A part of a life...

A day of thumping along got us to the Cockrell Creek anchorage, a place we never visited while on Kintala. So far as anchorages go it was a tiny place. One might have gotten two boats in if they were friendly. Fortunately we were the only transient boat around. Across the Creek was a fleet of fishing boats while just a few hundred feet from where our anchor hit the bottom were two small marinas. The fishing fleet came with its own processing plant so, depending on which way the breeze was wafting, it was either a nice place or a nice place that smelled like you had your nose in a bag a cat food.

The Morris-Fisher smoke stack in Reedville, VA

In the morning we hauled the anchor to be on our way. Notes on the anchorage suggested there was good holding in sand. If so, it was dark brown, sticky, and smelly sand. But the holding was good.

The Solomons lie just shy of 50 miles north and on the other side of where the Potomac River flows into the Bay. We debated the weather as that stretch of water can really knock the snot out of a boat, which has been our usual experience no matter north or south bound. So we bet that the forecast of light winds and tiny waves was a good one and, for the most part, it was a good bet. The majority of the trip was done in near perfect trawler conditions—small swells spread well apart. Later in the day the winds picked up a little out of the south. The waves that did build were all moving in the same direction as First Light so the ride remained easy. We did get a bit of a roll going when we turned into the Patuxent River, but it wasn't too bad and eased off the farther upriver we went. We found our way to Back Creek and dropped the hook in another rather small anchorage. Here though, we are surrounded by marinas and boats. I don't know how many marinas line both sides of the creek, but there are hundreds of boats in here. That wasn't a surprise as we have been here before, though not in this particular spot. This spot is as far up the creek as one can drop a hook. We are, according to Google Earth 4.65 miles as the crow flies from where the two main runways at the NAS / Trapnell Field cross. “Pax River” (as my Navy pilot friends call it) is home to the U.S. Navel Test Pilot School and the Atlantic Test Range. Maybe, if the Navy has any of the UFO's some (seriously crazy?) people claim the Government is hiding, we'll get to see one fly by. Just kidding. One thing for sure, if the Navy has some UFOs stashed here, the test pilots are wringing the snot out of those things and are having a blast doing so.

It looks like we will be here for a couple of days waiting for trawler weather for the trip to St. Michaels. That will be another long day, 50 + miles and 8 + hours. Not a trip to thump one's way through. Both Deb and I have been a little surprised at how quickly the ride in a trawler like First Light gets noticeably uncomfortable. It doesn't take much wave action to make the upper helm station a place to avoid. Below is better, but I'm sure I remember days in Kintala where the waves were bigger than what we have seen with First Light, but the ride much better. We have both made the statement that this is a “river boat” cruiser. Now I understand why No Name Harbor would fill up with trawlers waiting for days to make the jump over to the Bahamas. Some of the weather we have been in while crossing the Gulf Stream would have been really, really, (really) uncomfortable in this boat. There is at least one “outside” jump and a couple of “Great Lakes” between First Light and St. Louis, all part of next season's travel. Those are going to be some interesting trips. For this season we are just a few more stops from being where the boat will be hauled for the winter. Not part of the plan when we started out form St. Louis back in April. But that's the way it worked out.

So we go on, learning more about the boat and a new way to approach the long distance boater lifestyle each mile and every day. Not a bad way to spend part of a life.

The view from the anchorage at Cockrell Creek

IBR + LBD

The crew of First Light was up before first light getting ready for departure. A long day was in the offering and letting daylight dribble away while still at the dock seemed silly. A weather check the night before suggested it would be a perfect day to tackle the south end of the Chesapeake Bay. We have crossed that chunk of water several times and rarely has it been an easy task. But the GRIB files were showing winds calm to less than 10.

Of course they also suggested that all of the rain that came with a cold frontal passage the night before would be offshore come morning. But...come morning it was overcast and foggy. Still, why worry about a little drizzle? It would give me a chance to drive from my inside steering station with windshield wipers thunking away.

