Monthly Archives: November 2014

Sunday, 30 November                                                0.0 SM             69F !!

The Clubhouse was built as the center of life for those who wintered on Jekyll.

The climate here is categorized as subtropical, of which Britannica’s definition is “a major climate type characterized by relatively high temperatures throughout the year.” Aboard Steadfast, the definition is simpler. Just say “wonderful!”

Along with an attractive climate, Jekyll has a fascinating history. For a brief period, it was home, they say, to a fleet of pirate ships. In 1858, fifty years after Congress outlawed the importation of slaves, the Wanderer landed 400 Africans on the island’s eastern shore. The smugglers were indicted but never convicted.

The chapel was built just behind the Clubhouse.

After the late unpleasantness, former Confederate Army officer Newton Finney bought nearly all of it and, together with his brother-in-law, began developing the Jekyll Island Club. It became an exclusive hunting preserve, winter playground for gentlemen of America’s wealthiest families (Vanderbilt, Morgan, Rockefeller, Pulitzer and the like), the same crowd that built summer cottages along Newport’s Bellevue Avenue. Several of those big wigs listened in as the head of AT&T placed the first trans-continental phone call here in 1915.

One must be properly outfitted for croquet on the lawn.

The state bought the island in 1947 for just $675,000 and since then, it’s been open to the public. There are miles and miles of paved bicycle trails which were put to good use on a tour of the historic district. The Jekyll Island Clubhouse now is a grand hotel which converted to guest rooms some of those former homes of the wealthy. There are four golf courses, oceanside beaches, hotels, gift shops, two small marinas (each just fine but neither reflecting the ritz of the island’s past) and a few places to eat.

Oh, and a subtropical climate.

Steadfast out.

Saturday, 29 November                                                            39.4 SM

After all these mile and hours and days, there on the horizon—what IS that it’s—a bridge, smokestacks, factories, highways. Wow! Civilization. What a stunning, and not unwelcomed, contrast. If for no other reason than to break the monotony of marshland. And from this distance, “civilization” is okay. The contrast, though, is not unnoticed. The distance from New Teakettle Creek to Jekyll Island is measured in more than miles.

When bodies first began to stir aboard Steadfast this morning, the sun was just rising on the horizon, the temperature in the mid-30s. Each breath taken filled the still air with a puff of steam. The tide was out, meaning Steadfast sat nearly 10’ lower than she had on arrival last evening. There was nothing—that is to say, nothing—to be seen but the dim sky above, muddy water below and miles of reeds of marshes in all directions around her.

This meant a good time to be underway toward Little Mud River, some seven miles south, where shoals are such an issue the prudent mariner transits only on a rising tide. Once through Little Mud, the rest of the day would be a walk in the park. Cake. You know, by comparison.

Weeekend fishermen chase their catch mong the maze of marshes.

Boosting spirits is the sun, warming sun. Wonderful. What a difference, wearing four or five layers rather than feeling cold under seven. Sixty degrees and light wind astern is so remarkably more comfortable than fifty with fifteen on the nose. Ouch.

As for the run down Little Mud, it had its moments, the bottom in places just seven or so feet below. But moments only. Enough, though, that a note was made for the trip back home in the spring – rising tide only.

On through the marshes she motored all but alone. Fishermen in camo coveralls might buzz by in a skiff now and then but that’s about it. A shrimper maybe. Snowbirds, where are you?

A fair current for a stretch, foul for a few miles after. That’s how it goes down here. Past Duplin River, across Doboy Sound, down the North River, then up Altamaha Sound, alongside St. Simon’s Island and, finally, St. Simon’s Island Sound and Jekyll Creek. Glad she got there at high tide. Not much in the way of depth in Jekyll Creek, readings dropping to single digits raising anxiety for a few moments.  The deeper water again.

A shrimper steams through the anchorage after a long day.

A highrise bridge spans the creek from mainland to island. Just across the Sound, there’s a handsome new highrise at Brunswick, another to St. Simon’s. Cars and trucks race the roads to wherever. Plumes of vapor curl skyward from factories.

Jekyll celebrates the season lighting a big tree then setting fireworks skyward in the night. Yep, nothing says Christmas like booming explosives and flashing lights.

Meantime, all is quiet aboard Steadfast, not unlike the marshes many miles back.

Steadfast out.

Friday, 28 November                                                   32.3 SM

A sailor’s got to watch her step this morning.  There’s a skin of frost on the pier at Kilkenny Marina, meaning there’s time for another cup of Joe before shoving off.  Give the sun some time to warm things a bit.

