Florida!

First of all, we have almost used up our WiFi allotment for the month and are about to get throttled by the cell provider. So no pictures until we get some free wifi. Sorry. Think about how tough we have it: the billing cycle isn’t up until the 19th! Even more dire: we are nearly finished with the November bourbon bottle. 

Halloween was a piece of masterful parenting and organizing by Ellen. Using bits and pieces we salvaged from the hurricane debris at the marina in North Carolina, Moss dressed as a super-cute, super-clever highway cone. We spent the day at a marina near Brunswick, Georgia (cleaning, watering, showering, dieseling, WiFi-ing, grocery shopping, laundering) and then took an Uber to Brunswick for their downtown Halloween celebration.

The event was called “Trunk or Treat” and dozens of cars were lined up on the street with trunks decorated, giving out candy and playing games (bean bag toss, etc.) The sponsors were all churches and boy do Georgians love their Jesus. Moss was nervous talking to these Georgians because she said she had a hard time understanding the accent and often had no idea what they all were saying. But candy is the universal language. We ended up quitting the trick-or-treating before we had walked the entire street because Moss found her candy bucket filled to the rim and figured that was plenty. 

After begging in the street, we went to a pizza place for dinner. Our poor waitress was without a doubt the hardest working server we can recall seeing. We all commiserated on behalf of all the schoolteachers who had to deal with the sugared-up kids the next day. Now that is frightening.

On November 1 we headed south once more, across St. Andrews Sound. The day was blustery and rainy, the route was twisty and beset with shoals (which is always disconcerting when the water is brown and the waterway is miles wide but the chart says it’s only a foot or two deep in spots). We anchored in a marsh river at the northern end of Cumberland Island in a thunderstorm. 

In the morning we sailed and motored the 13 miles down to the anchorage at the ranger station for Cumberland Island National Seashore. On the way we passed a Navy submarine base and saw a big sub just tied up to a dock. Crazy.

We went ashore on Cumberland and walked across the island to the ocean side. Our efforts were rewarded with one of the loveliest beaches we have seen anywhere. The sand was sugary fine, the beach stretched for miles and miles. Our walk took us south along the beach and we saw lots of big dead horseshoe crabs, very little plastic trash, plenty of shore birds, sand, and horse poop. 

Cutting back across the island, we checked out the ruins of a mansion built by one of the Carnegies, a cemetery where the servants were buried in a plot separate from their employers (even in death, gotta maintain class divides), lots of deer, and the famous wild horses.

Here’s the thing with wild horses: they do pretty much the same things as tame horses. They stand around swishing their tails, eating grass, pooping. That’s it. There was no stampeding, no rearing onto hindquarters, no whinnying even. Don’t get me wrong, we were thrilled to see the horses. We were even thrilled to see the massive piles of droppings wild horses leave everywhere they go. But we were not as thrilled as we would have been if there had been just a bit more thundering of hooves.

Wild horses.

On the way back to the dock Moss decided we should skip the route that took us through the woods (beautiful Live Oak, Spanish Moss, etc.) and skip the route that took us along the edge of the marsh by the river. Instead we jumped down to the beach on the river and spent a very fun hour or so clambering over big driftwood branches and logs and live trees that crisscrossed the beach. Because it was high tide, we had less beach to work with, that’s why all the scrambling. We were all most concerned about ticks (found none on us) and then slightly less concerned about meeting alligators (we found none). 

Bushwhacking on the beach

Although Moss completed the Cumberland Island junior ranger program, the rangers had all clocked out for the day by the time we emerged from the underbrush at the ranger station. 

Today we headed out the St. Mary’s Inlet for a little ocean sail down to Jacksonville Beach, Florida. The water at the mouth of the inlet this morning was without a doubt the roughest we have ever sailed. Fortunately, we had the tide with us so we moved pretty swiftly through the big, confused seas. Even more fortunately, Cupcake is a sturdy sturdy girl and managed the turmoil without the slightest problem. At the helm, I was completely confident, but with waves breaking over the bow (bigger, stronger waves than we saw off Atlantic City and in Buzzards Bay) Ellen and Moss were a little apprehensive. Soon after clearing the inlet, the seas settled and we had a pleasant enough ride down to the next inlet where things were significantly calmer.

The really exciting part of the day came when we buried the bow of the boat in a wave and as the water rushed down the side deck, some kind of big fish got scooped up onto the boat with it. At first I thought it was a big pelican that somehow ended up on deck, then I saw what had to be a 20 pound fish flopping like mad trying to escape. Ellen and Moss didn’t get to see it before it launched itself back in to the briny deep, but they heard that frightened fish flailing and pounding away on the fiberglas as it made good its escape. I don’t know what kind of fish we caught, but I do know where the expression “fish-belly white” comes from. This creature had a white belly and a greenish not-belly. Seemed like it could have been a flounder, but I know fewer kinds of fish than I do birds, plants, or constellations.

