With me heading home in 3 days, I am thinking a lot about my-last-this and my-last-that of this summer cruising stint. What is it about "lasts" that impart their poignancy? What is it that raises our expectations and gives them their added weight? I find it interesting that while typically a "last" is obvious, acknowledged and planned, it is sometimes only in hindsight that the finality of an experience is recognize. Such was the case with my "last" coastal sail of this long summer journey which, unbeknown to me at the time, already came and went over a week ago. But while this sail only gained "last" status in retrospect, at some mysterious level, we recognized its exceptionality at the time. You see, our sail from Cape Lookout some 70 miles to Wrightsville Beach, NC, on that brilliant sunny mild day, was quite spectacular - the kind of experience that makes one drop everything and take notice. There was a certain magnetic quality about that day - a rare alchemy of the seas, the wind, the air and our solitude. Eleven miles offshore, without land or another boat in sight, I could not help but be enthralled by the clear blue ocean waters as we closely grazed the gulf steam. The wind was pumping over 20 knots - but at our backs - creating large gently following seas, significant enough to warrant a certain level of alertness but manageable enough to lose oneself in the undulating rhythm. For hours upon hours, barely exchanging a word between us as if to not break the spell, we breathed in this captivating day seemingly designed solely for our unique pleasure. With elevated significance in the memory archives as a "last", I will long remember this exhilarating day.......especially in contrast to spending my "last" week in The Ditch.

There could be no more polar opposite to wide open, blue water "outside" sailing than the mark-to-mark motoring down the narrow, swampy mud-colored "inside" IntraCoastal Waterway - so straight, brown and deep here along NC and SC, that it has been given this moniker, "The Ditch". The Captain naturally much prefers the coastal route - where the views are better, the air fresher and the auto-piloting easier - but with no suitable inlets along this long stretch of the coast, overnight sailing (yikes!) would be necessary. With the weather unfavorable and the wife unwilling, The Good Captain, dutifully dumping his desires, deliberately decides on The Ditch. It is clearly the safer route and for that I am grateful, but to spend my "last" week in The Ditch seems so anti-climatic - so dull, so brown, so long.

Day after day, deep in The Ditch, for miles upon miles (I mean hundreds), with that trapped, "no exit" feeling, we alternately motor by densely clustered condos behind Myrtle Beach, quiet canal front homes with their astoundingly long piers extending over the marshes, a few random ramshackle fisheries, and then seemingly limitless stretches of desolate swamp thick with Spanish moss. We inch along negotiating currents, fixed and swing bridges and the occasional barge. In bleak weather befitting the scenery, I intermittently take over the hand-steering necessary in this narrow canal but it is David who does the bulk of the monotonous, tedious time at the helm. Each day, all week, we check the weather and consider going outside but it is never to be. Ultimately, we resign ourselves to marching down the ICW - first Southport, NC, then a couple nights literally anchored in the swamp and then finally two days in Georgetown, SC. I must admit, we found Southport and Georgetown, both heavily reliant on their ICW business, certainly welcoming if less than exciting. In the drizzle in Southport we were delighted to obtain a free city dock (complete with power) and the Harborside Boardwalk in Georgetown made for easy access to shops, restaurants and cycling. And even while anchoring alone in the swamp is not quite how I pictured spending my "last" week on board, being so absolutely submerged in nature is indeed an unmatched, surreal experience that I carry home with me.

So after 10 weeks on board and countless thrilling adventures, I am ending this week here in The Ditch - with more of a whimper than a bang. Not quite how I thought it would wrap. Yet, harnessing the added potency of "lasts", I do find myself indeed relishing each fleeting ray of sun, counting each stroke of my peddling bike and savoring each stroll through these simple, ordinary towns. Somehow, I am even able to take the intermittent periods of rain in stride - a breakthrough from earlier this summer - I just will not let it spoil my swan song. My "last" week? No, not what you would call exciting - no exhilarating sails, no banging in the surf, no world-class yachting capitals, no meticulously preserved, pristine beaches. But ultimately, the slow, relatively lackluster ICW route, by granting a calm, peaceful, leisure final week, was not so dull after all. Uninspiring as it may appear, The Ditch has served as my personal halfway house, a kind of step-down unit, providing a relaxed venue and a valuable respite in which to reflect and regroup as I transition to my life on land, as I re-enter my life back home. As I turn that key in my front door, I am curious to see - fresh from my time in The Ditch - whether life in Naples will seem more like getting back into the Groove or returning to a Rut.