The Adventures of Sylphide

[leeman]

Man, I like that N46. There's one for sale in Florida, I think, on Yachtworld. Your boat is metal, though, isn't it? That would be my preference.

You, sir, have good taste in boats!

 

[Wayfarer]

Dave, as always, your posts are a rare treat! Keep them coming!

Thank you! I know there's high demand for content in these strange days, lol.

Man, I like that N46. There's one for sale in Florida, I think, on Yachtworld. Your boat is metal, though, isn't it? That would be my preference.

You, sir, have good taste in boats!

I sure do! lol. Sylphide is aluminum, and with the number of things I've run over climbing all the time, I'm grateful for it.

 

[Miz Trom]

After a few awkward encounters like that, it looked like they were moving over to let me pass, so I started working my way over to one side of the channel. That’s when I hit what I assume it was a fallen tree across the river. I never saw what it was, but it sure felt and sounded solid, and it bumped along the keel far more times than I’d have cared for. It was the most alarming series of bumps I’ve felt yet, and I could actually feel the boat riding up over it, which was a deeply unpleasant sensation. I was never more glad to have a deep, sturdy keel, and protected running gear. From what I can tell, no damage was done, except to my underpants.

Hey Dave:


I had the same happen on the Tombigbee last October, somewhere near Columbus, Mississippi, but not severe enough to raise up the boat like what happened to you. It was loud! Fortunately I was only moving 7 mph at the time, and at the first bump I started raising my outboards and threw 'er in neutral.


I was steering from the lower helm at the time because it was a cold and rainy day. If I'd been up top I would have seen it and been able to avoid it.


I was really wishing we had a keel as the bumping traveled from bow to stern. The outboards got very loud as they were momentarily deprived of their water intake. It's funny how the mind races, picturing all kinds of damage, while at the same time instantly lowering the outboards in the microsecond the log is astern.

There was a tow coming at us, and that split-second decision to leave the outboards running while tilting them up is one I'd make again.

I was ready to dive on the boat when we got to the marina in Columbus, but they put us in a 3-ft deep slip! (picture below) Having only a 2-ft draft proved to be very useful, as it was their last covered slip and we stayed there for 3 days waiting out a late-season tropical storm.

We ended up waiting until we got to Pensacola where we were planning to have Mariso hauled so Hubby Dan could do a quick lower unit oil change. I was very surprised to see just a few scratches and dings in the bottom paint, which was an easy touch-up.

Stay Safe,
Mrs. Trombley

 

[Wayfarer]

Hey Dave:


I had the same happen on the Tombigbee last October, somewhere near Columbus, Mississippi, but not severe enough to raise up the boat like what happened to you. It was loud! Fortunately I was only moving 7 mph at the time, and at the first bump I started raising my outboards and threw 'er in neutral.


I was steering from the lower helm at the time because it was a cold and rainy day. If I'd been up top I would have seen it and been able to avoid it.


I was really wishing we had a keel as the bumping traveled from bow to stern. The outboards got very loud as they were momentarily deprived of their water intake. It's funny how the mind races, picturing all kinds of damage, while at the same time instantly lowering the outboards in the microsecond the log is astern.

There was a tow coming at us, and that split-second decision to leave the outboards running while tilting them up is one I'd make again.

I was ready to dive on the boat when we got to the marina in Columbus, but they put us in a 3-ft deep slip! (picture below) Having only a 2-ft draft proved to be very useful, as it was their last covered slip and we stayed there for 3 days waiting out a late-season tropical storm.

We ended up waiting until we got to Pensacola where we were planning to have Mariso hauled so Hubby Dan could do a quick lower unit oil change. I was very surprised to see just a few scratches and dings in the bottom paint, which was an easy touch-up.

Stay Safe,
Mrs. Trombley

Sometimes it pays to be the slow boat! I hope I would have had the presence of mind to lift up the outdrives. That's a nice option to have.

So far, all of the flotsam I've speedbumped over has been in muddy chocolate milk water, and I haven't seen any of it. I guess I should just start cruising in clear water from now on.

