Carolina Beach, NC to Georgetown SC, December 8-9, 2021

 

     A lot of what I learned about sailing in classes and from YouTube and from my prior sailing experiences is a list of things I’d rather avoid. I don’t like sailing into the wind, I don’t like when there is far too much wind, I don’t like when there isn’t nearly enough wind, I don’t like coming into a new harbor in the dark, I don’t like sailing out of a narrow and confusing channel at low tide, I’d prefer to avoid really heavy cross current, etc. The problem when you have a collection of rules is that sometimes the rules come into conflict and you have to pick which one you care more about. This is made more complex when there are a lot of these rules, to be sure. However, even a very simple rules system often runs afoul of itself. The best example I can recall is when we were in Alaska watching grizzly bears gorge themselves on salmon. There was a mandatory bear safety course, from which we both graduated with honors and received a shiny pin to prove it. Basically, there were two rules: Do not approach within 200 feet of a grizzly bear and do not turn your back on a grizzly bear, most especially not to run away. I do not know if the bears had a similar human safety course, but as soon as we were out on our own in the woods, we met two bears who showed absolutely no interest in the vaunted 200 feet safety margin. Walking backwards through the dense woods was not a realistic option, since I’m capable of falling down walking forwards through the woods. So even a two rule system is no guarantee against conflict.

 

Mr Grizzly Bear is not impressed by us.

 

    When we first set out from Carolina Beach, we were headed out in fairly lumpy conditions.  As we headed out in the afternoon, we knew it would be bouncy, but another storm was coming, so we needed to scoot.  The bad thing about Carolina Beach for a tall boat like ours is that you have a substantial detour to take when heading south.  As we left the channel to head out to the ocean, a concerned fishing boat hailed us tentatively on the radio: "Catamaran heading south from the Carolina Beach inlet, Catamaran heading south from the Carolina Beach inlet, this is the fishing boat off your starboard."  I responded "This is sailing vessel Dragonfly, I see you about 1/4 mile off my starboard bow."  He was very concerned that I didn't know about Frying Pan shoals and wanted to advise me that it was way too rough to try to cross in these conditions.  I assured him that I was planning to go the long way around (about 13 miles offshore) and he still seemed a bit stressed apologized for questioning me and wished me luck.  I assured him that I always welcomed local advice, thanked him and kept on chugging offshore.

 

The easy way in red, my way in blue

    Sailing seems to delight in putting my desires in conflict. On our passage from Carolina Beach to Georgetown, we did our best to find a weather window that was pleasant to sail in while still allowing us to arrive into the harbor during the day. Unfortunately, a storm system was rolling in by late morning and the town itself is a good two hours inland from the ocean entrance to Winyah Bay. We timed our arrival to get into the bay as close to dawn as we possibly could. 

 

 I don't mind overnights very much because sunrises at sea are always cool.

    
     It turns out to be quite a tricky entrance from the ocean into Winyah Bay. All of our charts (boating’s version of maps) said that they were showing us their best guess, but the sands move around frequently and we should look for the buoys to be moved from where the map indicated and it would be better if we had a local expert to give us advice. I suppose that is true enough, but it would be even better if I could launch a helicopter from the deck and fly in a Dennis Conner but that wasn’t really going to happen either. It turns out that approaching the inlet at dawn was pretty good in terms of the tides as it was going to be pretty near high water, so there shouldn’t be too much current and there should be more water to prevent running aground if I picked the wrong line. There were a few fast fishing boats making their way in or out as we passed through, so we did get some help picking out where the channel markers were. Lisa is also quite adept at spotting them in the distance and helping me to pilot a course in their direction. There were a few spots where the channel markers didn’t look like they were in a very good place, but someone went to a lot of trouble to put them there, so I wound my way through nice and slow and never saw less than 10 feet of water. I did stay between 10-12 feet for a whole lot of time, so I didn’t figure I’d much like this route at low tide. Dragonfly draws about 4.5 feet and once we get to 6 feet or so my heart rate picks up quite a bit.

