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

1800 Days – Seg.19, Ch. 4, Pg. 21-26 (End of Chapter)

    We left our anchorage on St. Leonard Creek at 7:30 a.m. the next morning, Monday September 16 and Day 127. The weather was cool and cloudy with occasional light rain. We remained inside the cabin using our lower helm station and if felt good to be warm and snug on this early fall morning. As we left the Patuxent and entered the main body of the Chesapeake we were met by southerly winds of 10-15 knots and a two foot chop. We had to cruise south along the western shore, past Point No Point, and enter the mouth of the Potomac between Point Lookout and Smith Point where the river was more than ten miles wide. This area was notorious for rough seas when the strong Potomac current met the winds of the open bay, but on this morning as we made our way south the wind gradually diminished and the water was almost smooth as we turned around Point Lookout and steered up the Potomac hugging the northern shore. An hour's uneventful cruise brought us opposite the wide mouth of St. Marys River, which we entered without difficulty using previously set waypoints on the Garmin GPS unit. The river was pleasantly wide and deep with wooded, undeveloped shores. As we slowly cruised upriver, feeling once again the excitement of entering a new place and having a new adventure, we saw a large bird soaring above the river in front of us. This time there was no doubt: it was a bald eagle. By 2:30 p.m. we entered a large almost circular cove as the river made an abrupt turn to the west. This was Horseshoe Bend on the southeast shore of which was located old St. Marys City and St. Marys College. We anchored in 16 feet of water, let out 150 feet of anchor line to give us a large scope of almost 7 to 1 in case of wind, and settled in to our new place. We were the only boat in sight.

    We did not have to wait long to verify the security of our anchoring arrangement. All during the afternoon the sky became increasingly dark and by nightfall the winds increased and a hard rain began. For the next two days the winds remained strong, blowing between 20 and 25 mph with occasional gusts well over 30 mph. The Horseshoe Bend bay had a diameter of over a half mile with an expanse of 1.5 miles to the west where the river exited the bay. With this amount of fetch these winds created a two foot chop on the water, which meant that we were essentially wind-bound during this time. We wanted to take Recess to shore to see the city and the college but a two foot chop would probably have swamped our little inflatable. Again we had a time of "enforced idleness" at anchor, a condition that we had learned to appreciate. In this instance it was especially welcome. Since our second day on St. Leonard Creek my ulcer condition had erupted once again causing considerable pain and discomfort. Our leisure time for the first few days at Horseshoe Bend gave me an opportunity to rest and recover.

    I was also able to read and study the boat maintenance references we had on board, read the manuals for the generator and the battery charger, and take more measurements of our battery voltages under various conditions. While we were at Solomons I had verified that, when connected to shore power, the charger quickly and fully charged the batteries resulting in no-load voltages greater than 13 volts, which was the desired value. By Thursday at our anchorage off St. Marys we had been at anchor for a week and we were again having to run our generator frequently because our batteries never seemed to get fully charged. I read in the manual that the output voltage of the charger was very sensitive to the frequency of the ac power source and I wondered if the frequency of the power produced by the generator was off from the desired value of 60 Hz. If it was, this would explain the poor performance we were observing. I found that the generator had an adjustment screw to vary the generator speed and hence the frequency of the generated power, but I would need a frequency meter to test this theory and to set the generator to the necessary speed. Perhaps, I hoped, we could borrow a frequency meter from a boatyard in Urbanna when we got there.

A Sailing Class at St. Marys College

    Before leaving our anchorage, however, we finally got an opportunity to dinghy ashore on Thursday when the wind and waves dropped to manageable levels. It was an interesting visit though not entirely what we expected. St. Marys City was the fourth permanent settlement in British North America and Maryland's first capital from the time of Lord Baltimore. What remained now was an active archeological dig uncovering artifacts from those days, a historical reconstruction of some of the buildings complete with people dressed in period costumes working at old crafts, and a museum of history and archeology with a gift shop and a restaurant (more of a sandwich shop actually). The college itself had an attractive campus. It has been described as Maryland's public honors college, a small, liberal arts, coeducational school designed and managed to emulate the experience of some of the exceptional private colleges found in the east but at an affordable cost (a relative term we were sure). We had also recently read that it was ranked among the top ten "party schools" in the country. Since Nancy and I had pursued our undergraduate education at large state universities, it was interesting for us to speculate about the quality of student life to be found at St. Marys College. After our walking tour of the area we had lunch in the museum's restaurant. Then we returned to our boat and prepared to leave the next morning for Urbanna.

Farthing's Ordinary - The Tavern in Old St. Marys City 

   Urbanna is located approximately 15 miles up the Rappahannock River, the next major river to enter the Chesapeake south of the Potomac. We took a leisurely two days for this cruise, stopping to anchor overnight at a favorite location of ours behind Sandy Point below the Potomac. The first day out from St. Marys was particularly memorable because winds were light and we cruised through the calm and broad lower reaches of the Potomac amidst numerous monarch butterflies. It was exciting to think that we were joining them in their southward migration. We also had our first sighting of pelicans that day, another sign that we were progressing to the southward. We arrived in Urbanna early on Saturday afternoon and, not without difficulty, found dockage at Dozier's Port Urbanna Marina. It was September 21, the first official day of fall in 1996 and Day 132 of our new lives. It rained hard that night.

