The Cape Hatteras Caper


SO…with Dane finished a 6 week gig training computer security people in Charlotte, and Ursula finished with some fence post work in Annapolis, the time came to bid farewell to the nice folks in Southport, NC. We listened to the weather forecasts, poured over NOAA surface forecasts, and eventually held a wet finger to the wind and pronounced our weather window, “open.” We de-cluttered the boat from 6 weeks of shore leave, mounted the kayak, bungeed the new bike to the granny bars on deck, cooked up some vittles, and shoved off with a favorable tide to carry us north up the ICW.

We figured 2 days to get to Beaufort, NC where we would make the decision to proceed further up the ICW or go outside around the fearsome Cape Hatteras. We much prefer sailing in the ocean to being ditch diggers up the Waterway, but the weather was northeast and we were, of course, headed northeast… and as every veteran sailor knows, “gentleman do not go to weather.”

We spent a generally pleasant two days ditch digging… and we do mean this literally, for there was a spot on the waterway that had shoaled in so much that a tug pushing an 80 foot barge radioed us a warning that he was stuck up ahead and had zero depth!! We plowed on ahead, and took over an hour to thread the quarter mile around the shoaly spots. But that wasn’t the worst. VoltAire has a tall mast and Dane had a heck of a time taking her down the ICW last year. In fact, at one point, he hung the dinghy full of water and fuel jugs off the boom to heel the boat enough to go under some short bridges at high tide.

SO… when we arrived at the Moorhead City Bridge at high tide with only 63 ft. clearance, there was a significant pucker factor. Ursula had never gone under a bridge that low. The specs on the boat say the mast is 63.5 ft. plus the lights, antennas and TV saucer which should make it 64.5 ft. Dane wisely had thought to measure the mast last year and figured it was shorter than the specs--61.5 ft. plus the antennas to make 62.5 clearance. But he had to eyeball the distance from the deck to the water when he was measuring, so he could be off 6 inches--at least that was Ursula’s thinking. You can see why we were nervous going under low bridges lest the TV antenna become a true flying saucer, the cell phone antenna a dangerous projectile and light lenses shower us with shattered glass. But all's well that ends well, and we made it to Beaufort, NC on the ICW.

What we forgot when we left Southport was that this was Labor Day Weekend. Which means lots of boats, people and traffic. We have been displaced in time for quite a while now (what’s time to hog?) and don’t always think of obvious things like what day is it. The waterway was buzzing with mosquito traffic--every motorboat was out there enjoying the fine weather. The anchorage was crowded and full of moorings. We tried anchoring 3 times but there wasn't enough swing room to avoid playing bumper cars at tide change. We eventually went down Taylor Creek to the end of the mooring field and set a Bahamian moor, 2 anchors set almost 180 degrees apart, to the side of the narrow channel. The Bahamian moor prevents the boat from swinging a full 100 ft. and bumping into surrounding boats that are tethered to short mooring lines. It also prevents swinging into the channel or onto the too-close-for-comfort beach.

SO…we congratulated ourselves on our sophisticated anchoring and downed the requisite beer while waiting to make sure the anchors were holding. Dane was treated to a close up view a bikini-clad woman who kayaked in to the little beach by the boat and set up a camp with beach chair and cooler. After a short while, she started stalking the shallows casting her net for baitfish. The late afternoon sun glinting off her toned body and the gauzy net was quite a lovely sight. You might all want to see a photo here of her but somehow Ursula conveniently misplaced the camera. The image will have to live in Dane’s wistful memory.

We had a nice day or so in Beaufort waiting for weather, and with Mother Nature giving us thumbs up for an offshore jaunt north to the Chesapeake, we readied the boat, cooked up more vittles, got the life raft, ditch bag, and all safely stowed and at the ready for a rocking sail around Cape Hatteras. We shoved off with a favorable tide and great expectations to carry us northward.

Out the inlet, and into the wind we thought we were in for a fast sail. But, with hardly a breath of air to be found, we were going nowhere fast. With 250 miles to go, this was not a happy thought. Eventually, Dane convinced Ursula to fly the spinnaker the first day.



This was quite a feat since Ursula had never flown the spinnaker on VoltAire. Now, one has to understand that Dane thinks of himself as a salt of the sea…a kind of sal de mer, if you will. However, much as he hates to admit weakness, he is prone to a “touch” of mal de mer. SO…wrestling with the yards of gossamer flapping sail while clandestinely puking 4 times over the bow pulpit where Ursula couldn’t see, was quite a feat of seamanship. But the spinnaker was eventually set, and the boat accelerated with the billowing sail, and lunged for the horizon with speckled dolphins crisscrossing the bow for the sheer joy of it. One of them jumped full-bodied out of the sea flashing her pink belly for us. We were one with the sea and the wind and the freshly laundered air.