Just as we pulled in the last of the lines holding us to the pier, the drizzle turned into pretty heavy rain. Not TRW rain but enough to ruffle up the water and reduce the visibility to about ½ mile. IBR! Instrument Boat Rules! 

It was just as much fun as I thought it would be. A half mile takes 7-1/2 minutes to pass when one is doing about 4 knots. Of course boats coming down the channel will pass faster and required a bit more attention. But the channel is wide and we were hugging our side. Sure enough, a ghostly looking freighter loomed out of the gloom and we passed with no issues. Cool beans. I could learn to like boating in this kind of weather. IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions) in an airplane means keeping track of heading, altitude, attitude, navigation, traffic, and communications all while (perhaps) getting bounced all over the sky doing 300 knots. But it the Boat? Speed...4 knots. Attitude and altitude? Not an issue. Navigation? Moving maps and chart plotters. Communications? Not much chatter on channel 16. I was grinning like a kid on Christmas Morning.

The scuzzy weather lasted all the way past the line of Naval Ships and out into the James River. Passing Fort Monroe and turning north into the Chesapeake the sky cleared but the wind picked up. Thus started our LBD...Long Bumpy Day. Every one of the weather sources we normally check got the day wrong. The wind was not light and variable. It was out of the North at 10 to 15, sometimes 20. The current was running north. The two were playing slap and tickle, leaving First Light bashing her way to windward in two to three foot, somewhat confused seas. It was not a pleasant ride for the first 9 and ½ hours of the 10 hour, 51 minute trip. It was enough to take most of the fun out of the day.

The Crew taking a break on the foredeck and yes he has a lifejacket on.

The good news is that all that banging around was a chance to get to know the boat a little better and trust its seaworthiness a little bit more. It would have been an ugly, likely impossible, day up on the fly bridge. But at the lower helm? Okay, not comfortable but not terrible either. On a pretty regular basis the bow would drop hard, shaking the boat and sending a cascade of water up above the anchor. But the shape of the hull tossed it outboard with virtually none of it landing on the foredeck. Some of the hits were pretty loud, but after a while it sounded kind of normal. The worst hit came from a container ship that ran us down from behind. As it closed, we did a lazy, oval shaped, 360 degree turn to starboard and out of the channel to let him pass by. After 270 degrees we straightened up and took his wake bow on. It had to be every bit of 5 feet as it loomed over the anchor roller before First Light powered up the slope and fell into the hole on the back side of the wave. Ouch. But we soldiered on with nothing apparently amiss.

The boat mascots - Teddy, Bean, and
Nutters didn't seem to mind the ride

We plowed through the day with the crew growing every more weary and the boat thumping its way through the whitecaps. Eventually we made it to Fishing Bay near Deltaville, VA and dropped the hook, sharing the anchorage with 3 other boats. It is just about perfect here at the moment. First Light rides easy to 90 feet of chain and the snubber in 16 feet of water, the winds are calm, and the temperature isn't as brutal as it has been. Up in the flybridge it is downright pleasant. As normally happens, a rough trip is nearly forgotten as soon as it is over. We are content with the day's work we put in, satisfied that pushing on was an okay decision. Even more, we are content that the day is over and we are sitting safe and quiet. Assuming the forecasts are getting it right this time, we are likely to be here a couple of days.

Being anchored here for the first time in eight years feels kind of special. We made it here when first starting out on Kintala. In spite of the challenges that came up, we have managed to bounce our way here again on First Light. It hasn't been easy and I think it fair to suggest that we worked for it. But, on the other hand, it has to be admitted that we are among the luckiest people on the planet. Why is that so? I don't think anyone knows.

When a little bad news is pretty good news.

