Brownsville, Texas, and the Mexican Border

15. January 2011 by admin.

 

On January 3rd with the prospect of a few days of light winds, I got up two hours before dawn.  A double ration of oats, nuts, and fruit with a large cauldron of coffee set me up for a long day’s run on quiet water.   Once the heavy plastic side curtains that shroud me from the perpetual heavy dew and inclement weather were rolled and packed away I set off to the west through the Atchafalaya Delta.  This massive delta region is located some 70 miles south of Baton Rouge, and the Intracoastal Waterway makes it’s way through continuous cypress/tupelo swamp and massive shallow bays all the way to Port Arthur and the Texas border.  It was only a few degrees above freezing and I had trouble keeping warm while cruising at 17 knots.  Southern Louisiana seems to maintain a constant 100% humidity that can chill to the bone.  This part of the Intracoastal is especially remote with no recreational boaters.  There is just the occasional tug/barge traffic pushing huge quantities of grain, oar, aggregate, and petroleum east and west. There are usually 6 barges, three wide and two abreast.  Tugboats here are a special breed with a flat bow, they only push, never pull.  With fuel stops 50 to 100 miles apart my first goal was Intracoastal City some 60 miles west.  Fuel availability is a major source of anxiety with no way to tell if a spot on the chart will have gasoline or not.  It is desolate and lonely cruising through the somber gray winter swamps and bayous with only the odd tug helmsman to wave at.  There were more Bald Eagles, Ospreys, and Ducks than I encountered anywhere else on the trip.  Of course the omnipresent turkey vultures, or buzzards, were always circling overhead.

 

After getting fuel at Intracoastal City there was a lock to negotiate going on to Lake Charles and beyond.  After another 4 hours of running wide open I came to a place called Calcasieu Point Landing.  The chart plotter showed a marina there, but it had never been built back after the ravages of hurricane Katrina.  Consequently, I had to find another place to get out of the constant commercial traffic and wakes of tugs and offshore supply vessels.  Oil and gas production with some shrimping are the mainstays of this region.  Luckily there was a quiet creek running back into the cutgrass swamp that afforded a quiet night’s rest on an anchor.  It was one of my best days running and I made 136 nautical mile.The next day, Jan. 4, is memorable because of all the wildlife I saw.  Approaching the Texas border the low swampy land gives way to raised flat grassland for as far as the eye can see.  The Intracoastal Waterway assumes the look of a dredged canal.  The banks are anywhere from 2 to 20 feet high.  Shortly after starting out I saw a coyote swimming across the waterway.  There was a constant howling of coyotes all around me the night before, so I knew that there were many in the area.  Coyotes are capable of making the most astounding array of strange noises that must be experienced to be appreciated.  They can swim amazingly fast, and I made a couple tight circles around him just to look in his eyes.  There was more red fir mixed with light gray on his head and upper back than I would have expected.  Upon reaching the other bank he shook himself off and stood there watching me continue west.  I was lucky to find fuel around one o’clock in the afternoon at a place called Stingaree, Texas where a few small shrimp boats were tied up.  Some cottages and vacation homes mounted on stilts began to appear, but everything had a deserted closed for the season feel about it.  That night I found shelter in yet another marsh surrounded by grassland.  As darkness fell I was amazed to see at least a dozen large black hogs rooting around the edge of the small pond I was anchored in.  I whistled at them but they paid no heed.  Even loud banging of pots did not make the slightest perceivable impression on them though they were a scant 30 yards away.  They seemed intent on eating the roots of marsh plants. The next day January 5, while taking fuel in Matagorda, I learned that southern Texas has a large problem with feral pigs.  Many neighborhoods and subdivisions erect fences to try to keep them out.  They are very destructive on crops and gardens, and they present a growing menace on highways.  The problem is only getting worse as their population increases.  Hunting in many areas is futile because they are nocturnal and survive well in populated areas.

 

Later that day I had to cross the dreaded Matagorda Bay.  It is a notorious 17mile stretch of open water that everyone kept warning me about.  The wind can come up quickly and the water is so shallow all vessels must stay in the dredged channel.  Spoil banks (the deposit from dredging) line both sides of the channel for miles making the water on the sides less than one foot deep in many places.  Deeper portions let the waves build and break in a treacherous maelstrom that sinks even tugboats.  I just told myself to go on and see what it looks like.  If it’s nasty just turn back and wait.  The problem is, it is about 30 miles back to the town of Matagorda, with precious little shelter in between.  The Intracoastal at that point has very low banks and surrounding land with no side creaks or spots for refuge.

 

Nearing the open bay the wind seemed light and I thought I would just go wide open, and get across it.  However, a few miles before reaching the open bay I came up behind a US Coast Guard tugboat pushing a work barge at about 5 knots.  They were right in the middle taking the whole waterway, and throwing an enormous 5 or 6foot wake.  It was a double wake, as the barge being pushed was making almost as large a wake as the Coast Guard tug pushing it.  I followed behind for 10 or 15 minutes thinking the ignorant fellows might reduce their wake or move over to let me pass, but we all know what officious government fellows are like. They just stood on oblivious to my presence.  It was mid afternoon and staying behind them would mean taking 3 hours to cross Matagorda Bay. If I could get by them, I could cross in one hour and still have daylight enough to find refuge for the night.  This was a very significant factor in my situation, as the wind was predicted to blow 15 to 20 from the North the next day.  I have learned that passing vessels throwing large wakes in a constricted waterway is tricky.  Go too slow, and the deep trough between the wake waves will cause a small boat to broach turning sideways and possibly capsizing.  Go too fast, and risk the bow plunging into a wave face and swamping.  Neither one was a pleasant prospect, but I determined to try passing.  Who better to rescue me if I foundered than the US Coast Guard buffoons generating the wake?  Perhaps the prudent fellow would have dickered with them on the VHF radio, but I wasn’t in the mood.  I slowed to drop back a few hundred yards, then ran up to 12 knots to pass them on the starboard side.  When I hit the first of the waves I began trimming my outboard up to drive the stern down and raise the bow.  There were a few spectacular cleft walls of water as I surged by them.   The stunned cow faced glances from the dullards aboard the barge were comical.  However, I believe the oafish chap on the helm possessed a look of righteous indignation, but I couldn’t be sure.  Without exception, on my 3,800 plus mile voyage over 5 months, all commercial seamen and most recreational boaters had the greatest of courtesy in slowing down or giving way when appropriate.  The only other malicious wake I encountered in all that length of water was thrown by the US Coast Guard in Georgia.

 

For the next three days my luck held good and the wind stayed light enough for me to proceed all the way on to Brownsville, Texas at the Mexican border.  It was my intention at the outset to proceed on down the coast of Central America and beyond.  However, the stark reality of daily murder, kidnap, extortion, and mayhem currently reigning in Mexico convinced me to end my journey here.  Mexico is now a Narco-state, with the military and police just as corrupt as some politicians and drug lords.  Guatemala, below Mexico, is now under Martial law with drug cartel insurrection.  Honduras, just below Guatemala, saw Canadian sailor Milan Egrmajer shot to death by pirates just before Christmas.  It seems that Central America is becoming a “gringo no go zone”.  Without the ability to go offshore, and the frequent need for fuel, it was not sensible for me to proceed further south.  I am sure there are many safe havens in Central America, but they are beyond the range of the Lucky Suz.  With the wonderful help of my new chum John Boykin from San Antonio, Texas, the Lucky Suz is securely stowed on the second level of a new dry stack facility in Rockport, Texas.  John was a massive asset to the conclusion of my voyage with advice, contacts, and transportation.  He then brought me to his home in San Antonio for a heaping helping of Texan hospitality and a historical immersion at “The Alamo”.  I flew home to Halifax, Nova Scotia landing in a swirl of fresh snow, and of course with no luggage.  United Airlines sent my luggage to Dulles Airport in Washington, DC.  I was lucky; it could have been Uganda.  I can now say that I have traveled the entire distance from Montréal, Canada to New York Harbor, and the entire Intracoastal Waterway of the United States to Mexico, solo, in an open boat.  At the age of 57, I would rank this journey as perhaps the greatest learning experience of my life.  Plus, I visited 16 states and made some excellent acquaintances in the bargain.  My faith in human nature has been restored by the kindness of strangers’!  I give a resounding thank you to all the people I met along the way.  When I’ve had time enough to ruminate on my travels I will post an “Epilog Blog” to enumerate the multitude of observations and conclusions derived from my endeavours.

“We are brief as Summer lightning, we are swift as swallow’s flight, we are sparks that spiral upward in the darkness in the night, we are frost upon a window, we will not pass this way again, in the end there is only love remains.”   –Garnet Rogers

Do it now!  There will be time enough for waiting in your grave.”

-Bill Shaw

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Morgan City, Louisiana, January 2, 2011

2. January 2011 by admin.

Morgan City, Louisiana, January 2, 2011

I am sitting here in the Lucky Suz bouncing in a 20 knot North wind at a boat launch in Morgan City, Louisiana.  This is the fourth day of waiting on the weather to co-operate to continue on toward Texas. 

 

The last week has been very pleasant with the companionship of John Boykin a likeminded freighter canoe camper from San Antonio, Texas.  John hauled his canoe to Slidell, Louisiana by Lake Pontchartrain to join up Dec. 27.  We had two excellent days of running and made it 113 miles to Morgan City before yet another cold front brought violent weather.  We tied up at the Morgan City Town Docks under the bow of a massive shrimp boat for protection from the wind.  After an excellent dinner of blackened redfish and shrimp at Jo Jo’s Café we returned to the dock to find the canoes bouncing in the breeze of an approaching thunder squall.  That night of Dec. 29th was my scariest night on the water so far.  The marine weather channel posted a tornado watch for several hours that evening in St. Martin County.  They use an irritating buzzing sound to warn of eminent violent weather.  The computer generated voice was stating, “Tornados after dark are extremely dangerous, do not wait, leave now, do not stay in mobile homes, boats, or vehicles, find secure shelter in concrete structures if possible.”  After frantically searching the chart to find St. Martin County, I found Morgan City right in the middle.  Paralyzed with indecision, I did not know whether to stay aboard or crawl up over the wharf and cower under the concrete steps that go up over the levee surrounding Morgan City.  I stayed aboard dressed in my rain gear, heart thumping, while two vicious thunder squalls passed overhead.  The rain and whitecaps pounded the boats against the dock, but passed without any apparent damage.  At 3:00 in the morning the marine weather channel gave the all clear message and I could finally get some sleep.

 

The next morning John and I left the Morgan City Town Docks and got fuel at the Rio commercial fuel dock close by.  We hoped to find a proper marina somewhere in Morgan City but there is none.  That is the problem with this portion of the Intracostal Waterway going through Louisiana, and Texas.  Everything is commercial fishing and oil industry related with few recreational boating facilities.  Finding fuel was not easy, and it was very difficult to climb out of the boat at the fuel dock.  It was 10 feet above the water.  The best we could do was go 2 miles up river and find refuge at a tiny floating dock at a boat ramp.  That is where I am now for the fourth day waiting on the wind to go down.  With John’s holiday time running out and no foreseeable end to the cold North wind, he made the executive decision to pull out here in Morgan City.  The next leg is well over 100 miles through remote bayou and cypress swamp, so the prudent thing was to leave now without risking being weather bound for days on end in the middle of nowhere.  John most graciously brought me some  warm clothing and maps for which I am eternally grateful.  I will miss his companionship and encyclopedic knowledge of the life and culture of Southern Louisiana, and the Texas Coast.

 

The Joe C. Russo Memorial Boat Ramp here on the Atchafalaya River has turned out to be an excellent place to stay for a couple days.  I had never heard of the Atchafalaya River before but John Boykin knew all the history.  Apparently, it takes up to 12% of the flow of the Mississippi River at Port Allen near Baton Rouge, and is important in flood mitigation.  There is constant commercial barge traffic going up and down river.  However, the boat ramp is a constant hive of sporting activity.  Louisiana is known as a Sportsman’s Paradise for an excellent reason.  Every manner of fishing and hunting watercraft imaginable are constantly going in and out of the water.  There are two 30 foot wide ramps with the first boats arriving at 4:30 in the morning.  Currently, there are duck, goose, and deer hunters, and every sort of fisherman putting off into the protected swamps and bayous.  It is extremely entertaining to watch all the activity.

 

 This area is known as the Cajun Coast and is populated by many of the Acadian People brought here by the British Crown from Nova Scotia in the great Expulsion of 1755.  Somehow Acadian became Cajun here in Louisiana.  These Cajun people have been extremely good to me.  Justin Palmature took me five miles up river to a grocery store in his boat, and then insisted on paying for the groceries.  I tried and tried to give him money but he would not accept it.  He said you came a long way to get here the least I can do is buy you some groceries.  On the way back to the boat ramp he took me on an extended tour of the surrounding swamp.  He showed me slat traps for catching catfish baited with moldy cheese, cradad traps for crawfish, crab traps for catching blue crabs, cutgrass breaks where they hunt cottontail rabbits, gator sets where they use fresh chicken to catch alligators, and gill nets where they catch poggies and shad.  The flora of the cypress swamp was also amazing.  On returning to the boat ramp with my free groceries, a duck hunter, Todd LeBlanc insisted I take 6 Poodoos for supper.  Poodoos are Coots and they are considered a delicacy, plus, he showed me how easy they are to prepare for the pot.  It’s been a never ending succession of Cajuns by the name of Aucoin, Thibault, Comeau, Landry, all familiar names from home in Nova Scotia, asking me questions and telling me things about the Cajun Coast.

 

I think I could stand to live here for a while, but when the wind dies out I must move on West.

 

Regards to all,

Bill

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Christmas in Biloxi, Dec. 27, 2010

27. December 2010 by admin.

Biloxi, Mississippi, December 27, 2010

I was hoping to make New Orleans before Christmas, but it did not happen.   I am alongside at the Biloxi Small Craft Harbor Marina. 

 

December 21 dawned cool and misty with light wind.  It was an excellent day for running.  From Pensacola, Florida I ran wide open trying to make as much Westing as possible.  Mobile Bay is huge, more than twenty five miles across the bottom end, very shallow, full of oil rigs, and shrimp boats.  The channel runs way off shore with no protection should the wind come up.  This is the way the Intracostal Waterway is on the Gulf Coast, it caters to commercial traffic, not recreational.  I saw nothing all day but tugs and barges.   There were many loons in winter plumage, and dozens of large rafts of ducks that seemed to be mostly Lesser Scaup.