The second-most exciting part of the day was when we touched bottom making our way to the ICW from the inlet. We were in an area where Ellen estimates there were 91 channel markers. We were following the markers. We nevertheless caressed the bottom of the channel. Moss wanted to know the difference between touching bottom and running aground. Running aground involves more cursing and more time not moving.

Cumberland Island sunset

Happy Halloween

Lovely Georgia home.

Tomorrow is the day our insurance company unties our leash. We are free to go south of Cumberland Island and light out for Miami (and then the Bahamas).

In the meantime, we passed another peaceful, interesting, relaxing few days working our way down the ICW in Georgia. We are glad we did not follow the advice of so many people who say the marshes of Georgia are interminable, unpleasant, boring. The marshes are providing some of the most pleasant sailing we have seen.

On Sunday we sailed about 21 of the 25 miles Ellen mapped out for our day. As has been the case for the past few weeks, the wind is favorable and the sun is bright. The marshes don’t block our breeze, but the waters of the creeks and rivers are smooth and make for easy progress and extremely relaxing sailing. We occasionally find ourselves fighting a fierce current, but because we are in no hurry, if we are poking along at just 3 knots, we don’t really care. Invariably, the current will turn (we can’t seem to predict which way a creek flows on ebb or flood, some will switch mid-stream if they are joined by a tributary) and we are suddenly zipping along at 7 knots. Yahoo!

We are finally starting to see other southbound sailors. Earlier in the week when we were anchored up one of the many Cedar Creeks, a trio of sailboats anchored on top of each other down the way. They are part of a group traveling in the company of an experienced ICW sailor who records and then shares his GPS track so others can upload it to their chart plotters and follow in his footsteps. The idea is that if the expert makes it through the shallow parts of the day without trouble, others will be able to also. We get it, but we don’t really see either the need or the desire. Part of the fun is figuring all this out for ourselves. And really, if we three idiots can do it, anybody can.

It’s not the size of the fort that matters, it’s the number of guns.

When we anchored for the evening at Fort Frederica on St. Simons Island, it was a little side trip from the ICW. The five sailboats that passed us during the day (all under motor, none with sails up) also passed what turned out to be a true gem of an anchorage and a treat of a shore visit. We liked it so much we stayed in the placid, lovely anchorage for two nights. Our neighbors are bald eagles, shore birds, and an old stone fort.

Fort Frederica was the one of the southernmost British forts on the east coast during the Colonial period, and it was built to keep the Spanish in Florida from coming north and threatening Britain’s cities Savannah and Charleston. The fort was not particularly massive, but it didn’t need to be because for a ship to get close enough to fire on the fort, it would first have to make its way over a mile of twisting river being raked by cannon fire from shore.

Cupcake would be riddled with cannon holes before she had a chance to get her guns to bear.

The park even had this super water fountain for dogs. Or cats.

In addition to the garrison at Fort Frederica there was a town of about 800 people within the walls. The general at the fort was a bit of a martinet and settlers decamped to Savannah and Charleston pretty regularly. There were some skirmishes over the course of the fort’s two-decade history. General Ogilthorpe went down to St. Augustine and fired cannons at the fort for a few weeks with no effect whatsoever. Then the Spanish made a foray up the coast, burning British settlements and outposts along the way. Ogilthorpe stopped the Spanish at Frederica but was later court marshaled.

After the British and the Spanish made peace, the garrison was pulled out of Georgia and the town declined rapidly and was pretty much a ghost town within a decade or two.

This is the view up Broad Street, Frederick, Georgia.

Ok, so this is going to sound like something I made up, but it is not. I asked Moss about this Playmobil cat she has in her room. She explained to me it is trans-species and identifies as a dog. I wonder what Trump has to say about which water fountain it can use at the National park.

Private Moss Handelman

We toured the ruins, following the excellent Junior Ranger program the National Park Service put together. Moss worked hard and we all learned a great deal about life in a colonial backwater in Georgia. 

In Georgia, a common colonial building material was called “tabby.” It was made by mixing oyster shells, lime, and sand.

Another thing we learned is that Spanish Moss (Tillandsia usneoides), an epiphyte (non-parasitic plants that grow on other plants but derive their nutrients and moisture from the air), is lovely but is home to all sorts of nasty critters. Creatures like ticks, mites, millipedes, spiders, rat snakes, and bats hang out in Spanish Moss. The colonists often used Spanish Moss to stuff their mattresses. I’m getting the itchy heebie-jeebies just typing this paragraph.

One of the old cheek blocks.