 

[Wayfarer]

The next morning, I felt like I’d had Domino’s and a terrible night’s sleep the night before. This is because I had. My mattress and I haven’t been getting along well lately, and replacing it is becoming a higher priority with every sore, creaky, early morning.

While coffee soaked into my joints to loosened them up, I called the Little River bridge to make sure they were still open for business. They said they were, so I warmed up ol’ Perkins and managed to get a fairly early start. I made it about a mile down the river when the coast guard made an unscheduled marine broadcast advising me that the Little River swing bridge was down for repairs, and that I should navigate the area with EXTREME CAUTION.

As soon as I was done swearing, I called the bridge again for clarification. Turns out the coast guard was never informed that the bridge was back up and running. Neat.

It didn’t matter what he said, really. If I’d gotten to the bridge and it hadn’t opened for me, I was just going to ram it until it did, or until I was short enough to fit underneath. Thankfully it didn’t come to that.

The weather was pretty much perfect as I crossed the border into North Carolina, escorted by a swarm of several hundred thousand center consoles. It was a considerable improvement in the scenery compared to the trip south. By this point, I’d gotten a bit bored with it, but I think most of that was due to several days of cold, gray, rainy January weather. Throw a little sunshine on the place, and it’s downright pleasant.

It was smooth sailing until I reached the Shallotte Inlet. A northbound cruiser ahead of me had encountered a spot of bother in the form of a small sand bar, and was on the radio with Boat US. He was able to get himself free, and once he’d determined that there was no damage, he was on his way again. Thankfully the Towboat stuck around until I passed through. The shallow spot could very easily have gotten me too if he hadn’t pointed it out. It was well inside the red buoy, and there couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet of water there.

I arrived at Southport marina around mid afternoon, and was welcomed by southwest winds blowing off the dock again. Thankfully there were no other boats moored nearby, and there were two strapping young dockhands there to catch my lines and reel me in. It took some doing, but we wrangled her to the dock just in time for the wind to stop blowing.

I wandered into the shop to check in and pay for my visit. As soon as I’d finished paying, I saw something on the shelf that I needed, so I picked it up and paid again. Then I saw something else on the shelf that I needed, and paid for a third time. I told the dock guys that it was my goal to touch the credit card reader as many times as possible, so that I would be sure to get corona’d.

‘Aw hell, we all got it anyway, so it doesn’t matter to us!’ they joked.

‘Well ****,’ I replied, ‘I’ve been in here for hours already. There’s no way I don’t have it. I guess since we’re all gonna die anyway, who wants to make out?’

I got a laugh, but no takers. Oh well, it was worth a shot. I took my swag and retired to Sylphide for the night, 39 miles closer to wherever the hell it is that I'm going.

 

[Wayfarer]

I left Southport Marina after just one night’s stay, and without having come within six feet of anyone, for better or worse. I caught the last of the flood tide up the Cape Fear River, and was shot through Snows Cut like a spicy burrito through a sensitive intestinal tract.

[Insert relevant joke about toilet paper shortage here]

I timed my arrival for the Wrightsville Beach Bridge pretty well, and only had to wait for a couple of minutes with a small parade of other vessels. Between that one and Figure Eight Bridge, I traveled in convoy with a Lagoon Sailing cat. They were a little slower than me, but since I wouldn’t make it in time for the half hour opening, I figured I’d slow down and enjoy being a sailboater for a while.

Turns out, I didn’t have to. The tide was low enough that I was able to sneak under the closed bridge. Neat.

Mom and sister Alison were spending their day texting me pictures of their cats being cute and snuggly. I wanted to contribute to the conversation, but aside from the meat in the refrigerator, the closest thing I had to a cat was my stuffed appendix, so they got this:

The rest of the 45 mile cruise was very pleasant. I spent it periodically checking my sense of smell, and taking my temperature with the laser thermometer in my tool box. Good news, the prognosis is still just a very mild case of hypochondria.

