Ain't no lions and tigers. Ain't no mamba snake.
Just the sweet watermelon and the buckwheat cake.
Everybody is as happy as a man can be
Climb aboard little wog and sail away with me.
Sail away. Sail away,
You can cross the mighty ocean into Charleston Bay.
Sail away. Sail away,
You can cross the mighty ocean into Charleston Bay.

Randy Newman

Out of Florida

From the Captain

3/31/14 St. Augustine to mooring ball at Fernandina Harbor Marina, Fernandina Beach, FL,57 nm.

The Bridge of Lions in St. Augustine opens every half-hour, and we were on hand for the 9 am opening. There is no friendly repartee with the bridge keeper as there is in some other places. "This is the sailing vessel Luna. We are heading north on the ICW and would like to pass at the next opening."

"If you're here, you can come through," the bridge keeper replies, implying that time, tides, and the Bridge of Lions wait for no man. He said the same to two other sailboats that were going through at the same time as we.

Gradually, the mangroves and palms of southern Florida gives way to the marsh grass prairies of the southern mid-Atlantic states and the stately spreading live oaks draped in Spanish moss. The tightly packed waterfront homes are spaced further apart. At times, empty marshland is all that we see.

As we motored north, we had a radio conversation with the other two boats. They both wondered if we had made this trip before. "Yes," we said. "On the way down." "Good," one of the other boat captains replied. "You can lead us through the shallow parts."

We didn't remember any shallow parts, but Luna assumed the lead in a little parade of three boats. It turns out there are shallow parts up by Amelia Island, and we are passing through at a neap tide, the low, low tide the accompanies the new moon. We follow the advice of Active Captain on the iPad that tells us the best routes to follow.  On the radio, we call out the depth readings to those behind us. None has a problem with grounding

Paul and Kathy, from New Brunswick, on their 41.5 foot Beneteau, Lucia, were most interested in our plan to make the off-shore passage to Charleston and asked if they could join us. We are happy, of course, to have a buddy boat. We had adjacent moorings in the harbor and made plans for our passage on the VHF. Both boats had dinghies stowed aboard, and neither crew was inclined to take their dinghy down to make the trip over to the other boat. So we never actually had a chance to meet them.

We filled the diesel tank at the Fernandina Harbor Marina, and the friendly staff allowed us to leave Luna there for as long as it took to walk to nearby Atlantic Seafood to get some fresh shrimp and a grouper filet. We didn't spend much time in the city on our return trip but got closer than we wanted to a part of it.

On our trip down, Luna, disabled in Cumberland Island, was towed in at night past the mills of Fernandina Beach. There was steam coming out of many chimneys, noise, bright lights, and a terrible odor all combining to make us think at the time we had entered the gates of hell. In the mooring field tonight, the constant hissing of the steam boilers sounded like a Vermont winter windstorm on this otherwise peaceful night. And the odor led me to think, "Guess I picked the wrong week to fix the holding tank."

The guidebook tells us that the city was founded by Union soldiers who occupied Amelia Island during the Civil War. This by way of an explanation for why the little downtown area looks so much like a New England village. The soldiers apparently liked the climate better than that of home. No surprise there.

The Southerners, defeated in battle, won the war by establishing two humungous paper mills on either side of town. If the cute multicolored buildings in downtown were a shelf of library books, the plants would be bookends. And one of the plants is directly in front of the mooring field.

In a state not generally known for its commitment to urban planning, placing these plants on the waterfront next to the downtown was a colossal failure of foresight. Of course, who knew how desirable riverfront land might be someday. The shame is that Fernandina Beach is a delightful little town otherwise.

Paper mill, Fernandina Beach

There are trains that must be bringing wood chips to the plants. You can hear their horns all night blaring the standard train horn cadence: Long…Long…Short…Long. Not the mournful freight train sounds of the southern folk songs. At two in the morning, the snappy reports became the bark of the heady underworld dog, Cerberus, on guard that those trapped in the netherworld between these plants do not escape.

If I were Fernandina Beach, I'd surely make my getaway. Lure Cerberus away with a busload of Tea Party Republicans, who think urban planning and other government functions are unnecessary. Get all the Fernandina locals together to make an exact cardboard and wood model of the town and its residents. They can do it. I've seen it in a movie. They'd do it for Randolph Scott.

While Cerberus is occupied with the Tea Party, the residents can move the town and replace it with the models to fool the tourists passing by on their boats. Under the cover of night, bring the town down to the southern end of Amelia Island, next to the new Hilton condominium resort. That would be a nicer place for it. Or better yet, pick up the paper mills and move them down there.

4/1/14-4/2/14 Fernandina Beach, FL, to Charleston, SC. Charleston Harbor to Price Creek anchorage. 175 nm.

Our mooring fee ($20) entitled us to the marina showers, so before departing for Charleston, we motor Luna back to the fuel dock and left her while we bathe. We are timing our departure to the current. The marina staff advises waiting for an outgoing current to exit the inlet. Slack current is at 11:30 or so. By leaving at 10 am, we will not have an ebb current, but the incoming flood will not be very strong. The strategy proved effective. We had no problem with the calm inlet.

