On to the Chesapeake Bay

From the Captain:

4/22/14  Durant Island to Dismal Swamp Visitor's Center, Camden, N.C. 50 nm

The cold front has truly passed. The sky is clear, and the wind is from the southwest, about 10 kts. We are heading north and raise both sails. Luna hums along. This is a nice day. The payback for the past few days of rough sailing continues.

The trip across the Albemarle Sound is going well. We enter the Pasquotank River toward Elizabeth City. We pass a huge Coast Guard air station with large hurricane-resistant hangars for their helicopters. We look over and see a fast orange runabout coming at us from the station. As it nears us, we can see the uniformed officers, sunglasses, guns of those who protect our shores. They pull up along side. A young officer introduces himself and says they are going to board us for an inspection. "Do you have any weapons aboard?" he asks. We don't. I wonder what would happen if I said, "Yes."

The inflatable boat pulls up along side. "Maintain your course and speed," he orders. He and another climb on board as we move along. He examines our life jackets, our fire extinguishers, checks the bilge for oil, checks our documentation. All is in order. He looks at the valve for the holding tank to make sure it is locked in the closed position while we are inland. It is not. He allows me to affix a nylon zip tie so it will pass inspection. He looks for a sticker saying it is illegal to dump oil in coastal waters. We find this in the cockpit locker. He looks for another sticker in the galley that notes it is illegal to dump trash or garbage in the water out to the three-mile limit. We don't have one of those, and he happily provides one. "Put this somewhere in the galley," he directs.

The sticker is large and says what one would imagine it would say. You can't dump garbage or trash in the water. Beyond the three-mile limit, it is acceptable to dump garbage cut into small pieces. It is illegal to dump plastic anywhere. I put it up behind to door under the galley sink.

Luna passes the inspection. We get an official paper to that effect, and the boys take off. Very efficient and professional, just like you would like our soldiers to be.

The commander at the helm says, "We'd better get the sails down." The Coast Guard boat left as we approached Elizabeth City, where a drawbridge waits. We quickly drop the main and furl the jib. We motor past the Elizabeth City public docks, waving at the official greeters, who were hoping for a visitor on this quiet day.

Spring in the Dismal Swamp

The Dismal Swamp looks delightfully familiar. When we came south in November, the trees sported muted fall colors. Today, there are springtime leaves, small and light green. At the edge of the dense woods, dogwood blooms. Lavender wisteria hangs in clusters from some of the trees. Birds call, hidden in the foliage.

There is a lock and a drawbridge at each end of the canal. They open only a few times a day, and the last opening is at 3:30. We will have to anchor somewhere at the southern end of the canal if we don't make the opening. Even with the Coast Guard inspection, we should make the opening in plenty of time. There is a boat behind us, Cat's Paw. We heard him hailing the drawbridge after we passed.  Approaching the lock, we slow down as he comes into sight.

In the fall, there were seven or eight boats tied up at the Visitor's Center dock, rafted together three deep. Today, there are only two of us. Cat's Paw, a nice 41-foot Island Packet motor sailor, pulls in behind us.

We have been talking with Phil and Nancy on the phone. They have left Emerald Sunset in Florida for the summer and are driving back to Vermont. They left Charleston this morning, will meet us at the Visitor's Center, and stay in Norfolk tonight. They provide us with some of their provisions from their boat, a couple of bottles of wine and tonic, and some great happy hour company before pushing on. Their coming and going remind us how we are looking forward to rejoining our community back home.

4/23/14 Dismal Swamp Visitor's Center to Sunset Boating Center, Sunset Creek, Hampton, Virginia. 36 nm.

The lock and drawbridge at the northern end of the Dismal Swamp is 14 miles beyond the Visitor's Center, and the morning openings are at 8:30 and 10. There is a small south-flowing current in the canal, and our speed is about 5.5 knots.To make the 8:30 opening, we figure we have to leave at 6:15. There is barely enough light to see. Cat's Paw has already gone. We see his white stern light in the distance.

In the dawn, the birds' songs echo in the forest. To hear them, Robert J. Lurtsema would have swooned in the heyday of National Public Radio. I see an otter swimming along the bank. He climbs out onto a log. Luna glides along. A cup of coffee. We are on schedule.

The bridge-tender raises the span, and we pass down to the lock. He is the most personable lock/bridge-tender we've met. At the lock, his little shelter is landscaped with conch shells given him by boaters returning from the Bahamas. He asks where we've been. "Where is my conch shell?" he asks after our sheepish answer.

The man wears a perpetual grin. He tells us about an extended trip he took with his wife through Florida and eventually over to the Bahamas. He tells us he is a champion conch-blower. "They won't let me in the contests any more because they think I'm a professional."

Of course, I bring out my conch shell. "You put your hand inside like this to lower the note," he demonstrates. "If you trill your tongue, you can get a vibrating note." He plays a little song on the shell. Satchmo of the mollusk shell. He hands me back the shell. To the commander he grins, "You're going to hate me for that."

