Manhatten on Sea

New York has a close association with the water and visiting by sea proved wonderful. We found friendly berth at Liberty Landing Marina in New Jersey, adjoining the Liberty State Park and with a frequent water taxi across the Hudson to Manhattan's World Trade Centre. We had been warned of shocking marina fees and had been previously quoted $6 per foot per night, but Liberty Landing berthed us for a mere $1.43 per foot. What a bargain way to stay in New York and with spectacular views of Manhattan just across the river!

Sailing on The Hudson - view from our marina

We did everything with the only proviso that if we missed the last ferry back at 20:45 we'd have to take the PATH train to New Jersey City for $2.25 and then an $8 cab ride back to the marina. New York proved welcoming and stunning. The city does not seem as nearly as crowded as London. The architecture has been carefully planned as the city evolved and public transport is safe, cheap and efficient. Even public hubs such as Grand Central became frequent haunts for us as we enjoyed the amazing architecture, spacious and high class dining concourse and the scores of free Apple iPads, iPhones and Macbooks to use for internet browsing.

Elizabeth on the BIG piano at toystore FAO Schwarz

James, as a member of the Royal Sydney, had arranged a letter of introduction to the New York Yacht Club and we had opportunity for several visits including a fine dinner. The model room is reminiscent of a galleon, with large ornate bay windows. Below this is the dining room which has the feel of being below decks on the same vessel. All club members' boats are represented as half models, as are all the America's Cup boats. We saw the models of the J-class we had sailed with in Europe, including Endeavour who had sailed to see us start our Transat Classique in Cascais back in December. We saw the model of challenger Sceptre which gave James' father his first taste of sailing on a delivery voyage south with old friend and delivery skipper Iain Forsyth. We saw other boats which are now members of the British Classic Yacht Club represented on those famous walls, such as the Fife, Argyll. Above all, we enjoyed their hospitality and fine dining. James intends to visit their waterfront club house, Harbour Court, in Rhode Island next month.

The Model Room of the NYYC

The Americans have shown themselves to be courteous and hospitable in the extreme. Not only did Eric Sirulnik come good on his offer of hospitality, but day to day Americans would just stop and talk to us about their country when they overheard our accents. We had even been hailed for a friendly chat by the Baltimore pilot who was taking a Liberian tanker past us up the Chesapeake, and the subway driver on my last day spotted my large bags and left his cab several times on the journey to check I was OK, chat and ensure I used the best stop for my onward transfer to JFK. We would never see that in the UK. Around New York, we saw many still affected by the aftermath of superstorm Sandy. Aid tents are still in action in New Jersey and many businesses remain closed pending renovations. Despite this, New Yorkers have shown great resilience wrought from a decade of disasters and were among the most open and exhuberant of all Americans we met.

So, I have made my own farewells to Croix des Gardes and my family as James take the children further on their voyage. I hope he will continue to update this blog on their adventures. He plans to catch the early tide tomorrow at 7am up the East River and past Hell's Gate into Long Island Sound. He will anchor off thirty miles away and make his way up to Newport and Mystic. He will return to New York the last week in May to meet a new au pair who  intends to sail back as well as Cornelius and Richard who are flying out to crew. He has to leave the USA on May 31st due to visa constraints but may consider hopping up to Halifax to shorten the last voyage and wait for a weather window. Either way, I wish them fair winds and smooth seas and will see them again on their return to the UK later in the summer.

New York, New York

Dawn from Liberty Island, New York

Yesterday afternoon we sailed into New York Harbor and anchored just 200 yards west of Liberty Island for the night. After a lazy morning, mainly admiring the view and eating American style pancakes, we moved round to Liberty Landing Marina which will be our home for the last week of my voyage. We are now enjoying a late brunch in the crisp NYC sunshine just a block away from Ground Zero.

