Oriental, NC to Cape May, NJ

As you’ve likely noticed, we’re a bit behind in our blog updates. To see where we are in ‘real-time,’ please click here.

JO BETH held fast on Oriental’s free dock during the adverse weather for the next day or so, and by the following day, Saturday evening, conditions had calmed completely. Sunday morning dawned with a light overcast and easy southeasterly breeze. After a quick trip to The Bean Coffee Shop for croissants and coffee, we slipped the dock lines and motored away. Once passed the docked fishing fleet and clear of the harbor breakwater, we set the jib to catch the winds while continuing to motorsail. We spotted Tim and Christine aboard SERENITY on our AIS display, some eight miles east-northeast of us. To our southeast, a sailing catamaran approached, gradually overtaking us and crossing our bow. After about an hour, the southeasterly breeze filled in a bit more and we set the mainsail and shut down the motor. We sailed over the relatively placid Neuse River at four or five knots.

Thunderheads were building over the mainland to our west and soon began to roll across the water. We passed from the Neuse River into Pamlico Sound and the storms continued to build. This wasn’t unexpected, as the weather forecast had indicated a moderate chance of showers and thunderstorms throughout the day. We’d hoped to outpace them, but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. We watched as the first storm to hit the waters rolled across the eastern horizon, right where SERENITY was sailing. Tim and I texted back and forth. He indicated there wasn’t much rain or wind with the squall, but the lightning had both he and Christine on edge. Soon, he reported it was past, with no troubles and they were once again sailing under sunny skies. We also noticed another sailboat, motor sailing or sailing under just her mainsail, to our north, paralleling our course.

Now, it was our turn for a squall as one quickly came up from astern. The wind had built further, and was approaching 15 knots, still from the southeast. I went to the mast to put a reef in the mainsail; that is, to partially lower the sail and secure it so as to reduce the overall sail area presented to the wind. This allows us to balance and better control the boat in stronger winds, and to sail as efficiently as possible. Just as I finished reefing the mainsail, big fat raindrops started hitting me, each one an icy cold sting. Then, the squall’s winds were on us, climbing rapidly from 15 knots into the middle 20’s. JO BETH heeled over and roared off across a darkening Pamlico Sound.

We hadn’t been able to secure the cockpit enclosure before the squall and with the driving rain, both Lisa and I were soaked. The wind was at a steady 25 knots now and gusted into the mid-30 knot range. A steep chop built on the sound, but thankfully was coming on our stern quarter. It was wild and fast ride, and over in about 15 minutes. The rain quickly settled to a light shower, and the winds all but collapsed. The sailboat we had spotted to our north had vanished in the wall of rain and wind; she soon reappeared with a partially reefed mainsail making slow, wide circles. Soon, we surmised that her mainsail, which was fitted with an in-mast furling system, had likely become jammed during the squall. We tried hailing her on the VHF radio, but got no response. She continued on her course, paralleling ours.

The wind quickly returned and settled in at 18 knots, with a bit more east in it. We kept the mainsail reefed and added a reef to the jib and galloped along at nearly seven knots towards Ocracoke Island. The OCRACOKE EXPRESS, one of the many ferries of the North Carolina Ferry System passed us on her route from Ocracoke Island to Swan Quarter, NC. As the low and dark line of Ocracoke Island began to rise above the horizon, the waters in the sound gradually started to shallow. Soon, after passing through the long and narrow Big Foot Slough Channel, we turned into the short entrance channel to Silver Lake Harbor. The mystery sailboat we watched get hammered in the squall soon overtook us in the channel, seemingly eager to be in and secured in their marina slip. Once in the harbor basin, we spotted SERENITY lying quietly at anchor. After scouting around for a place to drop our hook, we settled in to the west of SERENITY and set our hook. Tim came out on deck and waved. It had been a busy trip, and Lisa and I were tired.