 

I made good 69 miles before the wind came up sharply from the South-West.  Then I veered off into the buoyed channel running into Pascagoula, Mississippi.  There is a large Northrop Grumman shipyard there that is building a number of the sleek new generation warships for the US Navy.  It was only 1:30 or so in the afternoon and I would have loved to keep going but the wind only increased.  I asked a crewman on a docked shrimp boat if there was anywhere to get fuel.  He pointed me to a back channel connecting Pascagoula to Gautier where there was fuel, and groceries, at the Mary Walker Marina.  Then I went back into a bayou and anchored for the night. 

 

The next morning, Dec. 22, was cold and extremely foggy.  The wind was low enough to make some headway and I tried to take a shortcut over the shoals going out of Gautier in the morning.  It was a mistake costing me over an hour, as the water shoaled to less than 2 feet for more than a mile offshore.  So, I had to back track to get to deep enough water.  Once I got out into the ICW channel it became so foggy I did not dare to run more than 7 or 8 knots holding a fog horn in my hand for safety.  Then the channel started to run way offshore again and I decided the prudent thing was to follow the buoyed channel into Biloxi, and found a berth at the Biloxi Small Craft Harbor Marina.  A Marine Patrol Law Enforcement patrolman in a small boat stumbled across me in the fog and notified the Harbor Master I was coming in.  He afterwards told me that I was lucky to have sot refuge where I did because Hurricane Katrina had destroyed the marinas on to the West for the next 37 miles toward New Orleans.  I only made 17 miles but was glad of a safe harbor. 

 

The next day was really cold and nasty with small craft warnings.  The Harbor Master said “Ya’ll shouldn’t go anywhere today.”  It’s there and then I decided it would be Christmas in Biloxi for me.  It turns out Biloxi is an excellent place to spend time.  While on a long walk to relieve my weather anxiety, you can imagine my surprise to find the brand new Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art!  It was designed by the same Frank Gehry that did the Guggenheim in Bilbao, Spain, and the Art Gallery of Ontario Renovation, in Toronto, and more.  I spent all day there with the work of Andy Warhol, sculptors Jun Kaneko, and Richmond Barthe.  The main attraction is ceramics by George Ohr the “Mad Potter of Biloxi” after which the new gallery is named.  The staff are really well informed and pleasant.   This new gallery will put Biloxi on the Culture Map, just like the Guggenheim did for Bilbao.

 

The Biloxi Ports Division main building next to where I’m staying has just been built back after the ravages of Katrina.  There are nice showers, and a laundry room with NO washers or dryers yet installed.  Needing some laundry done the Harbor Master told me there was a Vietnamese Laundry down the road a couple miles.  I went down the morning of Dec. 24 with a load of laundry expecting to find a pleasant warm spot to do a wash/dry and read a book.  I found the laundry in a delapitated derelict two story brick building.  After rattling a number of locked inner doors the proprietor startled me from behind with a shrieking “What you want!”  I turned to see an extremely small gray haired woman sticking her head out one of the doors I had just rattled.  I said “I’d like to do some laundry, and I need some change.”  She said “What you need!”  I said “Three dollars.”  The door slammed shut and then reopened with a hand jerking the three dollars out of my hand and dropping 12 quarters into my other hand.  I quickly said “ I need some detergent too,” but the door slammed in my face.  She apparently mistook my friendly smile for the leer of an ax murderer.  She never showed herself again.  So, I used a bar of soap I found on a window ledge for detergent.  Naturally, the washing machine had no hot water, and the dryer had no hot air.  I often wonder if similar things happen to other people.

 

I spent all of Christmas Day using Wi-Fi in the massive Hard Rock Casino next door to the marina.  Biloxi has 9 immense Casino complexes with attached hotels and spas.  Gambling joints seem to have replaced fish processing plants as the major industry in Biloxi.  The concierge was gracious enough to let me use his chambers so I didn’t have to sit exposed to all the flashing lights and bells.  Remarkably, it seemed there were thousands of people gambling away Christmas Day.  Buses bring people into the casinos of Biloxi from hundreds of miles away.  The concierge told me they currently figure getting $400 out of each person that gets off the bus.  Hopefully, I’ll never get desperate enough to want to go to a casino for entertainment. 

 

No one here can believe how cold it is.  Yesterday the forecast predicted 26F degrees Monday night.  That has now been changed to 22F, with high wind.  I can only hope that this cold front will be followed by a strong warming trend.  If the weather will let me get West of New Orleans it should get warmer as the coast begins to turn South again.  For the next few days it looks like walking and walking and walking and waiting and waiting and waiting for the weather to improve.

 

Happy New Year to everyone! 

 

Regards,

Bill     

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Pensacola, Florida, Dec. 21, 2010

21. December 2010 by admin.

Pensacola, Florida, Dec. 21, 2010

 

This will just be a quick review of the log since leaving Englewood, Florida.  The wind is down and I must make as much head way as possible.  The weather has turned really nasty cold, and suddenly what was an enjoyable trip has now become a survival exercise.   I put on every bit of warm clothing I have.  If it were not my Mountain Equipment Co-op Down Filled Guide’s Coat, and the Winter sleeping bag my wonderful wife suggested I bring, I would not be able to continue.

 

At some point in the future perhaps I can flesh out some of these days of traveling.  However, I can assure everyone that this is not fun or enjoyable!  My old chum, Mr. Vile Cleansing Cold, has made the journey South, and found me.  It seems he wants to paralyze my finger joints, inflict pain, and inspect my survival instinct.

 

Dec. 14/10

Left Royal Palm Marina, Englewood at 8:00.

At Long Boat Pass I was too wet and cold to continue.  Fingers numb making it very difficult to rig side curtains.  Anchored in small cove near the bridge.  Wind North 10 to 15.  Made supper and got in sleeping bag to warm up.

33 miles made good.

 

Dec.15/10

Left out at 9:30.  Wind North 10 to 15.  Run North rough, cold, and nasty.  More condo canyon and Manatee Zones.  No boats or people on the water, just the usual blur of cars that never stop everywhere there are roads.

Got fuel and anchored by massive power generating station in condenser cooling water intake canal off Anclote River, near Tarpon Springs. 

48 miles made good.

 

Dec. 16/10

Left Anclote River 8:00 ran all day up to 10 miles off.  Very nasty shoal water(2-5 feet deep) for miles off shore.  Wind picked up at around 2:00 from South East, so found a marked channel to run in to a virtual ghost town called Horseshoe Beach.  Found a very pleasant fellow by name of Jimmy Butler that drove me to get fuel.  Anchored in Horseshoe Beach Cove.

83 miles made good.

 

Dec.17/10

Left Horseshoe 8:30 wind light from South East, dense cold nasty fog.  Steering by chart plotter.  This is the open part of the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway that everyone hates.  I can see why.  No protection, nowhere to go in because of shoals, and a long long way to go. 

Ran close to 12 miles off shore in fog.  Seven hour run to Carribelle, Florida.  Good reception at C-Quarters Marina where I got fuel.  They made a big deal for my making the crossing on a day like that with such dense fog.  People were phoning their friends to come see the big canoe that came from Horseshoe Beach through the fog.

87 miles made good.

 

Dec. 18/10

Stayed alongside at C-Quarters Marina.  Cold, fog, and rain with wind.  Got some good exercise, and ate amazing oysters.

 

Dec.19/10

Left Carribelle at 9:00 very cold nasty.  Wind North at 10-15.  Oyster fishermen out working the shoals for oysters all along Apilachicola Bay.  Most not very friendly.  Seems like they are on some sort of drugs.   Head banger music blaring working the tongs staring straight down at the water.  No waves or smiles.  Went by Apalachicola and up the river on ICW.  Made Panama City, and anchored in small cove at Bayside Marina, everything totally deserted because of the cold.

86 miles made good.

 

Dec. 20/10

Very cold, frost in Panama City.  Really miserable getting going.  Dull overcast foggy mist rolling.  Left at 9:30 and made day run mostly through Cyprus swamp bayous to Pensacola.  Got fuel at Lost Key Marina.  Anchored off in 3 feet of water next to Marina.  My cell phone is totally buggered,  there is no coverage and I do not want to take a day of good travelling weather to go try to find a new one.  Simple Mobile has been a major disappointment!  I am close enough to the marina to get WiFi.  Just what I want to do is tap on a computer in the cold and dark!  It may be some time before I get to a place with WiFi again.  I should be travelling not typing!

97 miles made good.

 

Dec. 21/10

Just finished the above and hope I can get it posted.

 

Hope to cross Mobile Bay today.  Large, nasty, intimidating, full of commercial traffic.  If the wind will only stay light till I get to New Orleans.   

 

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Sanibel Island, Florida, December 9, 2010

13. December 2010 by admin.

Sanibel Island, Florida, December 9, 2010

 

I have been along side here at the Sanibel Marina since last Saturday.   I came the 70 or so miles in the open Gulf in one day from Everglades City.  There was a 3-4 foot swell coming off the Gulf when exiting Indian Key Pass, but it flattened out and the wind stayed around 10 knots from the North.  Running wide open it took me 5 hours to get here.  The Sanibel Marina is at the South end of the Island, close to the causeway that links Sanibel to the mainland near Fort Myers, just north of Naples, Florida.

 

The Sanibel Marina is the best place to stay, as it is close to all the amenities.  The proprietor micromanages all aspects of everything, and he has built a beautiful marina with a good restaurant.  However, I heard it said “If nice guys finish last, this guy’s a front runner.”  The staff bring me a warm blueberry muffin and newspaper each morning at 07:30.  Plus, I have an excellent bicycle at my disposal.   The seat is broad enough to accommodate a pontoon boat, but at least it goes high enough to accommodate my extra long legs.  The bike trails here are amazingly good.   The only complaint is that the daily fee is too expensive for a 22 foot canoe.      My berth is right alongside a massive diesel powered catamaran called the Sanibel Thriller that takes thrill seekers out for a circumnavigation of Sanibel and Captiva Islands.  Since there is no fishing allowed in the marina and the weather has been unseasonably cool keeping people off the water, there is a lot of wildlife around.  I’ve had a Great Egret, Little Blue Herron, and Brown Pelican within arms reach while sitting aboard.  There are also 7 or 8 trophy size Snook that seem to live just under the canoe.  The biggest surprise is how friendly and interested the local people are.  This is a sharp contrast to Everglades City where I was essentially ignored.  The first night alongside brought a number of adults, and a delegation of 6 young kids wanting to see the Lucky Suz.  I’m afraid I bored them with too many details on my travels, but they brought me Spanish Mackerel, Sea Trout, brownies, and a book “Captiva” by the hotshot local author Randy Wayne White.  Since then I’ve met dozens of generous people on yachts, and in the houses next to the marina.  Sanibel-Captiva is definitely an upper class enclave, and schools are among the best in the state.   

 

John Boykin, a wonderful fellow I’ve met online, used to work in the hospitality industry here on Sanibel-Captiva.  He told me that this area is to the Mid-Western US, what Miami is to the New York, New Jersey area.  I have found that to be the case.  It is rare to meet a genuine Floridian, most everyone came here from somewhere else.  I encountered an old fellow who told me his grandfather was a Woolaver from Kings County, Nova Scotia, but he grew up in Ohio and retired in Sanibel.  There are also a considerable number of people from Germany and Switzerland now resident here.   Plus, there is a steady stream of tourist just driving around to look at the homes, and walk the beaches. 

 

John Boykin currently lives in San Antonio, Texas and is developing a sleep aboard expedition canoe similar to the Lucky Suz.  We have been comparing notes on design for the last month or so, and will do some cruising together on the Louisiana, Texas coast.   Apparently, there are a lot of people interested in an affordable camper/cruiser for exploring inland waterways, and shallow coastal waters.  Being able to cook and sleep aboard Lucky Suz for months at a time provides a massive advantage over kayaks and conventional canoes that must find a place to camp ashore each night.  Yes, the United States is a free country but just try camping ashore anywhere between Maine and Florida without permission and see what happens.  The Lucky Suz has the best of three options with the ability to be warmly received at the most exclusive marinas, anchor in remote locations, or camp ashore.       

 

I had never heard of Sanibel Island till Jacques Lambert, an old Nikon Canada Instruments Colleague of mine, said he could meet me here on December 9.  He flew down from Montreal for a few days bird watching and photography.  Sanibel Island is approximately 12 miles long and 3 miles across.  The even more exclusive Captiva Island is about 5 miles long and ½ mile wide.  The two islands are connected by a short bridge.  Jacques arrived just as he said he would and we spent a very pleasant day hiking the beach on Captiva, touring the “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge, and the Bailey-Matthews Shell Museum.  Apparently, the beaches of Sanibel-Captiva are world renowned for seashell collecting.  Historically, many prominent mollusk authorities have spent years collecting and classifying shells here. The islands beaches long North-South orientation, in combination with shallow Gulf of Mexico waters naturally accumulate an inordinate variety of marine mollusks.  We saw two exceedingly informative videos showing the life history of gastropods, and bivalves that exposed a whole aspect of natural history that I never had a chance to indulge.