I got to Mile Hammock Bay sometime around four that afternoon. There were already four sailboats anchored there, and I shoehorned myself in between them and the man made part of the harbor. The wind was fairly lively out of the southwest when I arrived, and was supposed to keep up all night. I decided that at least in this position, I wouldn’t have to worry about dragging down into anyone else’s boat. I would only have to think about all of the other boats dragging into me, or if I dragged, ending up high and dry on Camp Lejeune’s boat ramp.

None of those horror stories came to pass, thankfully, and the weather never got any worse. The only thunder I heard was from the Marines blowing **** up. They were pretty busy by the sounds of it. Meanwhile, I tried my damnedest to stink up the anchorage by making a delicious Chicken Tikka Masala. I was so happy with it that I ate it. I also took a picture of it, but I’ll spare you. A wise man once told me that when it comes to blogging, ‘nobody else cares what you eat.’ That night was perfectly clear, and all of the stars were out. I felt very lucky to be where I was.

I woke up the next morning with another sore back, but forgot about it quickly when I poked my head outside. It was magnificent. Flat calm, sunny, dry, and so comfortable. It was so pleasant that a large part of me, I think it was my left leg and both kidneys, wanted to stay for another night. I dragged my feet and made some breakfast, which I ate even slower than usual. I waffled back and forth between staying and going until late morning, when I decided that the weather coming was less pleasant, and that I’d rather be a little farther along when I woke up again. So, I picked up the hook, and set off toward Beaufort.

I’d tried to find some sort of schedule for Camp Lejeune’s explosive hootenannies, but I couldn’t find anything that I could make sense of. I tried calling, but nobody answered. I tried asking the coast guard if they had any information, and they basically said ‘iunno.’ Luckily, there were no festivities that day, and I got through the firing range with no lines and no waiting. Except for Onslow Beach Bridge, which had both.

As promised, I was overtaken by gray, wet, and wind when I started into Bogue Sound. By the time I’d gotten to Morehead City Inlet, it was pretty snotty. Having enjoyed my last night’s anchorage so much, I’d been considering doing it again, but with the shite weather, and with my laundry bag getting full and my refrigerator getting empty, It was time to tie up and plug in.

I decided to try the Morehead City side of town this time. I stayed at the Yacht Basin, where I checked in from a safe distance outside the window at the dockmaster’s office. I borrowed the courtesy car, but took a few minutes to disinfect it first. The grocery store was pretty well picked over, and all of the usual suspects were missing. Produce was low. There wasn’t an avocado, bell pepper, or mango to be found. The meat selection was slim. There were no paper products, which I expected, but there were also no eggs, which I did not. It wasn’t the kind I wanted, but got the last loaf of bread in the store. A lonely looking, slightly squished loaf of store brand light rye. I think I picked the pathetic thing up more out of pity than anything else. Turns out it’s pretty good.

I really can’t complain. I still managed to get more than I needed, and was more than ready for a few nights at anchor, which is where we’re heading next.

 

[Wayfarer]

I spent a couple of gray, rainy, and windy nights at Morehead City. When the second morning rolled around, things were looking much more gooderer. I decided to shake a leg, and make some more miles. By the time Perkins was warm, and I’d finished swearing at my new and still obnoxious fresh water hose, we got underway at around 10.

About two miles down the road, I found myself gaining on a tug pushing a barge. This is always a rare treat aboard a boat as slow as Sylphide. I don’t often get to feel smug and superior in the speed department. My smugness and superiority were quickly replaced by mild confusion, however. The tug was going really slowly. Was it even moving at all? It was also making odd and erratic course changes, swinging all over the place. I couldn’t quite figure out what he was up to. I thought maybe he was trying to turn around, or maybe maneuver toward a dock somewhere, but there was none I could see. Once I got closer, I realized that he was aground, and trying to work himself free.

I’ve been there before, and it’s a shite way to spend a day. I didn’t want to bother the fella, but I did want to get past him. I wanted to talk to him before I did so, just to make sure I wasn’t going to be in his way, and to be sure he knew I was there. I tried several times to contact him, but got no answer. Eventually I just said ‘to hell with it’ and went. I got around him just fine, sticking to the outside edge of the channel, and continued on my way. He was still stuck when I lost sight of him.