View from our anchorage

Delaware Bay to New Jersey (19/4/13)

The guide said the wide, forty-mile long Delaware Bay "can feel like it's 400 miles long" and it did. The currents run hard and we had the wind against us. At first, we hugged the shoals and passed close to the Salem nuclear power station in the murk to escape the ferocity of the tide in the main channel. James had suggested sitting it out until the tide turned to help us down the bay. Fortunately we didn't as conditions were slower and tougher when the tide turned. The wind over tide kicked up a nasty short and steep sea. Under power, we were barely making 2kts progress and April the autohelm's off course alarm was perpetually sounding as she lost steerage and blew round. We found the best tactic was to raise a triple reefed main and bear away thirty degrees, still under full power, which allowed us to make four to five knots' progress as we tacked up the main channel. Night fell and we still weren't out of the bay and again we were fighting the flood but at least the sea was smoother. Shipping was heavy and the fog was patchy – a massive dry dock passed a couple of hundred metres from us under tow up to Philadelphia, and another vessel hailed us in the dark to ensure we would remain clear.

In the early hours, we rounded Cape May shoals and bore away up the New Jersey coast and enjoyed the silence of being under sail. The morning dawned with lighter winds and dense fog. It was eerie to be at sea again with nothing in sight nor on the AIS and no shoals or marks to dodge. Our first landmark was Atlantic City. The hotel and casino towers punched out the top of the fog looking like the deformed bows of massive ships. Atlantic City held no attraction to us save for the availability of an easy and safe inlet if we needed to dodge inland to escape the forecast gales. We saw nothing else of the coast that day. Late evening, the forecast southerly gales began to build rapidly. We reduced sail to three reefs and a slither of genoa poled out as we swerved downwind and surfed the building waves. A steady current with us prevented the seas from building badly and within a few hours we were approaching the shelter of our destination – Sandy Hook. The fog had thickened but the sea was still visible in the darkness under a pervading sodium glow from New York to our north. Entering the channel to round the Hook, James took the helm as I stood on the foredeck to try to spot the channel lights, but most we just heard as we passed them.

At the top of the hook, the fog lifted rapidly and then the temperature rose over ten degrees in a matter of moments. We had rounded the north end of the spit and the wind now had a long land track up the warmed New Jersey dunes. It felt like standing under a hand dryer. To our north, the lights of downtown New York glistened behind the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. We were still making nine to ten knots with just the triple reefed main but had to motorsail once more as we headed south for the breakwater and mooring of the Atlantic Highlands Municipal Marina. We followed the New York ferry in and James deftly picked a path through the minefield of deserted moorings, posts and shallows to a safe spot for the night.

Aftermath of Sandy (20/4/13)

We were glad of the shelter by dawn. The southerly gale had turned northwesterly but we were safe and secure behind the breakwater, listening to the wind howling in the rigging. We were looking forward to the shower, laundry, wifi and playground facilities of the marina but didn't even fancy the trip across to the shore as even here the water was choppy and the wind cold. Then James looked more closely at the marina – there were no boats in the water, all the moorings were abandoned and the strops looked like they had been discarded a long time, the pontoons were missing, there was a boat on its side on the shore and many construction barges and cranes. James tried to hail them on the VHF and then by telephone but there was no response. We began to remember the destruction of hurricane Sandy last autumn and that this was the area it made landfall. I'd seen a New Jersey bridge destroyed and the recent charts did indeed show a bridge "under construction" nearby.

We telephoned another nearby marina to try to secure a berth but again got no reply. We intend to move on to New York but need shoreside facilities and information before we commit to moving into that busy harbour. James also recalled that many of the smaller marinas opposite Manhatten had also been hit hard by Sandy and may not have reopened. If anyone back at home can find out some information and ring us on James' phone, we'd be grateful!

Northern Chesapeake (17/4/13)

Leaving Annapolis, we immediately passed below the Chesapeake Bay Bridge which joins the east and west coasts of Maryland. The wind had turned squally and was against us as we tacked hard up the bay past the Magothy River. By evening, we had reached Baltimore. We had been alongside her namesake in Annapolis and had been invited aboard for a tour of Pride of Baltimore II by her captain. She is of similar vintage to the Amistad which we saw in San Juan. Such fast schooners were made illegal after the war of 1812 due to their exceptional performance, so those that continued to sail tended towards smuggling and privateering.

The original Pride of Baltimore had been involved in action against the British. The Americans had declared was on Britain by invading and occupying part of Canada, as they believed the British to be too preoccupied by Napoleonic France. They were wrong and the British retaliated by burning Baltimore and taking the flag. A poem written by a witness to this fall was later put to music and became USA national anthem, 'The Star Spangled Banner'.