 

 Something I’ve noticed that needs mentioning here in South West Florida is another whole class of watercraft that I never encountered before.  They are generally referred to as a “Flats Skiff”, or “Fishing Sled”.   There are several manufactures like Hewes, Maverick, and Pathfinder, and most are fiberglass.   They have been developed for sport fishing, and are capable of running at high speed in extremely shallow water.  The Keys, Everglades, Ten thousand Islands, and areas farther North along the Gulf Coast harbor great sport fishing opportunities with one overall common problem.  Much of the best fishing water is very shallow with insidious unmarked oyster bars everywhere.  Over the past 15 to 20 years this type of boat has become very common on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico.  They have a number of very distinct features.  First, the hull is generally under 20 feet long and at least 7 feet wide with a very shallow V bottom for maximum stability and shallow draft.  The gunwhale sheer is flat, parallel with the water, with no more than 2 feet of freeboard, usually less.  Second, the hull is flush decked with a large well for the steering console and passengers.  The rest of the flush deck is divided into covered live bait wells, fuel space, and storage.  Third, there is a two to three foot high poling platform about 3 feet square mounted over the top of the outboard engine, hard aft.  The raised platform aft allows the operator to stand and pole the boat with a 20 foot long push pole to best advantage for the people fishing that stand at the bow.  With the outboard tilted up the boat can be poled through water less than one foot deep with quiet stealth.  Fourth, the outboard engine is mounted on a “jack plate” after the transom.  The jack plate is an aluminum slider mechanism with a hydraulic cylinder that allows the whole outboard engine to be raised or lowered to accommodate very shallow water.  These boats can run, planed off, in less than a foot of water.  Of course you still need to know where you are going among the shoals and oyster bars, but you can imagine the massive advantage to sport fisherman accessing what’s referred to as “skinny water”.  Tarpon, Snook, Permit, Sea Trout, Bonefish, and Bonito are among the most popular quarry.  These boats are capable of amazing speed mounted with up to 300 horsepower outboards.  During my refit at the Islamorada Boat Centre I asked the head mechanic how fast he’s ever driven one of these flats boats.  Jose said “I’ve had one going over 70 miles per hour, but it’s really scary and you need the padoogies.”  When I suggested that his padoogies might somehow be better employed, he retorted “No matter what you do with your padoogies, your looking for trouble.”  He got no arguments from me.               

 

There is something I’ve been compelled to comment on for some time now, and this is as good a time as any. I’ve used sleeping bags fairly often all my life.  So, after close to 4 months of continuously sleeping in a sleeping bag I now feel qualified to make a comment on them.  I hereby pronounce that all sleeping bags should have the zipper running straight up the middle of the front top surface. Every night brings an aggravating struggle to get the thing zipped up without catching clothing, or getting the inside draft flap jammed in the zipper teeth.  A centre top zipper is the perfect solution.  I know this to be the case because I had one.  It was a Korean War surplus mummy bag, purchased at one of those Army/Navy surplus stores my first year of university.  The advantages are so obvious I can’t understand why on earth they are not commonly available.  At least, I’ve never seen one in the last 40 years.  Number one, the mummy hood naturally lies properly oriented without being twisted off to port or starboard.  Number two, opening flat and symmetrical like an open pea pod allows a person to easily orient themselves in the centre.   Number three, when you lie straight back you are not prone to lay on the zipper, so sleeping garments naturally stay out of the closing zipper along with the draft flap material.  Number four, the greatest advantage of all is that to open the bag you just grab the top two sides near your chin with each hand and pull the zipper apart without having to fumble around trying to find the zipper fob.  I can hear all the cute folks saying “What about when you want to zip two bags together?”  “Better still, says I!”  You can both face each other and still know where the zipper is.  This inane fuss will seem trivial to most folks, however, I’ve had to employ the needle and thread several times thus far sewing clothing and stuffing feathers back into the draft flap.  It’s frustrating when there is a better way, and the design could easily be changed.  People that make sleeping bags apparently do not sleep in them.

 

The weather has turned really nasty.  I dropped everything the day before yesterday when the wind dropped below 15 knots to make as much Northing as possible before the next big blow.  It was about 50 F or 10 C with a dense Bay of Fundy like fog.  Steering with my chart plotter I made it the 38 miles North to where I sit now in Englewood, Florida.  I am at the Royal Palm Marina and the marine weather forecast was spot on.  Currently, the wind is a sustained gale over 40 knots from the North-West.  Although alongside in a protected nook, I have 7 lines on the Lucky Suz to keep her from chaffing.  She is bucking like a bronco, making cooking, sleeping, and just being aboard uncomfortable.  With frequent rainsqualls, it would be unbearable without the rigged side curtains completely enclosing me.   Tonight it is forecast to go down below freezing, and the wind will not abate for another three days.  I had no idea Winter in Florida could be so nasty.  Add to this the fact that I must go at least another 1,500 miles along the Gulf Coast to get to Brownsville, Texas, I have come to the distinct conclusion that it will not be as enjoyable as the trip South.   It might not be fun at all.  Everyone around the marina says how unusual this weather is.  Last Winter had a continual succession of unusual Cold Fronts from the North.  This Winter has started off as a repeat.

 

Now I must go try to find some waterproof mittens.

 

Best regards to all,

Bill

 

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Everglades City, Collier County, Florida, December 3, 2010

3. December 2010 by admin.

Everglades City, Collier County, Florida, December 2, 2010

 

Please forgive me for this tardy blog entry.  However, I need time for stuff to happen to me before I can tell about it.  I just reached civilization here in Everglades City after a fascinating week in the Everglades, one of North America’s last remaining true wilderness areas.  At one point I was 3 days without seeing another human, and of course there was no communication.  The arrival of yet another cold front will keep me here at least a couple of days.  The temperature was 46 degrees F this morning with wind gusts to over 30 knots.  I am tied up at a wharf belonging to “The Rod and Gun Club”  on the Barron River, founded in 1864.  It is truly a sportsman’s paradise here with spectacular fishing for tarpon, snook, pompano, and bonefish, etc.  The place has a deserted feeling, but the few locals say “It’s the off season.”  The greatest activity is Airboat Rides in the Glades, and 13 commercial fishing vessels that ply the Ten Thousand Islands, and Florida Bay for Stone Crab.  The fishing vessels woke me with their wakes at 4:00 AM this morning while departing. 

 

First, however, I must fill in the story between my last blog in Islamorada, and where I am now.  After my very costly refit in the Keys at the Islamorada Boat Center where the “Lucky Suz “ was hauled, bottom painted, outboard serviced, and new Garmin chart plotter installed, I returned to Dave Foster’s Chickee Hut to await favorable weather for the run to Key West.   I must thank Dave Foster again for his incredible hospitality in letting me stay at his place in the sun.  The Chickee Hut is essentially a Tiki Hut.  The difference is that Chickees are built by native Seminole Indians.  Apparently, Seminoles are the only people allowed to build thatch roofed structures in Florida.  Dave’s Chickee is reminiscent of a ”Survivor Series”, South Sea Island, tribal council set, replete with torches, skulls, and palm trees.  However, it’s much better because it is on an excellent protected wharf, 6 feet from the waters edge, and there are no jerks around.  Roughly 25 long by 16 feet wide and 12 feet high, there is a massive Cyprus topped bar at one end with a large refrigerator, TV, and big photo of treasure hunter Don Washington, the former owner.  Under the photo it says “Welcome to Captain Don’s, a sunny place, for shady people.”  The walls are open to the balmy breezes with three ceiling fans overhead.  Then there are the myriad trinkets of a treasure hunter’s life.   Barnacle encrusted bottles, stoneware jugs, bronze bits, cleats, bollards, glass netballs, life rings, name boards of sunken ships, blocks, a port light hatch, a ships wheel, and a bronze engine room telegraph.  There are also a dozen or so brightly painted carved masks, a driftwood sculpture with a saber imbedded in the centre, all tastefully arranged around a massive long table with benches.  On the overhead beams there is a very convincing fiberglass replica of a British cannon, and a prototype underwater excavating nozzle used to direct a boats prop wash toward the bottom at a 45 degree angle to remove sand at wreck sites.  A few old hempen fenders, and some easy chairs around the perimeter and you have an excellent place to sit and cogitate.

 

The day before leaving, while standing on the wharf I chanced to look down into what I call the lazaret of the Lucky Suz, just forward the transom.  There, looking up at me was an 18 inch bright green lizard who was apparently contemplating my cleaning stores.  I thought I should go aboard grab him by the tail and fling him to safety ashore.  Very slowly I stepped aboard and got into position to grab him.  However, you know how lizards are, when I made the lunge, he shot forward through the galley into the main hold.   Searching for the better part of half an hour the only thing I saw of him was the tip of his tail in the starboard chain locker.  He never showed himself again.  I can only presume he kept on forward and set up shop in the forepeak bosuns stores.  I think he must still be aboard somewhere.  It’s ok, he could only nibble my bum, and I need the company.  After an exhaustive search of  my Audubon Guide to North American Reptiles and Amphibians I could not identify him.  I’ve since learned that he is what’s known as a “Jesus Lizard” introduced to the Keys from Central America some years ago.  The name derives from their ability to run fast enough to stay on top of water.  The species is Basiliscus basiliscus, and they are astoundingly fast.     

 

Next day the wind fell off, and it was time to push on.  With the sage advise of an amazingly pleasant old Conch (the name given to natives of the Keys) named Bobby, and some charts I started out with a sound plan to make Key West.  Then to continue across Florida Bay to Flamingo, the southern tip of mainland Florida, and the beginning of the Wilderness Trail through the Everglades.  Even with the large open water stretches the run to Key West was very pleasant.  However, after spending so much on my refit, it was not an appealing prospect to go ashore and spend a whole lot more.  Key West is an expensive tourist haven, at the end of the Overseas Highway.  It marks the end of the first leg of my journey, so it was important to get there even if only to turn around and head back north around the Gulf of Mexico.  After getting fuel and long walk ashore, I laid on an anchor overnight in the notch between Key West and Stock Island.  

 

The next day was excellent running back North to intersect the course across Florida Bay to Flamingo.  At the North end of Long Key I swung North West and picked up the markers delineating the boundary of Everglades National Park.  It took 3 hours of clear running in the shallow, 5 to 10 foot deep, water across Florida Bay to reach the buoy on The Middle Ground where I swung East for another 6 miles to Flamingo.  The most exciting thing happened about two hours into the crossing when the water erupted right beside me and a ten foot long bottle nose dolphin shot up level with my head and plunged forward into my bow wave.  The water from his tail wet me down, and of course startled me severely.  Whether I scared him into jumping, or dolphins are in the habit of doing such tricks I could not tell.  I just hoped that a 600 pound dolphin didn’t land on my deck.  The waters are full of them feeding in groups of 3 to 5 all the way across Florida Bay.  I was out of sight of land for the better part of two hours, so, I was glad of my wonderful new Garmin Chart Plotter.  It is amazing to run across such shallow, clear green water for such a distance looking at the bottom all the while.

 

Flamingo, Florida was a disappointment to me because I believed there was a bit of a community there, and an entrance to the Wilderness Waterway running up through the centre of the Everglades Park.  Such was not the case.  There is only a Park Ranger Station with a visitors centre, boat ramp, and campground.  Two hurricanes in 2007 so devastated the area that all there is for habitation is a dormitory for the Rangers.  There were dozens of fishermen launching boats on the inside and outside of the dam between the fresh and salt water.  It is an afternoon’s entertainment just watching people load and unload their boats from trailers.  I saw several people run their boats onto half submerged trailers, leave the outboard running hard ahead 2/3rds throttle, jump off the boat, and run up to crank the boat onto the trailer.  Perhaps that’s how it’s done, but it sure looked dangerous to me.  There are several excellent berths available, but, they want two dollars a foot.  So, the marina was choked with weed and deserted, except for a cow manatee and her calf.  Strangely enough, there were three busloads of  Japanese tourists there snapping pictures  of everything,  while universally remaining stone faced as a sphinxs. 

 

The major disappointment however was the fact that there was no way for me to get the Lucky Suz over the dam into the freshwater of the Wilderness Waterway in the Everglades.  The Rangers said the boat lift was destroyed by hurricanes, and there was no plan to fix it.  There are several other entrances from the sea on the South end of the Everglades, but they are all plugged off with dams to prevent saltwater intrusion.  Apparently, the seawater ruins the desired ecological balance.  Consequently, I had to anchor off shore for the night and run 35 miles outside in the Gulf to Little Shark River where at last there was access to the Wilderness Waterway.  Thankfully, the weather held good enough for the trip out around Cape Sable to Ponce De Leon Bay and I was finally able to gain access to the massive maze of mangrove bays and islands ruled by storm and tides.  The Everglades are a true wilderness that has fascinated me all my life.  I was finally here.  What would it really like to be isolated from all humanity for days in such a place? 

 

The wildlife was truly amazing.  There were clouds of Ibis, Egret, and Roseate Spoonbill, plus lots of Osprey, and Bald Eagles, but no Flamingo.  I saw many alligators, two American crocodiles, several manatees, and a large snake to far off to identify.  Much has already been said about mosquitos, but you can’t overdo the thing.  The Park Staff warned me about the mosquitos that would be encountered. Having spent a significant amount of time in the great boreal forests of the North, how could someone from Florida tell me anything about a mosquito?  However, I was in for a shock.  Everything is very pleasant until dusk.  Then, even being careful to anchor several hundred yards from the nearest mangrove thickets you can perceive  a high pitched hum.  It gets louder and louder until they hit you with an astonishing ferocity like a raptor taking a rabbit.  No buzzing around your ears for a couple of seconds, they go for the jugular, and there are thousands within minutes.  It is the Salt Marsh Mosquito, and I was so impressed that I learned his real name Ochlerotatus taeniorhynchus.   Deet, of course works, but after the first night of applying industrial quantities I decided it easyier to finish the supper dishes early and simply retire under my mosquito net with a good book and await the onslaught.  Curiously though, in the morning they do not bite.  Hundreds remained perched everywhere inside my bimini, dodger, and side curtains, fagged like a garrison swordsmen following a night in Paris.

 

The Glades are treacherous in many ways.  Without a GPS or intricate local knowledge it is a hopeless unfathomable maze of mangrove.  My biggest surprise was finding marked portions of the Wilderness Waterway completely grown shut and impassible even with a kayak or small canoe.  Alone, with a 22 foot canoe weighing close to a ton, I had no choice but to plot an original exit route back out into the open Gulf.  Apparently, the Park Service has no resources to maintain passages, and of course visitors are not allowed to cut even a twig.  Consequently, the mapped waterways only get worse and worse.  This may be by design because it is the duty of the Park Service to minimize the impact of visitors on wildlife.  I think it’s working. 

 

My luck ran out when I reached the open water at the mouth of the Harney River.  It was the mid afternoon of my second day in the wilderness.  The tide was dead low leaving a scant 8 inches of water for at least a mile off shore.  The wind was rising from the South West shoving me back in the wrong direction.  I tried rowing for a half hour or so making little headway.  Next I jumped out with sandals on and tried lugging her with the bow line over my shoulder straight offshore.   Then when it seemed I would have to spend the night anchored in the open Gulf, I thought there might be enough depth to get at least a portion of the outboards propeller in the water.  By very carefully idling  and assuring cooling water was getting to the engine it seemed like some headway was aquired.  As the sun was rapidly sinking towards the horizon a shade deeper water was gained.   Little by little I was able to lower the prop further into the water and increase speed.  At sunset the Lucky Suz was at the mouth of the Broad River, five miles North, and after grounding several times finally made it back into the sanctuary of the deeper water mangroves.  The struggle was rewarded with a cold meal of purple cabbage, and wieners under protection of the mosquito net.

