Chasing That Horizon!

The Voyages and Journeys of Keith and D'Anne as they traverse the highways and waterways of America, the Pacific and Atlantic Coasts, the deserts, mountains, and the heartland, via boat, RV, plane, train, or cycle.

Vessel Name: Horizon
Vessel Make/Model: Itasca Horizon 36LD
Hailing Port: Chesapeake Bay
Crew: Keith and D'Anne Weitzman
About:
We have been boating for a little over 40 years. Our boats progressed from a 10 ft sailing dinghy to a Venture 17, American 25, Newport 30 MKIII, to a CT-41 Ketch - all sailboats. Searching for a little more speed and adrenaline,, we bought our first power boat, a 17ft runabout. [...]
Extra:
Our Backyard, a Carver 3607 trawler in Virginia, has been sold to a new adventurer. Dragon's Breath, our CHB-41 in Northern California, has also been sold to someone with wonderful dreams. Our Backyard carried us down the eastern rivers of America, on a voyage of incredible discovery. Alas, she [...]
17 February 2023 | Robert F Henry Lock and Dam
06 January 2023 | Jones Lake State Park
05 January 2023 | Kerr Lake
02 January 2023 | Satterwhite Point, Kerr Lake, Henderson, NC
23 January 2020 | Cumberland Island National Seashore
15 December 2019 | Chesapeake Boat Works, Deltaville, VA
06 December 2019 | Deltaville, VA
01 December 2019 | Deltaville, VA
01 December 2019
11 May 2019 | California
07 February 2019 | Menifee, CA
20 December 2018 | Hartfield, Virginia
14 October 2018 | St. Michaels, MD
24 August 2018 | Wilton Creek
03 March 2018 | Tucson, AZ
06 February 2018 | Lake Perris, CA
04 October 2017 | Alabama Hills, Lone Pine, CA
01 September 2017 | Sierra Nevada
27 August 2017 | Sugar Pine Point, Tahoma, CA Lake Tahoe
03 August 2017 | Bear Valley Campground, Sierraville, CA
Recent Blog Posts
17 February 2023 | Robert F Henry Lock and Dam

Technology

Technology. It is the Force by which we base our lives. Our clocks are set by a radio signal coming from a master clock somewhere in Colorado, as it measures the half-life degradation of a tiny speck of uranium. Our cell phones receive a time signal from the internet, as well as the current and predicted [...]

06 January 2023 | Jones Lake State Park

Flat Earth

I received an awful lot of flak from fellow RV group members, when I posted a photo of our rig with the rear leveling jacks fully extended, our rear wheels two inches off the ground, as we sought to compensate for a very uneven slope that served as our last parking spot. You see, the parking brakes are [...]

05 January 2023 | Kerr Lake

My Kind of Morning

I barely know the difference between a crow and a chickadee, yet am enthralled by the morning calls of these creatures. It's early, and the sun is just peeking through the trees and fog, about to stake its claim on our little part of the world. After some periods of hard rain yesterday, it looks like [...]

02 January 2023 | Satterwhite Point, Kerr Lake, Henderson, NC

Another Winter's Journey Has Begun

The sweet salty flavor of ranch dip, clinging precariously upon the end of a celery stick reminded one of adolescence. It was a reminder of days gone bye, a staple of parties and get-togethers, the ever-present accompaniment to chips, crackers, cubes of cheese, wine, and the noise of celebration. It [...]

23 January 2020 | Cumberland Island National Seashore

Cumberland Island

Cumberland Island

15 December 2019 | Chesapeake Boat Works, Deltaville, VA

A Break in the Weather

A mighty "Yeowww" followed by a flowing stream of epithets has shaken me out of my dreamy tedium as I am scraping hardened barnacles from the propeller. Looking up, I see my boatyard neighbor walking in circles rubbing his forehead, his dust mask and earmuffs hanging at an odd angle, and his ball cap [...]

