BCC PHALAROPE

Savannah, GA

Mahi, aka Dorado

On the dock, Hilton Head, SC:

The last few photos are of a "bull", about 40 lbs.  The boats go about 60 miles offshore into the gulf stream, and look for weed patches.  The Mahi are near the surface, within these weed patches.  I asked one of the crew what was in the big bulge on the top of their heads.  He said their brains.  Smart fish.

Hilton Head, SC

I left Georgetown three days ago and went offshore based upon a favorable forecast of at least a day of 10 to 20 kt N to NW winds.   Nope.  Got offshore, four hours from Georgetown (which is rather inland), and the winds died to less than 10 kts variable.  They then rounded to 15 to 22 kts S to SW.  I motored for 24 hours into about 18 to 22 kt winds on the nose.   OK, 3.6 kt of those winds were due to forward movement of the boat.  Got into Hilton Head, SC, around 6 pm, and slept from 8 pm to 6 am.  Hanging out here for a bit.

Moonset, Georgetown, SC, 6 am:

There are old houses in Georgetown:

Motoring offshore under clouds:

Unfinished docks at Hilton Head, 6 am:

 

 

Intracoastal waterway II

I am now in Georgetown, SC.  The unfavorable winds have kept me chugging along the intracoastal waterway (ICW) at 5 mph.

The ICW is an avenue for sailboats and motor boats to traverse the coast north or south without going offshore.  It spans from the Chesapeake through Florida.  Some boats go at 25 mph, mine goes at 5 mph with the tide and wind.  The NC section is a bear, about as wide as a six lane New Jersey turnpike,  but with no center lines, no shoulder lines, and no rest areas.  On either side of the waterway is acres, whole bays of water, but only about 4 feet deep.  Because of the limited pull-offs, the few marinas and anchorages with their associated hassles, I was at the tiller from about 7 am to 5 pm, with breaks just long enough to dash down into the cabin and fill up a glass of water or grab a granola bar.  By the time I get back on deck the boat might have veered off from 15 ft depth to 7 feet depth.  If you don't pay attention, which is in my nature, you can go from A-OK to seriously messed up in a matter of seconds.  The markers, every half mile or so, depth sounder and electronic chartplotter/GPS guide you.  Twice I encountered fisherman anchored in the waterway at critical shoaling points, and I had to decide which way to go around them.  Both times I chose wrong, and dragged bottom in the sand.  During the convolutions of the ICW reading the chartplotter can be fraught with dyslexia, and if you pull the tiller wrong, there is sand.  At two points in NC the waterway is so close the seashore that you can see breakers at the inlets.

ICW with sand shoals, near an ocean inlet in NC.  That marker gives an indication of the information content vagaries of the ICW:

7 am, all that water, and only 4 feet deep:

South Carolina is different, deep water, obvious channels, and towering trees lining the channel:

Cypress swamp along the Waccamaw river section:

In South Carolina there were osprey nests about every mile or half mile, as many nests as along the Clark Fork river in Montana.  Some were in huge cypress trees, and looked ancient, drapped in Spanish moss; and perhaps dating prior to the DDT extirpation:

The markers also frequently were topped with an osprey nest.  I didn't get any photos, although sometimes I almost brushed by the marker, and an osprey stared down at me from 20 feet away, asking me what I thought I was doing.

I didn't see a bald eagle until today, outside Georgetown, NC.

Last night I anchored in a pocket hole on Thoroughfare Creek, just off the ICW.  A thunder cell and associated winds tested the anchor's holding, and frazzled me.  Fish croaked and frogs jumped, just like in a Cypress swamp at dusk.  Saw a 4 foot fish jump, I swear that it was a sturgeon.  Not a single mosquito, perhaps because of the brackish water? After dark I heard off in the distance a wail/scream/screech, followed by gunshots.  Clearly someone was having a dust-up with a swamp monster.  Known in the northwest as Bigfoot.  AKA Sasquatch.  AKA Squamish.  As I lay in my bunk listening, trying by sound only to piece together the events unfolding, I secondly considered that it might be night hunters, using torch lamps, tangling with a wild hog.  These grow to the size of young hippopotamuses.  As I listened, and considered more, I realized that I had snapped to judgement, and the distant gunshots were likely large drops of water falling off the boom onto the seating pad in the cockpit.  The wails were possibly coming from the boat water tank.  We will never know.

