Well faithful reader, I haven't fallen off the grid - just had to catch my breath for few days.
I've been struggling with how to come up with a map showing our journey - by day.
The good news is that I've figured out which maps to use.
The bad news is that my first attempt just went horribly wrong. (Admittedly, Pilot error)
But, now that I know how NOT to do it, I've greatly increased my chances for success next time.
So, tune back in tomorrow.
I'll have it figured out by then.
Plus, the Sox are already on.
And down here is the South - we are only treated to Sox games once in a blue moon.
So, I'm gonna run . . .
Keep the faith, and GO SOX . . . .
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
The Tale of the Tape !!!
Today - we did not go for a boat ride!
No Ma'am.
No, we sat inside our house, and awaited the arrival of the utility company, and the furniture delivery guy, in the blissful comfort of air conditioning. (One of the best inventions of the 20th century).
Fortunately, both arrived, and we are absolutely giddy at the prospect of such taken-for-granted activities like cooking, eating at a table, and showering. (Oh, rapture . . .)
Spoiler Alert: For you HGTV Junkies (you know who you are), stay tuned there will be more on the furnishings later - I promise.
However, there is an exercise that I've wanted to finish and share, that I call the Tale of the Tape.
Basically adding up all of the stats of the trip.
And now, Ladies and Germs, here goes:
Total distant traveled: 1,029 Nautical Miles
Total time spent on the water: 67 hours
Total gallons of Fuel: 806 gallons
Total pounds of Ice: 190 lbs.
Total dinners cooked on board: Zero*
*(We are calling Ripley's as we believe we may be the first to have achieved this dubious honor)
While, I haven't (yet) figured out how to map out the trip graphically, here is the chronological, and geographical history:
Day 1). NWBPT to Block Island: 135 NM - 8 Hrs - 104 Gallons
Day 2). Block Island to Liberty Landing, NY: 124 NM - 7.5 Hrs - 94 Gallons
Day 3). Storm Delay (See Side Bar - Lollygagger)
Day 4). Liberty Landing to Cape May: 123 NM - 7.5 Hrs - 105 Gallons
Day 5). Cape May to Ocean City: 46.3 NM - 2.5 Hrs - 35 Gallons
Day 6). Ocean City to Lynnview, VA (Jack): 106 NM - 7 Hrs - (Fuel: delayed till AYB)
Day 7). Lynnview, VA to AYB: 36.2 NM - 4 Hrs - 106 Gallons
AYB to Coinjock: 31.7 NM - 3 Hrs - (Fuel: delayed till River Dunes)
Day 8). Coinjock to River Dunes: 111 NM - 7 Hrs - 107 Gallons
Day 9). River Dunes to Southport: 118.5 NM - 8 Hrs - 99 Gallons
Day 10). Southport to Charleston: 128 NM - 8 Hrs - 111 Gallons
Day 11). Fishing (13 additional hours on the water - not included in the total)
Day 12). Furniture Shopping
Day 13). Charleston to Beaufort: 67 NM - 4.5 Hrs - 45 Gallons
Whew - it's exhausting just writing it all down.
But, here is where I must absolutely give props to the one person without whom this trip would never have happened: Professional Captain - Mark Mitchell !
Mark spends his life delivering yachts to any and all ports - including the Bahamas.
I was introduced to Mark by Jack Stumborg, and quickly grew to rely upon his experience and judgment without reservation.
When I was in NY and contemplating traversing the length of NJ in the face of a questionable NOAA forecast, I email Mark - who responded from a vessel crossing into territorial water from the Bahamas - "no way". Hence, the delay in NY, and the subsequent safe arrival in Cape May the following day.
I've never met Mark, and have yet to adequately express my gratitude to him.
But, in truth, he created this entire itinerary - complete with a subset of 2 or 3 safe harbors along each leg. (What you see is literally only the tip of the iceberg).
Mark, I truly hope you read this, as I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thanks to you, my wife and vessel, are home safe.
I don't know how one repays such a gift?
But, I hope that someday I get the chance.
Meanwhile, fair winds and following seas, to you my friend . . .
And now that we have corrected the visual portion of our presentation, I thought this would be a good time to share some of the heretofore excluded shots:
and now the promised HGTV Shots . . .
And to think that we did all that in less time than it took us to fuel the boat on the last day . . .
No Ma'am.
No, we sat inside our house, and awaited the arrival of the utility company, and the furniture delivery guy, in the blissful comfort of air conditioning. (One of the best inventions of the 20th century).
Fortunately, both arrived, and we are absolutely giddy at the prospect of such taken-for-granted activities like cooking, eating at a table, and showering. (Oh, rapture . . .)
Spoiler Alert: For you HGTV Junkies (you know who you are), stay tuned there will be more on the furnishings later - I promise.
However, there is an exercise that I've wanted to finish and share, that I call the Tale of the Tape.
Basically adding up all of the stats of the trip.
And now, Ladies and Germs, here goes:
Total distant traveled: 1,029 Nautical Miles
Total time spent on the water: 67 hours
Total gallons of Fuel: 806 gallons
Total pounds of Ice: 190 lbs.
Total dinners cooked on board: Zero*
*(We are calling Ripley's as we believe we may be the first to have achieved this dubious honor)
While, I haven't (yet) figured out how to map out the trip graphically, here is the chronological, and geographical history:
Day 1). NWBPT to Block Island: 135 NM - 8 Hrs - 104 Gallons
Day 2). Block Island to Liberty Landing, NY: 124 NM - 7.5 Hrs - 94 Gallons
Day 3). Storm Delay (See Side Bar - Lollygagger)
Day 4). Liberty Landing to Cape May: 123 NM - 7.5 Hrs - 105 Gallons
Day 5). Cape May to Ocean City: 46.3 NM - 2.5 Hrs - 35 Gallons
Day 6). Ocean City to Lynnview, VA (Jack): 106 NM - 7 Hrs - (Fuel: delayed till AYB)
Day 7). Lynnview, VA to AYB: 36.2 NM - 4 Hrs - 106 Gallons
AYB to Coinjock: 31.7 NM - 3 Hrs - (Fuel: delayed till River Dunes)
Day 8). Coinjock to River Dunes: 111 NM - 7 Hrs - 107 Gallons
Day 9). River Dunes to Southport: 118.5 NM - 8 Hrs - 99 Gallons
Day 10). Southport to Charleston: 128 NM - 8 Hrs - 111 Gallons
Day 11). Fishing (13 additional hours on the water - not included in the total)
Day 12). Furniture Shopping
Day 13). Charleston to Beaufort: 67 NM - 4.5 Hrs - 45 Gallons
Whew - it's exhausting just writing it all down.
But, here is where I must absolutely give props to the one person without whom this trip would never have happened: Professional Captain - Mark Mitchell !
Mark spends his life delivering yachts to any and all ports - including the Bahamas.
I was introduced to Mark by Jack Stumborg, and quickly grew to rely upon his experience and judgment without reservation.
When I was in NY and contemplating traversing the length of NJ in the face of a questionable NOAA forecast, I email Mark - who responded from a vessel crossing into territorial water from the Bahamas - "no way". Hence, the delay in NY, and the subsequent safe arrival in Cape May the following day.
I've never met Mark, and have yet to adequately express my gratitude to him.
But, in truth, he created this entire itinerary - complete with a subset of 2 or 3 safe harbors along each leg. (What you see is literally only the tip of the iceberg).
Mark, I truly hope you read this, as I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Thanks to you, my wife and vessel, are home safe.
I don't know how one repays such a gift?
But, I hope that someday I get the chance.
Meanwhile, fair winds and following seas, to you my friend . . .
And now that we have corrected the visual portion of our presentation, I thought this would be a good time to share some of the heretofore excluded shots:
Cap't Jack & Mate JimBob
Sunset at Southport
Why we headed offshore from Southport - this is what I meant by flat seas
King Street in Charleston - Spence on the bargain prowl
This is what they call a full moon tide - the Before
and the After . . .
View of the house from the water . . . (Note dock in view is our neighbor's)
Dock view from the Porch . . .
and now the promised HGTV Shots . . .
Kitchen - dining room with new ensemble
New Table
New table - detail view
New Chairs
New side board
And to think that we did all that in less time than it took us to fuel the boat on the last day . . .
So, as you can see, we are all set up for guests.
Y'all come on down.
We'd love to see ya, and take ya for a boat ride . . .
Sunday, July 21, 2013
It ain't over, till it's over . . .
I'm walking down the dock back to the boat last night, and I look up to see a full moon peaking in and out of substantial cloud cover . The moon was big and bright, and almost flashing, given the speed at which the clouds were flying past, being pushed by the 20 knot winds.
The forecast calls for 3-4' seas and 20+ knot winds.
I'm not feeling at all comfortable about the conditions of the last leg.
Because, on top of the forecast, I am haunted by the memory of the dramatic effect of the last full moon tide. It created negative tides of almost 2 feet.
The forecast has already mandated that we "go inside" on the ICW.
A full moon, negative tide could spell disaster on the ICW.
While going thru the books, they said and I quote: "This is the most shallow and shoaling stretch of the entire ICW." Great. Having severe sphincter symptoms.
High tide is at 7:30 in Charleston.
The gas dock doesn't open till 8:00.
So, the tide will have already flooded and started ebbing before we leave.
Not great, looks like we will be navigating during the bottom half of the tide, and arriving at dead low tide.
But, there's nothing I can do about that. I'll just fuel up when they open at 8:00, and be on our way ASAP.
That was the plan, and a damn good plan - if I do say so myself.
But, as they say: "the best laid plans of mice and men" - don't include the dock hand staying out all night at some sort of rave, and showing up 1/2 hour late, bleary eyed, reeking of booze, still wearing the rave admission bracelet.
By the time he fumbled thru resetting the pumps, and settling up our account, it was 9:00.
So, thanks to still inebriated dock hand, we headed off the dock an hour late, and even more nervous about what lay ahead.
But, I took some solace in the realization that the prospect of our day was far preferably to that of the hung over dock hand.
The trip down the ICW was as advertised - the most picturesque scenery of our entire trip.
It wound past many homes, and thru spectacular vistas.
But, the ebbing tide held us back by 1-2 knots for most of the day.
All of which contributed to the single most dangerous situation of our entire journey.
There is a land cut, that leads into the Cousaw River where there is notorious shoaling.
The guide book said that it had been reported as low as 6'.
I wondered what that might look like near the bottom of a negative moon tide?
The answer, is 4.5 feet.
Our boat draws 3' 10".
You do the math . . .
I'm not going to lie, I was holding my breath.
But, we skated thru, and sailed into 20' of water with only some 10 miles to go to Beaufort.
I can't tell you how bizarre it was to be back in known waters for the first time in 12 days, and 1,100 miles. But, there we were approaching Ladies Island Bridge, and no longer needed the "all-knowing Magenta Line" to find our way.
The only remaining question was - would there be enough water in Battery Creek for us to get to our house?
We would find out today, as we were at dead low tide . . .
We made it !!!
I give you Hot Water at home dock.
Just in case you were curious about the tide, I think this explains it pretty well:
The Beast, high and dry - literally above, Hot Water.
Spence and I spent very little time reflecting.
We were too anxious to unload the boat, get in the A/C, and take a shower.
I can't tell you how happy we are to be here - safe and sound.
It is not lost on us how lucky we are.
But, I also can't tell you how exhausted we are, and how ready we are to be on dry land again.
We have big plans for tonight :
Watch the Sox - Yankees game.
But it starts at 8:00.
I'm betting that we don't make it past the 3rd inning . . .
Tomorrow, between getting our gas turned back on, and getting our furniture delivered, I will put together the Tale of the Tape, and put together all of the stats.
I will also try and put together a map detailing our stops (as suggested by one of our Constant Readers).
Meanwhile, all I can say is:
"Embarking on the journey of a lifetime - Awesome.
