Captain's Log: Hurry Up and Wait

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Stinkpot on the Dismal Swamp showing off her ICW mustache. Photo courtesy of the crew of Tiger Paw.

Twenty-six days ago was the last time I recounted in any detail our travels on this page. A shade over three weeks ago, and yet it feels like years ago. So much has happened since then. So many anchorages, docks, new friends, meals—twenty-six days feels like an eternity that just happened. It’s a sensation that, at once, confounds and energizes the soul. It’s why we’re out here living this crazy life. No routine means that we are always forming new memories, and new memories are what prevents time and our very lives from mercurially fleeting and leaving us to wonder “where did the time go?” That’s the blessing of adventure. The curse is, of course, constantly operating outside of comfort zones, but even that has a way of mellowing you out. We take things in stride that would have been untenable as part of our land-based existence.

Twenty-six days ago we were in New Bern, North Carolina where we spent an entire week. We left there on the morning of April 23, and headed back out into the relentless winds that have typified our spring voyage this year. We had a schedule to keep after all, needing to be at the AGLCA Spring Rendezvous in Norfolk in early May. Of course, we had no way of knowing if the winds would be with us or against us. We still had to get down the Neuse River, and up through the dreaded Albemarle Sound (Stacey’s nemesis). The wind forecasts pretty much demanded that we stick with the canonical ICW route and not enjoy cruising Pamlico Sound, as I had hoped. We got a good early start out of New Bern on a favoring, wind-driven current. Our first “bail out” spot of the day was R.E. Mayo’s dock which we breezed past due to the early hour, opting to continue up toward the Pamlico River, which we crossed, heading up the Pungo River. I had thought we’d stop in Belhaven, but the evening’s forecasted SW winds had me deciding that we’d be in better stead to anchor in the nearby Scranton Creek, which is a well-sheltered, shoal draft anchorage.

We had the hook down in the late afternoon sun and settled in for what promised to be a peaceful night in a nice anchorage. As promised, the wind did come up over night, and the wave action outside the creek started reflecting off the Broad Creek Point and set up “harmonic/sympathetic wave action” in the middle of the night, so while the wind was holding Stinkpot bow-to, the wave action was on the beam. The result was an uncomfortable night’s sleep. We have encountered that kind of wave action before. There is no energy behind it, but it is uncomfortable and relentless when it does happen.
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As we sat there at anchor, I planned our next steps. The wind forecast was continuing to be annoying, and it looked like we would sit still, perhaps moving to a different nearby anchorage for the upcoming change in wind direction, and then run the Alligator-Pungo Canal and up the Alligator River and position ourselves in South Lake for a Saturday (April 27) Albemarle crossing. About the time we had all that decided we noticed our friends Jenna and Darlene moving by on their boat, Timeless, headed for the canal. I contacted them on Nebo, and Jenna said they were going for the Albemarle crossing that very afternoon, promising that the sound would be laying down about the time they got there. I pondered this, but was not willing to commit to it.

We readied the boat to move to the better anchorage on the upper Pungo River and got underway. As soon as we left the shelter of the anchorage, we started taking our lumps in the form of a beam sea from a not quite angry, but clearly frustrated Pungo River. Once we made it to the navigation channel, I was able to make a turn, putting the sea on our stern. We had a choice to make. I could put the seas on the beam again to turn into the new anchorage, or we could keep pushing into the canal and the flat water there. It was an easy decision.

I told Stacey at that point that we would continue to assess whether to continue and how far we would run based on the conditions. When the canal dumped us into the southern end of the Alligator River, we assessed that the river looked fine. We ran up the river nearly to the Alligator River Bridge, at which point I radioed ahead to Timeless and asked how the Albemarle Sound was treating them. Jenna assured me that it was absolutely doable. We called for an opening at the bridge, and instead of making the turn to head to South Lake, we continued onto the dreaded sound. It was not flat calm, but it was not completely dreadful either. About ⅔ of the way across, it did rain for a little while, forcing us temporarily to the lower helm station, but we made it across the sound and ended our day in calm waters in an Elizabeth City, North Carolina anchorage between Anson Point and Hospital Point, just before sunset.

We awoke on April 25 to a bright, sunny morning. We didn’t need to be in Norfolk/Portsmouth until May 5, so with a full 10 days to go 50 miles, we decided to make ourselves comfy on the Jennette Brothers’ free dock for a few days, just north of the Elizabeth City Drawbridge. To wit, we weighed anchor just in time to get through first post-rush-hour opening of the bridge, and spun ourselves onto the dock. In our four days on that dock, we enjoyed many of the local eateries (part of the quid pro quo for docking on a commercial food distributor’s bulkhead). One day, I put my bike on the ground and rode to the local Harbor Freight to buy a 5-gallon diesel can.