I made my way up the Newport River to Core Creek, which turned into Adams Creek Canal, which then deposited me into the wide open Neuse River. I was relieved to see the Neuse as docile as it was. These big North Carolina sounds can get pretty snotty, but thankfully I wouldn’t be needing my windshield wipers for this crossing.

I spent my time on the Neuse trying out a new audiobook. I’d never read Dune before, and I’d never seen the movie(s?) but I’d encountered enough references to it over the years, that I felt like I should give it a shot. I’ve got more than my fair share of Sci Fi nerd DNA, but even still, I just couldn’t get into it. I don’t know if it was the ridiculous 80’s synth music, or the super cheesy and cliche characters, or the super cheesy and cliche dialogue, or the super cheesy and cliche plot, but I found the whole thing to be pretty cheesy and cliche. If I had just two words to describe it, they would be ‘Rhombus’ and ‘Equestrian.’

On the other side of the Neuse River, I made my way into the Goose Creek Cut. Another mostly straight and fairly narrow man made canal. At the top end of the long cut, Goose Creek opens out into it’s more natural shape, with several other creeks joining up with it. I chose a nice wide open spot where Snode creek meets Goose creek, and nestled in amongst the horde of crab pots. I had the anchor set by around 6:30, having covered another 44 Miles.

The anchorage was fairly remote. Cell service was scant. There were a handful of expensive looking houses on the shoreline, and one other boat anchored nearby, but otherwise the horizon was wilderness. It was a very calm and quiet night, and I was very comfortable there. It was an ideal way to practice social distancing.

I got an earlier start the next morning, and had the anchor up and hosed off by around 8:30. A short while later Sylphide and I splashed our way out into the Pamlico Sound. We were again greeted by friendly conditions, so I set the autopilot and made some breakfast. Looking out over my fresh cuppa coffee, I spotted another vessel on the horizon and recognized it immediately. This was Eleohn, and she was hard to mistake for anything else. She was southbound, and being piloted by none other than rgano. We’d been keeping in touch, and expected to cross paths at some point. We had a nice chat on the radio, and a small photo shoot as we passed significantly more than six feet apart. Captain Rich made fun of me for having my hooters out, as is right and proper.

I’d covered several miles by the time our friendly radio banter had finished, and soon rounded the corner into the Pungo River. We passed Belhaven, where we’d spent a few days on the way south, and carried on toward the Alligator Pungo Canal.

Once up inside the canal, it being a long straight stretch, I could see a long way ahead. I noticed there was some traffic coming the other way. A tug pushing a couple of barges, by the looks of it. He’s still a long way out yet. Nothing to worry about. There’s plenty of room. Eventually, somewhere around mile 121, I started working my way slowly to the right side of the channel to stay out of his way.

Somewhere just below mile marker 120, Sylphide came to a fairly abrupt, but strangely gentle halt. I took her out of gear right away, expecting to hear horrible crunching sounds. I didn’t hear anything, and never felt any bumps like I had with all of the other objects I’d previously plowed into. The sounder still showed three meters under us, and it didn’t feel like I’d run aground. I took a quick look around the boat to see what there was to see, but the water was the color of root beer, and there was nothing visible. The tug was still slowly coming my way, and I wasn’t quite as far over as I would have liked, so I clutched the engine astern, hoping to ease her off the snag. There were no horrible crunching sounds or vibrations, the wash was normal, and there was no mud being kicked up. We were definitely not moving, though. Whatever it was we were hung up in felt… springy and bouncy. It absorbed the force of my thrusts, and held onto us. It felt like I was stuck in the branches of a tree.

I tried a few more times to break her free, but without any luck. I got on the radio to let the tug driver know what I was up to, and thankfully he said he had plenty of room to get around me.

When the tug was clear, I gave Perkins about half throttle astern, and walked back and forth across the aft deck. The strategic relocation of my big ass was enough for her to wiggle her big ass free. I backed up a couple of boat lengths, then as slowly as possible, started her ahead and back toward the center of the channel. We missed the snag this time, and were on our merry way again.