Actually making it - Wicked Awesome !!!"
Hasta La Vista.
Cap't JimBob & Crew
The forecast calls for 3-4' seas and 20+ knot winds.
I'm not feeling at all comfortable about the conditions of the last leg.
Because, on top of the forecast, I am haunted by the memory of the dramatic effect of the last full moon tide. It created negative tides of almost 2 feet.
The forecast has already mandated that we "go inside" on the ICW.
A full moon, negative tide could spell disaster on the ICW.
While going thru the books, they said and I quote: "This is the most shallow and shoaling stretch of the entire ICW." Great. Having severe sphincter symptoms.
High tide is at 7:30 in Charleston.
The gas dock doesn't open till 8:00.
So, the tide will have already flooded and started ebbing before we leave.
Not great, looks like we will be navigating during the bottom half of the tide, and arriving at dead low tide.
But, there's nothing I can do about that. I'll just fuel up when they open at 8:00, and be on our way ASAP.
That was the plan, and a damn good plan - if I do say so myself.
But, as they say: "the best laid plans of mice and men" - don't include the dock hand staying out all night at some sort of rave, and showing up 1/2 hour late, bleary eyed, reeking of booze, still wearing the rave admission bracelet.
By the time he fumbled thru resetting the pumps, and settling up our account, it was 9:00.
So, thanks to still inebriated dock hand, we headed off the dock an hour late, and even more nervous about what lay ahead.
But, I took some solace in the realization that the prospect of our day was far preferably to that of the hung over dock hand.
The trip down the ICW was as advertised - the most picturesque scenery of our entire trip.
It wound past many homes, and thru spectacular vistas.
But, the ebbing tide held us back by 1-2 knots for most of the day.
All of which contributed to the single most dangerous situation of our entire journey.
There is a land cut, that leads into the Cousaw River where there is notorious shoaling.
The guide book said that it had been reported as low as 6'.
I wondered what that might look like near the bottom of a negative moon tide?
The answer, is 4.5 feet.
Our boat draws 3' 10".
You do the math . . .
I'm not going to lie, I was holding my breath.
But, we skated thru, and sailed into 20' of water with only some 10 miles to go to Beaufort.
I can't tell you how bizarre it was to be back in known waters for the first time in 12 days, and 1,100 miles. But, there we were approaching Ladies Island Bridge, and no longer needed the "all-knowing Magenta Line" to find our way.
The only remaining question was - would there be enough water in Battery Creek for us to get to our house?
We would find out today, as we were at dead low tide . . .
We made it !!!
I give you Hot Water at home dock.
Just in case you were curious about the tide, I think this explains it pretty well:
The Beast, high and dry - literally above, Hot Water.
Spence and I spent very little time reflecting.
We were too anxious to unload the boat, get in the A/C, and take a shower.
I can't tell you how happy we are to be here - safe and sound.
It is not lost on us how lucky we are.
But, I also can't tell you how exhausted we are, and how ready we are to be on dry land again.
We have big plans for tonight :
Watch the Sox - Yankees game.
But it starts at 8:00.
I'm betting that we don't make it past the 3rd inning . . .
Tomorrow, between getting our gas turned back on, and getting our furniture delivered, I will put together the Tale of the Tape, and put together all of the stats.
I will also try and put together a map detailing our stops (as suggested by one of our Constant Readers).
Meanwhile, all I can say is:
"Embarking on the journey of a lifetime - Awesome.
Actually making it - Wicked Awesome !!!"
Hasta La Vista.
Cap't JimBob & Crew
Saturday, July 20, 2013
You might be in the South if . . .
In recognition of a very funny comedian - Jeff Foxworthy, I'd like to offer a slight adaptation to his routine. I call it: You might be in the South if . . .
This was the first thing that I saw when we docked in Charleston - as it was on the sail boat directly across from us. I turned around, and it was right behind me. I screamed like a little girl.
You might be in the South if . . .
"There are oysters growing on the dock pilings at your marina."
You can't se 'em at high tide, but you can pick 'em at low tide. They have about an 8 foot tide here.
You might be in the South if . . .
"You get called Ma'am 20 times in a 5 minute cab ride".
As happened to Spence when she went took a cab into Charleston.
You might be in the South if . . .
"You have covenant restrictions about flying flags, to keep the civil peace on college game days".
You have to understand, in SC there are 2 teams: Clemson Tigers, and S.C. Gamecocks.
The rivalry is epic and the source of many tough thanksgiving family gatherings.
Because, you are either with us or against us.
Knowing this, we have decided to make our own flag, and be called "The Clemcocks".
You might be in the South if . . .
"You have a dried gator head on the bowsprit of your sail boat."
This was the first thing that I saw when we docked in Charleston - as it was on the sail boat directly across from us. I turned around, and it was right behind me. I screamed like a little girl.
You might be in the South if . . .
"There are oysters growing on the dock pilings at your marina."
You can't se 'em at high tide, but you can pick 'em at low tide. They have about an 8 foot tide here.
You might be in the South if . . .
"You get called Ma'am 20 times in a 5 minute cab ride".
As happened to Spence when she went took a cab into Charleston.
You might be in the South if . . .
"You have covenant restrictions about flying flags, to keep the civil peace on college game days".
You have to understand, in SC there are 2 teams: Clemson Tigers, and S.C. Gamecocks.
The rivalry is epic and the source of many tough thanksgiving family gatherings.
Because, you are either with us or against us.
Knowing this, we have decided to make our own flag, and be called "The Clemcocks".
What I Did For Love - Part 2
Other than fishing, the other love of my life is Spence.
And what does Spence like to do . . . ?
Decorate, furnish, accessorize . . .
And here we were in Charleston, the home of one of our favorite decorating meccas: Celadon.
More enticing, their "specials laden" warehouse - which is only open on Wed. and Sat. - is open today. And to put a cheery on top, they have an additional sale going on right now.
Given the small craft warnings for today at sea, and the potential for a perfect shopping storm on land, we chose to leave the boat tied up to the dock for today and see what treasure we might discover?
So, we rented a car, and went on a mission . . .
I'm thinking that after the booty we collected today, that maybe we should go into piracy.
We had a pretty good idea of what we were looking for, having spend many nights measuring and discussing options, but had no idea of what we might find.
Maybe we just got lucky, but we found a dining room table, some chairs, and a hutch.
All on sale - from the marked down warehouse.
The amazing part is that we did all this in less time than it took us to navigate some harbor entrances.
With a day at the dock, and the prospect of new furnishings being delivered on Monday, we are just itching to complete the final leg and get home.
A clean bed, freezer with ice, space to move, TV - these are a few of our favorite things . . .
(The irony is that once we do get home, we still won't have hot water - because they had to shut off the gas to our house while we were away, and need for us to be home to turn it on).
It has been an incredible adventure, and we thank you so much for following along with us.
You have all helped us in more ways then you know.
And so, we have vowed one thing:
While the journey ends tomorrow (hopefully), the blog will not.
We will continue the open dialog, and to share thoughts/events about our new life down South.
(Plus, ya gotta hear how the furniture works out . . . )
I hope y'all become what my dear friend Stephen King affectionately calls: "Constant Reader".
It never has been, and it just ain't the same without ya.
Hot Water - heading home tomorrow.
Beaufort or Bust !!!
Standing by;
Cap't JimBob & First Mate Spence
And what does Spence like to do . . . ?
Decorate, furnish, accessorize . . .
And here we were in Charleston, the home of one of our favorite decorating meccas: Celadon.
More enticing, their "specials laden" warehouse - which is only open on Wed. and Sat. - is open today. And to put a cheery on top, they have an additional sale going on right now.
Given the small craft warnings for today at sea, and the potential for a perfect shopping storm on land, we chose to leave the boat tied up to the dock for today and see what treasure we might discover?
So, we rented a car, and went on a mission . . .
I'm thinking that after the booty we collected today, that maybe we should go into piracy.
We had a pretty good idea of what we were looking for, having spend many nights measuring and discussing options, but had no idea of what we might find.
Maybe we just got lucky, but we found a dining room table, some chairs, and a hutch.
All on sale - from the marked down warehouse.
The amazing part is that we did all this in less time than it took us to navigate some harbor entrances.
With a day at the dock, and the prospect of new furnishings being delivered on Monday, we are just itching to complete the final leg and get home.
A clean bed, freezer with ice, space to move, TV - these are a few of our favorite things . . .
(The irony is that once we do get home, we still won't have hot water - because they had to shut off the gas to our house while we were away, and need for us to be home to turn it on).
It has been an incredible adventure, and we thank you so much for following along with us.
You have all helped us in more ways then you know.
And so, we have vowed one thing:
While the journey ends tomorrow (hopefully), the blog will not.
We will continue the open dialog, and to share thoughts/events about our new life down South.
(Plus, ya gotta hear how the furniture works out . . . )
I hope y'all become what my dear friend Stephen King affectionately calls: "Constant Reader".
It never has been, and it just ain't the same without ya.
Hot Water - heading home tomorrow.
Beaufort or Bust !!!
Standing by;
Cap't JimBob & First Mate Spence
What I Did For Love . . .
Today reminded me of the fantastic Marvin Hamlisch song from Chorus Line, What I Did For Love.
The opening line is: "Kiss today goodbye . . ."
(What, so I'm into musicals - whadaboutid - ya wanna make sumthin' our of it - wanna step outside, or somethin'. Like I ain't got no culture? Forgetaboutid.)
So, today was a valiant effort in the often frustrating sport of fishing.
In which, you control none of the variables and yet must deal with all of them.
Variables that include weather, seas, fish, and boats.
All of which are highly unstable ingredients to throw into a caldron - the likes of the ocean.
A caldron that often yields bitter potions.
Today was such a day.
I met Dave at the dock at 5:15, and his 3 friends were aboard by 6:00, and we were off.
Now, there is not a fisherman alive who would not like to meet the guy who broadcasts the NOAA weather reports, because they are so famously wrong. And today was one of those days.
Forecasted*: 10-15 knot winds with 2-3 foot seas.
*(Which is only slightly more than we traveled in yesterday, and it was beautiful)
Actual: 20 - 25 knot winds; 4- 6 foot seas with occasional torrential showers.
We had discussed last night about going offshore versus staying in close, and chose the latter.
However, we had received a report and "numbers" (coordinates) of a hot bottom fishing spot further offshore from one of the friend's Dad - who had fished there yesterday.
So, we opted for the known hot spot.
It was only 35 miles. Piece of cake.
The plan was to troll for a bit (near the hot spot), and see what we might drag over the gunwales, and then bottom fish if that proved slow. Seemed like a good plan.
I'll be the first to admit that this "fishery" is new to me. However, I have done sufficient Canyon fishing to be conversant in the practice. And bottom fishing is a universal exercise: get the bait to the bottom in front of the fish.
Chugging the 35 miles out took longer than expected given the higher than expected seas, and winds.
But, we made it in about 1 1/2 hours, and started trolling.
Almost right off, a reel started screaming, and I pulled in about a 4 foot barracuda.
Not what we were looking for, but as they say in the program: one fish at a time . . .
Well it turned out, that barracuda was the only fish we caught trolling.
We had a couple of hits - when the reel jumps for a second - but no other takers.
So, we decided to try bottom fishing.
Now, when you bottom fish, you generally drift.
In a perfect world, you set the boat up to drift over the "hot spot numbers" and try and stay in that location for as long as possible. Because, the hot spot can often be a very small and specific piece of real estate - often no bigger than 20-30 feet wide, and 100 feet below you.
But, normally very doable - depending upon 2 factors: wind and waves.
The wind was blowing about 20 knots and the waves had built to about 4-5 foot.
Bottom line, we were drifting faster than Lindsay Lohan can drink. (that's pretty fast)
As such, we were only over the "hot spot" for some 30 seconds, before we shot past it.
