Hilton Head

The past few days have been spent safe in the arms of friends and family at Hilton Head Island. Once again we were able to sail and motor sail more than anticipated. So the half-day jaunt from Beaufort was a pleasant ride down the river and across Port Royal Sound.

As luck has it, our friends in Hilton Head live a short walk from the safest anchorage in town. The cruising guide we have been using on the trip down the ICW (Skipper Bob, highly recommended) says of the two anchorages recommended in this part of the island that one is better and only has room for one boat. We are that boat, anchored just north of Green Day Beacon 11 on Skull Creek.

Cupcake is anchored a few hundred feet from the Skull Creek Marina, and Ellen prevailed on the marina staff to let us tie Mr. Flowerpot to their dock during the day when we are visiting on the island. This would not be a good spot for a cruiser with nobody to assist them ashore because there is no easy access to anything but golf courses. We, however, have Pennie and Alan who have opened their home to us. And we have my parents who flew down for a visit this week. Perfect.

It’s fantastic to see everyone. I have known Pennie and Alan since I was born (Pennie is my mother’s childhood friend…we found out the two of them learned how to smoke cigarettes together when they were in 10th grade…the first of myriad vices to which Moss has been exposed this week) but can’t remember the last time I saw them. It’s been at least ten years. I have also known my parents my whole life. And not seeing them since July was too long.

Our days have been passed visiting, swimming, and eating. Such good meals.

Laundry day.

Yesterday we took my parents for a great sail across Port Royal Sound and back. Dad rode with us out to Cupcake with us a few days ago just to see the boat, and was treated to a dolphin visit. So Mom wanted her share of dolphins too. She got to see about four of them as we sailed up Skull Creek on our way to the Sound.

Now we are at the house alone while the grown ups are at some sort of charity event. We are using the time to do laundry, gorge on wifi, and spread out our route planning materials on the big dining room table.

The route-panning master.

About those vices. When we arrived, before my parents’ plane had even landed, Alan offered us all cold drinks. Ellen and I each had a beer, Moss had a lemonade.

But when Alan brought it to her, it was a bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Moss was appropriately skeptical (she can read labels, after all) and didn’t take a drink until I checked it out. When she found out it was booze, she was wide-eyed and appalled.

The next day, Moss and I were playing Gin. Alan came over and taught Moss how to play for money, how to bet, how to count points.

And the day after that, Alan taught Moss how to play poker and how to bet at that game.

WiFi coma.

This afternoon we assume he will either teach her how to smoke cigars or crack safes.

Last night we experienced our first cold front of the season. (This is not a complaint about the temperature. It is strictly an informational paragraph. I know how cold it is up in New England right now.) The temperature plummeted 30 degrees overnight, the wind came up, gusting into the low 20s, and today is a bright, crisp, windy fall day. We once again appreciated the hard work done by Pablo the anchor, allowing us to sleep more or less soundly on a windy night.

Beaufort-bound shrimper.

Beaufort, updated

Beautiful homes and yards.

What an interesting town. Friendly people, lovely architecture, clean streets. But aside from some restaurants, this place has nothing of interest to me.

There’s a kind of restaurant I call a “Ladies’ Lunch” spot. You know the kind of place: everything that should be a sandwich is available as a wrap, no entree is filling enough, the iced tea is always infused with something, there’s an abundance of rosemary in everything, and the clientele is predominantly ladies. Having lunch.

Checked out the town arsenal.

Beaufort is a town built for the ladies lunch crowd. There are several stores with names that include words like “Market” or “Provisions” but they house no markets and sell no provisions. There is nowhere in Beaufort where a person without a car can go to buy a loaf of bread, a carton of milk, or a pound of hamburger meat. There are an abundance of places where you can buy tea towels (embroidered to say “Bless Your Heart”) for $20 each. ($20 EACH!)

Ahh, island lavender.

There is an entire store devoted to lavender. I have lived a very happy life without any lavender whatsoever. An entire store of it, be still my blessed heart.

There is a store devoted to soap. There is another store with a big sign in the window. The sign says “LOCAL SHRIMP” but you can only buy the sign, not the shrimp.

There is a store called “Olive the Above” that does not sell olives.

There was an entire rack of sun visors.

This is not my kind of town.

…and if you don’t pay attention in English class, you’re going to remain ignorant.

In the last post, you were no doubt appalled by the lack of an apostrophe in the graffiti. You should draw your own conclusions about the quality of South Carolina’s education system when you read this sandwich board we saw today.