Fellow traveler headed south, on the Cape Fear river.  He had an electric motor, and was the only boat that I have passed by in the same direction in a long time:

Today I am resting in Georgetown, hoping that the weather tomorrow will carry me offshore past Charlestown...

 

 

Cape Fear

I am anchored just north of the cut leading to the Cape Fear river, near Wilington, NC. Tomorrow I hope to glide down the river on the AM tide and, if the winds are OK, go offshore to Georgetown or Charleston, SC. The Intracoastal Waterway is a bitch, a slog. I will write about that when I have wifi access. I am using an ipad now.

Intracoastal waterway

Diesel problems solved by my buddy Jim, diesel mechanic, whom I met in the laundramat.  It was Jim who told me that the local diver had died. Jim lives on a steel hull schooner which he built himself, anchored in the bay off my stern. The diesel is now in tip top shape, with Jim deducing the simple problem that I am a moron.  No need to elaborate on that. Yesterday I dove down with mask and flashlight, to find the prop pristine, with no wrapped lines.  Paid Jim with a General Grant and a burger and beer at a gem of a local pool hall.  Jim pointed out that the tile floor was worn out in the corner of each pool table, from decades of players twisting the soles of their shoes as they rounded the table.

Tomorrow headed south on the intracoastal waterway, because the offshore winds still suck.  Going south.

Greetings from Beaufort, NC!

Greetings from Beaufort, NC!

The winds have been crazy, thoroughly nixing my plan to stay way offshore. The forecast might be, say, 10 to 20 kt winds from the west to northwest, but when I get offshore the winds are 20 to 30 kts from the south/southest. Or 30+ kt sustained. About 60 miles off the Chesapeake we had sustained 40+ kt winds, and then ran into a thunder cell with gusts to 50 kts. I motored into the wind and breaking waves, with no sails up, by the book. Lightning within a mile of the boat. At one point, during a calm after the storm it was raining so hard that the surface of the water glistened like dew on a spiderweb.  Later that night the winds were still 20+ on the nose, with little tacking direction options, I decided to bail and run for Norfolk, VA. There my crew stepped off the boat, and so after a couple days working on the boat I went around Cape Hatteras single-handed, with the above incorrect wind forecast.  The winds were 30 kt+ off the cape, not what I anticipated, but I managed to get into the lee of the cape, protected from the northerlies.  Parenthetically, hey, there are flying fish here, who'd a thought, and they land on the boat deck during the night. The next night, trying to get around Cape Fear I had 22 kt steady winds on my nose, another incorrect forecast, and motored for several hours at about 1 to 2 mph progress. My suspicion is that I was getting gulf stream current against my favor. Cape Fear is just a tiny nose on the eastern seaboard, but the Frying Pan shoals extend 16 miles out to sea. I was looking at 20 miles to get around the shoals, at 1.5 mph progress. No matter, because I ran over a crab pot line or something, and the diesel died. It will idle and rev fine, but put it in gear and it dies. I had to turn around and run to Beaufort, about 60 miles distance with a 22 kt tailwind. I hand steered for 12 straight hours, surfin' my evaluvin' brains out, and entered the Beaufort inlet under jib only. A TowBoatUS guy towed me to a marina. His golden retriever was riding co-pilot, sitting proud in the cabin, but didn't help a bit with the lines.  Last night was the most tired I have ever been in my life. Later today I will dive down and look at the prop, after a nap. The local dive guy, whose number the local TowBoatUS fellow gave me, died yesterday of a heart attack, while I was out surfing. I heard that news in the laundramat, from a diesel mechanic who has lived aboard a sailboat for the last 35 years, including a steel-hulled schooner that he built himself and is anchored out off my stern.

Saw another steel-hulled homebuilt  boat, a Slocum Spray replica, on the face dock here at the marina.  It was instantly recognizable, I saw the same boat, and talked to the owner, in Onset, MA, two summers ago.

I have crew lined up, down the road, but the schedule is blown up. Thoroughly nixed.  So it goes, a work in progress.

But a lot of fun.