Bridge Trolls

Tuesday 11-10-2015, 0645, 65 degrees F, moderate SW winds.

Left Mile Hummock Bay under heavy, grey skies, fog patches.  Motored out with a couple of forty foot boats.

Making 6.5 knots on a strong incoming tide from the New River Inlet. Dolphins in Chadwick Bay. Patchy, thick fog. Condominiums and high rises to the east on the ocean front. Unbroken wetlands to the west. Speed up to 7.2 knots. That New River Inlet current is getting stronger.

That speed, by the way, is speed across the bottom as measured by GPS. its actual ‘land speed’, not to be confused with speed through the water or relative speed, as measured by a very small, smart and dedicated mouse sitting in a little mouse office counting revolutions of a tiny paddle wheel deployed on the starboard hull underwater. The resourceful mouse (whose name is Speedo) then uses a slide rule to calculate speed in the water which he translates to me by shouting into a Luzianne coffee can attached to a taunt string with a Maxwell House coffee can attached to the other end, affixed to my good ear.

These two measures, speed across the ground and speed in the water can be used to derive a measure of current direction and velocity, an important navigation factor.

We had breakfast on the go. Bread and Brie (a blended mixture of white lithium grease, Dismal Swamp Canal bottom muck and chemosynthetic bacteria, masquerading as cow's milk cheese).

0745 We are passing under the first fixed bridge of the day. After that we will pass through three swing bridges which open on the hour or half hour depending on the bridge. The openings are ‘on demand’ meaning you have to call the bridge master to ask permission to pass. The bridge master is  usually an ugly, wart nosed troll that lives under the bridge and, to make the world a better place, eats tiny dogs it plucks from boats moving too slow through the bridge passage.

In some cases, let it be noted, that the bridge troll is a cute little female marine wearing sun glasses and carrying a switchblade.

We have to time our arrival at each bridge in order not to have to wait for the opening. Waiting for an opening means, whether you want to or not, playing the famous game of ‘bumper boat’, so much enjoyed by power boaters particularly, who have very big engines and ‘bow thrusters’ to show off and who seem to be driven by an earnest desire to ‘be first’.

We are racing along in hope of making the 0900 opening of the Surf City Bridge. A beautiful rainbow makes an appearance at 0830. Two great blue herons fly over our bow as we approach the bridge. Pushing hard now to make the bridge opening, which we did with two minutes to spare. Just as we got in view of the bridge a hard rain shower shut down visibility to a hundred feet which made bumper boat all the more challenging. Damn that troll. We spent tense moments during the passage and worried about what the troll would do when he realized we did not have a little dog.

It rained like crazy, making it much more difficult to pass. On the other side of the bridge the sun came out, the air cleared and away we went. It must have all been a joke.  

We time our arrival and passage at the Figure Eight Island Bridge (I’m not kidding)  for the 1300 opening so we can make the 1400 opening at the Wrightsville Beach Bridge, which we did, unmolested by those particular warty-nosed trolls.

From Surf City Bridge to Wrightsville we pass through various small bays, sounds, channels and creeks. Even though the actual coast to the east has been invaded by condos, high rises, hundreds of businesses selling the gaudiest stuff imaginable, marinas, fast food restaurants, coffee shots, tattoo and body piercing parlors, car dealerships, fortune tellers, dog groomers, insurance agents and emergency care quacks, between us and that abomination is a wetland complex with small forested islands, marshes and hummocks separated by channels and inlets. A fascinating habitat whose most obvious inhabitants are the birds. Birds, birds, birds. Pelicans, various shore birds, oyster catchers, great egrets, great blue herons, gulls, terns and more.

We pass through Wrightsville Beach Bridge and immediately (and quite professionally I might add) cross a downwind current to haul into the Wrightsville Beach Marina for fuel, a pump out (fascinating subject for another time), trash deposit and a shrimp cocktail.

On past the Masonboro Inlet to the beginning of Snow’s Cut which leads over to the Cape Fear River. But here we sneak into the Carolina Beach Harbor and come to anchor in twelve feet of water at 1500 by ourselves in a beautiful little cove.

Tomorrow, the Cape Fear River and Southport, NC, a sleepy little hamlet and favorite stopping place for us cruisers.

Sweet dreams.