THE LONGEST WATCH

Alligator River, NC 35º40.398N | 76º03.402W

Unsettled in Oriental

I've gritted my teeth through some long watches, usually in expected places like Tongues of Oceans, but this one topped my list -- and it was only two hours.

Our short hops up the coast have continued, stopping at another favorite spot: Beaufort, NC. I already wrote about our history with Beaufort when we passed through last fall, four days into our cruising career.

This time, as always, we enjoyed the shops and restaurants, tooling around before an early morning run to Oriental.

We lifted anchor in Beaufort at 8:07, and I was feeling slightly queasy. Strange. I took a slug of Pepto, which usually kicks seasickness for me, even the tiniest sip. But why was I seasick? We'd been underway for weeks -- and conditions were mild.

My watch was to last until 10, and every minute I felt worse and worse. By 9:45, I was counting seconds, miliseconds, in an unending blur of nausea.

When Chip took over at 10, I fell on the couch and didn't budge until we approached Oriental. We tried unsuccessfully to anchor (although I do consider running aground a form of anchoring), so as a last resort we hailed the marina.

On this northern trek, I'm in charge of docking, so I took the wheel and pulled into a pencil-thin slip, threw a stern line over the piling, rodeo-style, and shut off the engine.

I went below, collapsed on the couch in a cold sweat, and did not leave the boat for 48 hours.

Food poisoning. We know that now, because Chip followed my lead. Six months in the Bahamas with no food issues. Two weeks in the U.S.: food poisoning.

Nachos. Good old American nachos in Beaufort.

We hobbled out of Oriental this morning and chose to take the inside route to Manteo. The capricious Pamlico on a still-queasy stomach? No thanks.

We're anchored in the Alligator River, feeling stronger and excited, one stop away from our home port!

Heading toward Beaufort.

Scenic Alligator River.

WEATHER OR NOT

Geese headed south from Beaufort.

Oriental, NC  35°0248N | 76°6948W

There's an undeniable seduction in living close to the elements, the wind, waves, currents and tides dictating when and where I can go and how long I can stay. It taps into something ancient and primal, stirrings deep in my reptilian brain.

My body is relearning the language of nature in a way that completely sidesteps conscious thought. 

Yesterday,  I felt like someone had dropped a 100-pound pillow on top of me. I just wanted to curl up and take a nap. My brain said, "Need coffee." Nature said, "Storm coming." 

Today I woke to the sound of geese winging their way south and was filled with longing, a long dormant desire to follow them south. How is it my instinct and a goose's instinct would be the same? Because we are both animals, or just that me and my feathered friends have been skyjacked by Jimmy Buffett?

We set out on our continued plod south this morning knowing we were headed into some weather but also knowing there was more coming, and we preferred to sit it out in Beaufort, NC, only 21 miles away.

Crossing the Neuse River in wind blowing 20-25 knots and gusting to 35 knots, little choppy waves tossed us up, down, around in the washtub of shallow water. Some wind, some waves, not enough to keep us in port, not enough to scare us, just enough to make an easy passage of 21 miles seem more like 60.

After a gusty slog down the ICW to Beaufort, Chip executed a masterful 3-point turn pulling into a slip at Beaufort Docks, and I went below to post our arrival on Facebook.

Minutes later, I checked back to find a comment from our friend Jeff White, former DJ at 99.1 The Sound in the Outer Banks, who now lives in California: "Ask for Jeb Brearey. He's the dockmaster, and he also happens to be my uncle."

Didn't the world used to be bigger?

Chatter on the VHF today recommended lying about the number of crew onboard, since Beaufort Docks gives out a free beer token to each crewmember.

"Tell them 8 or 9. You got someone in the engine room, somebody sleeping below. Just don't go over 10, they'll start getting suspicious," heard on Channel 69.

We opted, as usual, for the truth and left with four tokens.

Today, a day without tears, I couldn't help but think it's fortunate that nasty weather came around on our fourth day and not our first. Just as we are getting ourselves together, the weather has started falling apart.

Beaufort, NC  34°42.911N | 76°39.815W

BLOG LOG: Our fellow cruisers Mike & Rebecca on Zero to Cruising got photos of dolphins that we saw a few hours later but once again failed to photograph. Mike also aptly points out that we are in BO-fert, not BUE-fert, which is in South Carolina.

PEOPLE ON THE EDGE

Oriental, NC  35°0248N | 76°6948W

Today we opted for a layover day, a short respite after an arduous 7-day frenzy of leave-taking preparation and two long days of slogging down the Pamlico.

My goals for the day:

1. Sleep late
2. Don't cry 

It's a good thing this blog starts with the successful accomplishment of a 10-year goal lest I look like a pitiful failure.

Despite my best intentions, my eyes popped wide open at 5:45, not just a fleeting blink of consciousness but full on, uncharacteristic wakefulness.

We had hoped to take a day of rest but realized our chore list was rather long, starting with a good scrub down for Cara Mia.

Then, with a squall on our heels,

photo by Chip

we set out to meet the people of Oriental. That squall soon overtook us, and we had a 30-minute walk in an utter deluge, which makes me wonder why only children and crazy people go out in the rain. The rest of us could learn a little something from them about spontaneity and childlike joy.

