Monday, 27 October                                                                                                22.4 SM

Steadfast follows the foam trail left by Modaki.

“It’s Silly Hat Day! Everybody put on your silly-looking hat.” So orders the young mate aboard Funny Duck, a Fales Navigator 32 from Rhode Island bound four Charleston, SC. She sports a knit cap with earflaps tied under her chin. Not that any on the Dismal Swamp Canal this morning needed encouragement to don a warm, i.e., “silly-looking” hat. Watch cap, ski cap, mountain-man hat, whatever. Forty-one degrees, says Accu-Guess, and never has 41 felt so cold. Brrrrrr.

At 0730, the sun is up but not nearly enough to turn on the heat under the leafy canopy that covers the canal. The forecast promises something in the 70s but not here, not now.

The bridge rises to welcome boats to Elizabeth City.

Timing is everything. Steadfast is part of the parade this morning that pulls away from the Welcome Center on its way to the 0830 opening at South Mills Lock and, once through, sundry harbors beyond. Sovereign leads the way, Steadfast follows with others close behind. Once through the lock, Steadfast falls to the side allowing those with more “horses” to move ahead. It’s not long before all that’s seen of them is the foam from their wakes.

Much of Elizabeth City takes you back to the 50s.

The harbor-of-choice for Steadfast this day is Mariner’s Wharf, the municipal pier in Elizabeth City that’s among the most favored for Snowbirds. The reason has less to do with convenience than price. Dockage is free for 48 hours. And then there are the Rose Buddies.

Rose Buddies patrol the pier at Mariner’s Wharf.

The Rose Buddies are a tradition that started in the mid-80s, a volunteer welcoming party that prowls the pier from sunrise to sunset, with helping hand for each visiting boat and a rose for each lady aboard. They’re great.

But instead of the Buddies, it’s Pat and Richard of Sovereign who catch the stern lines for Steadfast when she eases in about 1400. That left time for a brisk walk around town before the dockside “happy hour” hosted by the Buddies. There was a spiel in support of local merchants and for the Albemarle Museum, along with a bit of local knowledge for transiting the Pasquotank and crossing Albemarle Sound. Refreshments, of course, too.

But with the sun warming the wharf, no need for silly hats.

Steadfast out.

Robert provides direction to the crew of Sovereign.

Weak signal. Must have open view to sky. OK?  GPS dialogue box while on Dismal Swamp Canal

Sunday, 26 October                                                                                        18.4 SM

Tannin-colored swamp water rushes into the lock.

Snowbirds who’ve spent the night at the free dock gather now at the Lockmaster’s House, a small white frame two-room cottage that serves as Robert Peek’s office and storm shelter. His guests already have consumed one pot of coffee. He’s brewed a second, opened a plastic tray of fresh fruit cubes and brought out a stack of every sort of breakfast pastry Entenmann’s bakes when he adds this advisory.

Steadfast motors through Deep Creek Bridge.

“You do realize, the bridge doesn’t open ‘til all this is gone!”

There are chuckles but Robert is only half joking. The lock slowly fills with what he assures is “the cleanest, purest water in North America. The tannin content means there’s no bacteria.” The gates on the lock’s north end then swing slowly aside for the scheduled 0830 opening and the day’s first customers, Robert instructing each on where and how to tie off to the bulkhead. The history class begins, questions are answered, more coffee poured, pastries enjoyed and then, once crews reboard their respective yachts, the lock opens and Robert makes the short drive downstream to raise the Deep Creek Bridge. The “0830 opening” finally is completed about 0930.

Her vitals having been checked, Little Red answers the call and Steadfast motors away from “Elizabeth’s Dock” and joins the morning parade. A nearly complete cedar and pine canopy lets a little sun stream through the top but not much in the way of satellite or cell tower signals. (Hence the message on the GPS screen. Not that the GPS is needed for waypoints here, just for clicking off the distance.) There is beauty, though, and lots of quiet.

There’s no mistaking the VA-NC state line.

Not long after crossing the state line, Sovereign’s unmistakable red hull is seen tied off at the south end of the North Carolina Welcome Center. A 44’ American Tug, Pat and Richard are heading back home to Florida’s Gulf Coast and motored well ahead of Steadfast all morning after locking through Deep Creek. Richard beckons, readies fenders and in short order Steadfast rafts up to Sovereign’s starboard side.