Ellen says “maybe instead of using the school buses to haul watermelons, pumpkins, and tomatoes, they should put the windows back in and take the kids to school.”

I do not want to sound like a grump, because I am not a grump and I am not grumpy. But this town is not for me.

A bakery, at last! Oh, it’s closed. (For you South Carolinians: its closed.)

Hi, I saw your sign. I’d like to buy some…oh never mind.

Hi, I saw the name of your store and was hoping I could buy some…oh never mind.

If there are no ingredients in town, why would I need to wash my hands?

Funny thing, they have books about food.

No groceries in town. But they do have Jews.

How am I supposed to protect my bald spot with one (or 50) of these things?

I’d like the Pugs in a Blanket. (The dogs check in but they never check out.)

Beaufort, SC

Moss seems to go up the mast about once a week.

Those anchorages in the marshes are really pleasant. Lots of dolphin and fish and bird action. Significantly fewer bug troubles than we anticipated. And the stars are mighty fine. It looks like the Big Dipper is very low on the horizon in the evening this time of year at this latitude. And Orion is nowhere to be found (at least when I go to bed).

Careful readers of this blog likely noticed, in the picture of Cupcake’s transom from the October 10 post “Prepped Again” that there was a piece of rope tied around the swim ladder. You were all too polite to say anything about it, figuring we had enough to contend with and didn’t need your nosy questions. 

…and while she is up there, she takes great photos. This is Bass Creek.

One more aerial Bass Creek shot.

Well, I say never worry about asking the intrepid crew about anything! (Notice I didn’t say there’s no such thing as a stupid question. Anyone who has ever raised a child or stood at the front of a classroom knows better than that.) Anyway, the rope was holding the swim ladder together.

Back in Maine we had a local welder fix our swim ladder. The ladder has given us grief for years. We had the hinges at the top of the ladder, where it attaches to the boat and swings up and down, welded a few years ago when we noticed some cracks. That weld job was poorly done and the ladder never worked smoothly afterwards.

Last winter I had the brilliant idea of getting a ladder from a salvage boat, cutting the top foot or so off it, and having that piece welded to our ladder (after cutting off the corresponding top foot that was all rusty and poorly welded). So the local guy did just that for us in May. He even managed to slide the old ladder tubes into the new ladder tubes (which were slightly larger diameter) for added strength.

What he didn’t do is weld the joint. He soldered it or brazed it. In any event, when I climbed up the ladder to get out of the water at Cape Lookout, it fell apart. That’s why the rope. So in Charleston we found a welder who worked with stainless steel and he did a fantastic job repairing the ladder once and for all. Now it swings up and down smoothly and will not fall apart again.

The ladder was a critical piece of equipment this afternoon when Ellen used it to climb down into Mr. Flowerpot for the dinghy ride to Beaufort. Ordinarily, the crew scrambles over the side of Cupcake and drops down into Mr. Flowerpot like so many rats. But with her ribjury (that’s rib injury, a portmanteau. Go read Lewis Carroll: “You see it’s like a portmanteau – there are two meanings packed up into one word”) Ellen was worried the clambering would be too much for her. So this afternoon she used the new ladder and got into the dinghy with no problem and with plenty of dignity (which is almost a pun).

Lovely Factory Creek.

We are anchored in the most excellently named Factory Creek tonight. Beaufort, SC (not to be confused with Beaufort, NC which sports a completely different pronunciation) has a beautiful, enormous town dock but does not permit overnight docking. So we are parked across the Coosaw River from town. Our spot is protected and peaceful, across the creek not from a factory, but from a bunch of spendy waterfront homes. (Not one person on shore shouted “Hey Cupcake, do you want to come over for dinner and maybe a shower?” If you ever find yourself in your fancy waterfront home and a really pleasant family aboard a cruising boat anchors nearby, don’t be shy about inviting us in.)

Pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Ellen tells me this Beaufort is where The Big Chill, Forrest Gump, The Great Santini, and a bunch of other movies we can’t remember were filmed. 

In Mr. Flowerpot we took a shortcut through the ubiquitous marsh, crossed the Coosaw, and tied Mr. Flowerpot to the town dock. Walked around town, checked out the shops and galleries, then did what we came to do which was eat gelato and use free wifi. Moss then found a playground and ran around shouting like a pirate for about 45 minutes. 

