I awoke early, excited about being in North Carolina and being so close to our goal. I thought about our destination for this upcoming day. We had selected an anchorage just before the Alligator River-Pungo River Canal. I kept trying to determine if there was any way we could make it through this 20-mile stretch and anchor for the night on the other side. I found a nice anchorage in the guidebook, and did the math. If we kept an average of 6 knots, took off at the very first available light, and anchored with the last remaining rays of sunlight, it just might work.
When Sheryl arose, I discussed my plan to try to make it further today. If we could make the anchorage at the start of the Pungo River, rather than the end of the Alligator River, we could be in Whortonsville by Friday, rather than Saturday. As the clock ticked toward dawn, every minute counted. We tossed off the docklines and I pushed the bow away from the mega yachts, while Sheryl engaged the engine and pointed us toward home.
We took turns throughout the morning, playing 'find the ditch.' It is a boring game which is punctuated with occasional moments of loud and hurried conversation when the depth numbers drop to alarming levels.
Today's experience on the ICW taught us a fine lesson. We were motoring along with a 50-foot ketch in our wake. We had spoken with the owners at Coinjock Marina, and I knew that they would soon overtake us with their 120 horsepower engine. The captain drew up along our starboard side, just as we passed a green channel marker. We both adjusted course slightly to head toward a schooner off in the distance. Suddenly the depth sounder dropped, and the ketch closed in quickly on our port side. I dropped out of gear, then put it in reverse to bring the boat to a stop (and give the ketch room to come over). We moved along in their wake, slowly, as Sheryl studied the chart and drew out the binoculars. Although she couldn't see the next mark, she used the chart to suggest a direction, and we were soon back in 9 feet of water. Evenually, we came upon a short floating buoy which had replaced the 15-foot daybeacon. (Why wasn't that one listed in the Notice to Mariners?) Anyway, the moral of the story is that we set our navigational sights on a schooner that had gotten lost and went way out of the channel. We later saw this same schooner mistake an ICW mile marker for a green daybeacon. We will never again use another vessel as an ATON (Aid TO Navigation).
Finally, we reached the Albemarle Sound and were sailing again. Good winds were on our starboard quarter, giving us 6-7 knots of speed. Sheryl was at the helm, while I sat at the bow, watching for crabpots and writing.
As we approached the Alligator River, we took down the sails in order to enter the passage between shoals, but once passed we quickly put up the genoa for more speed. We motor-sailed toward the bridge, where radio chatter on Channel 13 suggested that this bridge operator truly does open 'upon request.' Since this nice lady appears to be so accommodating to sailboats, Sheryl and I decided to leave our genoa up and sail through the bridge.
As we approached, we could see the traffic guards go down, but the bridge had yet to open. I placed the boat in neutral and turned up toward the wind slightly to slow the boat. If the bridge did not open quickly, we would have to tack the boat. Then it began to open, and I fell off, moving through the bridge under sail power. What a great experience! It became the highlight of the day.
MOVIE: Sailing through the open bridge
We motor-sailed our way down the rest of the Alligator River, with Otto at the helm. I was initially tempted to take a short cut through the water which was charted to be deep enough, but Sheryl read in the guidebook that snags are common, and that the marked path should be heeded. We continued to steal glances at our watch all along the way down. It looked like we had a good shot to make it through the Alligator-Pungo Canal and anchor on the other side.
MOVIE: Otto in action
Once in the Canal, with sails down, Sheryl took the helm and I decided to climb into the engine compartment to check out the stuffing box and search for the elusive leak. The stuffing box was cool -- good! The duct-taped exhaust hose was not leaking -- good! But there was still a large amount of water coming in. I finally tracked it all the way back to the rudder post. At the point where the rudder post goes through the hull, there was a steady stream of water entering the boat -- BAD, VERY BAD!!
I climbed out of the locker, and explained our situation to Sheryl. It put an immediate damper on the mood of the day. It was good to finally know the source of the leak; however, this source caused great concern because there was nothing we could do to stop it if it got worse (no seacock there). We calmed ourselves by noting that we had been living with this problem for the entire trip, and the bilge had been keeping up. In addition, it still appeared that the leak only occurred while we were underway. I scratched my head on this one, thinking that maybe it was the turning of the rudder or the backwards pressure on the rudder when we were moving that caused this spot to leak while moving. There were some bolts on the collar above the leak, but I was concerned about trying any fix which could worsen the leak and cause us to take on water when we were not moving. Especially if that resulted in a strong enough leak to overwhelm the bilge! (Frightful visions of me hand-pumping the bilge in attempt to keep up with the leak, while Sheryl drove the boat to the closest haulout facility, flashed through my mind.)
As we played chicken with the sunset, we discussed heading to Oriental tomorrow (instead of Whortonsville) and having the boat hauled out of the water until the leak could be fixed. The discussions really took a toll on shipboard morale. Oriental is not home, Whortonsville is home. We would be falling short of our goal to bring Queste home. It was an emotional rather than a logical response to the situation, but sailing is unavoidably an emotional endeavor. Would we enjoy it so much if it was otherwise?
We finally exited the canal into the Pungo river and navigated by the flashing lights on the markers. Unlit markers were becoming impossible to see. We spotted the anchor lights on the top of the masts in our target anchorage and made a single lap before putting down the anchor. Note that, in the photo above, you may just barely be able to see me at the bow, next to the red and green navigation lights glowing off of the bow pulpit. We had laid the hook down, just in the nick of time.
The successful anchoring and major mileage accomplishment of the day helped to lift the subdued mood which had been caused by the discovery of the source of the leak. We were stopped again, and the leak occurred no more. We cleaned the water from the engine pan, checked the engine, enjoyed our final dinner at anchor, and had a very brief Chart Talk. Tomorrow we would enter familiar waters.
Day 5 Statistics:
Start: Coinjock Marina, Coinjock, NC (36�20.960' N, 75�56.915'W)
End: Pungo River Anchorage, NC (35�33.575' N, 76�28.185'W)
Nautical Miles Traveled: 69.15
Hours En Route: 13.0