In the middle of the tribe

Sometimes one just has to face the music, throw in the towel, belly up to the bar...and go back on the ICW. We had every intention of jumping down the coast to Charleston, then northern Fl, then southern Fl. Three, maybe four hops and we would celebrate being back where the air is warm and the water clear. (Well, clearer anyway.) Each day, several times a day, we would debate the weather. Each time, it seemed, the forecasts were just a little less encouraging. Mostly they foretold of big rolling seas and sailing for hour upon hour in the ditch. We have done that in Kintala on several occasions. It can take all the fun out of a day. And doing it at night? (At this time of the year most of the jumps down the east coast involve overnight sailing.) We have done that as well and it makes for a very, very long night.

Leaving Bucksport this morning with the full moon still hanging around in the brightening sky

So, instead of overnight runs through clear ocean water it has been day runs through the brown; Wrightsville Beach – Southport – N. Myrtle Beach – Bucksport – Minim Creek. We passed through Lockwoods Folly and the Rock Pile with nary a drama, and have a good plan for slipping over the Mud Flats instead of plowing our way through them. I don't think one can get enough practice at this sailing thing to be perfect at it, but a couple of years of practice sure seems to make it easier.

The moon and the endless trees along the Waccamaw River

Minim Creek is out near the edge of the grid, though there has been a lot of little boat traffic today. Camo colored boats filled with camo dressed people. Given that we heard pretty loud gunfire several times this morning my guess is some kind of hunting season opened around here today. (That, or there was a Wal-Mart somewhere near and the Black Friday crowds are getting serious about their Christmas shopping.)

I have no idea what kind of hunting is done from little boats. In any case I was glad my jacket is bright yellow. Then again, maybe they hunt something big and yellow from little boats? Oh well, we are here safe and sound, and hope to be in Charleston before the weekend is out.

Even though we left Oak Harbor months ago and have traveled nearly 800 nm, it feels like we are - just now - getting back to our tribe of sailboat gypsies. With friends close behind and other friends ahead, it seems like nearly everyone is on the move. The chatter is of where we might meet and places we might go instead of the list of summer boat projects that lay ahead. Some are still working on projects. There are bimini tops and enclosures, mast work and rigging, bits of this and pieces of that still being finished by impatient crews. On Kintala the first thoughts of things that will need addressed next “work season” are already flirting around in the gray. (The Beast has taken to oozing more oil than normal, the list of teak bits that need attention is starting to grow, and the non-skid remains unpainted in spite of the best intentions of last summer.)

But, for now, most thoughts are about where to go, when and how to get there, and the friends that will be met along the way.

It is good to be back with the tribe.

A boat school bus? Maybe it needs a coat of yellow paint.

You see all kinds of boats on the ICW

Six degrees...

...no, not the thermometer reading (although it felt like it yesterday morning), but Karinthy's theory - six degrees of separation. Karinthy proposed that any two people could be connected in the world by just six acquaintences and the more we cruise, the more I believe it.

Northern Star and their 63-1/2 foot mast. Yikes!

This morning we got up early and, after a brief hug and goodbye with friends David and Nancy at Barefoot Marina, we were off down the ICW by 7:00am. We needed to clear the infamous Lockwoods Folly Inlet when the tide was still at least at mid level. Our preparation paid off and we transited the problem spot with 8 feet depth being the least we saw anywhere. We enjoyed a crisp but warming morning with cups of coffee and then hot chocolate, and I switched out my wool hat for my baseball cap for the first time in days. We watched as the shadow of our mast slid over the remnants of colorful fall leaves along the shore, and tracked the bridge clearances for our friends on Northern Star who would be following shortly with a 63-1/2 foot mast.

The current was favorable, allowing us a 6-1/2 knot forward speed toward our day's destination of Butler Island. About 20 miles out I realized that we were going to arrive at our destination by 1:40 and started to take a look on the charts to see if we might be able to go a little farther to another anchorage. Just as I began to look, we hear a call on the radio, "Sailboat in the ICW passing Bucksport Marina, we're having a $.75 per foot dock special to Boat US members and that includes a free Thanksgiving meal at 2:00. Why don't y'all come on in and join us?" We looked at each other and, after a very brief discussion, decide to take them up on their offer, in spite of the early time. We had passed this place multiple times and always said, "Some day we should stop there. It looks like a neat place." It was the day.

We were greeted by the owner Jeff and his son, Jeffrey who caught our lines and got us secured. The place is a scenic stop on a side creek off the Waccamaw River in the middle of absolute nowhere. The docks are well-maintained and easy to get to, the facilities clean, the people friendly, and you just can't beat their prices. I spent the few hours until the 2:00pm dinner relaxing on the wide deck in the sunshine enjoying the panoramic view of the Waccamaw and planning some new routes to accommodate the change in plans.

The dinner guests for the free Thanksgiving feast included some other cruisers, some folks from the full-time liveaboard dock, some full-time residents of the RV park that Jeff also owns and manages, and some town folks from nearby Bucksport. After filling our plates from the large spread, we sat at a table and began to introduce ourselves to the others seated there. Within minutes we discovered that the folks across the table from us were from Tim's home town, went to his high school, had family who lived on his parents' street and knew some of his siblings. In the middle of nowhere. In South Carolina. On a dock that we almost passed by. On Thanksgiving. At a dinner that a marina manager provided free to friends and passers by.
 
Life is just too weird, and I guess that's one of the best things about cruising, that chance to snag some unexpected opportunity that we might have missed otherwise. So we leave tomorrow morning to continue our trek down the ICW toward Charleston, thankful for this life. Our tummies full we have smiles on our faces and, oh, it's finally a whole lot warmer than 6 degrees.

The dock at Bucksport Marina

The Captain's Lounge across from the docks where the dinner was served

The on-site restaurant and more docks

The Waccamaw River

Northern Star going through The Rock Pile stretch of the ICW

Kintala's mast shadow sliding over the trees

I'll take one!