Technology

17 February 2023 | Robert F Henry Lock and Dam
Keith Weitzman | Clearing
Technology. It is the Force by which we base our lives. Our clocks are set by a radio signal coming from a master clock somewhere in Colorado, as it measures the half-life degradation of a tiny speck of uranium. Our cell phones receive a time signal from the internet, as well as the current and predicted weather for our locale, as well as any other location that we may wish know whether it is time for shorts or long pants. Our televisions receive a signal from a satellite, or from the internet, or even still, the vague reminder of our younger years, a rooftop antenna.

But let's go back to our cell phones and the myriad of services they provide. We use them to speak to friends and loved ones, conduct business, and make doctor appointments. As mentioned earlier,  we check the weather, as well as play games, communicate via social media, research anything that is worth researching, or not. Banking, shopping, gossip, technical support, or Solitaire...are all available at the tap or swipe of a finger.

We are presently parked on the bank of the Alabama River. Nestled in our campsite,  we have, what many may call, a "million dollar view". The river, a mere 15 feet away, is visible right out of our windshield and side picture window. White cranes perch upon the banks, waiting for the surface of the water to flutter as a fish pokes its head up to catch a fly. Spanish Moss hangs from the tree branches, as does the occasional lure, hopelessly entangled after a disappointed fisherman's errant cast. This is a beautiful spot, and being February, it is also very uncrowded. It is quiet and serene, as camping should be, whether in an RV or a tent.

I find it interesting that in most of the campgrounds we have visited lately, if electricity is available,  besides the RV sites, it will also be available in the tent sites. And that is because people want their technology. They "need" to charge their cell phones, operate space heaters, brew coffee, watch TV, and run their CPAP machines.

We have it all here in this Army Corps of Engineers campground...240VAC power, good water, and a "million dollar view". We have boat ramps, docks, nice restrooms, and seclusion. It's everything one could want for a weekend getaway or week-long vacation. But when one is on the road for three months or longer, as we currently are, some additional services are needed.

There is no adequate cell signal here. That is not to say that an occasional phone call cannot be made while standing in the corner with one knee up while touching a window frame. But if we need to make a reliable call, mobile bank, check email,  get weather reports, or read the latest news, we must either ride our bikes or take a drive over to the lock and dam, or to the little town a few miles to the west. It's a little bit inconvenient.

Well gosh, what the big deal? Besides coffee, starting my day would normally include reading the news on my iPhone or tablet. Then check in on Facebook. Then play the day's rounds of Words and Solitaire. Check the weather conditions and forecast. Check Google Maps for any points of interest. Check the remote thermostat and cameras at home to be sure that power is on, pipes aren't freezing, and no intruders. Check the bank accounts for strange activity. Check email. Check the stock market. Check fuel prices. Check our next destination to be sure that everything is okay. No, no, no, no, no, no, and no. No streaming TV either.

Sirius XM signal is blocked by the trees. And no Spotify, of course. Our CD changer has been rotating the same ten CDs for several years, I know Fiona Apple, and Booker T and the MGs by heart. The paperback novels I've been carrying for several years have print that is now too small for me to read.

On the plus side, I have a MAD Magazine special edition to read. I hope I can still see the Sergio Aragones cartoons on the page margins. I have a book called Trekonomics, which discusses the feasibility of a moneyless society in the Star Trek universe. And we have a hard drive loaded with over 9000 mp3 music tracks to play on my computer. A good thing that doesn't require internet, I hope. And we have this beautiful river to look at, with the million dollar view.