When we were over them, we caught fish: small sea bass, a few snapper, and even a remora fish.
Those are the kind that "attach" themselves to other fish - sharks, and whales, etc.
I had never seen one - kinda cool. (and pretty big - about 3 feet long)
But, the excise was virtually futile as the boat was rocking so much, due to the fact that you are drifting sideways to the waves. This creates 2 problems: standing upright is increasing difficult, and the water comes riding up the side of the boat far more than normal.
It was the latter phenomenon that caused the engine problem we encountered when we decided to call it quits and start back home at 2:00.
The course back kept us sideways to the waves, which allowed the water to get into the air vents (for the engine) on the side of the boat (facing the waves). The resultant water caused a rather loud "POP" of the engine periodically. I can't adequately describe it to you, but I can say that all on board knew it was wrong, and that it potentially spelled trouble if we couldn't fix it.
Fixing engines sucks - especially if you are a mental midget mechanically. Which I am.
But, thankfully, we had a redneck on board.
Reminds me of one of my favorite bumper stickers:
"Everyone makes fun of Rednecks, till your engine breaks down".
So, we had to pull the engine cover off - which was no easy task in 5 foot seas, and diagnose the problem. Well Dr. Redneck, reckoned the water theory, which we all bought into - given the fact that the rest of us didn't have a clue about engines. Now, all we had to do was fix it . . .
Now ladies, I can tell you in ANY emergency, if there are men around, inevitably one of the solutions that will be offered is this: "Anybody got any duct tape?"
Well damn, we didn't have any duct tape - now what?
We took a plastic bag and stuck it thru the air vent, and pulled it across the vent and back in from the outside, and tied it on the inside. Basically, plugged up the air vent, as best we could to try and keep the water from coming in.
We put the engine cover back on, and headed on.
Feeling pretty proud of ourselves and our ingenuity to fix such a potentially drastic problem at sea.
'Cause , if we didn't, we were fairly screwed, as we were still more than 20 miles offshore, and the wind was not letting down.
We had about 5 minutes of relief until - "POP" again . . .
Shit.
Were we wrong about the water?
Was the engine in trouble?
None of the gauges indicated overheating, or loss of power.
But, it did only happen above a certain rpm level.
So, we decided to keep the rpms to below 2,000 - which meant that we would be traveling at about 10 knots.
And so we did - for the next 5 hours. (Wow, that was a deja vu)
So, on my day off, I spent 13 hours on the water, all for the love of fishing.
That's What I Did For Love.
Spence, on the other hand had a grand day in Charleston, and made dinner reservations that necessitated my sprinting from the boat to take a shower, and leave for dinner.
Shout out to Cap't Dave.
He stood tall in the face of some pretty heavy diversity.
None of the events of the day were his fault.
And, he handled himself and the situation admirably.
We were to a man very grateful for his successful captaining of the vessel.
We will fish again, 'cause that's what frinds do, and that's what we love.
The opening line is: "Kiss today goodbye . . ."
(What, so I'm into musicals - whadaboutid - ya wanna make sumthin' our of it - wanna step outside, or somethin'. Like I ain't got no culture? Forgetaboutid.)
So, today was a valiant effort in the often frustrating sport of fishing.
In which, you control none of the variables and yet must deal with all of them.
Variables that include weather, seas, fish, and boats.
All of which are highly unstable ingredients to throw into a caldron - the likes of the ocean.
A caldron that often yields bitter potions.
Today was such a day.
I met Dave at the dock at 5:15, and his 3 friends were aboard by 6:00, and we were off.
Now, there is not a fisherman alive who would not like to meet the guy who broadcasts the NOAA weather reports, because they are so famously wrong. And today was one of those days.
Forecasted*: 10-15 knot winds with 2-3 foot seas.
*(Which is only slightly more than we traveled in yesterday, and it was beautiful)
Actual: 20 - 25 knot winds; 4- 6 foot seas with occasional torrential showers.
We had discussed last night about going offshore versus staying in close, and chose the latter.
However, we had received a report and "numbers" (coordinates) of a hot bottom fishing spot further offshore from one of the friend's Dad - who had fished there yesterday.
So, we opted for the known hot spot.
It was only 35 miles. Piece of cake.
The plan was to troll for a bit (near the hot spot), and see what we might drag over the gunwales, and then bottom fish if that proved slow. Seemed like a good plan.
I'll be the first to admit that this "fishery" is new to me. However, I have done sufficient Canyon fishing to be conversant in the practice. And bottom fishing is a universal exercise: get the bait to the bottom in front of the fish.
Chugging the 35 miles out took longer than expected given the higher than expected seas, and winds.
But, we made it in about 1 1/2 hours, and started trolling.
Almost right off, a reel started screaming, and I pulled in about a 4 foot barracuda.
Not what we were looking for, but as they say in the program: one fish at a time . . .
Well it turned out, that barracuda was the only fish we caught trolling.
We had a couple of hits - when the reel jumps for a second - but no other takers.
So, we decided to try bottom fishing.
Now, when you bottom fish, you generally drift.
In a perfect world, you set the boat up to drift over the "hot spot numbers" and try and stay in that location for as long as possible. Because, the hot spot can often be a very small and specific piece of real estate - often no bigger than 20-30 feet wide, and 100 feet below you.
But, normally very doable - depending upon 2 factors: wind and waves.
The wind was blowing about 20 knots and the waves had built to about 4-5 foot.
Bottom line, we were drifting faster than Lindsay Lohan can drink. (that's pretty fast)
As such, we were only over the "hot spot" for some 30 seconds, before we shot past it.
When we were over them, we caught fish: small sea bass, a few snapper, and even a remora fish.
Those are the kind that "attach" themselves to other fish - sharks, and whales, etc.
I had never seen one - kinda cool. (and pretty big - about 3 feet long)
But, the excise was virtually futile as the boat was rocking so much, due to the fact that you are drifting sideways to the waves. This creates 2 problems: standing upright is increasing difficult, and the water comes riding up the side of the boat far more than normal.
It was the latter phenomenon that caused the engine problem we encountered when we decided to call it quits and start back home at 2:00.
The course back kept us sideways to the waves, which allowed the water to get into the air vents (for the engine) on the side of the boat (facing the waves). The resultant water caused a rather loud "POP" of the engine periodically. I can't adequately describe it to you, but I can say that all on board knew it was wrong, and that it potentially spelled trouble if we couldn't fix it.
Fixing engines sucks - especially if you are a mental midget mechanically. Which I am.
But, thankfully, we had a redneck on board.
Reminds me of one of my favorite bumper stickers:
"Everyone makes fun of Rednecks, till your engine breaks down".
So, we had to pull the engine cover off - which was no easy task in 5 foot seas, and diagnose the problem. Well Dr. Redneck, reckoned the water theory, which we all bought into - given the fact that the rest of us didn't have a clue about engines. Now, all we had to do was fix it . . .
Now ladies, I can tell you in ANY emergency, if there are men around, inevitably one of the solutions that will be offered is this: "Anybody got any duct tape?"
Well damn, we didn't have any duct tape - now what?
We took a plastic bag and stuck it thru the air vent, and pulled it across the vent and back in from the outside, and tied it on the inside. Basically, plugged up the air vent, as best we could to try and keep the water from coming in.
We put the engine cover back on, and headed on.
Feeling pretty proud of ourselves and our ingenuity to fix such a potentially drastic problem at sea.
'Cause , if we didn't, we were fairly screwed, as we were still more than 20 miles offshore, and the wind was not letting down.
We had about 5 minutes of relief until - "POP" again . . .
Shit.
Were we wrong about the water?
Was the engine in trouble?
None of the gauges indicated overheating, or loss of power.
But, it did only happen above a certain rpm level.
So, we decided to keep the rpms to below 2,000 - which meant that we would be traveling at about 10 knots.
And so we did - for the next 5 hours. (Wow, that was a deja vu)
So, on my day off, I spent 13 hours on the water, all for the love of fishing.
That's What I Did For Love.
Spence, on the other hand had a grand day in Charleston, and made dinner reservations that necessitated my sprinting from the boat to take a shower, and leave for dinner.
Shout out to Cap't Dave.
He stood tall in the face of some pretty heavy diversity.
None of the events of the day were his fault.
And, he handled himself and the situation admirably.
We were to a man very grateful for his successful captaining of the vessel.
We will fish again, 'cause that's what frinds do, and that's what we love.
Deja Vu . . . (all over again)
Cruising along at 17+ knots, flat calm seas, cooler offshore temperatures . . .
Wait a minute, I've been here before.
Like all day yesterday heading into Southport - only this time it's headed for Charleston.
The only difference between yesterday and today (other than the destination) is that the seas are even flatter, and the distance is even longer.
Just made the (very) easy run out of Southport, turned South (almost West) picked a waypoint in the channel to Charleston Harbor, and the GPS read 107 miles. Straight shot.
Now, we have entered the Twilight Zone, where you have set the course, and the auto pilot, and now fight the mind numbing task of watching the seas and the hours roll by.
In this moment (hours) of reflection, I think back to Southport.
A very quaint place, and picturesque place, with a very accessible harbor from both the ICW and ocean.
(Note: having technical difficulty uploading pictures right now - so the video portion of our presentation may lag behind a day or so)
But Southport has received recent notoriety, due to a film having been shot there: Safe Haven.
Starring Julianne Hough (uber Cutie), and Josh Duhamel (Yeah, I'd date him too). Very good flick.
It gets a Cap't JimBob (4) Star-fish rating.
Oh, back to watching the seas roll by, I check my watch, 37 minutes have passed.
I do some quick math and figure out that we still have some 6 hours to go.
Man, it's gonna be a looong day . . .
I keep looking for fish - anything.
I see occasional evidence of bait breaking the surface, and pass them by - telling them that today is their lucky day, 'cause I got to get somewhere.
Otherwise, I would be chasing them harder than Paris Hilton chasing a bad boy rock star.
Another 20 minutes have flown by . . .
And so it goes.
Deja vu for a total of 7.5 hours - 128 miles. (2nd longest stretch after 138 on Day one to Block Island).
But, we finally reach Ashley Marina in Charleston harbor, and we can't believe that we are actually here.
We meet up with our friend Dave Friedman, who tried for 5 years to find us the right house in Charleston. In truth, he found many perfect houses for us - that we couldn't pull the trigger on for a variety of reasons.
The good news is that we spent so much time together that we really became friends.
The bad news is that we never wound up buying a house from him, about which we feel eternally guilty.
But, friends forgive - and so we are thrilled to see one another and have a few cocktails with him aboard Hot Water in Charleston.
None of us can actually believe that this is real, because we have talked about this for years.
And for years, Dave and I have been planning something, and made a pledge that when, if, and as, we ever made it into Charleston, that he would take me fishing on his boat.
So, what does one do, when you have spent the last 10 days straight traveling over 1,000 nautical miles on a boat?
Why, you go fishing.
As we say in the program,: "Hi, my name is Jimbo - and I fish."
So, Spence is thrilled to have her day to walk around the Holy City, and check out all the decorating shops, art galleries, restaurants, etc . . . (I call the credit card company and put them on notice)
And, believe it or not, I am psyched about going fishing tomorrow, 'cause I love to fish.
Either way, tomorrow will be a departure from what the past 10 days have presented, and that is exciting enough for both of us.
Can't wait till tomorrow . . .
* Note: a special shout out to Taylor our ghost writer, who did a superb job of updating the blog when we couldn't. Very well done, and very witty Taylor. Your Mom and I laughed really hard when we read it. We laughed even harder, when we unanimously agreed that you are henceforth stricken from the will. Don't believe me. Call my lawyers Dewey, Fleecem, and Howe. (knuck, knuck, knuck)
Wait a minute, I've been here before.
Like all day yesterday heading into Southport - only this time it's headed for Charleston.
