140 Miles in a Mariner
An Outer Banks Adventure
Story and Photos by Steve Hock
Tuesday: May 17, 2010
Swish—swish ... swish—swish ... the windshield wipers kept their monotonous beat. It was five in the morning and raining steadily. My truck and trailer slowly trundled south, down the Delmarva Peninsula. After many weeks of planning and preparing the boat, I was finally on my way to the Outer Banks of North Carolina with my friend Rich Aichele for a grand sailing adventure.
The weather forecast was for rain all day—eight hours of towing in the rain. Ugh! But the forecast for the five days we planned to sail looked promising with only a slight chance of rain or storms.
I’ve always wanted to sail in the Roanoke Island area because of its rich history and big water. My chance had arrived. Rich and I have sailed together many times over the years, but the pressure of home, family and work had kept us from sailing together for a long time. I wasn’t comfortable taking this trip alone or with inexperienced crew. It was good to have someone along who “knew the ropes”—literally.
Our Internet research showed a ramp in Kitty Hawk off Bob Perry Road that might work, so we went to check it out. It was a good ramp with good parking and after consulting with the Kitty Hawk PD we found we could park overnight as long as we wanted. No parking fee—no launch fee. Terrific! The downside was we had to motor out a long, shallow, narrow canal (some would say “ditch”) with overhanging branches about a mile to reach Kitty Hawk Bay.
By late afternoon we were hungry and needed a place to stay the night. At the end of Kitty Hawk Drive, only a mile or two from the ramp, we found a Holiday Inn Express that had room to park the boat. Perfect. Around the corner was Hurricane Mo’s, a great little restaurant we managed to hit right at “happy hour.” Our luck was improving.
Wednesday: May 18, 2010
We got up early the next day and headed for the Holiday Inn’s free breakfast, possibly our last land-based meal for a while. From there we drove the short distance to the ramp, rigged up, launched, and got ready to motor out onto the big water. It was high tide—a good thing.
The little canal twisted and turned its way through the high marsh grass and tall pines whose branches reached out over the canal as if to grab our mast and shrouds to turn us back. Occasionally we bumped the bottom, requiring the the centerboard to be full up and the rudder kicked. My little Yamaha stirred mud and chopped weeds all the way. I love the Mariner’s 10-inch draft.
The sun cut through the cloud cover as we emerged from the canal, and gave us our first view of the beautiful, wide open Kitty Hawk Bay. Our destination for the day, the town of Manteo on Roanoke Island, lay some 14 sailing miles in the distance.
A light easterly was in our favor but teased us many times, falling light, leaving us to warm in the morning sun, and forcing us to seek the shade of the lifeless main. Morning breezes here tend to be light with the heavier air developing in the afternoon. Occasional puffs and a falling tide moved us steadily along. The features on Roanoke Island began to sharpen. Slowly we entered the narrow Roanoke Channel heading south towards Manteo. The channel is narrow and we cheated it in order to sail, bumping the centerboard on the muddy bottom numerous times. At last we reached the outer markers for Shallowbag Bay and glimpsed the little Roanoke Marshes Lighthouse welcoming us in. We sailed into the bay, dropped the sails and headed for the docks.
Reaching the Manteo town docks, we chose a spot on the pier with a gazebo and set off to find the dockmaster. Hearing walkie-talkies crackling in the distance we knew he couldn’t be too far and we found him helping a big motor yacht into its berth. We told him where we were and he told us of, “the towns’ 24-hour time limit on the dock” ... but, if we wanted ... he could probably stretch it to 48 ... ah heck .. stay as long as you want!”
That’s what I call Southern Hospitality!
Back at the boat we locked up and set off to explore the town. It was sunny and warm, a great afternoon for walking and we made the most of it—checking out the town center and walking the grounds and coastal boardwalks of the nearby Roanoke Island Festival Park complex, and visiting a wooden boatbuilding museum on the waterfront. Manteo is a lovely little town and was as yet uncluttered by the rush of summer hustle and bustle.
After a light dinner in town we retired to the boat. There was a lot of dockside activity and I considered anchoring out in Shallowbag Bay but it offered little protection against the predicted east wind, so we stayed on the dock. It was a bumpy night for a few hours and sleep was a scarce commodity for me. As dawn broke I grabbed my camera and was up and out, leaving Rich to sleep in.
Thursday: May 19, 2010
I retraced the previous days’ boardwalk route in the quiet of the morning, taking pictures and simply looking around and enjoying the morning light. The sun was beginning to pierce the clouds, creating a reddish hue in the wispy streaks, set against the clear blue sky. Red-winged blackbirds flitted and sang in the marshes, and the low drone of watermen’s boats floated through the damp air. An occasional fish, searching for his breakfast, leaped and flopped nearby. Cool, gentle breezes brought the sweet smells of honeysuckle and salt marsh. What a beautiful Roanoke morning.