 

The next three days passed pleasantly enough but I found myself croaking for a place to get ashore.  There is nowhere to step out of the boat unless you want to stand in deep mud or on mangrove roots.  At the end of the fifth day sport fishermen began to abound, and I knew I was getting close to Chokoloskee, the end of the Wilderness Waterway.  After running aground on oyster bars more times than I can remember, I finally made Everglades City.  That is where I am now waiting on favorable weather to continue on up the Gulf Coast to Naples and beyond.

 

When I reach Sanibel Island I hope to find a place to lay without being extorted to my last cent.  Then perhaps file another blog with some of the amazing history of the  Ten Thousand Island Region I hope to start exploring tomorrow.

 

Best regards to all,

Bill                              

 

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Islamorada, Upper Matecumbe Key, Florida, November 19, 2010

19. November 2010 by admin.

I wish to tender my vast apologies to all those interested in my tardy blogs.  Internet access has continuously been a massive burden to me.  If anyone out there has a solution to internet access in remote areas please let me know.  My email is   billshaw.org@gmail.com    My communication problems will only get worse, much worse, when I plunge into the very bowels of the Everglades.

 

As usual, I have had some genuinely bizarre things happen to me since my last blog entry.  I am currently about half way down the Keys at a place called Islamorada.   It is located on the north end of Upper Matecumbe Key.  Again, Lady Luck has caused her puss to shine upon me!  First, however, I must explain how I got here.

 

After clearing the marina at Fernandina Beach I ran down the Intra Costal Waterway to St. Augustine, Florida.  St. Augustine is reputed to be the oldest European city on the North American Continent.  Founded in 1565 by Spanish explorer and admiral, Pedro Menéndez de Avilés, it is still going strong, and the home of Ripley’s “Believe it or Not Museum”.

 

While I was drifting by the St. Augustine Marina, dickering weather or not to buy fuel, or go in and tie up, there chanced to be a middle aged, rather large well built chap that came running down one of the dock ramps crying out to me.  Having a long wavy shock of graying hair and a mid-evil sort of countenance, I was a bit dubious of his intent.   My first thought was that he might be some sort of neo conquistador luring me closer to run me through with a pike or a rusty piece of re-bar, but, this turned out not to be the case.   He was all horned up about the Lucky Suz, and started photographing her from as many different vantage points as he could get to.  Afterwards, he guided me to the fuel dock and I made up.  He then introduced himself as David Foster, “Treasure Hunter”, and I must say, one of the finest people I ever hope to meet.  He is one of the progeny of the very successful treasure hunter Mel Fisher.  

 

David Foster’s excitement over Lucky Suz was tied to the fact that he has a friend in St. Augustine that is trying to develop a commercially viable “Camping Skiff” for production.  To his experienced eye he could see I was heavy laden, and on an extended voyage.  He called his friend, and she soon arrived at the marina full of excitement and interest.    It turns out that it was really her husband that was developing the “camping skiff”, but he had just passed away with cancer, and she is wanting to complete his dream.  After answering dozens of questions about where I was going, where I was from, where did I get the idea for such a strange vessel, where did I get her, did I build her, how old was she, how long had I been gone, how did I deal with the daily necessities, (seems women are always greatly concerned about such matters on the water), how fast could I go, how far could I get between stops, how much food and fuel did I carry, etc., etc., etc.  

 

At the end of the inquisition I felt dizzy.  Then Dave Foster says “I’m building a mooring field for this marina, and I can get you a berth for free, if you will but stay.”  I weighed the prospects, and gratefully accepted.  After a good hot shower and a squint around the marina, I went back aboard to think about some grub.  No sooner did I screw the stove together than Dave Foster comes back and says “Would you come to supper with me and my work mates?”  It was getting dark and I hadn’t been ashore in St. Augustine for about 36 years, so, I accepted.  Dave Foster has a company called “American Underwater Contractors, INC.”  He does Underwater Anchoring Systems, Hurricane & Environmental Moorings, and Regulatory Buoys and Markers, while looking for treasure as well.  It seems treasure hunting has always been a feast or famine sort of endeavor, and can’t be relied upon for steady income.  He has a three man work team of divers, and some very specialized equipment and boats.  We ended up in the “A1A Restaurant” poking back some sort of odd tasting Floridian Stout, and then a massive meal of blackened grouper.  When I offered to pay my share Dave says “No, no, we’re dining on the good City of St. Augustine!”  I found it hard to express my extreme gratitude.

 

During dinner, I was enthralled with tales of massive sharks, gators, crocks, hoards of mosquitos, hurricanes, and the elusive ship wrecks of Florida Bay by Dave and his work team.   Toward the end of the meal Dave said to me “I have a house in Islamorada, in the Keys, with a wharf and Chiki Hut, and you’re welcome to stay there on your way to Key West.”  I never heard of Islamorada, but that is where I am now typing this blog entry. 

 

When I arrived at Islamorada last Sunday afternoon David Foster’s brother Steven and two friends were at the house visiting from Nashville, Tennessee.  They had driven 20 hours towing motorcycles to enjoy the balmy breezes of the Keys.  All three of them were immediately very hospitable, cordial, funny, and entertaining.  Finer folks you couldn’t hope to meet.  Then David Foster himself arrived and showed us all the high spots of the area.   

 

Islamorada has the distinction of being hit by the most violent hurricane in recorded history.  It happened Sept. 2, 1935.  There were sustained winds over 200 miles an hour, the barometer fell to 26.35” of mercury, and the tidal surge went over 18 feet.  I’ve not learned all the particulars yet, but apparently they were building the first railroad to Key West at the time, and there were over 1,000 people killed.  Over 600 of them were World War I veteran labourers engaged to build railroad during the Great Depression.  There was a very large national disgrace when the Federal Government did not do enough to help people affected after the storm.  It was the same scenario as “Hurricane Katrina” and the Bush administration.  Some things never change.

 

My new phone plan with “Simple Mobile” that has worked so well since Charleston, South Carolina, now has no service, just as I was warned by a cruiser at the Charleston Maritime Centre Marina.  Getting internet has also been a big issue.  I am currently hauled for a careening, and a 300 hour service on my outboard at the Islamorada Boat Center across the road from Dave Foster’s house.  They are letting me sleep aboard while sitting on the jack stands.   I’ve become chums with Carlos, who also lives inside the boatyard gate in a trailer.  He is from Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and he is helping me with my Spanish.   

 

It is amazing how foul the bottom of the Lucky Suz got in the two and a half months I’ve been afloat.  There are 1/2 inch barnacles and lots of weed on her entire bottom.  That is one thing I had not counted on.  I have elected to get two base coats of epoxy, and three coats of premium bottom paint applied, so hopefully she’ll clean off easy with a brush from hear on.  I’m sure the growth was costing me at least a couple knots, and considerable fuel economy. The outboard does not quite have 300 hours on her, but I’m getting her serviced anyway.  An ounce of prevention is worth a ton of cure, especially in my situation.  The paint and service will cost me close to 1,000 US, but what else can I do but pay up.  To my best reckoning I’ve done something like 2,228 nautical miles thus far, with a lot more to go.  The other major problem is the chart plotter is buggered up.  The screen has gone black.  It seems that the salt has finally penetrated to the innards of the thing.  In the massively wide expanse of shoal water in Florida Bay, a plotter is immensely valuable.  It must be replaced.  I had no idea of all these unforeseen expenses!

 

Coming down through Fort Lauderdale, and Miami was no fun.  It was like being dipped back into New York/ New Jersey again.  While getting fuel at the Fort Lauderdale Marina I found the attendant’s mother was a Rice from Kentville, Nova Scotia.  Surprised, I told him my wife was from Kentville.  Still the charge was almost 5 dollars per gallon, way more than I have payed anywhere else.  People don’t wave or smile, and I got ripped off at every quarter.  The Keys are a welcome world apart.  Everyone is from somewhere else, but at least they are friendly and reasonable on charges.

 

It took me 4 nights of traveling to get from St. Augustine to Islamorada.  Each night had some bizarre features.  The first night I got eaten by noseeums that came through my mosquito net like it wasn’t there, while anchored up in a mangrove swamp.  

 

The second night I stayed in Melbourne, Florida at a marina that had a reasonable gas price, but charged me for at least 6 gallons more than I took.  

 

The third night I got high centred in Buzzardville.  I was going right down the centre of the Condo Canyon of West Palm Beach when I thought it prudent to stop.  Luckily, there was a small patch of mangrove islands right in front of the main container pier.  I found a secluded cove in the centre of them and had a good night.  However, there was enough tide to all but dry me out.  When I awoke in the morning I was surrounded by thousands of turkey buzzards that came to roost all around me in the night.  That was OK, they didn’t cause me any harm, or even have the offensive odor I expected.   When I tried poling out of my secluded hideaway, in 8 inches of water, I fetched up on a rock just before the channel deepened.   Without enough water to put the outboard down, I manned the sweeps (oars to modern folks), teetered and spun round and round, got the gumboots on, got out and started cursing, shoved and hauled with all my might under the bemused gaze of thousands of buzzards.  They make no noise, they just watch.  I didn’t dare stop moving lest the buggers start thinking I was lunch. They take the eyeballs first, raven fashion.  Eventually, I wiggled off the rock, vowing to never let that happen to me again.  

 

The third night I anchored up in a small cove in the middle of a Condo Canyon in the middle of Hollywood, Florida.  It is otherwise known locally as the “Bernie Madoff Cannal”.   Things were rather uneventful until the band at a waterside cafe started blasting my ears off, and showering me with spent fireworks cinders. The wealth and iniquity surrounding me was incomprehensible.  How so many people can have so much more than I will ever have with yachts and mansions on the water is a testament to the miracle of opulence that is the Gold Coast of Florida.  There are not dozens of 100 foot + yachts, there are literally thousands of them.  It must be analogous to Sodom and Gomorrah, or Rome before the fall.

 

The fourth night I was frantic to get into a marina that had Wi-Fi internet so I could renew my expired phone plan on line.  That was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life!  I went into yet another cove in the Condo Canyon at North Miami.  There was a spot called “Williams Island Marina” at the terminus of a marked channel.  I got in and found a nook under cement docks so high I could hardly get out of the canoe.  There were about 30 or so massive yachts, crammed in like hogs at a feed troth.  To my great surprise, the joint was deserted!  I couldn’t find anyone to speak to.  So, I got some Wi-Fi and tried to renew my phone plan.  The bloody internet signal kept cutting out and I tried entering my credit card data at least a dozen times.  Getting more frustrated by the minute, I elected to try and phone the buggers at Simple Mobile to renew my phone plan.  It is called “Simple Mobile”, but, it’s anything but simple.  After staying on hold for more than 58 minutes they told me they could not accept credit card information over the phone.  I kept on trying on line.  Eventually, I purchased time for the phone plan.  Then of all things, I had to phone the ingrates back to give them a 16 digit pin number that was supplied to me by email!  This world of technology only gets worse!  There is never any improvement on any aspect of anything.  It only gets more and more complicated.  By 10:30 I was exhausted and frustrated to tears.  I cooked some potatoes and eggs with red peppers and onions for supper.  Then I saw the flashing lights on security cameras all around me.  As I crawled into my sleeping bag I kept expecting Hornastyo to come and tell me I could not be there for the night, or worse.  To my great surprise, Hornastyo never showed up, and I had a reasonable sleep.

 

I left out before daylight not wanting to push my luck on trespassing charges. Keeping south on down the Condo Canyon that is the Intra Costal Waterway from West Palm Beach to Biscayne Bay,  I had to proceeded very slowly because of all the “No Wake - Manatee Zone” signs.  All of a sudden I noticed a shabby 20 foot powerboat drifting with two very large, but friendly, Hispanic fellows waiving to me.  I thought this very strange indeed.  No one had done anything but pass me with sour looks for days.  So, I waved back, happy to finally see someone a tiny bit friendly.  But of course, there was a catch.  As I approached closer there friendliness turned into a frantic plea for me to give them a tow because their outboard had quit.  Being the intrinsically nice, always the good chap that I am, I took their bow line and started hauling them back in the direction from which I had just come.  I thought I would appreciate a tow were I in their situation.  

 

Then my mind began working on me.  Suppose these fellows do this ploy for a living?  Suppose they direct me into one of the thousands of back channels and have accomplices waiting to pounce on me and take everything I have, and shove me under?  It became brutally apparent that stern chasers charged with chain, and swivel guns charged with grapeshot were called for.  However, I left all ordinance in the Canadas realizing US Customs would not let me pass the border.  So, I took out my cell phone and began pretending I was talking to some imaginary somebody while I eased out my boarding ax, and flare gun.  I figured if anything started looking dodgy I’d give them a mouthful of flaming phosphorus from the flare gun, chop their towline, stand round and ram them before blowing my air horn in an SOS.  I remembered Captain Aubrey’s statement from Master and Commander “The great thing about fighting the Spanish is not that they are shy, for they are not!  The great thing about fighting the Spanish is that they are never ready!”  With my heart thumping out of control, and my fingers twitching, I was nothing but ready.  Sure enough, they directed me to drag them up a seedy looking side channel.  Being early Sunday morning there were no people anywhere in sight.  As the channel narrowed I could envision an ambush around the back side of every wharf and set of pilings.

 

Finally, the fellow standing in the bow said he wanted to be laid alongside a delapitated old yacht.  I sped up to give them way enough to drift to the yacht, and cast their tow line off.   Naturally, they didn’t have enough way on to drift to the yacht.  So, they pleaded that I come back and drag them a little further.  By now my feelings of misgivings had turned into certainties, and I was in no mood to give further assistance.  All the same I did ease my bow round to T-bone their midship port side, and give them a nudge tugboat fashion toward the yacht they wanted to raft to.  When they were within 6 feet or so, I reversed, and stood off without looking back.  I will offer no such assistance again.

