It's Tuesday morning, 10/19, and we're once again under way. When last we left you, we had retreated to Rhode River's relative calm from the choppy Chesapeake, where we waited out a day of funky weather (10/10). It passed as promised, and on Monday morning we set out for Solomon's Island, where the Patuxent River meets the Chesapeake. Had a nice anchorage spot there (which is a busy sailing/boating area), and then headed out Tuesday morning in the direction of the mouth of the Potomac River. Sailing in that area is always interesting because Pax River NAS is right there, so you have just about the slowest (us) and fastest (F-18s) form of transportation crisscrossing on sea and in air. It wasn't exactly an air show, but we saw lots of activity. That evening we pulled into Smith Creek, a few miles up the Potomac from where it meets the Bay, where a former client (and friend) of mine bought a small waterfront farm and they recently moved into the old (on the historic survey) farmhouse (these people will have projects forever!!). We walked the land, had dinner with them, spent the night there anchored in what amounts to their front yard, and pulled out early the next morning to keep heading south.

[I suppose I should mention, in the spirit of accuracy, that after almost 18 years sailing on the crab-pot laden Chesapeake, and 2 harrowing months of Maine and New England's densely lobster potted waters--where nary a buoy was ever even graced--just as we rounded the bend to go up the Potomac on Tuesday afternoon we hit our first crab pot ever. AARRRGGHH. I was driving, and Dick was trolling (he's the only one on board with a MD fishing license, tho he was actually on the bow at that moment), and we heard that tell-tale zinnnnnnng that my brother Steven had told us about and makes a fisherman's heart pound with excitement. Jim grabbed the rod (albeit backwards) and started reeling in, but the little reeler handle thing was all wobbly and wouldn't turn (thought we'd broken it, but it was just the backwards aspect that made it loose). So.... to make a long story short, in paying attention to what Jim was doing with the rod, and not where I was going, we (I) ran over a crab pot and fouled the prop. AAARRGGGHH. We tried to loose it thru little bursts in reverse, but no go. Jim donned his wet suit, snorkel and fins, and with his trusty dive knife, cut it loose from the prop. Fortunately, we were out in a wide, calm expanse of water, with no current, cuz we were just drifting and bobbing along while the exorcism was under way. Fortunately there was no harm, except to our record and egos. ...and by the way, the thing that made the rod go zinnng was also, we suspect, a crab pot, which snapped the line and ate our tackle!]

We spent Wed. night in Fishing Bay, near the town of Deltaville, VA. The weather frogs were predicting a good blow to come thru during the night, so we were looking for a good spot to anchor. Again, the egos suffered. We couldn't get the hook to hold in there to save our souls. After 5 (yes, 5!!) attempts, we finally got it down and tight (we thought). But at about 1:30, after the wind had come up, we got up to check it and discovered that we'd dragged significantly across the little bay and didn't have far to go before we ran into someone's pier. So, with 25 knots of wind howling in our ears, and a very choppy sea state, we hauled it up (again) and moved way out to re-set it. This time it really grabbed, so we were pretty confident when we went back to bed that it would hold. We could see other boats' running lights and movements as well, and one was giving a rather urgent 5 blasts with his horn (the danger signal), tho we never did know what that was all about.... (And we met a boat yesterday that also had been there that night who said that another boat had dragged into them, stopped only by their anchor chain from hitting them soundly.)

Thursday morning the wind that had come up during the night was still with us, so we had a boisterous romp of a sail down to Norfolk. Sailed on jib alone, on a broad reach with rolling following seas. From time to time when we were surfing down a swell we were doing 10+ knots (speed over ground)!! It was great!! Followed the aircraft carrier George Washington into the harbor and watched it be nudged into its slip alongside a couple other big ol' carriers. Makes berthing Asylum look pretty darn easy! It was a gorgeous afternoon, and there was lots of Navy and other activity in the harbor--both sea and air. We poked our way all the way down to the main harbor in Norfolk, where we pulled into a little transient marina for the night.

Friday morning we took advantage of the marina facilities and location. I did laundry (4 loads!!), getting flowers, lunch, and hitting the Dollar Store (my new favorite place to shop!) between loads. Jim and Dick walked the few blocks to a grocery store and then did boat stuff till the laundry was finally dry enough to bring back to the boat and hang on the lifelines (one thing we've discovered is that the dryers in these places are pretty much inefficient quarter-suckers). We got fuel, pumped the head, and then headed back down Norfolk harbor, passing ICW Mile Marker 0 at 1240. (All the charts and ICW guides list everything by the mile marker, with 0 being in Norfolk harbor and 1095 in Miami.)

