The morning did not have to start at first light, because the first bridge on our route was only 2.8 miles down the ICW and would not open before 8:30am. We got prepared, and asked our new friends on the Hunter to help see us off (or at least guard their bow from any potential damage). The winds were a bit lighter, but still around 15-18 knots. I was very happy to be pointed bow first out of the slip.

We made it out of the slip and the marina with no difficulties and no damage to our or any other vessel. We took our time slowly motoring toward the first bridge, as we had left ample time before its opening. We recognized several boats from our marina in the procession by the time the first bridge opened. In all, over 16 boats started with us on that journey south. The bulk of these boats would follow us down through the series of bridges and the lock which stood in our path over the next 10 miles through the 'Virginia Cut' route of the ICW (we decided against going the 'Dismal Swamp' route, in the interest of time). Our group of boats were a mix of approximately 8 trawlers, 5 sailboats, and 3 commercial tugs.

At one railroad bridge, we were delayed considerably (when someone radioed the bridge to ask when they would open, the bridge tender smartly replied, "As soon as the train is off the bridge I'll be able to let you through, captain"). At another the bridge, the guidebook indicated that it was supposed to open upon request anytime outside of the Memorial Day to Labor Day timespan (during that time of year it opens only at the top of each hour). Upon the opening request from one of our group, the operator replied that the bridge would be open only at the top of the hour. So much for the information in the guidebook. These waiting times did give me an opportunity to practice maneuvering the boat. Heading into the wind and trying to hold the boat in place, backing up straight, and generally trying not to hit other boats or go aground.

All of this practice would come into play as we approached the lock near mile marker 11. Being sailboats, we were near the end of the pack of 16 entering the lock. This lock has a rubber side and a concrete side. Guess which side we stragglers were assigned? We prepared our fenders and lines and proceeded to 'parallel park' along this rugged concrete wall. Trying to park the boat within a few feet of another boat with a 15-knot wind astern and hold it there while waiting for them to take our lines took every bit of my concentration and tested every last nerve. The line takers were about 5 boats up and I cursed under my breath as I kept tapping the boat into reverse and back to neutral in an effort to keep from hitting the boat in front of me, backing into the boat behind me, drifting out away from the wall, or turning the boat too much so that the bow or stern would hit the concrete wall away from the protection of the fenders tied off at the beam.

Finally, my whispered expletives subsided as they took Sheryl's bow line and then my stern line. They threw them around posts on land and handed them back. We could have done this ourselves, but they require lifejackets on anyone who steps off the boat in the lock area. We were not wearing our lifejackets. Believe me, next time I will.

Once her line was wrapped around the post, Sheryl realized that the line was not long enough and began pulling the bow in too close to the wall, in an effort to get the line back around a cleat. I tried to let her know that she was bringing the bow away from the protection of the fenders, but I was too emotionally drained to explain it calmly and quietly. Instead, I snapped, "Just come here and take the stern line and I will do the bow." We met in the middle, switched lines and I used my longer arms to work with the limited line length. All the while feeling guilty for being short with her.

The drop of the water level was slow and relatively uneventful, compared to the excitement of tying up. Before long, we had dropped about a foot and a half, and the gates were opening to let us out. Sheryl and I switched back and I found that motoring away was certainly easier than entering the lock. One still had to demonstrate caution, with so many boats moving in such a close space. The boat ahead of me wanted to tie up on the opposite side following the lock, and began to disturb the two-lane traffic pattern which had so naturally evolved. It was an occasion where I wished that boats came equipped with turn signals.

Immediately following the lock, there is a bridge which is timed to let us through based on release from the lock. Unfortunately, our group became separated by a tug pushing a football field-sized barge of cable. Tired of the stalling dance and all of the other sailboats in our midst, I doubled back around and became the last boat in line, with plenty of room to maneuver around the barge. That move would cost me, because we were also the slowest boat in the brigade, following the passing of the tug, and the bridge tender kept insisting that we "pick it up" to get through. I pushed the engine to 3000 rpm and held her steady, even though I could smell that she was running outside of an efficient range for the engine.

We made it through the bridge, and I backed down and decided that the final bridge (over an hour away) would be taking our group in segments, because of our differences in speed capabilities and the fact that they opened at the top and bottom of each hour. Sheryl checked the stuffing box and found that it was cool. In addition, it appeared that the duct tape repair was holding on the exhaust hose. Good news. Unfortunately, though, we were still accumulating water in the pan under the engine. Arrghh.