Warmth is relative.  It’s 42F when Steadfast eases off the pier at 0835.  The 10 knot breeze from the northwest is not really needed for additional cooling tho’ it does help push Steadfast along downstream.

It’s high tide on Old Teakettle Creek.

The day proceeds without incident, a good day on the water, in other words.  Across St. Catherine’s Sound, then Sapelo Sound with lots of marshlands before, between and after.

Six hours later, Steadfast sits amid miles and miles of marsh, anchored up New Teakettle Creek.  (If you’re checking your NOAA chart, that’s about two miles up from Old Teakettle Creek.)

No heat on board tonight so lights out will come early.  Tomorrow it’s hoped Steadfast will make the forty-or-so miles down the waterway to Jeckyll Island and be in Florida waters by the first of the week.

Steadfast out.

Tina and Doug pause on Pieradae before shoving off.

Thursday, 27 November                                    23.8 SM

Ahhhhhh, Kilkenny Marina. How to describe, how to approximate the flavor, the color of Kilkenny Creek? It is “rustic,” as the cruising guide notes, and remote (as in, no internet, the reason this is posted a day late) and so much more. Easier to answer is the question as to why Kilkenny.

After tending lines when Pieradae cast off, Steadfast followed a half-hour later—with a big assist from Beverly and Jimmy of Jimmy G—as the current caught and pivoted her in the slip, then gave her a boost into the narrow Skidaway River. It had warmed some by then, 0745, to a still crisp 42 F. The bright sun promised something more, what turned out to be false promise.

It’s wise to give ICW markers a wide berth.

The Skidaway became the Burnside and then the Vernon, by which time a nifty little breeze had built to the upper teens, gusting to the 20s from the west-nor’west. Off the starboard quarter, that was okay. But turning to port at Hell Gate (yes, another and—today, at least—well-named) put the wind smack on the beam. Given myriad cautions regarding the shoals that snag the unwary through this stretch, wind and wave driving Steadfast to the lee shore were not the desired circumstance. But hey, it’s just for a few minutes and then…

Pounding up river send spray over the Bimini!

WHAMMO!

Another 90-degree turn to starboard and the deep (25-30’) water of the Ogeechee River, and Steadfast was slamming into a steep three-foot chop, falling off the crests and sending spray up over the Bimini. Not all of the spray, though, regrettably.

The turn to Kilkenny Creek is easy to spot.

Three or so miles of that and the heading put the wind more to starboard, it had less of a fetch and the river surface settled some. A bit farther and there, rising from the marsh on the windward shore was the much welcomed marker for Kilkenny Marina.

This house withstood an assault by Union cannon during Sherman’s March to the Sea.

A mile-and-a-half-or-so off the waterway and there’s Danny Bacot on the floating (somehow) wood pier, waving a big Thanksgiving Day greeting. Danny’s dad bought the place in 1960 and the family’s worked it ever since. “The Place” includes the pier, a chain of home-made wood floats that dip and wobble as one walks along; launch ramp, bait tanks, office and ship’s store (of sorts); parking for boat trailers; a half-dozen two-room cabins; and a two-story white clapboard Ante-Bellum plantation home that Danny says still bears the scars of Union cannonballs.

Kilkenny Marina offers a unique boating experience.

A “fish camp” the cruising guide calls this. Whatever, it’s got character. And…a most enviable view of Georgia marshland. For miles. Quite simply, it. Is. Beautiful. Wow.

The best part for this evening, however, is to be out of the wind, sheltered by the tall trees that line the shore. Plugged in to Kilkenny power, the little ceramic heater can take care of the cold so it will be a happy Thanksgiving.

Here’s hoping yours is as well.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 26 November                                                0.0 SM

A gentle drummer raps a ragged riff on the deck. No sense of rhythm, this early morning musician, or maybe it’s just a free-form sort of beat.

A steady rain rinses the boat and runs off the Bimini .

No such luck. It’s just rain. More rain. Gentle as it may be, it’s wet. And after five days, there is nothing aboard Steadfast that isn’t at least damp ranging the full spectrum up to soaked. Just depends on location.

But fortune favors in the form of the courtesy car made available by the nice folks at Isle of Hope Marina. Nothing fancy, mind you–a beat up old Civic with a “Check Engine” light illuminated–but free. Just top off the tank when you bring it back.