We’ve found a really excellent radio station down here. As we’ve moved down the coast, it has been interesting to sample the local music. Despite the homogenization of broadcast radio, there are some standouts to be found. College stations are usually quite good (except when they are awful, which can also be entertaining). But for a while we were beset with plenty of religious stations and country stations. I can’t abide either although I would take a Jesus station over a country station if that was the only choice. (Fortunately, aboard Cupcake it is not). But this station (The Bridge) is great. They even have a Grateful Dead hour (admittedly it’s at 11pm on Sunday so we missed it by several hours). Rock on.

As we made our way to the anchorage, we saw a bunch of crazy cut-up school buses on the road. They had their windows removed, part of their hooves cut away, and were definitely not carrying children. A little research revealed that the buses are used for transporting watermelons. It seems schoolhouses have a lifespan (for carting kids around) of between 7 and 10 years. After that, in this part of the country at least, they are repurposed as produce haulers. The field workers can easily toss the melons through the windows to people who stack them inside, the buses can carry thousands of pounds, and buses can be bought cheaply.

Watermelon bus.

That’s my kind of wall chat. And my kind of law enforcement.

I also like this honest wall chat.

Charleston, SC

Holy cow, we have been sailing a long time and have covered a lot of miles. Today we are 966 miles from home. But that’s for the proverbial crow. Sea miles are definitely way over 1,000. 

We enjoyed our stay at St. Johns Yacht Harbor, met some very friendly people. On Friday we shared a ride to Charleston with Diane and Bill. Got that diner breakfast we had been craving. Then we went our separate ways (well, Diane and Bill went one way, Ellen, Moss, and I stuck together because we are a team) to walk around Charleston.

Snooping a back yard.

What an excellent address.

One thing we learned in Charleston is that we are not interested in buying cheap jewelry, t-shirts, fudge, expensive paintings, real estate, plastic lawn ornaments, overpriced eyeglasses, custom-made suits, pocket squares made of feathers, plaster pineapples, door knockers, or Confederate soldier hats. 

Lots of sandbags in Charleston. Tropical storm Michael didn’t flood the place, but nobody was taking chances.

We were interested in the bookstores, the history, the iced tea, and the Aleve from the CVS. Curiously, the wall chat on the historic landmark houses (that is, on just about every house in downtown Charleston) was about as dull as wall chat can be.

A sample: “Here stands the Travis Ashford house, plot #45 from the King George plot plan of 1754. The house was built ca. 1768 as a family residence. Circa 1832, a front porch was added and the siding was repainted. Circa 1876 the building was again painted. A second porch was added at approximately the same time. The garden has been weeded intermittently.” Charlestonians could take a page from the Georgetown playbook with talk of rebellion, sinkings, economic turmoil and the like. 

Halloween decorations. We assume…

The ubiquitous horse drawn carriage tours provided better historical information. Just as I tripped over a cobblestone, I overheard a tour guide mention that South Carolina has no naturally occurring cobblestones (which sounds crazy until you realize the whole eastern edge of the state is made of marsh and sand and mud…not granite and lobsters like Maine). So the cobblestone streets are built from ballast that came to town on the big sailing ships over the years.

When I collected my wits after my stumble, I turned around and saw one of the craziest sights I can remember. A woman stopped in the middle of the road and was giving Ellen a hug. Ellen, who has personal space issues•, was neither struggling nor screaming. Turns out her cousin Debbie spotted us as we were crossing and said hello and gave out that hug. Debbie and her daughters were in town for a girls’ getaway and just happened to cross paths with Cupcake’s crew. How do you like that?

Can’t resist a cupola.

After more swimming with Moss in the pool, we headed back out onto the ICW. Tonight we are anchored in our second marshy creek. Last night we were in Tom Creek, an utterly placid, lovely spot just off the main channel. Tonight we are in Bass Creek, ditto. 

Tom Creek marshy anchorage.

Curious thing about last night’s anchorage. We dropped our hook in a completely deserted, completely still creek, surrounded by beautiful marsh grasses and chirping birds. But about a mile to our south four big cruising sailboats were anchored within a quarter mile of one another in a spot that had less protection and more powerboat wakes. Despite the fact that we knew our spot was better, we still felt just a tiny bit of doubt: what do they know that we don’t? Anchoring really brings our a herd-impulse that Cupcake has learned to ignore. We know best what our boat and crew want.

Marsh girls.