As we sailed NE towards Cape Hatteras, the wind and current picked up. We doused the spinnaker, set the jib and main and hung on to ride the edge of the Gulf Stream. The current squirted us between its fingers like a watermelon seed at 11.5 kts SOG!!! It was absolutely exhilarating.

All was fine until we turned the corner round the Cape and the current didn't. Rather, it bounces off the Cape and heads out to England at a fierce clip. Cape Hatteras is a place where you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. You're damned if you stay too close and accidentally get hit and bashed on the reef by one of the frequent squalls with indeterminate wind direction that inhabit this region. But you're damned if you stay too far offshore for the current will suck you all the way to England before you can utter the command to gybe ho. Well, the latter is what happened to us--no squally weather, but getting sucked out to sea so fast that we swear we could hear the bells of Westminster Abbey in the distance.



SO…most of the night found Ursula fighting for every westerly longitude as the current set us 40 degrees! We had to essentially steer west in order to go north. Eventually, after 4 hours of fighting the current, we got out of the Stream and had a nice run up the coast to the lovely spot we're in now.

We're currently anchored just south of Cape Henry and Norfolk in Rudee Inlet in Virginia Beach. It's a protected anchorage surrounded by beautiful, if idiosyncratic homes, and some nice boater restaurants and bars. This is home to a rather large private fishing fleet as every boat is loaded with out-riggers, down-riggers, fighting chairs, and all the accouterments of nabbing big game fish in style.

We were happy to find this spot at the entrance to the Chesapeake after a long night bucking the fierce currents off Cape Hatteras. We hope to make Deltaville tomorrow and haul the following day or so.

Tahiti Bound (Tahiti Beach in the Bahamas that is)

Stayed in Marsh Harbour at the Conch Inn and Marina till noon then cast off for Lubbers Quarters, a short 6 mile sail, or rather motor. Dodged some rocks and shallows and anchored in Tahiti Beach, protected from the approaching east winds and bad weather. There is a long beach with a huge sandspit for swimming and relaxing.


Took the dinghy into a couple beach resorts/bars, particularly Cracker P's run by a bunch of Canadians. This is the Atlantic side of the island chain and the wind and waves we are protected from.




And of course the ducks are following me even now, this far from everything.


Anatidaephobia is a terrible thing. Click the link to see how bad it can be. Anatidaephobia

Just another crappy day in paradise. Back on the boat for a nice pasta dinner with Ursula, my LOML. Getting ready to head further south from the Abacos to the Exumas in a day or so.




For now, sharing another sunset with my sweetheart.

St Patrick's Day Bar Stroll

Gather 2000 of your best friends, dress them in foolish looking green outfits, fill them full of alcohol and walk along Duval Street in Key West and you have the Bar Stroll. The idea is to pay $30 for a t-shirt and strolling into 10 participating bars for a beer in each one and 3 beers in one near the middle for a total of 12 beers. Of course, the old Irish saying says, "You can't drink all day unless you start in the morning."


Key West is an unusual town full of unusual people, both of which are described in various and sundry ways: Close to Paradise, Far from Normal. Where the Weird go Pro... We were looking for these people, but as it turned out, those people were us.

Here is the small crew we started off with after mimosas for breakfast.


We proceeded to the starting point at the Southernmost Beach Café where our little leprechaun gal, Terri, hooked up with St P atrick. Dane tried the same but it just was not the same.



But a gentleman leprechaun had some luck of the Irish with his Lucky Charms and posed with the glorious Saint. Our friend Mac, the glorious Saint, dresses every year with a perfected costume. Notice the staff and the snake wrapped around it. That ingenious fellow ran a hose from a bottle of Irish whiskey in his pocket through the snake emptying out the snakes' mouth. It is pressurized and dispenses shots. The real Saint would be proud.


This is lovely Inga, 6' 6" ,250 pounds from the Aqua Club, dressed in drag, happy to see the Saint. That girl is one big dude!


A part of the papal conclave who weren't selected with white smoke, a couple papal candidates couldn't resist a picture with a real Saint. If they couldn't have white smoke, then rainbow smoke it would be. In the Aqua Drag Bar, on the left is Mr. Congeniality and on the right the first runner up.


A couple of other celebrities stopped by as well. We weren't sure of their names but we made sure to celebrate their fine qualities in those outfits they were almost wearing.