Steadfast got squeezed at the Welcome Center.

Along with free dockage for the night, the state provides a water hook-up, restrooms and travel information aimed mainly at passing motorists. There’s also a swing bridge across the canal to Dismal Swamp State Park with an exhibit center and miles of walking trails. It’s just an all-around great place to stop along the way.

Just a shame Robert won’t be here with coffee and pastry in the morning.

Steadfast out.

Saturday, 25 October                                                            24.1 Statute Miles (SM)

The Navy Yards line both sides of the Elizabeth.

“Alright, guys. Welcome to the oldest continuously operating artificial waterway in the United States.” And with that, lockmaster and ersatz history professor Robert Peek opens another class in Dismal Swamp 101.

This is the day’s denouement. Well, almost. But that’s another story of another crew on another boat, all quite remarkable and for another time.

For Steadfast, a day full of sunshine started shortly before 1000 as she motored briskly across Hampton Flats and up the Elizabeth River past the Navy’s Atlantic Fleet. It was just about noon when she approached Portsmouth and came abeam of Red Nun 36, what serves as “Mile Marker Zero” for the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway. All of this she’d seen before but from there on, it’d all be new.

This way to Do the Ditch.

Southbound traffic seemed unusually light for late October, with Steadfast having the waterway pretty much all to herself. After Naval Station Norfolk and the commercial wharves at Lambert’s Point came ships in dry dock at the Norfolk Naval Yards and more industrial sites.  She idled in place when mechanical problems with the Gilmerton Bridge pushed its 1330 opening back to 1400. Then it was under the 64 “high-rise” and hard to starboard to enter the Dismal Swamp Canal and, as the sign says, “Do the Ditch.”

Interstate 64 runs just beyond the trees.

For Steadfast and those aboard her, this is a first. None of us has done this canal before and it is clear immediately that this experience will be like none other before. Back from its banks, the Dismal is stunning in its beauty. Repetitive, yes, as the beauty of the mountains or sky or the sea itself. But just like them it inspires awe, as in, how can such unspoiled wilderness exist so close to “civilization?” The interstate highway runs a hundred yards away for cryin’ out loud!

Steadfast enters the lock at Deep Creek.

Shortly after leaving the Elizabeth, the Dismal straightens for the run to run to Deep Creek, ten miles south of Portsmouth, where the canal’s first lock (when southbound, at least) will raise Steadfast about 12’. With his audience captive below, the lock master paces above while he expounds on little known facts about the Dismal Swamp and the canal completed in 1805.

As Robert will tell you, the Dismal is a totally unique habitat. There’s nothing else like it anywhere. Cedar forests, living peat bogs, an array of flora and fauna unmatched in North America. And much like the Dismal, Robert is a one-of-a-kind himself. Twenty years at the controls of the Deep Creek lock (and the bridge just south) which means 20 years to study and recount all that was and is the Canal. And to cultivate palms, collect lawn decor and develop his ability to trumpet a conch shell.

The call of the conch means class is in session.

Along with the history, he offers a life lesson, too. In the hands of another, tending the lock at Deep Creek could be among the most boring jobs imaginable. Close the gates, fill the lock, open the gates, answer the same questions from Snowbirds all day, every day.  But Robert’s made it something well beyond the job description. He’s made it meaningful, memorable and enjoyable, not just for himself but for all those who happen his way, four times a day, for twenty years.

What a kick.  What an example.  What a blessing!

Whatever you’re doing, enjoy your day!

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 22 October                                                                        .4 NM

The rig howls, hull rocks and a heavy morning mist morphs to rain. There’s not much about this to encourage Steadfast to leave her slip at the Hampton Public Piers. Not much, that is, beyond the lure of reciprocity, i.e., a free slip, at Hampton Yacht Club.

There’d been some confusion yesterday, it seems, when a couple of calls to the club failed to secure dockage for the night. But, s’all good today. “Bravo-ten” awaits.

So, between showers, Steadfast slips her lines and is underway for the “crossing”…downstream less than half-a-mile to HYC for the night.