    We found Urbanna to be a wonderfully convenient stop for cruising boaters as well as a charming small town tied to the waters of the Chesapeake. Urbanna is in the heart of what formerly was the tobacco belt of Virginia and the town itself dates to 1680 when it was declared an official tobacco port of the colonies. Now, the entire center of town, where there are seven buildings that have been in use for more than 300 years, is a designated national historic site. In the modern day the town is probably most famous for its annual Urbanna Oyster Festival usually held in early November. We were told that this festival draws more than 70,000 people each year for a wild and frantic weekend. The festival hordes were difficult for us to imagine as we walked the quiet streets of this seemingly sleepy little village. A few blocks up the hill from the marina brought us to Virginia Street where almost all the facilities we needed were conveniently located. It was an easy matter to restock our beverage and food supplies and do our laundry (after toting it down the street using our dock cart). And of course we washed and cleaned the boat and had a most welcome meal ashore at the Virginia Street Café.

    Our most significant accomplishment while staying at Urbanna was the solution of our battery charging problem. Dozier's not only had a frequency meter in their boat service department but they were kind and trusting enough to let me borrow it on Sunday morning. When I tested the generator I found what I had suspected. The generator frequency, even under no load, was between 57 and 58 Hz. I adjusted it to be 62 Hz. so that, under load and the resulting slight decrease in the generator speed the frequency should be close to 60 Hz. Our subsequent experience at anchor verified that charging the batteries when running the generator was now as effective as running the charger on shore power.

    Since anchoring in St. Leonard Creek the weather had been cool and we had exchanged our tee-shirts and shorts for long pants and sweaters. Now that fall had definitely arrived we were thinking increasingly that perhaps it was getting time to head south to try to find our winter accommodations. By Sunday night in Urbanna not only had the charging problem been fixed but most of the major chores associated with shore leave had been completed. We still had to get our mail from the post office on Monday morning (the mail drop had been previously arranged with Kathleen), pay our bills and dispose of whatever personal business was necessary. It was about 70 miles to Norfolk, a long day's cruise for us, so we decided we would leave late Monday morning or early afternoon after seeing to the mail and filling our water tanks. We would cruise for a few hours before anchoring somewhere for the night, which would allow us to arrive in Norfolk by mid-afternoon on Tuesday. We felt that it was time to end our exploration of the Chesapeake. The only problem was that the Coast Guard had issued a small craft advisory for Sunday night and Monday with a forecast of 20 knot winds and four foot waves on the lower bay.

    Monday morning in Urbanna was bright and beautiful with, unbelievably, calm winds. We completed everything necessary to our departure and then sat up on the bridge in the bright sunlight and wondered if we should leave anyway despite the forecast. We had a rule to which we tried to adhere, and that was we do not take out the boat unless it both sounds good (the broadcast weather report and forecast) and looks good (the conditions around us as we observe them). It certainly looked good on this Monday morning, but NOAA kept forecasting 20 knot winds and four foot seas on the lower bay, and the Coast Guard persisted in their small craft advisory. What to do? NOAA had certainly been wrong before. We were now anxious to go. All was ready. We decided to violate our own rule, reasoning that we could find a place to anchor if we encountered conditions that were too rough though we knew that this was not always feasible if we were far out in the bay with no hospitable shore near.

    We did not get far before we encountered the winds that had been forecast. As soon as we left Urbanna Creek at about noon, and slowly cruised past the breakwater into the main body of the Rappahannock, we were slammed by strong winds blowing down the river, churning its surface into a mass of whitecaps on top of three foot waves. We rode the waves downriver, slightly quartering across them until we could round the point at the mouth of the Corrotoman River where it entered the Rappahannock. Then we headed up this beautiful and sheltered river finally finding a good anchorage about five miles above its mouth. There we stayed overnight until early Tuesday morning when we left for Norfolk. The small craft advisory had been dropped but out on the bay we encountered steady 15 knot southerly winds with whitecaps on three foot seas. We operated the boat from inside using the lower helm station where we were out of the wind and spray. Finally, after nine hours on the bumpy water, we passed through the channel between Old Point Comfort on the north and Fort Wool on the south at the end of Willoughby Spit, thus leaving the Chesapeake and entering Hampton Roads and the port of Norfolk. We found a safe anchorage in nearby Willoughby Bay. Our fall cruise of the Chesapeake was at an end.

1800 Days – Seg. 18, Ch. 4, Pg. 14-21

    It was not difficult to change our plans. We decided to go into Solomons the next morning and get a slip in a marina. We had been at anchor for eleven days since leaving Rolph's, our provisions were running low and the prospect of eating at restaurants seemed most desirable. We could do our laundry, dump our accumulated trash, reprovision, clean and check the boat, enjoy some good restaurant meals and explore the town of Solomons. Perhaps I could even solve the problem of the battery charger. And then, when our shore leave was finished, we would head back out to anchor and explore parts of the western shore of the Chesapeake that we had often discussed. It was a good plan and this time we would be able to follow it through.