Flat Earth

06 January 2023 | Jones Lake State Park
Keith Weitzman | Clear 42 Full moon
I received an awful lot of flak from fellow RV group members, when I posted a photo of our rig with the rear leveling jacks fully extended, our rear wheels two inches off the ground, as we sought to compensate for a very uneven slope that served as our last parking spot. You see, the parking brakes are in the rear wheels, so with them in the air, one could say that we had no parking brakes. Never mind the fact that if the rig did suddenly drop, the braked wheels would suddenly have ground contact, preventing us from careening down the hill backwards, over a bluff, and into the lake. Never mind that the front wheels were chocked. But we appreciate the well-meaning advice which ranged from doomsday scenarios, to technical essays, to those questioning my sanity, upbringing, and political beliefs. We did manage to stay put, thank you very much, and the cabinet doors closed properly and the refrigerator still worked.
So, here we are at our next stop, 170 miles down the road, near Elizabethtown NC. Our site is so level that the jacks need only kiss the ground. The campground is very new and squeaky clean, down to the almost bare forest floor. A good trail around the lake allowed for a spirited bike ride, interrupted by a downed tree that had to be stripped by hand before the partially disassembled bicycle could be pushed through the branches.
While waiting for lunch to grill, some rust was observed in the framework of the lower luggage compartment. Closer inspection revealed extensive corrosion of the sheet metal, dictating my project for the afternoon. The next two hours consisted of scraping, sanding, wire brushing, and swearing, followed by two applications of naval jelly, which I just happened to have in my arsenal of chemicals. Tomorrow, after the sun warms the metal, I will apply the black Rustoleum, another on-hand item. Good thing I bought the cheap disposable brushes from Harbor Freight two weeks ago. As my fellow travelers can probably attest to, one must amass a supply of tools, chemicals, and materials in order to support this lifestyle. That was amply demonstrated a couple of years ago when we replaced our engine water pump (read our earlier blog entry on that adventure.)
After paint and cleanup tomorrow, another bike ride, perhaps a walk, and then prepare to roll down that road again.

My Kind of Morning

05 January 2023 | Kerr Lake
Keith Weitzman | Blue clear skies
I barely know the difference between a crow and a chickadee, yet am enthralled by the morning calls of these creatures. It's early, and the sun is just peeking through the trees and fog, about to stake its claim on our little part of the world. After some periods of hard rain yesterday, it looks like we are in for some pleasant weather. The challenge yesterday, after a many hours-long deluge, was to start a campfire. We didn't need to, after all, we have an instant propane fire pit that lights at the twist of a knob. But it's always nice(?) to get that crackling and smoke of a real wood fire. I love to scavenge firewood. It's a simple pleasure to ride around on my electric bike and see what treasures departed campers have left behind. Kind of like the grizzled old guy who looks for cans to recycle, I enjoy gathering leftover firewood. When we camp hosted at Lake Tahoe a few years ago, I amassed a good cord of firewood. I couldn't use it all, so when we left, there was plenty for winter campers to scavenge. The wood was extremely wet, but with the help of shavings from a block of ski wax leftover from more days gone bye, and careful tending, I somehow managed to get a blazing albeit smoky fire going. It was quite enjoyable though the price has been paid in smoky-smelling clothing.

It's moving day today, as we will proceed to our next stop at Jones Lake, NC. Time to get packing.

Another Winter's Journey Has Begun

02 January 2023 | Satterwhite Point, Kerr Lake, Henderson, NC
Keith Weitzman | Cloudy
The sweet salty flavor of ranch dip, clinging precariously upon the end of a celery stick reminded one of adolescence. It was a reminder of days gone bye, a staple of parties and get-togethers, the ever-present accompaniment to chips, crackers, cubes of cheese, wine, and the noise of celebration. It was but a remnant of the New Year observance, once an annual boisterous event, reduced by the passing years to a fight to stay awake in front of the TV. The remains of that ranch dip were now packed into our little RV refrigerator, along with fruits, cheeses, and wine, all destined to be enjoyed by a campfire. And enjoyed they were, as we sat by the shoreline of the lake, the sound of wavelets lapping gently at the beach just below us. The setting sun gave us an extra long show, coloring the clouds and lake surface with intricate patterns, as it seemed to just linger, knowing this was our first night and wanting to give us an extra special show. We sat there in our folding camp chairs, the propane fueled firepit warming our knees, while munching on celery with peanut butter or ranch dip, chips, and drinking our rum swizzles, as the light waned and temperatures dropped. A wonderful ending for our first day on the road.