Maybe two, given NOAA’s call for a gale tomorrow. Even though it’s a short trip up the Elizabeth to Mile Marker Zero, gale force winds are more than recommended for a pleasurable day.

Besides, what’s the hurry?  And after all, we are a bit closer to Florida.  Aren’t we?

Steadfast out.

A ship in harbor is safe but that is not what ships are built for. John Augustus Shedd, American author and professor

Tuesday, 21 October                                                                                                30.4 NM

At 0949 this date, after more than three weeks tied up or hauled out in one harbor or another, Steadfast once again started doing what she was built for. But getting her going again hasn’t been easy.

You get it done right at ZMI.

Life these past weeks has felt as if it were orchestrated by the Allstate insurance guy, Mayhem. The 1,800 miles of the summer put a lot of wear on Steadfast. Given that she may not get a break again for another 1,800 miles, there was so much to be done before she, and we, would be ready to head south.

Caroline and others helped with the “spa” treatment.

For the “girls”—Steadfast and Little Red—this was three weeks of bliss. They spent the first two at their favorite spa, Zimmerman Marine in Deltaville. Steadfast was bathed, massaged and manicured. Michael spent some time fitting Red with a new set of comfy sneakers (nifty rubber engine mounts). Chad checked all of Red’s vitals, declaring her in good health and fit for the miles and hours ahead.

The first 30 of those were a motor-sail down to New Point, across Mobjack Bay and up the East River to Ebb Tide, the Woodas Creek home of good friends Martha and George. How good, you ask? For three weeks, Ebb Tide was “home” to us, too. And once Steadfast tied up at their pier, George spent almost as much time as we did getting her ready.

The new-to-us WB10 needed a new drain plug.

There was the hunting for and buying a dinghy (well, actually two but that’s another story) then trailering to Ebb Tide to replace the drain plug, add cleats, splice lines and a painter. Kate got it registered on a day trip to Richmond. George helped fabricate insulation to fill a void in the icebox under the galley counter, tiller extension for the Torqueedo, a PVC fender “pipe” to keep the topsides off the bulkheads and fixed piers along the way. The list goes on.  (There also was cappuccino, AKA “frothy deliciousness,” in the morning, grilled fish steaks at night and, for medicinal purposes only, a Dark & Stormy or two.)

Bruce-the-Shipwright was back on board, too, installing a nifty custom bracket for the new larger Dura-Weld plastic holding tank which then, of course, needed to be plumbed into the existing system. On deck, the swim ladder came down, was polished, re-bedded and reinstalled.  All the bright work was prepped for a couple of coats of LeTonkinois to guard against the Florida sun (we hope).

Steadfast snuggled up to Quintan at the Ebb Tide pier.

Lockers were emptied and Kate cleaned the cabin, everywhere, even waxed the overhead, then cleaned and re-treated the canvas, too. And, of course, there were the usual several loads of laundry along with re-provisioning.

In between all that, there was a drive to Annapolis to take a shift at the boat show booth for Good Old Boat magazine, and, a couple of days of seminars at the “Snowbird Rendezvous” in Hampton (great information, highly recommended!).

Despite all the projects completed, there was more that could’ve been done. There always is with a boat. If one waits ‘til the boat’s ready, she’ll never leave the pier. So the decision was made—NOAA had a lot of input, forecasting a gale later in the week—to shove off early Tuesday, setting off a final 48-hour frenzy of activity.

Now, though, the sun shines. A soft southerly wind whispers its invitation to join the Snowbirds. Steadfast accepts, crossing Mobjack, then the mouth of the York and rounding Old Point Comfort for a couple of nights in Hampton.  After more than three weeks in one harbor or another, Steadfast once again is underway, doing what she was built for. What a blessing!

Steadfast out.

The octagonal 3-story brick keeper’s house at Point No Point is mounted on an iron caisson built in 1905.

Saturday, 27 September

Other than the mileage–at 53.5 NM, the third longest leg of the trip summer cruise–there’s not much to report this day.  Not much left in that northerly of the last few days, and the six knots still there are dead aft.  Not much help heading south.  But then, there’s not much of a sea which makes motoring much easier.  Not much to see when the shore’s two or three miles off to starboard.  Not much traffic, either, a bit of a surprise on such a gorgeous sun-filled day.

