BUSTING IT UP THE COAST

Deltaville, VA

Charleston to Deltaville in 89 hours over 8 days of travel up the ICW and into the Chesapeake. Whew.

Rain at Mile Hammock between Wilmington and Southport.

Close encounter on the way to Oriental.

Slogging through the cranky Albemarle, our home waters.

A joyful reunion with the crew of Anastasia in Hampton and To Be in Deltaville.

Hauling out of the water tomorrow. Now for some bottom paint and a hull wax!

Done with this well-worn guide for a while!
(The ICW ends/begins in Norfolk, now far south of us.)

CHARLESTON MAGIC

Charleston, SC

That little bout of seasickness on the overnight passage to Charleston was quickly forgotten when we tied up in our favorite marina next to our Norwegian friends on To Be.

The crew of To Be: Tina, August, Stian and Agnes

And then we saw the Spoleto Festival schedule! Spoleto is a 17-day arts and culture extravaganza, a non-stop binge of theater, dance, music, visual arts, opera, oh my.

The highlights of our cultural bath:

• TWO Puccini operas
• Celtic music performed in the enchanting Circular Church
• Oedipus as performed by several British theater troops but adapted and directed by Steven Berkoff
• The Other Mozart, a one woman show about Mozart's older sister, an amazingly talented musician. Why didn't she become famous as well? She was a girl. 
• A Paper Sculpture Exhibit. Outrageous stuff. The video in the link is just one of the exhibits.
• Tropical Storm Andrea

Well, we were not expecting THAT, even though Chris Parker, weather guru, suggested it might happen.

The wind was supposed to blow along that arrow, at the tip of which was our marina, straight fetch out of the Atlantic. Other boats at the marina were spinning around, pointing bow into wind and waves. Thanks, but no. We bolted and docked where that A is on the upper right, a whole barrier island between us and the ocean. Barely felt it. 

It took a tropical storm to peel us out of there.

Bye, bye Charleston. You are awesome.

Amazing book sculptures

A CURIOUS PASSAGE

Charleston, SC

Our Norwegian friends conducting home school on Cumberland Island.

We've gone state-hopping. After two nights at one of our favorite stops, Cumberland Island, Georgia, we set off from the St. Mary's Inlet for an overnight passage to yet another favorite: Charleston.

The weather was finally, finally turning in our favor. The squalls skittered away and our northeast route would be blessed with 10-15 knots of east wind slowly clocking to southeast and easing at the end of the day. Then, the diurnals would kick in giving us some good wind for the night.

Well, none of that happened, but it was a beautiful trip anyway! For once, the unpredicted weather was in the other direction, lighter.

We headed into the deep at 6:30 and into pretty big swell on our beam. Under full sail, we were able to ride over it nicely.

Down:

And back up again:

The wind didn't ease much, and it never clocked south, so we rode on the closest point of sail we could manage, which put us exactly on course to Charleston. For the first time ever, we raised the sails and never changed the set for 30 hours.

The swell laid down in the late evening for a gorgeous night of stars punctuated at midnight with a half moon.

Sometimes dolphins joined us.

Photo by Chip

We rode in on a rising tide and reached Charleston Maritime Center at exactly slack water.

A perfect passage? Almost. For the first time in three years, I got seasick. :-\ Perhaps it was the particular motion of the swell, which wasn't anywhere near as bad as the Gulf Stream crossing. Curious. I was at the helm the first three hours, and then got sick. It never left me.

Chip was a superhero, helming about 2/3 of the trip.

Another cruiser posted this excellent article about combatting and treating seasickness. I know there were several factors that made me susceptible:

1. I didn't sleep well the night before. 
2. We had been inshore for a week or so, on smooth waters.
3. I started on an empty stomach.

All bad. Usually if I take a slug of Pepto before leaving, I don't have much trouble. This time I was not so lucky! I slept at least 12 hours of the passage.

Once we arrived in Charleston, the queasiness disappeared -- and Charleston awaits. Now that's perfect.

Thanks to Stian on To Be for the photos.

THE BEST LAID PLANS

Charleston, SC 32º47.34N | 79º55.47W

COLOR = B A D

We hoped to sit out some stinky weather in Charleston, one of our favorite cities, and, in fact, we did. But then there came another one. Today, we planned to make an offshore, overnight jump to Florida. The colors said, oh no you won't!

That graphic, from passageweather.com, is the wind prediction, the more colorful, the more wind. You hope for some nice blues, in the 5-20 knot range. As you move up the rainbow, it might make for a pretty graphic but some nasty, nasty seas.