With heat indexes in the 110+ range, two days of thunderstorms in the forecast, short on sleep and even shorter of temper, (that would be just me, by the way) a slight change in plans seemed appropriate. So this afternoon we moved First Light off the free dock and back down the river a couple of hundred yards into a transient slip at the Ocean Yacht Marina. There I made my second successful back-into-the-slip landing. The first order of business after setting lines and fenders was getting the AC running. It took a while as, once again, the inlet was blocked. Not jellyfish this time. Seriously stinky mud that had to come from the Swamp was the culprit. With the aft engine room hatch open to facilitate that repair, Deb noticed a trail of salt water from the aft of the boat down into the port side shaft seal pocket. An observation that did nothing to lengthen my aforementioned short temper. One problem at a time please. Let's get the AC running, then figure out if the boat is sinking. Deb then had a short wrestle since the AC strainer leaked the first time we cranked up the pump. With the strainer leak fixed, the AC went to work on the hot, muggy air in the boat. We went to work tracing down the leak around the shaft seal.

The water under the shaft seal appeared to have its headwater around the starboard side rudder post. I dried it off and watched while Deb worked the rudders stop to stop. No more water. We went about cleaning everything up, finishing about the time the diver showed. We explained the bump and the vibration. My thought was that a) the rudder took a jolt that unseated its shaft seal for a bit, allowing a good squirt of water ingress and b) the jolt also left us with a bent prop tip. All just a guess of course, but that seemed the most likely explanation for what we had felt during and after the event. And, as it turned out, that is exactly what the diver found. No damage to the rudder and a bent prop tip. A little bit of bad news that is pretty good news.

The diver offered that he knew a guy that could pull the prop, have it repaired, and put it back on without lifting the boat out of the water. The whole process would take “just a couple of days”. Not saying that I didn't believe that but, well, I didn't. The boat is not hurt. A slightly bent prop tip isn't going to do much except save us some gas by having us slow down. The boat is already scheduled to come out of the water for the winter around Oct 1st. So we intend to drive on. But first I'm going to catch up on sleep, food, and music playing while waiting out a couple of days of storms.

I stand corrected from my correction...

We left the Dismal Swamp Visitors Center this morning. The trick was to time the bridge / lock opening so as not to miss it or to spend too much time holding station waiting for it to open. The other trick was to move at a speed appropriate for the conditions; ie SLOW. Upon pushing off of the dock it was clear that we were in a different Dismal Swamp than the one from the day before. This one was was truly dismal. 

The water was scummed over making it that much more difficult to spot floating debris and logs. The channel was narrower, shallower, and had tree branches just shy of brushing the boat. The water itself was full of branches with fallen trees tied up to signs and shore in attempts to keep the waterway navigable.

Within minutes we heard the first “thunk” of something getting stirred up off the bottom and chewed up in the prop. We moved along at less than 5 knots doing our best to avoid more thumps while still moving fast enough for the rudders to steer the boat. But it was impossible. Each thump caused the crew to jump a little but it appeared that nothing was being damaged...until the very last one before we got to the bridge.

A hard thunk scared everyone and a noticeable vibration off the starboard side engine scared everyone even more. Dropping the revs eased the shaking. I tried neutral, a few moments in low reverse, and back to forward. It eased the shake a tiny bit but did not eliminate it. Clearly we took some kind of damaging hit. A check of the engine room showed no leaking around the seals and no vibration in the shaft. Which was all good news. Other than a minor shake nothing else seemed amiss. After a bit of debate we elected to keep going. Truth to tell I'm not sure there was another option. Before anything could be done we had to get out of the swamp. We cleared the last lock and limped on.

Once clear of the swamp I played with the power settings. Revs that would get us a touch over 5 knots were fine. Anything more and the shake was too noticeable to be comfortable. My best guess is that we bent a prop blade a little. Not a major concern, but a concern nonetheless. We stopped at a small marina called Top Rack for fuel, a desperately needed pumpout, and to ask about a diver. Fuel and a pumpout they had, but no diver to recommend. So we pressed on to the free docks in the heart of Portsmouth. Kind of a cool place this. Well, not cool as it is something like 102 degrees. But there are big ships all around, ferry boats coming and going, the Navel Shipyard museum is literally a few steps off our starboard side, and we are sitting in the middle of a big city in our boat. A bit of a change since we have been more or less off the grid for much of the last few days. 