I adjusted our pace to get us at the last opening bridge of the day right on time for the 12:30 opening. When we arrived at the final bridge, we found only 3 other sailboats and one trawler remaining from our group. They were turning nice orderly ovals in the very narrow channel in follow-the-leader fashion. What a civilized approach to the circumstances of needing to stall in this limited space, with ominous-looking stumps and shoreline just feet from you on either side and strong winds astern. We joined in line and followed suit. Soon the bridge tender told us to tighten formation for the 12:30 opening. Four of us made our final turn and proceeded to the bridge, single file. Save for that last boat, which held back for some reason, we were ready to go through. The bridge tender, though, kept calling to the final boat to move closer and did not open the bridge. There was no reply on the VHF. The last boat must not have been monitoring Channel 13. Our single-file line crept closer to the bridge. The bridge operator hailed again. Again no response. We crept ever closer to the bridge. The bridge operator tried hailing the boat on Channel 16 (we were monitoring that, too, on our handheld VHF). And our nice single-file line began to break formation. The boat responded, but the bridge operator seemed not to understand. Our disorganized group of four began to reverse and double back against the winds and current pushing us toward the bridge. All the while I am cursing above my breath. I am tired, and I just want to get through this bridge and turn the helm over to Sheryl for a while. Five hours of stressful maneuvering have taken their toll. I am not one to generally resort to expressing myself through expletives, but I can see now why sailors curse.

Finally, we are released from this purgatory by the site of a raising drawbridge. The gauntlet has been run, and I can turn over the mantle of responsibility to Sheryl for a while, as I try to calm my frayed nerves. Sheryl's task was no less challenging than mine, but different, for this section of the ICW provided a wider expanse of water, but not a wider channel. Therefore, Sheryl had to play 'find the ditch' between the markers. I offered help where I could, but mostly distracted myself by playing with the staysail, in an effort to give us a little speed boost. Though I don't think that it really helped much, it was therapeutic.

Once we crossed the North Carolina border, I ran up our prized Whortonsville Yacht and Tractor Club burgee. We are in our home state! During this time, I also got to man the radio to chat with passing power boats and indicate that we would like a slow pass and that we would accommodate them by dropping our speed so that they could pass at a sub-wake-generating speed and quickly get back up on the water and be on their way.

As I manned the radio, one of the sailboats we had met at the marina hailed us and said, "Queste, don't follow us in here." We were a bit behind them, but I soon realized that they were one of two sailboats up ahead. Both had gone aground, hence the warning. Sheryl dropped her speed while another sailboat in front of us turned a 180, heading back the way that they came. I searched the land masses in front of us, and quickly studied the chart. We were entering the section of the ICW where one leaves the Currituck Sound and approaches Coinjock. The surrounding water seemed to suggest otherwise, but I guessed that our direction should be between the two boats, based on what the chart told me about the position of surrounding land masses. We proceeded slowly, with two other sailboats (including the one that circled back) following us tentatively. We were the next canary in the mineshaft. Two had gone before, but had turned up feet first. As we passed the two boats, still showing 9 feet of water, the distant red marker became visible. A quick look at the chart showed that the trouble was a missing green marker*, in the worst of all possible places. The good news is that once the two boats realized where the channel was, they were able to get themselves off the shoal and under way again. One by using motor muscle, and the other by putting up a sail.

*Doug's Notice to Mariners: G115 as you exit the Currituck Sound going south on the ICW toward Coinjock is missing entirely. Look ahead with your binoculars and find R116.

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I took the helm, again, as we approached Coinjock Marina, while Sheryl prepared fenders and docklines. This docking was much easier than the previous circumstance, as the marina is simply a straight pier along the side of the canal. A dockhand helped me parallel park between two super-mega yachts and fill my diesel tank and jerry cans. We settled into the usual routine of dinner and Chart Talk. We decided that we were about two and a half days from Whortonsville, with our next anchorage opportunity coming just before the entrance to the Alligator-Pungo Canal. Our only hurdles would be a continued game of 'find the ditch' and the opening of the Alligator River Bridge.

Day 4 Statistics:

Start: Waterside Marina, Norfolk, VA (36�50.625' N, 76�17.534'W)
End: Coinjock Marina, Coinjock, NC (36�20.960' N, 75�56.915'W)

Nautical Miles Traveled: 43.5
Hours En Route: 9.25