Sailboat maintenance update: I went up the mast to replace two damaged cheek blocks that we use for our lazy jacks. (Landlubbers: a cheek block is a pulley that bolts to a flat surface. Lazy jacks are a web of ropes we use to keep the mainsail from spilling all over the deck when we lower it at the end of the day.) The task involved screwdrivers, vice grips, drill bits, and a rivet gun. All this while suspended in the air. This is one of my favorite things about sailing – problem solving and boat repairs.

After the cheek blocks, the next job was to reset the wifi antenna at the top of the mast. The antenna stopped working when we were in Charleston and hitting the reset button 53’ above the water was my last-chance attempt to resolve the issue. Seems to have done the trick.

New cheek block. It’s not a pretty installation, but who’s going to see it (besides the thousands of blog-watchers)?

Captain Ellen on deck.

That’s my shadow there at the very top of the mast.

Finally, we have a 56’ bridge we need to go under in Florida but until this week, had no idea exactly how high our mast stands. Careful work with a tape measure reveals that the top of the windex (wind indicator) and wifi antenna are 53.5’ above the water. Our VHF antenna stands another foot or two higher but is flexible. So we know we can make it under the Julia Tuttle Causeway Bridge. That comforting piece of information means we can get Cupcake to Aunt Kathy and Uncle Larry’s dock when we are in Miami. Warn the neighbors: here we come.

At least 33% of the crew is buzzing with excitement about Halloween. She will be dressed as a highway cone. We’ve stopped for the night at a marina near Brunswick, Georgia so Moss can go door to door begging for chocolate.

An unknown colonist buried in an unmarked tomb in a Georgia ghost town.

“Hey Moss, move just a bit to your left…”

Palmetto trunk.

New policy aboard Cupcake.

We see lots of marsh grass, so you get to see it as well.

Marsh view.

Another marsh view for your enjoyment.

Sailing the marsh river.

Palmetto AND marsh grass.

Sometimes we are reminded that the ICW is also used by commercial vessels.

I tried to line up Cupcake so Moss looked like a unicorn but without my old-man reading glasses I couldn’t manage.

And what would a blog post be without a selfie from Ellie?

The Foodie Post

Strange as it is for me to say this, I really like Georgia. Salt marsh Georgia, to be specific.

Last night was our second at Kilkenny Creek, Georgia. The plan was to hide out from a windy rainy day (that turned into a pre-winter storm for the Northeast). So yesterday passed with us getting lots of reading and schooling and napping taken care of. 

Because the cruising guide made strong recommendations for the restaurant at Kilkenny Creek (actually, the guide said we should dinghy, swim, or do whatever it took to get to the restaurant), we went, and it was outstanding. The place is called Marker 107 (after the buoy that marks the entrance to the creek) and was a real gem. We expected honky tonk fried eats, but were treated to a pretty hip location with excellent service and food. We had the fried okra appetizer, and now okra is the crew’s new favorite vegetable.

Yesterday was a grit-a-thon for me. My day began when I made myself two eggs (over easy) on a bed of Palmetto Farms grits. So delicious. Skipped lunch by accident (we were sailing too well for me to be distracted by things like food). And then I had the shrimp in a bacon cream sauce over local yellow grits. It was fantastic. 

I am not a food guy. If a pill were developed that I could take instead of eating, I would choose the pill most days. Especially for breakfast. But man, what a great meal. The view over the marsh was sublime (and not just because we could see Cupcake sitting pretty at anchor). Even the music playing at the restaurant was wonderful (we walked in as the Grateful Dead were on, what could be a better start?)

Moss started taking a much more active role in the anchoring. The other day I forced her to run the helm during the raising of the anchor. She squawked about it of course. But since then, she has at first reluctantly agreed to take the helm, and this morning she requested the task. So now I act as relay and Moss steers the boat and runs the engine to either motor the anchor out of the Georgia mud each morning or to set it good and solid at the end of the day. Today when Ellen got the anchor on the bottom, paid out 75’ of chain, tied it off at the cleat, and Moss put the boat into reverse, the anchor hooked up so solidly it was like we backed up into a wall. We are safe and sound tonight, that’s for certain. (Of course, if the wind shifts at low tide, we will probably wind up high and dry on a mud bank, but that’s not the point.)

So back to salt marsh Georgia. Lots of cruisers complain about the twisty, turny route through the marshes. The ICW down here is by no means a straight line, so if you are interested in hustling along, it’s a tough place to make tracks. But since we are not allowed south of Cumberland Island, Georgia before the end of the month (our insurance company made that arbitrary rule…somehow they figured North Carolina in September was safe enough, but northern Florida in October was not) we are not in any hurry. And maybe we are lucky in that the cool, windy weather we’ve been having is keeping the worst of the bugs away. (We have learned some tricks to keep the no-see-ums out of the boat in the evenings.) But the sailing has actually been excellent. The marshes offer next to no protection from the wind, so we get to sail in decent wind on these really flat calm rivers and creeks. It is a thrill to be zipping along under sail at 6 or 7, or today, with the tide, 8 knots in a creek that’s no more than 150’ wide.