Higher up, the Chesapeake narrows and becomes less populated again. The perpetual trip hazards of the trotlines and bait pots in the water lessen and the water becomes much quieter. We anchored in Still Pond (actually a small bay) overnight then continued up into the Elk River. This soon leads into the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal or C&D Canal as it is known colloquially. Given the cold, overcast and wet day, we decided that it better stood for the Cold and Dank Canal. Even the ospreys looked bedraggled and needed to shake off the rain in flight.

Leaving the canal into the Delaware Bay, it is obvious this is a very different body of water. The Delaware is saltier and once again we have to contend with currents and tidal ranges. There are few creeks and rivers and its shores are very shoal with just a narrow ship channel through the wide bay. There were few vessels other than the ships and tugs running up to Philadelphia or through to Baltimore, and no signs of fishing.

The forecast was for decidedly miserable weather to come and so we steamed against the wind and tide to escape the Delaware and head up the New Jersey coast before the forecast winds would cut us off from New York.

Annapolis

We are now entering some of the denser populated areas in The Bay. We left the wilderness of Rhodes River under a trickle of wind, tacked up past the Thomas Point Lighthouse – the last screwpile lighthouse on the Chesapeake still in its original location, and now a National Monument – and into the Severn River. In the bay, rows of immense and empty bulkers sat at anchor waiting for an upturn in the economy.

Annapolis skyline

Up river, the skyline becomes dominated by sailboat masts and impressive classic architecture. The iconic dome of the chapel of the US Naval Academy rises over 18^th and 19^th century rooftops in the historic downtown area. The city dock remains almost as it was a century ago. The bustling bars, restaurants and souvenir stores remain in store fronts untouched by modern progress. As you amble up Main Street to the State Circle and then along Maryland to the Academy, it is like being in a living and working museum. There is no modern architecture anywhere and many of the houses are now museums or historic inns.

Historic homes in downtown Annapolis

The Academy itself is open to visitors. The whole campus is constructed of white stone and verdigris. The Halls are lavishly decorated with classic paintings and hung with chandeliers. The whole is a combination of the Old Royal Naval College at Greenwich and the Royal Yacht Squadron at Cowes, but on a much larger and even grander scale. The museum houses important naval history artefacts from before the birth of the nation right up to present conflicts.

Inside the USNA

On arriving back at the rib, a passer-by with his dog asked if we were “off that cutter in the bay”. He had watched us arrive and reckoned we’d be the “prettiest boat in Annapolis all season”. He’d even rung his brother who’d passed on the message to all their friends to get down to see us. Another dinghy later hailed us and said they’d been the yacht that we followed into Solomons through the torrential thunderstorm the other day. They were here from Florida to see their son graduate from the USNA this weekend.

USNA chapel

Finally, the culmination to the Annapolis hospitality came as we had to leave our mooring. We were invited to come alongside at the City Docks next to the historic schooner Pride of Baltimore for free, ‘on loan’ to the Sailing Hall of Fame. We get to spend a couple more days here, enjoying the fantastic seafood and architecture whilst acting as a living museum exhibit. Thank you, Annapolis!

Sunrise on the Severn River

Environment Under Pressure

The Chesapeake has deep rooted historical and ecological significance to Americans. The area was where the first British colonies were founded as the bay gave access and shelter, as well as plentiful natural resources. The Native Americans taught the settlers how to grow corn and what to fish for. Most of the towns on the shores were founded around the fishing industries and still hold a great emphasis on the sea.

The explosion of population in the last century has put great pressure on the ecology of The Bay. Each town has its own maritime museum, and each tells the same story. As the population grew, more fish, crabs and oysters were harvested. At the same time, more fertilisers and sewerage ran into the water. It was not until the 1960s that treatment works began to remove the nitrates from the sewerage, but already the increased nutrients in the water had led to more severe algal blooms and less aquatic vegetation in the waters. Around Solomons Isle, the submerged aquatic vegetation has been recorded as receding through the second half of the last century down to nothing in the late 1980s, and it has yet to recover. Other museums cite a drop in the oyster population to a mere 1% of that recorded a century ago.