Weather forecasts suggests we will be here for a a day or so waiting out some potentially serious storms. We are hoping to get a diver on the boat today or tomorrow just to be careful. We have full water tanks and an empty holding tank, but the fridge is getting bare after days off grid, so a provisioning run is also in the plan. There is some concern about hanging around this spot to wait out the weather. After the sun went down last night the ambiance surrounding the boat took a decided turn. At one point a land side wanderer started shouting at me as I closed up the fly bridge for the night. He wasn't being particularly coherent and I wasn't particularly interested in engaging in conversation with him. Something to which he seemed to take offense as his side of the conversation deteriorated into shouts, insults, and threats to return to teach me some kind of lesson. I have some experience in those kinds of lessons, wasn't particularly concerned, and let him sputter off without returning any comment. But, having some experience in those kinds of lessons, I spent most of the night on "anchor watch" with phone close at hand and 911 ready on the speed dial. Still, this is a well protected place to ride out storms which, seems to me anyway, are the bigger hazard at the moment.

Difficult as it has been, it feels good to be out of the ICW. These past few months have been some of the most challenging Deb and I have faced for a long, long, (long) time. I am both thankful that we managed and relieved to be this far north. Limping along? Maybe. Heading in the right direction? So far so good. But I've had my fill of the Dismal Swamp. I am (depending on how broken we are) sort of glad we went this way once. But I can't imagine I'll ever take the risk of doing it again. Nor would I ever suggest anyone else go this way by choice, at least not in a boat like First Light. The channel is simply too narrow, too shallow, and too full of things that can break a boat. This boat is still struggling through this shake down cruise.  It doesn't need any help getting broke.

Dismal Swamp slime

Finally a new state

It's steaming hot

I stand corrected...

While living on Kintala we did the ICW North – South – North trip several times. During none of those trips did we attempt the Dismal Swamp. The primary reason was our better than 5 foot draft. Word was there would be barely a foot of water under the keel for most of the trip. The secondary reason was more prosaic. Neither “Dismal” nor “Swamp” are words that conjure up a vision of a pleasant place to visit. The name itself was enough to keep me away. But things work out as they will, and we committed to trying to pass through the Swamp. So we fired up First Light after a brief trip to the local coffee shop and departed Elizabeth City for the Dismal Swamp Visitor's Center with its free dock, bathrooms, and water supply.

It was some of the most interesting miles of water I have ever ventured across. Other than the temp, it was a perfect day. The water was so flat that it was hard to tell where the horizon was. Everything in sight was perfectly reflected in the mirror-like water. Only a thin dark line marked where the actual shore line could be found. It felt like First Light was drifting though a sky of tree shaped green colored clouds. The visuals were nothing short of mesmerizing. The first part of the channel was as twisty as any I have traveled. Fortunately First Light's twin engines and hydraulic steering are starting to feel "normal" so staying in the middle of the channel was not near the challenge it might have been. To be frank, I have never seen such a scene before. It was near magical.

We did bump into something a few times. But we were also running just enough above idle for the engines to be happy, leaving us doing about 4 knots. So whatever we bumped we didn't bump very hard. I don't know that I would have ever come this way in Kintala. But I'm glad that circumstances suggested we come this way in First Light. If you ever get a chance to drive a boat north from Elizabeth City into the Dismal Swamp, don't pass it up. It may be a swamp, but there is nothing “Dismal” about it.

South Mills Lock

South Mills Lock

South Mills Lock

South Mills Lock

Dismal Swamp Free Dock

It's worth a try...

On the one hand the people here have been wonderful. There are good places to eat, a very informative museum, and a pleasant waterfront park. Dan the Dock Master for the Maritime Ministries free docks came down to meet and welcome us when we first got here. There wasn't room for us on his dock, but we were in sight and had been talking to him on the phone. He was unbelievably (couldn't resist the pun) helpful, letting us have parts delivered to his door, lending us a car, and generally being as generous as one human being can be to others. For that reason alone the town is okay. On the other hand...

