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.