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
Friday, July 19, 2013
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
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