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, is one of the more comfortable positions I can find. If one is familiar with Kintala's cockpit layout, one knows that it is also the exact position someone who stands about six feet tall must assume when standing behind the helm.

Winds in the Albermarle, forecast to be five knots or less out of the west, were 15 to 18 due out of the east. The waves were lumped up and close together, the Beast laboring to keep five knots of SOG. Kintala shook a bit, giving me a look that said, “Well, could we get ON with it please?”

We spun out the little head sail, pushing the speed closer to six knots and giving the boat the muscle needed to ignore the waves. I got another look of, “PLEASE would you GET WITH IT?” We added the big jib, cranked both sails in tight. Kintala leaned over, SOG went to 7+ in the higher gusts, spray flew and children all over the world smiled. (Okay, I made that last bit up.)

Flying both head sails without the main is a strange combination. It only works when the Beast is in the mix with the apparent wind well forward of the beam. But when it works, it works really, really well. (For those who might wonder we set both the running back stays when we load the rig this way.) A cold, wet, gray, lumpy Albermarle was just a dance floor for a salt stained Kintala. Hours ahead of plan we were tied up to the dock in Coinjock, taking on fuel, making use of the pump-out, and topping off the water. Later I stood in the very nice, very hot shower long after the motion activated, timed lights went out. I'm still far short of 100%, but we are within a day's reach of mile Zero of the ICW, living on our boat, doing what we need to do when we need to do it to get to the things we need to get to.

It isn't always comfortable, but it isn't a bad way to live either.

(Ed note: sorry no pictures. When it wasn't raining I was too busy to take them and then it rained.)

Call the day "DONE"

 

Today was a long motor.  Kintala's anchor pulled out of the mud just after the sunrise set the water on fire.  Deb helmed toward the ICW, set the RPM in its "happy place" and we didn't touch the throttle again until pulling into Styron Creek; more than 10 hours later.  (Kintala has two power settings she likes.  One is idle, the other revs for 6.2 knots - no wind / sails down.  Don't ask me why that is, given new engine mounts and all the other shiny bits in the drive train.  But since any $$ that might have gone into a new engine went into the standing rigging instead; what the Westerbeke likes, the Westerbeke gets.)

The Albemarle Sound has a bit of a reputation for beating up on the unwary.  Today it offered barely a ripple to impede the parade of boats heading south.  At least the table flat water made it easier to spot the crab pots.  At one point we spun the head sail part way out, realized it was futile, wound it back in, and kept making like a motor yacht.  (There are some very nice motor yachts out here, by the way.)  The Alligator River was equally placid and we lucked the swing bridge timing so as to leave the throttle untouched as we passed through. 

Ditto for the Pungo River Canal; an excruciating 20 mile ditch hacked through a swamp.  It has a single kink in its whole length and is ugly as sin.  About the only thing we saw moving (save for the boats) were vultures and wasps; a dozen or so of the latter buzzing the boat for miles.  We had planned on taking the channel down the East side of Roanoke Island with the hope of sailing the Pamlico Sound; it looks like a much more enjoyable route.  The Pamlico, however, has an even meaner reputation than does the Albemarle should one get caught out when the wind picks up; which it is supposed to do soon as a cold front approaches.

So the Alligator river and the Pungo Canal were the better choice, but it was a huge relief to launch the anchor off the bow and call this day "DONE". 

Coffee Meter: 10
On the menu for today