By this point in our journey, we hadn’t filled our tanks since Wacca Wache Marina (just above Georgetown, SC), and they were starting to get uncomfortably low. There was a place on Chesapeake Bay with a really good diesel price, so I had been biding my time until we got there, but I didn’t want our extensive generator use while on the bulkhead to bite our hiney. I figured we were using about a gallon a day, so I decided I’d “put it back,” which is exactly what I did, buying 5 gallons at the local fuel stop and dumping it into our starboard tank, which was just enough to move the fuel gauge above ¼ tank, which was enormously gratifying and very much alleviated my burgeoning fear that the tank was getting untenably low.

The fuel plan was to pick up just enough fuel in the Norfolk area to get us up Chesapeake Bay to Fairbank Tackle which was promising a very good price on Waterway Guide, so with my new-found confidence that our new fuel sending units were not lying, we continued to take in the culinary delights of Elizabeth City, leaving off the wall for the Dismal Swamp Canal just after noon on the 29th with the immediate plan to run at dead slow speed and time our arrival for the last locking of the day at South Mills, and spend the night on the bulkhead just beyond the lock, which is exactly what we did. The wind was still howling, but we were on a winding river with hardly any wave action to spoil our fun. The sun was out and warm, and we made our way to the lock, locked through, and tied up on the wall just before the bridge. We walked around the neighborhood there. I even filled my diesel can and gave the starboard tank an extra 5 gallons for good measure while making a beer run to the local store.

As the sun was going down, other boaters who were “trapped” with us between the lock and the drawbridge chatted with locals on the edge of the canal, just off Stinkpot’s port quarter. Friendships spawned, and one of the local guys trudged off to his house and brought back gifts for all of us. He gave me a frozen package of duck breast that he harvested while recently hunting nearby. One of the other boats received a gift of venison. The hunter’s wife came by cuddling a baby bunny in her hands and allowed Stacey to enjoy holding the slumbering creature—an experience she is still talking about now, almost three weeks later. Inevitably, the dark descended, and all of us returned to our boats and homes.

Morning came, and we all were ready to go when the lock/bridge tender opened the bridge for us all at 8AM. Stinkpot kept her place at the head of the pack and we all made our way to the Dismal Swamp Visitor’s Center (which is also a highway rest area), a cruise that took all of an hour at headway speed. Upon arrival, I spun the boat around and tied up so that the south breeze might keep us cool as the temperatures were starting to warm during the day. We checked in, filled our water tanks, off-loaded our trash and recycling to the nearby containers, and then donned our hiking boots to enjoy the Dismal Swamp State Park’s trails, across the canal by way of the floating bridge. It was a perfectly lovely day, followed by a lousy night’s sleep (at least for me) precipitated by the bright lights of the rest area. The next morning, we decided to continue on and ran to Deep Creek Lock to stay two nights on the Elizabeth Dock where we also enjoyed free shore power!

While there, we walked to the nearby Food Lion to restock the larder, which was far easier said than done. It really wasn’t far, but the drawbridge we had just come through on the boat needed to be crossed, and it was under construction, and the sidewalk was closed. We were towing our trusty four-wheeled cart, and our rush-hour arrival at the bridge presented a difficulty. Ultimately, we stopped traffic in both directions, much to the consternation of the unsympathetic drivers also trying to cross the bridge. We did our shopping, enjoyed burgers at Hardee’s, and, upon our return to the bridge, decided to join the traffic that was going our way. The driver behind us was so amused by our antics that he held traffic back until we were safely out of the lane of travel and traversing the nearby church parking lot in the absence of a sidewalk. The next day we made the same journey in a far more simple manner (and without a cart behind us), but this time to the nearby Mexican restaurant in the same strip mall—a place called El Puente, and it was quite good. They even had a house-made hot sauce that was amazing. We both had fajita salads.

Friday, May 3, we dropped lines and locked out of the Dismal Swamp Canal. It was a rather large 12-foot drop in the lock owing to it being low tide. Once again in brackish water, we made our way to Top Rack Marina to grab a little fuel. My intention was that we’d take on 85 gallons for $3.78 per gallon, which should be just about enough to get us to the significantly cheaper fuel at Fairbank Tackle up the bay. While we fueled, the dock attendant pumped out our black water tank. Stacey was reading the numbers off the pump to me, and I thought it remarkable how fast the fuel pump was working. We had tanked 85 gallons in no time flat, or so I thought. When I got to the counter to pay for it, we had taken on 22.5 gallons which came to $85. Stacey was reading the wrong numbers on the pump. No matter, we had some fuel, and I decided that we should continue on to claim our spot on the High Street Landing free dock before other people got there ahead of us. I found another place nearby with a similar fuel price and decided we would top off in Portsmouth before running up Chesapeake Bay.

