Rain, Rain Go Away, Come Again Another Day

November 6, 2015 Entry

Rain, rain go away, come again another day, Steve and Emily want to play!

We spent Halloween evening with Emily’s high school friend Suzanne Bledsole and her husband Ray. Suzanne drove all the way from Washington, NC to Bath to pick us up. Upon arrival at their house she introduced us to their little dogs Dixie and Roxie, who are not really dogs at all but actual tiny human beings dressed in white cashmere sweaters posing as dogs. 

Captain Emily and Her Friend Suzanne and the Imposter Dogs, Roxie and Dixie

That evening Ray treated us to a brilliantly prepared, scrumptious spaghetti dinner. We were joined by Jan, Suzanne’s sister, who, during the course of the evening, in response to my observation that southern people did not listen to any music generated by folks north of the Mason Dixon Line, exclaimed, “What would be the point of that?”

I could not have said it better.

After much fine conversation and laughter, we decamped to a wonderfully comfortable bed for the night.

On Sunday we took the Bledsoles’ out for breakfast at a locally popular Waffle House where we each ate twenty-five pounds of bacon, sausage, grits, waffles and hash brown potatoes. We went back to their comfortable home which, by the way, is filled with original paintings done by Suzanne herself. Ray gave us the remainder of last evening’s feast, complete with fine bread and chocolates for desert. Then they drove us back to Bath. As we parted, Ray expressed his fervent hope was that it would rain so he would not have to resume painting the house.

What fine people!

The plan – early to bed, early to rise - pick up a rental car Monday morning and drive to Greenville, NC to see our dear friend Paul Rogers.

That night it began to rain and it didn’t stop for three days. At luck would have it, we sprang a leak somewhere on deck. Water found its way into the cabin and steadily dripped into a cabinet housing some of Flicka’s electronics. Not good. The only way to capture the drip was to use a small bowl, the only container that would fit in that small space, a bowl that had to be emptied quite often depending on how hard it rained, which was in fact quite often.

A sleepless night was had by all.

But we survived. Caught a little break the in the morning when the rain tapered off a bit. Our friend Dale at Enterprise Car Rental picked us up and we were able to once again invade the Bledsole home, this time to do some laundry. The local health department was called in and they had to cordon off a four block area as we moved the seething, smelly mass into the house and directly to the washing machine, which I suspect had to be repaired after we left.

Then of course it started raining again in earnest, which meant we had to skedaddle back to Flicka to resume bowl emptying duty. We could not leave Flicka alone under those circumstances and I could not fix the leak properly until the damn rain stopped.

So that Monday evening was more of the same – bowl emptying.

Tuesday, November 3, 2015. The intrepid Captain Emily suggested that she continue bowl emptying and that I drive to Greenville to see Paul, which is what I did. And a very fine visit it was indeed! Paul and I go way back - to the mid-seventies and wild Nags Head, NC days. Maybe someday I will talk of those days.

Today Paul is an inspiration indeed, living with multiple scherosis for much of his adult life but not ever letting it get the best of him. And his care giver, Linda, is a greater inspiration, if that is possible, for she has been by his side for a great long time, dutifully seeing to his daily needs.

Paul and his Faithful Caregiver Linda

I returned to Flicka that evening, the rain tapered off a bit and we went to have a square pizza at Blackbeard’s Slices and Ices in greater downtown Bath.

November 4, Wednesday we got up early and were greeted by four river otter (Lontra canadensis) swimming around the dock. These feisty and comical creatures climbed a piling to gain access to the dock where they cavorted shamelessly, exploring every nook and cranny and smelling one another frequently. What a treat.

Later in the day we ask a local gentleman, out walking his dog, whether we were in fact seeing otter and he confirmed that yes we were and they were quite common in the area. He complained that they steal bait out of crab pots, that bait being fish, which otter have been known to enjoy. Imagine the nerve of those bowlegged bandits!

The obvious solution is it exterminate these damnable creatures where ever they are found.

Later we went shopping, returned the car, boarded Flicka and, of course, it began to rain in earnest again. Bowl emptying duty continued and became part of our normal routine.

Undaunted, we untied from the free state dock at noon, said farewell to Bath, NC, motored out into Bath Creek, then headed down the Pamlico River under leaden skies and spitting rain, with slight east winds and rising temperatures. We passed Indian Island to starboard and turned into Goose Creek and motored into Campbell Creek where we anchored at 1630 under clearing skies.

Indian Island in the Pamlico River in the Fog

Thursday, November 5, 2015

We left Campbell Creek late, after all other boats, and motored out under grey skies to the Upper Spring Creek Bay River Canal where we passed under the Hobucken Bridge and by Mayo Seafood, where one can buy fresh sea scallops the size of dinner plates. Each scallop weighs approximately twenty-five pounds. You must use a machete to cut them up. Lightly sautéed in butter, garlic, lemon and a touch of white wine they are ‘tasty and expeditious’.

R E Mayo Seafood

Shrimp Boat at Mayo's

We passed Mayo’s in the rain and entered the Bay River and skirted Pamlico Sound with a dark and foreboding storm gathering in the east. We made haste up the Neuse River, turned into Adams Creek and ducked into Cedar Creek for the night, where our friend Neil on Full Moon joined us shortly thereafter.

Gathering Storm

Later

Friday, November 6, 2015 

Left Cedar Creek at 0700 bound for Swansboro, NC. Entered Adams Creek Canal and stopped at Sea Gate Marina for fuel. 

Soon after leaving Sea Gate we were treated to a sectacular sight as a bottle nose dolphin, our first of the trip, lept straight up into the air. We both saw it happen. Assuming the animal is about six feet long and his tail looked to be four feet above the water, and me being a very astute mathamathtician, that means he (or she) lept about ten verticle feet. It could have been ten miles for all I know.