Looking Out Over Solomons, Maryland, Toward The Mouth Of The Patuxent River

(Courtesy of D. Traub & Son, Baltimore, MD) 

   Solomons is another of the small attractive towns, villages really, centered around life on the bay, that are found on both shores of the Chesapeake, but especially on the western shore. There is a natural harbor, very well protected and easy to enter, where Back Creek flows into the mouth of the Patuxent. The business center of the town, sometimes called Solomons Island because of a narrow channel, now filled, that connected the creek to the river, occupies a narrow strip of land between Back Creek and the main body of the Patuxent. Back Creek is navigable with at least eight-foot depths for almost a mile and a half. Not only are there good anchorages but both shores are lined with marinas and boatyards. Another creek branching to the east off lower Back Creek, and named Mill Creek (another one!), is also easily navigated while providing good anchorages in a more residential setting. Solomons has been a boating center on the bay for more than a century and it remains an ideal place to stop or stay for Chesapeake boaters. All the necessary conveniences such as the post office, banks, hardware and marine stores, a very upscale grocery store and a number of good restaurants, are concentrated in the small business area and easily reached. There are also the Calvert Marine Museum and the Drum Point Lighthouse which provide interesting visits.

Getting Provisions On Bikes, Spring Cove Marina, Solomons, Maryland

    We came into Spring Cove Marina at 11 a.m. on Tuesday, September 10 and Day 121 of our new lives. We had chosen this marina because it was closest to the business area and museum and we were delighted with our choice. It was an attractive marina set in wooded grounds with well-maintained docks, a fuel dock, a clean laundry, an excellent captain's lounge with an extensive trading library for cruisers, a good ships store and a very inviting swimming pool. The rates were good ($1 per foot plus $8 for electric per night), and the staff were friendly and knowledgeable as they helped us dock at an excellent slip assignment on a T-head with an unobstructed view of the harbor. As a real bonus the fuel prices were very low; we took on 166 gallons of diesel fuel at a price of $0.99 per gallon.

A Visit From A Solomons Swan

    We stayed in Solomons for four days and the entire time was as delightful as it was productive. We had stopped in Solomons once before, in June of 1993 when we were headed south on our first ICW cruise. On that occasion our stay was for only one night and we were at anchor near the head of Back Creek. On our current visit we had sufficient time to become acquainted with the town. The weather was hot on Tuesday afternoon as we worked hard to clean the boat, but a swim in the pool late in the afternoon was most welcome.

    The only other person using the pool while we were there was a middle aged woman. I struck up a conversation with her beginning with the weather and the good facilities at the marina. She told me that she and her husband were on an extended vacation while touring the Chesapeake and then, to my surprise, she went on to complain about boating on the Chesapeake. She actually complained that there was nothing to do and no place to go. They had been to Baltimore, Annapolis, Georgetown, Chestertown and now Solomons, she said, and they were all the same - another marina with a swimming pool. In contrast, Nancy and I were so excited by our Chesapeake cruise, so eagerly anticipating going to different places, learning about them, getting to know them. How could anyone be so oblivious, I wondered, so bored, so uninterested in what was around them? Was this another woman tagging along with a man while he was following his dream? We had come across this kind of situation previously. Or was her attitude indicative of the way she lived her entire life? Regardless of the reason, this encounter left an impression that I was not to forget.

    After the heat of Tuesday, Wednesday was cloudy and cooler with a high of 73, which was most welcome as we biked around town to the post office, boating store, drugstore and bank. We also visited the museum where the highlight was, most unexpectedly, a display featuring living jellyfish-like animals, called comb jellies, with remarkable bioluminescent properties. They seemed other-worldly as they floated around the tank with their transparent bodies and narrow veins of body fluids emitting stunning sparks of light. On our way back to the boat we were caught in a downpour and became thoroughly soaked. It was great fun.

    Thursday was devoted to extensive shopping for food and other supplies, filling our water tanks and making everything ready to return to our cruise. We had decided to leave on Friday because a large number of boats were expected to begin arriving on the weekend in anticipation of the annual fall rendezvous of the Marine Trader Owners Association (MTOA), probably the largest boat owners association in the country. Although we were former members of this group and would have been interested to see some of the boats, we detested crowds and congestion, and we had become anxious to avoid further marina fees and to return to the quiet peace of anchoring. By the end of the day all was ready. We had no definite plan for the next stop in our cruise of the western shore but we had decided to find a nearby anchorage that was described in one of our cruising guides as one of the most beautiful on the bay. While there we expected to plan the remainder of our tour.

    St. Leonard Creek is a relatively small stream that flows into the north shore of the Patuxent about six miles above the entrance to Solomons harbor. We had a leisurely Friday morning and pulled away from the marina dock shortly after 11 a.m. It was a warm 80 degrees, breezes were light and skies were clear. We cruised slowly up the Patuxent past Point Patience with its strangely deep water and easily entered St. Leonard. The creek was as advertised with wooded hilly banks and comfortably deep water as long as we stayed in the middle. Shortly after we entered the creek we thought we saw a bald eagle soaring over the eastern banks. This was an unexpected treat even though we could not be confident of our identification. About three miles up the creek a tributary, Johns Creek, made off to the right, and at this juncture there was a set of docks with a large building on top of the hill behind them. I was surprised but Nancy had read about this in the guide and told me that this was Vera's White Sands Restaurant and Marina, with Vera being a former Hollywood starlet. There were only a few boats at the docks and the marina appeared otherwise deserted. We wondered what their rates would be in this seemingly remote but beautiful location. Was this a possibility for a summer home for us and Summer School? Perhaps we could visit later in our stay and gather some information. We continued about a mile farther upstream and dropped our anchor in eight feet of water at a wider part of the creek that provided ample swinging room. Then we settled in for an afternoon of reading, relaxation and quiet conversation.