Planning began in earnest during the sweltering month of August, as routes were laid out and reservations were made. This trip should take us 2800 miles over 26 stops and 93 nights. We will travel the Deep South, as we have often done, enjoyed, and preferred. Our route will take us from Virginia through North and South Carolinas, Georgia, Florida, and Alabama. Each leg will take us no more than 200 miles, with stops of three to seven days. All stays will be in either state, national, or regional parks, as we do our best to avoid private or corporate campgrounds. This trip will also be punctuated by a mother/daughter Caribbean cruise. We have our Jeep and our bicycles, and hope to use them extensively.

Today is Day 2, and the sun is trying to peek out from behind the clouds and 59 degrees. Lingering over coffee and tea, reading the news, and listening to Sirius XM, we are slowly getting ready to start our day.

Cumberland Island

23 January 2020 | Cumberland Island National Seashore
Keith Weitzman | Cloudy, drizzle, 60’s
Cumberland Island
Cloudy skies and a gentle breeze greeted us as we boarded the Cumberland Queen for passage to the Island. The two hours leading up to this excursion were marked a combination of orderly preparation and hurried confusion. Waking before seven, we prepared lunches, snacks, and water, as we had been warned repeatedly that there were no such offerings to be purchased on the Island. Checking the weather forecasts, we had to decide on what to wear, and which additional layers to bring. Walk the dog twice to prepare her for a long day alone. Shut off the water, should an unexpected calamity occur. In spite of the planning and prep, we were still fourteen minutes late getting out the door and on our way. “Gotta check in at eight”, they said. Often exceeding speed limits, we arrived at the parking lot at five minutes after eight, when Keith realized that he had forgotten his wallet. No worries, everything is paid for, there is nothing to purchase on the Island, and we had already done our souvenir shopping the previous day. Then we realized that we still had to get our National Park tickets, and our lifetime pass was in Keith’s wallet. Fortunately, Dee had enough cash to purchase the tickets, and we were on our way.

The ferry ride was a pleasant forty-five minute trip down the St.Marys River, across the Intracoastal Waterway, and into Cumberland Sound, to the Sea Camp dock. Upon disembarking, we immediately took the southern trail toward Dungeness Dock. We were following a quiet trail of palmettos and longleaf pines bordered by the Intracoastal Waterway on one side, and a dense forest on the other. After about eight tenths of a mile we reached the Dungeness dock, with a ranger station and restored icehouse building. Our feet were showing their initial resistance to the walk, knowing that we still had close to four miles to go.

Continuing toward the east, we were soon overtaken by a group with many voices, all talking at the same time, becoming a cacophony of jabbering. Allowing them to pass, we quietly complained to ourselves about how our peaceful walk in this lovely place was being interrupted. Then we wondered aloud , were we becoming or have we already become curmudgeons?

That question was interrupted as the entire group in front of us had stopped and was gathered around, bent over, and peering at something on the road bed. Perhaps it was an old surveyor’s benchmark, or some other historic artifact of some sort. Nothing so dramatic, as the object of attention turned out to be a shiny green dung beetle pushing a load of dry dung across the sandy road. The crowd, including ourselves, watched in fascination as the beetle meandered around pebbles and ruts, pushing, pulling, and lifting the treasure past the obstacles. Why was it so intent on moving a clump of desiccated shit across the road? To get it to the other side, I suppose.

The Dungeness ruins was once a summer home belonging to the Carnegies. Kind of eerie looking, like the final scene from Fall of the House of Usher. We walked about the grounds, checking the remaining buildings, and tried to imagine the place when it was full of life and happiness.

Then came the walk to the beach. Short on the map scale, it was a long trudge through soft, powdery sand, over a boardwalk, and more soft sand. The walk was long and arduous, but make it to the beach we did. The beach was wide and flat, and with tides of six to eight feet, a lot of sand was exposed with each cycle. Olur long walk rewarded us with a multitude of shells found at the waterline as the surf deposited them and then retreated. We walked for about two miles, encountering wild horses along the way, until we finally reached a marker leading us to another path and boardwalk.

We were taken into a gorgeous grove of oak trees, their branches forming a canopy draped with Spanish moss.