The rest of the day was quiet and pleasant. I don’t think we saw more than one or two other boats all day. I’m not sure how busy it normally is this time of year, but I suspect it was a lot quieter than usual.

We anchored at Deep Point, at the south end of the Alligator river, having put another 44 miles behind us. It was the same place we’d anchored back on January 20th. It’s likely the most remote place Sylphide and I have anchored in our travels. No cell service at all. Nothing on the horizon but low, wind swept marsh land. The only signs of civilization being a few small, forlorn looking red and green lights, flashing meekly against the heavy darkness. It was quite a bit warmer this time, but just as windy. We had the place to ourselves that night. The crew of the International Space Station were less isolated.

 

[boathealer]

Thanks for the log and great read.

That area of North Carolina was my stomping ground for the last 20 years. I love eastern NC and the Pamlico Sound.

There are endless places to get away from civilization and feel like you're the only one in the whole universe.

Here's a sunrise anchored on the westernmost edge of the Pamlico Sound.

 

[ranger58sb]

I got an earlier start the next morning, and had the anchor up and hosed off by around 8:30. A short while later Sylphide and I splashed our way out into the Pamlico Sound. We were again greeted by friendly conditions, so I set the autopilot and made some breakfast. Looking out over my fresh cuppa coffee, I spotted another vessel on the horizon and recognized it immediately. This was Eleohn, and she was hard to mistake for anything else. She was southbound, and being piloted by none other than rgano. We’d been keeping in touch, and expected to cross paths at some point. We had a nice chat on the radio, and a small photo shoot as we passed significantly more than six feet apart. Captain Rich made fun of me for having my hooters out, as is right and proper.

I think you must have been 1 day -- or maybe 2 -- behind us at that point, since we passed Rich at the upper (southern) part of the Allligator River... and depending on where he anchored after we chatted with him. Nice looking boat.

-Chris

 

[Wayfarer]

Thanks for the log and great read.

That area of North Carolina was my stomping ground for the last 20 years. I love eastern NC and the Pamlico Sound.

There are endless places to get away from civilization and feel like you're the only one in the whole universe.

Here's a sunrise anchored on the westernmost edge of the Pamlico Sound.

Thanks for reading! I've enjoyed my time in the area, and I'll definitely be doing more exploring.

I think you must have been 1 day -- or maybe 2 -- behind us at that point, since we passed Rich at the upper (southern) part of the Allligator River... and depending on where he anchored after we chatted with him. Nice looking boat.

-Chris

A really cool ship for sure. She's a beast! Yeah, HMS RangerRocket was a good couple of days ahead of me by this point methinks.

 

[slowgoesit]

Obviously photo shopped! The boobies not hanging vertical is a dead giveaway! You would have had me but for that. Either that, or you're still on the snag, the tides has gone out, and the wind is from astern!

 

[Wayfarer]

Obviously photo shopped! The boobies not hanging vertical is a dead giveaway! You would have had me but for that. Either that, or you're still on the snag, the tides has gone out, and the wind is from astern!

Well I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about!

Lol, you give me far too much credit. I'm not smart enough to work photoshop. That sir, is Microsoft Paint! Also, it looks like the tide has been out for several hundred years in that particular spot.

 

[slowgoesit]

Well I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about!

Lol, you give me far too much credit. I'm not smart enough to work photoshop. That sir, is Microsoft Paint! Also, it looks like the tide has been out for several hundred years in that particular spot.

Silly you! Don't you recognize SEA GRASS?

 

[RT Firefly]

Greetings,
Mr. W. For you, again...

 

[Ted]

That's the way to do it RT, take them out to dinner and they feed you!!!!!!!!

 

[rgano]

Hey, Dave, whatever that sponge tree you ran into I want you to know I didn't stir it up before you got there!

 

[Wayfarer]

Greetings,
Mr. W. For you, again...

Hey, Dave, whatever that sponge tree you ran into I want you to know I didn't stir it up before you got there!

Yeah sure, I know it was you! Don't try to hide it!

 

[Wayfarer]

Craptain's log, day 1,008 of the plague.