    Fall came to us that night on St. Leonard Creek, finally, after so much anticipation and all the warm weather in the wake of Hurricane Fran. About 6 p.m. the sky became dark with huge towering clouds. There was some wind and a brief light rain, and then the skies cleared and the temperature dropped. At dusk the wind was almost calm once again and the temperature had dropped to 65 degrees. We were treated to a family of swans, two adults and seven "teenagers", swimming past the boat with the water calm enough to see the reflections of their beautifully curved necks. For the first time in many nights we slept with the air-conditioner off and the boat open to the night air.

An Early Fall Morning At St. Leonard Creek Anchorage 

   I awoke early the next morning, just after first light, excited by the feeling of coolness in the air. The view out our big salon windows was striking. It was about 6 a.m. and there were plumes of mist rising into the comparatively cold air from the glassy calm water. Our electronic weather station in the cabin indicated that it was 54 outside and only 64 in the interior of the boat. I did not want to start the generator to heat the boat because that would surely wake Nancy, but hanging over the table in the salon we had a beautiful brass oil lamp, the "trawler lamp" as we called it. This provided appreciable heat as well as good light, so I lit the lamp, brought our portable computer from the office in the front cabin to the salon table, and worked on my writing for more than an hour until Nancy awoke. After our customary pills, juice and coffee I returned to my writing work, this time in the office with the generator running to charge our batteries. I continued working till almost noon and felt great satisfaction from accomplishing more than I had in any one day for a long time.

    We stayed on the boat for the remainder of the day, watching a little college football and doing some light boat work, but mainly talking, getting out our charts and guides, discussing our cruising plans for the remainder of our tour of the Chesapeake. We decided to remain on St. Leonard Creek for the rest of the weekend, but after that we resolved to try to visit two other locations that held our interests before heading south to North Carolina or beyond. The first was St. Marys City, which was located on St. Marys River, which flowed into the Potomac not far above its mouth. Not only was this small town the home of St. Marys College of Maryland, it was the fourth permanent settlement in British North America and the location of a museum and active archeological dig. (The charts and guides do not use an apostrophe in these names.) This was about a day's cruise and fifty miles from our current location. Following our visit to St. Marys, we wanted to cruise to Urbanna, Virginia, a small water-based town on the Rappahannock River about 85 miles farther south from St. Marys. While in the Bahamas on our long cruise in 1994 we had met the captain of a charter boat who made his home in Urbanna, and his descriptions of this town together with the various materials we had read piqued our interests. Of course these plans were subject to the usual vagaries of the weather, but at least we now had some goals.

Lush Tropical Surroundings At Vera's White Sands Resort, Solomons, Maryland

    On Sunday afternoon we visited Vera's using Recess to travel the mile down the creek from our anchorage. When we landed at the marina docks we found them to be somewhat in a state of disrepair but probably adequate for our use. Once again we wondered if perhaps the rates would be low enough for us to consider this location for our home next summer. The marina was deserted so we walked up the hill to the restaurant. The appearance of the building was striking, lushly tropical surrounded by exotic plants, palm trees and totem poles. We entered the restaurant and found the interior even more fantastic with all sorts of carvings and artifacts apparently from Hawaii and Polynesia and Africa. There were inlayed tables supported by carved elephants, shells and wicker chairs, diving helmets, giant turtle shells, bar stools and a bar covered in some kind of leopard print, Hawaiian music playing softly in the background and a huge painting of a woman covered with peacock feathers. The only person inside was the bartender who introduced himself as Carlos. He informed us that the kitchen was closed, but he said that he would be glad to make us a couple of mai tais if we cared to sit at the bar. These turned out to be large and good, and we slowly sipped on them while Carlos told us the story of Vera. She was the woman in the painting, he said. She was almost ninety, swims and runs every day, and still personally oversees everything at the resort. She was a Hollywood starlet who married a very successful doctor known as the "ophthalmologist to the stars." They made lots of money on real estate, Carlos told us, before her husband died, leaving Vera a very wealthy woman. For each of the past thirty years she had taken a world cruise and the furnishings in the restaurant were things she had collected in her travels. Could we possibly live in such a place and feel comfortable and at home? We tried to imagine having this as our local restaurant. But Carlos knew nothing about the marina and he did not expect any of the marina staff to come in for the remainder of the day. On our dinghy ride back to Summer School we had many unanswered questions. There was no doubt that we had experienced a fascinating and memorable afternoon.

1800 Days – Seg. 17, Ch. 4, Pg. 10-14

    On Saturday, although we wanted to dinghy into Oxford again, it was still too breezy and choppy. We stayed onboard, read and rested, tended to small chores and checked over the boat. And we were disturbed by what we found. Once again, a voltage check showed that the batteries were not fully charged despite running the generator for 13 hours overnight. Worse yet, the foods and ice in the freezer compartment of our refrigerator showed signs that they were starting to thaw. Summer School was equipped with a typical marine refrigerator/freezer, a half size unit fitted into a compartment under the counter of the galley. This unit ran on 120 volt ac power if available from a dockside connection or our onboard generator. If these sources were not available, such as on Saturday morning after we shut down the generator, then the refrigerator automatically switched to 12 volt dc power from our house battery system. I reasoned that, if the battery voltage was low due to a lack of an adequate charge (for whatever reason), then the refrigerator may not be able to cool adequately, especially in the hot weather we were experiencing after the passage of Fran. We therefore decided to run the generator for an extended period and turned it on at 2 p.m., not to be turned off again until 8 a.m. Sunday morning. When we checked the refrigerator at that time our situation was much worse. All the foods in the freezer were thawed.

