CHAPTER TWENTY SIX: TWO DAYS ON THE CHESAPEAKE BAY

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX:  TWO DAYS ON THE CHESAPEAKE BAY

What a bay! Two hundred miles long, from the Susquehanna to the Atlantic Ocean. Thirty miles wide near the Potomac River. Total shoreline: 11,684 miles. And might I add, the largest estuary in these United States. Maybe its name is Algonquin for “great water”, maybe not. Yes, I’m talking about the CHESAPEAKE! We spent all day today, August 23, cruising through its waters from Deltaville, Virginia to Solomons, Maryland. We started at 7 a.m. and pulled into the fixed dock at Harbor Island Marina in Solomons at 3:40 p.m. It was a looong day of cruising, but what variety and surprises the Chesapeake offered along the way. First, the pelicans are back. Hurray! A small squadron of three flew by to welcome us to Maryland. That was shortly before the Navy fighter planes flew overhead to give us a military greeting. And the porpoises are back! Big, healthy ones playing right in front of Slow Motion. The crabbers have never left us, as we headed north, but there seem to more of them and more crab traps near our path than anywhere else.

We started out at Deltaville, reluctantly leaving the friendliest, coolest marina (Dozier’s) of our journey. They had a wine and cheese and watermelon get together last night at 6. That was a first. I met Kay, who sailed up and down the Intracoastal Waterway in a 45 foot boat for several years. Now they’re tied up, except for day excursions, at Dozier’s. I can understand why. This place is so quiet and restful. As you walk up to the office, you step onto a covered porch that has more than a dozen white wood rocking chairs. The Admiral and I tried them out. We could get used to rocking on that porch watching the sun set. Dozier’s had courtesy bikes, not in the best shape, but still, I managed to ride several miles on a narrow country road. I found my ice cream sandwich, and I turned around and rode back to Dozier’s. I sweated just enough to need a shower, and of course, the showers were clean. They had hair dryers. You get the picture – seventh heaven. Oh yeah, and free pump out. This is not my favorite chore, but I feel so good (for a few weeks) after we do it, knowing that I can, you know, and not worry about overflow. Gee, that’s a charming subject.

Dozier’s – we wanted to rent a room there, or a slip. We wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet for as long as possible. We were actually hoping for bad weather today, so we could stay longer. Not that we weren’t excited about the prospect of coming to Solomons. But when you find an edenic place like Dozier’s, you want to savor it. And the contrast with Norfolk was off the charts, as the Admiral would say. No sign of the military, no sign of gathering storm clouds, no major highway backed up for miles right next to the marina. When we got to Dozier’s, it was like entering a different climate zone. And the waters were so calm. Plus, the humidity was bearable – my hair didn’t stick to my head. Deltaville, Dozier’s little town, is just an hour and a half from Richmond, according to Kay, but worlds away from any metropolitan influence.

Enough about paradise. We went through a rugged aquatic terrain to get there. We left the Rebel Marine Service on Wednesday pretty early, and we were immediately in the middle of the busy Norfolk Harbor, watching 360 for the large navy and commercial ships that could plow us under. We went through choppy (one to one and a half foot waves) water to the Salt Ponds Marina, which has the best price for diesel fuel in this part of the world. We got there at 8:30 and a teenaged boy, who lives on a cruiser with his father and stepmother at the marina, helped us get fuel. He was efficiency personified tying us up and getting the diesel fuel to us. Such a pleasure to work with someone who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t waste time. We were out of there by 9 a.m., after pumping 90 gallons into each main tank. We swapped stories about storms and spouts, earthquakes (the East Coast is getting them) and tornadoes. But all the time, he was doing his job, helping us get back to our journey.

Then we returned, gingerly, to the nearly open sea. All the bodies of water that we traveled on Wednesday were huge, except for the narrow and shallow little channel we took in and out of Salt Ponds Marina. The Admiral was using some religious expletives as we tried to stay off the shoaling, and we succeeded in getting back to deeper water. For the rest of Wednesday’s journey to paradise, the Admiral had checked the charts and, using his protractor, determined the various angles we had to cruise, for what number of nautical miles, in order to reach our Deltaville destination. No more baby steps – this is not the Intracoastal Waterway with day markers every mile or so and a “magenta line” on the electric chart, which any idiot (read: me) can follow. This is uncharted territory – for us, at least. It’s really weird, when you are surrounded by unknown waters, with land in sight on your port side, but just water stretching to the horizon in every other direction.

I remember experiencing the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean with my crossing in 1967 and return in 1968 on a huge ocean liner, to and from Bremerhaven, Germany. That passage took a week each way. Some of the return was scary, stormy with waves of the Perfect Storm variety (against the front of a much bigger ship). It was hurricane season, the middle to end of August. For me, shipboard romances in both directions (different guys) made the time fly. And I was too young and inexperienced to appreciate fully any danger associated with crossing the Atlantic. I just remember that not seeing any sign of land for days was quite disconcerting.

On Wednesday, we never lost sight of land completely, but it was a different cruising day from any we had previously experienced. We didn’t have much company, in terms of other boats. At a place called “Wolf Trap”, an old lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, we saw a sailboat heading toward the lighthouse. We didn’t see one other trawler, and we were never close enough to another boat, even a crabber, to wave. What was really cool – and this happened the whole 47 miles we traveled – was that the angles that the Admiral figured out were perfect! We cruised for 10 nautical miles, and voila! There was the buoy that we were supposed to be near. This was like a treasure hunt. We kept finding each “treasure”, each green can and red nun and each lighthouse that we were told we could find, if we charted the right course. It was so cool! Thank you, Admiral, for your many hours of figuring out the angles and executing your charts to perfection.