 

While in drydock here in Islamorada, Florida, I have been trying to study up on all the facts available about the Everglades National Park.  Yesterday, I had the pleasure of being driven to the West Marine store in Key Largo by a genuine Keys live aboard cruiser.  He is a massive man that looks like a Highland Warrior in tea shirt and shorts.  With a booming gruff voice, full gray beard, and ruddy complexion he could have been with Bonny Prince Charlie at Culloden.  Turns out, he is of Polish dissent, originally from Pittsburg, and goes by the name of “Bigfoot”.   Bigfoot has been guiding tarpon and snook fisherman as well as divers, naturalists, and scientists throughout the keys and glades for over 40 years.  He is a bottomless pit of advise on wind, weather, yachts, wildlife, society, and real estate here in the Keys.  He is also another character encountered that makes me feel like a greenhorn librarian’s assistant.   At over 2 million acres, the Everglades hold much to learn and prepare for.  It seems Flamingo is the place to make for initially.  It was decimated by Katrina, is still trying to recover, and has a population of under 100.  However, they have fuel, food, and hopefully some helpful intelligent souls to consult with.

 

When I’m back in the water, I’ll go on to Key West, return to somewhere around Islamorada, and make the run north, across treacherous Florida Bay to the Everglades.

 

Till next time I can get internet connection, that’s all I can report.   

 

Best regards,

Bill

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Fernandina Beach, Florida - November 5, 2010

7. November 2010 by admin.

I have been in a snug little nook at the Fernandina Beach Marina for the last four days now.  A Black-crowned Night Heron comes after dark each evening to fish on the floating dock I’m tied to within arms reach of me.  The rigged plastic curtains afford him a wind break, and he doesn’t notice me inside watching.  I call him Wilber, and he doesn’t seem to mind.  The bird life here is really amazing, I am not the only beast wanting to flee the cleansing cold of the Northland. There is a nasty weather system coming through just now. There were two days of continuous rain, high wind (gusting over 25 Knots).  Today it is colder, and blowing harder, but at least sunny.  This is not what I came South for. I can only hope Key West will be warmer. 

 

Since my last blog entry I have had some amazing things happen to me.  After leaving Beaufort, South Carolina, the Lucky Suz and I ran a short way south to Hilton Head Island.  We found a very quiet sheltered cove in a marsh way in behind all the development and marinas.  There were lots of Ibis, Great Egrets, and Black Skimmers to keep me company till dark.

 

The next day was a big run of some 90 miles or so past Savannah, down to St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, where I again sought anchorage in a quiet marsh up the Latham River.  It is so peaceful to cook supper watching marsh birds interact as darkness falls.  However, the highlight of the day was watching one of those big, white, 100 foot plus, 20 or ? million dollar jobbies run aground in the Intra Coastal Waterway.  Somewhere, a dozen or so miles below Thunderbolt, Ga., there is a large fork in the maze of tidal estuaries comprising the ICW.  It is frequently unclear which way to proceed, as many rivers are buoyed out with red marks to starboard for side channels.  I was perhaps a quarter mile behind the big yacht and gaining fast.  Coming around a bend in the marsh grass maze of channels I saw her turn hard to starboard and I looked at my chart plotter to see what place in the marsh she might be headed for to be leaving the ICW.  It was just another dead end creek as far as I could determine.  When I looked back up, she had realized her error and was swinging hard to port.  It looked like there was lots of room for her to swing back into the proper channel, but as I passed under her stern another glance at the chart plotter showed a large shoal separating the two channels.  I said to myself “Either she only draws 2 feet, or the fellow on the helm knows something I don’t.” That’s when she struck.  She came up sharp as a snow goose hitting the kitchen window, but her bow wave kept moving forward over the shoal.  Several people suddenly appeared on the bridge.  I was too far off to hear what they were saying, but there was a significant amount of gesticulating.  As I rounded up heading back for them, I soon realized I could do little more than amplify their sense of embarrassment.  All the effort of the Lucky Suz would be like a rabid dog trying to jerk a dead whale off a parking lot.  So, I just stood back round and continued on down the ICW realizing that just because they cost some 10’s of millions, does not mean you can’t run them aground. 

 

Next morning, after a great breakfast of oatmeal, boiled eggs, and capuchino I stood for Cumberland Island, Ga.  The island is about 16 miles long, and slightly larger in area than Manhattan Island.  Being essentially undeveloped, it is about as close to paradise as you can get on the East coast of this continent South of Nova Scotia.  Through the astounding generosity, foresight, and fortitude of the progeny of the Candler, Rockafeller, and Carnegie families most of the island is now State and Federal Park, and available to all.  Far from the usual coastal display of gaudy ostentation and wealth, Cumberland Island has miles and miles of unspoiled wild beach, sand dunes, marsh, and live oak/palmetto forest hung with Spannish moss.  It’s a mountain biker’s dream come true if you like sand tracks, and you’re a hard body. There are no paved roads, no phone poles, no stores or any commercial enterprise of any sort.  There are just soft sandy lanes, and hiking trails overhung with whispering Maritime Forest.  The wildlife is amazing with hundreds of wild horses, boars, turkeys, armadillos, deer, alligators, squirrels, lizards, and snakes.  The unspoiled habitat also supports one of the most diverse communities of birds on the East Coast.  There are also Pleistocene sediments weathering out that render all sorts of fossilized shark and whale teeth, and fish skeletal remains. 

 

After crossing St. Mary’s Inlet, and picking up the shore of Little Cumberland Island I ran along the Intra Coastal Waterway past Kings Bay Trident Submarine Base. Roomer has it that it is one of the most security sensitive spots on the East Coast.  The US Military perpetually tries to change the course of the ICW to keep people away from the Sub Base, but so far they must put up with gawkers on boats going by. A little way farther along I could see the Brickhill River that cuts way into the marsh on the West side of Cumberland Island on my chart plotter.  Being early in the morning and in no big hurry, I took the secluded detour that returns back to the ICW a few miles South.  After winding along for a few miles I came to a wharf in front of a massive white mansion. I tied up and went ashore for a little rubber necking. It turned out that it was Plum Orchard Mansion, now government property, and just finished a several million dollar restoration.  There was a big sign saying you had to put 4 dollars in an envelope, and stick it in a deposit box, before proceeding.  It turned out to be one of the best 4 dollars I ever spent.  The tour guide was Cindy Mills, and she had an astounding command of the history of the mansion, and the Carnegie family that built it. She led myself and two other cruising couples from Ontario on a 3 1/2 hour tour from garret to basement explaining everything required to sustain an estate of such gargantuan magnitude.

 

After returning to the Lucky Suz and rejoining the ICW, I found an excellent anchorage for the night in a large cove at the South end of Cumberland Island.  Next morning I went alongside at the park service maintained Sea Camp Dock.  My wife Susan and I stayed at the Grayfield Inn on Cumberland Island about 12 years ago, so, I already had very fond memories of the place.  It was one of the best holidays we ever had.   The guests we met made a really lasting impression.  The Grayfield Inn is maintained as the only accommodation on Cumberland by the Ferguson family, direct descendants of the Carnegie family.  It is a step back in time to the stately ways of plantation life.  So, my first thought was to return to the Grayfield Inn and see if anything had changed.  Everything seemed precisely the same, except perhaps for a few more armadillos snuffling around underfoot.  Gogo Ferguson, one of the proprietors, maintains a small jewelry shop on an adjoining property. Gogo’s jewelery is world renowned.  Her pieces were selected for presentation at the last G8 conference, along with showings at several prominent galleries.  The body of work uses skeletal remnants of Cumberland Island’s animal menagerie.  Her concept appeals to my background in natural history.  I selected three sets of earrings for my wife and two daughters.  They were rattlesnake vertebra, rattlesnake jawbones, and rattlesnake ribs.  Gogo and her daughter Hanna even gift wrapped and shipped them to save me the trouble.  Apparently, I presented as a bizarre enough character to enhance a family oyster bake that evening and accepted their proffered invitation.  I had the massive privilege of meeting a substantial portion of the clan, plus, a satiating scoff of fresh baked oysters on an open fire of the island’s live oak.  As I drifted off to sleep on the Lucky Suz that evening, feeding the sand flys that came through my rigged mosquito net, I had the sensation that I had just dined with some of this continent’s aristocracy.  In fact, I had.

 

There are a few Park Rangers roaming the island to safeguard its’ pristine condition.  I encountered one with a pointy hat near the ruins of Dungeness, Thomas Carnegie’s mansion that was torched in 1959 by disgruntled poachers.  Trying to be friendly I asked her “What is the weather going to be like tomorrow?”  She said “I don’t know.”  Then I asked her “When were wild turkeys introduced to the island?”  She said “I don’t know.”  When I asked “Can you walk along the beach back to the Sea Camp Dock?”, and she said “I don’t know”, I figured I should just leave her alone.  Then I noticed the sir name on her name tag was “Noe”.  I said “I never saw that last name before, is it English?”  She said “no”.  I said “Well, what nationality is it?”  She said “I don’t know.”  I left her thinking she must really work for the CIA, or Goldman Sacs.       

 

For the next two days I hiked, and hiked along Cumberland’s deserted beaches with only wild horses, sea birds, and ghost crabs for company. Then I came across the St. Mary’s Inlet to the Fernandina Beach Marina. As I said at the beginning, a massive cold front has been punishing the place for the last 4 days with temperatures down into the thirties at night. I sleep sound enough in my down bag, but when she lets up it will be Miami and the Keys for the Lucky Suz and crew. 

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Beaufort, South Carolina, October 27, 2010

27. October 2010 by admin.

I was going to wait a bit longer before writing my next blog posting.  However, I am so overwhelmed with the most astounding confluence of synchronicities that I am compelled to write.Before leaving The Charleston Maritime Centre I met some very remarkable people that I must mention.  My next door dock mates were “Seas the Day” a Lagoon 420 Hybrid Catamaran, owned by Mark Hynnek, and Jan Beagle from Minnesota with a wonderful “Labadoodle” dog named Daisy.  They gave me some remarkable advise and insights about cruising on the ICW on the Texas coast.  Another big catamaran, Piscataqua, was owned by Mattie and Ed Sears of Delray Beach, Florida, that told me all sorts of places to go on the ICW in Florida.  Bill Phelps of Marathon, Florida, sails a Hunter 470.  He not only gave me great insights into exploring the Everglades, but most graciously “gave me” a Florida Keys Chart Book, and a Guide to the Florida Keys.  I am greatly indebted to all of them for an extremely pleasant, and informative stay in Charleston.Two other invaluable things that I learned while alongside the wharf in Charleston will be invaluable in the future.  Number one is the fact that wharf rats are everywhere, and they can board a fellow on a 3/8″ dock line.  Awaking one morning I found my store of dried apple slices scattered all over the bildge with a large hole in the bag.  Assuming that the culprit was still aboard and would come at my store of vegetables forward, I went to the hardware store and purchased some of that gooy stickem down stuff in convenient foot long trays with peanuts sprinkled on for bait.  I was hoping to find Mr. Rat stuck fast the next morning.  However, he never reappeared.  He must have gone back ashore.  I was hoping to set him adrift and dust him with an oar.  But, I never got a chance.  He never ate very much, but it was the damned cheek of the fellow that bothered me.Number two is the fact that “Palmetto Bugs” are also everywhere.  Some folks call them “Water Bugs”, but I know them as “Paraplineta americana” or the “American cockroach”.  They also don’t eat much, but I don’t relish their company.  So, back to the hardware store for some “Roach Hotels” where roaches check in, but they don’t check out!  Insecticide applied to the dock lines are an easy precaution.  Plus, anything edible now stays inside my ample cooler, and I spray Javez bleach all over everything after all meals.  I sleep much easier now.  ”A roach by any other name, is still a roach!”Now for the sychronicities in Beaufort.  Before arriving in Beaufort, SC I received an email from Rob Montgomery, a local architect of long standing.  He is brother to Lisa Montgomery Schaffer, wife to my Catawba College room mate of 35 years ago.  Just a coincidence that he was on my route along the ICW.  My good wife Susan mailed my computer, from home to him for me to pick up here in Beaufort.  The email told of a three day Historical House Tour beginning just when I arrived.  I went to buy tickets and found that one of the best houses on the tour was built by Christian Koppernase, of Bedford, Nova Scotia!  It turns out he grew up on Shore Drive in Bedford, and swam in Paper Mill Lake right in front of my house.  Not only that, Christian had a photo of our Lighthouse Cottage in Rose Bay, NS, a friend had emailed him.  An astounding synchronicity!Returning to the Lucky Suz at the Down Town Marina I chanced upon four people looking at the transom.  They said “Are you from Bedford?”  I admitted that I was.  Turns out that they were on two yachts just arrived from Prospect, Nova Scotia, and on their way to Winter in the Bahamas!  They were Les and Kim Babin on “Prospector” a Pacific Seacraft 34, and Ralf Babin with Kevin from Middleton on “Tyler J” a Tartan 47.  I blew them away when I said the only Babins I ever heard tell of came from Hectinooga, Digby County.  That in fact is where they started out.  They had me out for a feed of shrimp they caught with a new cast net.  We remmenised  over Nova Scotia till the wee hours when they dingied me back to the Lucky Suz.  What a coincidence!”And it will be I will come again to loved ones left at home, put the journals on the mantle, take the ache out of my bones, making memories of the voyage, only memories after all, and hardships there the hardest to recall”  prelude to “Northwest Passage” Stan Rogers.Tomorrow I stand for Hilton Head Island, Georgia, and the Floridas.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Charleston, South Carolina, October 18, 2010

18. October 2010 by admin.

At last I have a functioning iphone again.  I visited many phone stores, and computer places over the last couple weeks, all to no avail.  Andrew Oestreich, an old Nikon colleague of mine was good enough to go on line and find a place called Tech+ in Charleston that fixes iPhones.  I went there three days ago to find a sleepy old fellow behind the counter that said they don’t touch iPhones anymore, and then assured me I was out of luck anywhere in town.  Returning to the cab I had waiting, bemoaning the trouble I was having, the Egyptian cabbie pipes up and says “an iPhone!  Why didn’t you tell me!  I know a Chinese fellow just a block from where I picked you up that specializes in iPhones!  He can do anything for a very reasonable price.”  He was right, the Chinese fellow was a wiz.  His name was Tae Yi, Owner/Master Technician, and was located in a stall at the back of a beauty salon where they sell straight hair pieces, and gargantuan ear rings.  He unlocked the phone from the vile Rogers, replaced the buggered blacked out screen, provided a pay as you go phone plan of 600 minutes international, 1000 minutes domestic, all in 15 minutes, and all for under $190US!  It’s all in finding the right fellow.  The only disadvantage is that I must have Wi-Fi for email.  It is yet to be seen how good the phone coverage is when I leave Charleston.