    It was imperative that we solve this problem if we were to continue our cruise, and our lives, as planned. Was our refrigerator simply failing, requiring us to replace it at substantial cost, perhaps several thousands? If this were the case we would have to spend significant time living in a marina somewhere while we got the unit replaced, which would completely disrupt our plans and our lives. This would be much worse than the problems we had with our air-conditioner.

    Once again I studied the manual for the refrigerator that came with the boat, looking for any hint or clue, and once again I read the specification that, if the refrigerator was mounted in an enclosed space, then that space should be vented with a minimum aperture of 35 square inches. I knew from looking at the vent cover on the outside of the cabin that the vent size was much smaller than this; the vent cover was only about two inches by four. In fact, for this reason I had long ago purchased a 5 by 9 louvered stainless steel vent cover with the intention of someday enlarging the vent to improve the performance of the refrigerator. But to this date our refrigerator had never failed us. On the other hand, we had not anchored for extended periods in weather as hot as what we experienced after Fran.

    There was one way to find out if the lack of adequate venting was the source of our difficulties, and that was to remove the refrigerator from its compartment and see if its performance improved. Although I hated to disrupt the interior of our cabin, I removed the mounting screws and was able to slide the refrigerator out of its compartment and onto the cabin sole without having to disconnect it. I was shocked by what I found. The compartment was not vented at all! The small vent that I could see on the outside of the cabin had been misplaced. That vent hole, which assuredly was meant for the refrigerator, opened underneath the galley sink instead! The wonder was that the refrigerator had been able to operate at all.

    Looking back on our actions on that Sunday morning I wonder at our boldness, but there seemed very little choice at the time. We had to get this problem resolved, and do it ourselves if at all possible. So I restarted the generator at 9 a.m. to provide power for my drill and saw, ran an extension cord onto the outside deck, and, after measuring very carefully, cut a large rectangular hole in the side of the boat. By noon the 5 by 9 vent cover had been mounted and sealed, and the refrigerator replaced in its compartment.

    We turned off the generator and waited. This would be a difficult test since the refrigerator was now running off the batteries and the outside temperature was again in excess of 90 degrees. We were encouraged by the fact that by evening the ice cube trays had started to freeze again though the meats in the freezer compartment were still soft.

    The NOAA weather forecast that night was the best we had heard for almost a week, with predicted hot temperatures but light winds and calm sees on the Chesapeake. If we were going to proceed with our plans to ascend the Potomac and visit Washington this might be the best time to cross the bay. We decided to leave the next morning if the forecast held, cross the bay and anchor somewhere in the Solomons area near the mouth of the Patuxent River.

    We were awake early on Monday morning. The NOAA weather broadcast was still the same, calm waters and light winds, so we got underway as quickly as possible. We left the protected anchorage at Trippe Creek by 8 a.m. to cruise the 45 miles across the bay and southward to the mouth of the Patuxent River. We reasoned that we would anchor overnight there and, if the refrigerator was working well and the boat was otherwise functioning properly, we would leave the next day to head south to the mouth of the Potomac and thence upriver toward Washington. On the other had if the refrigerator was still malfunctioning, or if there were any other significant problems, we would be close to Solomons, which had many marinas and repair facilities.

    On that Monday we were treated to an unusual experience on the Chesapeake. During the entire day the water, even out in the main shipping channel in the middle of the bay, was perfectly calm and flat. It was truly like glass with perfect reflections of the sky. Any disturbance, such as a ripple or a boat wake, could be seen from far away. We saw a number of areas where there were what we call fish boils - areas in the water where the surface was roiled by numerous fish feeding and trying to escape predators. We stopped briefly to fish one of these and easily caught five striped bass and a nice sized blue fish. By 3 p.m. we had entered the mouth of the Patuxent, continued past Sandy Point and the entrance to Solomons harbor, and rounded Point Patience off which the water was, incredibly, more than a hundred feet deep in the middle of the river. We tucked into Mill Creek on the western side of the river (not to be confused with the Mill Creek that flows into the harbor at Solomons) and dropped our anchor in a protected cove under the supervision of two beautiful swans. We were home for another night.

    After settling into our anchorage a check of the refrigerator showed that everything in the freezer was hard frozen; the cutting of the vent hole in the side of the cabin had worked and the refrigerator was probably working better than it ever had.

    Although we still had the problem of the batteries not charging fully when the charger was running off the generator, we thought we could live with this for awhile, at least until we got to a marina in Washington. So we settled in to a hot night on Mill Creek and made our plans to start for Washington and the Potomac early the next morning. Once again, however, Hurricane Fran forced us to change our plans. We learned, when we watched late night news from a Washington channel, that the Potomac was experiencing its worst flood in a hundred years due to all the rain dropped by Fran in the Potomac watershed. Whole trees and parts of buildings were being carried down the river by a current that was described as savage. There was no way we could fight against that current for a hundred miles and cope with all the debris in the water. A cruise up the Potomac and a visit to Washington would have to wait for another time. Of course we had no way of knowing that this anticipated cruise up the Potomac, when it came, would be part of the last cruise we would ever make in Summer School.

