1800 Days – Seg. 21, Ch. 5, Pg. 4-10

    Albemarle Sound is a large and comparatively shallow body of mostly fresh water that has an oblong shape with its axis running roughly east-west. It is almost 60 miles long from its eastern end at the outer banks to its western terminus near the town of Edenton and the Chowan River, and it is about 15 miles wide where the ICW route crosses it in a generally north-south direction. For such a large body of water it is quite shallow with usual depths of 15-20 feet. The significance of these data is that the prevailing winds funnel up and down the sound creating confused, steep, sometimes dangerous seas over the shallow bottom that strike craft crossing the sound on the ICW approximately on the beam. With such a long fetch over the water even a wind of a steady 15 knots, certainly not uncommon, can make the crossing uncomfortable, and a steady wind of 20 knots or more can create conditions that can be dangerous for smaller boats. And weather conditions can change quickly out on the sound, which makes crossing even more hazardous for slow boats such as Summer School that take about two hours to cover the 15 miles across (slower sail boats take even longer). Finally, a contributing hazard to boating on the Albemarle is the density of the crab traps, which are thickly littered over the water with no clear channel through the maze; we knew only too well how much damage to a propeller could be done when it becomes entangled in a trap line.

    When we left Coinjock at 8 a.m. on Thursday morning the NOAA weather forecast called for easterly winds becoming 10-15 knots. Two hours saw us to the mouth of the North River where it enters the Albemarle. Conditions seemed good enough to continue, but once well out in the sound we found the wind to be southeasterly at 15-20 knots. We had 2-3 foot waves hitting us on the beam, which caused a lot of uncomfortable rocking though not to the extent that it was dangerous. Finally, about noon we made it across the sound and into the broad shoal-lined mouth of the Alligator River. Once through the swing bridge about four miles upriver we relaxed and enjoyed a late lunch.

    We loved the Alligator River. Though we were headed upriver there was little opposing current and our path on the river was due south for almost 20 miles. For almost this entire length the river is straight, several miles wide and safely deep even well off the channel. Not only is the cruising easy but the banks are completely undeveloped and seemingly wild, which in fact they are; the eastern side of the river is part of the extensive and remote Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge. We greatly enjoyed our leisurely cruise through this straight section of the river in the early afternoon under sunny skies and temperatures in the mid-seventies.

The Alligator River - Pungo River Canal

"On a calm day you can see forever."

    The relaxed cruising gave us time to examine the charts and discuss our options for the remainder of the day. Where to anchor for the night was the problem. After the straight section, the river becomes narrow and winding for another four miles until we enter the Alligator River-Pungo River Canal. This canal is very narrow, with barely enough room for boats to pass, and straight (excepting one bend) for 22 miles with a fairly strong current that can flow in either direction. This would be a run of three hours for us, maybe more if the current were opposing us, and anchoring anywhere in the canal is out of the question. On our way south in 1993 we had chosen to anchor in the winding narrow section of the Alligator before entering the canal, but we had found that anchorage to be unsatisfactory due to the closeness of traffic in the channel, which often at night includes tugs with barges. This time we opted for a long day and decided to run the canal and anchor right after we entered the Pungo River where the charts showed a suitably deep area sufficiently removed from the ICW channel.

    It was approaching 4 p.m. when we entered the canal and about 7 p.m. when we exited into the Pungo River. We found the place where we planned to anchor and carefully worked our way through the unmarked water until we were well off the channel and tucked into a shallow cove that could give us some shelter if the wind came up. We had been on the water for 11 hours and covered about 80 miles; it was the longest day of cruising we had yet experienced. By the time we sat down at our settee in the salon to enjoy a hastily prepared dinner of chili, the sun was setting over the river. Several sail boats had come in to anchor between us and the ICW channel and the view out over the river was post-card perfect. We were now only about 80 miles from Beaufort, so close that we felt a strong urge to get there and set about our business of finding a winter home. We could be there in one more long day or preferably (was there any real reason to hurry?) two easy cruising days. Such was not to be the case, however.

