Albemarle Sound- rough ride!

Coinjock Marina (mile marker 50) was a lovely place; they had a band that evening dockside, a delicious dinner menu (we didn't get their famous 32oz prime rib), clean air conditioned showers, and mosquitoes that would carry you away!  This place it quite famous, particularly in the fall and spring when boats are transiting the ICW for the winter season in the south.  Coinjock even has a helicopter landing spot for the fine rich folks.  We were one of only five boats there, and I preferred it quieter. I can only imagine the party like atmosphere when the season is in full swing- boaters are typically big partiers.

We were up at 6 and off the dock by 7am.  I wanted to get across Albemarle Sound by noon.  There was a front scheduled to move through, and I didn't want to be caught in the sound when that happened.  As we headed out to the sound, we passed some veteran sailors Len had spoken with at Coinjock.  They chose to go to an anchorage for the night.  (Sailboaters are notorious for being cheapskates!) As they came in to view, we saw them weighing anchor, and they slid in line behind us about a half a mile back.  These older folks were from Oriental, NC, our destination, so we felt comfortable 'buddy boating' with them across the Sound.

At the entrance to the Sound, the wind picked up, and we rolled out the jib.  I was at the helm, motorsailing on a beam reach at a consistent 7-7.5 knots.  Len was clearly getting nervous as the wind and seas were building.  As soon as we passed the relief of the land mass, the 16pmh WSW winds began gusting to 26mph.  The seas were consistently 3-4's, and there was a small craft advisory.  I was still holding my own, but we were quite heeled over, and I could hear s**t flying down below. At our speed, we were pulling away from the veterans behind us, but they were also under full jib, no mainsail, and taking our same course. There wasn't another boat in sight- that small craft advisory later explained that! (Honey, are we considered a small craft?!)

It was relatively comfortable until about 5 miles out.  We hit the occasional 5 footers, the bow was buried twice, and then a big gust literally took the wheel from my hand and we rounded up.  For those of you who are not sailors, while it sounds scary, that is just what sailboats are meant to do. When she heels too far over, if you don't make an adjustment in your sails or course to quickly dump wind, she will turn her nose (bow) directly in to the wind to right herself.  You would only get 'knocked down' (tip over in land lubber's terms) if you had the misfortune of excessive wind and significant waves on your side to lay you over. Sounds scary enough, but the weight of the heavy keel underneath you will right the boat within a few minutes.  

We weren't in any kind of danger, but the boat was over powered, and I was having trouble holding course, even in dumping more wind from the jib.  If our mainsail was operable, we would have reefed it in and could have set a more comfortable course.  The truth is, I have not raised the main yet. While the boat survey indicated that the sails looked clean and in good shape, the halyards and sheets have been sitting in the weather, inoperable and unprotected, for over two years.  They look pretty rotten to me, and I didn't want to change out the lines until we have the mast down. I wasn't willing to take a chance on the halyard breaking in a blow, and having the mainsail fall on the deck and in to the water. We would be in real trouble if that were to happen.

I asked Len to roll in the jib, to see if it was more manageable.  The seas were pretty confused, and in the trough of a wave it sometimes slowed us down to 4 knots.  That wasn't going to do at all.  Len asked if we should turn back, but more than five miles in I said, "No, we're committed."  So long as I had the other boat about a mile behind us, I felt it was fine.  It was going to be an uncomfortable ride, for sure, but at no time did I feel unsafe.  

I'm not sure I can say the same for Len.  

He is an experienced boater, and has probably been in worse conditions in his fishing boat beyond the reef in the Keys, but sailing is all pretty new to him. He's had a steep learning curve in the last week. The next option was to furl out half of the jib only. We needed the power in the jib to help pull us through the waves, otherwise we couldn't hold our speed.  This seemed to settle things down, and even with half a jib, we were consistently over 6.5 knots.  Len took the helm for me as I was feeling sickly, and he sailed it LIKE A CHAMP the remaining 8-9 miles. His boat driving skills were impeccable, and he had complete control, quartering the  3-5' waves, all the while dodging a minefield of crab pots and dealing with a gusty wind. 

Meanwhile, I was puke burping in the cockpit and helping spot crab pots.  Only as we neared the edge of the Sound was I able to take this short video.  It doesn't begin to capture what we had just been through, as it was beginning to settle down  The boat was covered in salt, sand, and even a few rocks we picked up in the waves.

Leaving the Sound, we navigated the tricky channel markers
for the Alligator Swing Bridge.  It was quite the zig zag coming
in, and if you got off course, you'd quickly be in 2-3' of water.
I called to request an opening, and the bridge swung open
just as we made the approach.  I've already lost track of how
many bridges we have been through, or under, this trip.

Right on time, we entered Alligator River-Pungo River canal
just after twelve noon.  After the sloppy mess we had just come
through, it was so pleasant to have a straight, quiet, FLAT,
twenty mile run.  The Waterway Guide said to keep a look
out for deer, black bears, and a variety of water foul.

Peace and quiet while we enjoyed the view from the cockpit-
it was like canoeing the river without having to paddle!

It was beautiful, the air smelled so clean and fresh-
I loved smelling the juniper, cypress and pines.

I never did see any critters, and we had the canal

entirely to ourselves the whole afternoon until this

barge slipped by us carrying a heavy load.

We enjoyed lunch, and took turns resting. When Len took
the helm, I worked at straightening up the mess down below.
Near the end of the canal we entered 'duck country', and the
marshes were covered with duck blinds.  I'm glad it was only
'wabbit season', as I'd hate to have to worry about dodging bullets, too!

It looked as if there was weather up ahead, just
where we were sailing to. As we neared the end of
the canal, I looked up at the sky and was reminded
of my girls when they were little tots.  When ever
they would see sunbeams through the clouds,
they would say, "Look, Mommy, heaven."
It made me smile inside.  I could just hear their
sweet voices in my head, and see their cherub faces
in my rear view mirror as if it was yesterday.

We had pushed it long and hard all day, and
were sailing in to Belhaven, NC right at sunset.
We decided to go the extra miles late in the
afternoon, thinking we could make it before
sundown. Belhaven is at MM 136, which
means we put 86 miles under the keel today!

It was beautiful watching the sunset, as I aimed for the channel
markers to Belhaven.  We tied up to the Belhaven Town Docks
(never come in to an unfamiliar port at sundown!) with the help
of an Amish man who grabbed our stern line. We were worn out. 

A couple was walking the dock and engaged us in conversation about Kantiya (the usual questions), and then I asked where we might get a late dinner.  They recommended Fishhooks, which was just about a five minute walk away. We got there just ten minutes before closing, but they took excellent care of us.  Clearly we looked exhausted, and they did the 'little extras' in serving us that you only get with that southern hospitality.  It was a Saturday evening, and we were planning an early start again Sunday morning, and we inquired as to where we might buy ice.  They ended up filling a grocery bag of ice and just handed it to us for free- God love them.  I hugged the waitress and manager; their kindness meant so much.  We drug our tired selves back to the boat, and I think we fell asleep the minute our head hit the pillow.  What a day.

G'nite, y'all!