Small scale fishing fleet on The Chesapeake

The 1960s also saw increased use of pesticides including DDT. These almost wiped out the osprey population before they were banned. Even the “beautiful swimmers”, the native blue crabs, are under threat from alien European green crabs which compete for food and habitat.

However, it isn’t all bad news. The environmental issues are much better understood now and the public are better educated. The Smithsonian has an environmental research center on the Rhode River and monitors the ecology there. The ospreys are back in abundance, oyster fishing is on the increase and the Bay continues to provide more crabs for human consumption than any other body of water in the world. Sewerage treatment is state of the art and residents are encouraged to limit their use of fertilisers on their lawns and to avoid flushing toxins such as medicines down their toilets.

Osprey fishing on Rhodes River reserve

The shores of the Bay are home to several major US cities – Washington, Annapolis, Baltimore and then joined via the C&D Canal to Delaware and Philadelphia – but also still hold hundreds of miles of true undeveloped wilderness. It seems that here, man and nature can exists side by side.

Cambridge MD

We were greeted at our mooring in Cambridge, Maryland, by a line handler from the marina and also by Eric Sirulnik. We had first been introduced to Eric on the quayside at Bridgetown, Barbados, and had taken him sailing in the rally race after the Transat Classique. Now here he was here with an invitation to his smallholding on the Choptank River. He was apologetic that his own boat wasn’t yet in the water, but we spent a wonderful day and night as his guests. 

Cambridge MD - home of Annie Oakley

Cambridge was the birthplace and final home of Annie Oakley – and Eric continued her tradition with an awesome private arsenal in his "Second Amendment Lounge". The kids rode his 1949 Ford "Red Belly" tractor and explored every nook and cranny of what seemed like a personal maritime museam. Eric knew how to treat cruisers adn gave us free rein of his laundery, showers and TV. Eric’s company was as warm as we remembered and the children even got to watch a Harry Potter movie with surround sound.

E drives a 1949 Ford tractor

At last - a television!

At dawn, the mist was hugging the surface of the Choptank River as the resident ospreys began their day’s fishing and the deer came out to raze the fields. All was still and quiet at the municipal marina on the river front. It still seems odd to see Croix des Gardes moored in a public car park. We were hoping to sail up to Annapolis, but the lack of wind has other ideas.

The lighthouse at Cambridge MD

Mid Chesapeake

The next front arrived with cooler weather and cloudy skies. We left Reedville as the rain fell and the vultures and ospreys awoke. Heading north, we passed the mouth of the great Potomac River but have decided not to visit Washington. Instead, we shall continue and try to reach New York before the end of the month.

Flying the spinnaker doesn't always got to plan...

The land here is slightly higher than further south. The coast is interspersed with low orange cliffs which are filled with marine fossils from when this whole area was a shallow sea. We stopped as a vicious thunderstorm passed in Solomon’s Isle on the Patuxent River. The museum here has a fossil excavation exhibit where the children dug for genuine relics. Matthew found a snaggle-toothed shark tooth whilst Elizabeth kept a sand tiger tooth and a ray’s dental plate. The museum had other fossils including an extinct megadontal shark skeleton and a touch tank with more horse-shoe crabs, starfish, skates and terrapins. James admired the boats in the historic small craft section – both on display and still in commission on the water. Then we all climbed the wooden light house and explored the rooms where the lighthouse keeper lived with his wife and children.

Continuing north, we crossed to Maryland’s eastern shore and the Choptank River that leads past Oxford and into Cambridge.

Southern Chesapeake

We must be back in the western world. When we tuned the radio, we found our first classical station since leaving the UK and listened to Mendlesson’s violin concerto in E minor performed live. We needed a bit of calming music as our planned anchorage off Portsmouth had atrocious holding and we couldn’t get the anchor to bite in the silty mud. Rather than settling down to supper, we were forced to motor off downstream in search of better holding. We ate on the run and set the anchor off a spoil ground just outside the main channel of the Elizabeth River in the container port as the sun set.