Soon, Tim and Christine stopped by in their dinghy, on their run to shore for a bathroom break for their recently acquired dog, Snacks. Snacks had belonged to Christine’s mom, and following her mom’s passing, Christine and Tim took Snacks in. He’s an old little pup, but very friendly and mellow. He was quite happy to sit in Christine’s lap wherever they were. Tim sent a text later that night, saying they were going to rent a golf cart for the next day. He asked if we would like to share the cost and the tour Ocracoke with them. We readily agreed, as we were eager to see this little island outpost.

The next morning, Lisa and I dinghied in and met Tim and Christine, and of course, Snacks at the town dinghy dock. We picked up the rental golf cart and struck out. Ocracoke Island was indeed quaint and charming. One of our first stops was at Dajo, a fantastic restaurant that a friend had recommended. I ordered the fish tacos, made with freshly caught Spanish Mackerel, and they were some of the best I’ve ever had. After lunch, we made for Ocracoke Lighthouse. The lighthouse, originally built and commissioned in 1832, is among the smallest in The Outer Banks. At just 65’ tall, it’s light can be seen for 14 miles into the Atlantic Ocean and Pamlico Sound. It’s fully automated now, and still charted and in operation today. Tours of the lighthouse are available, but access is limited. We were allowed to go into the lighthouse, but had to remain at the ground level.

There is also the British Cemetery, which contains the remains of British Sailors lost during a German submarine attack during the early days of World War II. The HMT BEDFORDSHIRE was torpedoed by the German U-Boat 558 on May 11, 1942. All 37 British Royal Navy sailors aboard were killed. In the days following the attack, the bodies of four of the British crew washed ashore on Ocracoke and were buried by local residents. We also visited several other small cemeteries scattered over the island, some with graves dated back to the early 1700’s. Many of the graves we saw were of infants and children; life was hard on these remote strips of sand.

We continued our tour of the island, stopping at a tea shop for Lisa and a small local beer brewery for a couple of refreshing rounds of local brew. As the day was getting late, we returned the golf cart and stopped at a little restaurant for a quick dinner before heading back to our boats.

Lisa and I stayed the next day; SERENITY weighed anchor and got underway as they had a favorable wind to make for Belhaven, NC. Lisa and I were staying in the Outer Banks, and planned to head for Roanoke Island and the town of Manteo, NC. We needed to wait another day at Ocracoke for a southerly breeze. Late that afternoon, in an effort to shade the hot, setting sun from the cockpit, we hunted for one of our new cockpit screens, only to find it missing. I had strung a bungie cord underneath the cockpit top, and we had been storing the unused enclosure panels and screens there, rolled up. The system wasn’t perfect and it was a struggle to keep tension in the elastic cord. We searched high and low for it, eventually coming to the conclusion it had been lost during the squall on our way out to Ocracoke.

The next morning, we had our southerly wind and followed the OCRACOKE EXPRESS out the Big Foot Slough Channel. As she continued west, we turned north and set sail.

Our VHF radio is the primary source of communication with other boats, drawbridge tenders, marinas, etc. We often use it for weather information as well, and still receive dangerous weather warnings through the VHF system, though we now rely more on satellite internet resources for weather forecasts. The U.S. Coast Guard makes routine and often mundane information and safety broadcasts, and of course we can hear (and eavesdrop) on calls between other vessels. We also hear the Coast Guard talking with other vessels for a variety of reasons; some are in genuine distress, some are reporting sightings of objects adrift, and so on. It’s quite unusual to hear both sides of the conversation; usually, we can only hear the Coast Guard side because of their powerful radios and high antennas.

Usually, this radio chatter fades into the background noise of the JO BETH. Once in a while though, something catches our attention. With Ocracoke Island fading astern, we were motor-sailing over a calm Pamlico Sound. The OCRACOKE EXPRESS had diminished to a dot on the western horizon. We heard the radio crackle to life, but weren’t really paying close attention; we had already heard marine safety broadcasts about an adrift kayak some 40 miles from our position, scheduled maintenance on a bridge near Morehead City, and so on. Lisa suddenly asked, “did the Coast Guard just say ‘hey guys’ to that boat?” We both stopped and listened.

Sure enough, we heard the radio operator’s voice clearly say, “Hey Guys, this is the United States Coast Guard. Repeat your GPS position please.”

