North Carolina

North Carolina

The winds on the Chesapeake calmed down, and we were able to sail much of the way to Norfolk. Past the huge Navy ships in the Norfolk Naval Yards, past the container ships being unloaded at the quays by the Star Wars cranes, we anchored off the Portsmouth Naval Hospital. Aside from two unmanned boats in the anchorage, we had the place to ourselves. We wondered: “Where are all the sailboats going south like Luna?” The predominate species so far has been huge motor yachts.

Star Wars cranes unload shipping containers in Norfolk, VA

We left the anchorage early and passed Mile 0 of the Intracoastal Waterway. From here, on our GPS (and everyone else’s), our route is marked by magenta line that extends from here all the way to the Florida Keys. At this point, one can choose between two alternatives. The Dismal Swamp exits from the main channel a few miles down. Continuing straight on is the Virginia Cut. The former route has been closed since Hurricane Matthew passed through in 2016. Reports are it will open at the end of October. We continued straight into the wider and more heavily travelled Virginia Cut.

There is one lock on the system, and we passed through easily. We fell in line with a U.S. Army Corps of Engineers dredger and a larger sailboat, Second Option. We made a little parade and followed them all the way south to Coinjock, about 12 miles shy of the Albemarle Sound. On the way, the route passed through the Currituck Sound, which was open and fairly rough with the 15 kt north wind that was blowing. We took advantage of this to put out our jib and motor sailed through at a good (for us) speed of 7 kts.

Our companions stopped at the marina in Coinjock for the night, but we continued on to an anchorage we had identified on the chart. When we arrived, we found it fairly wide open, and the north wind created rough and somewhat blustery conditions, so we turned back and motored back to the marina. When we checked in, I thanked the owner for not saying, “I told you so.”

Coinjock Marina consists of a very long face dock, a restaurant and store, and not much else. The friendly dock hand tied us in the line of boats that had very little space between them. Aside from Second Option, we were the only sailboat there. The rest were (you guessed it) enormous motor yachts. One very sleek number from as far away as the BVI seemed to have no one on her. We guessed they sped up here when the threat of hurricane approached and sought shelter at Coinjock.

I asked a captain of one of the other motor yachts, Knucklehead (really??), why we were seeing so many large yachts on this trip. He said that the conditions for going outside (taking the ocean route) have been very unfavorable, so he was taking the inside route. This makes sense. I imagine a line of huge motor yachts going out in the ocean straight to Florida. Much more efficient, but then who would there be to see them?

One such boat pulled in, and the captain put 1,200 gallons of diesel fuel into the tank. More than we use to heat our house in a cold Vermont winter. The Commander and I are wondering if the number of these behemoths is a manifestation of the income equality that seems to be getting worse in this country. And we think, “And you’re going to cut taxes for these?”

The Albemarle Sound has earned a nasty reputation for rough conditions when it is windy, and we stay a second day to avoid 20-25 kt winds the next day. The day after calls for 10-15 kt winds with 2 foot waves, and we spend a delightful day sailing downwind across the bay to the Alligator River 14 miles away on the opposite side.

We have been running with a preventer on the boom. This is a line attached to the toe rail on the leeward side with a snap shackle, which goes up to a snatch block on the boom, back to the toe rail with another snatch block, to a winch in the cockpit. When the wind shifts or the mainsail gets back winded, the preventer keeps the boom from gybing. The arrangement makes sailing down wind so much easier and more pleasant, I wouldn’t be without one now. We can run wing on wing without worrying about the mainsail.

The wind followed us up the wide Alligator River, but soon the waterway became twisting and narrow and we doused sail and motored on. Off the main channel, which continues south along a dug canal to the Pungo River, we followed the river around a couple bends to a very quiet and fairly well protected anchorage for the night. Here the water is faintly brackish and tea brown, the latter from the tannins in the scrub pines, the yellowing marsh grass, and the few reddening deciduous trees that grow on the coastal lowlands through which the river and its feeder creeks flow.

An Alligator River anchorage all to ourselves.

We are in a beautifully serene spot, no one else in sight, alone with the crab pots. The sun sets over the marshes. The waxing moon rises.  We bathe in the soft water of the fairly warm river. We don’t want to get too far away from Luna, the thought occurring to both of us simultaneously: “Do you think there are alligators in the Alligator River?”