I’m an extrovert. Sure, I need alone time to stay sane, but I also need people. Something I’ve learned about myself since I started cruising, is that I generally don’t like going more than about three days without interacting with others in person. This, more than any limitations of Sylphide’s systems or tank capacities, is what brings be back out of the wilderness most of the time.

On the morning of March 25th, I was up early with another creaky back. It was day three away from humans, and there was no internet or cell service to be had. I was ready to go back to civilization. The ol’ VHF told me that the sunshine wasn’t going to last, and that if I wanted to get across the Albemarle Sound today, I’d have to get my ass in gear. It was going to get sporty later in the day, and having had a nauseating ride on that stretch back in January, I wasn’t interested in a sequel.

The forecast turned out to be accurate. It was a gray, rainy, and generally unpleasant day for sure, but at least the splashy and blowy stuff held off until we’d gotten through the Alligator Bridge and across the sound.

There was a hearty breeze blowing by mid afternoon when Sylphide and I arrived at Coinjock marina. All I had to do was get us even with our desired spot, stop our forward motion, and the wind shoved us into the dock with a thud. Praise be unto the patron saint of aluminum, and tough, low-gloss paint finishes.

I ended up staying at Coinjock for three nights. The dock was largely empty when I first got there, but by the next morning, It had started filling up with like-minded cruisers. It was nice to feel like I was in the suburbs again. I enjoyed the occasional chat with neighbors and passersby, even if it was from a safe distance.

With the lockdown in place, I’d been subjecting myself to more of my own cooking than ever before. I tried to make a burger out of some ‘Beyond Meat’ plant based stuff that I’d been meaning to try. The results were like food, but slightly worse. The next night, I decided to do my part to help keep the marina restaurant afloat. They were still open for takeout, and there was an awkward looking line of folks in front of the place. They looked like an unfinished ‘connect the dots’ puzzle. I took my spot ten feet behind and slightly to the right of the next person, and got myself some fried chicken.

Coinjock was a pretty ideal place to spend a pandemic, really. It’s nowhere near anything else, and there really aren’t many people there. All of my transactions with the dock staff were taken care of with the Dockwa app. I didn’t need diesel or a pump out, so no contact there, either. They even had paper towels in the shop, which I ventured into for a few necessities. They asked that customers use gloves they provided while in the store, so I did.

There were two things I wished I’d done when I was in Coinjock last time, and I took care of both this time. I bought some TOE Jam, and I added a Sylphide sticker to the collection on the shop window. I’m part of the club now.

 

[ranger58sb]

I ended up staying at Coinjock for three nights. The dock was largely empty when I first got there, but by the next morning, It had started filling up with like-minded cruisers. It was nice to feel like I was in the suburbs again. I enjoyed the occasional chat with neighbors and passersby, even if it was from a safe distance.

Good to hear more boats were there...

When we went by -- 3/24, a day ahead of you -- there were no/zero/zip/nada boats on the dock. Kind of eerie, a bazillion feet of face dock with nobody home.

-Chris

 

[rgano]

We were moored directly across the pier from the restaurant several days before you got there, Dave. We avoided lines by calling in our order, and they asked where we were. When we said, "In the big blue and white boat out your window," they volunteered to walk out the order and to run the credit card back and forth between us and the register. We tipped VERY handsomely as our contribution to helping maintain places like that in bidness. Yesterday I went into the marina store here at Salty Sam's in Fort Myers Beach to extend our stay to better line up with a Big Bend-crossing weather window next weekend and saw a line of five or six younger adults (almost all people are younger anymore!) waiting to rent kayaks and pontoon boats et al. They were standing six feet apart, but after watching a simulation of cough-produced particles wafting two aisle over in a grocery store, I left and called it in from the boat.

 

[Wayfarer]

Good to hear more boats were there...

When we went by -- 3/24, a day ahead of you -- there were no/zero/zip/nada boats on the dock. Kind of eerie, a bazillion feet of face dock with nobody home.

-Chris

I think I was only number three on the dock when I arrived, but it was probably 2/3 full at the busiest. My only frame of reference was the middle of January, when I was the only jerk there, lol.