This morning's offshore report:

"Gale warning is in effect. Winds increasing to 40-45 knots with higher gusts. Seas 12-24 feet, increasing to 24 to 30 feet. Mariners may wish to alter their plans now."

Duh. That last statement was probably not necessary.

ICW and Beaufort, SC, here we come. We'll be watching for that wind and wave palette to go back to more soothing colors.

Charleston rocked, as always, and we were happy to see Ann and Joe on Short Walk, an Island Packet 40, pull in, last seen (by us) in Emerald Bay in Georgetown (Bahamas).

And welcome our new friends from this year's freshman class: Dan and Kath on Majiks. Hope to be seeing you on down the waterway!

NORTH BY NORTHEAST

Monday, June 20 
Charleston, SC 32º47.351N | 79º55.461W

With our one-week vacation in Charleston behind us, our focus is now making tracks north to Manteo to see our kids and friends.

Tuesday, June 21
Butler Island, SC 33º25.765N | 79º12.006W

First stop: Butler Island, where we anchored at 7:04 p.m. after 73 miles, 10 hours of motorsailing and riding swift currents. This is the kind of spot that, if you didn't know the sad reality, gives the impression that the whole world is at peace.

Wednesday, June 22 
North Myrtle Beach, SC 33º51.09N | 78º39.27W

A peaceful 7:24 a.m. getaway.

Today's destination was an empathy stop. Karen & Dale on Jessie Marie left Charleston a day ahead of us. We weren't sure when or where we would see them again until we got this text:

"Engine blown. Waiting for a tow."

We stopped in North Myrtle Beach to commiserate with them only to find they had taken their plight with good ol' Canadian unflappability. Seeing they might be here for a while, they rented bikes and contentedly settled in for a spell.

It was great to meet one of our blog readers here in North Myrtle -- a soon-to-be cruiser still plodding TO paradise. It's gratifying to pass along the kind of encouragement and support we've received on our extremely slow ploddingTOparadise.blogspot.com.

Learning the value of doing chores underway. Free time!

Friday, June 24 
Topsail, NC 34º23.680N | 77º35.809W

Moving water.     Photo by Chip

We pushed a lot of water up the ICW today. After an 11-hour, 47-minute trek of 83 miles, we anchored in a less-than-ideal spot in Topsail. The wind was cranking, and there weren't any protected spots, so we have tucked way up into a shallow, residential neighborhood and are hoping for the best.

A peaceful (boring) day on the ICW caused me to enlist the autohelm remote.

Hi Barbara!

CHARLESTON'S UGLY TRUTH

Charleston, SC 32º47.351N | 79º55.461W

Middleton Place plantation

I knew I would hate visiting a plantation, celebrating a grotesque history of human enslavement, but I agreed to go anyway. It was beautiful. I hated it.

There we were, white people walking the beautiful grounds built and maintained by enslaved black people.

At one point we passed a black employee raking the grass.

Now, I know in our politically correct thinking that we can't discriminate in hiring, but come on. Can't we exclusively hire white people to clip the grass on a southern plantation?

To further insult me, they charged $37 (a whopping $74 for both of us) to enter the grounds and have a tour of the 'house,' which turns out be a gentlemen's guest house, not the main house where the white, privileged family lived. That one burned down.

Okay, screed interrupted. The place was pretty. Here are some photos.

Fun and games.

CHARLESTON'S NEW TREASURES

Charleston, SC 32º47.351N | 79º55.461W

Night on the town with Kaleo and Jessie Marie.

One of those questions I was asking the last post was readily answered here in Charleston.

For instance, how long until we plug in our power cord...

I was practically standing on the bow with the shore power plug in hand as we pulled in this slip at Charleston Maritime Center. It is H-O-T, and I was ready for some A.-C.

After plugging in, I spent the next hour crawling around in the hatches reattaching the air conditioning ducts, working up a good sweat in the process, making that frigid air all the more lovely once it started flowing. Welcome to summer in the U.S.

It is good to be back in this city we love. I've already written an Ode to Charleston, a place we bookmarked for our return trip.

When we were in Charleston last November, I had some inkling of the rich community of water people who share the cruising life, but I did not realize we had barely begun to string the necklace of lifelong friends we would gather on this inaugural voyage. These fellow travelers laugh with us at the foibles of cruising life, celebrate happy moments and sometimes tears with us, lend us a hand if needed (often) and keep an eye on us when necessary (always).

And now on our return trip, our love of Charleston has an added dimension with the companionship of these new friends. Two slips to starboard are Karen & Dale on Jessie Marie, who we haven't seen since our last stop in the Bahamas. Three slips to port are Matt & Christie on Kaleo, who we have been chasing but haven't seen since we were all in Long Island in March.