Roo, Tj, Deb, and Dan Smith of Maritime Ministries

For a place that is at the headwater of the Dismal Swamp route there is very little support for the long distance cruiser. Fuel, water, pump out, electrical service...all are in short supply or non-existent. When I say “short supply” what I mean is we have been here for a couple of days and have not found any of the above. There is rumor of a pump out somewhere but, as of yet, we have not located it. There is not a water hook-up anywhere to be found. There are public bathrooms but don't need one before 0800 in the morning as they will not open yet. If you need to save ship water (since you can't get more here) shower access will cost you $5 for the code. If you had spent a very long day working in a hot engine room you might come out of the shower cleaner than you went in. Maybe.

The shower is right near the city free dock, which would make them a bit more livable than the dock we have been tied to. But we looked them over and it is doubtful First Light would fit. A Saber backed in while we were watching, both rub rails rubbed down the piling as he backed in. Once in they set lines but I'm not sure why. They were wedged in place. Too tight a fit so far as I am concerned. You can get an Uber back and forth to the store so provisioning need not be too painful. But it was a bit of struggle to get things together so we can be on our way.

The free dock at Jennett's

When we left Oriental we knew we were on a “shake down” cruise. First Light had been sitting on the hard for the better part of four years. Even with all the work we did before splashing the thing there were bound to be glitches. In addition the original plan included a couple of more months of time to work things through as we traveled. So, all things considered, the fact that we are making any progress at all is likely a pretty good sign. We made some good progress during this particular maintenance stop. The gen-set, after the tender ministries of Grand Son Eldest installing his first ever gen-set part, purred quietly while pumping major amps into the house bank. Before that part arrived we also ran down the engine start wiring to get some idea as to what is happening. As I suspected, the port engine is wired to the start battery while the starboard engine is wired to the house bank. There is a “emergency start” switch panel that is wired nothing like suggested on the front plate. The panel states “KEEP BOTH SWITCHES IN OFF POSITION TURN SWITCH ON FOR EMERGENCY START ONLY.” Ahh...no. Turn both switches OFF and nothing will start. I do leave the “BOTH” switch OFF with the idea that at least one of the battery banks will hold a charge should there be a drain on one of them. I'm not completely convinced that is what was intended, but it is working for now so we will drive on.

Though there is still some debate on this, both battery chargers, the old one and the new fancy one, may need to work in tandem with either gen-set or shore power to get the house bank into float. That seems seriously weird to me so I will be looking into it some more. But, at the moment, First Light is back up with all systems running. How long that will last is anyone's guess. I'll just keep reminding myself it is a shake-down cruise. Finding broken things is part of the plan. Well, it's worth a try anyway.

Batteries, belts, bridges, pots, & trucks

There was a one day weather window to get from the Alligator River anchorage, across the Albemarle Sound and up to Elizabeth City⸺gateway to the Dismal Swamp. We got up with the first light of the sun to take advantage of it. The gen-set came on line to freshen up the batteries after carrying the boat for the night. Just as we went to start the engines, an unearthly howl started up from below.

Gen-set off.

It sounded like belt noise but there really wasn't time to troubleshoot the thing. Leave it until the next stop. With that decision made, the port engine was brought to life. Then the Starboard, except...no turn, no fire. Mmm. ..There is a switch in the engine room to be used in just such a circumstance. Never used, not sure exactly what it does. But it worked. Switch switched and the Starboard side rumbled to life. Yay, not stuck in the middle of nowhere. (Not sure what is going on with the start battery yet, but it likely has something to do with operating the convoluted, overlapped, hodge podge charging systems on First Light. It will take getting the gen-set back up to figure that one out.) With both engines rumbling, Grandson Eldest took the helm. He got us onto the anchor the night before. It only seemed fair that he get us off.

The 7 hour trip to Elizabeth City NC went off with no additional mechanical gotcha's. But the run Across the Albemarle Sound was a near constant 5 diamond slalom run through the crab pots. They were strewn around nearly everywhere we looked. And we had to look hard. Apparently no one has mentioned to crabbers that dark blue and dingy black floats are not easy to spot, and white ones look a lot like little wavelets or birds at first. We managed, helped by the still-sharp eyes of Grandson Eldest. The good news was that the weather was as forecast. The ride, for the most part, was easy. Just a bit of rolling in the ditch when we had no choice of headings while working around the pots.