We arrived at High Street Landing and grabbed the only spot left on the “normal” bulkheads. I had intended to take the eastern side, but decided not to fight the relentless east wind for it, and this turned out to be just fine. I took the western side and let the wind "dock us." We spent two nights there, enjoyed some of the local cuisine, first at Roger Brown’s Restaurant (what we got was surprisingly good, but I wasn’t crazy about the place). The next day we sampled The Bier Garden (meh) in between worthy visits to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard Museum.

Dinner aboard at High Street Landing while the dock was inaccessible due to high tide putting it about a foot under water.

Sunday morning, I called the Tidewater Yacht Marina, where we were to tie up for the Rendezvous, as soon as they were open to ask how soon we could get in, and they said, "now." We dropped lines and were tied up mere moments later with power, water, and all the good stuff. Our cruiser friends, Larry and Erin also came and got us so we could tour their boat, which they are trying to sell. Nice vessel, but it will not be the “next” Stinkpot, alas. In the marina we were surrounded by loopers, and got to know several of them that evening at docktails in the marina’s restaurant, Fish & Slips (where we also enjoyed the decent hot wings at happy-hour prices).

Monday through Wednesday we spent at the looper Rendezvous across the river in Norfolk (which required a stupid-long walk on either end, with a $2 ferry ride in the middle—we stowed away in cars and Ubers as much as we could), meeting folks and working the Argo table. We had fun getting to know so many new folks, many of whom have been following our adventures for a while. The Rendezvous is a big event of which our part was small and repetitive, and our part was done by Wednesday night.

Thursday morning, later than I would’ve liked, we dropped lines, fueled “around the corner” at Portsmouth Yacht Center (Erin and Larry’s marina), taking on 70 gallons at a surprisingly very reasonable $3.43 per gallon and pumping out our black water tank yet again. We pointed the bow into the bay and had a lovely run up to Deltaville, Virginia on a favoring current, anchoring in a favorite spot that we’ve used in the past. We tried to get a spot at the nearby Fishing Bay Yacht Club, but we didn’t make contact before we were anchored, and by then we were content to stay anchored despite getting an invite to the T-head.

The next morning we left Deltaville intending to run to Tangier Island, but the winds were building on the bay, and we ultimately changed course to soften the blows of the waves and ended up heading to the familiar waters of Reedville, Virginia instead. As soon as we changed course, I emailed our friends Walt and Mary who own a piece of paradise there on the water. In the meantime we docked at the Reedville Market’s free dock, and hadn’t been there two hours when Walt emailed and waved us in to his dock. We dropped lines and headed straight over, tied up, connected the shore power and water, and headed up to the house to chat with our hosts. Walt was alone at the moment, but Mary came in within a few minutes and we made plans to dine with them on our own food—they already were planning to eat leftovers, but Mary was going to toss a salad to share. We returned to the boat where I threw together some quesadillas, and, at the appointed time, we assembled around Mary’s fancy Viking stove where I heated our food through while Mary reheated their leftovers in the microwave. Everything ready, we moved to the table and enjoyed a lovely meal with excellent conversation and fun! In the morning, we dropped lines and continued pounding up the bay.

Chesapeake Bay can be angry. It wasn’t. It was a trifle miffed the entire time though, and tired of the wind and waves, we put in at Solomons, Maryland and spent the night on the T-head on Southern Maryland Sailing Association’s dock after a couple Facebook messages to the right person secured us an invitation (I have played music for them in the past, and will again, likely this fall, on our way south). We decided to have an “app walk,” which is when we take a walk to nearby restaurants sampling one or two appetizers at each. We had the fried pickles at the Tiki Bar which were pleasantly crunchy but lacked flavor, and then moved to The Pier where we enjoyed fried haddock bites with a creamy sriracha dipping sauce and split a Caesar salad, all of which was quite good.

Sunday, May 12, we dropped lines early, hoping to get out on the bay ahead of the promised strong southerlies and morning rain. Unfortunately, the winds had been going all night, and when we started leaving the Patuxent, the waves were thrashing us pretty hard. We were operating at the lower helm because of the showers. I put the sea back on our stern and ran behind Drum Point to regroup. About the time we were back on flat water, the sun peeked out. We prepared the flybridge, and turned back toward the bay. The flybridge is a much more comfortable location to operate from in those kinds of seas—especially for Stacey—and it’s a far better vantage point to see crab floats in rough seas. It took the better part of an hour, but we got out into the bay and finally put the chop on the stern, giving us a reasonably comfortable ride north up the eastern side of Tilghman Island and into Dun Cove where we dropped anchor for the evening, enjoying dinner aboard.