We thought that the rainbow meant it was all going to be golden once we entered the channel

 

     Once we made it past the channel, the rest of the route was a very wide and relatively deep bay that gave me a feeling of relief that we had put the challenging bits behind us. Our weather guy said we needed to be in port by noon because there was a cold front plowing through and it would get windy and unpleasant. We were on track to dock by 9, so that seemed like no concern. As you yourselves may well have noticed in life, it turns out that weather forecasts are not exactly 100% dependable. Around 8, what had been a very light drizzle turned into sheets of rain. I like to navigate through tight waterways with the roof open, because I can stick my head out and get 360 degree visibility. I had what I believed to be a waterproof anorak from the Gap. It turns out that things don’t stay waterproof forever and that particular garment is older than many of you reading this and it wasn’t really technically waterproof. Maybe more like wateragnostic. No problem, says I, I’ve been wet before. Just another hour or so and we’ll be tied up at the dock and I can get warm, dry clothes on and eat a gigantic breakfast.

 

    Sensing that the clouds and rain obscuring my vision really wasn’t challenge enough, a massive bank of fog began to roll in. Now I was starting to feel a lot less happy about everything. We have very reliable charts (from multiple different companies) and I can follow my course and be fairly confident that I’m in the right channel, but there is no way I’d see an object floating in the water or even another boat until we got pretty close. I’m trying to review the rules for fog horns. I think it's one long blast every two minutes but I’ve never had to do it before. Also, how foggy does it have to be? I make out the shape of a catamaran headed outbound and we pass safely and he never sounds his horn either, so I guess it isn’t quite that foggy? There is also a very well known saying about marker buoys that goes “Red, Right, Return” which means when you are heading into port, the red lights/markers should pass your boat on your right side. Up ahead I see a massive flashing red light, but it is well to my left. I feel like I want to ignore it, but what if the channel has moved up here? As I’m making up my mind, I head closer towards it. As I’m studying the map, I decide that that particular light is just far too close to shore and I ignore it and head back to the main part of the river. It turns out that it was a signal marking where the shore got dangerously shallow. I’m not a safety engineer, but it seems to me that they should probably pick a different color than red or green for those kinds of signs.

 

    I’m now seriously considering whether I'd like to anchor and wait out the fog, but I’m a bit stressed because my weather guy said it was just going to get worse. I cross check the map and I’m only about 15 minutes away from my destination. There are some excellent anchorages outside of town and I tell Lisa I’m going to head into Georgetown and if I don’t think the visibility is good enough to safely dock, I’ll just anchor and wait it out. Once this decision is made, the weather gods just give up. It's still raining cats and dogs, but what do I care, you can’t really get wetter than I already am. The fog however, lifts wonderfully and I see the charming little town of Georgetown laid out before me. Lisa gets to go up front and attach dock lines and fenders as I radio the dock and announce our arrival. He confirms that he sees me coming down the river and gives me detailed instructions on where to dock and says he’ll meet me at the slip to help tie the boat up. I’m getting a pretty good feel for maneuvering Dragonfly in close quarters and I ease right next to the marina guy in foulies and we are tied up in minutes. I jump ashore and rearrange all the lines by a miniscule amount, because that's what you do.

 

    I take advantage of the fact that the engines have been running and get a scalding hot shower to warm up and change into dry clothes. I check into the marina and make a rookie mistake. I tell him I’m going to stay 4 or 5 nights, depending on the weather and he tells me that he’ll just charge me for 4 and if I end up needing the extra night to let him know and he’ll charge me more. This turns out to be a tactical error because by the time I tell them I want the 5th night, they’ve already booked my spot and tell me I've got to go. Sailing with the roof open over the helm also taught me that my helm seat absorbs water like a sponge and will release enough water to soak your pants even a week or more later. I have tested this experimentally and am quite confident this is true. Getting a new helm seat is rapidly moving up the list of things I’d like to do.

 

    All things considered it went pretty well. We made it on pretty exactly the schedule we planned on. I’m thinking about modifying my weather rule to leave more hours between the end of the journey and the expected start of the weather, but that would have meant trying to negotiate a very complex entrance in the dark, which is another rule that I’m really trying to follow. Georgetown turns out to be a really cute historic port and we enjoyed our time there a lot. Also, apparently they have cured COVID in South Carolina, because anytime I wear a mask people look at me like I’m a Martian.