The next day, we motor and sail to Belhaven, a small town on the Pungo. Large yachts from Coinjock pass us. Our favorite, whom we’ve seen off and on since Norfolk, is Starlight, a racing green and mahogany 125-foot ship from Palm Beach, FL. She passes us slowly and courteously, and the captain from the wheelhouse gives a hearty wave. Luna and Starlight. We like that.

Starlight pulls into the Marina, but we anchor in the harbor near the public dinghy dock. We hoist the dinghy off the foredeck and take a tour of the town. Behaven is one of those Carolina waterway towns that prospered in the 19th century by lumbering the local pines and by fishing. A railroad spur connected it to trading centers up north. The town calls itself the birth place of the Intracoastal Waterway. This is because the final link of the route was completed in 1928—the interminably straight and boring Pungo-Alligator River Canal, which we just passed. The completion of the waterway allowed barges to take products directly to Norfolk, thence Baltimore and New York or overseas. Belhaven must have been doing pretty well. Then, of course, the interstate highway system changed all that.

There are large houses along the river and a couple of marinas, but the town does not seem to be thriving. Most of the shops only open on weekends, clearly catering to the summer yachting trade. During the week, only one local restaurant is open at a time because there is not enough business for all.  As in other marinas we’ve passed, most of the slips are empty. I believe many owners pulled their boats out before the hurricanes threatened, but it gives a desolate look.

Many of the large houses are for sale. Walk to the further reaches of the main street, and it’s clear there is a divide in the town along economic and racial lines. We’re heading for the post office, which is a mile out of the center of town, across the divide. People here are friendly, waving even from their cars. One man stops and offers us a ride. Another offers directions when we ask and wants to be sure we’ve found it when we pass him on the way back.

Belhaven’s one claim to fame arose from this side of the divide. Eva Narcissus Boyd was born here in 1943. She moved to Brooklyn and found a job as a housecleaner and nanny for Carole King. The latter, enamored of Eva’s voice and way of dancing, wrote The LocoMotion  for her, and Eva recorded this as Little Eva. Eva died in 2003 and is buried in the cemetery here, under the gravestone with the locomotive.

The next day presented one of those opportunities, mentioned earlier, to test our goal directedness. We left the Pungo River as it joined the Pamlico River. From there, the magenta line coursed through a narrow passage to the Neuse River where the town of Oriental is our destination for tonight. However, the Pamlico River enters Pamlico sound, another of those long, narrow, shallow bodies of water separating Carolina’s barrier islands, the Outer Banks, from the mainland, or the inner banks as they are called. There is a 15 kt northeast wind, and we can reach the Neuse River by going the long way through the sound, a course that will add about 15 miles to our day. When the wind blows over these shallow sounds, it kicks up a pretty rough chop.

So, do we follow our goal and motor the most direct route to Oriental. Or do we go the long way and have a fairly exciting sail, just for the fun of it. What do you think?

Of course, we sailed. Despite the detour, we reached Oriental by 5:30 and tied up at the free public dock. There, we met our friend, Joanie, who will join us for a few days. We had dinner at an excellent restaurant, M&M’s, recommended by several locals. Oriental has only about 900 permanent and friendly residents, but it seems full of interesting shops and restaurants, is hosting a music festival in a few days, and has the most amazing seafood dealer. At Endurance Seafood, owner Keith Bruno catches and sells fish. His fishing boat is tied to the dock in his back yard, and his cooler is an old refrigerator truck. In the morning, he sells us a two-an-a-half pound flounder, still swimming in his tank, for dinner. He cleans and fillets the fish, and we add a couple of dozen little neck clams  to our purchase for an appetizer. We put them in Luna’s refrigerator and continue south.

From Oriental, Carolina Beach is about 130 miles, and we do it in three days. The first day takes us to Beaufort, of which we have fond memories from our first trip through. However, we read that the anchorage at the town is full of private moorings now, and there are few opportunities for staying over if we wish to avoid the marinas. We anchor behind the town in Town Creek and spend a pleasant evening eating our fresh seafood and watching the full moon rise over the water.

Luna at the town dock in Oriental, NC

The next day, we stopped in Swansboro, a bit south of Morehead City for (what else?) more seafood. Captain Clyde Phillips has fishing boats and a funky store on the north side of the bridge before the town itself. He allowed us to bring Luna into his dock. “Park on the side with the shrimp boats,” he told us. We bought shrimp fresh off the boats and a pound of crabmeat. We packed it all into Luna’s refrigerator and continued south.