I looked at Lisa. “Somebody named their boat “Hey Guys?” I asked.

“Apparently,” she said, adding “that’s hilarious.”

We listened a bit more. We learned HEY GUYS is a small 28’ fishing boat that had broken down about 15 miles out into the Atlantic. They had contacted the Coast Guard to ask them to contact a local tow boat service, as they were unable to reach the towing company with their radio alone, and were too far out to have cell service. Soon, the tow boat was underway to them and we heard nothing else from the Coast Guard on HEY GUYS. Of course, Lisa and I started coming up with silly boat names. ‘Hey Ladies’ was one; when I relayed this conversation to a boating friend, she said, “my next boat is gonna be called, ‘Yo Peeps.’”

*“…a very low chance of squalls and thunderstorms…”*

What breeze we had soon turned fickle, becoming variable in strength and direction. We attempted to move under sail power alone, but were only able to sail for an hour or so. The weather forecast had indicated we should have steady 15 knot south-southeasterly winds and a very low chance of squalls and thunderstorms. This proved to be wrong as well, as by noon, we were completely surrounded by low, heavy clouds colored a spooky shade of gray and purple, sitting low on the water. We only got a smattering of rain, and winds stayed light, but it was unnerving. By middle afternoon, the worst of it was passed and we were approaching the main channel to the eastern side of Roanoke Island under mostly sunny skies. Big House Channel, as it’s known, is the only way to get to the town and harbor of Manteo on a sailboat when approaching from the south via Pamlico Sound. The channel on the western side of the island is deeper and wider, but there is a fixed bridge which limits the majority of sailboats from taking that route. Big House Channel is long, approximately 12 miles, and frightfully narrow and shallow. The waters in this area of Pamlico Sound are dotted with duck blinds. They were literally everywhere outside of the main channel, ranging in size from miniscule to a summer house. Just gazing at the horizon, there were times when two dozen, perhaps more, were in eyeshot. How the hunters keep from shooting on another is beyond me.

By sunset, were through the bulk of Big House Channel, and now faced another obstacle – the entrance to Manteo Harbor. It is very shallow at its mouth, but it does deepen a bit once inside. There is an anchorage area, but we had a lot of work to do and needed to be plugged into shore power for a few days. We had booked a slip at the Manteo City Marina and as we entered the marina basin, we proceeded to our assigned slip. It was a hair raising docking; we made it in, but we were not happy. The slip was adjacent to a large public gazebo built out over the water. In order to turn into our slip, we nearly became entangled with the overhangs of the gazebo roof. Once inside the slip, we could not get in far enough forward to be able to easily step on and off of the boat. There were no cleats on the dock; tying to pilings was our only option, but two of them, at the outer edge of the slip were too far away. Once we were settled, we had to climb on or off the boat at the starboard bow quarters. We were not happy, to say the least.

Tired and stressed, we walked into town for dinner. The only open restaurant we found seated us right away, but then literally forgot us. We had to ask two or three different servers, two or three different times for our server to come to the table. Once she did, our drink and dinner orders came relatively quick, but Lisa’s food order was completely wrong. Rather than send it back she accepted it with a reluctant smirk. When our bill came, it was brought by the manager, who stood at the table and complained to us about how he hated his job; that he couldn’t get staff and had already put in 80 hours that week. Lisa and I, both small business owners, could relate to his plight, but seriously – the lack of professionalism and common courtesy left much to be desired. Manteo was losing any appeal it had held for us at lightspeed.