So it’s off for the day to see some of Savannah, as much as can be seen between showers and the windshield wipers. Quite a bit as it turns out.

There’s a “Birdsnest” breakfast at Goose Feathers: two poached eggs on a bed of grits covered in grated cheddar and doused with salsa. It’s easy to see how it’s become a “Savannah tradition.” There’s a rumbling drive down cobblestoned River Street with it’s dozens of restaurants and pubs, and where a lone sail yacht shares the city wharf with a tour boat and a cruise ship while one of NYK’s container ships steams up stream.

Around the bend and up the hill, it’s on to East Bay Street past the park (one of many downtown) and historic buildings like the Cotton Exchange and the Customs House. Car parked, it’s time for a stroll through the City Market, framed by the brick and lawns of Franklin and Ellis Squares.

The day’s drear just adds to the gloom of gothic Bonaventure Cemetery, setting for a key scene from the novel and movie “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.”

Instead of midnight, it’s noon “in the Garden of Good and Evil.”

Savannah’s reputation is well-earned. Even in the rain, it’s easy to admire her history, traditions, architecture, atmosphere. She’s a lovely town. Were it not for the rain, Steadfast might’ve missed her this trip.

So for one more day, let the drummer drum on.

And wherever you are, best wishes for a happy and blessed Thanksgiving!

Steadfast out.

Monday, 24 November                                                7.1 SM

A weathered timber skid is all that’s left of the old marine railway.

Now there’s a name with promise: Isle of Hope. For Steadfast and crew, the hope is to avoid showers and high winds but still move a bit farther south. Not much, granted, but at least move in the right direction.

It’s late morning when the skies clear enough to encourage moving off the pier at Thunderbolt where the current carries Steadfast quickly down the Wilmington River. Quickly, that is, until she turns to go up stream on the Skidaway. But the day’s trip being so brief, it’s not a big deal. A highlight comes when passing Captain Jimmy, a tug and barge crawling up river. This is believed to be the first time on the waterway that Steadfast has overtaken another vessel.

Spanish moss drapes the boughs all over town,

The move works out well because Isle of Hope proves to be the kind of quiet little town that quickly becomes a crew favorite. Just back from the marina, live oaks dripping with Spanish moss line the streets and hug handsome waterfront homes that evoke visions of the Old South.

Egrets stalk the mud flats for lunch at low-tide.

And Southern hospitality abounds at IOH Marina. It offers morning coffee, a Wall Street Journal and a choice of not one but two courtesy cars for a drive, for instance, to tour Savannah.

Assuming there’s no more rain for a while.

Steadfast out.

Saturday, 22 November                                                43.4 SM

The youthful voice on channel 9 comes down clearly from the small clapboard house on the Causton Bluff Bridge.

A sure sign of the Deep South: Spanish Moss.

“Welcome to Georgia, Captain. Have a safe trip.”

Steadfast crossed the state line four miles back when her bow sliced into the Savannah River but no one was there to greet her then. The sentiment is much appreciated now as the bascule bridge closes behind and she makes the next turn on the twisting Wilmington River. It’s just another couple of miles now to Thunderbolt and, for this night, “home.”

It’s been quite the run, Steadfast first off the pier this morning at 0630, followed shortly and soon overtaken by the O’Day 40 Pieridae, her anchor-mate from a couple of nights before. The Catalina 440 Merlin moves by next. Good. Ahead loom some of the more challenging parts of the waterway through South Carolina. The more traffic ahead today, the better to judge the best path through the shallows.

The light at Hilton Head.

It’s easy enough, though, running with the tide, current and wind down the Beaufort River past Parris Island. And that northerly’s enough to bring out the genny, adding another half-knot to her progress. The wind chops up Port Royal Sound, though, the two-and-three footers making it a lumpy ride the three miles across to the mouth of Skull Creek. Once in the lee of Pinckney Island, though, the creek settles out while the wind keeps filling the foresail. By the time she’s past Hilton Head and into Callibogue Sound, Steadfast has caught a fair tide and, with the wind honkin’, speeds are up in the eights! Sweet. Now the fun starts.

Turning to starboard at Haig Point, the Cooper River at first is wide and deep—30’ or more—then arcs slowly southward and shallows, down briefly to single digits before settling into the teens. The true tests still lie ahead, though: Ramshorn Creek, the short Walls Cut, then the mile-and-a-half of Fields Cut, all three a maze of muddy shoals, shifting to snare the wandering keel. (When the keel’s only three-and-a-half-feet deep, admittedly it’s not quite as daunting but a challenge, none-the-less.)