Our mission was to stock up on spare parts for the engine at one of the few Yanmar parts outlets along the coast. We spent well over an hour with Lucille at Deaton Yachts identifying which tiny engine parts were the right ones. She patiently tracked down every part we needed, including one that is being shipped on ahead -- and, just when she thought we were done, we remembered that 5/16" line we need for our topping lift. All during the tedious process, Bill was waiting behind us. Despite several offers, he declined to play through. Instead it was apparent he was vicariously coming along on our $600 spending spree and, for that little while, hitching his wagon to our dream. 

Bill kindly drove us back to the boat, waited while we scrounged around gathering our used equipment -- and then drove us, still dripping, to the consignment shop. That's where Cindy took over. She registered our radar dome, portable autohelm, boom break and a box of hinges to be sold on consignment. We told her we would walk back to the boat to retrieve a small Fortress anchor to sell as well, but Cindy would have none of that. 

"Tonight is sushi night at M&Ms, so just bring the anchor to me there," she said. "M&Ms is a lot closer to the harbor!"

Okay, this is a town with great folks, but no tears yet, right?

Well, back there right after I woke up too early, we walked across the street to Oriental's notorious gathering spot, The Bean, where the posted speed limit is 15 but seems slower.

The barista, June, told us that sometimes she gets carried away looking out at the view of the harbor and burns the coffee.

"I spent too much of my life not getting carried away," she said.

For 28 years, June worked, not as a barista, but in the IT field, until one day, eight years ago, she realized she wasn't having fun any more.

"That's when I started over. I moved to Oriental, and this is the only job I've ever had where I look forward to going to work on Monday mornings."

We told her about our similar life reboot.

"Oh," she said, "You are going to love your new adventure. Some of the best people on earth are water people, I see it every day."

I think June is probably right. I would only add that the people on the edge of the land are pretty awesome as well.

It's June's fault I teared up before 8 a.m.

Today: 0 for 2

Oriental, NC  35°0248N | 76°6948W

MOMENTUM

Engelhard, NC  35°509N | 75°989W

Sailing into the sunrise out of Engelhard, NC.

The happy flow of our lives is so corny that I feel compelled to leave out a lot of the sappy details. For instance, yesterday I was embarrassed to include the part about the rising sun striking the water, scattering a million sparkling Tinkerbells in our wake. And later?  Dolphins kept popping up around us, sometimes one, sometimes two, shoulder to shoulder.

I'm pleased to report there have been no rainbows -- yet.

Schmaltziness aside, I set two goals for myself today:

1. Make the 54 mile passage to Oriental, NC
2. Don't cry

Is 50% an 'F'?

Our day started with the most gorgeous, surreal sunrise that packed enough power to provoke tears, but I prevailed. I was going to Oriental, and I wasn't going to cry. 

We turned south for a 9-hour trip through the notoriously sketchy Pamlico Sound:

The Pamlico: What nasty water?

All morning Cara Mia's good-old Yanmar plugged along through dead calm. Chip and I traded one-hour shifts at the helm so we could alternately do chores and learn how to use the radar (a damned fine invention).

Chip thawed bread for lunch using our new "microwave," formerly the floor of the old life raft:

The breakdown came soon thereafter. No, not the engine, not the boat, not Chip. You know who that leaves.

I was cleaning up after lunch and found a tiny farewell note from a tiny girl, who dropped by Engelhard yesterday to see us off. A girl we've been with since the first minutes of her 20-month life. Those miniature pencil marks (to which she had given her entire attention) clobbered me with the full meaning of goodbye.

"I was trying to go the whole day without crying," I blubbered.

To help pull myself back together, I pulled out the staysail. Some 8 knots of breeze had kicked up, and I was anxious to accomplish at least one of my goals. We raised the jib and picked up .2 knots. The wind was almost dead ahead. We dropped the canvas and motored on.

This was not our first approach to Oriental. We came down by car many times over the last 8 years to look at boats for sale and sometimes merely to revel in a community focused on sailing, wandering around as pretenders. Over those years, we've maintained virtual citizenship via the local, cheeky news site, towndock.net, where Chip faithfully, daily peered through the harborcam, imagining adifferent life.

At 9 hours and 9 minutes, we were pulling into our slip in Oriental, when we heard someone nearby shout, "CHIP!!!"

The moment was captured on that harborcam Chip used to traffic:

A welcoming committee in Oriental? We don't know anyone here, and very few people knew we were sailing in.

We had three lines on the pilings before the shouters came running down the dock. With lines in hand, we turned to see Pete and Suzanne who bought our dear, old boat, Isabella.

"I can't believe it!" Suzanne said. "We never come to Oriental. Isabella is right across the water!"

Here came the tears again, this time I was not alone. Chip had joined me.

But wait! The guy on the boat across the finger dock, 6 feet away, shouted out, "Hey, I have a dinghy that's Island Packet beige!"

We looked where he pointed atop his trawler to see a beige Trinka dinghy the exact same color as our boat.

"My son just bought it."

Chip and I looked at each other. I haven't asked what he was thinking, but I was just thinking, no way. NOT POSSIBLE.

Chip asked, "Did he get it in South Carolina?"

"Yes."

"Did he buy it from someone named Marvin Day?" I asked.

"How did you know?"

Marvin Day was the owner of an Island Packet named Good Company, now known as Cara Mia.

Oriental, NC  35°0248N | 76°6948W