Tied up at Captain Phillips Seafood Dock

 Four years ago, we loved the Carolina waterway south of Morehead City. It was lined with small homes with wooden docks reaching out toward the channel. There were trees. There were couples in skiffs fishing by the channel. Now, in a fairly short amount of time, the feeling is different. There are many large new homes along the waterway. Gone are the majestically spreading live oak trees to make room for the sterile houses. Gone are the small skiffs. Now larger motor boats speed along the waterway. Before a 70 hp outboard seemed large. New boats have enormous motors, sometimes two or three. Speed is king. Size matters. Grace is gone. Punctuating the lines of large homes, occasional smaller homes surrounded by their old trees remain, though one wonders for how long.

As the Waterway nears the ocean, the tides affect Luna’s speed. Riding a rising tide through Camp Lejeune, Luna’s speed rises to over 7 kts. And that was how fast she was going when she ran into the sand bar toward the left side of the channel. Our friend, Joanie, was at the wheel, and suddenly she noticed the depth falling when we felt bump, bump, SLAM! Seven tons of boat came to a halt, and Luna was stuck fast. The commander, washing her hands in the fortunately confining head, was thrown forward, though unhurt. Luna appeared unhurt. But we weren’t going anywhere. Rocking with the motor in forward and reverse simply succeeded in turning Luna sideways to the current.

I felt the need to get off the sandbar more urgently, perhaps, because the red lights on the large sign indicating live fire exercises in progress were flashing. There was a patrol boat in the channel, and the marine waved us through. I wondered, though, if perhaps they didn't know we were in there.

I considered throwing out an anchor, or kedge, to use Luna's winch to pull her off the bar, but then I noticed a breeze blowing from the north. We could try to hoist the sail and heel Luna to leeward. This would tilt the keel off the bar. We put out the genoa and sheeted it in tightly. Joanie and I stood on the lee rail. The Commander put the engine in gear and pushed up the throttle. Slowly, Luna, heeling to port, moved forward, and suddenly she was free, lucky in the wind and the rising tide.

The early morning surf at Surf City

It’s about 2 pm, and there’s an anchorage below Camp Lejeune. However, it is a sterile, industrial looking lagoon, a launching site for marine vessels, and, other than its proximity, there’s not much to recommend it. There’s another anchorage about 4 to 5 hours away in the sound between Surf City Beach on Topsail Island and the mainland. We decided to aim for this, and we were glad we did. It is a lovely spot to the west of the channel, and you can hear the ocean on the other side of the barrier island. The moon rose, the crab cakes and shrimp cocktail were wonderful, and in the morning, we took the dinghy to shore and walked on the beach.

And finally, we reached Carolina Beach on the Cape Fear River. The segment was one of the shorter ones—only 30 miles—but in many ways the most challenging. Delays at two drawbridges meant circling in the current, and there was a constant stream of motorboats churning up and down the waterway. We spent the time dodging their wakes and watching the crowd-sourced navigation program (Active Captain) on the iPad to be sure we weren’t caught unexpectedly by another errant shoal. Since Hurricane Matthew last year and the storms this year, there are many.

And that wasn’t the end of the drama. We have reserved a space at the Carolina Beach State Park, a protected basin right off the river past Snow's Cut. I call to tell them we are on the way. The ranger notes that at low tide the entry channel depth is 4.5 feet. I check on low tide: 5:37 p.m. today. It’s 4:15, and we have about 40 minutes to go. We draw 4.5 feet. We slow down for shoals in Snow’s Cut. We reach the Cape Fear River and the buoys to the park. We’re coming in. The Commander is at the wheel. The depth finder measures less than a foot under the keel. It goes to zero. We don’t bump. With nerves of steel, she is inching forward. We enter the basin unhindered!

We have family here. My brother and sister-in-law pick us up. They deposit us at the home of the Commander’s sister and brother-in-law. Carol's sister, Lisa, will join us for the next segment of the cruise. In the meantime, we will wait here until Hurricane Nate storms up to the west of us from the Gulf Coast to New England. We’ll use the time to visit, clean Luna, do some routine maintenance, and reprovision.

Large new homes and motorboats now mark the Carolina waterway