Needless to say, the Admiral huffed about how the navigator (nominally, me) should be doing this work. But get real – no, seriously, I’m sure I can do this in the future, maybe in a year or two. However, remember that the Admiral worked on a lobster boat in the Keys for years and owned his own fishing boat that he captained and took out into the ocean and also went out to sea in a 40 foot cruiser of his cousin’s. I, on the other hand, paid for a few hours of sailing in the Long Island Sound and the Chesapeake, and did exactly as I was told. I also paddled a kayak in Elkhorn Slough a few times, and rowed a rowboat around Lake Mineola in Pennsylvania. Oh, and don’t forget the whale watching cruises in the Monterey Bay. What a wealth of nautical experience! Yes, I’m just a little bit defensive about wearing the label “navigator” and not actually navigating. Fortunately, I have other skills essential to the operation of Slow Motion. I’m just not revealing what they are.

Back to the Wednesday open sea excursion: We made it to the bottom of the Chesapeake, where the Piankatank River and the Rappahannock River flow into it. We passed Yorktown and other historic places on the way, with the hope of stopping there when we head south in early October. It was really a great day of straight cruising – after two weeks of inactivity for Slow Motion. At one point, the Admiral increased the speed of Slow Motion, and my God, she can actually move pretty fast, when pushed. But with the price of diesel fuel, it only makes sense to us to travel at a relatively slow, relatively fuel efficient speed – if you can get your mind around 2 miles per gallon as fuel efficient.

Today, as we (sigh) left Dozier’s, we had a whole new set of charts with angles that the Admiral had developed, based on the few markers that existed in the Chesapeake to guide us to Solomons. We had some buoys for the main ship channel (commercial ships) to watch for, and we had some lighthouses with heights of 50 plus feet in the middle of the Bay to steer toward. Oh, oh, the Admiral figured out how automatic pilot works, and since then, he has been able to program the angles for the automatic pilot, and we can both sit back and watch AP steer the course. This is incredible – no more jerking the wheel to port, then to starboard, making endless corrections. The AP makes the endless corrections. We just have to keep an eye out for the big ships that can drown us and the little crab pot markers that can destroy our propellers.

Let me tell you, there were some BIG SHIPS out there today. And they were moving – we stayed several miles away from them, out of the BIG SHIP channel, but still in plenty deep water. We could easily see them, but we didn’t quite trust their ability to see us, or their ability to change course quickly, if necessary. So always steer clear of BIG SHIPS. You already knew that, I’m sure. It’s part of the Bully Principle. Just don’t do anything to get in the way of the Bully, and you’ll live a lot longer – on land and water. Kay was telling me that you really can’t stay away from the big ships in the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. And it looked to her like an entire building, a huge building, a skyscraper on its side, was coming down the middle of the waterway. She said it didn’t look like you and the BIG SHIP would both fit in the Canal, but it works somehow. You just shake in your bare feet, as the behemoth rumbles past you. Think “fly and elephant” and you get the right size comparison. We’re not sure we are going to travel on the C and D Canal, but don’t worry, if we do, you’ll read about it here, every hair-raising moment.

Now, after the wonderful experience we had at Dozier’s, we were looking for another paradise at the end of the day at Solomons. It was not to be. The first sign of something amiss occurred when we asked the dock master if we turn at the huge crane, visible to anyone at the marina or within 5 miles of it, and he said “what crane?” Then we asked if we make the first turn off the Patuxent River into the marina, and he said “what do you mean?” Well, the marina was in the little cove near the big crane and it was indeed off the first turn from the Patuxent River. We found it, as the dock master gave us unintelligible directions for docking. As we approached the dock, oh my, it’s an old wooden, fixed dock, and the only space big enough for a 50 footer on the T-dock is right next to the fuel tanks. Then we looked up and, sure enough, there was another accursed dockside restaurant hanging over the marina. Heading into the weekend, we were reminded of the drunken, LOUD patrons at other dockside restaurants and the horrible live music that emanated from these joints. Once we tied up – redoing every line that the dock helper had screwed up – I went to pay. I asked him about the noise level at the restaurant. He said it shouldn’t be “too bad” tonight, Thursday, but on the weekend, they did have live music. Oh Lordy, here we go again! And tonight, there was a constant cackler, whose voice pierced the air between the restaurant and our boat repeatedly. If this Blog is disjointed, blame the cackler, a concentration buster par excellence.

So, we are tired after our first two challenging days of cruising the Chesapeake. And we are happy to be in Solomons. Now will the people in the restaurant just go home? Let us have some silence to dream about our two days on the open Bay with pelicans, porpoises, big ships, lighthouse islets, and perfect angles. Thank you, Admiral, for a job well done. “Take a bow”, she said sternly. (Nautical Pun No. 1)

 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: TOURING NAHFOOK

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE – TOURING NAHFOOK

Here we are docked at the Rebel Marine Service in Nahfook, Virginia, waiting out another storm front. It’s Friday, August 17, the day we planned to cruise to Deltaville, VA, but the weather forecast – and foreboding skies – kept us here. I don’t know how Romney and Ryan got in and out of Nahfook so easily. They must have some pull somewhere. Oh, they were flying? Driving? Not deterred by some bad weather? They certainly have been a lot of places since they announced their engagement. And the Admiral and I are still in Nahfook. There are worse places to be. How about Mumbai, India for one? Or anywhere in Afghanistan? Or that second level of Dante’s Hell, the marina in Melbourne, Florida, where the Dock master sends you off with some bitter invective? Yes, Nahfook is head and shoulders above those places for being stuck.