In the first 20 miles of the trek, we went under or thru 14 bridges! Some were railroad bridges that lift (and are usually "open" unless a train is coming), some were bascule, some swing, and a couple fixed. Most fixed ICW bridges are 65 feet high, which means we just squeak under them with our 61(+) ft. mast. Given that I usually wince when we go under bridges in excess of 100 feet, you can imagine how it feels to go under one where it reeaally looks like the mast is going to scrape and/or crumble. But so far so good.

So far the ICW (or "ditch" as many call it) has been quite varied. It's been as narrow as 50 yds in some places, and in others, you can barely see across it. Many of the narrow stretches are tree-lined right up to the water and it really looks like there should be alligators, crocodiles, and hippos watching us from the banks. But the best animal life we've seen so far are sea gulls. (One guide book says that in the stretch we'll do tomorrow you often see bears on the banks and/or swimming across! We'll report all sightings.)

By Thurs. afternoon we began hearing predictions of Irene's imminent arrival so made a reservation in a little marina for Sat night, but anchored in a little cut-out along the canal on Friday, just after crossing the VA/NC border.

The weather was still lovely on Saturday, and we hated to stop in the early afternoon when we arrived at the marina in Coinjock, NC (which gives new meaning to the phrase "middle of nowhere") but the predictions for Sunday were pretty bad, so we (and a whole bunch of other boats) settled in to wait out Irene. It was a cute little marina, with a well-deserved reputation for extremely accommodating. They had cable TV hookups (great for a rainy Sunday of football games for the boys), and in addition to head, shower, and laundry facilities, let you take their van to go to the local restaurant. These are the places where you meet lots of other people doing just what you're doing, and we did. From all we've heard and read, these early bondings take hold and last for years of cruising, as boats and crews run into each other in various ports and harbors around the world. We all had 2 ½ days (including going out to dinner together twice) together, and will all be in the same anchorage again tonight. One little boat that especially captured our attention (and admiration!!) is a couple from South Dakota in a 23 ft boat (recall that ours is 42!!). Another couple was from St. Paul, MN, and they had come down thru the great lakes, going thru 60 locks on the way (in a boat similar to ours). They had both been lobbyists in the MN state legislature and said that when Jessy got elected governor, they looked at each other and said, "Maybe it's time to put our plan in motion!" and out they headed.

Irene's passing turned out not to be too bad. Lots of rain on Sunday, and some wind finally Sunday night, but we didn't see anything higher than 25 knots. Monday was beautiful, but the conditions on Albemarle Sound, which we had to cross, were still pretty rough, so no one moved. We did boat chores, cleaned, sorted, chatted with other cruisers, walked to the post office (which, as far as we could tell was the only thing in Coinjock, other than a church and the fire house...?), and put away all the extra lines and stuff that had made us fast for the storm. Then piled 13 of us in the van for the restaurant run.

Which brings us up to today. The marina was empty by 8 this morning, everyone heading south in a line. The waterway snaked around narrowly for a while (with about 12 - 15 ft. of water) and then opened up into the notorious Albemarle Sound. It has a bad reputation because it's fairly shallow (20' in the main channel, but only 6 - 8 in most areas, and it's fairly wide, the combination of which can make it very rough in bad weather.) The reports for yesterday were still for winds of 30 knots and seas of 5 feet, which is why everyone stayed put. It's gorgeous out here today, tho. And despite the closet full of sweatshirts and sweaters we have with us (it is October, after all!), we've spent most of the time in shorts and T-shirts!!

With that you're pretty much up to date. Tonight we'll be anchored at mile marker 104, and tomorrow we do the "Alligator River-Pungo River Canal" where we might see the bears! Given the deteriorating weather predictions for Wed., the plan is to pull into Belhaven, NC tomorrow night.

Jim and Dick just hollered down that we'd crossed the 100 mile point (on the ICW, that is--we've actually come a lot farther than that from Annapolis!), so I'll try to send this now (assuming I can get a signal) and go scope out tonight's anchorage.

Stay tuned...
the Inmates