But along with the sun, there is something else in ample supply – flies.  Since leaving the Patuxent, biting housefly-type have descended in great number.  From somewhere up the Potomac, perhaps, have come a variety more the size of Mayflies, slow and easy to swat.  Skinny little brown things buzz in once in awhile along with mean-looking inch-long black things with white stripes.  And there’s a lingering cloud-like presence of swarms of gnats (not to be confused with the Washington Nats), the size of No-Seeums but benign other than the fact that they’re hovering everywhere.

Think of it as an entomologists delight.  Or perhaps a chapter from Lord of the Flies.

A sampling of the day’s “kill” litters the cockpit sole.

No.  You’re right.  Yuck.

This boarding party was not a threat when–after being hunkered down in rain and wind for four nights–Steadfast pulled out of Solomon’s Island at 0800, rounded Cedar Point and, once past Point No Point, turned almost due south–175 magnetic–toward Smith Point Light.  The wind at first filled the Genny, pulling her along at a nifty five knots with no assist from Red.  But that lasted less than an hour and raising sail later in the day was to prove futile.

Other than being painted white, the light at Smith Point near Reedville is a duplicate of the light at Wolf Trap off Mathews.

Red was at her best, though, kicking us along at a steady six knots or so, aided by a much appreciated south-bound current.  And your correspondent had a good day with the bat–ah, fly-swatter–hitting close to .700 for the day (better than Big Papi in the ’13 Series!).  By 1600, Steadfast was south of the Great Wicomico River and, given the presence of so many guests aboard, it was decided that the desired quiet night at anchor might not be so quiet.  Ergo, push on to Deltaville and the pier at Zimmerman Marine where, this coming week, Steadfast would be hauled for a quick wash and engine service before heading south on the ICW.

A big Beneteau turns into Broad Creek just ahead of Steadfast showing Fort Myers, FL, as her port of call.  Who knows – she may be seen again in the weeks ahead.

Sea Mist IV got to Broad Creek the same time as Steadfast.

Chris and Bill, good friends that they are, drive up to the marina as Steadfast is tied off.  On the ride to Mathews, it appears not much has changed in the old ‘hood.  True, the bridge over the Piankatank was completed sometime during the summer.  But other than enjoying the sun and swatting various insects, not much to report about this day.

Then again, a big day – completing a round trip of well-over 1,700 nautical miles to more than 50 anchorages and ports-of-call, and creating countless memories.  Praise the Lord, what a blessing this summer has been!

And the best part?  “God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise,” there’s more to come.

Steadfast out.

Tuesday, 23 September

Small puffy pale gray clouds hang from an azure sky as if suspended by fishing line like baubles from the ceiling of the baby’s room.  From 12-mile fetch down the Choptank River, the high ground of the western shore appears suspended slightly above surface of the Bay.  It’s the first day of fall and Steadfast skips over the foot-tall crests of a beam sea, sails reefed in respect for the 12-15 knots from the north.

Four times in the last week or so Steadfast has crossed the Bay, from Eastern Shore to Western and back and back and again, without making a lot of southing.  That’ll change today, along with the wind, as she rides the 33 NM down the Choptank, across the Bay once more to Cove Point, up the Patuxent River and into Solomon’s Island, MD.

The 1828 brick tower at Cove Point is the oldest continuously operating lighthouse in Maryland.

The Genny unfurls fully as the wind lays down a bit.  Then, what’s left of the norther is dead aft, kicking up a 2-to-3-foot chop that knocks the wind out of the sails enough times to prompt Red to get back to work.  She does, providing the push needed to get Steadfast past the Calvert Cliffs and round Drum Point at 1415.

Dozens of homes perch precariously at the edge of the Cliffs of Calvert.

As many times as Solomon’s has been an overnight, there’s never been a more relaxing night.  At the suggestion of ActiveCaptain, the on-line cruising resource, Steadfast motored past Molly’s Leg, up Back Creek and past the usual anchorage off Zahniser’s Marina; past the cove opposite Spring Cove Marina; beyond Solomon’s Harbor Marina and the Holiday Inn, to a spot with a tree-lined shore on three sides and nine feet of water below.  A big trawler was up ahead when a Beneteau 42 passed and dropped the hook just off the bow.  But no matter; there’s plenty of room, the anchor down at 1500.  And even with the wind gearing up to be honkin’ all night, this proves to be a remarkably quiet anchorage.