1800 Days – Seg. 16, Ch. 4, Pg. 5-10

    By Monday afternoon most of the boats that had been visiting Chestertown had left. The holiday weekend was over. We departed as well, hauling our anchor at about 3 p.m. We only went about nine miles downriver to anchor one more time in Comegys Bight, the only boat in this pretty little bay that we liked so well.
    Our strategy in making such a short cruise was to position ourselves close enough to Kent Narrows to be there at high tide, about 10 a.m. on Tuesday morning. This, we felt, was crucial. The approach to Kent Narrows from the Chester was notorious for shallow water and shoaling with a high probability for first-time users such as ourselves to run aground. We would need every inch of depth we could get. Additionally, when the tide was running strongly the current through the Narrows was supposed to be fierce. If we could get there at high tide the current through the narrow bridge opening probably would be more manageable though our charts showed that it would not by any means be slack. This no longer surprised us. From our previous boating experience we knew that there was often a significant offset between the times of slack current and the times of high or low tide.
    On Tuesday morning we were up before seven and underway by 8 a.m. Two hours later, despite having considerable difficulty in finding the channel leading from the Chester to Kent Narrows (it was not as shown on the chart and had apparently been recently moved), we were in front of the Kent Narrows bridge waiting for it to open. As near as we could tell it was exactly high tide, though the current was still running strongly from the Chester toward Eastern Bay, pushing us toward the bridge and making it difficult to hold our position. To our relief the bridge tender seemed very knowledgeable about the problems of handling boats in strong currents (this was sometimes not the case we had found), and when he opened the bridge he used a loud PA system to instruct boats waiting on the other side of the bridge to stand back while we rode the swift current through the narrow opening.
    As soon as we entered Eastern Bay we knew that we were in different waters than in the Chester River drainage basin. We saw swimming crabs and stinging jelly fish, called nettles by the locals, everywhere.
    We followed our plotted course south about ten miles, past the wide opening to the main part of the Chesapeake, until we came to the mouth of the Wye River off Bennett Point at the end of a thin strip of land called Piney Neck. There we proceeded carefully across the shoals off the point (there were two marker buoys to help us) and turned north up the Wye River toward Wye Island. The charts showed the main channel of this river to be very deep with usual depths of 30 to 40 feet and sometimes as much as 50 to 60 feet deep. After the shallow water we had been through it was a pleasure to cruise through such depths, though we had to be attentive not to stray too far from the main channel, as we soon discovered, because the water shoaled quickly on either side. We planned to continue to follow the main Wye River north, past the mouth of the Wye East River that marked the tip of Wye Island. There were several places that promised good anchorages north of the island. We intended to take two or three days to explore ashore by dinghy and, finally, to circumnavigate the island before coming back out on the Wye East River on our way to Oxford and the Choptank River area.
    As we cruised slowly up the river we came fairly close to the shore of Piney Neck on our west. After about two miles we came abreast of a large stately house with extensive grounds, and all over the lawn and in the waters near the shoreline was a large flock of Canada geese. In addition we saw a flock of brilliant white swans. They were stunning in their grace and beauty. And then Nancy yelled at me to watch the depth gage, we were in the shallows. In my excitement over the geese and swans I had allowed the boat to drift too close to shore. But, thanks to Nancy's attentiveness, no harm was done and I turned back into the main channel, thrilled by the sight of these magnificent birds and eagerly anticipating the prospect of exploring this area over the next several days. Less than a mile beyond the house we rounded a large point of land, Drum Point according to the charts, extending from Wye Island on our right. On the other side of the point we entered a sheltered bay and there we decided to stay. We had this seemingly secluded anchorage all to ourselves throughout the night.
    Wednesday morning arrived early and abruptly in the form of wakes that threatened to rock us out of bed. These, we found, were due to work boats traveling up and down the main river channel as well as two boats that were tending crab traps in our little bay. But there was nowhere we had to go on this day. Maybe we would just travel a little around the shore of Wye Island. We could take it easy, get naps and have a restful time. So we eased into the morning, lingering over coffee, juice and toast, talking about how we would explore the area.
    Finally, at 10 a.m. we turned on the VHF radio and listened to the NOAA weather broadcast, and that changed everything. We were shocked to learn that there was yet another hurricane coming, Hurricane Fran, and it was forecast to come ashore in North Carolina and move up the Chesapeake. It was stated that the weather on the Chesapeake was expected to deteriorate as early as the next day, Thursday. It was evident that, if we were going to get to Oxford and the Choptank, we had better leave immediately or we would risk being windbound on the Wye River where there was no nearby town where we could resupply if that became necessary. We scurried about getting everything ready, finally hauling our anchor and getting underway by 11:15. How quickly our plans had changed!
    It was about a 45 mile cruise to Oxford and there was no short cut this time to keep us in sheltered waters. We had to proceed out the mouth of Eastern Bay south of Kent Island, all the way to the main shipping channel of the Chesapeake to skirt the shoals off Poplar, Jefferson and Coaches Islands. As we approached the main body of the Chesapeake we encountered southerly winds to 20 knots that resulted in head seas of about four feet. We left the bridge and went below in the cabin to use the lower helm station where it was less bouncy and out of the wind. This was the roughest water we had encountered since our tour of the Bahamas. Every wave produced a shower of spray over the bow that crashed onto the front window. We had to round Tilghman Island to enter the broad mouth of the Choptank and there is extensive shoaling that extends for more than six miles off the southern tip of the island. Fortunately we were able to carefully cross these shoals using a path that had adequate depths for our boat. Once we were into the Choptank the water calmed appreciably. We headed upriver toward Oxford, which is situated on the neck of land where the Tred Avon River enters the Choptank. Up the Tred Avon, about two miles past the Oxford waterfront, we turned into Trippe Creek, which made off to our right. A mile up the creek we rounded a sharp point of land at a narrows and carefully favored the south shore. We were in what was really like a little bay about a half mile wide but very well protected. Charted depths were 7 to 10 feet. Perfect, we thought, not too deep yet with adequate swinging room. We could safely let out a lot of anchor line to give us the large scope necessary to withstand high winds. It was late, almost 6 p.m., when we dropped our anchor. It had been a boisterous ride but we were now in a spot that we thought would be a good hurricane hole and it was only three miles from Oxford where there were restaurants, marinas and stores for reprovisioning.