The next morning, I contacted the marina office and told them our slip situation was not acceptable. To their credit, I was told we could move to any open slip we felt was better. We found one on the T-head of the next dock to the north, (a ‘T-Head’ is the long dock at the waterway end of a pier; when seen from above, it’s shaped like the letter ‘T.’) With the help of a dock neighbor, we were able to get ourselves moved and secured without incident. It was during this time I learned the Town Marina is basically not staffed. There is a dockmaster’s office there, with a sign on the door saying a dockhand is present only on Saturdays, from 10-4 or something similar. We never saw any marina or city employee on site the entire four days we were there. When we booked the marina slip, through an online reservation service called Dockwa, the confirmation email we received encouraged us to use the marina facilities, including the showers, laundry, dock carts and self-service waste pump out system. The email included the pass codes for the showers and laundry, and the Wi-Fi password. However, the dock carts were under lock and key, as was the pump out system. We planned to do an Instacart grocery delivery, so I called the dockmaster’s office to ask how to access the dock carts. My call went unanswered and our Instacart driver helped us carry our groceries through the marina, down the docks, and to the boat. The showers and laundry were available, thankfully.

We had heard many good things about Manteo from several of our sailing friends, but Lisa and I were sorely disappointed. Perhaps we expected too much, but we were done with it and ready to move on. We waited on the northerly winds to ease and abate, but we had to be careful about our timing once they did. Several days of strong winds, from one direction or another, influence the water levels in the North Carolina sounds far more than the lunar tidal cycles do. There was a real possibility we could become stuck if the northerlies persisted. (Tim and Christine aboard SERENITY were stuck in Belhaven, NC for a few days last year after persistent strong winds dropped the water levels there by three feet!) Fortunately, on Sunday, we had a favorable forecast for easterly winds. Being concerned about the water levels around Roanoke Island, I spoke with the local Tow Boat/US operator the night before our departure. He indicated the only trouble area we might have is leaving Manteo itself. That proved to be the case, as we bumped bottom heading out of the harbor. We were able to turn around and move on without incident, finally entering the relatively deep waters of Albemarle Sound.

Albermarle Sound soon became quite rough, as the wind backed from the east to the northeast and then north. We pounded into a steep chop all morning, JO BETH shoving the squared, blocked waves aside, flinging spray into the air as she went. By early afternoon, we left the Albermarle behind, entering the North River and much calmer waters. Our destination for the night was the fabled Coinjock Marina in the little North Carolina town of Coinjock. Aside from being a popular and even necessary stop on the Waterway, the marina has a restaurant with a well-known reputation for excellent prime rib. For us, it was a necessary stop as we needed fuel again, and water. Of course, I really wanted to sample the prime rib!

We had reserved the dock space in Coinjock while in Manteo. After contacting the Coinjock dockmaster on the VHF radio, we were heading into our assigned space, with dockhands waiting. The wind caught our stern and slew us around unexpectedly. Lisa aborted the docking and I informed the dockhands we were going around again. The motor yacht behind us then dashed in and took the section of dock we had been told to go to. The dockhands handled his lines and secured his boat, seemingly forgetting about us, as we suddenly did not know where to go. Soon, it was sorted out and we were secured in front of the arrogant captain and his boat. We waited while the motor yacht was fueled, and then had to remind the dockhand we were taking on fuel as well. Once that was done, I had had enough. It was time for showers, and following showers, prime rib.

We showered and walked to the restaurant. It was only then that we realized it was Father’s Day. We were told the wait for a table was two hours plus, unless we had reservations. When I had made the reservation for the marina slip, I was told the restaurant didn’t accept reservations and was seated on a first come, first served basis. The hostess was clearly perplexed when i told her this, and politely informed us we could go to the bar and wait. Lisa wanted to go to the back to the boat, but I would not be denied my prime rib! Once in the bar, we found an empty high-top table and waited patiently for service. Lisa, seeing my temper rise, decided to go to the bar and ask if we could be served at our table. The bartender told Lisa she could make drinks for us, but there was no service at the bar tables for drinks or dinner. We then watched as a couple came in, sat at the bar, received menus, and placed their dinner orders. Now fuming, Lisa went back to the bar as I wondered if I should have – but the bartender then informed her, “oh yes, you can be served at the bar, just not at the bar tables.” For what it’s worth, the prime rib was decent – but honestly, we’ve both had much better. Coinjock Marina is a necessary stop for most sailboats moving north and south on the Intracoastal Waterway, but our curiosity of the place has been sated.

