"Holy smokes. We’re moving.” When was the last time Matt swore?

Just an hour ago, we went for a dusk swim and watched the sunset. After battling triple digit temps for days, it felt good to see the world outside our dark cabin and cool off in the water. It was peaceful. I was happy.

Sunset and storms brewing

Happy Ignorance

Two days earlier we had departed Mobjack Bay after a walk on the beach. We motored to Deltaville (what little wind there was, was on the nose). Matt went on a killing spree and slaughtered 49 flies. We swam to try and cool off. We ran the AC off the generator. We were hot. We paid the dinghy fee at Fisherman Bay Marina and have been using their courtesy car to go to West Marine, the grocery store, the hardware store, and check out boat yards for our haul out next month. We’re basically just hiding from the sun, waiting for double digit temps instead of triple digit temps.

We were sitting in the cockpit when the winds picked up. Good, we should have enough breeze to sleep tonight. Wow! I think it’s going to rain. We threw in cushions, closed hatches and grabbed our computers from the cockpit just before the downpour started. Lightning blinded us in between patches of extreme darkness. 35 knots. 43 knots. 51 knots. "Holy smokes. We’re moving."

We dragged 100 ft and then the anchor seemed to re-set. We could see the other anchored boats' lights a safe distance away. There’s no way we can consider doing anything for our situation with lightning right on top of us. Would our engines even be able to push back against these winds? There’s nothing to do but wait it out. Hastings is in his bed, snoring. No, I didn’t feel the boat moving; we just watched it on our GPS. At one point we got up to 1.6 knots over the ground…backwards! Against a pitch black sky, 50 knot winds, pelting rain and 5 ft seas, it felt like we were in a speculator storm, but I had no sense of direction or speed.

It took 20 minutes for the storm to lessen. Another 20 minutes and the lightning had moved enough that we felt safe to put out another 100 ft of chain and re-set the anchor. I wish I could blame Rocna anchors, but we only put out a 5 to 1 scope. (Scope is the amount to chain to depth of water - for instance, a 5 to 1 scope in 20 ft of water is 100 ft of chain - fine for calm weather - stormy weather requires a 10 to 1 scope, or 200 ft in 20 ft of water) We were lulled by the 0 knot winds, but we know better.

A big disadvantage we have in the catamaran for situations like this is the anchor bridle. On a monohull, it would be pretty easy to just put out some more chain. Even if a snubber line is used, it is usually short. For us to put more chain out, first we must pull in 20-ish feet of chain, remove the chain hook that connects the bridle to the chain, let out the extra scope and then reset the chain hook and bridle. None of that sounds fun (maybe not even possible!) in the face of 50 knot gusts (and Lucy doesn’t like Matt touching metal during intense thunderstorms!) So lesson learned…7:1 minimum is the new standard, and 10:1 if any thunderstorms are likely!

Isn’t life grand? You can be happy anywhere, or miserable anywhere. I can be happy in a rainstorm, happy motoring up narrow canals, happy going to work. But put me on a luxury yacht, no job, no responsibilities, give me a beautiful secluded beach, and I’ll find a way to be miserable.

We had woken up that morning to a serene scene - the sun rising over the still water. And there lies the problem. The sun. Still water. Our cruising motto is “Live in the sunshine, Swim the sea, Drink the wild air”(Ralph Waldo Emerson). What a beastly, hateful motto. Absurd!

Live in the sunshine. As I mentioned, we awoke with the sun. By 7AM, it’s unbearable. It’s reflecting off the water, in our eyes. I start to hang our sunshades and am overwhelmed by the intensity of the sun - and it’s only 7:30! We take Hastings to the boat ramp for a walk. He’s eager to walk further on, into the sun. He’s crazy! The sun is evil. It’s the shade we want. I’ve heard winter is coming, but the weather channel says its 99/feels like 116. Give me winter, Melissandre! I don’t care if the night is dark and full of terrors as long as it’s cold!

Hastings wants to walk in the sun!

Swim in the sea. Well, the “sea” has been brown colored for the longest time. Now it’s a better color, but it’s murky. I can see my hand underwater - if I use my imagination. Also, with a water temp of 90 degrees, it’s not refreshing. And don’t brain eating amebas like warm, still water? I’ve seen crabs swimming here - is a crab about to bite the hand that I’m imagining I can see? Where are my feet? Get out, get out now! "Refreshed?” Matt asks. I just glare in response. The brain eating ameba has destroyed my ability to produce words.