Waiting for the Gilmerton Bridge, Norfolk

Whilst in Norfolk, we had tied up for the afternoon next to “Nauticus”, the museum of the sea. This was chock full of hands on exhibits for the kids, from explanations of the container port industry, through aquaria filled with local fish, a touch tank for bamboo sharks and horseshoe crabs, chances to try piloting a tug and, the highlight, much military memorabilia including the Iowa class USS Wisconsin. The Wiscy was commissioned at the end of WW2 and saw action in Korea as wella s having the ubiquitous merit of being the ship that opened the Gulf War. She was more like a city than a ship and the children ran through all her passageways.

Oon the deck of The Wiscy, USS Wisconsin

At first light we set off into the Chesapeake through the Hampton River. The bay is long, shallow and protected and home to a myriad of fish and other life that depends upon them. We saw bottle-nosed dolphins, hundreds of sea birds and scoters and endless fishing boats and fish traps (or, more accurately, keel and propeller traps). The sailing is very like the east coast of the UK – slow running rivers feeding into a rich, silty sea, complete with dredged shipping channels, shoaling spits and tricky entrances, as well as plenty of creeks too shallow for our 8ft draft. The coast to our south is low lying with impressive white-painted homes fronting the pale sandy beaches.

Another hitch hiker - a Grey-blue Gnatcatcher resting on CdG on the Chesapeake

As the sailing is so open, we are making a long run today to Reedville off the Great Wicomico River. This town was the hub of menhaden fishing in Victorian times – a bony and inedible baitfish used as fertiliser by the native Americans and later as ship lubricant and animal feed before being commercially harvested today for omega 3 fish oil supplements. The approach into Cockrells Creek is sparsely marked but the channel is 13ft deep as it winds past Victorian ruins of industry past whose only present day inhabitants are pairs of ospreys.

We had too close look at one of these brick ruins. I was preparing the anchor when Croix des Gardes lurched violently and stopped instantly from 5kts. James had run into an obstruction close to the bank which then held us fast and began to seep stinking oil into the river. The children rushed on deck, clothed and clutching their most treasured possessions in readiness for the abandon ship but James pushed the bow round using the rib and we got off again before the tide dropped too much.

After that excitement, we settled for a quiet meal of alligator steak in the cockpit whilst we watched those ospreys fish in the twilight.

Battle of Great Bridge

We are nearly at the end of the ICW, having stopped for the night at Great Bridge, Virginia, at mile 12. Here we hope to catch up with Roxy who is working on another classic timber boat across the waterway from us and has so generously shared her home-grown salads and veg with us whilst we were marooned in Coinjock.

Memorial to the Battlr of Great Bridge

Great Bridge is famous as the site of one of the first battles against the British. In 1775, the Brits were trounced by the Americans and kicked out of Norfolk. There is an impressive memorial here by the free dockage to remind us of our defeat. However, plenty of evidence of the colonial past can still be found. Tomorrow we shall anchor in Portsmouth on the Elizabeth River, which sits opposite the city of Norfolk. Up the Chesapeake, we see Oxford next to Cambridge, Epping Forest next to Sherwood Forest, and Nottingham a short distance away. We may also take in London Towne, and no, that is not a typo.

Dawn on he ICW at Gret Bridge

Further up the Elizabeth River, we found Norfolk to be full of the expected metropolitan annoyances. The riverside docks extend for many miles and are home to a score of US Naval Ships undergoing refit. We are anchored under the bow of an aircraft carrier draped in white shrouds to maintain her secrecy. The multitude of bridges also provided a challenge as James had to attempt to hold station for waits of up to an hour for openings. The weather has also transformed. It is now holding a steady 26C and not forecast to cool again until the weekend. We shall spend an afternoon at the maritime museum before continuing into the Chesapeake proper.

Cruisers vs Charterers

The last few days have been quite relaxing. With no gearbox, we’ve had little to do than fettle the boat at our own pace whilst enjoying the warm sun and the conversation of fellow cruisers. Everyone is headin’ north and everyone has time for a chat and to share a tale or two. It is very different to the ostracism we experienced among the charter crowds in the Caribbean, when everyone was out for as much raucous fun they could cram into a week and nobody had time to spare.