Open water sailing is great, but this inland business is a real treat. Also, the place is lousy with dolphins. We didn’t see any yesterday and I was going through dolphin-withdrawal until about 9:30am today when we got the first of our many dolphin fixes for the day. Phew.

One last thing, when I say “creek” is suspect readers from New England may be picturing swampy, stagnant, alligator-infested, storm-drain runoff. It’s not like that at all. The creeks are just the deep passages through the honey and vermilion-colored marsh grass which stretches for miles on either side. When the tide is high, the grasses are covered except for maybe the top 12” or so and we can see to the horizon. At low tide we ride so low in the marsh that we can’t see over the grass. It is a pretty special place.

But there is no wifi. So again, not so many pictures until we get some speedy connectivity.

The change in temperature has been dramatic and fairly jarring. One of the reasons we began our trip early was to avoid chasing the warm weather south. So if we have to suffer through a hurricane and a tropical storm but only a week of cold weather, we call that well-planned.

Thunderbolt, Georgia

The week in Hilton Head provided a wonderful chance to see my parents, visit with long-time friends, and just take break from constantly moving south. It also turned out to be the week when the heat ended and we got a taste of fall weather. It also gave Ellen a chance to heal up. Thank goodness, because hauling the anchor is a difficult job I gladly ceded back to her.

The second half of the visit passed swiftly for us and we got to tour the island a little bit, eat more good food, check out more boats, spend more time with the folks. We took a walk around Harbor Town and saw the 1987 America’s Cup winner Stars and Stripes sitting at a dock waiting to take tourists out for day sails. What a strange place for a boat that was once among the fastest in the world, among the most celebrated in its day to end up. It’s like a thoroughbred racehorse being used to pull kids around on a hayride.

In other boat news, we saw this crazy Catalina that has been extensively modified. It’s got stainless steel tubing instead of lifelines, an 8’ bowsprit, an inner forestay, a huge anchor windlass, and a beefy stainless steel self steering rig. It also has been sitting at the dock long enough to grow a Gandalfian beard of seaweed.

We saw the vast majority of the interesting wildlife in Pennie and Alan’s back yard. A little green tree frog joined us for lunch two days in a row, a lizard snuck into the house, and a praying mantis showed up one afternoon. We also saw my parents in their natural habitat: reading in the sunshine.

After saying our goodbyes on Monday night, we got a late start Tuesday and sailed the short jump to Dafuskie Island. It’s a former plantation that was abandoned when the Union soldiers invaded during the Civil War. After the war, freed slaves returned to, essentially the same miserable conditions they experienced before the war, working on the plantation. When the boll weevil destroyed the cotton industry, Dafuskie struggled for decades, then boomed briefly before the Depression when a casino was built, then descended back into more or less its current state of genteel neglect and poverty.

We had heard it was an island both culturally and physically separate from the mainland, and were eager to see a Gullah community. (Gullah are the descendants of African slaves who have inhabited the region and maintained a distinct culture for generations.) What we saw was a bifurcated island: the majority of the place seemed to be abandoned houses or houses that should have been abandoned, with trash strewn about, dead cars in the yards, and not much sign of anything going on. The rest of the island had scattered developments – some charming houses in the middle of the island, some big condos and fancy houses on the water. No stores, one closed restaurant, a few tourists from elsewhere driving around on golf carts. 

The island is no more remote than a boat ride across the 100 yards of ICW that separate it from the mainland. Hilton Head Island is about two miles away. We certainly respect the fact that people live how they wish and can, but we don’t see any magic to the place. Maybe we didn’t look hard enough.

What we did find, without looking for it at all, was mosquitos. More mosquitos than we have ever had to contend with anywhere. (Remember that we live in Maine, have visited Minnesota, and know our mosquitos.) We also found a guy on the beach, fishing. He caught a little hammerhead shark. That’s a crazy looking creature. I asked Ellen to stand near the shark for scale. She said, “No way. Why don’t you ask to put that lady’s baby on the sand for scale since it’s about the same size.” You should have seen the look of horror on the new mother’s face. Sorry I didn’t get a photo of that.

This morning we left our calm anchorage up a side creek near Dafuskie and headed just a little bit down the Waterway to Thunderbolt, Georgia. Sailed pretty much the whole way, which is always a treat on the ICW when the route is all river. The wind was blowing well into the high teens today and we were all wearing sweatshirts. I added a windbreaker over mine because my blood is thinned out in preparation for the Bahamas. 

(Pictures when we get wifi, but you really want to see the hammerhead, so I’ll burn a little cell credit for you.)

One shark = shark infested waters.

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.