With first light, we were firing up the engines and we ran back down to the northern end of Tilghman Island where we entered Knapps Narrows, went through the drawbridge, and turned to port into Fairbank Tackle. It was a tricky docking, stern-to the bulkhead between two pilings (and two crab boats). This is a commercial fisherman’s fuel stop, so there are no dock hands, and no frills, but the diesel price of $2.99 per gallon makes it very much worth the trouble. We pumped 225 gallons of fuel into Stinkpot at that price—which means we had 75 gallons left aboard. In boating terms, that’s running on fumes.

Fully fueled, we continued out of the Knapps Narrows and up the bay to the mouth of the Patapsco River where we turned inbound and made our way toward Stoney Creek and our next destination—another private dock belonging to some new friends who have been following our exploits for some time—but first we had to take in the enormity of the Key Bridge disaster. We grabbed a few photos of the Dali, helplessly marooned on the riverbed with tons of debris still on her bow. This was the same afternoon they were to set off explosives on the bridge structure in an attempt to somewhat free the ship, so we captured some of the very last photos of the freighter with the bridge trusses laying across the bow. There was a 2000 yard security zone around the area, so we were steering very deliberately toward Stoney Creek so that we would not have to explain our presence nearby, and we were docked before long on Kathleen’s and Michael’s dock in a manner that certainly Stinkpot is rarely accustomed to—flanked by boat lifts bow and stern.

Kathleen gave us a lovely lunch on her deck, we shared some stories of our recent adventures, and they took the nickel tour of Stinkpot. Soon though, they left us to attend to some other social events that they had committed to before they knew we’d be coming through. We settled in and then went for a walk to see where we were. Somehow we found ourselves in a local watering hole called the Pit Stop Pub that was quite good. We were enjoying some decent ribs with the fixings when the explosives on the Dali were set off, and we never heard it.

We walked back and donned our bathing suits. Our hosts had invited us to make use of their hot tub in their absence, and we were all too glad to do so. We relaxed and simply enjoyed ourselves for the evening. In the morning, with overcast skies and southerly winds once again building, we said our goodbyes and dropped lines to continue to Havre de Grace, our intended stopping point for this leg of our journey north. It was a rough run, similar to previous days on the bay. We ended up “tacking” back and forth to avoid taking the seas on the beam as we came out the Patapsco and started turning north. It wasn’t until we were abreast of Pooles Island before the seas were fully on the stern and we could relax a little. Of course, the overcast gave way to showers, so we had run from the lower helm for quite a while. Arriving finally in Havre de Grace just shy of 1PM, we pulled up to the fuel dock to pump out our black water before taking our spot on the end of the pier.

Returning to the marina office to fill out the paperwork for our stay with the dockmaster, Steve, we were blindsided by what came next. Steve told us that the price of a one-month transient stay at the marina had increased from $9 per foot to $20 per foot, and he apologized profusely for neglecting to warn us. This really was an unexpected and untenable increase given our budget for this part of the voyage. Steve stood there with us for the better part of the next hour making phone calls and trying to help us secure affordable dockage. He’s a real friend, and we very much appreciate his help. Ultimately, after calling nearly every marina within easy driving distance of Havre de Grace, and even visiting one that seemed promising, we ultimately concluded that staying still was our best option. We paid the bill and settled in.

Our friend, John, came and got me and brought me to our car which was waiting for us reasonably nearby. We drove to the grocery store and stocked up on some staples. We slept well, despite the relentless south wind gently rocking the boat all night.

Wednesday morning, my phone rang. It was a woman named Tina whom Steve had referred us to. She manages a currently closed marina in North East, Maryland—about 15 miles away—that is about to re-open under new management. She invited us to come on over for about half what we were paying in Havre de Grace. Stacey and I agreed it was a good plan, so I went and saw Steve. He refunded us for all but our “overnight” in the Havre de Grace marina, and we got underway again, making the two hour run to North East in wind and rain (with minimal seas), running all but the entry to the McDaniel Yacht Basin from the lower helm. Tina guided us in over the phone and met us on the dock. We secured Stinkpot in this large and mostly-empty marina, and couldn’t believe the luck. This place is just beautiful. This will be home until mid-June if not the end of the month, and we could not be more pleased with where we’ve ended up. What’s more, this marina is a mere mile or so from the church where my May 18 concert will be held, and the concert promoter, John, gave me a ride back to Havre de Grace to retrieve my car on Thursday afternoon. We are, once again, settled in, and loving the novelty of our new temporary town. 

Sunset at McDaniel's Yacht Basin, North East, MD