In every good story there is an element of suspense, adventure, or mystery. Unfortunately, this story doesn’t have any of those things in it. The trip up the Intracoastal Waterway from Hilton Head to the Sassafras River didn’t involve any dangerous situations, men overboard, mechanical failures, medical emergencies, or even a lousy meal at a restaurant. That doesn’t mean we didn’t have a lot of fun on the seven-day trip. But I am getting ahead of myself.
When the telephone call came in March from a fellow boater I will call John, I couldn’t say no. How can you say no to an invitation to spend seven days on the water with three other guys moving a 44-foot Sea Ray from Harbour Town, SC, to Skipjack Cove Marina in Georgetown, MD? The other crew members, Steve and Harry, couldn’t say no, either, so there we were, loading a week’s worth of gear onto the boat one Tuesday afternoon in the middle of May.
Locks and Leaks
We left Harbour Town early the next morning with sunny skies and temperatures in the mid-90s, and as I said, we didn’t have any problems. This was a marked contrast to what happened the last time I was on the Sea Ray a year ago.
On that occasion Hilton Head Island was the endpoint of our voyage from Florida, and we had just returned from dinner at about 10 p.m. We were docked at Windmill Harbor, which is behind a lock that only operates during the daytime, when we discovered a leaking thru-hull transducer. There wasn’t a lot of water leaking in, but the captain and one of the crew insisted on tightening the locknut down using two 20-inch pipe wrenches. Now, I’m no expert, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to have two determined men torquing on a rusted, frozen nut with 20-inch pipe wrenches in the middle of the night on a boat trapped behind the lock wall with no help in sight.
All I could envision was the small trickle turning into a two-inch geyser when the nut broke off and the transducer fell out of the hole in the hull. Fortunately, my pleas to the two mechanics to stop, at least until the morning, finally had an effect because they put the wrenches away and we all went to sleep (no doubt a light sleep, listening for the sound of rushing water or the feel of something wet and cold lapping at our extremities).
But nothing like that happened on this trip, and we arrived in Charleston, SC, at about 3:30 in the afternoon after an enjoyable day of cruising. I say it was enjoyable, but there was a small incident which happened when we were passing a sailboat.
The Slow Pass
At this point I should explain the custom for overtaking a vessel on the ICW. Unlike the Chesapeake Bay, the narrow confines of the ICW necessitate a form of courtesy known as the “slow pass.” The slow pass involves signaling the slower boat ahead of you that you intend to pass them, either “on two” (on their port side) or “on one” (on their starboard side). Once the overtaken boat acknowledges your intention, they slow to idle speed so that the overtaking vessel can pass them at a speed only slightly faster than idle so as to minimize the wake produced. After the pass, the passed vessel quickly turns into the passing vessel’s wake and everyone continues on.
Ordinarily, this little give and take comes off without a hitch; however, on this occasion we had trouble passing a sailboat (a sailboat!). As we cleared their bow, one of the crew on the bridge accidentally hit the kill switch for the starboard engine, shutting it down. Steve, who was at the helm, felt the boat veer and thought we had run aground. He pulled back on the throttles, causing our boat to slow so abruptly and veer to starboard that the sailboat we just passed almost rear-ended us. Imagine the shame, the embarrassment, the outright humiliation to be rear-ended by a sailboat. That disaster was fortunately averted due to some quick maneuvering by the skipper of the sailboat.
A Stubborn Knot and a Bread Knife
Unfortunately, we weren’t so lucky on the trip north a few years earlier. I was aboard the Sea Ray for the leg from Florida to Hilton Head, and we hit something while crossing the St. Johns River in Florida. The port shaft wouldn’t turn, and the engine would stall whenever it was put into gear. We anchored at the side of the channel, and before I knew it the other three men onboard were staring at me. “What?” I said. “Well, you are the youngest crew member aboard,” they said. I will spare you the details of the rest of the discussion, but pretty soon I was fitted with a mask, snorkel, and gloves so I could go over the side to see what was wrong.
I went under and found that we had picked up a line. Or rather a polypropylene hawser, approximately one-and-a-half inches in diameter, was wrapped around the shaft and prop multiple times. We must have had 20 feet of it, forming a massive ball that looked impossible to remove. But I figured I should give it a try anyway. (I may have elected to give up sooner had I known that the only knife aboard had previously only been used to cut bread.)
I soon found myself face-to-face with the knot while wielding the bread knife and I attempted to cut it apart. I could only work on cutting for about 10 seconds at a time before I ran out of air and had to resurface. Soon a 10-foot length of garden hose was duct-taped to the snorkel in an attempt to allow me to stay submerged longer (It didn’t work). After about an hour of slicing (10 seconds at a time) I managed to clear the shaft and prop. The length of the hawser filled the better part of a 40-gallon trash bag, but we were finally on our way again. Luckily, nothing like that happened during the trip this spring.