The only difference between yesterday and today (other than the destination) is that the seas are even flatter, and the distance is even longer.
Just made the (very) easy run out of Southport, turned South (almost West) picked a waypoint in the channel to Charleston Harbor, and the GPS read 107 miles. Straight shot.
Now, we have entered the Twilight Zone, where you have set the course, and the auto pilot, and now fight the mind numbing task of watching the seas and the hours roll by.
In this moment (hours) of reflection, I think back to Southport.
A very quaint place, and picturesque place, with a very accessible harbor from both the ICW and ocean.
(Note: having technical difficulty uploading pictures right now - so the video portion of our presentation may lag behind a day or so)
But Southport has received recent notoriety, due to a film having been shot there: Safe Haven.
Starring Julianne Hough (uber Cutie), and Josh Duhamel (Yeah, I'd date him too). Very good flick.
It gets a Cap't JimBob (4) Star-fish rating.
Oh, back to watching the seas roll by, I check my watch, 37 minutes have passed.
I do some quick math and figure out that we still have some 6 hours to go.
Man, it's gonna be a looong day . . .
I keep looking for fish - anything.
I see occasional evidence of bait breaking the surface, and pass them by - telling them that today is their lucky day, 'cause I got to get somewhere.
Otherwise, I would be chasing them harder than Paris Hilton chasing a bad boy rock star.
Another 20 minutes have flown by . . .
And so it goes.
Deja vu for a total of 7.5 hours - 128 miles. (2nd longest stretch after 138 on Day one to Block Island).
But, we finally reach Ashley Marina in Charleston harbor, and we can't believe that we are actually here.
We meet up with our friend Dave Friedman, who tried for 5 years to find us the right house in Charleston. In truth, he found many perfect houses for us - that we couldn't pull the trigger on for a variety of reasons.
The good news is that we spent so much time together that we really became friends.
The bad news is that we never wound up buying a house from him, about which we feel eternally guilty.
But, friends forgive - and so we are thrilled to see one another and have a few cocktails with him aboard Hot Water in Charleston.
None of us can actually believe that this is real, because we have talked about this for years.
And for years, Dave and I have been planning something, and made a pledge that when, if, and as, we ever made it into Charleston, that he would take me fishing on his boat.
So, what does one do, when you have spent the last 10 days straight traveling over 1,000 nautical miles on a boat?
Why, you go fishing.
As we say in the program,: "Hi, my name is Jimbo - and I fish."
So, Spence is thrilled to have her day to walk around the Holy City, and check out all the decorating shops, art galleries, restaurants, etc . . . (I call the credit card company and put them on notice)
And, believe it or not, I am psyched about going fishing tomorrow, 'cause I love to fish.
Either way, tomorrow will be a departure from what the past 10 days have presented, and that is exciting enough for both of us.
Can't wait till tomorrow . . .
* Note: a special shout out to Taylor our ghost writer, who did a superb job of updating the blog when we couldn't. Very well done, and very witty Taylor. Your Mom and I laughed really hard when we read it. We laughed even harder, when we unanimously agreed that you are henceforth stricken from the will. Don't believe me. Call my lawyers Dewey, Fleecem, and Howe. (knuck, knuck, knuck)
Friday, July 19, 2013
Guest Blogger
Hi Loyal Readers!
Taylor here again. Received a frantic phone call today... no don't worry boat is still afloat.... BUT Mom and Dad were so worried YOU would all be worried they asked for another quick remote update.
They are spending the day in Charleston today. Dad is getting his "fishing fix." (don't worry we are checking him into a special "fishing treatment center" soon) and Mom is spending some much needed "on shore" time shopping and "playing tourist."
This may lead to two outcomes:
1. Dad comes home with pounds of fish, excitedly looks at Mom and says "Look what I did!?!? Can we keep it?!" (spoken with the same enthusiasm as a small child holding a lost puppy). Mom stares at him blankly, blinking in disbelief, and wondering how quickly she can say no without hurting his feelings.
2. Mom comes home with new furniture, pillows, light fixtures, and/or nautical themed "housewares," excitedly looks at Dad ans says "Look what I did!?!! Can we keep it!?" (spoken with the same enthusiasm as a small child holding a lost puppy). Dad stares at her blankly, blinking in disbelief and wondering how quickly he can say no and then realizes...."This is a battle I will NEVER win" and says "AMAZING! LOVE IT!!!" (then quickly makes room on the boat).
Again they will resume the blogging tomorrow but are having fun on a little day off.
Tune back in tomorrow for more adventures and THANK YOU again for checking in with them each day!
Love
Taylor
Taylor here again. Received a frantic phone call today... no don't worry boat is still afloat.... BUT Mom and Dad were so worried YOU would all be worried they asked for another quick remote update.
They are spending the day in Charleston today. Dad is getting his "fishing fix." (don't worry we are checking him into a special "fishing treatment center" soon) and Mom is spending some much needed "on shore" time shopping and "playing tourist."
This may lead to two outcomes:
1. Dad comes home with pounds of fish, excitedly looks at Mom and says "Look what I did!?!? Can we keep it?!" (spoken with the same enthusiasm as a small child holding a lost puppy). Mom stares at him blankly, blinking in disbelief, and wondering how quickly she can say no without hurting his feelings.
2. Mom comes home with new furniture, pillows, light fixtures, and/or nautical themed "housewares," excitedly looks at Dad ans says "Look what I did!?!! Can we keep it!?" (spoken with the same enthusiasm as a small child holding a lost puppy). Dad stares at her blankly, blinking in disbelief and wondering how quickly he can say no and then realizes...."This is a battle I will NEVER win" and says "AMAZING! LOVE IT!!!" (then quickly makes room on the boat).
Again they will resume the blogging tomorrow but are having fun on a little day off.
Tune back in tomorrow for more adventures and THANK YOU again for checking in with them each day!
Love
Taylor
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Plan B . . .
When we last left our intrepid sailors they had just gotten the proverbial crap kicked out of them by an 118 mile day thru the Land Before Time.
Oh, and a small tidbit that I neglected to mention in yesterday's tirade, is that the mean water level along the ICW is 12 feet. So, if you drift of course just a bit, you are quickly in less than 5 feet of water.
FYI - I finally found the one picture that I wanted to share of the Pongo Canal. This was taken from the helm, as the boat was under full power, and has no magnification. This shows the exact proximity of some of the more unforgiving flora lining the canal:
But, as you know we made it.
What you don't know is what we did when we finally made River Dunes?
As the saying goes: "when the going get's tough, the tough . . . rent a cute little cottage."
River Dunes used to have a Coastal Living Dream House (which is why/how Spence dragged me down there in the first place in 2008). It was gorgeous. In 2009, it got hit by lightning and burned to the ground. (Spence wept). But, River Dunes is like a decorating mecca. Everything to Spence's taste.
I had a rattled crew and had to do something to calm her nerves. So, I thought a night in clean sheets among adorable furnishings would be just the ticket. Indeed it was. What a difference a good night's sleep, shower, and to-die-for duvet, can make. Spence had a smile upon her pretty face once again.
Here is a shot of the Love Shack:
We were renewed, and resolved to put in an R&R day - traveling only about 25 miles to Beaufort, NC, and just hang out. That was Plan A.
So, we took our time getting going. I got caught up with the blog, we showered, ate breakfast, and sauntered down to the boat about 10:00.
OMG - it was hotter than the hinges of Hades.
It was so hot, the plastic enclosure on the bridge was almost melting.
That's when I said to Spence: "why the hell are we going to Beaufort?
What are we going to do when we get there?
It' not like we are going to walk around downtown, unless you want to watch your Cap't spontaneously combust in the street. The place to be today is offshore."
I checked the NOAA forecast: 5 knot winds - Westerly - 2 foot seas.
I turned to Spence and said: "We're off - like a prom dress."
Spence agreed.
And so, Plan B was born.
Spence went to go get ice, and I went about the business of adding a quart of oil to the engine.
BTW - this next section is dedicated to Doug Currier - the best diesel mechanic on the Eastern seaboard - without whom Hot Water wound never have made this journey. If you have a diesel engine, and need some repairs, help, advice - Doug is the man.
(You are going to love this part Doug).
So, where was I? Oh yeah, I was performing the simple task of adding oil to the engine. Very easy, and I'd done it a thousand times. But, this one proved nearly disastrous.
I opened the oil cap, set it aside (in the same place I always do), and then went to reach for the oil container . . .
That's when I hit the oil cap.
I can still see it in slow motion as it skirted across the top of the engine and disappeared.
I held my breath and listened intently . . .
Clang, clank, clunk.
No Plop.
It didn't go Polp. No Polp.
Plop was the sound that it would have made if it had fallen all the way thru the engine, and landed in the bit of water in the bilge.
Shit, if it didn't go Polp, that means . . .
Jesus H. Baldheaded Christ, that means that it's hung up somewhere in the nether region of the engine.
It took about a second, as I stared at the gaping hole where the oil cap used to be, for the severity of the situation to set in. Without that cap, we were going nowhere, and there was a very high probability that I might not be able to find or remove it. That's when I lost it.
Thank God that Spence, or any other Christian person was not within earshot of the verbal tirade that I launched into. It went something like this:
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, Nooooooooooooo. Bleep - No, Bleep- Bleep - No, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Nooooooooooooo, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No . . .
Now, this is where Doug is going to kill himself laughing, because he knows my engine and the lack of space to get at things.
But, I will paint a picture for you.
I'm 6'2", and the entrance compartment to the engine would be small for a midget (this is no time or P.C. language). The space into which I had to squeeze my head to try and spot the cap was too small for my glasses to fit thru, so I had to split them in 2, and only use one half.
Oh, and have I mentioned how hot it was at this particular part of the day?
I won't take you thru all of the machinations of the SAR (Search And Rescue) mission, other than it took about a 1/2 hour to locate the cap alone.
Once spotted, the challenge became to invent/design a tool capable of extraction. That turned out to be a rigging needle, that I bent into a new geodesic shape . . .
With the tool, I was able to move the cap ever so slightly, but not extract it.
Then, I jerked, and the cap fell even further into the engine.
Shit, now what?
Maybe if I could just move it again . . .
Plop.
It went Plop. Even Spence heard it go Plop. It went Plop.
Praise the Lord and pass the Benzedrine, it went Polp.
There it was in the bilge . . .
For awhile, it looked like that prom dress zipper was not just stuck, but welded shut.
But by god, were got it off - and so were we . . . .
Leaving at 11:30, the rest of the day was blissfully calm and peaceful, and cool on the flat open water offshore. We traveled 118 miles, and cruised into Southport at 7:00. having escaped the heat of the day.
Speaking of heat, I have to give a shout out to my Cap't - Cap't Bill Manthorne, who has taught me everything about fishing and being offshore.
Bill, you will be happy to know that the generator gets turned on the minute when we leave the dock, and runs until we plug in shore power. The whole time powering the Air Conditioner - so that Spence has a nice cool place to come and hang out.
Ok, I'll put it in writing - YOU WERE RIGHT.
Now, quite smiling you scurvy bastard.
So, sometimes Plan B is the best option.
And we plan to do exactly the same thing again today.
We have the weather and sea conditions, and are going outside again.
This time with a target of Charleston.
That would normally put us within a day of Beaufort, SC (a.k.a. home).
But, we are not ready to end this trip.
And, I have a debt to repay, and plan to take a friend offshore fishing on Friday, while Spence melts the credit cards at shops in the City.
So, I can't tell you when we will be finished, but I know that with the heat building already . . .
We're off - like a prom dress . . .
Oh, and a small tidbit that I neglected to mention in yesterday's tirade, is that the mean water level along the ICW is 12 feet. So, if you drift of course just a bit, you are quickly in less than 5 feet of water.
FYI - I finally found the one picture that I wanted to share of the Pongo Canal. This was taken from the helm, as the boat was under full power, and has no magnification. This shows the exact proximity of some of the more unforgiving flora lining the canal:
But, as you know we made it.