After Wrightsville Beach, I made Ocean Isle Beach, close to the North/South Carolina State line.  I heard from my most gracious hosts Chris and Susan Small in Wrightsville Beach that our old  Alma Mater, Catawba College was having a Homecoming Oct. 8,9,10.  I decided to go.

As luck would have it, I phoned my old Catawba College room mate Dr. Gary Schaffer to see if he could meet me at the Homecoming.  His wife Lisa answered the phone and then proceeded to work the most amazing magic.  She said we know a dentist that has a beach house in Ocean Isle Beach with a vacant wharf you could leave your canoe at.  Then she found me a car at Economical Car Rental, in close by Shallotte, NC.  They even came out to pick me up.  I got a Toyota Corolla for 4 days, unlimited milage, for $105.  It was a good thing as Catawba College is in Salisbury, a good 5 hours drive inland.  

I had 5 objectives.  First, to attend homecoming, second, visit with Gary and Lisa, third, visit Dr. Jay Buxton my 94 year old Entomology professor, fourth to visit some of my favorite old haunts, and fifth, to visit the Moores Creek Battle Ground near Wilmington, NC.

Homecoming at Catawba was really fun and very well organized.  It was good to see the place again after 35 years, but there were few people I had ever seen before.  I was flattered they recorded and photographed me for a story in the Campus Quarterly on my voyage to oblivion.   

Dr. Buxton had moved to Connecticut 10 days before Homecoming.  So, I missed him, and may never see him again.  It is amazing how well Murphy can plan things out.   Dr. Buxton is one of the greatest mentors of my life, and totally responsible for my love of the insect world.  Insects are one of the great perks of the Amazon Basin.  If it were not for him a voyage to Peru with the most diverse insect fauna on planet earth could be a bit intimidating.    Thanks to him, it’s one of the most exciting things to look forward to.

My old Catawba College room mate Gary Schaffer  met me at Homecoming.  We both had nick names back then.  He was “Fig” and I was “Scotch”.  He is now Dr. Gary Schaffer DVM and runs Alexander County Veterinary Services in Taylorsville, NC.  We stayed in touch over the last 40 odd years but hadn’t seen each other for at least 11 years.  He promptly told me that I never got any better looking, and that I didn’t look any smarter either.  I told him that he never grew any taller, never got any better at winning friends, and completely forgot how to grow hair on his head.  We walked around the Campus trying to resurrect some old memories, but 35 years buries things deep.  You can never really go back.

I visited with Gary and his wife Lisa for a couple days.  They showed me the greatest hospitality, but Fig kept on trying to talk me out of going up the Amazon River.  He said, “First the natives are going to kill you with poison darts from a blow gun, then they are going to cut your head off, then they are going to shrink it, which won’t be hard cause there ain’t nothing in it, then they’re gonna stick it on a pole, and use it for target practice and buzzard bait.  He may be correct.  However, I’d sooner die in the bush than wearing diapers in an easy chair in front of a television.  I told him a good friend of mine, John Blanchard at home told me, “Christ, they’ll find you blowed ashore somewhere so dried out and buggered up you’ll look like Larry King!”  He could be absolutely correct as well, but I don’t have any of those goofy glasses, or suspenders.

After saying my goodbyes I tried to find the old steam locomotive works in Salisbury where we used to shoot pigeons, and rats.  It’s all gone and now a big fancy “Museum of Transportation”.  You can never go back.  Time in these places can only be measured in memories.

After a 4 hour drive back to the coast, on the recommendation of Chris Cathcart another old Nikon colleague, I visited “Moore’s Creek Battleground”.  This is where the Revolutionary War General Moore defeated the English General Donald MacDonald and his Highland Militia.  Remember, 2/3rds of the Scots evicted during the Highland Clearings after Colloden went to North Carolina.  It was the first decisive victory in the war for Independence from England.  It is also reputed to be the last battle that two handed “Claymore” broad swords were used in battle.  Black powder, cannon, and longrifles would reign henceforth.  This is also the battle where Capt. Allan MacDonald, Flora MacDonald’s (Scotland’s greatest Heroin) husband was captured.  I saw three fair sized green snakes sunning themselves inside the revolutionary earthworks.  The torrential rains of tropical storm Nicole the week before caused flooding that moved wildlife to the high ground.  It takes weeks for the cyprus swamps to drain.

The Lucky Suz was right where I left her.  We fueled in Ocean Isle Marina and stood for Charleston, some 120 miles distant.  After some 65 miles of excellent running down the Intra Costal Waterway I began to think of finding a spot for the night.  The chart showed a place I’d never heard of with a sizable waterfront.  Georgetown, South Carolina was a very pleasant surprise.  It was once the rice exporting capital of the East Coast, but is now home to a large papermill, and a steel plant.  The mills are far enough away to leave a quaint, but vibrant waterfront.  Many buildings are on stilts out over the water.  On making up to the Public Docks in front of the “Big Tuna Tavern” I saw signs “Absolutely No Overnight Docking”.  A booming voice from the tavern said “Don’t chyall pay no never mind to them damn signs!  Y’all kin stay thar till the cows come home fer nuthin!”  A great welcome, and free lodgings!  While devouring a feed of Trigger Fish and Newcastle Nut Brown Ale on the Big Tuna’s deck I was descended upon by a retired Marine with a woven grass basket full of pistols.  He had 13 of them, all with proper holsters.  He had a collection of everything from Civil War cap and ball revolvers, to the very latest version of the 9mm Glock.  It was a slightly bazar experience, but right up my street.  I never had to say anything, just keep eating and nod my head.  I was on the point of telling him I might need a Glock where I was headed when a bunch of biker types came in for beer and started poking at his basket.  While they argued over which pistol could through the greatest amount of lead the fastest, I got out the door for a long walk to the nether end of town.  Mosquitos were wicked, but I had the deet in me arse pocket.

Next morning I awoke to 5 townsmen demanding that I stay till the weekend for the “Georgetown Wooden Boat Festival”.  They said I was guaranteed of at least two prizes.  One for coming the farthest, and one for being the most innovative.  I told them I had to get to Charleston to get my buggered iPhone fixed and that I’d try to make it back.  That seemed to appease them and I shoved off.

On the way out the harbor, I chanced to see a sloop way ahead with a Canadian flag on the backstay.  I dismissed it as likely some Torontonians picking their way to Florida.  All the same I veered close enough to glass the transom.  Under some gaelic scrawling that looked like Au Gualiagych I made out Sydney,NS to my surprise!  I thought I’d run them down and sing a couple bars of “Are you from the Bay boys, or may be from the Pier, and if your from the Maritimes your surely welcome here.”  But, upon drawing a big deep breath to start bellowing, I recognized the bent fellow in the starboard chains.  ”Christ! If it ain’t David Harris!  I’ve not seen you since grad school at Acadia in 77.”  To which he retorted “Bill Shaw!  What in the Christ are you doing here!”  I said “I’m standing for the line, like any other sensible fellow!”  He introduced me to the rest of the crew, and we had a brief exchange over how the sloops name was gaelic for “Greater Shearwater” the birds that essentially spend their entire lives far out at sea.  I bade them good voyage and “Down with the Causeway”, twisted the throttle  and left them bobbing in the wake.  It feels so good to see folks from home, so far from home.  

I made Charleston, SC, Oct. 13th and I’m still here.  I have an excellent berth at the Charleston Maritime Centre right  next to the South Carolina Aquarium.  There is excellent access to all the attractions.  With so much is to see and do it seems I could stay here another week and still not scratch the surface.  It has been perfect weather, although the evenings are getting down in the 50s (10sC).  The only aggravating thing is the “Carolina Belle”, a big steel double decker tour boat that ties up on the other side of my finger wharf.  She is so noisy with engines, horns, jass cruises, and wedding parties all hours of the night that I think about somehow working a hole in her.  Not a big hole, but a hole just large enough to stay ahead of her bilge pumps.  

Tomorrow I stand for Beaufort, SC.  I’m told a very pleasant spot, and cruiser friendly.  I hope to receive my MacBook there that I should have brought in the first place.  My wife Susan has most kindly sent it along through channels to complicated to relate.  She has also included my Audubon guide to Reptiles and Amphibians, something I somehow managed to forget at home.

Till next time,
Bill

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Wrightsville Beach NC, Summer Sands, Banks Chanel

6. October 2010 by admin.

I have now met with considerable adversity to write this post.  My iPhone has died.  So, I have taken a taxie to the library in Wilmington,NC to use one of their computers.   Everything works on the iPhone except the screen has gone so dark it can not be read except in the strongest light.   This situation is extremely frustrating.  I have tried to find third party people to fix the screen, but they are not within 100 miles of Wrightsville Beach.  My carrier, Rogers, has been absolutely useless in providing a solution.  I have decided to terminate my Rogers account at an  astronomical expense.  However, it will be worth it to be free of the nasty, insidious, rapacious, villans.  I will go to the Apple Store in Charlston, SC and try to get an iPhone that will work.  The moral of this story is “If you have an account with Rogers, never take it out of the Canadas!”
After leaving Washington,NC, a place that will always loom large in my heart, I went on to the small yachiting community of Oriental on the Neuse River.  It was not that much fun because there is a large section of open water to be negociated once exiting ICW cannal.  One must go about three miles offshore to get around Cape Maw.  The 1-2 foot deep shole water extends that  far out.  I could have picked my way across the shoal with my 18″ draft, but the 2-3 foot sea running with a 15-20 knot wind made it impossible.  I got soaked to the skin, but I’m getting very used to that. After running about 5 hours, I arrived in side the breakwater of Oriental, NC.  The staff at the Oriental Yacht Club were very helpful in helping me get fuel, and a berth at the dingy dock until a spot on the wall at the center of the community became available.  Once made up at the dingy dock, it started.  I have always had an ability to attract weirdos like a lightning rod, and they started arriving by dingy from the half dozen or so yachts anchored in the road.  The first gray grizzeled chap from Florida offered me to use his bicycle that had been chained to a dock post for months.  It had no front wheel, but he said he could get me one if I wanted.  I said “Don’t bother, I like walking.”  The next chap to arrive at the dingy dock was from Sadona, Arizona (the home of Wicka, i.e. white witchcraft).  He rowed a beautiful glass dingy and handled it well.  He seemed normal at first.  Then I noticed his unnerving stare, and the 3 inch long hairs in his eyebrows.  Once he got close to me he started telling me how beautiful my canoe was.  Then he launched headlong into a tyraid of vulgar invective about how screwed up the medical system is, and how it had just cost him 3,600 dollars to get treated for a Copperhead snakebite.  I made the mistake of asking him what he would do the next time he got snakebit.  He was one of those fellows you can’t get clear of, and I’d be there listenting to him yet if another grizzled old bugger from upstate New York didn’t ram his pristiene dingy with one of those fold up plastic punts.  The ramming chap was apparently deaf, and was oblivious to the abuse the hairy eyebrow chap was hurling at him.  I managed to escape while they were stareing each other down.I got to the grocery store before it closed, but I had an embarassing mishap on the way back.  I stowed one of those folding hand trucks like bag ladies use aboard before leaving home.  I new it would be useful getting supplies and fuel in situations where I had to walk.  However, it’s made for people 4 feet tall, and is perfectly unballanced for maximum agrivation.  Everything was fine till I got back into the centre of town when my heel caught the inside wheel and dumped my whole load of grub off in the middile of the crosswalk as I was dashing in front of a convertable full of teenagers.  The gallon jug of milk burst open and lay glub glubing while the eggs, potatos, and tomatos waddled off in all directions.  Things got better after that.  When the grub was aboard I found a good spot for the night on the wall in front of the coffee shop.  Thankfully darkness fell and I could regain some composure over one of the best pieces of flownder I have ever eaten at the pub nearby.The next morning was Sunday, September 19th.  It was a perfect warm, still, sunny morning, and I resolved to sit on the deck of the coffee shop across the road and try to catch up on my email.  I bought a cup of coffee and sat down just as the sun was breaking the horizon.  Then it started.  There was an unending stream of curious folks asking me about my beautiful big canoe.  Oriental is a community of affluent, retired, well educated folks, and “The Bean” coffee shop is where they go to get their Sunday copy of the New York Times, see there chums and catch up on the past weeks news. The most interesting couple I met were David and Donna Scott who had sailed in the Straits of Magellan and the region of Tierra del Fuego. They had experienced williwas, and other violent weather in that place.

Seeing that the weather was so fair I thought it prudent to go on to Beaufort,NC. I could have gone to Morehead City but was advised that Beaufort was more cruiser friendly. That was some of the best advise I ever hope to receive. By 3:00 I was idling up Taylor Creek that runs by the town centre of Beaufort. I went the whole legenth of the creek to inspect the place for the best spot. Finding that the “Beaufort Docks” was the best place I chose the most protected of all the slips and tied up. I went to see the Dockmaster and he would take no berthing fee because he said he was in Halifax doing a yacht delivery during 911. He said he was treated so well that anyone from Halifax could stay as long as they wanted for nothing. That was ok with me. On top of that he gave me a handful of what they call wooden nickels that can be exchanged for free beer at the pub we were standing in. I went back aboard, made some supper, and went for a long walk to the East end of town.

The next day dawned dark and ominous. Word came that a great disturbance was advancing. I put the full surround of curtains around the bimini, and tried to make the “Lucky Suz” as secure as possible. As the heavens began to open with torrential rain and wind I chanced to meet a real-estate broker while talking to the Dockmaster. He said he was looking for someone to stay in a property that was new and had some leaks. The Dockmaster volunteered me and it turned out to be a palatial home overlooking Taylor Creek that was a replica of Captain Edward Teach’s (Blackbeard the Pirate) headquarters in Beaufort. I spent the next four days checking the roof around the widows walk for leeks, mopping up water, and watching some of the most spectacular rain, thunder, and lightning I have ever seen. Hurricane Nicole was downgraded to a tropical storm before it reached the Carolina Coast, but not before we were warned of 50+ knot winds. I put extra lines on Lucky Suz to keep her from chaffing against the floating dock, and tried not to worry. Conveniently, a mega yacht came in from outside and made up in a good spot to give some lee from the worst of the wind.