Check out the botanical gardens in Nahfook the next time you visit. The bicentennial rose garden is spectacular. I couldn’t stop playing botanical photographer for an afternoon, and I have lots of close-ups of deep red, yellow, peach, lavender, pink, and multicolored roses. What an aroma envelops you, when you’re in their midst snapping away. The botanical gardens also offer a lovely Japanese garden, a garden of perennials, a free train ride around the grounds and a boat ride through the canals of the garden. The boat ride will have to wait for our return. As I boarded, there was a thunder roar, and the boat ride was cancelled. No fried tourists on the menu at the botanical gardens café. These gardens provide a place to stroll and to meditate. Except for the leaf blowers and lawn mowers (couldn’t they do this before the gardens are open for visitors?), this place is peaceful and serene.

Here’s how the botanical gardens were started. The city manager of Nahfook during the Great Depression thought it would be a cool thing to have botanical gardens in the city. So he applied for federal government money from the WPA and he received enough to hire 200 Black women to cultivate 25 acres of soil and plant the first flowers and trees for what is now their crowning achievement. The first 25 acres of plantings spread to 175 acres, and Lord knows how big it is today. 200 Black women off the unemployment rolls, and voila! A thing of beauty that enthralls visitors to this day. Very cool, indeed. Most cities would benefit immensely from botanical gardens. I know that my gang –infested City of Salinas would be a better place to live if we had acres of trees, plants, flowers and waterways to stroll through on a daily basis. Check your guns at the entrance.

Speaking of guns, as you probably know, Virginia is one of the most “liberal” states with gun laws. I think you can buy a gun a month. So in a decade you would have an arsenal of 120 guns. At any rate, I was driving back to Slow Motion from the Chrysler Art Museum yesterday (more about that below), and the traffic was slowed down, as police stood in the road at the intersection of Tidewater and another street, directing traffic. There were police cars everywhere, and there was no sign of an auto accident. An ambulance had come and gone, and another one was on its way. I rolled down a window to hear what the pedestrians were saying – something about a shooting. Most of the police cars were in front of a hardware store, and I suspected there had been an attempted robbery of an armed hardware store owner.

But NO! This morning the news reported a double shooting at the Rite Aid pharmacy on Tidewater. Two customers were shooting at each other. Each had brought their own guns with them into the store. One was talking on his cell phone, and the other one, who died of his gunshot wounds, stepped in line to buy something. Apparently the cell phone talker thought the other guy had cut in front of him. Harsh words were exchanged. Okay, we’ve all had harsh words about cutting in line, haven’t we? It is an aggravating event, perhaps a 1 on a scale of 10, but still aggravating. In this instance, the alleged cutter pulled out a pepper spray container and sprayed the cell phone user. That’s definitely escalation beyond words. But then, the cell phone user pulled out his gun and shot the cutter several times in vital areas of his body. Not to be outdone, the cutter pulled out HIS gun and shot at the cell phone user, missing vital organs, and then the cutter fell to the floor. He didn’t make it alive to the hospital. The cell phone user faces weapons charges and a murder charge. Ah Nahfook – something is happening here, and it’s not all good all the time. Can you imagine witnessing a shootout at your local drug store? They must have been passing out tranquilizers for free to the other stunned customers. Now let’s all say it: It’s not guns that kill people. It’s people who kill people – with guns! And the guns are everywhere in Nahfook, apparently.

Still, “always look on the bright side of life.” Virginia has a budget surplus for the third year in a row – nearly a half a billion dollars. See what you can do to the “balance” the budget, when you cut off most money to schools, mental health treatment facilities and other social programs? Virginia may be facing economic disaster, if the Dems and Reps in Congress go through with their 500 billion dollar defense cuts. Virginia appears to get the lion’s share of defense contracts. At least this State depends on the defense industry much more than most. So most of the budget “surplus” is being held in reserve to somewhat cushion the blow of losing jobs related to waging war and protecting our interests in the world. And seriously, do we really need educated workers? Maybe other states can pick up the slack. Not to say that UVA and George Mason aren’t wonderful. But it’s what Virginia’s doing, or not doing, in K-12 that does not bode well for keeping jobs of the 21^st century in the Old Dominion, as opposed to outsourcing them to countries which continue to invest heartily in their public education systems. But Hey! California! Where’s your budget surplus? You have a deficit AND lousy schools! What’s your excuse?

Back to truth and beauty – The Chrysler Art Museum in downtown Nahfook. Free! Sure, there are pots to put donations in everywhere you turn. But no pressure. And the exhibits are worth a donation. First, there is the Glass Workshop building, where you can watch people fashion glass works of art. That is very neat. Then the main building has two floors packed with antiquities from the Chrysler family – no, not their Jeeps or their K-cars – real antiquities from Egypt and other parts of Africa. In addition to the art from ages ago there are visiting exhibits. Yesterday, the black and white photography of Baldwin Lee in the 1980’s in the Deep South was on display. You looked at some of these photos of wooden shacks with wringer washers on the front porch and you’d swear it had to be the 1950’s, not three decades later. But each photo had a year, and they were all from the mid-1980’s. There are really penetrating portraits of people of all ages. If you like photography, this exhibit will wow you.