What you don't know is what we did when we finally made River Dunes?
As the saying goes: "when the going get's tough, the tough . . . rent a cute little cottage."
River Dunes used to have a Coastal Living Dream House (which is why/how Spence dragged me down there in the first place in 2008). It was gorgeous. In 2009, it got hit by lightning and burned to the ground. (Spence wept). But, River Dunes is like a decorating mecca. Everything to Spence's taste.
I had a rattled crew and had to do something to calm her nerves. So, I thought a night in clean sheets among adorable furnishings would be just the ticket. Indeed it was. What a difference a good night's sleep, shower, and to-die-for duvet, can make. Spence had a smile upon her pretty face once again.
Here is a shot of the Love Shack:
We were renewed, and resolved to put in an R&R day - traveling only about 25 miles to Beaufort, NC, and just hang out. That was Plan A.
So, we took our time getting going. I got caught up with the blog, we showered, ate breakfast, and sauntered down to the boat about 10:00.
OMG - it was hotter than the hinges of Hades.
It was so hot, the plastic enclosure on the bridge was almost melting.
That's when I said to Spence: "why the hell are we going to Beaufort?
What are we going to do when we get there?
It' not like we are going to walk around downtown, unless you want to watch your Cap't spontaneously combust in the street. The place to be today is offshore."
I checked the NOAA forecast: 5 knot winds - Westerly - 2 foot seas.
I turned to Spence and said: "We're off - like a prom dress."
Spence agreed.
And so, Plan B was born.
Spence went to go get ice, and I went about the business of adding a quart of oil to the engine.
BTW - this next section is dedicated to Doug Currier - the best diesel mechanic on the Eastern seaboard - without whom Hot Water wound never have made this journey. If you have a diesel engine, and need some repairs, help, advice - Doug is the man.
(You are going to love this part Doug).
So, where was I? Oh yeah, I was performing the simple task of adding oil to the engine. Very easy, and I'd done it a thousand times. But, this one proved nearly disastrous.
I opened the oil cap, set it aside (in the same place I always do), and then went to reach for the oil container . . .
That's when I hit the oil cap.
I can still see it in slow motion as it skirted across the top of the engine and disappeared.
I held my breath and listened intently . . .
Clang, clank, clunk.
No Plop.
It didn't go Polp. No Polp.
Plop was the sound that it would have made if it had fallen all the way thru the engine, and landed in the bit of water in the bilge.
Shit, if it didn't go Polp, that means . . .
Jesus H. Baldheaded Christ, that means that it's hung up somewhere in the nether region of the engine.
It took about a second, as I stared at the gaping hole where the oil cap used to be, for the severity of the situation to set in. Without that cap, we were going nowhere, and there was a very high probability that I might not be able to find or remove it. That's when I lost it.
Thank God that Spence, or any other Christian person was not within earshot of the verbal tirade that I launched into. It went something like this:
No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, Nooooooooooooo. Bleep - No, Bleep- Bleep - No, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Bleep, Bleep Bleep, Nooooooooooooo, No, No, No, No, No, No, No, No . . .
Now, this is where Doug is going to kill himself laughing, because he knows my engine and the lack of space to get at things.
But, I will paint a picture for you.
I'm 6'2", and the entrance compartment to the engine would be small for a midget (this is no time or P.C. language). The space into which I had to squeeze my head to try and spot the cap was too small for my glasses to fit thru, so I had to split them in 2, and only use one half.
Oh, and have I mentioned how hot it was at this particular part of the day?
I won't take you thru all of the machinations of the SAR (Search And Rescue) mission, other than it took about a 1/2 hour to locate the cap alone.
Once spotted, the challenge became to invent/design a tool capable of extraction. That turned out to be a rigging needle, that I bent into a new geodesic shape . . .
With the tool, I was able to move the cap ever so slightly, but not extract it.
Then, I jerked, and the cap fell even further into the engine.
Shit, now what?
Maybe if I could just move it again . . .
Plop.
It went Plop. Even Spence heard it go Plop. It went Plop.
Praise the Lord and pass the Benzedrine, it went Polp.
There it was in the bilge . . .
For awhile, it looked like that prom dress zipper was not just stuck, but welded shut.
But by god, were got it off - and so were we . . . .
Leaving at 11:30, the rest of the day was blissfully calm and peaceful, and cool on the flat open water offshore. We traveled 118 miles, and cruised into Southport at 7:00. having escaped the heat of the day.
Speaking of heat, I have to give a shout out to my Cap't - Cap't Bill Manthorne, who has taught me everything about fishing and being offshore.
Bill, you will be happy to know that the generator gets turned on the minute when we leave the dock, and runs until we plug in shore power. The whole time powering the Air Conditioner - so that Spence has a nice cool place to come and hang out.
Ok, I'll put it in writing - YOU WERE RIGHT.
Now, quite smiling you scurvy bastard.
So, sometimes Plan B is the best option.
And we plan to do exactly the same thing again today.
We have the weather and sea conditions, and are going outside again.
This time with a target of Charleston.
That would normally put us within a day of Beaufort, SC (a.k.a. home).
But, we are not ready to end this trip.
And, I have a debt to repay, and plan to take a friend offshore fishing on Friday, while Spence melts the credit cards at shops in the City.
So, I can't tell you when we will be finished, but I know that with the heat building already . . .
We're off - like a prom dress . . .
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
"Follow the Yellow Brick Road . . . "
Actually the road has no bricks, and is not yellow.
It is Magenta, is about 12' wide, and has shoals, hidden pilings, and tree stumps so close you can touch 'em.
I give you, the Intercostal Waterway - or ICW.
It's kinda like your first date.
Incredibly exciting, but absolutely terrifying at the same time.
There is an actual "Magenta Line" (dotted) that denotes the ICW.
It is on all of the charts, and GPS screens, and shows you the exact path to follow.
It is absolute and unforgiving.
Think of a school yard bully toeing a line in the dirt, and daring you cross it.
That is what the "magenta line" does.
'Cause if you do cross it, on either side, by as much as 5 feet, you are "up the proverbial creek" with consequences ranging from running aground, to taking out a prop, to punching a hole in the boat.
As they say down here, y'all better watch what you doin'.
To give you an idea, here is a shot of the entrance to the Pongo Canal - which is 14 miles long:
You can see from our wake that the entire width is about 20 feet.
But, what you don't see is the view from the Depth sounder that shows how the "deep water - in the middle of the channel" is about 5 feet wide.
While we are talking about the Pongo Canal, let me just say that is an amazing engineering feat that created an incredible body of water.
But, it scared me silly.
It is literally in the middle of nowhere.
You enter it from the Alligator River. The other side leads you to the Pamlico Sound.
In between, is a place that time literally forgot.
I swear, the whole way crossing it, all I could hear was "Dueling Banjos" in my head.
Stephen King would love this place. He would be right at home.
'Cause here's the thing - about 200 yards into the canal, you loose all cell coverage.
About a mile in, I didn't hear anything on the radio. Nothin.
And it stayed that way, damn near the whole way.
As for boat traffic, our wake was the only one for the entire length. We didn't see even a canoe.
But, we saw eagles, and osprey, and many, many turkey vultures. Circling, and circling - just waiting for an engine to sputter, or a prop to get dinged, or . . .
Let's just say that for about an hour, you couldn't have put a BB up my sphincter.
(OK, too much detail. Mea Culpa)
FYI - here is the bridge that allows you into the Alligator River:
But, the incredible thing about the ICW, is that it is not just about narrow canals.
We also traveled some of the widest bodies of non-oceanic water I have ever seen.
In fact, the roughest water we've seen so far on the trip was for about 10 miles on the Albemarle Sound.
The irony is that you have nothing but water for as far as the you can see - in all directions.
But, there is but one way across - the magenta line - and you best be following it.
Think of the expanse of the Grand Canyon.
Then, think about how you would have to cross it - if on a wire.
There you have the ICW.
Now, sail boaters love this, because when you are cruising along at 4 or 5 knots, the reaction time required to stay in a 10' channel is far greater than if you are going at 17-18 knots.
Plus, there are many places where the channel winds back and forth thru undulating river banks.
Then, it is like a video game, with a joy stick. You have to react so fast constantly, it really is trying.
So, this is incredibly different than offshore boating, where you set the auto-pilot to a waypoint, heading, or route and just sit back and make adjustments as needed.
No sir, you had best pay attention, and be on top of your game.
But, to be honest there are very long stretches where the magenta line goes straight for 6, or 8 miles.
And then, you can set the auto-pilot and relax a bit.
Overall impression:
Incredible body of water(s) that are so unique I am glad that we did them.
I am also glad that we did them unscathed.
But, I can honestly say, following the magenta line takes it out of ya.
Between that and the heat - 93 degrees, we had reached our limit by the time we made Grace Harbor at River Dunes at ICW mile 176.
We started at Coinjock, mile 50.
That made yesterday a 126 mile day.
One of the longest so far, and by far the most difficult.
So today, we are taking a leisurely 30 mile jaunt down to Beaufort (Bo-fort), NC before we head offshore again.
We will be winding our way thru some fairly skinny ICW water to get there.
But, at least now, we have a Heart, some Courage, and at least one Brain between us.
Plus, we made friends with the Munchkins - so we should be good.
Gotta go.
"We're of to see the Beaufort . . . " (Ha, now you have that song in your head. Take that Bob . . .)
It is Magenta, is about 12' wide, and has shoals, hidden pilings, and tree stumps so close you can touch 'em.
I give you, the Intercostal Waterway - or ICW.
It's kinda like your first date.
Incredibly exciting, but absolutely terrifying at the same time.
There is an actual "Magenta Line" (dotted) that denotes the ICW.
It is on all of the charts, and GPS screens, and shows you the exact path to follow.
It is absolute and unforgiving.
Think of a school yard bully toeing a line in the dirt, and daring you cross it.
That is what the "magenta line" does.
'Cause if you do cross it, on either side, by as much as 5 feet, you are "up the proverbial creek" with consequences ranging from running aground, to taking out a prop, to punching a hole in the boat.
As they say down here, y'all better watch what you doin'.
To give you an idea, here is a shot of the entrance to the Pongo Canal - which is 14 miles long:
And here is a picture of the wake you better leave behind you when traversing it . . .
You can see from our wake that the entire width is about 20 feet.
But, what you don't see is the view from the Depth sounder that shows how the "deep water - in the middle of the channel" is about 5 feet wide.
While we are talking about the Pongo Canal, let me just say that is an amazing engineering feat that created an incredible body of water.
But, it scared me silly.
It is literally in the middle of nowhere.
You enter it from the Alligator River. The other side leads you to the Pamlico Sound.
In between, is a place that time literally forgot.
I swear, the whole way crossing it, all I could hear was "Dueling Banjos" in my head.
Stephen King would love this place. He would be right at home.
'Cause here's the thing - about 200 yards into the canal, you loose all cell coverage.
About a mile in, I didn't hear anything on the radio. Nothin.
And it stayed that way, damn near the whole way.
As for boat traffic, our wake was the only one for the entire length. We didn't see even a canoe.
But, we saw eagles, and osprey, and many, many turkey vultures. Circling, and circling - just waiting for an engine to sputter, or a prop to get dinged, or . . .
Let's just say that for about an hour, you couldn't have put a BB up my sphincter.
(OK, too much detail. Mea Culpa)
FYI - here is the bridge that allows you into the Alligator River:
But, the incredible thing about the ICW, is that it is not just about narrow canals.
We also traveled some of the widest bodies of non-oceanic water I have ever seen.
In fact, the roughest water we've seen so far on the trip was for about 10 miles on the Albemarle Sound.
The irony is that you have nothing but water for as far as the you can see - in all directions.
But, there is but one way across - the magenta line - and you best be following it.