We recently rediscovered one of the books loaned to us by Tim Blackman of Infanta. Les Weatheritt has a few wise words on charterers in his book ‘Caribbean Passagemaking’:

“I always like to see board sailors out in winds and waves that are just beginning to bother me. If they are coping on their tippy little boards then surely our heavy displacement, round-the-world sailing classic should cope too. Here in the Caribbean it isn’t the board sailors I take most comfort from but the charter yachts. I mean, there are so many of them that some, at least, must be skippered by rank incompetents and yet there they are, miles offshore but still afloat in a boat whose condition they neither know nor care about, and are not dismasted as they hobby-horse wildly in the short seas or infuriatingly overtake us hard on the wind.”

We have a new gearbox. By lunchtime tomorrow we will have applied three coats of varnish. We have laundered, showered, pumped out and filled the water tanks and tomorrow we will set off for Great Bridge.

Remains of our gearbox

Varnishing and Sanding

“Cruising is just boat work in exotic ports,” so said one of the fellow cruisers to us today as we fettled Croix des Gardes. We got an engineer to take away the offending gearbox with its chewed bearings and we’re awaiting a reconditioned unit. Meanwhile, we’ve a few days engineless here in Coinjock to relax and take in the scenery. The weather is now balmy so we’ve taken the opportunity to slap some makeup on the old girl and touch up the varnish.

Never too young to learn to sand and varnish

After a few hours’ sanding, the marina’s seafood restaurant was beckoning. It was superb and attracted patrons from as far afield as the next state. The children had a wonderful day, helping us sand, then playing shoreside with the resident dogs until it became too dark to see. By evening, a handful of other yachts had joined us an each had a tale of cruising to tell. Everyone has been admiring Croix des Gardes and are stunned when they hear that we draw two feet more than anyone else and still made it up the waterway. In fact, we barely fit above the water either. We have had to negotiate several fixed bridges, most built to a 65ft air draft. However, one was built to 64ft and James was sure we’d ping the VHF aerial as we passed. In the event, the water level was a foot low so we passed comfortably, but then also had a foot less water to navigate.

Croix des Gardes looks rather more splendid again now, even with just a single coat of varnish on, as it has returned the teak to a rich golden brown. James has even agreed to let me do the cockpit surround tomorrow. She will still need many hours serious work over the next winter to truly make the varnish glow, but for now three coats should last out the season.

Alligator River and Albemarle Sound

Heading inland, the water gets less saline and also darker. By the time we entered the Pungo-Alligator River canal, it was like sailing through chocolate fondue. The Alligator River was devoid of reptiles, and in fact had very little wildlife at all in the dead straight 20nm cut. However, the wildlife made a comeback at dusk as we were anchored on the south side of the Albemarle Sound. The sun finally made it out and we were joined by tens of thousands of newly hatched mosquitos. Fortunately, they didn’t seem the biting kind, but by dawn they were covering every exposed surface of the boat.

Bugs on a boat

Dawn also heralded another increase in wind – this time 30kts from the NNE. We hadn’t been able to get a forecast since leaving Beaufort and so this caught us out, the wrong side of the 15nm sound. Initially, we had to wriggle through a tiny channel to get into open water and the waves, wind and current were making progress hazardous. We lost steerage several times and were barely making 1.5kts. Finally we were able to bear away and set the sails for a pounding time hard on the wind.

Like Pamlico, this sound is famous for its trout, and the water reeked of it. The wind and waves were hideous and it took us 6 hours to make our way the 17nm upwind to the entrance of the North River. By this time the boat was awash in midge and trout soup. Our adventures weren’t over. When we had stopped the previous night, the engine had been making an odd noise. James diagnosed the gearbox connection and twiddled with it and it had seemed OK. Now we were in a narrow channel that had turned into wind and we really needed the engine again, it wouldn’t take a gear. I ran forward to drop the anchor before we ran aground but the retaining bolt had also bent in the hammering we’d taken sailing into wind and I couldn’t release it. By the time we got the anchor away, we had blown out of the channel and were also aground on the downwind side in 25kts of wind.

Quiet inland waterway sailing - not

James dismantled the gearbox whilst I calmed the children. Eventually, he patched it up enough to limp the extra 5nm to the next marina at Coinjock and we managed to sail off the ooze by backing the genoa and turning the bow back down the way we’d come.