There is always at least one major surprise in a museum collection for me. At Chrysler, it was in the gallery of sculptures by American sculptors. I learned about Harriet Hosmer, the sculptor of “Puck”, which made her enough money to pay off her father’s debts and to avoid bankruptcy. Here’s what I read about Ms. Hosmer:

“Harriet Hosmer flatly defied Victorian expectations for women-marriage and motherhood-and by 1860 had become one of America's premier sculptors. Working in Rome from 1852, she stood at the forefront of a famous group of expatriate American women marble sculptors whom the novelist Henry James glibly dismissed as the "white, marmorean flock." Despite such denigration, Hosmer viewed herself as an equal, if not superior, competitor in a discipline long dominated by men. Her friend, the poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning, called her the "perfectly emancipated female." Though Hosmer built her reputation with a number of ambitious, even monumental, sculptures (see illustration), she also made more modest "conceits," imaginative works designed solely to amuse and delight. Both Puck and Will-o-the-Wisp (on view nearby) are classic examples.”

Will everyone who has ever heard of Harriet Hosmer please step forward? Not so fast, Cathy, you’ve heard of everybody in the arts. Ms. Hosmer’s “Puck” is delightful. Word has it that one was purchased for the Prince of Wales, whoever that was in the mid-nineteenth century.

So yesterday was certainly a study in contrasts, going directly from the contemplative art museum past the scene of grotesque violence to return to the peace and quiet of Slow Motion. Except for a rattly fan in the air conditioning system, and the regular overhead noise of the helicopters, we have this place to ourselves. We’re at the farthest end of the dock, about 1/8 of a mile away from the dock master’s office and the lounge, where people congregate to drink beer and socialize. Last night there was a huge loud party at the marina next door, which I heard as I headed to and from the showers in the lounge. But at our tie-up, the night was silent. We enjoyed our hoagies from WaWa in solitude. The Admiral is in seventh heaven since he discovered WaWa earlier in the week and ordered 3 Italian classics. I brought home three more Italian classics yesterday. He’s already had two, but he’s talking about needing to make one more trip to WaWa before we leave Nahfook.

Simple pleasures – a WaWa hoagie, a hot shower, a day with less than 90% humidity, reading Royal’s editorials in the Herald, exchanging emails – and off course, cruising in Slow Motion. Only when the weather is safe and the navigation charts are true is travel in Slow Motion “simple”, but it is always a pleasure. I can’t wait to get back to it.

And if I could give you all just one piece of friendly advice: Don’t cut in line – ever. Especially in Nahfook.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: NAHFOOK

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: NAHFOOK

If you want to see where a lot of our tax dollars go, come to Nahfook. That’s how it’s pronounced, even by news anchors. I’m using a genteel spelling for how people who grew up here actually pronounce Norfolk. Yes, at first I was taken aback by the use of the “f” word in the city moniker. But if “Meet the Fokkers” can be displayed on movie theater signs around the country, it appears that the “f” word doesn’t have the same cachet it used to have (say it all together now) when we were growing up.

The tax dollars are evident in all the state of the art naval ships that are crammed into the Norfolk Harbor. Some are on their way to being de-commissioned and put out to pasture (or do they get a sea burial?). Some are state of the art destroyers just itching to go to the Straits of Hormuz. Others are carriers, with their multiple football field size decks, from which we can send forth planes, manned and unmanned, to cause death from above. Make no mistake; these are not weapons of peace. I understand the need to be prepared – I didn’t earn my Girl Scout Curved Bar for nothing. But do we need to spend more on defense than the next 14 countries behind us – combined? Really?

At our marina in Willoughby Bay, we listen to and watch the newest helicopters take off, land, and do maneuvers in the air, as another generation of helicopter pilots is trained nearby. Will there ever be drone helicopters? Maybe there already are. I learned today at Nauticus, the museum next to the USS Wisconsin on the Norfolk waterfront that our navy was using unmanned planes to drop bombs during the first Iraq War – Desert Storm – in 1991. And I had thought drones were a new thing, designed and deployed long after 9/11.

We passed Kings Bay, a naval submarine base – make that nuclear submarine base – in Georgia, as we were heading up the Intracoastal Waterway. If you have to ask how much a naval nuclear submarine costs, well, you know – rest easy, the place is well guarded. We couldn’t get Slow Motion within a hundred yards of it. And most likely we’re on some security tapes for the day we passed. I can hear the analysts: “Why is that boat going so slow? Are they taking any photos? Let’s run the name. Oh, (light bulb coming on), it’s named “Slow Motion.” Poor schmucks, probably can’t go any faster.” Kings Bay is mentioned in the same Blog with the armada in Norfolk not only because those subs take a big chunk of our tax dollars, but also because it was in the news today. Two people parachuting out of a small plane, “for fun”, landed at the base – they were only a mile away from their intended landing site. They got the full treatment – capture, detention, questioning, then ultimately release. Sometimes we citizens can be such jerks, putting an entire naval division on alert because of a stupid mistake we make. Good thing our taxes cover the cost of dealing with idiots too.

Remember when there was a serious discussion about “Guns vs. Butter”? Remember when Congress had to vote whether to go to war? (That may be too far back to remember.) Remember when the government raised money specifically to cover the costs of war? Remember when “war bonds” were issued and patriotic Americans bought them eagerly to support our troops overseas? How did we allow our Government to wage one war after another, without ever raising any money to pay for any of them? What happened – were we all knocked out with nerve gas? With the “Guns vs. Butter” discussion, we acknowledged that we only had enough money either to wage war or to meet our social needs at home. And that’s still the case. But our Presidents Bush and Shrub decided to spend trillions of dollars waging three wars (two in Iraq, one in Afghanistan), without ever asking us if we wanted to spend our tax dollars that way, AND without ever trying to find money somewhere else to pay for them. That’s not good economics. And those wars alone killed any likelihood of balancing the federal budget in the near future. Those wars, and the Shrub’s trillion dollar prescription drug benefit, which made his pharmaceutical lobbyists very happy, brought us THE ETERNAL DEFICIT.