It’s a good thing Solomon’s is a favorite port o’ call.  Wednesday’s weather is more than wanted for a comfortable sail, Thursday’s worse and Friday doesn’t look encouraging either.  This could be “home” for a few days.

Steadfast out.

With fenders deployed, Plover’s ready to welcome Steadfast.

Monday, 22 September

Making their way back into the Bay this weekend were across-the-creek neighbors Chris and Bill (and Flaco the Boat Dog) aboard their Dickerson 41 Plover. They left home nearly a month after Steadfast, sailed twice as far (all the way to Newfoundland and beyond), and still will be home ahead of us. Go figga. But if wind, tide or fatigue don’t deter, it’s hoped the two vessels may visit for breakfast in the morning.

Steadfast motors out of St. Michael’s Harbor shortly after 1100, heads down Eastern Bay, then northwest to cross the Chesapeake and into the West River, another new-to-us anchorage roughly 25 NM away.

A crabber works his line along the West River bank.

Like the South River, the West is entered just below Thomas Point. The approach is littered with crab floats, close enough to each other to make piloting a challenge at times. But once anchored in 9’ at South Creek, any trouble earlier is forgotten.

Marinas stand on both shores up here and close to two dozen boats lie at anchor between them. A pier party on the south bank provides entertainment, island music floating across the river for a time. When the sun goes down, the wind goes with it and the West is wonderfully quiet.

A hearty seamen’s breakfast at Plover’s helm.

Plover arrives sometime during the night, wisely choosing to drop the hook well away from the fleet that assembled earlier. Once her ketch rig is spotted, Steadfast ties off alongside and hugs, greetings and stories are shared over mugs of coffee and plates of raisin bread French toast and fresh fruit. There’ve been a lot of miles under the keel since last being together and no one wants to see the visit end. So let’s not end it!

Plover slides under the bascule bridge spanning Knapps Narrows.

It’s decided instead to cross—motoring, since wind is lacking—in tandem to the Eastern Shore, through Knapps Narrows to Harris Creek, off the Choptank River, and spend the night in Dun Cove, not quite a 20 mile day. Negotiating the skinny water of Knapps Narrows is always interesting but Plover leads the way and—since she draws 5-plus-feet—provides a level of confidence aboard Steadfast that wasn’t there when she transited alone in May.

Two skipjacks under sail provide a sight seldom seen anymore.

Likewise, there’d been other visits to Dun Cove but not nearly as far in as Plover chooses to go. This spot, rimmed on three sides by a tall stand of trees, would provide perfect shelter for the northerly that promises to pick up overnight. Again, once rafted together, stories ensue and a delightful evening ends all too soon.

Windy enough on the Choptank a big schooner rig beats to windward flying just her Genny.

After a cup of Joe and a light breakfast, Steadfast casts off and sails southward down Harris Creek under double-reefed main. That northerly, though, proves to be more than advertised so, while Plover continues down the Bay, Steadfast sails east to spend the night in Oxford, just less than 13 miles away up the Choptank into the Tred Avon River. Home beckons but the blustery wind, upper teens gusting to the 20s, makes the choice easy. She’ll sail south tomorrow.

Maybe.

Steadfast out.

Among favorite markers on the Bay is one Tolly Point for Annapolis Harbor.

Thursday, 18 September

Through the course of several months underway, there are epiphanies which foster profound thoughts, two of which are to be shared now.

First, the degree to which life on board a 27’ sailboat improves and is enjoyed is proportional inversely to the extent of any leak. This degree is doubled, at a minimum, in regard to leaks of diesel fuel. That understood, life aboard this day has improved markedly.

With lots of sun and no evidence of a fuel leak, Steadfast is underway down the Severn by late morning, turns starboard at Tolly Point and heads across the Chesapeake toward Bloody Point Bar and the entrance to Eastern Bay.

The light at Bloody Point,with its aptly sanguine hue, began to list shortly after construction in 1881.