Think of the expanse of the Grand Canyon.
Then, think about how you would have to cross it - if on a wire.
There you have the ICW.
Now, sail boaters love this, because when you are cruising along at 4 or 5 knots, the reaction time required to stay in a 10' channel is far greater than if you are going at 17-18 knots.
Plus, there are many places where the channel winds back and forth thru undulating river banks.
Then, it is like a video game, with a joy stick. You have to react so fast constantly, it really is trying.
So, this is incredibly different than offshore boating, where you set the auto-pilot to a waypoint, heading, or route and just sit back and make adjustments as needed.
No sir, you had best pay attention, and be on top of your game.
But, to be honest there are very long stretches where the magenta line goes straight for 6, or 8 miles.
And then, you can set the auto-pilot and relax a bit.
Overall impression:
Incredible body of water(s) that are so unique I am glad that we did them.
I am also glad that we did them unscathed.
But, I can honestly say, following the magenta line takes it out of ya.
Between that and the heat - 93 degrees, we had reached our limit by the time we made Grace Harbor at River Dunes at ICW mile 176.
We started at Coinjock, mile 50.
That made yesterday a 126 mile day.
One of the longest so far, and by far the most difficult.
So today, we are taking a leisurely 30 mile jaunt down to Beaufort (Bo-fort), NC before we head offshore again.
We will be winding our way thru some fairly skinny ICW water to get there.
But, at least now, we have a Heart, some Courage, and at least one Brain between us.
Plus, we made friends with the Munchkins - so we should be good.
Gotta go.
"We're of to see the Beaufort . . . " (Ha, now you have that song in your head. Take that Bob . . .)
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
"Just where the hell is Coinjock . . .?"
That is what it says on the T-shirts for sale in the Coinjock Marina supply store.
I must admit that when I first heard the word "Coinjock", I had the exact same question.
The next question was - why the hell would you want to stop there?
Both are worthy questions, but I can honestly tell you that in the multitude of discussions I had with ICW veterans, the word "Coinjock" was the most often used, and used in the superlative.
As in, "you gotta stop in Coinjock", or "you first stop heading South has to be Coinjock", or "you are stopping in Coinjock right'?
Then, when I asked why, the response was as unanimous - "the Prime Rib".
Seriously?
You are going to plan your ICW experience around an entrée?
Well, having done so, let me put it to you this way: "Ya gotta go, and ya gotta get the prime rib".
Now, just in case you think this is some sort of gimmick or fluke, consider that Hot Water was the smallest vessel tied up at Coinjock Marina. The largest was 116' - I have no idea what.
But, it was Gy-Normous. When, I went to check it out, they were fueling up, and the pump was soaring past 3,000 gallons.
But, they were all there for one thing - the Prime Rib:
32 ounces of artery corrupting bliss.
How big is a 32 oz piece of beef? Let's just say that Fred Flintstone would be jealous.
(Or, you can get the "mate's" mere 16 oz rib)
Either way, the quality is the same - like you dream about.
But, there is also another reason for it's popularity:
It is 50 miles from the start (or finish) of the ICW, and affords one a perfectly timed stop going in either direction.
Plus, there are about 2,000 feet of dock space - easy side dockage - quiet, no wake zone traffic - and did I mention the prime rib?
So, while our ICW journey is not complete, at least it has already included the one "must" activity - Coinjock. See for yourself:
So, with Jack's help, we made it to Coinjock - mile 50 on the ICW.
Tomorrow, headed for River Dunes - at mile 173.
The question is whether we follow the ICW and travel thru the Alligator River and Pungo Canal - or around the Arbemarle Sound?
(The Shadow knows . . . Stay Tuned)
I must admit that when I first heard the word "Coinjock", I had the exact same question.
The next question was - why the hell would you want to stop there?
Both are worthy questions, but I can honestly tell you that in the multitude of discussions I had with ICW veterans, the word "Coinjock" was the most often used, and used in the superlative.
As in, "you gotta stop in Coinjock", or "you first stop heading South has to be Coinjock", or "you are stopping in Coinjock right'?
Then, when I asked why, the response was as unanimous - "the Prime Rib".
Seriously?
You are going to plan your ICW experience around an entrée?
Well, having done so, let me put it to you this way: "Ya gotta go, and ya gotta get the prime rib".
Now, just in case you think this is some sort of gimmick or fluke, consider that Hot Water was the smallest vessel tied up at Coinjock Marina. The largest was 116' - I have no idea what.
But, it was Gy-Normous. When, I went to check it out, they were fueling up, and the pump was soaring past 3,000 gallons.
But, they were all there for one thing - the Prime Rib:
32 ounces of artery corrupting bliss.
How big is a 32 oz piece of beef? Let's just say that Fred Flintstone would be jealous.
(Or, you can get the "mate's" mere 16 oz rib)
Either way, the quality is the same - like you dream about.
But, there is also another reason for it's popularity:
It is 50 miles from the start (or finish) of the ICW, and affords one a perfectly timed stop going in either direction.
Plus, there are about 2,000 feet of dock space - easy side dockage - quiet, no wake zone traffic - and did I mention the prime rib?
So, while our ICW journey is not complete, at least it has already included the one "must" activity - Coinjock. See for yourself:
The Sand Bar at Coinjock.
Spence and I headed for prime rib . . .
Representing the sport fishing vessel "Tunacious" at Coinjock . . .
Tomorrow, headed for River Dunes - at mile 173.
The question is whether we follow the ICW and travel thru the Alligator River and Pungo Canal - or around the Arbemarle Sound?
(The Shadow knows . . . Stay Tuned)
Puttin' On the Ritz . . .
I know, I know, I know . . .
I am a day behind in my blog and trying furiously to catch up.
(Sorry, if I got a bit verbose in my last blog - but some things just needed saying)
So the goal for tonight is to get 2 blogs done.
For the "Immediate Satisfaction Junkies" we are safely ensconced in Grace Harbor at River Dunes - Oriental, NC. And today was the first day that we did NOT have to turn the radar on.
River Dunes is a place that Spence and I almost bought land at. And just gotta say, we are sooo happy that we didn't. 'Cause it can't hold a candle to IOB. (just saying)
But, this blog is all about the extraordinary and exquisite time that we were shown by Joan and Jack Stumborg. Jack, is Spence's high school friend, and Joan is the saint who married him.
(Call me a liar Jack, I dare ya.)
But, they went WAY above the call of duty to make us feel at home, and make our lives infinitely easier in many ways, including our transition from "Offshore" to the "ICW".
First off, they had already made marina reservations for us, they met us at the end of our Ocean City run - at the marina (in their boat), they even helped us tie up - wash down - cool off, and then took us for a boat ride.
Now, that might sound silly, given our maritime slavery over the past 8 days.
But, it was a blast.
We got to do Spence's favorite thing - cruise by houses of the "Ridiculously Rich" and gossip about all the nouveau riche, gaudy display of crass taste. That never gets old.
But, we cruised by one of the most unique facilities I have ever heard of -let alone seen:
A harbor (with muti-mega yachts), plus a golf course (where the 18th green sat adjacent to the marina), plus a tennis club - and let's not forget the pool(s).
(I gotta tell ya, it kinda made me feel homesick for Cove)
Then, we went back to their house where we had an honest-to-God shower.
It was better than you know what.
Joan, I apologize for the mess.
I know that I left an oil slick that rivaled the Exxon Valdez spill.
But, for the first time in a loooong time, we felt truly clean.
Then, they had dinner reservations at a wonderful place called (so appropriately One Fish, Two Fish).
(Oh, and Joan surprised us at the dock with a bottle of "Cool Fish" wine - because she knew that I didn't get to go fishing.)
There is place in heaven for you Joan.
Dinner was great, and the sunset was perfectly orchestrated.
But the best part of all, was the first night's sleep on dry land in a bed made by angels.
It had to be, because I was certain that I had died and gone to heaven.
The next morning, they drove us to our boat, where something occurred that has never happened aboard Hot Water:
I stood by, while someone else captained my vessel.
Enter Cap't Jack - stage left.
That's right, I turned the helm over to Jack to take us thru Norfolk, and down the entrance to the ICW.
No, I have not been off my medication again.
This was for good reason, and deserves some explanation to fully understand.
Mr. Peabody, set the time machine back to 1974.
The luscious Rebecca Spence had just graduated high school, and was headed to that hippy haven - Colorado College to follow in the footsteps of Hunter S. Thompson (Gonzo Tour Forever.)
Meanwhile Jack, a.k.a. - Stick (tall and lanky) was headed off to the Naval Academy to become a Plebe.
Now, the incredible statistic is that both were able to successfully follow their dreams, and Jack wound up training and doing service in and around Norfolk. More importantly, he now runs the Atlantic Yacht Basin, which is located at mile 12 of the ICW.
Bottom line, if there was ever anyone to whom I would turn over command of Hot Water, it would be Jack Stumborg (or Dr. Evil, but I digress).
So Jack not only drove but played tour guide as well , pointing out all of the various ships and points of interest along the way. Really cool - see for yourself . . .
But, the most valuable thing that he shared was his local knowledge of the bridge, and lock openings - so that we were not left either waiting, or wondering what the hell was going on.
Bottom line - if Spence and I had tried to navigate that section alone, we would not still be married. No joke.
If you don't make this bridge by a certain time, then you ain't gonna make the lock - and you wait for an hour.
Even though we had to wait at some pints they were all minimized, and we sailed thru just as easy as could be.
This is the locks that we went thru - and raised (or lowered) the boat about 2 feet.
While waiting for the lock to do it's thing, we came across this sign - which pretty much said it all - how far we had come, and how far we had to go . . .
For the far sighted masses, it says Boston 717 miles, and while they don't don't have Beaufort on there, it is 540 miles.
Then we got to Jack's place of work AYB.
I can say this, I have been around boats all my life, but have never seen a facility like this ever - anywhere.
They are basically a wet, covered, storage that can fix, or completely refurbish anything from a cabin cruiser to a mega yacht. The boats that they have are currently working on are some of the most awesome yachts I have ever seen.
While I can't do it justice, or show them all, this one is my favorite - the Black Knight:
I cant remember the LOA, but I know it is in the vicinity of 120'. Awesome, from stem to stern.
After a tour a his facility, Jack joined us for the 35 mile run down to Coinjock - where we leave off for tonight's follow on Blog. (Stay tuned - film at 11:00)
Our most sincere and heartfelt gratitude for the incredible hospitality that you guys showed us.
Just don't expect the same from us if/when you visit.
'Cause, that can't be matched.
But, thank you so much.
Ladies and Gentlemen - Please put your hands together, and give a big round of applause for Joan and Jack Stumborg.
I am a day behind in my blog and trying furiously to catch up.
(Sorry, if I got a bit verbose in my last blog - but some things just needed saying)
So the goal for tonight is to get 2 blogs done.
For the "Immediate Satisfaction Junkies" we are safely ensconced in Grace Harbor at River Dunes - Oriental, NC. And today was the first day that we did NOT have to turn the radar on.
River Dunes is a place that Spence and I almost bought land at. And just gotta say, we are sooo happy that we didn't. 'Cause it can't hold a candle to IOB. (just saying)
But, this blog is all about the extraordinary and exquisite time that we were shown by Joan and Jack Stumborg. Jack, is Spence's high school friend, and Joan is the saint who married him.
(Call me a liar Jack, I dare ya.)
But, they went WAY above the call of duty to make us feel at home, and make our lives infinitely easier in many ways, including our transition from "Offshore" to the "ICW".
First off, they had already made marina reservations for us, they met us at the end of our Ocean City run - at the marina (in their boat), they even helped us tie up - wash down - cool off, and then took us for a boat ride.
Now, that might sound silly, given our maritime slavery over the past 8 days.
But, it was a blast.