Okay, okay, I’ll back off. But I’m so sick and tired of hearing how Social Security is bankrupting us – at least we workers paid and paid and paid into that fund for years and years and years. We didn’t pay any money into a “War Fund”. You simply can’t have Guns AND Butter. You just can’t, particularly when you pay nothing for the guns. So it’s time to choose sides – who wants more guns and who wants more butter? And how are we going to pay our trillions in debt for the three unfinanced wars? Furthermore, if we want more guns, more wars, where does that money come from – the Social Security Fund? Lots of young men and women used to oppose foreign wars that our government waged without Congressional authorization (read: Vietnam), but now, with the all volunteer military and without the coercive draft, most young men and women work on getting an education, finding a job and building a personal fortune ( not that there’s anything wrong with that). The volunteers get killed and maimed and scarred for life (externally and internally), but we thank them and then try to ignore their constant complaints about a Veterans Administration that takes years to process their claims. We read articles about their traumatic brain injuries from all the roadside IEDs and how they can’t get any treatment for these injuries, but then we turn back to our workaday lives, grateful that we don’t have to deal with the VA.

Oh, I said I’d back off. If you’re still reading, and have not given up on me as a pinko commie or, God forbid, a European socialist, the Admiral and I are still living on Slow Motion. However, our movement has dropped from slow to imperceptible. We are “stationed” in Norfolk at Willoughby Bay, as the Admiral completes some computer work and we get some repairs done on Slow Motion. Repairs on the boat – now that’s a recurrent theme. We hope that these relatively minor repairs – a new engine blower, a new hose connecting the engines, some bolts on the trim tab under the boat – are preventive in nature and avoid far greater costs. We arrived in Norfolk with some very stormy weather. But the last few days, there has been less than 200% humidity and a breeze – it’s livable weather on the East Coast, our first in a thousand miles.

The Intracoastal Waterway keeps going up to Massachusetts, but Norfolk is at mile marker zero. We start all over with distances, as we head into the Chesapeake. We came from mile marker 1165 or 1065 in Fort Lauderdale – true, two long days in a car – and we have been on the water since June 18. Whooey! Some good things – I can put the fenders down and lift them up during docking and departure procedures. I can throw the lines to the dock person who is helping us tie up. I can restart the engine when it stalls. I can tell what most markers in the water mean. Some room for improvement: I can’t do a clove hitch and tie up the lines on the cleats on the dock. That’s my number one priority in the weeks to come. I haven’t plotted out our route across a bay with the protractor, figuring out the angles where we need to turn to stay on course. That’s a long term project for me. And I haven’t tied and retied the fenders, using the bowline knot, based on whether we need to place them vertically or horizontally. So there’s still a lot of work to be done to get co-captain status. I’m not striving for an admiralty, just competence in navigation and boat handling.

That’s where Trawler U and Trawler Fest in Baltimore at the end of September may be helpful. I missed the classes in Florida in January. But it’s time to go into the classroom, where I used to do pretty well, to hone my skills. Who am I kidding? Will I ever crawl around the engine room of Slow Motion? Probably some day, but it’s not something I look forward to. Will I be making repairs in the engine room, or just checking the level of the water in the batteries? Don’t know, but so far these are chores I have avoided. My hat’s off to the Admiral. He’s been in the engine room many times, and I’m sure he’s a better person for it – and Slow Motion is in better shape because of his knowledge and dedication. While he’s doing that, I’m at West Marine buying a product that claims to remove unpleasant odors from the air. Hmmm, a boat that is safe and runs efficiently or a boat that doesn’t smell so bad – which is more important? As an odor freak, this is a toss-up for me. But most men, including the Admiral, are smell impaired and can tolerate a lot more bad air than women can. Okay, okay, I admit it – I want a boat that is safe and runs efficiently. And I wish that I had the Admiral’s skills – or just half of them – to be a full partner in the safety and repair departments. I know the Admiral likes my smile, but wouldn’t he like a crew member who really knows what she’s doing? My smile can be very winsome. Still, nothing says I can’t keep smiling AND become more proficient in boating. This is my goal, as we venture north from mile marker zero in Nahfook.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: BAYS, SOUNDS, INLETS AND JUST PLAIN WIDE RIVERS

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: BAYS, SOUNDS, INLETS AND JUST PLAIN WIDE RIVERS

Not all our travel on the Intracoastal Waterway provides us intimacy with nature. The canals, cuts and narrow rivers which we travel have offered up every kind of wading bird and shore bird. They’ve also been home to tons of porpoises and manatees – and, shudder, alligators. Recently, in North Carolina and Virginia, the canals and cuts have been lined with cypress trees, both living and dead. The dead ones just lie down near the banks, and you have to watch to make sure they don’t break loose and injure a boat propeller. We have motored along these narrow passageways alone, for the most part. There is a lot of North Carolina and Virginia along the ICW that is undeveloped. I don’t know that it can be developed – I hope not – but right now it’s there for the viewing and oohing and aahing as we float by.