We have heard nothing but good about the free docks in Elizabeth City. Unfortunately, all the best ones where full when we got here. We ended up along one just past the bridge, and I mean just past. It lies about 200 feet off the bow, tires howling over the grating with every passing vehicle. Normally that kind of noise would be irritating. But tonight? This free dock lies at a truck loading facility. In the parking lot not 100 feet from us sits a reefer truck, apparently sitting for the night, with engine rumbling and trailer freezer running at full song. We are not going to notice the bridge.

As soon as we were secured to the dock, I changed into work clothes and jumped down into First Light's engine room to tangle with the gen-set. It isn't the most uncomfortable place I have ever crawled into to work on something, but after a 7 hour summertime run? It ranks right up there. It took a while to get the covers off and clean up. There was a good bit of fuel lying around, which was a bit scary. I sopped it up and traced the likely cause to a couple of hose clamps on the new electric fuel pump that were not as tight as they should have been. Then I checked the cooling system from strainer to impeller. All looked okay. The only other option was to fire it up to see what there was to see. Fire extinguisher close at hand that is exactly what I did, provoking a screaming, screeching noise that sounded as much like a bearing failing as a belt slipping . An immediate shut down was followed by a phone call to Darryl at Foster's Mobile Marine(https://fosters-mobile-marine-service.business.site/)⸺friend and engine guru. He agreed to listen in and, after a few seconds of additional run time, sent me right to the problem. It was a belt noise. The little alternator that also acts as a belt tensioner was locked up solid. Two pulleys turning and one frozen solid will make a lot of noise. The truth is I should have spotted without his help, but I was reluctant to run the thing very long while sticking pieces of my anatomy in places the belt could reach should it self destruct at the wrong moment or (had it been a bearing) risk tossing a rod out the side of the case. (Seen that happen before, don't want to see it happen again.) Guess I'm getting cautious in my old age.

A few minutes later and the offending part was out. Grandson Eldest and I tried to open it up to see what happened. But whatever had happened had fused the thing into a single chunk. One might, with a 3/4 inch breaker bar and a big vice, open it to see what happened. But we don't have those on First Light and it doesn't matter anyway. New parts will be sourced and ordered ASAP. When they get here we will be on our way once again. Until then Elizabeth City and it's noisy free dock are home.

 

Long Canal Muse

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.

Mark me as unimpressed...

It was a wonderful night anchored off the delightful town of Washington NC. We rousted out at 0600 and got ready to depart. At 0704 the anchor was aboard and we were heading through the railroad bridge out onto the Tar River, then the Pamlico, and up the Pungo River toward another (reported) delightful town of Belhaven. It was a perfect trawler travel day with light winds and easy seas. Having departed as early as we did the little more than 5 hour trip had us dropping the hook in Belhaven just before 1430. The plan was to wait out some weather for a day or two and explore another new town.

Truth to tell, the town didn't look all that inviting as we motored down the channel, through the break water, and then to the anchorage. The only other boat was a little used sailboat, mast down and looking forlorn. With First Light secured, the dink went into the water so Deb and Grandson Eldest could go explore our new, temporary digs. I stayed behind. There was something in the air that made me uncomfortable leaving the boat unattended. I am not very good at first impressions; in fact, I am rather horrible at them. So I kept my thoughts to myself as we dropped the Dink into the water and got it ready to travel.

Unlike boats with davits, our Dink sits edge down on the swim platform. The outboard stays attached but all the other stuff, seat, number boards, oars and fuel tank, have to be loaded and unloaded every time it goes in or out of the water. Still far, far better than the hassle it took to launch the dink from Kintala, so no complaints. After the crew motored away, I settled in for a bit to play some Uke. I was barely warmed up and working through a song I like but the crew isn't so fond of, when the dink bumped into the swim platform. 

“That wasn't a very long trip.” 

“That's because we are leaving. The dock master was unfriendly, even rude when asked about a laundry. The few locals we ran across while walking into town were not any better.” The town itself is dingy and full of bad vibes. No way we are staying here for a night, let alone two.” 