So tonight after we got our anchor set, when a powerboat from New Brunswick came and anchored nearby, we felt we were doing something right.

Because Ellen is taking things very slowly since her fall down the steps, while she spends her days eating bon-bons and watching “Oprah” icing her back and moving carefully, Moss and I have been doing our best to take up the slack. So I’ve anchored the boat the past two nights, hauled up the anchor this morning, and will continue to be the anchor guy for the next few weeks, at a minimum. Ellen took over the anchor tasks years ago when I tweaked my back. It’s hard work and I have now learned to be less cavalier about saying things like “why don’t we pull up the anchor and try that spot over there?” I remember, with a twinge of guilt, the evening in Georgetown when Ellen had to haul up 75’ of chain a few times while we tried to get the anchor to set securely. She is a tough customer.

Moss gets really apprehensive in the afternoons when it’s time to anchor. Seems she doesn’t realize that I’ve anchored a boat before and that Ellen has helmed a boat setting an anchor. The back-injury has reminded us that we all need to be able to do every job on board, just in case. It also reminded us that we all need to take it easy.

Our next two days are pretty mild ones, then we will stay in Hilton Head for a week visiting family and friends. That schedule should give Ellen a chance to mend a bit.

Cruising tip of the day: If you see a guy diligently scrubbing the deck of his sailboat some morning, don’t think you are super clever by saying something like “how about washing my boat next?” I get this all the time at home when I wash the cars in the driveway. (Side note: I have NEVER seen any of my neighbors wash a car. Who lives like that? I wash the cars every week whether they need it or not.) My standard reply, admittedly not particularly clever, is something like “I don’t know, do you cook?” or “Do you babysit?” But I have a whole quiver full of much saltier replies that I will not type here because they are not appropriate for the Internet.

•Ellen takes issue with this characterization. She just proclaimed “I’ll hug anyone wearing cashmere.”

Charleston homes have fabulous flower boxes. Can’t see the Moss for the flowers.

Palm trees!

Bill Clinton just called to say he wants his shorts back.

Lucky again

Well, last night was bouncier and windier than what we prefer. But in the end we made it through the tropical storm without mishap. Nobody on Cupcake slept much last night, what with the howling wind and the choppy waves. I went up on deck repeatedly to check on and adjust the lines and fenders.

From what we experienced and heard from neighbors with wind instruments, the winds built deep into the 30 knot range and gusted into the high 50 knot range last night and this morning. By 6am when the tide turned to run with the wind, the sea state calmed down (this marina is not particularly well protected from winds out of the south) and things got much more calm.

By daylight the worst of the wind had passed, although we saw big gusts well into the afternoon.

Now the winds are calm, the river is flat, and the sun is setting.

Once we were certain Cupcake weathered yet another storm, Moss and I went swimming while Ellen continued to take it easy on her ribcage.

After the swim, we all took the courtesy car and brought the swim ladder to a welder to make a repair that was botched in Freeport. We had a piece welded onto the ladder, but the guy in Freeport who did the job only brazed it on. So when I climbed up the swim ladder at Cape Lookout, it fell apart. By tomorrow we ought to have it back installed and better than new.

In the meantime, Ellen is taking it easy so she mends more rapidly. Moss and I are in the pool several times a day, and I am putting Cupcake back together again. I even bought some stainless steel polish and have been slowly going at the salty, rust-stained tubing aboard.

Tomorrow we are going to have breakfast with dock-neighbors Diane and Bill. We are all looking forward to a grits kind of breakfast. Then we will head in to Charleston to see what we can see.

Prepped again

Last night was stressful for us because we realized Cupcake was docked with her stern towards the south and the south is the direction we expect the wind and waves to come from when tropical storm Michael hits this part of the world. Generally speaking, we don’t love docking Cupcake…sailboats don’t do their best work in close quarters. They especially don’t handle well in reverse. Throw in some stiff breeze and current and you have a tough situation for any skipper.

So I tossed and turned trying to figure what to do to get the boat turned around properly. At first we thought we would back her out of this slip and move her to another slip. But that would require backing out and another backing in. We wanted to wait until slack tide so we at least wouldn’t have the current to contend with, but by the time slack arrived, the wind was even stronger.