In stark contrast to the canals, cuts and narrow rivers, there are the bays, sounds, inlets and very wide rivers. These bodies of water keep the Admiral awake at night, worrying about whether a storm will rise as we try to cross, or whether we’ll run aground in the shallow waters, as the winds blow the currents every which way. I don’t take many photos of our crossings of these supersized water holders, because there are few birds and even less vegetation. You get the feeling of being on an ocean, although you can still see land 10 or 15 miles away, if you squint (as I do) or use binoculars (as the Admiral does). There are birds who have nested on the day markers, call them ospreys, and there are seagulls trailing our wake hoping for fish to pop out of the water. There are crab traps, some dangerously close to the channel of the ICW. And the channels on these vast waterways are maybe 20-30 feet across, with shallows on both sides going down to a mere 2 feet.

 Like clockwork, every time we plan to cross a bay, inlet, sound or wide river, the Weather Channel shows severe thunderstorms on the move “in the area”. So far, the Weather Channel has been rather accurate, and we have dodged more than one lightning bolt, as we have battled with the winds and currents in these mega bodies of water. Just yesterday we faced one of our tougher challenges – Albemarle Sound. This is what our navigation book tells us: “The 14-mile-crossing can be very sloppy because winds from almost any quarter tend to funnel either up or down the long, straight sound. Because of its uniformly shallow depth, even a light wind can quickly create rough, confused seas. Another danger on Albemarle Sound is the collection of trap markers, often right on the route.” Well, I’m here to tell you that Albemarle Sound did not disappoint. And all the preparation by the Admiral paid off. We somehow avoided the major thunderstorm that hit the Sound about an hour after we were clear – this is a first! But everything else that was described as part of the Albemarle Sound adventure came blasting at us. The winds, the currents, the white caps, the crab traps in the channel, the shallow depths – 14 miles of this! And in Slow Motion, that’s a good two hours. If you ride in the Mad Hatter’s Tea Cup for two hours as you fly down the Matterhorn in a log raft, that might approximate the “ride” that Albemarle Sound gives you.

Today we met the Currituck Sound and the wide North Landing River, which has submerged pilings to protect the dredged channel. Yes, that’s right – submerged pilings which you have to know about and avoid, and you can do that only by staying in the channel. Is it easy to stay in the channel? Nosirree! The wind wants to drive you out of the channel into the submerged pilings or the crab traps, or the downed cypress logs, or the shallow waters. I mean, the wind WANTS to do this. It’s not a matter of “circumstances beyond our control”. It’s a mean wind which has always had its way on this Sound and, like the trolls under the bridge, is not going to let you make a clean passage. Once you realize that you are in an intellectual battle with the wind, you know you have been on the ICW maybe a tad too long. But seriously, this wind seems to know exactly what it is doing. It is not helping us cross the Sound. It is not helping us stay in the channel. It is not pushing us faster across the Sound. It is doing everything in its power to disrupt and destroy. Do you remember the Greek God of the winds, blowing at ships to make them run aground? I think that Greek God has moved to the ICW. Greece has enough trouble these days without Aeolian winds. Oh yes, I’ve fantasized holding my fist in the air, yelling a threat of prosecution to the God of Wind – maritime mayhem has to be a felony. But most of the time, I cower in a corner of the fly bridge, holding down every navigation book and paper, praying that the Wind God will spare us to traverse yet another inlet, sound, bay or very wide river.

We’re back to basic marinas. No more luxury. Bare bones showers with no decorations. No towels. No pools. No exercise rooms. Camping in a boat.The folks at these, shall we say, inexpensive, marinas, are just as nice as the folks at the upscale marinas. Maybe even nicer, to make up for the lack of amenities. They come out to greet us, help us tie up Slow Motion, tell us where the head is and give us the WIFI network name. Then we’re on our own. The marina last night offered a convenience store with candy and ice cream. That’s all I really need to survive. Midway Marina at Coinjock – the home of the KitKat bar and the giant ice cream sandwich -- a marina I will fondly remember. The marina tonight, Atlantic Yacht Basin (what a hoity toity name!), gave us a shoulder bag with a pen and a screwdriver in it. And they have a first class boat yard here, with crafts people who can do anything you want done on your boat. So who needs frills, when you can spend thousands on the basics?

Tomorrow, we face our first lock, the Great Bridge Lock, to be exact. First we have to get through the Great Bridge (8 foot closed vertical clearance; Slow Motion is 19 feet tall). Then we get “locked in”, and we get moved along for 600 feet until we get disgorged at the northern end. But that’s tomorrow’s blog. Stay tuned. And avoid those inlets, sounds, bays and very wide rivers – unless you have an “in” with the God of Wind.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: NATURAL BEAUTY, BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, AND THE DREAM

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO: NATURAL BEAUTY, BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, AND THE DREAM

We went through a remarkable part of Eastern North Carolina today -- wild, unpopulated, green jungles of crunched together cypress trees and bushes – this is the Alligator River - Pungo River Canal, 22 miles long. We waited outside the canal for about 45 minutes as we served as an audience of two for the latest thunder and lightning show coming our way. Was it coming our way? Could we outrun it? Was it ahead of us and moving faster than Slow Motion? We turned around a few times in the wide expanse of the Pungo River, trying to decide whether to retreat to Belhaven or to press forward into the storm. We saw the rain pouring down in the canal, and we had not previously gone any distance with rain obscuring our view – what to do? The Admiral puts safety above all else, so he told me to step away from him and the controls, in case lightning decided to hit the controls. He’s already prepared to “take one for the team”. I quickly stepped to the back of the flying bridge, and thought for one instant about going below. But we are a team, and I was there for support, in case the Admiral got fried.