Drink the wild air. I’m trying to breathe, but it’s too hot. I’m being suffocated by breathing. I feel sick, nauseous, dizzy with a headache. It’s total meltdown time. We move the boat out into the bay, in front of a beautiful beach. At least there’s some airflow here. Matt claims he doesn’t mind the heat, but later in the day, the misery gets to him. He can’t finish clipping the dog, he scrapes his wrist on the dinghy motor while driving us to the beach, and he is driven mad by the swarm of flies that arrives to feast on our near-dead bodies.

So, here we are, on our luxury yacht, no bosses, beautiful beach in a secluded bay, watching the sun set and writing a new motto: Hide in the shade, sit on the couch, drink in the climate controlled air.

Looks nice...from the A/C!

What's the most unexpected place you've been miserable in? I'm looking for some Disney tantrum stories! 

Portsmouth, VA

We spent a day in Portsmouth. There are two free docks that we dinghy-ed to and enjoyed the town - shopping, restaurants, museums and historic homes all by the waterfront. MM0 anchorage is much nicer than the books/apps make it sound. We didn’t experience wakes, had a breeze, and had plenty of room in my little crab pot paradise.

One of Two Free Docks at Portsmouth

Good honest lunch. Hate it when lunch lies! German beers, sausage, and German chocolate cake!

Lighthouse Boat, living in concrete.

Fresnel Lens

Residential Street

Hampton Roads 

We were on full alert for the next 10 miles: we’re back to aircraft carriers, 1,000 ft container ships, tugs, sailboats and jet skis. Don’t forget the “Navy underwater explosive area” “Navy restricted area” and “magnetic re-alignment area”. And then there were the fishing boats, leisurely casting lines in this melee!

You've noticed I'm always at the helm, too?

Navy and Pleasure Boats

1,000 ft long container ship

This container ship had two tugs pushing it!

Navy war ship and hospital ship

Busy, busy - but the nutters behind turned into the wind and raised their sails!

Bell buoy

Aircraft carrier

Old Point Comfort Light

Luckily, we had an outgoing tide and zipped through this area and raised the sails in Chesapeake Bay. Can you believe we made it to Chesapeake Bay?! We sure can’t!

Mobjack Bay

We sailed into Mobjack Bay and sailed into the East River. We anchored (with the requisite discussion) and immediately took Hastings to a boat ramp for a walk. Inde was swinging in the current and not the wind, so we watched the sunset, slept on the tramps, and watched the last of the Perseid meteor shower. Nice to be back to dark night skies.

The Intracoastal Waterway is over 1100 miles long and runs from Norfolk, VA to Miami, FL. We left Miami at the beginning of June and did both outside hops and Intracoastal jaunts. It took us nearly 3 months - including 1 month in Charleston where we left the boat to visit family.
Here is a map of our route so far - this map is also on the right sidebar.

Matt's ICW Recap

Fernandina Beach

Favorite stops: Ocracoke, Cape Lookout, and Fernandina Beach.

Lessons learned: Enjoy the stops as much as the trip. Nothing beats a small, boater friendly town!

Best moments: Clamming and crabbing in Ocracoke (minus the eating of the crabs, which was disgusting!). Shelling in Cape Lookout.

Worst moments: Eating the crabs. Oh, and every time the dinghy engine dies again it’s the worst day of my life.

How the trip met expectations: Going as expected. We have (fortunately, knock on wood, I probably shouldn’t say this out loud) spent far less time fixing boat problems than I thought we would.

What were you worried about, and how have those worries panned out? Hastings being hot, miserable and difficult, but in the end he seems to be enjoying the trip as much as we are! He has become the Master of finding the shadiest place with the best breeze on the boat.

What should you have been worried about? Lucy being hot. She really melts down sometimes! But then she takes off all her clothes, so it’s not really a problem for me.

How is the boat meeting expectations? Exceeding all expectations.

Lucy's ICW Recap

Favorite stops:

• Miami, baby!
• Ocracoke
• Cape Lookout
• Fernandina Beach

Best Moments:

Stars over Ocracoke Lighthouse

• Watching the stars over Ocracoke lighthouse
• Paddle boarding the Key Biscayne Bight sandbar
• Horses on the beach at Cape Lookout
• Having dolphins stay with us on ocean passages
• Problem solving - figuring out daily issues: engines, how to hang the wind scoop, etc. For the most part, we like making things work - if it’s not a Yamaha 15HP 2 stroke.
• Clamming with friends

Worst moments:

• Watching the storm over Ocracoke from the dinghy dock, not being aboard - seeing our neighbors a-cropper on the sand bar.
• I find it a little concerning that we haven’t had any major issues, or wanted to sell the boat and get jobs. We haven’t dragged or run aground, or broken any limbs. Seems like a lot of people have rather dramatic and terrible times; is it coming? Or do we just get to skip that bit?