    We awoke on Friday morning to a bleak weather forecast: the Coast Guard had issued a small craft advisory for both Albemarle and Pamlico Sounds with winds predicted to be 20-25 knots in advance of a strong cold front. Between our current position and Beaufort we had to navigate through some large bodies of water including a section of Pamlico Sound at the mouth of the Neuse River. The Pamlico is considerably larger than the Albemarle and, many would claim, just as rough and dangerous. In addition there were the lower portions of the Pungo River where it was very wide, a five mile crossing of the Pamlico River, and a run of almost 20 miles up the Neuse River itself, which had its own reputation for rough and sometimes dangerous conditions. We knew it would be foolhardy to attempt these waters under small craft advisory conditions but we wanted to make as much progress as we could. We left the anchorage at about 9 a.m. and continued another 12 miles down the waterway to the place below the town of Belhaven where the Pungo Creek enters the river. We worked our way into the creek (it was off our charts) and found a sheltered anchorage where we stayed for the next three days waiting for the winds to subside and the small craft advisory to be lifted.

    On Monday morning the small craft advisory was dropped and we left the protection of the Pungo Creek anchorage to try to cover the nearly 70 miles to Beaufort. At first everything went well. The forecast was for north-east winds of 10-15 knots. We knew that this amount of wind would throw up a good chop on the Pamlico and lower Neuse, but it should be do-able if perhaps a little rocky, we thought. The five mile crossing of the Pamlico River was comfortable with the wind on our stern, but the wind seemed to be growing stronger as we entered Goose Creek on the south side of the Pamlico. Goose Creek leads into the Hobucken Land Cut and then out into the Bay River. By the time we came down the Bay River approaching its entrance into Pamlico Sound at the mouth of the Neuse, it was obvious that NOAA's forecast had been too conservative; the wind was indeed out of the northeast but it was blowing 20-25 mph according to our own anemometer. The Bay River enters Pamlico Sound between Bay Point and Maw Point. The charted ICW route takes the boater out into the sound for several miles before turning around a junction buoy and beginning the turn to the southwest to proceed upstream on the Neuse, which is here about 7 miles wide. At the junction buoy the boater is exposed to the full length of Pamlico Sound which extends to the northeast for seventy miles all the way to Oregon Inlet on the outer banks north of Cape Hatteras. With this amount of fetch over open shallow water even a fairly light north-east breeze can create significant chop, especially as it opposes the current in the Neuse, which in its lower section flows from the southwest toward the northeast.

    As we approached the mouth of the Bay River we could see whitecaps out on the sound, and when we got into the sound beyond the protection of Bay Point we were slammed by strong wind and steep waves that struck us broadside. In retrospect we should have turned back, but we had been waiting so long for settled weather so we could finally make our destination of Beaufort, we decided to continue. As we approached the junction buoy farther out in the sound the waves became steeper and larger, running 3-4 feet. Each wave would slam into the side of the boat, heeling us far over. Then the boat would roll and right itself only to be slammed on its side again by the next large wave. It was hard for us to keep our footing inside the cabin where books and papers and everything not tied down were flying off the shelves. The floor of our office in the forward cabin was deep with the books and papers that had been knocked from the shelves. This was the worst beating we had taken since being caught out on the Great Bahama Banks in the Exuma Islands of the Bahamas during a small craft advisory in the spring of 1994. Finally we reached the junction buoy and made the 90 degree turn to the southwest to proceed up the Neuse. Now that the wind and waves were on our stern we were no longer being knocked onto our side, but we were surfing on the following waves and the helm had to be carefully controlled to avoid broaching. But it was a much more comfortable ride. At times our GPS unit showed that we were reaching speeds of 11 mph as we surfed down a wave front, an incredibly high speed for our slow trawler that could only reach at most 9 mph at maximum throttle. For almost two hours we flew up the Neuse holding tightly onto the wheel and giving corrections to the helm as each wave struck us from behind and we surfed down the wavefront.

