The forecast winds got set back some hours. So the crew gathered together and decided to depart Styron Creek, putt down the Alligator / Pungo River canal and head for an anchorage at the southwest corner of of the Alligator River once clear of the canal. There we would settle in and see what the weather was up to. The next jump would include crossing the Albemarle Sound. We have tangled with that bit of water before and have no intention of going out when she is in a mood driven by 20 to 25 knots of wind. In a day or so the winds are forecasted for 5 to 10, to calm. A good time to cover the roughly 50 miles to Elizabeth City.
Grandson Eldest took the helm as we entered the Canal. After a few minutes I decided he didn't need me looking over his shoulder all the time and so I headed up to the foredeck to watch the world drift by. After a while I moved to the port side walk way to sit in the shade facing aft. (I don't know if anyone has noticed, but it has been brutal hot in these parts for many weeks.) There was no traffic to see, just our wake stretched out behind us all the way to the horizon. And I thought, “How cool that we get to do this?”
It is no secret that I think this USA of ours is in pretty sorry shape. One would think most Americans are fans of democracy, personal freedom and choices, economic security and fairness. But that does not seem to be the case. Left and Right have split the country along pretty much every line imaginable: political, religious, civil, educational, and economical. Each accuses the other of relentless propaganda, disinformation, fake news, anti-democratic policies and authoritarian aims. Each claims that they, and they only, have a plan for the future greatness of our democracy, without really defining what their idea of “greatness” (or democracy for that matter) will lead to. Each claims that they are on the side of good while the other is on the side of evil.
One of them is telling the truth about the other.
The other is the problem.
What happens next is anyone's guess, all of which are likely to be wrong. My guess? The future is uncertain and likely to be ugly. And I hope I am wrong.
But the canal didn't care. I'm sure it was built for economic reasons only. But any American can cruise its length without asking permission. Sure there are some “rules of the road.” For the most part they are rules that should be part of anyone's outlook on the world. Don't be stupid. Don't be rude. Think of others and treat them as you would like to be treated. And don't do anything that puts someone else in danger. If you want to do something stupid and put yourself in danger, have at it and good luck. Other than that, everyone is welcome. Skin tone, facial features, religion, ancestors, gay, straight, bi, unsure, left, right? It shouldn't matter one person to another. And out on the water none of that does matter. You are either skilled and thoughtful at handling your boat or you are a problem for the rest of us.
As we continued down the canal, even those musings drifted away and settled into our wake. I was just an observer, part of the flow of time. Thoughts themselves became a distraction to ignore, an intrusion into the panorama of moving down the canal as a small spark of awareness in a vast, unfathomable universe.
Near the end of the canal another boat motored by heading the opposite way, the first one we had seen since passing a tugboat on its way to work at the other end and enough to shake me out of my muse. It was at a narrow part of the channel but Grandson Eldest and the other skipper both did everything right and we passed with nary a bump. The winds were still pretty calm as we cleared the canal and turned south toward the anchorage. It was time to get up and get active again.
My young Captain maneuvered First Light between the crab pots like a pro, picked a good spot, and called for the hook. I let it splash and we started working to get it stuck. Most of the way through the process the winch problem from a few days ago popped back up. This time I knew the 5 minute fix and we were soon riding to the bridle, something I had not really looked at that close as I am usually driving the boat when the anchor is set. I did not like what I was seeing.
The bridle that came with First Light was about 17' from hook to eye splice. With the bridle on the chain and no wind blowing, the anchor chain pulled the bridle hook all the way to the bottom, burying it into the mud. That seemed to me to be a good way for the chain to work its way out of the hook and leave the boat riding to the chain alone. When Kintala's bridle was hanging straight down the hook was about 2 feet below the water line. Yet it still offered a lot of stretch to ease the ride. First Light's bow is higher above the water line than was Kintala's. A more appropriate length for First Light would still be longer than was Kintala's. With 20+ knots of gusting wind due to arrive at any time, I wanted a bridle I could trust a little more while still offering a good ride.
For the next few hours Grandson Eldest and I worked on modifying the bridle by shortening up the ropes and splicing new eyes into the ends to hook onto the forward cleats. Some thought was given to just using cleat knots to secure the anchor like we did on Kintala as that rig never failed us no matter the weather we faced. But First Light is just as heavy a boat with a lot more windage than had Kintala. The additional strength of eye splices double looped over the cleat horns, with the chafe guards moved to the right place, seemed like the best way to go. It has been a long time since I did that kind of rope work. And it is something I have never done with heat indexes of 100+. While working, we also decided that they should change the name of this place to “Sweat Bee Harbor.” The little buggers were a relentless hassle. But it was a job that needed done, so we buckled down and got it done.
As we worked, a pair of F-35s (?) made repeated passes over the boat, running in trail, and looking to me like they were right at the 1500' “clear of people” and the 250 knot speed limit below 10,000'. My guess is they were using First Light for some impromptu target practice. A lone, not so big white boat sitting in a broad river with very little of civilization around? I'v known and flown with a lot of ex-fighter jocks, and I'm sure our fighter pilot friends buzzing the boat thought a few low passes for practice were in order. Once upon a time I made a living flying an acrobatic plane used in airshows back and fourth across the county. Long flights often included low passes of my own over such targets, so I understand the temptation. In any case, they were fun to watch as they ripped by.
While cleaning up after the deck work was done several pods of dolphins, including a few young ones, surrounded the boat and started splashing around. Our guess is that the little ones were getting hunting lessons. Petty much the same thing the fighter pilots were doing.
Late afternoon the winds arrived just as forecasted, eventually gusting to better than 20. As planned, we were not out on the Albemarle Sound wishing we were someplace else. The anchor rig is improved. We enjoyed a private airshow. And dolphins came by to visit. Not sure things get any better than that. Something I wish all of my fellow citizens could experience and want to share. But many Americans are currently dedicated to being wound up while looking for reasons to bang heads. A lot of those head banging reasons appear rather petty to me; but others will determine the future we hand down to kids and grandkids. But I guess that is a pretty common malady that has affected almost all of human history. Kind of a sad thought, that.