Finally we gave up on the idea to move the boat and accepted our lot in life. Within 30 minutes of reaching that decision, the wind died and we decided to spin the boat 180 degrees and put her back into the same slip. All this maneuvering was accomplished with the help of neighbors tugging on lines and with Moss running the engine. She was aboard and would put the boat in reverse or forward as needed while all the rest of us line-handlers wrangled the boat and pulled her back into the slip properly oriented. It was a stressful 10 minutes, but the job was accomplished with no drama thanks to Moss and her steady hand on the helm.

Ellen was no help at all. Not one bit. But that’s because this morning when we were stripping the solar panels and sun canvas (again) she fell HARD down the companionway steps. Lots of pain, and we are hoping it’s just a nasty bruise not a cracked rib. Right now she is consoling herself with an ice pack and a box of goldfish crackers. Bourbon is on the way.

Now we are once again stripped of canvas (not the sails this time) and ready for the winds. Fortunately it appears the brunt of the storm has tracked inland and whatever we will get should arrive tomorrow during daylight…much easier to take I think.

In the meantime, Moss and I went for another nice swim, then did laundry at the marina machines. We even had laundry school while waiting for the clothes to get clean and dry. A pretty productive day.

On the way to Charleston we saw a flock of flamingos roosting on a low sand bar. Lousy picture, but FLAMINGOS!

Moss says, “enough with the storm prep, let’s get to the schooling!” Also, look at that filthy boat. The yellow smear on the transom is ICW staining.

We’ve been seeing much more Spanish moss lately. This is the South.

Hurricane Michael update

Given the forecast path of Hurricane Michael, Cupcake and crew have checked into the St. John Yacht Harbor marina on the Stono River, just outside Charleston, SC.

Although the storm is likely to be downgraded from hurricane to tropical storm by the time it passes over coastal South Carolina, and the models show winds “only” in the 40-50 knot range, we thought it might make sense to park somewhere for a few days. Plus, this place has a pool, a courtesy car, nice showers, and great wifi.

Tomorrow (but not Thursday because we were told bridges could be closed during the storm) we will get a ride to Charleston and enjoy the city while we pretend we are not nervous about the storm. We will also take down the sun canvas and solar panels just in case.

Georgetown to McLellanvill

Parenting award goes to…Jonathan and Ellen.

Q: Why is Moss having difficulty as she walks around Georgetown?

A: Because of the incident with the bourbon bottle.

(It’s not what you think. When Moss opened the liquor cabinet to avail herself of the M&Ms that we keep with all the other controlled substances on board, a nearly full bottle of bourbon fell out of the cabinet and smashed her poor toe. She has been limping ever since.)

This is a dramatic re-creation using trained stunt-feet.

Saturday in Georgetown we had a busy, fun, productive day. Started out when we went to the town dock so Ellen could give me a haircut. Combine that with the shave I gave myself Friday and I was ready for a day on the town. There is no doubt I made an already hot day that much steamier.

After the haircut, we did a load of laundry at the Harborside Marina. While the clothes were sloshing in the machine, we all checked out the Georgetown maritime museum. Excellent little place (also free). We learned all about the convoluted history of Georgetown. It was a major lumber town for decades. Also a major rice producer. When the New England states had stripped their forests of pine, much of the lumber for shipbuilding (in places like Bath, Maine) came from the South, shipping in particular from Georgetown. Want to get disturbed about the rapacious nature of human beings? Read the excellent Annie Proulx book “Barkskins.”

Years ago on the far side of little Goat Island where we anchored there was a 1,200 foot long wharf where three big schooners could load lumber at once. There was a major steel-manufacturing industry here, lots of ferry traffic and commercial traffic on the rivers nearby. Hemp and exotic hardwoods and cotton and rice and lumber and steel all came through Georgetown for many years.

The Civil War saw blockades of the harbor by Union forces. A mine built in town sunk the flagship of the Union blockade fleet (two days after Confederate surrender in Charlestown).

The town is full of interesting historical markers and lovely buildings. There is great dinghy access at the town docks, the anchorage (although a little noisy on weekdays because of the steel mill and a little stinky in an unfavorable wind because of the paper mill) is calm and boasts 360 degree protection. 

Ellen’s homage to Charles Sheeler.

The Georgetown anchorage is mighty calm.

Moss needs no stylist.

Ellen got a haircut at a beauty salon called Hair-apy. Moss was concerned that Ellen was getting a perm because when we walked in, the place smelled like old ladies.