    Eventually we reached the place opposite the town of Oriental where the ICW cuts south off the Neuse and enters Adams Creek, and finally we had some shelter from the wind and waves. We found that we were exhausted. The charts showed that, a little over two miles from the mouth of Adams, a short creek named Cedar Creek entered the channel on the left, and our waterway guide indicated that this creek provided a good anchorage. Without hesitation we turned into Cedar Creek and worked our way about a third of a mile off the ICW channel where the water was considerably deeper than the charted depth of seven feet. (We had not yet learned that strong winds in Pamlico Sound could affect the water heights on the Neuse and its tributaries.) There we dropped the hook and set it well because the wind was still blowing hard, as it did for the remainder of the day and most of the night. It was just mid-afternoon and we could have easily made the 17 miles to Beaufort, but in our tired state we knew we had to stop. We spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning up the mess inside the boat.

    Because the distance to Beaufort was so short we took our time on Tuesday morning raising our anchor and getting underway. Happily, the wind had lessened and we had a bright sunny day. We entered the Adams Creek Canal by about 9:30 a.m. This is a narrow dredged land cut that runs for about 10 miles and connects Adams Creek to the Newport River at a point only about five miles from Beaufort Inlet and the accompanying sister towns of Beaufort and Morehead City. We had been through this canal twice before and knew that running the canal was often tense due to heavy boat traffic in the narrow channel caused by both pleasure boats and tugs with barges. We expected to encounter heavy traffic overtaking us (a much more difficult situation in a narrow channel than meeting boats head-on) due to the large number of southbound boats we knew to be on the waterway, but on this morning, unaccountably, traffic was especially light. As a result of the weather and the light traffic our morning's cruise was pleasant. We emerged from the canal and navigated through the shoals of the Newport River, went under the highway and railroad bridges that connect Beaufort to Morehead City, and headed out towards the inlet past where the ICW channel makes a sharp turn to the right and continues along the Morehead City waterfront. Nearer the inlet we turned around Radio Island and followed the channel markers into Taylor Creek and the Beaufort waterfront. By noon we had successfully been moored in a good slip at Beaufort Docks, and I was chatting with the dockmaster (I'll call him Owan) who remembered us from our stay there the previous summer. We were surprised to learn the reason for the absence of boat traffic this morning. Owan told us that the Coast Guard had closed the ICW through the Neuse River because a tug had sunk on the lower Neuse yesterday and they had not yet located the sunken vessel, which could pose a dangerous hazard to navigation. Apparently it sank on the south side of the river sometime in the early afternoon near the area of Turnagain Bay. This was only a few miles upriver from the junction buoy where we entered the Neuse. We felt lucky indeed to have survived the rough waters on the Neuse and we knew we were fortunate to be safely docked in Beaufort. Now we could begin our search for a winter home.

Beaufort Docks With Anchorage In The Background
photo courtesy of Jim Lee

1800 Days – Seg. 20, Ch. 5, Pg. 1-4

Chapter 5 – Finding a Winter's Home

 

    When we awoke early on Wednesday morning at our anchorage in Willoughby Bay we were eager and excited and anxious to be underway. This day had a completely different feel. Now we were cruising with a purpose, heading for Beaufort, North Carolina to try to find a home for the coming winter months. This morning we would be transiting Norfolk harbor, one of the busiest in the country and one that had impressed us tremendously during our two previous experiences. And we would be beginning our journey along the famed ICW, the Intracoastal Waterway, being granted yet a third chance to experience what we had come to think of as a major resource of America.

    The name, Intracoastal Waterway, can have several different meanings. To some, it refers to the entire 3000 mile waterway system, mostly inshore but sometimes not, stretching from Maine down the east coast to the Florida Keys, and then up the west coast of Florida and along the Gulf of Mexico all the way to Brownsville, Texas. To us, however, as to many, the ICW is the marked and maintained waterway from Mile 0 in Norfolk, down the east coast to Key West for a distance of 1243 miles. Walter Cronkite has referred to it as the "ribbon of sunshine" while others, sometimes affectionately, sometimes disparagingly, call it simply The Ditch. Altogether it is an amazingly complex system of interconnected bays and rivers, creeks and sounds, estuaries, land cuts and canals. It is maintained by the Army Corps of Engineers and it is a monumental and expensive undertaking requiring constant dredging of one section or another and continual attendance to the buoyage and various channel markers. But this ICW is a national treasure, allowing not only thousands of pleasure boats, but also thousands of tugs and barges with a huge total cargo, to transit north and south along the coast without the hazards of navigating in the open ocean. To us on that early Wednesday morning as we left Willoughby Bay, it was an avenue to new places, to new experiences, to a new life.