How the trip met expectations:

• My only expectation was to not be at work and not drive 3 hours a day on I-95. So, let’s say it’s winning!!!

What I was worried about:

• Provisioning. It’s much easier than I thought it would be. We’ve done an average on one big grocery run a month. The Boat Galley Cookbook has really helped us with recipes and ideas. We’ve been loving our Omnia stovetop oven and refuse to turn the actual oven on.
• Hurricanes. Still worried about that!
• Being bored - haven’t been bored for a second!
• Figuring out the next stop and whether we’d like every stop: We figure out stops day by day, and even then often change our minds depending on weather and “feelings”. I don’t have to like every stop, and every stop has some sort of redeeming quality, even if it’s just for entertainment factor.

What I should have been worried about: The dinghy engine and Matt’s hate for it. Maybe I should watch some videos and become an outboard expert.

Hastings Recap

Favorite stops: Ocracoke, Fernandina Beach, every time we are at a marina

Lessons learned: My humans are weird, and need a lot of help. It’s pretty exhausting looking after them.

Best moments: Daily walks in Ocracoke, all the ladies that loved me in Fernandina Beach, clamming.

Worst moments:  Being stuck on the boat for days on end, sailing into the wind

How the trip met expectations: I didn’t know we were going on a trip. Will it ever end?

What were you worried about, and how have those worries panned out? I didn’t know enough to be worried.

What should you have been worried about? I should have been worried about my dinghy, and finding places to land it every day. They’re determined to find new ways to traumatize me, but I don’t even mind thunderstorms any more. If bad things are coming, I’m just resigned to them.

How the boat is meeting expectations: It's got a lot of good places to nap and I have pretty good access to cooking and eating surfaces, which is a big plus. Needs more A/C and fridge space and fewer stairs.

Ruff Life!

What other questions do you have for us? Let me know in the comments! 

Pasquotank River, NC

Pasquotank River at Dawn

Majestic trees tower over the duck weed covered waterway. The scenery is some of the most beautiful we’ve seen on the ICW; I can’t imagine why we’ve been so focused on traveling far and wide - when we have America the Beautiful, right here. It’s profoundly still and peaceful, other than the calls the birds and frogs are making to each other. Then I see it. My heart stops as I turn and face Matt at the helm. Time to add our own unmistakeable call to the mix. STOP! I yell at the top of my lungs. STOP!

We would have spent the previous night listening to the owls and frogs of the swamp, but instead we listened to the glorious and much appreciated sound of our generator running our AC. The alarm went off at 5:30 - first light - and we pulled the anchor and headed up the Pasquotank River. It was surreal - we were all alone, leaving hull trails in the duck weed behind us, chasing a great blue heron swooping back and forth over the river.

Duck weed on the Pasquotank River

Hull Trails through the duck weed

Mirrored Reflection

I knew there would be logs in the river, but I was not prepared for hundreds of logs. Some as small as twigs, some very thick but cut short, some full size trees; all just below the surface and not discernible from a leaf until you smack into them. I helmed while Matt made coffee. Thank the Lord! I helmed while Matt checked his phone for warnings. I helmed while Matt took pictures. I helmed while Matt seemed to enjoy himself. At this unacceptable point, I demanded that he go forward and watch for logs. He stood there, and let me run into logs. He stood, and took pictures of the logs, without warning or instruction. He was recalled from duty and given a talking to. "What’s the point? We’re going to hit them anyway”, he said. We switch jobs, which makes no one happy.

Driving is stressful, but Hastings is ready to go back to bed. Also, shouldn't Matt be watching for logs instead of taking photos?

Preparing to yell.

So, we’re enjoying some of the most scenic waterway we’ve had all trip, interrupting the silence to scream at each other. Yes, at some point I wondered what all the screaming did, and considered Matt’s point that we’d be better off at ramming speed. Once a log was spotted, I’d do the yelling, but then have a second to decide which way for Matt to turn. If he turns to the left, he’ll run into a different log. There’s no space in this narrow canal, and who knows what lies beneath? We slow down. I try to tell myself that it’s not that bad, these bumps in the canal, but every bump sends my blood pressure soaring. Every leaf has my heart in my throat. I glance back at Matt. He seems happy, staring at the sky, looking at his phone, drinking water, enjoying the shaded position while I’m having a nervous breakdown in the full sun and feels like temps of 110.