On this trip north, as we slowly make our way toward home waters, it would be easy to focus on what we left behind, but instead, our new friends remind us of how very much we have gained along the way.

EARNING OUR WAY TO CHARLESTON

Charleston, SC 32º46.832N | 79º57.599W

Attentive readers might remember how we fell in love with Charleston last December as we passed through, bookmarking it for a visit on our return swing north.

Yesterday we set off from Cumberland Island for yet another 24-hour passage, entirely skipping Georgia and its 9-foot tides.

In a frustrating continuation of our ships-passing-in-the-night phase, as we were leaving, our friends Christie and Matt on Kaleo were anchoring across the way in Fernandina, but we were glad to hear they are Charleston-bound as well.

The generous inlet of the St. Mary's River was shrouded in dense smoke as we sailed out mid-morning. Apparently large chunks of the southeast are on fire. We leave you folks in charge of the country for a few months, and you set the whole place on fire!

The wind was brisk and lovely, from the east as we set our course northeast toward Charleston. The forecast was dreamy: 0-1 meter of swell, wind in the 10-15 knot range, perhaps dropping during the night.

We passed an enjoyable day of near-perfect sailing accompanied by a strong sense of foreboding, remembering that damnable pattern of the last two passages: perfect by day; hell by night.

And you know what? We were right -- except for one thing: it was far, far worse.

After sunset, the sea state got increasingly agitated. By midnight it was tossing us about in 8-10 foot swell with a random 12-footer thrown in. What direction? On our beam, of course.

The wind apparently did not read the forecasts, because by midnight it was howling a steady 25 knots, gusting even higher. From where? You should know the answer by now: on our stern quarter, clocking slowly behind us.

Same routine as the last two overnighters with the volume on 10. Sigh.

It's a funny thing about sailing. On a tack off the wind, you loll along surfing the waves, thinking this wind isn't so bad, but then you turn on the opposite tack, and it's as if somebody switched the weather channel. The bow pounds through the waves, the screeching wind blasts against the sails (and your face) and you feel like you're rocketing out of the atmosphere -- even though, according to the knot meter, you're actually going slower.

On our two previous passages with similar but lighter conditions, we were able to hold our course reasonably well, but this time, if we kept our course, the rocking and rolling was truly unbearable. We had to zigzag west toward shore, running downwind, then east, out to sea, hopefully on average, keeping our course to Charleston.

During his 3 to 6 a.m. watch, Chip altered our course, finding a better route that was a wee bit more tolerable. On my 3-6 shift, the swell slowly, inch-by-inch started to ease and by the time I came back on watch, the sea state had calmed, and the sun was just beginning to lighten the sky.

The sun must have had a rough night too, because all morning it threatened to just go on back down.

Since when does the sun set in the east?

We passed the morning peacefully, snatching little catnaps in the cockpit thanks to calmer seas.

Well-earned rest after a fitful night.

By noon we turned into the long channel leading into our dear Charleston, dropping anchor in the Ashley River for a good long sleep, resting up for our weeklong date with this fine southern city.

GHOSTLY STOWAWAY

Charleston, SC 32º47.344N | 79º55.75W

Remind me not to spend so much time in graveyards. Apparently we left Charleston with an ethereal stowaway.

Yes, some long dead Southern Belle, her restless soul rambling the streets, followed me onto Cara Mia and quietly inhabited my brain today.

It's true. An otherworldly nesting urge mysteriously descended on me. I baked a loaf of pumpernickel bread, made a batch of muffins, whipped up some raita (Indian yogurt dish) and did some cleaning -- all while we were underway. I even offered to hem Chip's pants. (FYI, this is all very unusual, supernatural, if you will.)

The grip of Charleston held us until the end. We reluctantly plodded through the preparations to leave the dock in time for high tide. As we studied the docklines (I've discovered if you look pitifully at your docklines long enough, someone will eventually come help you untie), our neighbors from both sides came over for a chat. Thus we dawdled and dawdled until Chip finally said, "Whoa, we better get out of here!"

That few enjoyable minutes of chatting cost us about 45 minutes, because we missed the 10 a.m. bridge opening across the way. Ah well, we get there when we get there.

In this case, "there" is the mouth of Alligator Creek halfway between Charleston and B-you-FERT, SC, at a beautiful, quiet anchorage where life is good, very good. Bread in the oven, soup on the stove.

Our southern ghost is ready for a good night's sleep.

Alligator Creek, SC 32º33.753N | 80º24.458W

ODE TO CHARLESTON

Dueler's Alley, where men defending their honor
were banished to fight it out at dawn.