I have never seen that behavior in the wild. That is usually something you see trained dolphins do. 

I suppose he was fishing, or maybe just plain enjoying himself. Maybe both. 

We entered the Newport River and motored into the Morehead City harbor area under sunny skies. Onward into Bogue Sound, a long, narrow, shallow water body (except the even narrower ICW channel in the Sound) and on to Swansboro, where we tied to a free dock provided by the good folks at the Saltwater Grill, famous for it’s she crab bisque, thatere best such bisque in the universe. If you order the large bowl, do not, I repeat, do not order anything else. The large bowl is the size of a 1957 Chevy Bel Air Sport Coupe steering wheel and contains four gallons of the finest she crab bisque ever assembled.

If there is a heaven, people there are eating this soup while they flap their wings, sing praises and ask for another plate of Mayo’s scallops.   

Saturday, November 7, 2015. 0600

Winds SW, variable, patchy fog, brilliant morning sun 68 degrees, outgoing current. All favorable for leaving the Saltwater Grill dock.

We motored out into the main ICW channel and within moments were enshrouded in thick fog. Passed Bear Island, through patches of sun, alternating with thick fog banks. Perspective changes rapidly in the fog. It’s hard to know whether a boat is approaching or going away and how big it is. A big power boat suddenly appearing on your stern and gaining steadily is unsettling, especially in this narrow, shallow, shoaling, shifting channel. 

In response to constant local shoaling (shifting bottom reacting to wind and tide) the ever vigilant Coast Guard routinely places temporary buoys marking the shoal areas, to aid boaters in finding their way, but that does not always ensure uneventful passage, because the shoaling is a dynamic geologic process.

On our way along we followed another sailboat and a fifty foot power boat. At one point the sailboat ran aground and we passed him. Luckily he was able to back down and get off. A few minutes later the power boat ran aground. That sucker probably displaces fifty thousand pounds, a heavy mother for sure. We passed, wishing him well. Not much a little guy like Flicka can do for a boat that big. Luckily he also was able to get off, using big bow thrusters that give him lots of maneuverability. The ten minutes or so invested in that maneuvering probably cost him two hundred dollars in diesel fuel.

Down the line on this run about five NM (nautical miles) away one encounters the Onslow Swing Bridge, owned and operated by the United States Marines, thank you very much! Did I mention that this section of the ICW passes through Marine Corps Camp Lejeune? Lots of magnificent guys and girls train there to keep at the top of their combat readiness game (we can only hope). Lejeune property is on both sides of the ICW here, complete with live firing ranges, coming and going aircraft, amphibious boats and other cool toys.

This time of the year, south bound boats like to get to and pass through the bridge as early as possible on a given day because the next stopping place with any convenient and relatively safe anchorages is Wrightsville Beach, thirty-five nautical miles distant. Boats usually politely (and sometimes not so politely) jockey for position and end up sorting out into an impromptu caravan of sorts.

The trick is to proceed at a speed that will put one at the bridge at just the right moment so you can pass through at one of the scheduled on the half hour openings, after requesting permission to pass. One can calculate arrival time accurately using a GPS chart plotter, adjusting speed and thus arrive as the bridge opens. If all approaching boats follow that procedure, life is good.

Nice idea and generally it works well except when it doesn’t. Some folks just need to be first so they charge ahead, often leaving others behind to deal with their wakes. Sometimes three or four boats arrive too early at the bridge and end up burning lots of fuel playing the unnerving game of ‘avoid the other boats’ while awaiting a scheduled opening. Once through they drive off in a fury of raw power, throwing up humongous bow waves, making a routine morning breakfast foray for unsuspecting great blue herons anything but routine.

But today was good as only three boats, including Flicka, passed through the bridge in an orderly and valiant fashion.

We went a short distance further and at 1200 tucked in at Mile Hammock Bay, a neat harbor with room for twenty boats, part of Camp Lejeune. The marines let boaters stay in this fine little harbor but you are not allowed ashore, for obvious reasons. They don’t want you to discover their marijuana growing operations.

The harbor is generally protected from most winds and is well protected from fetching waters. Fetch is what I do for my lovely wife all day as in, “Go fetch me another cup of coffee, will you dear?”, but in a nautical sense it refers to the distance over which waves travel from their source. The larger that distance the larger the waves become.  Thus in this bay there is very little fetch. You can have high winds but still be relatively comfortable.

So we came into Mike Hammock Bay and anchored beside ‘Monday Morning’, a forty foot cat ketch. Which means firstly that it has two masts. It is a cat because the forward mast is way forward, very close to the bow. It’s a ketch because the forward mast is taller than the aft mast.  This, of course, is not to be confused with a cat schooner in which the forward mast is the shorter of the two.

Right about now, I bet you are about to have an orgasm.

Monday Morning, a Cat Ketch

But wait, there is more. Later today we were visited by Monday Morning’s captain, Tom Murphy, who is seventy-seven years young, single handed and headed for the Bahamas. 

That is truly inspiring.

An hour later we were joined by Neil in Full Moon, who I have written about earlier, who has circumnavigated planet Earth in his twenty-nine foot sloop, spent this past summer in Nova Scotia and is now on his way to the Bahamas and beyond.

So here we are, anchored next to two grand old ‘salts’ with years of cruising experience and a wealth of knowledge. The sun is setting. A lovely SW wind is blowing. We are having cocktails. Pork chops are on the grill.

And guess what? The weather forecast is for winds come around to NNE and picking up considerably as a line of storms moves through to dump more rain. Tomorrow looks like more of the same and Monday’s prediction is for heavy rain all day.

Rain, rain go away, come again another day, Emily and Steve want to play.

Namaste    

Sunset over Mile Hammock Bay