Industry occupies most of Savannah’s waterfront.

It’s 1300 by the time Steadfast exits Fields Cut and the Savannah River sends its powerful current across her beam to sweep her downstream. Little Red, as she always does, responds to the call and carries Steadfast across to the day’s last little dicey stretch through the shoals that stretch along Elba Island Cut to the Wilmington.

The Wilmington waits with a good current to quickly carry Steadfast the few more miles where safe harbor awaits.

Clouds at first light lead to a stormy day in Thunderbolt.

And where better to tie up this night than Thunderbolt Marina? The forecast calls for high winds, rain and—yes—thunderstorms this night and tomorrow.

Just a good old Georgia “welcome.”

Steadfast out.

Friday, 21 November                                                45.2 SM

There’s a faint gurgling as Tom Point Creek rushes the length of the keel and bubbles up at the transom. And somewhere off in the golden brown grass a marsh bird squeaks a “good morning.” But those are the only sounds to be heard.

Stillness at sunrise on Tom Point Creek.

The sun slips slowly, silently ‘tween trees on the distant horizon.

This, friends, is a moment to savor. Say, praise the Lord, thank you God of all creation! What an amazing blessing just to be here to breathe the air. Amen!

That brilliant sun soon would dry the dodger windows and warm the cockpit. But right now, the windows are fogged with dew and the overnight chill lingers. And time’s a-wastin’! There are a lot of miles to cover this day.

Red revs, the anchor’s aweigh and Steadfast motors quickly down the creek and back into the Wadmalaw River as a big trawler, followed by two 40-something sloops pass by. This is the easy part of today’s transit. It doesn’t take long to get interesting.

Mud keeps creeping toward the channel at G177

The man-made cuts connecting river to creek, creek to sound and so-on are what make the waterway, so let’s not be too critical. But as has been well-documented, “it’s not nice to fool Mother Nature,” or try too hard to change her mind, for that matter. Man can make a cut wherever he wants but Mother Nature has the last word on whether it’ll stay that way. Usually the word is “no.”

So Steadfast follows others down the Dawho River to North Creek and Watts Cut, the warm-up for what lies ahead. There’s some time to relax and enjoy the morning the miles down the South Edisto River that lead to narrow, shallow Fenwick Cut. Fenwick dumps her into the Ashepoo River where the wind that had helped earlier now is on the nose. It works with the Ashepoo current to try to push Steadfast askew a bit, making it all the more interesting at the helm.

Then comes the much talked about—among Snowbirds, at least—Ashepoo-Coosaw Cutoff.   It seemed like such a good idea at the time, all these many years ago. But Mother Nature’s had her way with the man-made banks in the meantime, building shoals over here and some over there, but not in any predictable manner, nor making their presence known in all cases. It’s become enough of a mess that many Snowbirds now steer clear altogether, choosing a longer route to the east that adds at least five miles to the trip.

How does anyone sail a boat this size around here?

But at mid-tide and with a keel less than four feet below, the Cutoff seems doable this day, so Steadfast sallies in, albeit with caution. There are some tense moments, no question, but the bottom never rises to less than seven-feet so the Cutoff is put astern by midday. At that point, she’s into the Coosaw River itself, wide and with twelve-to-twenty foot depths all the way to the Brickyard Creek and the cut that puts her in the Beaufort River.

Beaufort’s said to be a beautiful city that can’t be missed. But there’s still a hundred-fifty miles to go to reach the Florida line. Every mile made is important. So Beaufort is left to starboard in favor of a landing at Port Royal, six more miles down river.

That’s six miles closer to the Sunshine State. Thank you, Lord.

Steadfast out.

Thursday, 20 November                                                33.7 SM

It’s the Low Country. It’s low tide. Despite the sun, t,he temperature’s yet to recover much from the overnight low of 33.

The historic Battery in Charleston.

Let’s put it the way Garth Brooks might which is to say, if you’re reading this, you’ve “got friends in low places.”

The plan was to shove off at 1030 hours, ride the ebb to the Battery, buck it up the Ashley to Wappoo Creek (don’t just love the names down here? You just want to shout it out, “Wah-POO! WAh-poo!”) and catch the 1230 opening so the current through Elliott Cut would be, let’s say, manageable. It’d be toward the tail end of the ebb, or so it was thought, versus a mid-tide max of something like five or six knots.

And we own a sailboat… why?