 Okay then. Guess I should have listened to my first impression. Nebo logged First Light into Belhaven at 12:51; and out at 14:59. In barely two hours we had anchored the boat, secured the boat, launched the Dink, recovered the Dink, got the boat ready to go, pulled the hook, and departed. Barely two hours after that, we were dropping the hook in one of our favorite anchorages from days past.

Styron Creek at the base of the Alligator / Pungo River is as beautiful as we remembered. It did take two tries to set the hook in the grassy bottom, but we are now solidly attached to Mother Earth and well protected if the 20+ knot winds forecasted for the next day or so actually arrive. There is a singe boat anchored a few hundred feet away. 

The vibes are good once again.

But when it comes to Belhaven NC, mark me as unimpressed.

Hooked...

One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three. That is how many days it has been since Deb and I slept a night on a boat at anchor. But that string will end in a few hours. First Light rides to her hook roughly 600 feet off the free dock at Washington, NC. It is really good to be back. After day one here we decided to spend one more day in Washington, erring on the side of caution because of the weather. Then we would leave this morning riding a near perfect forecast. But last night I woke up feeling really odd, with a sore throat and an occasional, but very brief, feeling of choking. Seriously annoying and a bit concerning given my recent history. Moving up to the salon and lying reclined rather than flat helped. But, for the first time since we started this trip I really wished I was back in St. Louis and feeling far less vulnerable. That is not a feeling I am used to. Deb has also been bothered with a sore throat as her arm slowly improves. Given her recent visit to an OR that was a bit concerning as well. So first thing this morning, instead of heading off on the next leg, it was off to visit the local Urgent Care. The good folks there had us on the mend before the morning was spent. It seems Deb picked up an infection during her hospital stay which I then picked up from her. We are both on meds, feeling much better, and cleared to be on our way whenever. 

The first weather delay was for a potential for strong storms forecasted across our route. I am still trying to make peace with being a trawler driver, so one of these days I want to drive this thing through some weather from the lower helm—dry, comfortable, and with the windshield wipers thumping away. But that day isn't here yet. We actually tested the wipers while sitting at the dock when the rains came. I think light to moderate rain wouldn't be much of a problem save for a) the big chart plotter with the RADAR overlay is mounted on the fly bridge along with b) the auto pilot control. Still, I'm hoping to give it a try soon. One of the things that always irritated me with Kintala was just how little weather I felt it safe to tackle. So far I am feeling the same way about First Light. Thunderstorms and 20 knot winds? We drive a car through that kind of weather without a second thought. Of course the road under the wheels doesn't routinely rear up and smack one upside the head. So there is that to consider. Still, I would like to think a little rain and a bit of breeze would not be a show stopper with First Light.

Another thing we are re-learning about boat life, now that we are off the dock, is just how dependent we are on electricity. Even equipped with a bunch of solar panels, when the clouds move in the gen-set gets a regular workout. The amp meter suggests that we bring the gen-set online whenever the stove or the microwave needs to be used, sun or no sun. If it has been a cloudy day and we haven't been under way, evening gen-set time is needed to fill the batteries up for night duty. Come morning, particularly if we are up with the sun just joining us? You guessed it, fire up the gen-set as the batteries are near spent after carrying the fans, lights, and refrigerators for a night; even with the fridges turned down as low as we dare. Fans are needed, particularly when it is raining as there is no chance of AC without shore power or the gen-set running. We do not run that thing when everyone is sleeping or no one is on the boat. I suspect we are being overly cautious, but I don't know any other approach to take. One really nice thing about this trawler's gen-set is that starting it means setting some switches and toggling the start button at electrical panel. No digging the thing out from its lashings, plugging it in, filling the gas, and pulling on the rope. It is also much quieter than was the Honda generator we carried on Kintala. So here I sit, up on the flybridge with the windows rolled up, watching the week end party and fishing boats putt-putt by. They must all be locals because every single one of them (minus the jet ski Neanderthals) is being careful about their wake and courteous to those leaving the free dock. Of course the music kind of grates on the nerves, but this is the country & western bit of the eastern US. And the music pouring out from the boats is not near as loud as the rap music bellowing out of the cars in the city—even with the windows up. If you ever have the chance to anchor here for a night or two, don't miss it. With any luck this will be the turning point of our “summer to move the boat” and things will be a little less trying from here on. But if not, well, we will just keep on plucking away: medical issues, boat issues, weather issues...just keep on keeping on. 'Cause it is really good to be back.