Not ones to shrink from a challenge, we headed down the canal. Miraculously, although it rained on us for about half of the 22 miles, we had found a “window” between two storms, one ahead of us and one that seemed to be chasing us. I don’t want to anthropomorphize storms, but they have been pretty diabolical, from their boat sinking in St. Augustine to their looming presence every time we have a desolate part of the waterway to travel. Did you ever look up to see if there was a black cloud hanging over just you, and nobody else? That’s the way it has started to feel. But we will not succumb to a stormy superstition (say that 10 times fast). We made it through the thunder, lighting, and rain today, and we are safely ensconced at Alligator River Marina. We are the ONLY transient boat at this marina. Boy, are the other boaters missing out. I had the best fried chicken dinner I have ever had in my entire life Yes, I was very hungry, but the fried batter was so crunchy and flavorful, I could have eaten the whole chicken, not just a breast and a thigh. Art had huge shrimp in a very light, tasty batter. This is a secret we have to keep to ourselves. The chef is an older Black woman, who calls me “Baby”.

Here’s a sign of the changing times. As I was filling out the registration form for our marina overnight, the Black male clerk who was helping me turned to the next customer, a strapping 6 feet five inches football playing young White man, and said “Boy, what do you have?” I have never heard a Black man call a White man “Boy”. The young White man had no reaction to the way he was addressed, so it appears that “Boy” has re-entered our language as bi-racial. I mean, the Black guy was probably twice as old as the White guy, but still – progress, I think.

It’s still miserably humid most of the time. For the first part of our 50 some miles on the ICW today, the Admiral and I were both in puddles of perspiration, and our clothing was wet enough to wring out. Then the rain came, and then a glorious breeze, so that the humidity and temp went down at least 15 degrees – and amazingly, I grabbed a sweatshirt – for warmth! Those chilly moments will long be remembered, although the sweatshirt was abandoned within the hour, as the ungodly humidity returned and order was restored in East North Carolina.

My assignment on Slow Motion, other than scullery maid (yep – the Admiral actually uses that phrase), is that of navigator. So ‘splain this to me, Lucy, why does the Admiral sit down every night with the charts and his protractor and draw elaborate angles for our turns in the open waters the next day? I was good at math. I took college calculus. I learned you could take a function of anything, including a happy face. That was my most favorite calculus lesson, when Prof. Pierce wrote a function of a happy face on the blackboard, leaned against it and then wore a function of a happy face on the back of his sports coat for the rest of the class. Who knows? He may still be wearing it today, 45 years later. At any rate, while I am fairly competent at making marina reservations, pointing out dangerous navigation areas, keeping track of the bridges that need to open for us, throwing lines to marina staff helping us tie up, and placing fenders and lifting them up on departure – I don’t have the skills to plot the angles across the Neuse River or the Pungo River or the Albemarle Sound. The Admiral is naturally disappointed, and so am I, but I hope with time, as I hold on to the charts the Admiral made for trip north, I can whip out my own charts with angles on the journey south. All right, let’s not get carried away, but it could happen.

Swimming pool alert! Two nights ago, Thursday, we stayed at the luxurious Grace Harbor at River Dunes. Everything there is perfect. They have fully functional bicycles, with pedals and everything (Casper’s had a bike without pedals). They have washers and dryers, each costing only $1.00. Swansboro Laundry charged $6.50 just to wash. They have an efficient dock hand who helps you make the smoothest tie up to pump out and then helps you a second time to tie up for the night at another face dock. They have a television with Olympics news. They have an exercise room. They have modern showers – clean and spacious, with a bench to sit on. And they have a large swimming pool, where you can actually swim laps. At 5 p.m. there was no one in the pool, and I swam back and forth, using muscles I had not used for a while and breathing somewhat laboriously after the 6^th lap. And to top this experience off – this marina is not expensive. It’s new, and maybe the hordes haven’t discovered it yet, but why stay in downtown Oriental, when you can go 8 miles away and get treated like royalty?

So why did we leave River Dunes after only one night? We’re trying to get to Norfolk by Monday for the usual Monday stuff – Labcorp, CVS, rent-a-car. Yes, every Monday I give a little blood to a Labcorp wherever we are docked – with the standing order from my Salinas oncologist. That way we keep track of my red blood cell count and determine if I should get a transfusion. Rather than go into the sordid details about LGL Leukemia, suffice it to say, I am taking care of myself. And I have a network of doctors and nurses, physician’s assistant and phlebotomists helping me do that. Perhaps I can get a job as a consultant to Labcorp on quality control issues. Every Labcorp from Ft. Lauderdale to Norfolk has its own character. I’ve been to some great ones recently, in and out in 15 minutes. But every once in a while, you hit a Labcorp office where people are stacked up waiting, the staff is surly, and it takes a few phone calls back to Salinas to get the order the way Nurse Ratchett wants it to read. Labcorp execs, call me, we’ll talk.

I know, I know, photos  -- we’ve been very lax in the photo department. We’re still taking them. I sneak a bridge photo whenever the Admiral isn’t looking. He took an incredible photo of the full moon over Swansboro, NC. Eat your heart out, Ansel Adams’ progeny. And you have got to see my photos of the inside of the ladies room at Belhaven Waterway Marina, where we stayed one night ago. OMG, Brenda has filled the walls with every possible fish and shellfish every caught in the North Carolina waters. And there are dioramas –at least I think they are dioramas – and tableaux of shells and other sea life. Best of all, there are clean, dry, fluffy towels – a whole stack of them – in a marine mode, that a boat person can use after showering in her fish lined shower. Oh, oh – all kinds of soaps – and tada! a hair dryer. Brenda has outdone herself. We didn’t get into the quaint town of Belhaven, which we were assured has “a lot of history”. But we will next time – if I ever get out of the shower. You’ll recognize Brenda’s décor when we post the photos. Enjoy!