But calculations proved somehow amiss. Arrival at the Wappoo Bridge was an hour earlier than planned, not quite at low tide. The still ebbing current at that point slowed Steadfast to four-and-a-half miles-an-hour, not great but still moving. Then came The Cut, just a half mile long and plenty deep—20-feet or more—but all that water whooshes through the straight narrow banks. As hard as Little Red revved, even with that fresh golden 15W40 coursing through her veins, couldn’t get Steadfast moving more than a knot-and-a-half!  And that ain’t movin’ much!

When the tide runs out, it’s a long way down to the pier.

This became a theme for the day, as Steadfast bucked a foul current hour after hour. Not nearly as bad as through Elliott Cut, granted, but enough to keep her from making time, rarely topping five miles-an-hour. At each turn in the waterway, it seemed, the current was close to dead low but not quite there, still running out.

Into the Stono River, then the Wadmalaw, past Toogoodoo Creek and finally the nearly hidden entrance to Tom Point Creek, guarded only by a pair of timid terns. Turning west, the Wadmalaw wants to sweep you with her sideways. There’s a shoal there, of course, just to make it interesting.

Navy vessels and ocean-going ships are at Stevens Towing on the Wadmalaw.

But Red revs a bit more and, once between the marshy banks, maybe 70 feet between them, the creek is deep, 15-20 feet. That’s at low tide, which it is when Steadfast arrives at 1620.

A 40-foot Beneteau sloop slips in just ahead, circles and her anchor hits the mud. The only other boat in here, Steadfast motors upstream far enough to be a good neighbor.

The tide turns, the flood begins. But for now, you’ve got friends in low places.

Steadfast out.

Thursday – Wednesday, 13 – 19 November                        10.4 SM            $$$

A handy-man’s special lies to anchor just off the channel, showing her potential.

Now this is what it’s all about: sunshine, 70 degrees, light wind and—with just a ten-mile jaunt ahead—a most civilized departure time. Well, the latter, in truth, had more to do with catching a fair current and an opening of the Ben Sawyer Bridge. Regardless, it’s a real treat to enjoy such a relaxed day.

The warmth won’t last. Weather wonks have warned for a week of Winter Storm Astro. No matter where a body is in the eastern US, it’ll be cold tomorrow and for days to come. That includes Charleston, South Carolina, which by all rights should be a balmy seventy this coming week but won’t be close.

The “Holy City” seen through the haze across the river.

As if to portend the impending doom of frost, the sky becomes overcast as the sun slips behind thickening clouds. Steadfast slips through the swing of the Sawyer Bridge, bends around the last bit of the waterway that leads to Charleston Harbor, within range of Fort Sumpter and then a couple of miles up the Cooper River past Fort Pinckney to Charleston Harbor Resort & Marina.

Steadfast moored under the bow of the carrier Yorktown.

The “Resort” part is a bit of a stretch but it is a nice spot. Of the half-dozen options in Charleston, this seemed best under the circumstances, tucked away from the nor’easter in the lee of Mount Pleasant and somewhat protected by a breakwater from the wakes of passing ships (of which there are quite a few on the Cooper; big ones, at all hours, day and night). There’s also the lure of catching up—again—with Two Fish (twofishcat.com) and friends Gail and Jason, already moored at CHRM.

It blows stink for a couple of days—upper teens to mid-20s, gusting as high as the 40s—with a shower here and there, then a full day of rain (see Two Fish video at https://vine.co/v/O5EtlaiavIE). In other words, not conditions in which Steadfast is underway. Nor does any of that drear improve one’s sense of warmth. What does work—overtime—is the little ceramic heater plugged in by the companionway, keeping the cabin all comfy below while the wind whistles above.

The Cooper current is strong.

These days are put to good use, however. The hotel has a free shuttle downtown and elsewhere including a Whole Foods two miles away. Steadfast now is well-provisioned.

A boat service business keeps an office at CHRM and was called on to check the shaft alignment (engine settled on those new rubber mounts), replace the 17-year-old batteries (not many options ‘tween here and Jacksonville) and do an oil change. Steadfast now is well-serviced.

And thanks to the shuttle, a run also was made to two outdoor clothiers. The crew of Steadfast now is better equipped to take on the elements as they stand watch.

The checking account now has been lightened considerably. A week in Charleston is almost more than Steadfast and crew can weather. The forecast calls for the sun to provide a measure of radiant heat tomorrow. God willin’, she’ll be underway again by mid-morning.

Steadfast out.