A Marina in Oxford: Swans Are Common

    The Trippe Creek anchorage was our home for the next five days and I have nothing but good memories of this time despite Hurricane Fran. On Thursday, the day after we arrived, we took Recess into town where we found a convenient dinghy dock at a restaurant. We had an excellent lunch, disposed of our accumulated trash from the boat, and got a cooler full of ice for our drinks. On our return trip to Summer School in the early afternoon the winds increased and the water became sufficiently choppy that we were taking in spray over the bow of our little inflatable dinghy. Back onboard, NOAA weather radio confirmed that Fran had come ashore in North Carolina and was expected to churn up the Chesapeake still at hurricane strength. We set out a second anchor and adjusted our lines to give us plenty of scope. We were about as well protected as we could hope to be.
    I slept little on Thursday night as the winds increased, preferring to stay awake to watch the radar, GPS receiver and depth gage so that I could detect any appreciable movement of the boat caused by anchor dragging. I dozed fitfully through the early morning hours as the winds seemed to be holding steady at around 30 mph. I was glad when dawn finally came and revealed our bay to be covered in whitecaps. The early morning weather report brought good news, at least for us. Fran was tracking west of the Chesapeake and we would miss the worst of the storm. As the day wore on the winds increased somewhat to 35 mph but we were secure and unworried in our anchorage. In the afternoon Nancy and I sat in our small cockpit at the back of the boat, warmly comfortable and shielded from the wind. We still had a few chicken necks in the freezer compartment left over from Rolph's, and we used these to crab from the back of the boat. By dinner time we had caught eight beautiful large blue crabs and these became the main course of our dinner. Altogether it was an enjoyable and memorable afternoon. I was aware that there must have been some storm surge due to Fran because there was a house on the shore about a half mile away that had a boat dock, and the dock, as best as I could see, had disappeared under the water. However, since we were at anchor we merely rose with the water level, which had essentially no effect on us. By nightfall the winds had started to diminish and the temperature had increased substantially due to the tropical air brought into the region by the hurricane. The low temperature never got less than 75 overnight but we had our generator and air-conditioner. We were comfortable.

House on the Shore at Trippe Creek Anchorage

Dock Submerged by Rising Waters from Hurricane Fran

Restaurant on the Shore in Oxford

Flooded at High Tide During Hurricane Fran

1800 Days – Seg. 15, Ch. 4, Pg. 1-5

Chapter 4 - Chesapeake Explorations

 

    Even studying charts and maps does not adequately convey what a remarkable body of water is the Chesapeake Bay. You have to explore it, experience it first hand and at close range. To realize that it is the country's largest estuary, to know that it is almost 200 miles long, does not tell even a fraction of the story. The shoreline of the bay is immense, scalloped into many bays and peninsulas and islands. Many large rivers enter the bay on both the eastern and western shores, some extending for more than a hundred miles inland, and each of these invites further exploration. We were a little acquainted with the upper bay through our recent cruise to Havre de Grace, and of course we began our life with Summer School on the Sassafras River on the upper eastern shore. But we knew little of the middle and lower bay regions having merely passed through these areas on our way south and north, yet most of the large bays, islands and rivers occurred in these areas. We thought we had a wonderful opportunity for a leisurely exploration of this part of the bay from the end of August through the middle of October, possibly even the beginning of November, until falling temperatures drove us south.

    But first we had to get through Labor Day weekend. We did not want to be traveling on the water during the madness of this holiday weekend. Neither did we wish to remain at Rolph's and be buffeted by the wakes from all the boat traffic that was sure to occur. So we left Rolph's on Friday, August 30, and traveled just two miles upriver to Chestertown where we anchored in the middle of the river opposite the town waterfront. This area was an enforced NO WAKE zone, an established anchorage with marinas on the shore, and we hoped to be able to enjoy the charms of Chestertown, this time from the water, for one last weekend. Friday was Day 110 of our new lives.