We were underway the next morning at dawn, eager to enter Virginia waters. We passed through freshwater Currituck Sound and into the Albermarle and Chesapeake Canal. Just after noon, we were at Chesapeake, VA with half a dozen other boats waiting to pass through the Great Bridge drawbridge and into the Great Bridge Locks at the head of the Albermarle and Chesapeake Canal. The locks lifted us a few feet to the level of the Elizabeth River which would carry us into the busy harbor of Norfolk, VA. The locks also serve to keep the brackish and salty waters of the Elizabeth River from mixing into Currituck Sound. Soon we were through the locks, and passing the heavily industrialized and busy banks of the Elizabeth River. We passed by multiple tug and barge staging and loading yards, and in the southern portion of Norfolk Harbor, bulk discharge docks and container loading and discharge piers. We were pushing to make the three-thirty opening of the Gilmerton Highway Bridge; the bridge would then be locked closed, except for emergency openings, for the duration of the afternoon rush hour until six-thirty. We just made it through, as did another sailboat following on our stern.

*Railway drawbridge entering the ports of Norfolk and Portsmouth, VA*

The U.S. Navy maintains a massive presence in Norfolk, and we passed by dozens of warships in dry docks and service yards on both sides of the river. As we entered Portsmouth, VA, we began looking for the small town basin and docks situated on the west bank of the river. There, the town maintains a free dock for use up to 36 hours – an odd choice of time for most boaters – but free nonetheless. SERENITY was anchored about a mile north of Portsmouth in a cove off of the river’s west bank known as Hospital Point. She would be moving on to Deltaville, VA, then Annapolis, MD in the coming days.

We located and entered the tiny Portsmouth Town Basin and found plenty of room to tie up on the free dock. The basin is also used by the Portsmouth Ferry Service, crossing between Portsmouth and Norfolk. The ferry captains are diligent in their duties, sounding departure horn signals with each departure from the basin – from six in the morning until midnight – seven days a week.

*The tired sailor’s salvation - pizza and beer!*

The City of Portsmouth asks all boaters using the town dock to ‘check-in’ at the small kiosk across the basin. I walked over to the kiosk, and found it completely empty, and locked up tight. Tired and hungry, Lisa and I walked into town and found one of the few open places on a Monday; a small tavern which served excellent brick-oven pizza and cold beer. We also found the visitor’s center and a coffee and bagel shop – all closed. We returned to the boat tired and sleepy. Lisa listened to her Atlanta Braves baseball game, while I drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened every half hour by the departing ferries.

Portsmouth is where the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway formally begins or ends, depending on whether you’re traveling north or south, a point known as ‘Mile 0.’ Docked directly across from the town basin were two massive U.S. Navy LHD warships, or ‘multipurpose amphibious assault’ ships. The ships appeared to be undergoing various repairs and or upgrades, and were a hive of activity day and night.

The next morning, Lisa and I ventured into town to the bagel and coffee shop. We also stopped at the Visitor’s Center and asked about checking-in for the town dock. The lady behind the desk asked when we arrived. “Late yesterday afternoon,” I said as she opened a registration book.

She blinked at me. “You’ve already spent a night, then?” she asked.

“Yes, I said, but we’re unclear as to how long we can actually stay. The way the rules are written is a bit confusing.” She closed the book and pushed it aside.

“Eh, don’t worry about it. You’re already here,” she said. “The time limit is 36 hours, but…as long as there’s room and no boats are waiting to tie up…” She shrugged.

***JO BETH*** *at the Portsmouth, VA town basin*

We never understood the idea basis for the thirty-six hour time frame. The vast majority of free town docks we know of are available for twenty-four or forty-eight hours once every twenty-one or thirty days; we know of one or two that are seventy-two hours once every thirty days. I even stopped a police officer on the sidewalk one evening and asked him if he knew what the time limit actually was for the docks. He seemed genuinely surprised to find out Portsmouth had a free use town dock!