Friday, Oct. 1, was very overcast, but at least the wind was calm. By noon I was started the 78 miles on to Wrightsville Beach to meet two old college classmates of mine that rented a beautiful spot at the Summer Sands on Banks Chanel right on the ICW here in Wrightsville Beach. Chris and Susan Small were on their deck when I entered the channel and started waiving franticlally. My binoculars confirmed they were in fact waiving at me and we had a great reunion. There are public docks right in front, so, a better place could not be found. Susan cooked some of the best swordfish I ever tasted for supper, and we talked of old times over Drambie and Cohiba Esplendidos cigars till far into the wee hours. I can only hope that oneday I will have the chance to return the most gracious hospitality they have provided me. Chris showed me around Wilmington and surrounds the next day trying to find me a fix for my blacked out iPhone. The following day their son JT that practices law with Chris in Winston-Salem arrived to go surfing. He astounded me as the only person I have met yet that new of the Rio Maranon and Rio Ucayali that form the source of the Amazon River.

Wilmington, NC has a connection with Nova Scotia as being the place where Flora MacDonald (Scotland’s greatest heroine) arrived in 1774 to take up residence on her land grant in current day Fayetteville, NC, up the Cape Fear River. After her husband was captured in a failed attempt to keep North Carolina loyal to the English Crown during the American Revolution, she spent the Winter at Fort Edward in Windsor, Nova Scotia. Samuel Johnson wrote “Flora MacDonald, a name that will be mentioned in history, and if courage and fidelity be vertues, mentioned with honor.”

Brian MacNeil wrote “There are times I think I see you when I find the kind of face, where a woman’s independence, has kept a woman’s grace. Where confidence and pride refuse to know their place, or hide behind the easy tricks of beauty. Your life is like a light that shines across the stormy sky, from the Culens to the Carolinas, you showed us one and all, the courage you could call, from the tears that would not fall from your eyes.”

Tomorrow Myrtle Beach, and on to Charlston, SC.

Till next time!
Bill

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Washington, North Carolina the best place I have encountered yet!

24. September 2010 by admin.

I’m in Washington, North Carolina for the third day now.  The Partnership for the Sounds, Facility Manager, Mr. H. Blount Rumley has most graciously allowed me a very pleasant protected berth.  I’m being killed with kindness.  Mr. Rumley alerted the Washington Daily News, and the Greenville Daily Reflector of my voyage and both papers have done articles on my voyage.  Now, I am so far behind in email that I’m taking this day to try to get caught up.Chris Cathcart (an old Nikon Canada colleague) came to visit me all day yesterday.  It was his birthday.  He is 6 days younger than I am.  He drove from Raleigh to here in a little under 2 hours.  He brought his partner Gail, with her dog Mr. Briggs.  Chris left Nikon 6 months ago.  We worked together at Nikon Canada for over 20 years.Chris is now trying to start a business based in Raleigh to service confocal microscopes in Eastern North America.  That is, until yesterday when Chris and Gail spent the day here in Washington, North Carolina.  They absolutely fell in love with the place.  It’s so quiet, with reasonable prices for everything, very friendly people, spectacular scenery, and wildlife.  There are extremely nice condominiums called Moss Landing, with boat slips, right next to the University of Eastern North Carolina’s Estuarium (my home here in Washington), going to auction because of bankruptcy on October 9th.  Chris, Gail, and Mr. Briggs are going to be here for the auction.I knew about this place from my previous April forays to escape the fog and snow.  I had a dream about being here on a Hinckley Picnic Boat once.  Anyway, the place has grabbed my heart again.As fate would have it, I went on a tour with the Estuarium interpretation/research centre’s staff on one of their boats.  The captain was Bill Walker from Hamilton, Ontario (now retired in Washington,NC.).  He mentioned in passing that Pacific Seacraft had just moved here to manufacture ocean cursing yachts.  I asked him if they had tours, he said he knew the owner and would take me there, along with Chris and Gail.The tour of the Pacific Seacraft Factory has been the absolute highlight of my trip so far!  They build the heavy world cruising yachts designed by Bill Crealock.  Pacific Seacraft went bankrupt in the LA area of California.  Just by freak of happenstance, a fellow by the name of Steve Brodie from Washington, NC went out there, bought the whole company out of bankruptcy, and brought it here along with about 16 employees.  They refurbish yachts as well.  On entering the factory(an abandon textile mill), the first thing my eyes focused on was my dream-ship, a Fisher 34 Pilothouse Ketch.  All the dreams I have tried so desperately to expunge for 30 years came flooding back, and I burst into tears.  I had to feign interest in the size of the prop shaft and duck under the hull to regain my composure, and save embarrassment.  The Fisher 34 is a floating fortress of a home that would take me anywhere I would ever want to go, except the Sahara, Arizona, and Afghanistan.  Steve Brodie spent the best part of the afternoon answering questions and showing us through the facility.  I am most deeply indebted to Steve and his staff for bringing me back up to speed with world cursing yachts.  One would have a hard time to find a better place on this side of North America to buy or refurbish a heavy cruising yacht.Before arriving in Washington, N.C. I left  Elizabeth City,N.C. on the Pasquotank River that flows into Albemarle Sound on Sept. 20.  Elizabeth City lived up to it’s motto of the “Harbour of Hospitality” and then some.  I was given a free birth next to “Groupers” the best restaurant in town, and access to their facilities.  I will never forget the kindness shown me in Elizabeth City.The evening of Sept. 20 I made Columbia on the Scuppernog River.  They have a federal Pocosin Lake interpretation centre there.  The ecology is distinct because of the heavy dark tannin rich cyprus swamp water that meets the salt sea and precipitates the suspended solids.  Columbia, N.C. also has a superb protected harbor for yachtspeople.  No one else was there, so I had the free shower and facilities all to myself.The next day was very calm and I made excellent time running the length of the Alligator River and intercoastal waterway canal down to Pamlico Sound.   I made some 85 miles and hoped to make it all the way to Washington.  However, on exiting the canal the wind and waves came up very sharply and drove me into a place called Belhaven, N.C.  There I found pleasant accommodation at the Belhaven Waterway Marina.  They charged me $1.35 a foot, but the facilities were worth it.The next day, Sept. 22 I made the next  42 miles to Washington, N.C. where I currently still sit.  The wind has come up and now and at 13:00 I am thinking I must spend my third night here in Washington.My last comment for this posting will be that I have been dumbfounded by the overall support, help, interest, and friendliness of the yachting community.    Even though my vessel displaces a tenth of most other yachts, everyone has treated me as an absolute equal.  I could never possibly respond to all the invitations extended to me afloat or ashore.Tomorrow, it’s on to Oriental, New Bern, and Morehead City.Best regards to allBill

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Ocean Marine Yacht Centre, Portsmouth , Virginia

16. September 2010 by admin.

What a large amount has happened to me since my last entry. The wind finally abated at Elizabeth City, NJ and I got underway, Sept,11 the 9th anniversary of 911,in the pre dawn dark for Raritan Bay below Staten Island. There was little wind and good water from the mouth of the Arthur Kill River to Sandy Hook, where I had to go outside for some 30 miles (48K) to get to Manasquan Inlet, NJ. Once inside I thought it would be peaceful, and calm. Not so! The tide runs strong, over 3 knots in places, and there are lots of bridges to negociate. On top of that, it was floating Bedlam. Being Saturday everyone that owned a boat was on the water. They all think they have the right of way, they are all crowding to the fuel docks, buying bait, showing off, racing this way and that in a macho display of madness seldom seen. The area goes shoal with very tight channels that must be adhered to especially at low tide. Stopping at a marina to buy a chart for Barnegat Bay and beyond the lady at the desk asked me where I tied up, I said the inner wall. She said “So you think you can come in here and tie up where ever you want to?” I said “Did you want me to anchor and swim in?” Things went down hill from there on. Apparently nobody uses charts anymore with the advent of Plotters. I have a really good plotter (Standard Horizon CPF 180i) that has served me extremely well. However, it is nice to tape a large chart to the after deck so I can see the big picture.

After getting fuel at another marina, where the lady was nice, I tried to make as much Southing as possible. As the day wore on, there were more and more and more boats on the water till it started to become unpleasant. Continuous jockying for room in the channel, and continuous wake after wake after wake. Once I made Barnagat Bay things opened up and became somewhat better. The tide was ebbing and the shoal water was something I did not expect. Outside the channel markers you can literally stand up and be nee deep in water. I saw 3 large power boats high and dry with the occupants walking around the surounding sand bars arguing and fighting over whose fault it was they ran fast aground on such a beautiful day. Several hours of hard running brought me to Atlantic City, NJ, and Trump Plaza, the casino district with all the associated toilettries. Having no interest in anything to do with the New Jersy High Life, I stood on for another 5 miles, which brought me to an amazing marsh full of White Egrets, Great Blue Herrons, Bitterns, Turns, and my favorite of all the Black Skimmers. Even though I could see the Great Donald Trump Casino, I had peace, solitude, and serenity at last.

Sept. 12 it was raining and overcast, but nice and calm. I was off at daylight and ran hard for Cape May, Delaware Bay, and a slight chance I might get out of New Jersey. It was not to happen. There is a canal cut through from Cape May to Delaware Bay.

At the Dover, Delaware- Cape May Ferry Terminal I dropped my stern anchor for lunch. No sooner had I made the tea than two 100 foot+ yachts came charging by. I knew from experience the wakes would be massive in such a constricted waterway. I jerked the hook and got the bow around just in time. The 3-4 foot swells would easily have swamped me lying stern to, and provided entertainment for the silly fat slobbs aboard the yachts, and the people at the ferry terminal.

My thought was to run along with the big yachts to cross Delaware Bay. They wer obviously making for the Chesapeake-Delaware Canal, the same place I was hoping to get to. However, a North wind and building waves made me think better of it. At that point Delaware Bay is 20+ miles accross, and 60+ miles to the C&D Canal up the bay towards Wilmington. The prudent thing was to run up the Jersey side of Delaware bay and find a hole for the night.

I was astounded to find how much shoal water there is along both sides of the bay. It has a very bad reputation for being nasty when it blows because the shoal water stand the waves up and they start to break. You can be 5 miles off shore and still be in chest deep water. Not a good thing when you are in an open canoe. Luckily, the wind stayed moderate and from the North, so, I could get along OK. I did find a “Hole” called the Maurice River. It had 6 miles of buoyed channel to get inside. Then there was 6 feet of tide running. A few more miles up was a wharf full of crabbing boats complete with Turkey Vultures everywhere. I could not afford to be fussy as it was after 6:00. The lady in the bait shop said I could stay alongside for free. I had a long walk, bought a pizza, and went to bed.

Sept. 12 I made it to the Chesapeake-Delaware Canal by 11:00 in the morning and stood through. Twenty miles down the Chesapeake with tide and headwind building, I made Warton Creek Marina, near Chestertown, Maryland. What a pleasant spot! The lady at the gas dock took my lines and passed me the gas hose. I took 45 galllons, and a berth for the night. A hot shower and some coffee was wonderful. As I sat alongside people started to gather to ask questions about the Lucky Suz. Everyone remarks how beautiful she is. Many think she is a restored antique and are supprise when I tell them she is brand new. Len and Betsy Shippley asked me if I would like a drive into town some 15 miles distant. Fresh provisions were most welcome. I got oranges, limes, potatos, red and green peppers, blueberries, tomatos, carrots, bananas, and best of all two big red cabbages. Everyone South of New Jersy has been most pleasant, helpful, and inquisitive about my journey.

Next morning Sept. 14, I ran hard to make Annapolis, Maryland. It was 30 miles with a freshening North West wind. I wanted to spend time in Annapolis anyway, and get over to the West side of the Chesapeake. Annapolis may be the very epicentre of yachting on this planet! The wealth tied up in yachts is absolutely incomprehensable! It’s like the Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron times 1000 and then some. The main harbour was too congested and full of wakes to get any peace even at any of the marinas. So, I ran up the Severn River 6 miles to an extremly pleasant spot called Smith’s marina who welcomed me with a perfect birth. A dollar a foot was well worth the facilities, and a long stroll through quiet streets.

Sept. 15, was my best day on the water yet! I started off at daylight with an excellent forecast for the day, winds lite from the North North West. I decided not to be a baby about spray coming aboard any more! I knew there was going to be a wet arse, and I knew it was going to be mine. So, suiting up in me oil skins and jumpers, I ran off 6 miles to clear all the bloody shoals and plotted a rhum line from Annapolis to Hampton Roads, Virginia. A distance of some 130 knotical miles. The wind and waves at last came aft, so I could hold her wide open, trim her nose up, and run free for 7 hours at 20 knots.

What Joy! A starburst cloud of spray every 10 to 15 seconds, waterman(Crabbers), and yachtsmen waving. Smith Point, the Virginia Line welcomed me with a tight squadron of Pelicans.

Hampton Roads, Norfolk, Virginia is the East Coast home of the US Navy. Dozens of war ships, moored and along side, several dry-docks and container terminals, commercial traffic, and yachts all conspire to make an extremely large and confusing harbour. After going the wrong way several times, I managed to find the route the Intra Costal Waterway. The best thing though was finding the most posh friendly yachtclub yet! It is called Ocean Marine Yacht Centre, Portsmouth, Virginia. They have the most excellent facilities of every sort. Rod O’Donnell most graciously drove me to the Food Lion for fresh provisions. Again everyone remarks how much they like the Luck Suz, and wish they had a chance to do a journey like mine.

All in all a fabulous day. One Hundred and Thirty Six Nautical Miles made good!

Sept. 16 It’s noon, and Drummond Lake in the middle of the Great Dismal Swamp is waiting for me. One hundred and ten thousand acres of virtual solitude, all mine!