Dismal Swamp Canal: South Mills Lock

Waiting for South Mills lock

The first lock appeared, finally. I thought this would be the first stressor of the day - but at 8:00AM, we’re both pretty much ready for the day to be over. We are 30 minutes early, but with no wind or current, it’s easy to hold our position. I’m glad we didn’t spend the night here - I simply can’t imagine either tying up to the dolphins or anchoring in this narrow area. The lock master answered my radio call and gave us instructions for the port side. Locks entering the canal lock through first. We hook our bow and stern lines on the lock tender’s boat hook, he wraps them around a bollard, and hands the bitter ends back to us. We’ll be headed up, 8 feet. By the time we got to the top, Hastings was besides himself. I see land! Grass! Let me off! It was really hard to tell him he’d have to wait. The process takes about 30 minutes, then the tender leaves to open our bridge. Boats leaving the canal start locking through at 9AM and are done at 9:30AM. For our late summer lock through, there were no southbound boats.

Getting ready to be raised 8 feet

Dismal Swamp Visitor Center

2 additional miles of fun and games, and we approach the Dismal Swamp Visitor Center and dock. Finally, we can offer Hastings grass and make up for that terrible incident at the locks.

Dismal Swamp Visitor Center docks

One of the many trails at the park

We press on and depart the docks. Immediately, a deep thump. A submerged log that we didn’t even see. Sigh. The canal gets narrower, and as I point out logs to Matt, I catch him staring at the sky. Must be nice. Is he on drugs? Why isn’t he sharing? I look up at the trees. They’re beautiful, arching tall and creating a canopy over the waterway. Oh for goodness sakes, our rigging is threatened by the canopy! Trees up above and trees down below.

Deep Creek Lock

Somehow, we arrived at the second lock. The boat is fine, but our minds are battered. Even though we are leaving the canal and should have to wait until 2 to lock, there are no southbound boats, so we lock through at 1:30, descending 10 ft. The sight of unattainable land again infuriates Hastings. You’d think all the water rushing out to lower you 10 ft would be terrifying, we’d be hanging on to our lines for dear life, but it’s just like nothing. I didn’t even notice we were being lowered until I was eye level with a dock that used to be at my feet. Fancy that. It’s likely that the heat and stress have fried my brain. I wasn’t using it anyway.

Lock Bridge

We're Up!

And We're Down

And...We're Out!

Gilmerton Bascule Bridge

It would be nice to anchor and de-stress but we've insanely burdened ourselves with more hurdles ahead. It’s 2:15 and we are racing to make a 3PM bridge 4.5 miles away that won’t open again till 7PM. We arrive in the vicinity of the bridge, but there’s already barges dancing and waiting. We join the awkward dance, we wait, we call the bridge tender, the barge coordinates with the other tugs and containers on the other side of the bridge and we wait. 

Gilmerton Bridge Traffic

At 3PM the bridge starts to open. At 3:07, it’s open and traffic on the other side slowly moves through. At 3:17, the southbound traffic is clear and now it’s our turn; we follow the barge that has to navigate the bridge while making a sharp turn. We go through at 3:25, the bridge starts closing at 3:30, and opens for vehicle traffic at 3:35. 

We got up and left the anchorage. My humans are mean and didn’t take me to shore, even though I could see the shore. They said it was “just swamp” and had “no place to walk” but I could see trees, so I’m not sure what the problem was. I thought about walking there myself- I could, you know, by just jumping from crab pot to crab pot, but didn’t think it was worth the effort. I’m not a morning dog.

We went up Alligator River and then into Albermarle Sound (so they say, I don’t know where I am, I am just the dog!) The LHI nearly ran us into a rock, and she jerked the wheel back and forth to avoid crab pots. The way I see it, avoiding crab pots is an enrichment opportunity. It’s like the video game Frogger, only real life! They need something to keep themselves occupied, otherwise they turn to bathing me, combing my hair, or giving me too many cuddles.

