Steve learns to heel

The ICW (Intracoastal waterway) winds through Georgia, and I mean winds. The cruisers talk about how you can go 10 miles and only make one mile of progress...an exaggeration but it is twisty. With a couple of hours of daylight left, I scooted past a marina ...thought about it for a second, and turned back. They had one space left and I took it. (Steve was happy.) As I checked in the dock-master said, "You might want to go ahead and reserve tomorrow night too. It's supposed to rain all day with 30 knot winds." I thought about it for a second.. and left the dock before sunrise the next morning. 

Day 8  It wasn't raining as forecast, but it was blowing. I shut the engine off and jibed for 10 hours through those twisty wetlands. Miles and miles of marsh, rivers and tidal creeks peppered with the occasional cluster of trees, but mostly just... marsh. The rains did come, and of course they fell hardest when they came from my stern...the most exposed area of my cockpit. And the wind did howl...all day long...gusting so badly the autopilot couldn't hold course. A couple of unplanned jibes nearly busted my block and tackle, and the planned ones weren't much better. A wild ride...with everything unsecured down below lying in a heap on the cabin floor. Steve didn't like it...just when he'd get situated, the boat would heel to the opposite side. After hours of this he sought refuge down below...next to the screaming VHF radio and the clanging assortment of spillage. The wind was relentless, never hinting of letting up. Around 4pm I received a text from my friend on Sullivan's Island: "Time to seek an anchorage" was all it said. I tried two separate locations, both with little protection and lots of current. By the time I'd leave the cockpit and run up to the bow to drop the hook...the wind had whipped the boat into the shallows. The 3rd attempt was successful, for me...not for Steve. He would have to go 24 hours without relieving himself, something he apparently resigned to do, as he dozed off early.

I didn't run the engine all day, except to leave the dock and drop the hook. Pretty cool.

Captain Bruce Martin

Steve's not my co-pilot.... Bruce Martin is. He's a native Chawstonian (the one that helped me fetch fuel lines and supplies while stuck on Isle of Palms) and he knows every inch of the area. He's been with me since the months before my departure...emailing questions, concerns and tips regarding my journey south. He should know...he's done it many times. He knows more about sailing and has been in more shit-storms (lightening strikes), hellish seas than most, but he knows a lot of other stuff too. He practically pioneered farm-raised shrimp in a pond on his family land. He's delivered boats. He built million-dollar homes on Sullivan's Island. And to this day he resides on one of the most beautiful pieces of that entire island. He's an old salt. I met him in the early 80s through a mutual (and mutually dear) friend. About the only thing we had in common was our penchant for using our bodies as recreational drug depositories. We rarely kept in touch, and were it not for FB we probably wouldn't be in touch now. Like me, he's an acquired taste. He drones on and on and on ...digressing in the middle of a digression. You don't really converse with him...you just wait for him to exhaust himself and then try to remember your train of thought a few minutes back. Everything that he rattles on about is interesting, it's just seldom pertinent. However, I've learned that if you'll wait...the man drops nuggets of knowledge at every turn. And not just local knowledge; Bruce has been around the world and can tell you the best spots in the best cities in the best countries. He can tell you the pub owner's son's dog's name (Dozy) and how it used to howl at exactly 12-noon every Tuesday because that's when the people running the laundry mat next door used to cook jerk chicken in the little side alley where the graffiti artists would have competitions drawing the police chief's daughter who got caught getting her stocking stuffed at the pub owner's Christmas party.... but I digress. 

He's sailed the Bahamas and he knows the route like he knows his driveway. He called me the other day and asked me where I anchored for the night. I said I just went under a bridge near... And before I could finish my sentence he said "I know exactly where you are, you're off to the right in that little creek just south of the Limehouse Bridge sitting in about 10 feet of water." And I was.

Bruce and I talk twice a day because like a good co-pilot, I'd be lost without him. 

Day 9 The winds died down to 10mph overnight and this morning Steve gets to pee. He's happy. In fact, he had a really good day. Dolphins were everywhere today and Steve did laps around the boat deck about to jump out of his fur. I think I know why he gets so excited...The same reason I do. Of all of the hundreds of dolphins I've seen over my lifetime, the next one i see will be just as cool as the first one I saw. You can't say that about a lot of things, really. In any event, Steve's enthralled. He can hear them surface now, even when he's down below!

Then more rain came, only this time it brought bolts of lightening with it. For the last two days I've been the only fool on the waterway, but today there is a sailboat about a 1/2 mile behind me...and somehow I feel 50% safer knowing there are two masts pointing up into the electric sky. I skate through and make good time, pulling into Jekyll Island with a mission. I need a new windlass. The boat came with a manual one, but last night's anchoring debacles convinced me of what I suspected all along...a motorized windlass is safer when single-handling a sailboat. I'll spend all day tomorrow installing it. Hate the delays, but I'm pretty sure I'll appreciate them down the road. 

"Are you bored yet?"

That was the text I received from Whitney today. And I hadn't thought about until then, but...no. I'm not bored. I suppose that if I were just along for the ride I would indeed be bored, but as is...in charge of everything...I haven't felt the least bit bored. In fact, it occurred to me today that I've been an entire week without listening to a single note of music. I honestly can't remember that ever happening before...ever.  I have tunes onboard, but for some reason it doesn't seem appropriate. 

I think I'm about half-way to Miami.