Charleston, SC 32º47.344N | 79º55.75W

Aboard Cara Mia, we had developed a restless rhythm, a drumbeat pulling us south at a rapid pace.

And then we got to Charleston, and our rhythm came undone.

Something about this town has lolled us into stasis, a happy inertia that threatens to hold us indefinitely.

Despite the fact that the temperatures have hovered in the 40s, we have donned enough layers to look like the Michelin man, walking and biking for hours peeking up Charleston's hoop skirt.

We even sat through a one-hour travel club presentation (not a bad program) just to pocket the free tours -- and $50 in cash. Our one-hour dues coincided with daylight savings time, so we considered it a wash.

The "free" one-hour carriage tour was uninspiring except for Earl the horse, who got totally spooked when we passed the old prison. Our driver said all the horses react that way around the creepy place. Weird. The 90-minute Ghost Walk was delightful and spooky, a late-night trudge through alleys and graveyards, each stop narrated with a tragic tale of death and sorrow and woe.

Apparently Charleston has as many ghost sightings as Roswell does UFO sightings, some have even been captured in photographs. Actually the ghosts are often seen only in the photographs, invisible to the photographer in real time. Thank goodness I didn't take my camera.

Charleston's many textures make me want to reach out and touch it, the rough cobblestone streets made from old ship's ballast stones, the haint blue trim on doors and windows intended to keep the restless spirits away, the heavy marble Greek revival columns, the delicate ivy crawling on brick walls, all to the soundtrack of the clop clop of carriage horses, pealing church bells and long, mournful ship's horns.

The streets are rife with Antebellum ostentation, their gutters running thick with history. And just in case you forget you are in that South, you come upon tacky souvenirs to remind you.

Shouldn't these be illegal?

I could be content spending many weeks here in southern comfort, discovering Charleston's secrets and searching for her ghosts, but our marina will only indulge us one more day, and then our plod south resumes once again.

Charleston, thank you kindly for your southern hospitality, but soon you must let us take our leave.

Charleston, SC 32º47.344N | 79º55.75W

INTO THE CITY

Price Creek, SC 32º54.119N | 75º40.277W

Sunrise over Price Creek, SC.

Today is a day I had been looking forward to -- for a very long time. Our plod south has taken us through charming little Carolina town after charming little Carolina town. Having spent the last 6 months in Manteo, perhaps the most charming of all, I was about up to here in, well, don't make me say it again.

But today, we head to a proper city, and I love me some proper city life, walking down crowded streets sipping decorative coffee, gawking through window at things I don't want and can't afford, brushing by people whose roots stretch to faraway lands, hearing the varied and melodic potpourri of accents wafting by, being completely surrounded by people, none of whom want to talk to me. Yes.

We left our anchorage behind yesterday's saviors aboard N. Aimless, who radioed back to us to get our camera ready.

Creeping out of the anchorage, determined not to run aground, we inched past the two bald eagles N. Aimless radioed about, perched at the entrance to see us off to the big city.

Price Creek council.

Thanks to our long, grueling day yesterday, it was a short and glorious 3-hour hop to Charleston with nothing to report along the way (glorious, yes?). As we motored across the Cooper River, we could see Charleston Maritime Center, our destination, just behind an enormo cruising ship and between two tall-ship schooners.

The dockmaster radioed to warn us of the heavy current we would be crossing, a current that would push us directly at the equally enormo bowsprit of one of the schooners we had to skirt to get into the marina. Yesterday a sailboat judged wrong and impaled itself on that bowsprit. Gulp.

Chip, at the helm, headed well above the schooner and its impaler, throttled up to keep steerage, and as he headed toward the marina, the current was so swift, we looked like we were pointing past the marina, but we were flying right into it at a 30-degree angle that felt like we were going completely sideways. Crazy. He executed it perfectly, well clear of the schooner.

We pulled in at 11:00 a.m., just before the cruise ship started backing out across the marina entrance.

Cruise ship with small fishing boat for scale and
large schooner with impaler sticking into marina entrance.

We hosed off Cara Mia (my new favorite chore) and hit the streets of Charleston, still in our many layers of unwashed fleece and sporting our decidedly un-citylike foul weather jackets and boat shoes, wandering into designer clothing stores under the glare of clerks who somehow knew I was wearing yoga tights under my pants.

But not for men and women who live on boats.

Stately buildings, towering palms, pulsing yet quiet energy, people in dead sexy leather boots. Ah, Charleston, it's so, so good to meet you -- or is it y'all?

Charleston, SC 32º47.344N | 79º55.75W

Our first provisions since Manteo.
Chip was worried we would get scurvy.