The next afternoon, more boats arrived at the Portsmouth Town Basin, including Josh aboard his twenty-eight foot Cape Dory sailboat WAYFINDER. Josh was single-handing and on his way to the upper Hudson River Valley in New York for his summer job on a schooner plying the Hudson River. A couple on a small Sea Ray Motor Yacht came in as well. Before long, Josh had invited everyone to his boat for a pancake breakfast the next morning. Lisa fried a pound of bacon for our contribution. That same evening, we all went to see the new Top Gun movie at the small town cinema, restored and converted to an art-deco styled dinner theater. As it turned out, Josh and Lisa knew several people and boats in common from the tall ship world.

We found an actual working pay telephone in Portsmouth, VA

Friends from Brunswick, GA, Jim and Maryann, were with their yacht AMANDA in Yorktown, Virginia. AMANDA is a Dutch Canal Boat, built in the Netherlands. They had recently shipped her across the Atlantic after living aboard for a couple of years cruising the canals of The Netherlands, Belgium and France. They were now in a boatyard in Yorktown, preparing the boat for use in the States. They were kind enough to let us have our mail and packages forwarded to them. They drove down to Portsmouth one evening to bring our mail. We had a great time catching up over dinner at The Bier Garten, a fantastic German restaurant in downtown Portsmouth.

The next morning, Josh and I went to the bagel shop and pored over the charts and weather forecasts for our planned passages north. He was under more of a time crunch than Lisa and I, and decided to leave the next morning in spite of a forecast for building strong southwesterly winds. We were both bound for Cape May, NJ, though our planned tracks would diverge there. Josh would continue on to New York Harbor and into the Hudson River, while Lisa and I were leaving Cape May and aiming for Block Island, RI.

Josh was underway by mid-morning the next day, and gave us text reports throughout his trip. When Lisa and I left Portsmouth the following morning, Josh was just passing the mouth of the Delaware Bay. The forecasted strong winds did materialize for him, but fortunately, were not so strong as had been predicted.

During our time in Portsmouth, we were able to get a ‘dinghy’ pass at Tidewater Marina, situated within walking distance - about a half mile north of the Portsmouth Town Basin. The dinghy pass granted us access to the marina shower and bathroom facilities, as well as the outdoor lounge area, laundry, and Wi-Fi. The cost of the pass was $12.00 for 24 hours. We used the facilities twice more, and each time we attempted to pay, we were told by the marina manager not to worry about it – now that’s great customer service!

*U.S. Naval vessels moored in Norfolk, VA*

Just after sunrise on Saturday morning, we left the Portsmouth Town Basin and began moving north on the Elizabeth River under motor power, passing more of the Navy’s massive ships and shore installations. Machine gun wielding guards posted at the bows of two sleek cruisers followed our progress with their bodies as we moved past the warships, their weapons held across their torsos, neither pointed down or in our direction. As we moved into the wider and deeper portions of the river, we began sailing as the wind permitted.

Leaving Portsmouth and the Chesapeake Bay was a busy affair; a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier departed in front of us, and a U.S. Coast Guard Cutter departed behind us. At the mouth of the bay, we were greet by an inbound U.S. Navy submarine and her gunboat escorts, as well two arriving container ships, and an oil tanker. Once in the Atlantic and on Course for Cape May, we saw only one or two small fishing boats and little else. The day faded into a crystal clear night, with only the stars and moon above and the dim glow of towns ashore over the western horizon visible on the dark sea.

That feeling of being alone persisted through the night until about three-thirty in the morning. As we were passing the dazzling lights of Ocean City, MD during my night watch, incredible numbers of sportfishing boats began exiting the harbor at once. It had to be a fishing tournament, and a big one. I counted at least twenty two fishing boats of all sizes crossing in front of and behind us within a forty-five minute period.

As dawn broke on the horizon, Lisa took the watch as we were crossing the mouth of Delaware Bay. I took a short nap, and by noon, we had sighted the Cape May Sea Buoy, marking the channel entrance into Cape May Harbor; by two in the afternoon, we were anchored in the harbor anchorage adjacent to the large U.S. Coast Guard training base. We would stay in Cape May for three days, two of which were spent at a marina waiting for adverse weather to pass. As it would happen, a significant change in plans was in store for us when we left Cape May to continue north.