We got to do Spence's favorite thing - cruise by houses of the "Ridiculously Rich" and gossip about all the nouveau riche, gaudy display of crass taste. That never gets old.
But, we cruised by one of the most unique facilities I have ever heard of -let alone seen:
A harbor (with muti-mega yachts), plus a golf course (where the 18th green sat adjacent to the marina), plus a tennis club - and let's not forget the pool(s).
(I gotta tell ya, it kinda made me feel homesick for Cove)
Then, we went back to their house where we had an honest-to-God shower.
It was better than you know what.
Joan, I apologize for the mess.
I know that I left an oil slick that rivaled the Exxon Valdez spill.
But, for the first time in a loooong time, we felt truly clean.
Then, they had dinner reservations at a wonderful place called (so appropriately One Fish, Two Fish).
(Oh, and Joan surprised us at the dock with a bottle of "Cool Fish" wine - because she knew that I didn't get to go fishing.)
There is place in heaven for you Joan.
Dinner was great, and the sunset was perfectly orchestrated.
But the best part of all, was the first night's sleep on dry land in a bed made by angels.
It had to be, because I was certain that I had died and gone to heaven.
The next morning, they drove us to our boat, where something occurred that has never happened aboard Hot Water:
I stood by, while someone else captained my vessel.
Enter Cap't Jack - stage left.
That's right, I turned the helm over to Jack to take us thru Norfolk, and down the entrance to the ICW.
No, I have not been off my medication again.
This was for good reason, and deserves some explanation to fully understand.
Mr. Peabody, set the time machine back to 1974.
The luscious Rebecca Spence had just graduated high school, and was headed to that hippy haven - Colorado College to follow in the footsteps of Hunter S. Thompson (Gonzo Tour Forever.)
Meanwhile Jack, a.k.a. - Stick (tall and lanky) was headed off to the Naval Academy to become a Plebe.
Now, the incredible statistic is that both were able to successfully follow their dreams, and Jack wound up training and doing service in and around Norfolk. More importantly, he now runs the Atlantic Yacht Basin, which is located at mile 12 of the ICW.
Bottom line, if there was ever anyone to whom I would turn over command of Hot Water, it would be Jack Stumborg (or Dr. Evil, but I digress).
So Jack not only drove but played tour guide as well , pointing out all of the various ships and points of interest along the way. Really cool - see for yourself . . .
But, the most valuable thing that he shared was his local knowledge of the bridge, and lock openings - so that we were not left either waiting, or wondering what the hell was going on.
Bottom line - if Spence and I had tried to navigate that section alone, we would not still be married. No joke.
If you don't make this bridge by a certain time, then you ain't gonna make the lock - and you wait for an hour.
Even though we had to wait at some pints they were all minimized, and we sailed thru just as easy as could be.
This is the locks that we went thru - and raised (or lowered) the boat about 2 feet.
While waiting for the lock to do it's thing, we came across this sign - which pretty much said it all - how far we had come, and how far we had to go . . .
For the far sighted masses, it says Boston 717 miles, and while they don't don't have Beaufort on there, it is 540 miles.
Then we got to Jack's place of work AYB.
I can say this, I have been around boats all my life, but have never seen a facility like this ever - anywhere.
They are basically a wet, covered, storage that can fix, or completely refurbish anything from a cabin cruiser to a mega yacht. The boats that they have are currently working on are some of the most awesome yachts I have ever seen.
While I can't do it justice, or show them all, this one is my favorite - the Black Knight:
I cant remember the LOA, but I know it is in the vicinity of 120'. Awesome, from stem to stern.
After a tour a his facility, Jack joined us for the 35 mile run down to Coinjock - where we leave off for tonight's follow on Blog. (Stay tuned - film at 11:00)
Our most sincere and heartfelt gratitude for the incredible hospitality that you guys showed us.
Just don't expect the same from us if/when you visit.
'Cause, that can't be matched.
But, thank you so much.
Ladies and Gentlemen - Please put your hands together, and give a big round of applause for Joan and Jack Stumborg.
Jack and Spence and I
Joan and Spence and I (I call this one the Morning Glories)
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Trip, the Train (of thought), and the Tribute
Welcome back faithful reader.
It's good to have you back on board.
And I have to tell you, it's good to be back in the writer's chair once again.
First, let me apologize for the prolonged absence.
However, it was unavoidable, as we were being wined, dined, spoiled, and generally pampered by Becky's friend (from kindergarten thru high school - Jack Stumborg, and his gracious wife Joan).
Trust me, there will be more on that later.
But, when we last left our super sailors, they were spending the night in Ocean City, MD with the fishing fleet - facing a long arduous run along the length of the Delmarva Peninsula . . .
The TRIP:
Riddle me this:
Q). What time do fishing boats leave the dock?
A). O-friggin early o'clock.
At 3:00 a.m. the Jo-Jo fires up her diesels - welcomes the day's patrons (one of whom asks the Cap't if he would like to sample the Breakfast of Champions: Coffee cake with a shot of Jack) - and spins their 50+ footer within inches of Hot Water, on their way off shore. The rest of the fleet follows suit, and a thundering heard of Hemingway wanna-be's head for the hollowed hunting grounds.
Now, wide awake, I fight to get back to sleep - no dice . . .
When the alarm finally does go off, I want to throw it in the harbor.
But, I smack myself awake, splash some water on my face, put on my mascara and eyeliner (one can only do without so much) and then peek outside, only to find what the Fates have in store for us (again):
I am so bummed, because I know my mascara is going to run in all this moisture . . .
But seriously, FOG - AGAIN. Give me a break. Thus was NOT part of the game plan - no way.
Today was supposed to be tough, but not impossible.
But, getting offshore worked for us once before, so we figured that perhaps lightning could strike twice, and it might work again. As my daughter Whitney would say - it could happen.
So, out we crawled out of the harbor, and into the mist.
Just as we were feeling pretty good about making our way thru the harbor, we came across another ominous omen:
I thought that I had many more great shots, but they turned out to be of my fat fingers. It's not easy driving and snapping pictures at the same time.
'Cause Spence was on the bow, with a front row seat.
We came across a pod of about 20 dolphin, who decided that it would be cool to ride our bow wave and hang out with us for about a 1/2 hour.
I defy you to be bummed out, or in a bad mood when a pod of dolphins suddenly adopt you as their BFFs.
Suddenly, the whole day changed for the good.
The skies cleared. The seas remained flat, and we cruised the entire length of Delaware in better fashion (and spirits) than we could have hoped.
It's good to have you back on board.
And I have to tell you, it's good to be back in the writer's chair once again.
First, let me apologize for the prolonged absence.
However, it was unavoidable, as we were being wined, dined, spoiled, and generally pampered by Becky's friend (from kindergarten thru high school - Jack Stumborg, and his gracious wife Joan).
Trust me, there will be more on that later.
But, when we last left our super sailors, they were spending the night in Ocean City, MD with the fishing fleet - facing a long arduous run along the length of the Delmarva Peninsula . . .
The TRIP:
Riddle me this:
Q). What time do fishing boats leave the dock?
A). O-friggin early o'clock.
At 3:00 a.m. the Jo-Jo fires up her diesels - welcomes the day's patrons (one of whom asks the Cap't if he would like to sample the Breakfast of Champions: Coffee cake with a shot of Jack) - and spins their 50+ footer within inches of Hot Water, on their way off shore. The rest of the fleet follows suit, and a thundering heard of Hemingway wanna-be's head for the hollowed hunting grounds.
Now, wide awake, I fight to get back to sleep - no dice . . .
When the alarm finally does go off, I want to throw it in the harbor.
But, I smack myself awake, splash some water on my face, put on my mascara and eyeliner (one can only do without so much) and then peek outside, only to find what the Fates have in store for us (again):
But seriously, FOG - AGAIN. Give me a break. Thus was NOT part of the game plan - no way.
Today was supposed to be tough, but not impossible.
But, getting offshore worked for us once before, so we figured that perhaps lightning could strike twice, and it might work again. As my daughter Whitney would say - it could happen.
So, out we crawled out of the harbor, and into the mist.
Just as we were feeling pretty good about making our way thru the harbor, we came across another ominous omen:
I knew it was going to be a tough day at the office, but it's not like we could call in sick. So, on we ventured. Right as we were passing the equivalent to the "MR" buoy of the Ocean City inlet, we hear a radio transmission from someone - who had been offshore, only to turn around, because he had lost his electronics, and was "just trying to find land".
So, I know he can't see me, I just hope that we can see him.
I push the throttle up and decided it's best to distance myself from him, anyway possible.
It is now 7:30 when we get 3 miles offshore, and I ask Spence what time she thinks the fog will clear.
She says 10:00 - and I (trying to be optimistic) say 8:30.
By 9:00, we are 9 miles offshore, and I surrender my wager. We are still in pea soup.
At 10:00, as God is my witness, the fog lifts.
I look to Spence and ask how she did that, to which she replies: "what can I say, I'm that good."
Now, while I've made this sound fairly dramatic (and it was), we were blessed with one variable.
What is the one thing that cannot exist in fog . . . ? Wind.
So the seas were fairly flat.
But, we played tag in the fog for most of the day.
And when it was thick, we had less than 1/4 mile visibility.
So, we were feeling pretty uptight about the day's prospects, until the 12:00 aquatic show:
I thought that I had many more great shots, but they turned out to be of my fat fingers. It's not easy driving and snapping pictures at the same time.
'Cause Spence was on the bow, with a front row seat.
We came across a pod of about 20 dolphin, who decided that it would be cool to ride our bow wave and hang out with us for about a 1/2 hour.
I defy you to be bummed out, or in a bad mood when a pod of dolphins suddenly adopt you as their BFFs.
Suddenly, the whole day changed for the good.
The skies cleared. The seas remained flat, and we cruised the entire length of Delaware in better fashion (and spirits) than we could have hoped.
The Train (of Thought)
It occurred to me that while I have been relaying events to you, I have not really been telling you what this trip is really like. It is a funny thing, because albeit a cliché, it is so true: it's not the getting there - it's the journey.
Having taken many 6, 8, 10 hour offshore excursions, you take for granted what they entail.
Like any other long distance event, they are more mental than physical.
Once you head offshore, and dispense with the pleasantries and chatter of the task at hand (fishing or cruising) the small talk inevitably dissipates, and you are left with 2 basic elements: time and the sea.
Both of which seem ever present, yet endless.
And so, what happens is that there are long periods of silence and concentration on wherever your mind takes you, as a way of dealing with the uncontrollable time expenditure ahead.
Finding ways to break the monotony become inventive challenges, often resulting in food, beverage, or hygiene breaks.
But, the point is - it's a mind game. One that you either accept and embrace , or a fight and detest.
Personally, I love it - always have. I'm just saying: "it ain't all peaches and cream".
The Tribute
I feel the need to get something else of my chest, and that is a shout out to the unsung heroes of the maritime marriage - the Mate.
Without the Mate, just where would the Cap't be?
I can tell you - up the proverbial creek.
It would be like Fred without Ginger, Batman without Robin, Abbot without Costello, . . .
It just don't work.
Because, it's not just that they handle the lines, or fix the food, or jump when you bark.
The truth is that they have to sync with the Cap't well enough to know (and do) whatever needs doing - even if the Cap't doesn't.
For example, knowing when to say nothing - because the Cap't is so pissed off that any syllable is going to be fuel to the fire.
Here is the truth.
Boating is a team sport, and requires the cooperative effort of all involved to be successful.
Here is another truth.
I married one of the best Mates that any Cap't could ask for.
I've realized on this trip just how lucky I am, and that I never get to tell her that.
So, if you are ever looking for a good Mate, I know one.
She comes highly recommended.
(Just don't tell her I said so. After all, I am the Cap't and have to maintain some semblance of superiority . . .)
Tomorrow - the story of Great Times with Jack and Joan - and how we came to Coinjock . . . ?
Blog Delayed for a few Days!