The shore of the southeastern U.S. above Florida bends westward. By following a rhumb line from the Fernandina inlet to the Charleston inlet, we are soon over twenty miles off shore and out of sight of land. A light easterly breeze allows us to set both sails and motor sail north at 6.5 kts. The seas are calm.

Later on, the wind clocks to the southwest, directly aft of us as we head northeast. The swells pick up. The waves are larger and come every four seconds. We sail with jib only for awhile, but the wind decreases, and the seas continue to increase, buffeting Luna and making control of the jib difficult. For a time, we make a series of long gybes around the rhumb line, but as the wind decreases to 5 kts toward morning, we furl the sail and continue under motor.

The sky show was worth the price of admission. A crescent moon, bright against the barely luminous shadow of the moon circle itself, set early. The stars were distinct. A meteorite looked so large it might have fallen into the ocean not far away. Shortly before dawn, Venus rose large in the east, casting a lighted shaft on the water.

We were concerned about busy shipping lanes around Brunswick and Savannah in Georgia and in Charleston itself. One large freighter crossed our path before dark. We altered course to go behind it. We saw just one ship at night. It was some sort of cruise ship with lots of lighted windows. Perhaps an off shore gambling ship returning after midnight. We could see its red port bow light far off. There was a low white light on its bow and a higher white light on a mast further back. From the configuration of lights, we knew it was traveling in the same direction as Luna.

Ocean freighter at sea

As time passed, the two white lights got closer together. The ship was turning. The lights were closer to us. Then we could see the green starboard light, and the white lights were in a vertical line. The ship was coming right at us. And it was getting closer.

Of course, it was turning, and after a few anxious moments, we saw the white lights begin to separate, and the red bow light disappeared. At that point, it was heading away from us, and we could relax. We kept a watch for other ships, but there was very little boat traffic after the cruise ship.

We met two other sailboats on the night time sea. West Wind and Twitchin appeared as two lights in the distance. We established radio contact. The skipper of Twitchin, apparently sailing single-handed, announced he was going to take a two-hour nap. He asked us to call him if we saw anything of concern. We could see his light behind and to the east of us as the boat followed on autopilot. The cruise ship that concerned us was not on a course that took her near Twitchin.

It was an uneventful crossing, but tiring. The autopilot, an object of so much hope and attention, disappointed us once again. Keeping the boat on course required great attention. The commander and I steered in 90-minute shifts, shortened to an hour as the air became colder in the early hours.

Out in the ocean, marked on the navigation charts, are artificial coral reefs. One is a collection of subway cars. One is an old tugboat. A couple are sunken barges. This certainly gives me an idea for a good use of Luna's autopilot.

We had thought of doing another offshore passage from Charleston to Cape Fear, NC. The forecast, however, promises more of the same as last night. Literally more. Winds are 15-20 kts from the SW, and seas 4-6 feet. We think of another cool night trying to run northeast before the wind and following seas and decide we'll take the inside route.

Once in the harbor, we say goodbye on the radio to our unmet friends on Lucia. All through last night, we kept in contact out in the ocean. When it got dark, we asked them to lead. Their auto pilot kept them on course, and their white stern light provided a star for us to steer by. In Charleston harbor, they continued west to the city marina, while we turned north up the ICW. We exchanged email addresses on the radio. I commented they were the best friends we never met.

We followed the ICW to Price Creek, 12 miles north of Charleston on the barrier islands. It was one of our favorite anchorages when we were southbound. It's a wide and deep channel that connects the ICW with the ocean. There is a strong tidal current here, but the anchor holds the sandy bottom with a seemingly unbreakable grip. There is marsh grass all around. There is a sunset. There is the ocean not far away. There is another sailboat anchored up the creek. There are one or two fishing skiffs coming by. There is nothing else.

On the way down, because of the current, I was awake frequently checking Luna's position to make sure she hadn't moved. This time, I gave it a brief thought and slept soundly all night. Both times, Luna remained right where we set her.

4/3/14 Price Creek to Prince Creek, Waccamaw River, SC. 60 nm.

Above Price Creek on the ICW, civilization largely stops.This is the most remote, and to us, the most beautiful part of the Waterway. The channel leads through marsh grass wetlands with forests behind. There are evergreens, and the light green of the first leaves of spring. Some trees near the water have red or pink flowers.

A dolphin surfaces near our port quarter. He swims along with Luna at about 6 kts. We see his dorsal fin just below the surface. He arches up for a breath and continues to shadow us. I'm confident it's a "he." The tour guide on the sunset cruise in Sanibel told us females usually travel in groups of two to four. Males travel alone. I'm also confident our guy has excellent hearing. "Get the cam…," I say to the commander. Before I can get to the second syllable, the "mer," our friend is gone. Perhaps he is a wise old teacher, this Zen dolphin, reminding us to experience each moment in the present. To approach the world with a sense of joy and thankfulness and wonder. And to avoid the futile conceit to think we can own or relive each moment with a photograph. We always feel blessed when these creatures are around us.