The sunlight was almost blocked out, allowing the low-lying palmettos to flourish in this garden.

Walking another half-mile, we finally arrived at our point of origin at the ferry landing, and waited for our departure time. Resting our tired feet, we cleaned the sand from and sorted through our trove of seashells, snacked a little, and watched the troops of Boy Scouts as they mustered in formation.

The ferry ride back to St. Marys was uneventful, and we chatted with other travelers before we were deposited back at the landing. The sun was fast setting, and Keith scrambled to get a good photo.

It was a great and exhausting day, and bedtime came early that night.

A Break in the Weather

15 December 2019 | Chesapeake Boat Works, Deltaville, VA
Keith Weitzman | Sunny, cold, and clear
A mighty "Yeowww" followed by a flowing stream of epithets has shaken me out of my dreamy tedium as I am scraping hardened barnacles from the propeller. Looking up, I see my boatyard neighbor walking in circles rubbing his forehead, his dust mask and earmuffs hanging at an odd angle, and his ball cap almost falling off. He is doing the Boatyard Dance, which comes shortly after striking one's head on a propeller, rudder, or some other protuberance. Wearing a ball cap, with the bill blocking everything above the sight line is a sure invitation to that dance. I actually considered that this morning as I was preparing for my trip to the boat, opting instead to endure cold ears and hope that the boat above me would shield my eyes from the sun.

That same sun decided to finally show itself after several days of slow, cold, soaking rain. Attending a holiday dinner event last night, we had to thread our way through deep puddles, which in the darkness, appeared ready to swallow our Jeep. But Sunday dawned clear and dry, with only a few puddles of mud as a reminder. Having intended to pay a visit to our now high and dry Windsome, I made for the boatyard, set a plastic lawn chair on the ground, pulled out my tool bags, and armed with an arsenal of different shapes and sizes of scrapers, set into the mindless task of removing the dried remains of a marine ecosystem from the propeller and shaft. A little here, a lot there, a tiny speck chipping off, followed by a shower of dried calcium as I hit a good spot. As I worked my way around the edges of the propeller, I couldn't help but be reminded of my visit to the dentist a few days earlier, as the hygienist scraped the plaque and buildup from the surfaces of my teeth. I only wish that I had quarter inch diameter dental floss so I could clean between the prop and the cutlass bearing.

Having recovered from the sudden scream of the other guy's forehead injury, I immersed myself back into the complex world of de-barnaclezation. Okay I made that word up. One's mind can really wander when doing this kind of work. Did I eat breakfast? Are those boat stands strong enough? Is it lunch time yet? Did Navy beat Army? What will we have for dinner? Another neighbor strolled up to me and asked if I know where he could buy some marine antifreeze. "Well my friend", says I,"you have about as much chance of finding an open store in Deltaville, on Sunday, as you do of finding a McDonalds or any other fast food joint for that matter within fifteen miles of here. "But", I continued, "I just happen to have a spare gallon right here in the back of my Jeep. Take it." We talked boats for the next forty-five minutes, and finally continued about our business.

Boatyards are so cool. Hundreds of boats, like beached whales, sit high upon spindly steel legs, their keels propped up by large blocks of wood. They represent future dreams, dreams in progress, dreams of the past, and dreams that have been forgotten. The sea miles that they have seen, the docks they have rubbed up against, the wine, beer, rum, and diesel that has been spilled upon their decks all speak of ports-of-call, storms, and quiet nights at anchor. Some are here for the Winter, some are here for storage, and some will never leave here. Every boat has a story. And every boat owner has a lot of stories. They tell theirs, I tell ours. I hand him a boat card, and he hands me his. We have a loose leaf binder full of boat cards, which are like business cards except they have a photo of the boat or the owners, their contact info, boat name, and often a web address.

Back to the scraping, and sanding. Less to do in the Spring. But first, I will take a walk around, take a few pictures, talk to some other boat owners, tell some stories, and hand out a few cards.



Horizon 's Photos - Craters of the Moon National Monument
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