Hi Everyone!
This is Taylor logging in from New York! My parents are staying with friends in Norfolk and are currently on the intercostal. They are safe and sound but didn't want anyone to worry! They will send a message from Goinjock tonight!
Thanks everyone for the support of this blog I know they are loving writing it as much as we are loving reading it!
Love,
Taylor
This is Taylor logging in from New York! My parents are staying with friends in Norfolk and are currently on the intercostal. They are safe and sound but didn't want anyone to worry! They will send a message from Goinjock tonight!
Thanks everyone for the support of this blog I know they are loving writing it as much as we are loving reading it!
Love,
Taylor
Saturday, July 13, 2013
No (real) fishing, but still a good day . . .
Tonight, I'll start be saying that we are currently in Ocean City at the Fisherman's Marina (how fitting).
But, to be fair, nothing can compare to the marina we stayed at last night: Canyon Club Resort Marina.
The accommodations didn't quite make the evening news as we were experiencing a monsoon of epic proportions.
Just for the record, it started raining while we were an hour outside of Cape May.
In the next 3 hours, it rained over 6".
At times so intense that there were dry shadows under the bows of the boats at the dock.
As for the boats, I have NEVER seen a collection of such fancy plastic.
You may not know that this, but Viking sport fishing yachts are built in NJ.
You most certainly didn't know (nor did we) that this weekend is the annual "Viking vs. Ocean Yachts Fishing Tournament". The bragging rights alone are worth the price of admission.
So, there was no expense spared on these showcase examples from each company.
Once again, I'm gonna let a picture tell the tale:
And this is only one row of about 8 that looked exactly the same.
For a fisherman, it was sort of like finding a trash bag full of crack cocaine. Unbelievable.
(Although, there was one embarrassing story intermixed with all this testosterone. The "new Viking 70 model" wound up stuck on the mud flats - while trying to get in during the same storm that Spence and I successfully came in on. I guess size ISN'T everything . . .)
And, not all of them left in the morning, as we were greeted with pea soup fog again.
Fortunately, it burned off by about 9:00 - which gave Spence and I just the time we needed to dry out everything that got wet - which was everything that we owned.
While we did have to battle a fog bank getting offshore, it dissipated about 5 miles from the beach, and stayed sunny all day.
However, there was a lingering threat of thunderstorms crawling up the coast - and as a result my plans to make a canyon run to go fishing got chopped quicker than a piece of fish at a sushi bar.
I did wind up trolling thru a few dolphins busting up some bait balls, but no dice.
We opted instead to head for the barn, call it a day.
Here is what we saw upon entering Ocean City:
BTW - all of the photos are courtesy, of the greatest mate on the 7 Seas - the one and only Spence.
More to come on that later . . .
It was the right call, given our long run down the whole coast of MD tomorrow. Which is our last real "outside challenge" as once we leave Ocean City, there are no safe harbors for 100+ miles.
(Kinda like the back side of the Cape. Some really lonesome water . . .)
But, it is supposed to be very calm seas - and NO RAIN (thank you, Jesus).
So, it should be just another day on the water . . .
Plus, our friend Jack came up with a great plan and awaits us at Long Bay Pointe - just inside, and across the Chesapeake Bay entrance.
It will be really great to hook up with Jack - who has been a tremendous source of information and inspiration, without whom we would likely have never embarked on this adventure.
(Thanks a lot - you bastard. Wait till I get my hands on you tomorrow. (jk). no really . . .)
p.s. - We have officially made it to Page 2 of our itinerary. A very significant and symbolic milestone.
But, to be fair, nothing can compare to the marina we stayed at last night: Canyon Club Resort Marina.
The accommodations didn't quite make the evening news as we were experiencing a monsoon of epic proportions.
Just for the record, it started raining while we were an hour outside of Cape May.
In the next 3 hours, it rained over 6".
At times so intense that there were dry shadows under the bows of the boats at the dock.
As for the boats, I have NEVER seen a collection of such fancy plastic.
You may not know that this, but Viking sport fishing yachts are built in NJ.
You most certainly didn't know (nor did we) that this weekend is the annual "Viking vs. Ocean Yachts Fishing Tournament". The bragging rights alone are worth the price of admission.
So, there was no expense spared on these showcase examples from each company.
Once again, I'm gonna let a picture tell the tale:
And this is only one row of about 8 that looked exactly the same.
For a fisherman, it was sort of like finding a trash bag full of crack cocaine. Unbelievable.
(Although, there was one embarrassing story intermixed with all this testosterone. The "new Viking 70 model" wound up stuck on the mud flats - while trying to get in during the same storm that Spence and I successfully came in on. I guess size ISN'T everything . . .)
And, not all of them left in the morning, as we were greeted with pea soup fog again.
Fortunately, it burned off by about 9:00 - which gave Spence and I just the time we needed to dry out everything that got wet - which was everything that we owned.
While we did have to battle a fog bank getting offshore, it dissipated about 5 miles from the beach, and stayed sunny all day.
However, there was a lingering threat of thunderstorms crawling up the coast - and as a result my plans to make a canyon run to go fishing got chopped quicker than a piece of fish at a sushi bar.
I did wind up trolling thru a few dolphins busting up some bait balls, but no dice.
We opted instead to head for the barn, call it a day.
Here is what we saw upon entering Ocean City:
BTW - all of the photos are courtesy, of the greatest mate on the 7 Seas - the one and only Spence.
More to come on that later . . .
It was the right call, given our long run down the whole coast of MD tomorrow. Which is our last real "outside challenge" as once we leave Ocean City, there are no safe harbors for 100+ miles.
(Kinda like the back side of the Cape. Some really lonesome water . . .)
But, it is supposed to be very calm seas - and NO RAIN (thank you, Jesus).
So, it should be just another day on the water . . .
Plus, our friend Jack came up with a great plan and awaits us at Long Bay Pointe - just inside, and across the Chesapeake Bay entrance.
It will be really great to hook up with Jack - who has been a tremendous source of information and inspiration, without whom we would likely have never embarked on this adventure.
(Thanks a lot - you bastard. Wait till I get my hands on you tomorrow. (jk). no really . . .)
p.s. - We have officially made it to Page 2 of our itinerary. A very significant and symbolic milestone.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Supplemental Side Bar - The Lollygagger.
So, last night, right after I finished writing the "Weather, or Not" blog, I heard some foreign engine noises.
As a boat captain - you know normal and abnormal engine noises - and these were most defiantly not normal. Too shifting, too sudden, and too powerful.
So, I jumped up and stuck my head out of the cabin to see this ENORMOUS boat trying to pull into the slip next to me - but was inches away from T-Boning my bow.
What was most troubling was that the "mate" was holding a boat hook and trying to use that to push off of my deck to keep their boat off of mine.
I can't adequately describe the enormity of the boat and the resultant stupidity of such a plan, but I can show you. Here is a picture of the Lollygagger (Not a joke - actual vessel name):
The Captain, was about 112 years old and was named Mr. Magoo. His mate, was about 5 years his junior and was named Gilligan. Their combined IQ was less than my shoe size.
Seriously, if the Captain had another brain, it would have died from loneliness.
As Elmer and Fud were about to back up into my boat a second time - I pointed out that there were multiple empty slips further down wind - which is where they were eventually going to wind up regardless.
Unfortunately, by the time that "dawn finally broke over Marblehead", and Cap't Clueless cottoned onto what I was saying, he had already smacked my neighbor's boat (Nellie and John - mentioned in previous blog).
Miraculously, he finally made within the same zip code of an open slip, and I ran over and yelled at the mate (a.k.a. Hellen Keller) to throw me a line - any line.
Which I cleated (hard), and told the Cap't Crunch to "just put it in forward". (Knowing that it would pull the bow into the dock.)
Well, he pulled into the dock all right, and damn near took it out - along with the cleat.
And, we finally got him tied up - with the engines shut off - so that he couldn't do any more damage.
My boat was fine - thanks to Mighty Mate holding off the 50,000 lb. boat with is trusty boat hook.
But, I wasn't so sure of my neighbor's boat.
As luck would have it, I knew that he was having dinner with friends at the restaurant that we ate at the previous evening. So, I went down to fetch him. While he was very thankful, I can't exactly repeat what he said, when I responded affirmatively to his question: "what's the big deal - did someone like hit my boat or something?"
Fortunately, the damage was all done to the Lollygagger, and not John's boat.
Upon discussing the events of what transpired, John and I learned from the esteemed Cap't that he had just purchased the boat (shocker) in Florida and they were headed North to take it around the "Great Loop".
For those who are unaware of what that entails, it means going all the way up to Canada, down the St Lawrence, into the Great Lakes, down the Mississippi, and back to Florida. The Great Loop.
Well, after what I saw, if Cap't Fruit Loops and his side kick Twinkie, make it thru the Belt Loop, it will be a friggin miracle.
I wish them luck, but was soooo glad that they were headed North, and that we were leaving the dock before they untied a single line.
p.s. - the last guy I saw with the owner of the Lollygagger was the fiberglass repair guy at the marina. I see the makings of a great friendship there.
A little sidebar - I just had to share.
As a boat captain - you know normal and abnormal engine noises - and these were most defiantly not normal. Too shifting, too sudden, and too powerful.
So, I jumped up and stuck my head out of the cabin to see this ENORMOUS boat trying to pull into the slip next to me - but was inches away from T-Boning my bow.
What was most troubling was that the "mate" was holding a boat hook and trying to use that to push off of my deck to keep their boat off of mine.
I can't adequately describe the enormity of the boat and the resultant stupidity of such a plan, but I can show you. Here is a picture of the Lollygagger (Not a joke - actual vessel name):
The Captain, was about 112 years old and was named Mr. Magoo. His mate, was about 5 years his junior and was named Gilligan. Their combined IQ was less than my shoe size.
Seriously, if the Captain had another brain, it would have died from loneliness.
As Elmer and Fud were about to back up into my boat a second time - I pointed out that there were multiple empty slips further down wind - which is where they were eventually going to wind up regardless.
Unfortunately, by the time that "dawn finally broke over Marblehead", and Cap't Clueless cottoned onto what I was saying, he had already smacked my neighbor's boat (Nellie and John - mentioned in previous blog).
Miraculously, he finally made within the same zip code of an open slip, and I ran over and yelled at the mate (a.k.a. Hellen Keller) to throw me a line - any line.
Which I cleated (hard), and told the Cap't Crunch to "just put it in forward". (Knowing that it would pull the bow into the dock.)
Well, he pulled into the dock all right, and damn near took it out - along with the cleat.
And, we finally got him tied up - with the engines shut off - so that he couldn't do any more damage.
My boat was fine - thanks to Mighty Mate holding off the 50,000 lb. boat with is trusty boat hook.
But, I wasn't so sure of my neighbor's boat.
As luck would have it, I knew that he was having dinner with friends at the restaurant that we ate at the previous evening. So, I went down to fetch him. While he was very thankful, I can't exactly repeat what he said, when I responded affirmatively to his question: "what's the big deal - did someone like hit my boat or something?"
Fortunately, the damage was all done to the Lollygagger, and not John's boat.
Upon discussing the events of what transpired, John and I learned from the esteemed Cap't that he had just purchased the boat (shocker) in Florida and they were headed North to take it around the "Great Loop".
For those who are unaware of what that entails, it means going all the way up to Canada, down the St Lawrence, into the Great Lakes, down the Mississippi, and back to Florida. The Great Loop.
Well, after what I saw, if Cap't Fruit Loops and his side kick Twinkie, make it thru the Belt Loop, it will be a friggin miracle.
I wish them luck, but was soooo glad that they were headed North, and that we were leaving the dock before they untied a single line.
p.s. - the last guy I saw with the owner of the Lollygagger was the fiberglass repair guy at the marina. I see the makings of a great friendship there.
A little sidebar - I just had to share.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)