We departed Charleston on time at 7AM during slack tide. The seas were still rough from the storms that had churned off Cape Hatteras for days. Consequently, we motored up the AICW to Georgetown. Dark storm clouds surrounded us and yet the sun shined down on us all day. We arrived in Georgetown in time to enjoy a nice dinner in town.
We departed Georgetown at 6AM the next day. The seas were predicted to be five to seven feet with a wave period of nine seconds. A huge patch of yellow and red still showed on the radar offshore. We decided to make the 89 nautical mile run to Southport on the outside anyway. Although the storms reached up to Cape Hatteras, the farther north we sailed the more blue skies and sunshine we saw. In fact, the sail to Southport was the nicest day of sailing of our entire trip. A push from the ebbing tide started our day with speeds over 10 knots leaving Georgetown, which gave us a welcome head start on a long day.
By the time we reached Southport the winds blew 25 knots from the east, which made docking on the west side of the transient dock a challenge. We could not get close enough to the dock for me to catch the cleats. I threw the aft spring line into the wind at the dock hand. He did not catch it. I hauled the long line, even heavier now that it was soaking wet, back onto Island Chariot. I heaved it again. He missed it again. A little bit of childhood Bobby Sox or calf roping would have gone a long way right then. All of those ballet lessons were not serving me well. Only our pride was damaged during the event. We were settled by 5:30PM. Exhausted, we plopped on the settees in the salon and gave each other the look that means “Are you going to order the pizza or am I?”. I called Papa John’s and 30 minutes later we were devouring a large hand-tossed cheese and pepperoni with icy-cold Yuengling Lagers. Shortly thereafter we fell asleep.
Now it was Sunday morning. The cold front that had wreaked havoc across the south was due to pass over eastern North Carolina later in the day. We thought if we could be settled for the night by 3PM we would beat the rain and higher winds. About four hours into the trip up the AICW we arrived in Wrightsville Beach. We were so close to home. If we stopped now it would take at least two more days to reach Oriental. We decided to press on to the anchorage at Mile Hammock Point. If we had a do-over for that day, we would stop at a marina in Wrightsville Beach and watch the storms from the comfort of a nice restaurant.
About an hour after we passed Wrightsville Beach the rain started. It rained lightly on and off for the next two hours. No big deal. About 30 minutes out from Mile Hammock Point the winds picked up significantly. Our wind gauge was on strike so I cannot say for sure. My assessment was that the winds were somewhere between “up” and “howling”. The sky had opened up so rain was pouring. Visibility dropped to about an eighth of a mile. Finally the lightning and thunder joined in the weather symphony. John worked hard to hold our course. Simultaneously we had the same thought. “What if there is not room for us in the anchorage?” Perish the thought!
Finally we arrived at the channel into Mile Hammock Bay. John masterfully drove Island Chariot despite the winds and rain. We picked our way through the other boats and found a spot in the north end of the anchorage near the Marine Corps boat ramps. Rain poured. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed. I volunteered to go prepare the anchor. Unfortunately, I could not free the chain. We needed to move quickly as the winds made it difficult to hold Island Chariot where we wanted her. There was room for us, but only if we put the anchor down in just the right spot.
I took the helm and John went forward. Lightning flashed again. I was afraid John would be struck which made it difficult to concentrate. He released the anchor chain. I lowered the anchor. John gave me the sign to back down. I shifted into reverse and revved the RPMs to 1200. Why are we pulling so hard to starboard? If anything, Island Chariot walks to port. John hurried back to the cockpit. The anchor set on the first try. Thank you, God! Oh no. I forgot that we were towing the dinghy. John thinks he drove over the towing bridle. I think I did, not that it matters. The towing bridle fouled the engine propeller and the rudder. Either we bent the propeller shaft or we did not. We would not know for sure until John could don his diving gear and take a look in the morning.