The route is straightforward, weather clear, seas flat and wind minimal, making the trip to St. Michael’s and easy 24.9 nautical miles. Little Red kept at it the whole way and the Racor continued to hold itself together as designed so s’all good.

The one anomaly is in the sequencing of channel markers to Saint Mike’s. Numbers ascend going up Eastern Bay – 2, 6, 12, 14 – as you’d expect. The next marker after ‘14’, though, is green-1, then ‘2.’ After ‘4,’ a new sequence begins to lead into St. Michael’s. It all makes sense when one recognizes that these mark three distinct yet contiguous bodies of water: Eastern Bay, Miles River and St. Michael’s Harbor.

And that leads to profound thought number-2: St. Michael’s Harbor looks a lot different—much smaller—when approached by water than when driving down Carpenter Street, say, to Higgins Yacht Yard. There had been visits by car but this is the first by boat. It’s quite a sight, a broad anchorage that narrows to a tidy, tight little harbor anchored to starboard by the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.

A fleet of Chesapeake Bay classics is moored at the museum pier in St. Michael’s in front of the former Hooper Island Light.

This is “The Town That Fooled the British,” hoisting lanterns to the topmasts of ships in harbor so shells from His Majesty’s nighttime naval bombardment flew over the town’s homes, shops and shipyards. Or so goes the story of St. Michael’s involvement in the War of 1812.

Pre-Revolution homes still stand near the waterfront.

There are well-preserved homes that pre-date the Revolution, survived the bombardment and all the floods and storms of years since and are homes still. Excellent examples are just off the waterfront at St. Michael’s Square, the seat of the Anglican parish from which the town derives its name. Eats, shops and a good-sized grocery are arrayed along Talbot Street, all within an easy stroll of the harbor. That includes Gina’s Taco Bar where the Burrito of the Day happens to be blackened shrimp with feta, arugala and other tasty stuff. Wicked.

Back aboard, the air is fresh. Ah, breathe deeply, mates. L’essence du diesel is nowhere in evidence.

Life is good.

Okay, not profound, at all.  You already knew that.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 17 September

All things come to he who waits.

Whoever authored that must’ve been a sailor. Let’s face it, whether it’s wind, weather, tide or in today’s case, diesel parts, you can’t rush it. It’ll be there when it’s there.

Once again tucked among the big boats and racers.

Kevin the parts guy doesn’t start at Fawcett’s ‘til 0830. That left plenty of time for a cup o’ Joe, vigorous walk, more caffeine and digging into lockers for the tool bag, box of wrenches, clamps, bag of oil absorbent pads and disposable gloves foreseen as needed for the impending task.

The only thing lacking was the replacement housing for the Racor and, on our 0832 call, Kevin the Parts Guy assured it would be delivered shortly, that there’d be a call Tom the Delivery Man (no last name) to coordinate time and place.

Spirits thusly buoyed, breakfast could be savored and enjoyed. After all, any minute, the phone would ring, it would be Tom and the work could commence. Any minute.

An hour passed, an hour-and-a-half. No call from Tom. Nor could Kevin be raised, only a facsimile of his voice promising to call back “as soon as I can.” A message having been left earlier, a more direct approach seemed in order. By this time, there was reason to wonder whether Tom’s last name might be Godot.

Shiny new and nary a leak. Ain’t she a beaut?

The call went to Fawcett’s.

“May I speak with Tom, please?”

There was much time spent on hold hearing NOAA’s marine forecasts for various part of the Chesapeake Bay, interrupted briefly by intermediaries, before talking at last with Tom. There was something about his just waiting for some paperwork. He’d “be leaving in five-to-seven-minutes.” We were to meet next door at WhalerTowne.

Waddya know? At 1100 hours, Tom was there, with a new Racor and, best of all, it appeared to be the correct size and model. How crazy is that?

The plan of attack was reviewed over lunch, work commenced and at 1515, Red was roused from her slumber, cranked and fired, humming her happy tune as ever before. She spent some time at idle, then in gear under load. No leaks, in either mode.

So far. We’ll see. This is no time for bravado. Nope. It’s more like the man said:

All things come to he who waits.

Steadfast out.