Occasionally there is a house. There are a few parks, and people are fishing and launching small boats. Everyone waves as we pass. There is a narrow canal that leads to the Santee River. On the Santee, I look up from my position at the helm and see two great birds flying circles high in the sky. I am thinking, "Eagles." I imagine one of the birds going into a vertical dive and streaking to the water. He comes up with a fish in his talons. The fish, either dead with the initial strike or completely resigned to his place in the food chain, is placid in the eagle's grasp. The eagle flies away to an unseen nest high in a tree beyond the banks. Suddenly, it is all clear to me, and I think, "Yes, yes! I do believe in Santee claws."  Fortunately, my turn at the helm is done, and the commander relieves me before I am swept away in the stream of consciousness. The birds turn out to be common turkey vultures, the kind we have in Vermont. I retire to a book I am reading.

Barge and tug pass by on Santee River

Steaming up the Santee, a tugboat hauling a barge hails us on the VHF. He is on the way to Georgetown, SC, and is going to pass us. He advises us to stay to the red (right) side of the channel. He goes by, we cross another canal into the Waccamaw River, and we have the world to ourselves. After the busy waterways and anchorages, it is an unsettling, but altogether wonderful, feeling.

The Waccamaw is wide and wild, in the sense of uninhabited. We are going against an outgoing tide but have a favorable wind on our quarter, so we put up the jib the catch this. We pass Jericho Creek, where we anchored on the way south. We are headed for Prince Creek. We explored this coming south. It is a horseshoe that connects with the Waccamaw on both ends. It was a lovely detour, and is a spectacular anchorage. Maybe the best yet.

anchorage on Prince Creek, S. Carolina

The creek is deep and wooded on both sides. There is a lazy current flowing through. It smells wonderful. We find a wide spot and drop the anchor in about 20 feet of water. Because we don't want Luna to swing into the banks when the tide turns, we put out a stern anchor as well. But for two great white herons roosting in a nearby tree, we still have the world to ourselves.

4/4/14 Prince Creek to South Harbor Village Marina, Southport, NC. 61.7 nm

We have been logging the miles recently. Our goal is to reach my brother's place in Carolina Beach before the next cold front comes through in a couple days. We'll stay at his house until the north wind and cold weather subside and then continue northward. The commander has a note from a friend on Facebook. Spring seems to be happening finally in Vermont. The snow is melting. The ice is off the driveway. The air is warming. Crocuses will be blooming soon.

We pull the anchors up at our usual time, 7:15, taking a few moments to enjoy the loveliness of the creek in the early morning light. Out on the river, the day is sunny and warm. The waterway is deserted as usual. The trees seem unusually close and inviting. It's the kind of day to make your heart sing.

My heart is singing. It is that fine a morning. The birds are singing. The world is singing. In my head, James Taylor is singing:

In my mind I'm going to Carolina
Can't you see the sunshine, can't you just feel the moonshine
Ain't it just like a friend of mind, hit me from behind
Yes I'm going to Carolina in my mind  


Our usual morning routine, on travel days, is to be on the water near first light, now around 7:30. The commander takes the first shift while I make a cup of coffee. Then I take over while she has breakfast. Having finished that, she takes the first 90-minute shift while I have breakfast. Doing the breakfast dishes usually falls to me.

The Waccamaw gives way to a dug canal before petering out to the north near Myrtle Beach. Civilization begins. Large tracts of woodland are gone. Garish houses face the waterway. Some are so close together, you could nearly touch both with outstretched arms. There are empty spaces for houses yet to be. Elaborate lawns and walkways extend toward the water. There are few trees.The commander observes: "South Carolina has some of the prettiest, and the ugliest, parts of the intracoastal."

ICW on the Waccamaw River

ICW by Myrtle Beach, S.C.

And then we are in North Carolina, which feels different somehow. There are more people sitting on their docks, fishing, watching the Waterway. Someone snaps a photo of Luna as we glide by, genoa full in the quartering breeze. It's the first time I've felt like part of the scenery.

The tide is not in our favor in the beginning. We are averaging about 5 kts. The weather, so nice at the start of the day, looks like there might be rain. We are trying to make Southport, but we won't be able to get this far by dark. We start looking for marinas, as there are no anchorages along this stretch of the ICW.

We find The South Harbor Village Marina in the guidebooks. It is right on the waterway, and they have a space for us on their face dock at $1.20 per foot. There is a seafood and an Italian restaurant on site. Bill, the manager, has a Vermont connection--his girlfriend lived near Burlington and worked at the hospital there. We'll be about 25 miles from Carolina Beach, and should have an easy run there in the morning, before the front comes through later in the day.

We tell Bill we should be there between 6 and 7 pm at the rate we're going. He says he'll wait for us. But then, the current turns, and we're making up to 8 kts with genoa flying. We slow down around the inlets, but arrive at 5:30 pm. "I knew you'd be here sooner than you thought," says Bill.

Sunset at Price Creek anchorage welcomes us back.