A good day...

Washington NC.

I've been to Washington DC more times than I can count. We lived in Washington PA for the better part of 2 decades. But we've never been to Washington NC before. And how did we get here? We left the dock in Oriental and boated up here on First Light! Fifty six nautical miles, nine hours and twenty three minutes at an average of six knots. How about them apples?

The weather check this morning told of NE winds ten to fifteen knots. Right at the edge of what I wanted to experiment with, but sometimes you just have to wade out there and see what you see. Besides, it was calm, pretty, and a bit foggy at the dock, how bad could it be? I should know better when it comes to the Neuse. We have gotten our hinder parts handed to us on several occasions when out on that particular river. This morning it was filled with close-coupled 2 foot rollers that were maybe a bit taller. Hard to tell when one is standing about 15 feet above the water. Each set knocked off half of our boat speed making for a weird, uncomfortable, ride. We had a quick discussion about turning around and running down-wave back to Oriental, but decided to press on to the turn up the Bay River. The thought was that the change in heading and more sheltered water would result in a far better ride. A thought that turned out to be a good one. After escaping the Neuse, all was well with First Light and the world. She motored happily along with engines turning1600 RPMs while making a bit more than 7 knots. Nose bleed speeds for an old sailboat pilot.

I would have wanted nothing to do with the Pamlico Sound this morning. That bit of water has thrashed us with the same enthusiasm often shown by the Neuse. But the Pamlico river was in a good mood this morning and offered a very nice ride. Way up the Pamlico River was the destination for today, the delightful Washington NC. Though we haven't been here long, I would already say it is a big improvement over both Washingtons DC and PA. The Dock Master met us at the free dock, helped us tie up, and was full of information about his town. A retired Captain with a Master's rating, he knew the answers to all of our questions before I could ask them. He was even so kind as to compliment my landing in the slight cross wind pushing us off the dock. A walk through town offered up a Main Street lined with shops, including one that offered ice cream. The river walk back to the boat was as nice as any we have seen in our travels. The day ended with a red sun setting over the bridge while I mangled a few songs on one of my Ukes. 

So what did I learn on this first serious trawler trip? Well, a sustained 15 knots with miles of fetch is right at the limit of what is comfortable, at least for now and at least for us. Much to my surprise, given all that I have been told, heading straight into the waves is far more uncomfortable than having them on a port or starboard, fore or aft, corner. Most important (not really) the new microwave will go flying out of its three-sided cupboard and hang at the end of its electrical cord when the boat is bashing into the waves. Oops. The good news is it still works. It will also take a while to get used to what is the normal vibration / noises radiating off of this thing. Three hundred ponies, even if they are running at an easy trot, shake the works a whole lot more than an anemic collection of 30 or so corralled on Kintala. Also (and this is just an impression) a sailboat sort of glides through the water. First Light just bashes it out of the way. It will take a while for my old mechanic's brain to parse what is normal noise and vibration from that which might be foretelling a problem. Before we leave here the microwave and knife block will have to be secured. The upper helm charging port isn't working and, for reasons yet to be determined, we had to call the dock master on the phone as neither our ship's radio or our hand held seemed to be transmitting. Life on a boat, fixing things in pretty places. 

So here we are, back on the water and visiting places we haven't visited before. I'm sure there will be more kinks to work out as our trawler living experiment goes on. But, finally, more that four months later than we had planned, and carrying a few hard earned scars, we are heading north and traveling on a boat. It has been a good day.

Slightly before first light—the view on the way back from the head.

Farewell Oriental

Roo in his happy place at the helm