Next time I write I will be deep in the Sounds of the Outer Banks of the Carolinas. They are a place somewhat like the Bras D’Or Lakes in Cape Breton, except they are not frozen for 8 months of the year.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

September 10, 2010 Elizabeth City , New Jersey

11. September 2010 by admin.

This is the second day that I have been sitting in the Elizabeth City Marina waiting for thewind to go down to something under 20 knots.September 8th was the day I left a beautiful anchorage under the protection of Stony Point on the West side of the Hudson River. The cove was called “Kings Ferry” and is the place where General George Washington crossed the Hudson on his way South in August of 1781, to defeat General Edward Cornwallis (a different Edward Cornwallis than the one that founded Halifax) at Yorktown, Virginia. It was the final battle of the Revolutionary War and ended in the founding of the United States.I was underway at 5:30 am to try to make as much milage as possible. The waves were still high from a constant South wind that blows up the Hudson most of the time. I found the large swells unnerving in the pitch blackness. My plotter showed me where I was but it’s still nice to be able to see what’s coming at you. There were thunder squalls up river to the North and East of me and I encountered three brief torrential downpours of rain.As daylight approached I increased speed to run at 12 to 13 Knots. Two hours and I was at the Tapanzee Bridge, and another half hour brought me to the head of New York Harbour. Manhattan was looming in the morning mist, and I stopped for a photograph of the island with the Empire State Building and all the other familiar land marks. I stopped at the 79th Street Marina that everyone had been telling me about. I walked up to Central Park, and bought a pizza. Being a bit apprehensive about getting through New York Harbour with all its security boats, high speed ferries, tug boats, barges, and large yachts I was glad get back underway.As I approached Battery Point at the South end of Manhattan Island of the wind began to pick up from the North West making a nasty harbor of large confused wakes even nastier. Spray began to come aboard and I found a spot to duck in and put on my oil skins. I was hoping to get a chance to photograph Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty as I went by, but, as we all know iPhones, cameras, and salt water do not mix. So no photos of the sights, but I have lots from previous trips anyway. The worst part of getting through New York harbour was the secure zone around the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. It is cordoned off on the chart, and buoyed off on the water as a secure zone with strictly no entry. That was bad because it would have been wonderful to be able to skirt the shore to stay out of the worst of the wind and waves. As it was, with the wind increasing all the time, and 5 visible police boats inside the buoyed off area, I was forced to go out around. Then there was the nasty beat upwind across the Upper Bay to get it the lee of Staten Island and into the Arthur Kill river that separates Staten Island from New Jersey. I made it all right, but soaking wet and encrusted with salt. The Arthur Kill River is quite narrow but afforded some protection, and I ran along awe struck by the largest industrial marine complex on the East coast of this continent. Refineries, chemical plants, electrical generating stations, container terminals, wharehouses, trainyards, dry-docks, wharves and slips, new and delapitated, barges, dredges, tankers, and ships of every shape and description. It was all very entertaining until I reached an elbow in the river called Fresh Kills Reach where the wind simply made it too unpleasant to continue. It was 4:30, with no clear objective for shelter for the night. So, I ran back up the river 3 miles to where I am now at the Elizabeth City Marina. It’s not a pretty place, but at least it is secure, with a wave wall that offers some protection from the large wakes of constant commercial traffic. Even with the wave wall the 30 or so boats in this marina are surging fore and aft constantly causing a steady creak of straining docklines. Another delight is the steady roar of jets landing at the Newark, NJ Airport just a short distance away. Some 25 jets per hour. I sleep with ear plugs. The wind has been gusting over 25 knots for two days with this cold front moving in. The marine forecast says it will moderate tomorrow. Hopefully, I will get an early start, and leave this place behind.Elizabeth City’s main claim to fame is that it is the original home of the Singer Sewing Machine Company. It is reputed to be the first company in history to employ over 10,000 people at one factory. Now it is an area of high unemployment, and crime. It will be nice to leave.Tomorrow, I hope I can clear Raritan Bay, Sandy Hook, and get inside the Manasquan Inlet, the begining of the Intra Costal Waterway and my salvation for smoother waters on South, I hope. It’s now 10:00 and past my bed time, good night.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

White’s Marina, New Hamburg, New York on the Hudson

7. September 2010 by admin.

This is my second day at White’s Marina. The people are surprisingly nice and helpful. The best thing is that they do not charge me to stay at an excellent slip. I never would have thought it.Since my last entry I finished locking down through the Champlain Canal. It ends at Troy, NY. The Erie Canal branches off right where the Champlain Canal enters the Hudson River proper. My first night on the Hudson was below Albany, NY at Castleton-on Hudson. I bought fuel and found that it took 35 gallons to get me from Saint Jean sur Richelieu down Lake Champlain, through the Champlain Canal to Castleton, NY. A distance of about 218 knotical miles.I bought some fresh fruit, and an 8 pack of Guinness Stoutat the marina. Imagine 8, 16 oz. cans of Guinness for 12 dollars. A person can afford to imbibe down here. Then instead of staying at the marina I went a short distance back up the river to a small creek I remembered entering the Hudson by a park. I went in about 500 yards/ meters and found an excellent spot to anchor. The wildlife was amazing. There were gray squirrels everywhere, and dozens of birds I’ve not seen in a long while, a mink, and tons of turtles. It seemed amazing so close to such highly populated area. There were white egrets, chats, cat birds, cardinals, nuthatches, great blue herons, and bitterns. It was a big surprise to me to find that there is over 3 feet of tide all the way up to Albany, NY. I spent an excellent night under a mosquito net.The next morning I got off before daylight, and randown to a place called Rhinebeck, where I stopped for lunch. Rhinebeck is where Bill Clinton’s daughter Chelsea got married a couple of weeks ago. While anchored in Black Creek across the river two kayakers came into where I was lying behind two derelict barges. Alan Mapes, the guide, was kind enough to photograph me and email me the photos. Which I have tried to post.The wind was starting to pick up and I debated staying where I was because it was a very pleasant protected spot. However, I pushed on. It got worse, a hard South wind up the river which is over a mile wide at that point. The waves grew and I had to put on my oil skins. I stood on for another couple of hours until I thought it was prudent to find a spot for the night. Crossing the river to theeast side I found a shabby marina that offered some protection from the wind and waves. I went into a slip, but found it far too noisy to get any peace. The wharves were bouncing, the fittings were squeaking, halyards were slapping and clanging on metal masts, and it was unnervingly deserted. I decided to anchor off a bit. Once the anchor was down I felt anxious that I might drag ashore into the rocks if it continued to blow. Then I remembered my spare 12 pound Bruce anchor. I tied her to the bitter end of my 30 foot painter and went off at a 45 degree angle to where my other anchor was set. I was in about two fathoms with a good mud bottom as it turned out and she held really well. Then supper an my first night on an anchor in a gale of wind. The next morning dawned dark, gray, and ominous. I thought I would run with the wind back up the river on the East side and try to find a spot with more shelter.Chance brought me to where I am now at White’s Marina in New Hamburg. I am rather astounded at the hospitality shown to travelers. I have been here two nights at no charge for berthing. Plus, they allowed me to haul on their ramp so I could attach appendages to my spray rails. John Patterson, a chum of mine from college days came to meet me and brought a cordless drill that was immensely helpful screwing the extended flanges onto the existing spray rails. The rails have made a big difference, and I can now run to weather without a raincoat on.I’m just now going out to dinner with John and his family. Tomorrow if the wind stays down I will make a run for the Tapanzee Bridge, and if the running is really good I may make 79th Street Marina on Manhattan Island. Everyone says you can pick up a mooring at no charge.Then I hope to pick some good weather, go by Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, Statten Island, and under the Verrizano Bridge to Sandy Hook, and Manasquan, New Jersy, the beginning of the Intra Costal Waterway.All for now, its time to go out for supper, and a safely stowed Cohiba.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Finally underway in earnest

2. September 2010 by admin.

It seems that I have finally figured out how to do a blog posting from my iphone! Miracle of all miracles! Sorry I have been so long out of touch. However, I did say that my postings would be sporadic. Very sporadic indeed. For those that do not already know, I opted for plan “B”. That is my cousin trailered me and the “Lucky Suz” up to Saint Jean sur Richelieu, Qubec. I put in the Richelieu River Sunday morning August 29. I spent the day doing sea trials and buying extra supplies. Sunday night was spent in a backwater swamp at the north end of L’isle aux Noix 12 miles downstream from Saint Jean. The river was full of boaters, hundreds of them! The fuel burned on a summer Sunday in that river is an extravagance hard to imagine. Monday morning dawned dead quiet, and I felt ready to go. I went back up to Saint Jean sur Richelieu and tied off to the wall at the beginning of the Chambly Canal. Then I went for a long walk. I met Jacques Lambert for lunch, an old Nikon colleague of mine for lunch. It was wonderful to catch up on all latest in the world of microscopes. Then I ran down the Richelieu in earnest headed for the US border and Lake Champlain. It took two hours to get to Rouse’s Point, NY where I cleared customs. The Dept. of Homeland Security gave me a one year cruseing licence. Then with an eye for sudden squalls I began the 110 mile run down Lake Champlain to get to the Champlain Canal connecting to the Hudson River. It was after 6:30 but the going was excellent. I ran along till dark which brought me to a very exclusive enclave called “Isle La Motte” Vermont. It was like Cester, Nova Scotia times 8,000. The extravagances of Canada do not even register compared with the extravagances of the US. I managed to find an excellent cove in the lee of a very small rock pinnacle called Cloak Island. It was posted of course, “Keep off or you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” They could not prosicute me if they didn’t know I was there. So, I went ashore to stretch my legs. The crepuscular mosquitos began right on que, so, I spent the first night under my mosquito net aboard the Lucky Suz. I cooked my breakfast a half hour before daylight and was off down the lake by daylight. I had three excellent hours of running before the wind came up sharply at a place called Willsboro Point on the New York side. A look inside found a good cove to anchor in till the wind subsided. The time was very useful for me to read manuals on my “Standard Horizon” plotter, my new E-TEC outboard, and my hand held VHF. All of which I have not had time to get familiar with. They are all working exceptionally well now. Especially, the plotter that has all the charts for North America with an excellent GPS. It tells me Corurse over ground, speed, time to way point, sounding, water temperature, and a dozen other things I do not need to know. Oddly, the wind fell off around 2:00, so I ran on down past Burlington, Vermont. Burlington, for some reason was voted the best place to live in the whole United States a few years ago. However, I stood on for the southern most end of the lake. A sharp turn East at the bottom runs through a series of tight channels to Fort Ticonderoga, where I anchored in 3 fathoms for the night. There were a dozen heavy yachts there as well. A hatch of small mayflies was aggravating, as they were attracted to my headlight while cooking supper. The mosquito net was in order again, and I spent an excellent night. The following day brought me to several marinas looking for a phone to call Rogers. I bought a US voice package on line and my iphone promptly stopped working. After two hours on the land line, it still did not work. So, I stood for Whitehall, NY, lock #12, and the begining of the Champlain Canal. I got there at 3:00, and began locking through. I made it to Hudson Crossing Park at Lock 5, in Schuylerville, NY. There is an excellent floating dock with no people around. It’s an amazingly beautiful place with no people around. I may spend a whole day here to reorganize the boat, get some exercise, and learn some of the local history. This is where General Burgoyne made a significant blunder that became the turning point in the Revolutionary War. More when I get a chance!

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Finally ready to begin the epic voyage, Aug. 23, 2010

21. August 2010 by admin.

As usual, I vastly underestimated the time necessary to get ready to go away for a year on a boat.  Everything is custom built and fitted into the 22 foot freighter canoe.   Consequently, there is much trial and error for deck, seating, stowage. Then there is the packing that’s gone on for over a week of food, medicine, insurance, tools, electronics, fuel system, water handling system, cooking, axes, machetes, cameras, registrations, tents, rigging, batteries, lines, propane, flags, fishing gear, books, charts, cigars, etc., etc. etc,.If nothing goes wrong, and the weather is fit, I leave in the predawn darkness Monday, August 23.  First night will be Rogue’s Roost, East Dover, or Cross Island if its good going.This blog will be sporadic, but I will do my best.Regards to all,Bill Shaw

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Aug. 5, 2010

5. August 2010 by admin.

The house is half painted, driveway is sealed, and I have put on all the shingles I’m going to put on the lighthouse cottage.  It is looking like I may get away sometime next week.The boat still needs some work.  The deck needs final securing, the fuel tanks are all installed, the water tank is installed, and I have put in the GPS, sounder, and fish finder.  I am installing a marine compass, fitting ore locks, and putting the port and starboard provision boxes in today.The hardest part is getting away.  However, it is not a race, and I’m not going till I feel ready.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Cruse of the “Lucky Suz”

20. July 2010 by admin.

I, Bill Shaw, of Bedford, Nova Scotia, Canada propose to go to Iquitos, Peru by freighter canoe.  That is down the East coast of North America, Central America, Eastern South America, to Mouths of the Amazon.  Then, up the Amazon River, to Iquitos.  The largest city in the world, with no roads to it.  You must go by river, or air.My original planned departure was Canada Day, July 1, 2010.  However, a chance to go to “EXPO 2010″ in Shanghai, China, with the Canadian Museums Association was not to be missed.  As Jamie Irving said “Let us all pray that the Chinese do not become even a tiny bit Imperialistic.”  I had always imagined China to be one faceless unending hoard.  Shanghai, and the other cities I visited, were full of well educated, polite, enthusiastic, and affluent people.  Much like New York City but much larger, and nicer.The next impediment to my departure is the abstracted lighthouse cottage my wife and I are building in Lunenburg County.  After two years, it is still not weather tight.  We have spent the last few weeks putting on cedar shingles.  An easy job says you!  It is four stories high, slopes in at 9 degrees, and the corners are woven without corner boards. Contractors are scared to touch it!Next after cottage is tight, paint the house in Bedford.  We contracted the place painted two Summers ago.  It was a very large and costly mistake!  The paint they used has caused the original paint underneath to peal off like sunburned skin.  Motto: If you want the paint to stay on, do it yourself.After that I’m free to go.  It is looking like the first week of August.  Here is a photograph of my conveyance, the particulars of which I will elaborate on as time permits. It is a 22 foot long, 6 foot wide, freighter canoe built of cedar and epoxy canvas by Nor-West Canoes of Provost, Quebec.  It has a rated capacity of 4,5oo lbs., or two metric tons.  It is propelled by an efficient ultra low emission 40 hp ETC Evinrude outboard, a fully battened sail, or two 9 foot dory oars.

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »

Hello world!

4. May 2010 by admin.

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Posted in Uncategorized | No Comments »