So now, we’re moored up in a wonderfully secluded spot on the canal, right next to the bar and showers. Elizabeth has found a dog to play with, we’ve filled up the diesel and pumped out the holding tank, and James is removing the gearbox so an engineer can try to fix it tomorrow.

Beaufort to Belhaven

Gosh, it really is chilly here. After a wonderful but cool day of sunshine, the cloud and north wind returned and the temperature refused to rise above 12C. The wind was forecast to pick up too, so we donated our Bahamas and Florida cruising guides to the Hans-Christianson, and we the Duplo that our children have enjoyed since they were given it by the Barlows, we donated to two year-old Tyler on Phoenix. We then set off once more up the ICW.

The boat had acquired a fine film of odd yellow dust whilst at anchor off Beaufort. As we headed up river and past the ship docks, we smelt the distinctive odour of sulphur and so decided to swill off the powder promptly.

The river was churning and thick, but we still saw dolphins until a few miles upstream, as well as ospreys at their nesting sites, but not yet on eggs. Like us, they seemed to be cowering from the bitter wind. There were still occasional vultures and pelicans, but we are already at the north of their range.

The ICW was a little wider and deeper than in Florida and so much less stressful to navigate. By late afternoon, the cloud was thinner and the wind lighter. It was almost pleasant as we entered the Neuse River and out into Pamlico Sound for the night.

Overnight the wind increased contrary to the forecast and we were awoken at 4am as the boat lunged and crashed against her anchor. By first light we were already sailing north for the shelter of Bay Creek in the north. The sail across the sound was proper open water, but more “brown water” sailing than the blue we were used to. This area is famous for its large speckled trout and attracts keen anglers throughout the seasons.

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Brown water sailing on Pamlico Sound, NC

We managed to continue sailing almost the whole route, even up through the cuts and canals, and under the bridges. We reached Belhaven mid afternoon for a coffee break and discovered there is nothing there. The few coffee shops / bakeries had shut at 2pm and there was a florist and a hardware store. Even the marina was shut up. We heard the population has dropped from 6000 to 1600 in three years. We left as the heavy rain arrived and anchored in the remote upper reaches of the Pungo River instead.

Return to Winter

Arriving in North Carolina, we have finally caught up with the tail end of winter. The deciduous trees are still grey and bare of buds, the flower baskets show straggy winter pansies and ornamental brassicas, the first spring bulbs are starting to peep through the grass, the air is cold with a bite to the wind. The wintering seabirds are preparing to leave and occasional swallows flit overhead on their way north.

Still winter in North Carolina

Beaufort is “the gateway to the Caribbean” and well used to cruising boats. There are several liveaboards anchored with us and the residents are all friendly and keen to visit us. This sort of cruisers camaraderie is something James reminisced about during his passage from Australia to the UK, and is something we’ve not seen in the Caribbean with its tendancies to charter boats. A family has invited our children to play among the wild ponies on a nearby island whilst another has a offered use of his bike for trips to the stores. A third couple, Linda and Mark fromToronto, have been restoring a Hans Christianson and are excited to be finally heading south this coming weekend. We have finally found a real sense of commnity here.

Our luck has continued poor with more injuries to the boat. On arrival, we noticed an unusual and bad smell from our cabin and dog house. James investigated and discovered a fuel leak on the injectors on the engine. Whilst we were ashore to track a Ford engineer, the smell onboard had intensified. James treated the bilge to no effect, but then noticed the starboard quarterberth was unusually warm. One of the four house batteries had started to boil and was at risk of exploding as it vented sulphuric acid. James had to douse the offending unit in seawater overnight to cool it down, so now we have had to call out a mobile diesel engineer and order a new battery.

Fixing a fuel leak at Beaufort

Beaufort itself is a ‘historic’ town. In America,this seems ot mean that the wooden buildings are (gasp) over 100 years old. We walked among the weatherboard with signs outside the ‘restored’ houses stating dates as far back as 1856, whilst the tourist board offers sightseeing aboard a London Routemaster bus (still right hand drive, I’m glad to report). Eventually I managed to track down a house as old as own own non-historic cottage in the UK, proudly dated 1840.