We were moored directly across the pier from the restaurant several days before you got there, Dave. We avoided lines by calling in our order, and they asked where we were. When we said, "In the big blue and white boat out your window," they volunteered to walk out the order and to run the credit card back and forth between us and the register. We tipped VERY handsomely as our contribution to helping maintain places like that in bidness. Yesterday I went into the marina store here at Salty Sam's in Fort Myers Beach to extend our stay to better line up with a Big Bend-crossing weather window next weekend and saw a line of five or six younger adults (almost all people are younger anymore!) waiting to rent kayaks and pontoon boats et al. They were standing six feet apart, but after watching a simulation of cough-produced particles wafting two aisle over in a grocery store, I left and called it in from the boat.

Yeah, I called mine in too, actually. I'd gone up to order, but after waiting a while, and talking to some other patrons, they all said they'd called it in. I went back to the boat and did the same. It wasn't the best fried chicken I've had, If I'm honest. I'm prepared to chalk it up to being put in a styrafoam container and bagged for a short while. I bet it's a lot better fresh.

 

[GBPunky]

Dave,

Just getting around to posting here. Seem to have some time, so... When you were on C dock at CHRM, I looked over at your stern and name and by the time I connected the dots and remarked to the Admiral, that I need to go say hello, you were gone. That I even imagined we could share a beverage or meal makes it seem so distant!

I've enjoyed following along and maybe next passing.

Thanks!

 

[Wayfarer]

Dave,

Just getting around to posting here. Seem to have some time, so... When you were on C dock at CHRM, I looked over at your stern and name and by the time I connected the dots and remarked to the Admiral, that I need to go say hello, you were gone. That I even imagined we could share a beverage or meal makes it seem so distant!

I've enjoyed following along and maybe next passing.

Thanks!

I was watching a movie last night, and it struck me as odd that people were so carelessly getting close to, and even touching each other. What reckless maniacs, lol.

I'll almost certainly be back to CHRM sometime in the future. Hopefully the world has gone back to normal by then. It'd be a pleasure to make your acquaintance

 

[Wayfarer]

After an enjoyable three days at Coinjock, my feet started getting itchy. A quick WebMD search told me it was likely wanderlust, and not athlete’s foot. All I had to do to make it right was go for a boat ride. No creams needed.

I’d been expecting to return to work soon, and had planned to leave Sylphide at Atlantic Yacht Basin in Chesapeake, Virginia while I was away.

So, on the morning of March 28th, in the 2,020th year of our lord, I fired up ol’ Perkins, and we were off the dock by eight. In short order, we found ourselves churning up the waters of Currituck Sound. It was a lovely morning, and the sound was calm. There were a few patches of fog early on, but nothing to spoil the fun. It was a very pleasant and relaxing crossing, and by 0930, we were back in the skinnies again.

This was another part of the trip that I enjoyed a lot more the second time around. On the trip south, back in mid-January, it had been cold and gray and windy and wet. Seeing the scenery through that lens didn’t do much for me. This time the sun was out, and the temperature was good. The doors, windows, hatches, slats, spats, louvers and vents were all open, and there was a delicious breeze. There were lots of other boats out, and activity on shore. There was quite a bit of wildlife around too, including a handful of forty pound wasps that wouldn’t leave me alone. It was a great day for a boat ride, and I was quite content.

It was only about thirty two miles from Coinjock to AYB, and even though I slowed down a little to make the opening at North Landing Bridge, we still crossed the finish line by about 1:30 that afternoon.

On the trip south, I’d stayed at the face dock at AYB. I assumed that I’d be there again this time too. When I finally got ahold of the dockmaster though, he told me that I’d be around back in the storage area. I’d never seen that part of the place before, but the parts I had seen had been nice enough. I didn’t give it a second thought. I rounded the corner and passed a long row of big, beautiful, expensive cruising yachts in their covered slips. There were enough Nordhavns, Selenes, Kadey Krogens, and Grand Banks to make me feel like I’d joined a real fancy club. When I saw what was to be my home for the next couple of months though, my heart sank.