In case you were wondering this picture is of the Duval Crawl. Essentially, there is a human wheelbarrow race in front of famous Sloppy Joe's Bar, with police to provide traffic control and some sort of almost adult supervision.


Our logistics train for St, Patrick consisted of this brown satchel carried by Karl and supported by Terri. Remember the Irish whiskey dispensed from the snakes tongue? We started with 5 bottles; one in the Saint's pocket and the rest in the satchel along with 200 or so plastic shot glasses. By the end of the Stroll we were predictably out of the magic elixir. The young lady in the second picture is using one of her own glasses to get her Irish on.



Near the end of the Stroll we needed a rest at Shots and Giggles bar where even the Saint disrobed for a short breather; and of course at least one more drink.


And at the very end, on the way home, in the car with the diesel jugs and pillows, we crammed 6 people in a small Prius and only had to stop one time for more alcohol--wine in this case. All in all a pretty successful stroll.

[Southern Cross by Seals and Croft sung by Jimmy Buffet]



We decided to live the song and sail a reach to the Marquesas. Well, not THOSE Marquesas but the ones about 25 miles west of Key West. We had been dockbound in Boca Chica marina for almost 2 months and had not only comfortably set down roots, but were in danger of growing a taproot. It was time to cut loose and take VoltAire out for a spin. And with sailing friend, Jean Gough, visiting from Annapolis, Ursula turned into a whirling dervish--organizing, stowing and,in general trashing the boat before getting it shipshape. Here we see the main salon in disarray and the kitchen in a similar state, and yes, that is a sewing machine on the counter. Doesn't everyone keep their sewing machine there?



It was a perfect morning sail, a beam to broad reach at 6-7 knots under a sky blue as the fourth of July. The Marquesas are a small atoll with a huge lagoon rimmed by small mangrove isles all round.


Once ashore we trekked along the blinding white beaches venturing inland until finding this sign.


It was clearly explaining the National Marine Sanctuary status of these keys. Contenting ourselves with less adventurous and more conservationist activities, we gathered some shells and a man stick and headed to the local race track.







The hermit crab racing season had just started in Florida. Who knew! The races were on along the shoreline and we placed our bets on the trifecta and cheered our crabs.


The winner who first crawled out of the circle was Dane's chosen one; Jean had the medium-sized second place one, and Ursula's small crab decided to take a nap at an untimely moment. The betting window paid handsomely at 3-1; which meant a sumptuous breakfast the next morning cooked by anyone and everyone but Dane.

The next morning, we took apart and cleaned the outboard carburetor to make sure the dinghy motor was functioning. The gears were still stuck in forward, as the reverse had jammed and we were still awaiting parts from up north. But we could scuttle in forward gear to our heart's content, and so we loaded snorkel gear, lunch, sunscreen and beer and piled in for a day in the dink. We navigated through one of the channels and explored the center lagoon. Not great snorkeling or diving but we saw a pod of about 6 dolphins splashing tails and broaching all around. Then Jean spotted a large, round, dark shape swiftly coming directly at us and yelled it was a manta ray! At about 2-3 feet across, it looked like a ray but 15 feet out a big loggerhead turtle popped up and eyed us with huge slow-blinking reptilian eyes, then dove back down and swerved hard right at lightning speed. Who knew turtles were so fast?




Life was good. We lazed, we sunned, we ate lunch bobbing around in the dinghy in the middle of nowhere. Then, when Dane tried to start the dinghy motor, it sputtered and quit. Dead. Lucky for us, we had taken tools along in case our previous carburetor fix-it hadn't worked. The fuel was dirty and still clogging up the works. There was no choice but to do field expedient repairs. Grabbing the tools, Ursula and Master Mechanic Dane pulled off the carburetor and cleaned and poked until well satisfied.


Ursula suggested simple methods to reassemble but Master Mechanic Dane reminded her that he had removed and replaced the carburetor many more times than she had and most certainly knew exactly what he was doing. "But, but..." her words were ignored as Master Mechanic Dane proceeded to reinstall the carburetor upside down. Chagrined, he had to take it right back off, listen to Ursula's excellent suggestions and then just Plain Mechanic Dane bolted it on upside right. The motor coughed into life and back to the boat we scurried.


On the way out of the channel we spied a huge bald eagle surveying it's domain from atop a bare, dead tree. It was a large bird, dark body and shinning white head and neck. Fish and bird life were abundant so that eagle did not lack for prey.