Snakes in the Hurricane Hole
Thursday dawned sunny and warm. On this day we were headed for North Myrtle Beach. It was an uneventful day, unlike the trip south in the fall with a different crew a year or so earlier. After that crew had set out from the Chesapeake, they discovered that a hurricane was headed toward South Carolina. The crew of the boat was awakened one morning to the sounds of chain saws cutting up the docks at their marina. Apparently, during a prior hurricane, the docks were swept away, and they didn’t want a repeat of the experience. The crew were forced to take the vessel to a nearby deepwater creek and used every foot of line on the boat to secure the vessel to trees on the shore along with a couple of anchors. Dozens of other boats were tied up in the creek in like fashion; crisscrossing lines and anchor rodes were everywhere.
As it turned out, the storm veered off to the northeast and the anticipated storm swell was much less than expected, so the crew needed to go ashore to release the lines. Crewmember Pete was nominated. Now, Pete had heard that the island to which they were tied harbored a few varieties of poisonous snakes. Pete, not being a snake fancier, put on his foul-weather gear, and to be extra safe, duct-taped the leg and arm openings to prevent unwelcome advances of the serpents. Then, having been put ashore, he wielded a boat hook, which he used to thrash the weeds and shrubs in front of him in an attempt to scare off any scaly serpents.
One good ol’ boy sat in his boat and watched Pete with amusement as he noisily bashed his way about the island. Finally, he yelled over to Pete to ask what he was whacking the bushes for. Pete replied that he was scaring away the snakes. The old-timer informed Pete that due to the storm swell, there were no snakes in the bushes anymore. Pete was momentarily relieved until the gentleman informed him that all the snakes had gone into the trees, and sure enough, when Pete looked up, the trees were dripping with copperheads and water moccasins. Pete made it back to the boat in record time without even getting wet and Steve had to go back to finish the job.
But as I said, on this particular trip we had great weather, no rain and sunny skies and certainly no hurricanes.
Perpetually Behind Schedule
We made the marina at Dock Holiday’s in North Myrtle Beach and had perfect Bloody Marys as the drink of the evening. Friday, we left early for Beaufort, NC. This leg has several drawbridges we had to go under, and we miss-timed almost every one. We thought that we had finally gotten through this gauntlet of bridges and were headed for the Marine Corps Bridge at Onslow with just enough time to make the five o’clock opening. It was then that the North Carolina Fish and Game patrol decided that we needed to be boarded for an inspection.
Luckily all the papers were in order, and we were only delayed five minutes, but the Marines are a punctual organization. Normally, the bridge opens precisely on the hour, no earlier, no later. And we now figured we were five minutes behind schedule. Ordinarily, this might not have been a concern, but we were already expecting to get to the marina in Beaufort late, and another one-hour delay would mean that the fuel docks would be closed, and it might even be dark when we arrived.
John called the bridge operator and started begging early and often to hold the bridge. The operator told him to put the hammer down, and thankfully, he delayed the opening for about five minutes, so we made it through and made it to the marina just before the fuel dock closed.
Run Aground
The Sea Ray wasn’t so lucky on a fateful trip south in the fall. An incident occurred just north of Beaufort in a section of the ICW on a southbound trip. Just north of Beaufort a 40-foot Fountain go-fast went by at an estimated 60 mph within approximately 50 feet of the Sea Ray. The wake from the go-fast tossed the Sea Ray out of the channel and onto a sandbar. She bent her shafts and propellers and sucked up enough mud and sand to completely plug the raw-water strainers. It had to be towed to a marina, and temporary repairs were made so she could get to her destination. A permanent fix was later accomplished: the owner of the Fountain was tracked down and his insurance company paid for the repairs, but nothing like that happened on this trip. It was pretty uneventful.
Returning Home
On Saturday we left Beaufort for Coinjock. The sounds, Pamlico and Albemarle, didn’t present much of a problem, and we arrived at five o’clock. Coinjock is a unique place that caters to boats transiting the ICW. There’s not much there but a fuel dock and a restaurant, but it offers the only services for many miles. It’s too far to make it to Norfolk from Beaufort so a lot of boats stop here. On the way to Coinjock, the captain/owner spilled some varnish on the carpet in a misguided attempt to re-finish a railing in the cabin. Steve and John used every cleaning product on the boat and eventually discovered that a mixture of turpentine and baking soda did the trick. (Note: This concoction also removes the skin from your hands.)
We arrived at Windmill Harbor on the Rappahannock River after passing through Norfolk. We were finally back in the Chesapeake, and it felt like home even though we were still two days away from Skipjack Cove. We could have made it to the Sassafras, but John refuses to bypass Annapolis when he gets anywhere near it (something to do with oyster shooters, crab cakes, and Painkillers).
After an enjoyable evening in Annapolis, we left early the next morning and arrived at Skipjack Cove around 11 a.m. We unloaded in record time and soon were heading home in John’s land yacht. Seven days on the water, zero incidents. A pretty boring trip, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe next time will be more exciting.
By Gary Armstrong