Another benefit Georgetown offers is that it is very cruiser friendly. Most of what a transient sailor could want is right on Front Street. The town is cute and interesting. The owner of the coffee shop across the street from the dinghy dock has a van (Toyota Previa for those keeping score at home) he loans to cruisers. He offered it to us this morning, so along with another couple (Canadian, friendly, traveling from Quebec to Titusville, Florida on a Nordic Tug 27) we went grocery shopping and got Cupcake’s propane tank filled.

We also went to The Strand, the local independent movie theater to watch a matinee of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor” the film about Fred Rogers. I found the movie bittersweet because Mr. Rogers, who was an important figure in my youth, embodied a type of acceptance and optimism that is utterly absent in our public figures today. Couple the movie with today’s news out of Washington about the shameless, craven, Susan Collins, and I am feeling a little bit gloomy right now.

I had been on a pretty strict no-news diet. But I joined a Facebook group about the ICW (lots of useful information) and have been looking at Facebook for the first time in years. Unfortunately lots of political unpleasantness seeps through and then I take a quick look at the NY Times or even the Bangor Daily News and I’m re-appalled at the state of discourse in this nation, at the hypocritical, self-serving politicians, at the willful blindness and selfish ignorance, at the schism in the country, and I get very depressed again. 

So I’ve decided to forego all the news, even at the expense of getting information about the ICW because I just can’t take it anymore, not even in tiny doses. 

As friendly as most everyone is around here, we were a little shocked about how ungenerous the manager at Harborwalk Marina was this morning. When Ellen asked if we could use their pay washer and dryer, she was told she could, but would have to pay a $5 premium for the privilege. She was told that $5 would allow her and Moss to shower, but if I wanted to shower as well, it would be another $5. We understand the marina is a business trying to make money, but the fee seemed both arbitrary and petty. 

In any event, we have clean laundry and showered aboard. For dinner we watched two Wallace and Gromit short films while we ate a delicious pizza we picked up in town. We will definitely come back to Georgetown on our trip north in the spring.

From Georgetown we had a short ride down the ICW to Five Fathom Creek, right near the metropolis of McLellanville. We initially tried to make it down the channel to McLellanville, but at low tide there just wasn’t enough water for Cupcake. We touched bottom, backed out, and found a different spot for the night.

Boat we saw in McLellanville. It’s 103’ long and an astonishing 22’ wide.

McLellanville shrimpers.

After everyone had a read, a nap, and Moss had some education, we dinghied to check out the 1,000 year old oak tree in town. Very cool. We couldn’t understand why Moss was utterly unimpressed. Then we all realized she thought it was only 100 years old. Moving the decimal place made all the difference.

That’s a 1,000 year old tree right behind the kid swatting a mosquito on her leg.

Monday we continued on our way towards Charleston. Initially we had  planned, upon arriving at Charleston, to anchor near town. Then as we watched hurricane Michael develop into a significant event, we decided to find more a more secure harbor for later in the week. The pretty exposed anchorages and marinas near Charleston seemed like poor choices considering what weather may be coming. So Monday morning we made reservations at a marina a little outside of Charleston. The St. Johns Yacht Harbor looks more protected, with significantly less fetch than the city options. (Non-sailors: fetch is the word for open stretches of water over which wind can build larger waves.) 

Monday afternoon we are anchored in another creek and are nestled among miles and miles of marsh grass. The water, while still not clear, is definitely cleaner. It’s khaki-colored and there have been a multitude of dolphins. Last night while I was showering, I heard a pair of dolphins hunting for their dinner just a few dozen feet behind Cupcake. 

This morning Moss was watching the world pass by when she saw a fin and shouted “shark!” It was a dolphin, but it’s good to know she is paying attention. By the way, her toe is feeling much better.

We’ve also been seeing lots of bird life here in the marshes. Watched pelicans and laughing gulls dive for fish. Saw a formation of flamingos fly overhead, looking shockingly pink. Saw a scruffy-looking bald eagle sitting on a channel marker, and another better groomed one flying across the water. And we have been seeing white birds that look like they could be terns flying about (but I have no idea because our bird book is not so good at teaching the ignorant how to identify bird species).

Three of the many areas where my knowledge is shamefully limited include identifying birds, identifying plants, and identifying constellations. I know a handful of birds, the names of maybe six different kind of plants (tomato, maple, oak, apple, dandelion, and now Spanish Moss), and on the overnight sail, Orion and Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper were all I could manage.