I'm not sure how any creatures live out in North Carolina; it shouldn’t be “first in flight” but “What shall we kill and eat for dinner tonight?”. There’s 10 million crab pots, 20 thousand duck blinds, shrimpers criss crossing across the Sounds, big boats casting for fish. And if its not commercial fisherman, its single humans like mine, raking and walking for clams; throwing hooks out for crabs. Every type of fishing rod is in use on every type of fish. From sunup to sundown, it’s a killing and eating spree! Sometimes the humans talk about eating hot dogs and my eyes get a little wide. I’m hot, and this is North Carolina - maybe I’m next on the menu!

Anyway, they then drove by Elizabeth City, which looked like it had a nice park to walk in, but they said it was too hot. I don’t disagree, it’s been really hot. I do like walks though….

Doesn't it look like a wonderful den?

The humans have this box on their boat. They open the box and cool air comes out. I usually try to get in this box - I think with some minor adjustments, I could make a den in there, but they say it’s just for the food. See how perfect the box is? Cool air AND food?

We went through two bridges and then stopped for the afternoon. The humans finally received the message about taking me to shore and we got in the dinghy and went to a wooden platform. 

Swamp Walk

We walked (there were three platforms connected by a boardwalk for kayak campers) and then came back to the dinghy. Sure, it’s nice to stretch the legs, but I was really hoping to roll in grass…. grass! Right here by the dinghy! How did I not notice that the first time? I step off, looking forward to that wonderful dirt between the toes feeling ….. and sink. Like a rock. Cold, that’s nice. Wait - dark. Can’t see. Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe- that’s not good! Swim to the surface! Swim? How can I be swimming in grass? It's water! I break free to the surface. Confusion. Humiliation. Desperation. 

Deception Grass!

The humans are giggling as they grab me and haul me in. The giggling continues while I try and get my bearings. What just happened? What kind of place is this? A terrible one. Let's get back to Independence so I can make another attempt at the cold box with food! 

Dad loves to fiddle with his dinghy engine - LOVES IT!

Enough adventure - let's go home to Independence!

Pasquotank River, ICW, North Carolina

Yet another aggravation: screens to prevent my full use of my indoor outdoor patio.

Another day draws to a close...what larks await tomorrow?

Have you ever been mistaken before? Was it humiliating? Wet? Did anyone giggle rudely? 
Kisses, Captain Hastings

I swam for the island because I was hungry. Little did I know it would be an adventure of a lifetime.

I’ve spent my whole life on the Pungo River in North Carolina. I built myself a cozy nest to call home on a lovely wooded area of swamp. I enjoy the nights…the star filled skies, the sounds the swamp life chatting away. The summers are warm and still. It was on a night like this that I was out for a swim, and got a little peckish. An island in the distance shone brightly. I knew from experience that places like that were good places to eat. If the lights are on at this hour, someone’s cooking.

The shore I landed on was cool and clean…an odd feeling from the muck I was used to. A passing summertime thunderstorm had left a layer of cool, clean water on everything; it was like heaven! I strolled along the shore, sometimes skipping a step. And there was food, but not as much as I had originally hoped.
I had a quick bite, then sat on the shore enjoying the evening.

Before I knew it, it was dawn. The air was so still, I knew it would be a hot one. Having lost track of time, I didn’t think I’d have time to swim home so I found myself a cozy spot on my new island home.

It was about this time that things started going badly. Sure, maybe I should’ve noticed that instead of sand the beach here was made of a slippy white material. Sure, maybe I should’ve taken note of the trees with silver trunks and arching white canopy. Or the grass that was made of striped brightly colored fabric.

But I didn’t notice. In the morning, great creatures roamed about and mechanical sounds rumbled to life. My beautiful island is a ship! And I am an inadvertent castaway!

Lucky for me the alien inhabitants of my island ship seem generally uninterested in my presence. I believe that the quadruped Chief of Security has yet to spot (or smell) me. This is my greatest threat, because he seems very interested in the food supplies.

I was not alone in my swim for the mystical island of light. It was a good place to find food, and I believe that a few of my kind my also have joined me on the adventure. I have risked a few calls to see who’s here, but the information coming back is sketchy.

Will I ever see my little patch of swamp again? If you are reading this, please send swamp water and small bugs.

Thanks... Stowaway Tree Frog

We motored up the 20 mile long Alligator River - Pungo River Canal. It was much prettier than I thought it would be with tall trees and wildflowers on the shore. We had a lot of dragonflies, saw eagles, somehow adopted a family of frogs, and spotted wild turkeys. 

He's such a sweet dog!