    We dropped our anchor at 11 a.m. in the middle of the river and a little south of Kibler's Marina and the Olde Wharf Inn. Considering expected boat traffic, depth, and possible swinging room, we thought that this was an ideal location even though we were about a half mile from the town dinghy dock on the waterfront next to the inn. We made sure that our anchor was very well set in the thick mud of the river and we let out 150 feet of anchor line to give us adequate scope in case of a strong wind. This was a real possibility since Hurricane Edouard, a category 4 storm with winds of 140 mph, was churning a thousand miles away but heading to the mid-Atlantic coast. It could affect us as early as Sunday if it came our way.

    We spent the remainder of Friday quietly on our boat, resting, reading, doing a little boat work, watching other boats come into the marina or anchor off the docks. The weather was perfect with clear skies, light winds and afternoon temperatures in the low eighties. We started the generator at 5 p.m. so we could watch the news of Edouard on television and cool the boat with the air-conditioner. After a dinner of fresh flounder, potatoes au gratin and chilled white wine we settled in for the night, feeling happy and secure in the middle of this beautiful river. After dark, through our large port salon window, we watched a nearly full moon rise through the trees on the shore. We felt worlds away from Rolph's Wharf.

    Our nearly perfect weather continued on Saturday though the temperatures were slightly warmer. The morning weather discussion from NOAA suggested that Edouard may veer away from a landfall on the coast so we were hopeful that we might be able to escape dealing with a hurricane. We lowered Recess into the water off the swim platform, mounted its three horsepower outboard, loaded the life-preservers, spare gas can, oars and various other items that we always carried when traveling in the dinghy, and pulled away from Summer School by mid-morning, anxious to visit Chestertown, which was having its "first annual" jazz festival in the city park on the waterfront. We remained for several hours in the park listening to the music and lunching on hot dogs and beer.

    In the evening we again took our dinghy into town to enjoy a celebratory dinner at the Olde Wharf Inn. The next day, Sunday September 1, would mark exactly seven years since we spent our first night together and this was a much more meaningful anniversary to us than August 1, which corresponded to our actual marriage in 1994 that took place in the office of a ReMax real estate broker while we were on our way to do some shopping in Marathon. This marriage was a merely practical step we took to be certain I could keep medical insurance if I quit my job. The September 1 date, in contrast, was the anniversary of our emotional commitment. After large and satisfying dinners we took Recess back downriver to our boat, weaving through the other anchored boats in the darkness with only the light of the moon to show us the way across the water. It seemed magical riding across the river in the moonlight where we could easily see the small ripples and eddies caused by the current. Back onboard Summer School we turned on the generator and the air-conditioner because the night was still warm.

    Sunday morning brought both good news and bad. The good was that we had escaped Edouard. The morning NOAA weather report stated that the hurricane had taken the hoped-for turn to the north and would stay well off shore. This was a major relief and we felt that now we could proceed with our cruising plans.

    The bad news was that on my routine morning check of the engine room, the battery voltage of our house batteries was low at 12.32 volts under no load. This value indicated that the batteries were only about half charged despite the fact that the generator, and therefore the battery charger, had been run overnight for 12 hours. This length of time should have been more than sufficient to charge the batteries fully, which would have produced a no-load voltage of 12.6 volts minimum. I did not know whether our golf-cart batteries that we used for the house batteries had begun to deteriorate or whether we had some other electrical problem. In either case the problem had to be resolved. We needed to be able to stay at anchor for extended periods of time without constantly running the generator.

    Despite the nagging worry caused by the battery problem, Sunday was a quiet peaceful day. Except for a dinghy ride through the anchorage we stayed onboard, had a good brunch followed by short naps, watched the opening game of the NFL season, and talked about the various possibilities for our fall cruise on the Chesapeake.

    We consulted the charts and the cruising guides and discussed the areas we would most like to see. There were so many possibilities that we knew we had to be very selective. In the end we decided that we would take September and most of October to explore the middle of the Chesapeake, the area roughly between the Bay Bridge connecting the eastern to the western shore near Annapolis, and the Maryland-Virginia border. The highlight of our cruise was to be a 100 mile trip up the Potomac River to Washington, D.C., which we wanted to do a little later in the fall when the temperatures would be cooler.

    Before then, we intended to explore the eastern shore of this section of the bay. When we left Chestertown we would follow the Chester downriver in a generally southwest direction. Before the Chester enters the Chesapeake it makes a big sweeping turn to the north to get around Love Point, the northern tip of Kent Island, which is a large island running about 15 miles from north to south, and connected to mainland Maryland by a bascule bridge over a narrow channel of water called Kent Narrows. By transiting Kent Narrows it is possible to go directly from the Chester River to a large bulge in the Chesapeake called Eastern Bay, and we were very interested in this area. At the northern end of Eastern Bay was Wye Island, a Natural Resources Management Area owned and managed by the state of Maryland and known for its wildlife including a resident population of swans. At the southern end of the bay was the Miles River and St. Michaels, which we had enjoyed so much when we visited it by car. St. Michaels itself is on a narrow neck of land on the other side of which is the large complex of waterways at the mouth of the Choptank River, another of the major rivers on the Eastern shore. It was home to the attractive small towns of Oxford and Cambridge, which we had also visited once by car. Good anchorages abounded throughout all of these waters, and any of the towns would make interesting stops to sight-see and reprovision. We thought we would explore these areas before crossing the Chesapeake to begin our trip up the Potomac to Washington. It seemed a good and simple plan, and we were anxious to begin. We had no way of knowing on that Sunday just how much the weather would change it.

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