Picture time

Here are the pictures, as promised. We are anchored at Georgetown, SC for a couple of days before we slowly make our way down to Charleston for a few more days. The anchorage is calm, the town is super cute, but nobody mentions the enormous scrap yard/heavy industry clanking on the other side of the little bay. There, I mentioned it.

Also, it was pointed out to me that it might seem like I’m complaining about the heat. Nothing could be further from the truth. All I’m doing is observing the heat. When I heard from our pal Jim that the temperature in Maine just broke 50 this morning as he was driving to court, I had nothing but sympathy. (When I heard from our tenants that the boiler in the house is broken and the temps are dropping to 32 tonight, I felt even worse. Turns out the necessary part is not going to arrive until tomorrow at the soonest.)

Ellen, Moss, and I are enjoying free wifi at an ice cream shop in lovely downtown Georgetown. Having a snack while we wait until it’s a reasonable hour to eat dinner.

We sailed down here from Murrells Inlet today and had another delightful reach out on the ocean before coming up the river to start a couple of weeks on the ICW. We’re heading to Charleston over the next few days and then to Hilton Head to meet my parents in the middle of the month.

Anyway, enjoy the pictures.

Cape Lookout, NC lighthouse.

Ocean side of Cape Lookout.

Ellen’s friend Pablo.

And the original.

Dolphin buddies.

Pretzels: a delicious offshore treat.

Ditch bag contents. WHERE ARE THE FLARES?

Offshore sunset.

Wiped out.

Cute little Murrells sailboat.

Georgetown Inlet islet.

Moss took a selfie in the murky swirly ICW water. This stuff is extra nasty because it’s still runoff from hurricane Florence.

The ladies and Mr. Flowerpot at Bird Island, NC (near Little River Inlet).

Scary scary at the gas dock.

We were beset by little biting flies until Ellen the Fly Ninja came to our rescue.

Ellen tried to take a picture of a Pittsburgh Steelers banner in the background. But she succeeded in taking a picture of her ruggedly good looking husband.

Our placid Little River anchorage.

Gator killers.

Look at all the birds lined up on the dock, waiting to poop on the space ship.

Bird island buddies.

And of course, a selfie.

Offshore wrap-up

Happy October!

(Still no wifi. And Oh My Goodness is the cell service slow. Pictures will have to wait.)

Because we wanted to ensure a daylight arrival at the Little Creek Inlet, we figured a mid-morning departure from Cape Lookout was the way to go. So after a morning spent making final preparations, we hoisted the mainsail, motored out of the anchorage, rounded the knuckle of the Cape, and shut down the motor for a delightful broad reach.

The wind was in the mid-teens, and because both wind and seas were from behind us, we had a relaxing easy sail under just the main through the day. Ellen learned, to her dismay, that we would be farther offshore than we’ve been since crossing to and from the Bahamas in 2012. For some reason this piece of trivia set her a little on edge. I was actually surprised to see we would only be 30 miles off the coast. In any event, the distance from shore was of course not an issue.

Late in the afternoon we were joined by a pod of dolphins. Our escorts swam alongside Cupcake, played in the bow wave, and gave us a real treat for about five minutes before scooting off to other pressing dolphin-business elsewhere.

The GPS provided a constant stream of data about, most relevant to this paragraph, when we would arrive at our destination. Throughout the afternoon we were making too much progress and were worried our arrival would be before dawn. By evening, however, things slowed and we decided to motor sail to ensure we didn’t arrive hours later than was necessary.

We had been a little concerned about the alternator’s ability to charge the batteries – some partly cloudy weather coupled with many days of four fans running nonstop and the heat making the refrigerator work very hard challenged the solar panels’ ability to fully charge the batteries. So we departed with the batteries at about 75% charged. Our batteries at six years old, are already nearing the end of their service life. So we kept a vigilant eye on their state of charge during the solar-charging hours and decided running the engine would ensure they stayed healthy overnight.

When we ran the motor, the alternator would only periodically charge the batteries. Ultimately I think the relatively deep state of discharge made the alternator struggle to feed the batteries all the power they wanted, so it would get too warm and take a break. It took hours longer than anticipated for the batteries to reach full charge. Since then, however, the panels have had no difficulty keeping up with demand, and the alternator has been healthy and happy. One more item to keep an eye on, I suppose.