I’d been relegated to the Railway Slip. The dock itself was barely above water, and even with my trusty little ladder, it was difficult to get on and off the boat. The top ends of the pilings were rotted and weak, and the electrical boxes were rusty. There was no water available at the slip, but the water there is smelly and hard, and really I didn’t want it in my tanks anyway. The slip was tucked between several big ugly storage buildings and workshops, and there was a lot of… stuff… around.

I don’t mean to criticise the place, really. The staff have treated me well, and the price was right. Realistically, this place is a working boatyard first, and a marina second. If you’re just stopping for fuel or a night at the face dock, It’s perfectly acceptable. If you’re looking to have work done, there really are few better places around. They can do just about anything you want to your boat, and I’ve heard only good things about their workmanship. If I was just going to be storing the boat and heading home, I would have had no issues whatsoever leaving Sylphide in their capable hands.

As a place to spend a week or two aboard the boat, It wasn’t ideal. It didn’t help that it soared up to 95 degrees that day, and being sheltered on all sides, there was absolutely no breeze at all. That’s a great quality to have in a hurricane hole, but that day it just made me cranky and miserable. I tried to cool off in the marina’s shower, but it didn’t drain, and the water made me smell like farts.

I made up my mind to find somewhere else to live.

Once it cooled down a little, I took a stroll around the grounds to ogle some of the other vessels in the neighborhood. There were lots of them that really tickled my fancy. This fine looking Monk 36 was a prime example of what I was originally saving up for when I found Sylphide.

This impressive looking ship was tied up one dock over from me in the forgotten wastes of AYB’s back forty. At first glance, I only saw rust and abandonment, but after some education from one RTFirefly, I saw there was actually a really nice looking boat under there. Turns out she’s called Strathbelle, and she has a long and really interesting history, which you can read about here: https://www.strathbelle.com/

 

[BandB]

Did you get moved? I wouldn't hesitate to ask for a different location.

 

[rgano]

Looks like the Strathbelle's owner missed the 2014 goal. That dual GM671 is a really nice arrangement in which you can clutch out an engine on either pair for more economical running or for maintenance issues. We had that same arrangement in the yard patrol craft used for training at the Naval Academy (where I qualified as an engineering officer aboard) and in the LCM-8 70-ton landing craft carried aboard our large amphibious warfare ships.

 

[Wayfarer]

Did you get moved? I wouldn't hesitate to ask for a different location.

I did. I thought about just asking to move to the face dock, but I decided I had more than enough time to keep going north, so I did.

Looks like the Strathbelle's owner missed the 2014 goal. That dual GM671 is a really nice arrangement in which you can clutch out an engine on either pair for more economical running or for maintenance issues. We had that same arrangement in the yard patrol craft used for training at the Naval Academy (where I qualified as an engineering officer aboard) and in the LCM-8 70-ton landing craft carried aboard our large amphibious warfare ships.

I was too quick to judge her at first. RT filled me in that the owner is a TF member, and a generally cool dude, and the boat is quite a bit more interesting than I gave her credit for. Now I feel like a jerk, lol

 

[rgano]

I was too quick to judge her at first. RT filled me in that the owner is a TF member, and a generally cool dude, and the boat is quite a bit more interesting than I gave her credit for. Now I feel like a jerk, lol

Ah, come on, Dave we all get to be a jerk here once in a while, but I don't think you said anything egregious anyway. I wonder if the owner will fill us in on the true interior/mechanical condition of the vessel. The exterior obviously could use some help, but hey, it's steel and can be needle-gunned and sanded ad nausea to bring in up whenever he's ready.

 

[ranger58sb]

I did. I thought about just asking to move to the face dock, but I decided I had more than enough time to keep going north, so I did.

What? Not leaving the boat at Great Bridge for a while? Where are you now?

-Chris

 

[Wayfarer]

What? Not leaving the boat at Great Bridge for a while? Where are you now?

-Chris

I carried on up to Hampton and hunkered down at Salt Pond Marina. I'm back at work for another few weeks. Not sure what my plans are for when I get back...