I went down below and noticed the bilge pump was running. “Hmmm. That’s unusual.” In our stateroom I could hear water running. I told John about the water, but failed to mention the bilge pump. He thought the sound was rain through the deck drains – until he entered the room. Water was running under our rack. That could only mean one thing. The towing bridle pulled on the propeller shaft and unseated the bellows. We pulled up the floor and saw water pouring into the bilge by the propeller shaft. Are you kidding me? One day from home after seven months on the water and we are going to sink Island Chariot?! John called for his screwdriver. Like a good operating room nurse I quickly produced the tool. During the longest minute of my life, John reseated the bellows and stopped the leak. The bilge pump quickly pumped out the unwanted water. All was well.
The next morning, instead of heading for home John donned his wetsuit and air tank and went swimming. The cold front brought 47-degree temperatures. Brrrrrrrr! Rain still fell. Winds still blew. Fortunately, the lightning was gone. In only a moment John pulled himself back aboard. The propeller shaft appeared to be straight. Hooray! We did not have to call a towboat. We could continue home. Neither of us had slept well. It would take us about 10 hours to reach home. We decided to spend one more night at anchor.
On Tuesday morning we left the anchorage. The sun shone, but the winds still howled. The wind gauge actually showed up for work so we could see that the winds were 25 knots with gusts to 35 knots. It would be another long day. We unfurled our staysail for speed and stability. For several days the winds had been gusty from the northeast. Consequently, the water was stacking up. We had four fixed 65-foot bridges to clear. As we approached the first bridge, I peered through the binoculars to read the clearance marker. “63-feet.” That is not what the captain of a boat equipped with a 63.5-foot mast wants to hear. On our way south last fall when we encountered the same situation at the Wonderwood Bridge near Jacksonville, FL, we drove around for two hours waiting for the tide to go out so we could pass safely under the bridge. Now we were seasoned veterans. John was unphased. We were heeled over from the wind in the staysail. John was convinced we would clear the bridge. He was right. The second bridge clearance marker also read 63-feet. We sailed under with no problem. We progressed through the Morehead City turning basin and turned north to pass under the third bridge. Now the winds were head on and we were upright. Hmmm. The clearance marker read 63-feet. John approached the bridge at an angle so we would heel over just in time. A sudden wind gust pushed us quickly toward the western pilings under the bridge. John jammed the throttle forward and steered us to safety. With some time before the final bridge, I went below to make us a light dinner. “Hmmm…the bilge pump is running again. That is unusual…” I lifted the floor in our stateroom and water was pouring in again. The sudden jolt to the throttle must have loosened the bellows. This time we were very calm. I went up to the cockpit, handed John the screwdriver, and took the helm. John was back in a few seconds and all was well again. We had plenty of clearance when we passed under the final bridge.
The Adams Creek portion of the AICW is narrow and protected from northeast winds. What peaceful relief. The relief was short lived, however, because Adams Creek opens up to the Neuse River. Now we were three miles from home. The Neuse churned and tossed. Are you kidding me? Eight foot waves?! We felt that “elevator at the top of the building” stomach drop as we crested a wave and surfed down the other side only to ride up another wave, then another. The roughest waters of our seven-month journey were right in our own backyard. How are we going to land at our dock in these winds without help?
As we entered Pierce Creek, the winds dropped from 30 knots to nine knots. The wind direction had shifted to more north than northeast and the trees on the north side of the creek provided protection for us. Thank you, God! We motored passed our home to turn around by Sea Harbour Yacht Club as is our routine. How wonderful that our neighbors saw us pass by. When we arrived back at our dock they were waiting to greet us and to help me with the lines. How wonderful!
With Island Chariot tied up securely John and I walked up the dock to our home. Was our yard this beautiful when we left? Was our home this large and lovely? Where was the wallpaper I was so tired of? Were the weeds still in the yard? I do not know. All I could see was the whole, the beautiful whole.
So what now? I want to keep the lifestyle, the peace I had cruising. All I have to do is make the right choices…
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