It’s good to be on the move again. Intracoastal Waterway – Carefree Highway – Let me slip away, slip away, on you. The other night in Swansboro a duo was giving an open air concert, country and blues was the billing. They closed with one of the most famous highway songs “Bobby McGee”. It brought me back to Salinas (“somewhere near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away”). I miss Salinas, not the gang shootings, but the walks in Toro Park with the puppies, Zorro and Ladybug, the canyon living, the trips to Carmel Beach, the meals with neighbors and friends, the DRYNESS of the place, my colleagues and friends inside and outside the DA’s office, my doctors, even my dentist. But I don’t have much time to miss Salinas, as we explore new territories every day – who knew North Carolina was so untamed on the Atlantic Coast? This boat experience is much more than I ever expected. I have not always taken to it like, well, a duck to water. But, when I am open to the adventure, I am richly rewarded with natural beauty as well as the inner beauty of people we meet. I’m glad the Admiral decided to fulfill his dream, and I’m very glad that he has shared that dream with me.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: WEATHER PERMITTING

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE: WEATHER PERMITTING

Weather permitting, we’ll leave North Carolina sometime in August. Yes, today is August 1, and we are still tied up, tied down at Casper’s Marina in Swansboro. Art finished his computer work. We paid our bill, and this morning we were heading to Oriental, sailing capital of the world. Then it rained – again. And it’s still raining. And there’s lightning and thunder. Hey, this ain’t no low budget weather station movie. This is De Mille, Spielberg, Fellini, and Wertmuller wrapped into one. This is epic! Or, viewed another way, it’s just another dreary, stormy day in the state with the worst summer weather – bar none – North Carolina.  If you enjoyed “Twister” with Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton (be still, my heart), as I did, you would love the squall lines, the spouts racing across the inlet, the threatening tornado clouds, the rampant lightning bolts, the menacing thunder. Somehow, when you’re the one at the epicenter, it’s not so much fun as the movie. Then The Admiral adds to the fear and trepidation by informing me that one bolt of lightning could sink Slow Motion –“and if we’re in alligator waters….”

Hey, I signed on for new adventures, visiting places I’ve never seen before, eating new cuisine (peach fritters, yummy), not showering for days, learning navigation skills – but not for days and days and days and days of storms, one after the other, interrupted by a few blazing hours of sunlight in the middle of the day, taunting us for not having the guts to take off in the morning. So far, no sunlight at all today. Our neighbors came to Casper’s two days ago. They’re headed to Oriental too. Their boat: Fishy Pursuits. I know. So far, they have left their boat for a few meals in Swansboro, because there are just a few restaurants in Swansboro, only one of which you would want to return to. When not eating, they’re back on their boat, get this, WATCHING THE OLYMPICS! I knew it, when I saw the thin line leading from the power source on the dock to their boat. And I confirmed it just now talking with Mr. Fishy. He said he’s been watching 4 channels worth of Olympics – fencing, soccer, swimming, judo. Am I jealous? Am I envious? Did I mention that the former owner of Slow Motion had televisions all over the boat, and they’re still here – nice flat screens in the salon and the master bedroom. But we have no cable, and apparently we need a cable repair person to find out why.

True, I did not sign on for television watching. But this is the once in four years Olympics, the only time we care about the American fencer or judo expert, or even the dwarf gymnasts. Okay, I take that back, “the Fierce Five”, the little pixies who have won our hearts. Didn’t you just cry along with Jordyn when she was knocked out of the all-around competition by that unfair rule against more than two finalists from the same country? I thought the Olympics games were about giving the best a chance to compete for gold. Thank God for the Olympics today – even though we can’t watch them on any of our silent, pictureless televisions spread all over the cabin, at least we can “tune in” on our iPhones to get the latest news about Hope Solo’s’ word battle with Brandy Chastain and Justin Bieber’s tweets to the Fierce Five. Oh, and sometimes there are even reports of who won the medals in the events too.

A moment of silence for the passing of Gore Vidal. “I believe the government to be of any value, must rest upon the people at large, and not be the preserve of any elite group or class, or anything of a hereditary nature.” Vidal said that in 1993. He also said: “In 1950, after we won the Second World War, which we regarded as our great victory, we were the No. 1 nation on Earth, economically and militarily. Well, Harry Truman, our then president, decided to keep the country on a permanent military standing. Forever. The result is we’re $4 trillion in debt. We don’t have a public education system. We don’t have health care. And we have two or three race wars going on. And we are falling back, back, back.” That prescient statement was made before we engaged in two decade long wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, for which we raised no money to wage – no war bonds, no higher taxes, no sacrifices. Just “let’s wage war” in faraway countries for twenty years and see how we can screw up our own economy, while other countries take over the business of manufacturing and exporting consumer goods. We can always sell a few billion dollars’ worth of arms and war materiel, the one thing we’re still apparently good at making in the USA.

The Admiral emerged to report that the rain may have stopped.  So, lucky readers, I may have to turn this Blog back to travel on the ICW, weather permitting. In the meantime, enjoy the Olympics on your wide screens, go out and enjoy the warm sun on your face during the commercials, and pray for rain – anywhere but the coast of North Carolina! Tim Lincecum has won a ball game for the Giants, so anything is now possible again. Whatever you think you can’t do, try it, and today, I bet you can. Except you teenagers, hold it right there – you’re not ready for that, and you know it. Everybody else, swing for the fences, weather permitting.