The journey through the night was, quite simply, exhausting. Moss stayed up most of the night, chattering to whoever was on watch. Ellen and I alternated watches, ultimately getting an hour’s rest for each hour on watch. But at around 2am when our course demanded a sharp turn to starboard as we passed Frying Pan Shoal off Cape Fear, we needed to take down the mainsail to keep it from banging and slatting in the much lighter breeze. 

The job of tying up the sail fell to me and between my exhaustion and the odd rolling of the boat, I got seasick. For hours beforehand I had felt more or less queasy, but on deck in the dark, I lost it over the side. Got the sail tied up, then Ellen gave me a precious hour to sleep while she stood an extra watch. Once I woke up and fed myself a Red Bull I was fully functional for the rest of the trip. (Ellen and Moss are laughing as I read this to them. It seems I was more than fully functional. I was manic.)

Our arrival at Little River Inlet 23 hours after setting out on our 130 mile trip was without further mishap. We motored up to a quiet anchorage just off the ICW and all went to our bunks. I was overtired and over-caffeinated so I couldn’t fall asleep. Ellen had no trouble, but Moss was a little wired as well. We relaxed for the rest of the day and went to bed early. 

As I am writing this two days after the overnight, we are all still catching up on our sleep. A full day spent without a good night’s sleep really messed with us. We have decided that more overnights are just not in our future. Despite many many sailors who profess to love big offshore jumps, despite the many benefits (the stars are spectacular at sea at night, we can cover lots of ground, things are generally safer offshore, etc.) we are day sailors at heart. 

(Side note: we prepared a ditch bag just in case we needed to abandon ship (abandon to where? Who knows?) during the overnight passage. When we get wifi I’ll post a picture of the contents of the ditch bag. We packed passports, cash, a compass, a knife, sunscreen, bug spray, a flashlight, a first aid kit, the EPIRB, Boat Bunny, a spare VHF radio. But no flares. Don’t worry mom, we didn’t ditch.)

So at Little River we relaxed for a day, got diesel and water, spent another peaceful night at anchor at Bird Island just off the inlet, and then set off this morning for a 36 mile trip down to Murrells Inlet. 

Sailed about half of the way here before the wind died away. 

Had a delightful reach 

sailing south past Myrtle Beach.

Things were good until

the wind grew still.

Ellen notes that sailing is one big art lesson: horizontal lines at sea, vertical lines with the high-rises on shore. Rectangles, triangles, circles (when there are ferris wheels). I’ll back this up with a picture later, but Ellen even thinks our anchor (a 45 lb. Mantus that we love) looks like Picasso’s Bull’s Head sculpture. She has taken to calling the anchor her friend Pablo.

This spot at Murrells is very different from anywhere we have yet been. It’s an inlet that is not connected to the ICW (which is closed between Little River and tomorrow’s stop, Georgetown, SC because of flood damage from Florence). So very few transient sailboats find themselves here. This place is all about sportfishing. Of the many hundreds of boats docked in the inlet, only three are sailboats. One of those is a half-sunk neglected 20-footer, one is a 21’ daysailer, and the third is a big cruiser that looks completely out of place surrounded by 600 horsepower sportfishers. 

When we dinghied up to a dock to ask where to find ice-cream, the dock master didn’t even know what to call Mr. Flowerpot…called her our “little boat.” Fishingboats don’t seem to use dinghies.

Anyway, there is no dock space available for transients (we didn’t really want a dock anyway) so we are anchored about 100’ off a sandy beach on the inlet lined with vacation homes. The current is very strong, and after dropping Pablo to the sandy bottom and paying out about 75’ of chain, Ellen cleated the chain and we felt Pablo dig in with a jerk and bring Cupcake to an abrupt and comforting halt. 

Tonight we’ve got beach on one side, marsh grasses on the other. It is beautiful here and we are hoping that when the sun sets the wakes from fishing boats zooming back to port will subside.

After dropping anchor early this afternoon, we took a dinghy ride about a mile and a half to the town in search of ice-cream and bread. (Found ice-cream, couldn’t find a convenience store.) Like City Island, NY it seems the best bet for a restaurant name (and this place is all restaurants and raw bars) is to name it Johnny’s something. Or to name it anything with a “z” in the name. Crazy Johnny’s. Twizted Johnny’s. Dead Sea Dogz. Bubba’s Love Nest and Crab Shack. The ice-cream shack was, of course, Twister’z.)

Ellen is making Moss her favorite dinner: fried breaded tilapia with rice. Also, we are right on schedule with our bourbon consumption. Just opened the October bottle. Yum.