    But first we had to get through the Norfolk waterfront following the south branch of the Elizabeth River. This channel is used by huge commercial ships, tankers and container ships, and all kinds of military craft from aircraft carriers to submarines. And there is a constant traffic of barges and tugs; some of these are large ships themselves, at least compared to Summer School, with superstructures three or four stories high. There are dry docks that can accommodate the largest of ships, and huge cranes that dwarf surrounding buildings. On that morning we passed behind an aircraft carrier moored to a dock; no one can truly appreciate the size of such a ship unless they see it from the water in their own small boat. We passed a dry dock where there was a battleship being painted! How do you ever even conceive of painting a battleship? As it had done on our two previous trips through these waters, the sheer magnitude of everything, the scale of the equipment, the amount and nature of the work and the incredible size of the structures, filled us with awe.

The Norfolk Waterfront - A Giant Crane Dwarfs A Naval Ship 

   Yet we could not allow ourselves the luxury of simply gawking. It was necessary to keep a careful eye on the channel markers, the tugs and barges, the other ships and pleasure craft that were heading south just like us. We had planned what was for us a long cruising day of almost 65 miles from our anchorage in Willoughby Bay to Coinjock, North Carolina, a well-known and strategic stop on the waterway. It was almost 9:30 a.m. when we reached Hospital Point on the Portsmouth side of the channel and I brought Summer School close to the marker for Mile 0 of the ICW. We gave a brief cheer and then re-focused on our navigation. Coinjock was at Mile 50 and Beaufort was at about Mile 205. But before we were out of the Norfolk area we had to pass through 6 bridges that would have to open for us. Though three of these were railroad bridges and were normally kept open, we found this morning that there were trains on two of them and we had to wait. Finally we cleared the Norfolk area and entered the Great Bridge Locks, which connect the South Branch of the Elizabeth River to the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. We remembered the confusion and uncertainty that we experienced here three years previously when we had our first encounter with locks; it felt good now to know what we were doing.

    Once through the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal with its three low highway bridges and one railroad bridge, we entered the North Landing River and the remainder of the day was much more relaxed. We had run the boat hard to make the bridge openings and now we settled back into our normal cruising speed of about 7 mph at 1600 rpm on the engine. It was a beautiful early fall day with a warm sun and cool air. Eventually the North Landing River brought us out into Currituck Sound, the first of the North Carolina sounds. Though the channel was narrow with grounding depths close on the sides, the sound was not large and there were no worries about wind and rough water. Such would not be the case tomorrow, we knew, when we would have to cross Albemarle Sound, one of the most feared bodies of water on the entire ICW.

    The small village of Coinjock is located on the North Carolina Cut that connects Currituck Sound to the North River, approximately where Highway 158 crosses the cut on its way to the outer banks. Although the village is small there are three popular marinas that line both sides of the channel with long face docks. What makes Coinjock such a popular and strategic stop on the ICW is not simply that it is a convenient day's cruise from the facilities of Norfolk or that the competition between the marinas results in dockage rates and fuel prices that are among the lowest on the waterway. More importantly, at least to south-bound cruisers, Coinjock is the last marina stop before crossing Albemarle Sound some 15 miles to the south. In rough weather Coinjock provides a welcome haven while waiting for conditions on the sound to become calm enough to allow a safe crossing. As on our previous trips we planned to stay this night at the marina on the east side of the channel, simply named Coinjock Marina, and at 5 p.m. the dockmaster, Louis, with a greeting that told us he remembered us from our previous visits, helped us into our space on the face dock among all the many other boats. The number of boats at the marinas on both sides of the channel left no doubt that we were solidly in the middle of the annual fall boat migration to the south. We felt the same kind of excitement and exhilaration that we did when we stayed in Coinjock on our first trip south in 1993. And on this evening, as we did then, we had an excellent seafood feast at the marina restaurant before a quiet night and a sound sleep.

The Coinjock Marina - Its Long Facedock Empty At Mid-Day