There was some picking and choosing of routes on the way out through the shallows, and hurried conferences between the pilot and navigator, both standing up in the dinghy searching for the best channel.

Returning to the boat we found an unlikely visitor who was hard to remove. It took 10 minutes and some waving to shooo this pesky one away and prevent the return. There was some dive bombing and low level attacks but we survived.


Back on the boat relaxing after a harrowing day of exploring and solving difficult technical problems, there was nothing to do but relax in a hammock with a beverage and enjoy the beautiful sunset.



Cheers!

Trying to catch up on the blog but we are Cruisers now and we are generally so busy doing nothing and out of touch with everything, incommunicado that is, we have not found time. New Year’s resolutions be damned: keeping up the blog was one of them and promptly broken on 2 January. But here is a quick update….today.

Arrived Miami 12 January after a great overnight sail from Lake Worth with 15-20 knots of wind on the beam.


Somewhere along the way we must have crossed some inter-tropical equatorial monsoon heat wave convergence zone and are finally warm!! After her early morning dog watch, she went to bed and he took the watch bundled up in wool watch cap and heavy foulies. Mid-morning Ursula woke up to find Dane dressed in shorts. Quoth he, “Is this cruising yet?” Ursula smiled, nodded and shook her head in silent mirth.

She has had great fun introducing Dane to the cruising life and he has embraced it fully as a good student should.


Sporting bare feet, turks head anklet, cruisers hat and sarong, he now has his sights set on a pirates gold earring to complement his new cruisers hair cut given my Mr. Walt on the wrong side of the tracks in Coconut Grove. We walked 1 ½ miles and paid $12 for this work of art. Quoth he, “Is this cruising yet?” Ursula smiled, nodded and shook her head in silent mirth. “Better slather some sunscreen on your gourd. You are going to need it.”


Next on the agenda was normal logistics of everyday life, except nothing is ever normal in this sailing life. No car, no bike but a strong human need for food, we walked the Trifecta from West Marine to Home Depot and the Supermarket in flip flops and boat shoes. Loaded like pack animals and just as smelly now that we’re in the aforementioned inter-tropical equatorial monsoon heat wave convergence zone, Dane brayed and prayed for water.


Ursula smiled, nodded and shook her head in silent mirth, “Let me introduce you to how cruisers do it. We go to what is colloquially known as a watering hole.” Moments later they entered an oasis—one with cold beer, hot waitresses and NFL playoffs on TV. Quoth he, “Is this cruising yet?” Ursula smiled and raised her beer, “Yes, this is cruising.”


And in grand cruising tradition, we have vowed to depart every day for the last 3 days, but tomorrow we really are going to move on…maybe. Quoth he, “Is this cruising yet?” Ursula smiled, nodded and shook her head in silent mirth. “We are cruisers: we can stay, we can go, we can change our minds but for now let’s just enjoy the moon and the rum*.”


*
The new favorite drink from our Restaurant at the End of the Universe is a Lemon Drop or Kumquat Drop: lemon or kumquat slice, rolled in sugar and suspended on a skewer over a fine sipping rum such as Ron Zacapa, Goslings Black Seal or Myers.

Left Thunderbolt, GA early AM on 14 Dec for a quick overnight sail south with a happy heart and a lighet wallet. At first we thought of Fernandina Beach to see some friends but changed our minds to a run all the way to St Augustine. We picked our way through the shoals down Wassaw Sound on the Wilmington River at high tide then out to sea; about 3 hours run time. It was beautiful early in the morning: marshy, golden colors backed by green forest, large homes along the banks and the occasional boat moving along as we were. One of the mega yachts with us in Thunderbolt swept past us on its way to ports unknown. Just before we hit open water it had turned around and headed back. Mechanical issues or just a test cruise we thought but probably will never know. Consistent with past events we saw dolphins lazily broaching along our route, one even jumped into the bow wave and reappeared on the other side of the boat. We hit the entrance and it was a bit sketchy dodging shallow water and 4-6 foot waves. I promptly got seasick which is fairly unusual for me and of course totally uncomfortable. Ursula nursed me along with a bucket, bland food and drink and piteous eyes.

We had great sailing with consistent 15-25 knot winds from the north all day and all night. We ran down wind with only the reefed main averaging 6.5 to 7 knots with max speed at 9.5 knots: about 150 miles in 22 hours. Bucking 5-7 foot seas was a very good run for my first real overnight in the open ocean. We circled for a couple hours until daylight then motored into St Augustine and moored just north of the Bridge of Lions in the mooring field: pretty cheap at $20/night. Great town with lots to offer. Good services and cruiser friendly.