Kaimusailing

I had hauled the dinghy back aboard and settled things down some, but the wind was still blowing gale strength and the waves were frightening. We were headed toward Little River Inlet and our projected time of arrival would be after sunset, so I reviewed a digital chart of the inlet. I planned to anchor in Cabbage Creek just across the ICW.
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As we sailed along the south edge of the Frying Pan Shoals, more and more of the wave action was blocked. My fear of capsize had subsided.
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At sundown we were passing the approaches to Cape Fear River and a freighter came out headed south. I pinched up a bit to slow and ensure we were not getting in their way.
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Now it was dark and there was a crackling noise as the genoa started to unroll out of the furler. It would be disaster to have that sail actually roll out in this wind. How could this happen? I crawled out on the bow ramp to the furler itself and could find no reason for it to unfurl. The sail was snapping violently and the genoa sheets were slapping me in the head. I was afraid it would affect the staysail. I cut the genoa sheet to release the sail as much as I could. I couldn't roll it up or unroll it further. The furler was jammed. I couldn't lower the sail without rolling it all the way out, so there was nothing I could do except let the sail flog itself to death. It took a while, but it began to tear itself to shreds.
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We were now about 15 degrees below our course and could not make Little River Inlet. I needed to find a port more to the south because we were being forced that way. I found Georgetown and using the handy cell phone app, Marine Navigator Lite, placed a mark at the entrance of Georgetown's inlet on the little digital chart and the distance and true bearing were displayed. It was about 60 miles away.
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I bore off to match our true course with the true bearing of the inlet. The moon was out very bright now and it lit our pathway to Georgetown. Our heading was marked by the moonlit patch of sea to the right and the nighttime dark sea to the left.
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We were doing 6 knots and barreling along on a broad reach with just the little staysail up. I was very tired and groggy, but the jouncing of the boat kept me awake. The 10 hours went by and my routine was to send a SPOT ok message at the half hour, check the cell phone app, and then at the hour mark, check the cell phone app again. This routine kept me going. I was able to make p-nut butter and jelly sandwiches, also a tuna sandwich, for food. I was wearing an exposure suit and staying in the pilothouse as much as possible. The north wind was putting a chill on things.
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We got to the approach to the inlet and I lowered the staysail and started the engine. The anchor was let out enough over the bow tube so that it would drop freely when it came time to anchor. The switches for the windlass had failed both at the on deck helm position and at the windlass position. The switch in the pilothouse was working properly though. The engine controls are at the on deck helm position and there is no engine control in the pilothouse, so I would have to run back and forth to throttle the engine and drop the anchor.
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I was very fatigued and had trouble with my night vision hallucinating that there were brick buildings associated with the navigation lights as I motored into the inlet. The wind was still very strong and across our course, so we were kind of crabbing in at an angle.
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The inlet seemed to take forever and I could see nothing on shore indicating habitation. My chart showed a possible anchoring spot. In the darkness I dropped the anchor not knowing what was around me, no lights on shore, just a little chart on the cell phone. I started an app called anchor watch and it showed we were anchored. We could be in 10 to 30 feet of water, I couldn't tell, the depthsounder stopped working.
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This is where I started to find a dry place to sleep in the port hull. The bunk in the starboard hull was soaked when the portlight stove in. I think I had a sandwich and a couple of glasses of wine. I woke up in the pilothouse in the captain's chair having slept from about 4 AM till maybe 8 AM. I had the impression I had been welcomed and that there had been others on the boat with me. Of course that couldn't have been. 72 hours of no sleep can cause strange things.
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I felt very bleak. The boat was a wreck. The remnants of the genoa were snapping in the breeze. I hadn't triced the boom up and I didn't feel I had the energy to do much of anything. I was still in the exposure suit that I put on the first evening of the sail.
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There was no cell phone service where I was anchored, not much of anything around. I could see fishing boats going down the channel and out to sea. Civilization was further upstream. A Coast Guard vessel came across the strong tide current and stationed itself off my starboard beam. They started asking a lot of questions and it turned out that one of my experienced captain friends had called them when he saw my SPOT track stopped mysteriously right at the breakwater for the inlet. He was familiar with the inlet and knew it was tricky in the dark and his vision of me barreling downwind had me crashing into a beach with heavy surf or into the breakwater.
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It was the Coast Guard's suggestion that I get some sleep. They made sure I had food and water and could move the boat on my own, no tow needed. As much as I felt the need to sleep more, I got the engine started and hoisted the anchor. It was about an hour's ride up the inlet to Georgetown and I found a good place to anchor right near the old section of town. It turned out there was a Piggly Wiggly market nearby and a Walmart store only two miles away.
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I was able to call and reassure those back at home and also get internet and post this blog. Now it is just a matter of time and rest and picking up the pieces one by one. The picture is of the first clouds of the storm at sunset the evening before the storm hit.