"I know what you mean already," she replies. He has left some of his mojo on the shell. I blow into it and get a full, clear note. I put my hand in the shell and lower the tone. The best yet. The sound echoes off of the walls of the lock.  Downstream, however, I try it again--the mojo has gone.

As we prepare to leave the lock, this friendly man warns us about conditions in the Chesapeake. There are strong winds up there and high seas. He tells us of several free spots to anchor or tie up in Norfolk if we don't want to cross the bay.

The north wind is back for a day or two, but it is sunny and fairly warm. We are undaunted by the waves off Norfolk. They are not as bad as the ones we crashed through a couple days ago. The wind is slightly west of north, off our bow quarter, and we unfurl the small genoa. We are flying along at 7 knots, hitting 8 occasionally.

There are only 6 miles of open water from Norfolk across to the Hampton River. Once in the river, the waves calm considerably. We furl our sail and motor up the quiet Sunset Creek to the marina.  We'll wait out the two north wind days here. I have called a sailmaker in Hampton, and he comes over and picks up our large genoa. I change the oil in Luna's diesel engine.

Sage advice, Hampton, VA

The marina is within a pleasant walk of downtown in one direction and the supermarket in the other. We walk downtown in the afternoon. Hampton has many historical plaques pointing out the town's role in Colonial times, the War of 1812, and the Civil War. People have been sailing into Hampton since 1607, when the British colony at Jamestown was established.

The history is there, but all the buildings are fairly new. During the Civil War, the Confederate soldiers under General James Magruder set fire to the town to keep it out of Union hands. Only St. John's Church remained standing. The church, a brick structure, sits amidst an old cemetery. A large monument to the Confederate soldiers rises in front. No hard feelings for the fire. The church is nearly hidden by the unbelievably lush white dogwoods that are blossoming all around.

Historic St. John's Church

We are tourists again. We pass a row of restaurants on Queen's Way and settle on Marker 20. It's happy hour, and they are having a special: 1 pound of peel-and-eat shrimp for $10.99. Nowhere have we had fresher. Afterwards, we split a fried-oyster dinner that absolutely delights. The oysters are lightly breaded, crispy on the outside, and barely cooked within. You can still taste the ocean as you bite into them.

4/25/14 Hampton, VA, to Jackson Creek, Piankatank River, Deltaville, VA 41.8nm

We spent a second night at the marina in Hampton. I got a haircut, and the commander did laundry. We walked to the Food Lion in one direction and then walked to a fish market about a mile-and-a-half away in the other.The manager gave me a ride to the hardware store. The commander and I had lunch at the Barking Dog, a little place attached to the marina. They make a very good pulled pork sandwich.

The sailmaker called to say he completed the sail repair and would bring it back to the marina. He said in addition to repairing the tear, he did some reinforcing at the head of the sail and installed some new webbing at the clew. One thing we really appreciate about boat people is that they are rarely satisfied with good enough. He made this right for us. When we hoisted it back up the forestay, we were delighted to see that he put new telltales along the front of the sail.

We stopped at the gas dock to take on fuel, pump the holding tank, and say goodbye to the friendly staff. "Be careful. Terrible storm coming this afternoon," one of the men on the dock said.

Here we go again. More heavy weather. The day is sunny, though a little cool. There is a south wind. In the late afternoon, another front will pass, and the wind will turn strongly to the north with thundershowers, possibility of hail, and a tornado watch for the area. The Coast Guard is broadcasting alerts on the VHF.

We leave anyway, but change our destination to a closer anchorage. While I'm at the helm, the commander consults the chart and the iPad to find a place protected from the north winds and waves. We're looking for a small creek that runs east and west with places to anchor. About 40 miles north is Deltaville, and into the nearby Piankatank River flows Jackson Creek. Active Captain on the iPad describes three highly rated anchorages with good holding for the anchor and good protection from the wind. We should be able to make the Piankatank River by mid afternoon. I have a good time adjusting the sails to the brisk south wind that carries us along and saying "Piankatank." We are able to complete most of the day's journey under sail alone.

Piankatank means winding river in the language of Chief Powhaten, who is credited with the name. His daughter, Pocahantas, interceded with her father to prevent the untimely demise of Captain John Smith. Time on my hands, I read that Pocahantas went over to the English side, converted to Christianity, and took the name Rebecca. She married John Rolfe and bore a son, Thomas. Thomas' descendants include Nancy Reagan and Sen. Harry Byrd.

There are three sailboats anchored in the creek, but room for more. The anchorages are like lagoons in the narrow creek, wider areas lined with well-appointed houses, docks, and boats. Osprey soar overhead, playing in the wind.

As darkness falls, we see lightning, the heavy rain starts, and the wind picks up. We measure gusts of 35 kts, but the water in the creek is calm. This is a good place to be. Eventually, the storm passes, and we have a quiet night.

