CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE: ALBEMARLE ROCKS!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE: ALBEMARLE ROCKS!

April showers have been displaced by a rip-roaring May downpour here at Coinjock, North Carolina. “Coinjock”, as in 32 oz prime rib, or as in “the best scallop I have ever eaten” (the Admiral). Good thing we brushed all the tree trimmings off Slow Motion’s deck a half hour ago – now there’s plenty of room for more detritus. At least the biting black flies, which were kamikaze attacking us before the rain, have either drowned or gone for a long swim in the swift current passing by our boat. Bye Bye.

Yesterday the waves on Albemarle Sound were ferocious, as they piled into the starboard side of Slow Motion, tipping us back and forth like one of those inflatable Bozo Bop Bags. Now I know exactly how Bozo feels, getting hit from one side, then the other, always bouncing back. The Admiral’s back and leg muscles are sore from bracing against the console for hours, and his neck muscles are sore from trying to keep Slow Motion from turning sideways and heading into ridiculously shallow water. Albemarle got the measure of us this time. Other boaters described the wave action as “being inside a washing machine” and “riding the wildest ride in Disneyland.” Albemarle took its toll on a number of boaters, keeping Sea Tow very busy in the afternoon hours, as it rescued boats with busted rudders and flooded engines. Why were we out in these churning waters? Ask the meteorologist who predicted one to two foot waves yesterday. My eye! There wasn’t a wave less than three feet out there. We thought we had tied everything down securely, but then the “CRRASH!” came. It was one of the Admiral’s big tool boxes, which had been safely sitting up on the counter on the sundeck. When the tool box flew off the counter, it took a bunch of containers of flammable liquids with it to the floor of the sundeck. While I wrestled with Slow Motion to keep her on course, the Admiral checked on the flammables (all remained closed) and cleaned up the mess on the sundeck. The tool box remained on the floor until we reached port.

Albemarle Sound is shallow, really shallow, for the entire 14 mile crossing. And when the wind whips up the water, you have even less water beneath your boat. That’s the way it was yesterday – a wind tunnel, massive white caps, and the “ALERT” sign on the depth finder, indicating less than 6 feet of water. Slow Motion’s draft is 4 feet. A lot of other boats shared this wild water with us. It was not dangerous to cross the Sound in its wavy condition, just a little rocky. Most boats the size of Slow Motion have stabilizers – which only cost about ten to fifteen thousand dollars. Many captains were heard over the radio congratulating themselves for equipping their boats with stabilizers. In fact, I think all the trawlers that passed us on Albemarle Sound had stabilizers. Their ride did not look as “fun” as ours.

But there was something about these big waves that brought out good manners in the fastest of trawlers. Yesterday as a large boat named Stayseala came roaring up alongside us, the captain politely radioed a request to pass on the port side and then gave us a very smooth slow pass, under the choppy circumstances. It really makes a difference when boaters are on their best behavior and are courteous to one another. Naturally, we returned the courtesy by offering that Stayseala go through the Alligator Swing Bridge before us. This bridge opens on signal, and when you call the bridge tender to tell him you are approaching “his” bridge, he grumbles “Come on up here and I’ll open”. “Coming on up” in those waves and that wind yesterday was a lot easier for him to say than Slow Motion to do, so letting Stayseala take the lead, with his stabilizer, was not only courteous, but beneficial, as we hung back waiting to see if the current pushed Stayseala against the bridge fenders. It did not, and we managed to get through without a scrape too. It’s understandable why the swing bridges do not open when the wind is greater than 30 knots. The current around the Alligator River Swing Bridge is fearsome even without major winds. Again, this maneuver through the bridge fenders was not dangerous, just exciting. With the Admiral’s steering skills, after logging more than 6000 miles on Slow Motion, we breezed through, no pun intended.

Talking about logging miles, in the past two cruising days we logged 95 miles and 85 miles, respectively. There was once a time when a 50 mile day was our absolute limit. But now, with the longer days, we are leaving marinas at 5:30 a.m. under a full moon and an hour into our day we are watching spectacular sunrises. Slow Motion’s engines are fairly fuel efficient (2 to 3 miles per gallon – I know, I know) when traveling at 8 and ½ miles per hour. At this average speed, we can travel 85 miles in 10 hours and still arrive at the next marina by mid-afternoon. Our average speed has been even better than 8 and ½, as we arrived at Coinjock (MM50) from Belhaven (MM135) at 2:30 p.m., after leaving Belhaven at 5:45 a.m. This has meant going to bed even earlier than before – last night the Admiral commented that it was still light out right before he fell into a deep sleep. It was 8 p.m. Having arisen at 4 a.m. to enter the waypoints for Albemarle Sound into our navigation system (Garmin), and having battled the wind and the waves for 14 miles (2 very long hours), the Admiral was exhausted when we arrived at Coinjock. Dinner at the marina restaurant, including the best scallops in the world, revived him for a few hours, but he hit the wall at 8 p.m. The Giants had a night game, which means a starting time of 10:15 p.m. on the East Coast. Needless to say, I did not follow any of that game on my IPhone. No sooner had the Admiral conked out, I was headed to dreams of a Giants win. And they did! This is the team that had fewer home runs last season than most Little League teams in their truncated seasons – now they can’t keep the ball in the park. Go figure.

And the rain keeps pouring down. What’s that? A thunder clap! Trust in meteorology restored for the moment. We were supposed to have thunderstorms starting yesterday, but it didn’t even start raining until after the Admiral prepared his signature green and red pepper, cheese and bacon, omelet. One thunder clap does not a thunderstorm make, but it’s still early. Last night the 650 foot long face dock at Coinjock was filled – every inch, from end to end. By this time today, we’re the last boat standing. All the others left before the rain started, and they’re probably having a fine time struggling with visibility and all around wetness. The captain of Stayseala, a Very Important Captain who was strutting up and down the dock yesterday, must be enjoying his soggy cruise to Norfolk, just 50 miles (and a few recalcitrant bridges) away. Very Important Captains  (VICs) are usually ferrying large boats – this one is 75 feet – and they pretty much get whatever they ask for at a marina. The more space they take up, the more money the marina charges. The VICs are rarely, if ever, the owners of the yachts, and often the owners are not even aboard. Some VICs know a lot about the waterway, others not so much. Generally, they are in their own world, traveling as fast as they can from Point A to Point B, not letting our smaller “pleasure cruisers” get in their way. That is why it was such a treat for the VIC of the Stayseala to be so accommodating on Albemarle Sound yesterday. On behalf of all the smaller, slower boats on the waterway, I thank you, Captain, from the bottom of Slow Motion’s hull.