4/26/14 Deltaville, VA to Smith Creek, Lower Potomac River, St. Mary's City, MD 44.6 nm.

More heavy weather in the forecast. The day starts with a moderate north wind that will back to the west later. This will reach 25 kts with higher gusts. A thunderstorm is possible. We leave Jackson Creek with plans for a short hop north to the Little Wicomico River at the southern edge of the Potomac River

We beat across the bay toward the eastern shore, then the wind stops. We motor back northwest to the anchorage. It is mid afternoon when we get near the mouth of the Potomac, the water is calm. We consider going on to the other side of the river, a distance of 17 more miles. We look on the chart for an anchorage over there and find Smith Creek.

Here is a decision point. Should we play it safe and turn into the Little Wicomico. Or should we chance the strong west wind but get further north?

Here is the intellectual part of sailing that I really like. On the way south, the water at the mouth of the Potomac was really rough, unpleasant to cross. Now it is calm. We check the current. It is an ebb current for the next four hours. That means if the west wind comes, it will be blowing in the direction of the current, and the water will not be so choppy. We will be heading northwest, at an angle to the wind that will permit us to keep the sails up. On the other hand, if we spend the night south of the Potomac, we will have to cross it in the morning when there will be a brisk north wind. This will make for a very rough passage. We weigh the factors and decide to head to Smith Creek.

It works out. The west wind comes up suddenly as we head across the Potomac. In a matter of minutes, it goes from dead calm to 20 kts. We see gusts to 30 kts, but we're sailing with partially furled genoa only. The waves are not too high, the day is warm enough, and we make good time to the creek.

The anchorage is a fine one, a wide cove off the main branch of Smith Creek. The water is calm. There are farm houses, boats, and smaller summer homes on the distant shores. There is a small marina up another branch of the creek. There is a large osprey nest at the top of a dead tree across from our anchorage.

These out of the way creeks and coves are known affectionately as gunkholes. The term is both a noun and a verb. We are gunkholing our way up the Chesapeake and having a wonderful time doing it.

We comment on the satisfaction gained from a hard day's travel ending in a calm, protected, and secluded spot, surrounded by natural beauty. Surprised continually by the wonder of it all. Happy hour on the deck, watching the sunset. Listening to the osprey's high-pitched calls overhead. What's not to like?

Hooper Island light

4/27/14 Smith Creek to Hudson Creek, Little Choptank River, Maryland 51.4 nm

The weather forecast promised another day of cool north headwinds and big waves. This proved accurate. We set out sailing northeast in 20-kt winds and four-foot waves across the bay, and when the winds diminished as predicted in the late morning, we furled the sails and motored the rest of the way directly into the one-to-two foot waves that remained.

Crashing against the wind into four-foot waves was fun on the Alligator. It was challenging in Hampton Roads. It was interesting across the mouth of the Potomac. Today it feels chilly, and, as one may say, "Like, whatever." We soldier through it. We're on 30-minute shifts on the way to the Eastern Shore and the Little Choptank River.

On the way, we pass schools of fishing boats--more than a hundred, I'd say. They're trolling the waters of the southern Chesapeake for rockfish, the Chespeake Bay striped bass. Behind the boats, floats play out the lines. There are outboards and larger charter boats. Some big sport fishermen. We have to dodge the boats and the floats. I don't see anyone reeling up a fish. It seems like a whole lot of fuel to burn looking for these clever and seemingly well-sated critters. It's even too cold to drink much beer. But the fishermen persist. Later, I learn that the mayworms come up off the bottom of the bay at certain times in the Spring. The stripers eat them in preference to whatever the fishermen are offering.

Tanker, approaching astern

We also have two large tankers to our stern. As they near, we can see the bow and the port and starboard forward quarters. Do we see both sides equally? The ship is coming right at us. We can see the bow wave. We move off to the side so we can see the starboard side more than the port side. It takes a while for these monsters to get past us.

When they were younger, our kids used to stick an arm out of the car window and make an imaginary pulling gesture to get passing trucks to blow their air horns. It worked most of the time. I tried this with a tanker captain. Nothing doing.

Hudson Creek is a wide anchorage protected from the swells of the bay by a narrow spit of land. It opens into the mouth of the Little Choptank, and there are some surprisingly large homes along the shores. Surprising, I say, because there is really nothing much around here. No large cities, no airport. I wonder where the owners come from.

Rain and strong easterly winds are in the forecast for the next few days. Tomorrow, we'll leave for Rock Hall on the Eastern Shore above the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and wait there until the weather improves. Between that and the strong northerlies we've experienced, our fantasy of a relaxed week or so sailing around the Chesapeake has gone the way of the skipjack oystermen.

At Rock Hall, we'll be but a day from the top of the Chesapeake Bay and the canal that leads to the Delaware River.

Fishing boats in Hampton, VA