Returning to the boat, I found Rich up and having breakfast. I prepared to head out to our next stopover —Mashoes Creek on the North Carolina Mainland, some 30-plus sailing miles away.
With our gear stowed, we motored out to the Roanoke Channel and headed south, under the Baum Bridge, the long way around to Mashoes Creek. Winds were very light early, but with the help of the tide we made slow, steady progress southward with an occasional puff to keep it interesting and help cool us off.
When we reached the southern tip of Roanoke Island it was nearly noon. Winds were still light, and making Mashoes Creek seemed an impossibility. We began looking at our chart for an alternative anchorage. But, before long the wind began to blow and we found ourselves bowling along northward at a steady 4 to 5 knots with a gust here and there pushing us even faster. We reeled off the miles, making only a few long tacks to clear the two long-span bridges connecting Roanoke Island with the western mainland. What great sailing!
As the afternoon sun began to wane, we could see in the distance the tall pines surrounding Mashoes Creek. After another hour or so we arrived at the daymark outside the creek. By this time it was nearly six p.m. and we were beat! It was a long day. Total distance traveled was probably 35 miles.
We quickly furled the sails and motored in to our overnight anchorage. Tired and hungry we prepared a “backpacker” meal aboard with my tiny Coleman stove. Not exactly gourmet, but filling. Topped off with tea, cupcakes and fruit cup, we were prepared to settle down for the night. Our anchorage was shallow but provided good protection. As the sun set the marsh came alive with the sounds of “peepers,” frogs and who knows what —plus, of course, the mosquitoes. Oh yeah—they were there, and after a few slaps we headed for the sanctuary of the Mariner cabin. We heard ‘em buzzin’, but they couldn’t come in. After an hour or so they “bugged out.” Thankfully I had installed a passive bow vent as well as an opening screened port in one bulkhead. That gave us a bit of fresh air through the boat. In warmer weather this would have been stifling.
Sleep came easier for me this night. All the sun, fresh air, the excitement of sailing and the previous poor night’s sleep combined to knock me out early. The quiet anchorage provided a safe and comfortable night with not even so much as a tug felt on the anchor line.
Friday: May 20, 2010
A beautiful dawn broke with the promise of another exceptional sailing day. We were ready for breakfast. Hot tea, oatmeal, granola bars and fruit was our usual morning fare.
With breakfast over and the gear stowed we motored out of Mashoes Creek to Caroon Point for a photo session. I wanted some nice photos of Whitecap in a natural environment and this looked like a pretty place. We motored to the little beach with a steep drop-off, running right up on the soft white sand. We took lots of pictures at this beautiful little spot. A sandy beach, fabulous view of the creek and Roanoke Marshes, a pleasant east breeze and clear, crisp sunshine—wow!
We finished at nearly 10 a.m.—time to get moving towards our next goal at East Lake (which is not really a lake at all). This required sailing around the top of the mainland land mass, into the Albemarle Sound and on west to Haulover Point. A tiny, shallow cut there provides an access to East Lake. With careful navigation and the Mariner’s 10 inch draft I was sure we could make it through with the help of the engine. If not, we had to take a far longer route via the Alligator River.
Reaching Haulover Point took two hours. Having never been there before I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I looked at the area many times on Google Earth and thought I could see a safe way in. Not taking any chances we lowered the sails and rigged the boat to motor in shallow water. Chugging along with the Yamaha just over idle, we threaded our way through the shallows and over the small sandbars visible a foot or so below. In five minutes we were clear.
With a good breeze now at our backs we turned, raised the main and sailed off south towards the lower arm of East Lake, part of the Alligator River National Wildlife Refuge. The wind built to 10 to 13 knots and the Mariner hit her stride in East Lake—no other boats around, no crab pots to dodge, huge, wide open waters and a strong steady breeze. The boat’s sails were trimmed perfectly and we beat back and forth many times taking turns at the helm. The automotive GPS registered 6 MPH at times. We had this fabulously huge piece of water all to ourselves—pristine, wild and natural. No evidence of human habitation. Just us in the wilds of North Carolina. What great fun!
As the sun was setting we knew we had to find an anchorage. We saw what looked like a nice cove on the chart and headed that way. It was a large oval shape about 400 yards wide and five-feet deep. Perfect! The land and trees would provide good protection from the predicted east wind too. We put out the anchor and plenty of scope and settled in for the night. After dinner we were treated to a gorgeous sunset with clouds and jet contrails all over the sky. It wasn’t long until the ever present mosquitoes began to make their appearance, so we retired to the cabin for another quiet night’s sleep on the hook.
Saturday: May 21, 2010
Morning came in shades of gray. The cockpit and cushions were covered with dew and drowned mosquitoes. A light breeze from the east had Whitecap tugging at her anchor. The forecast was good with the usual light winds in the morning building into the afternoon. With a long distance to go we knew we had to get moving.
A light, steady breeze pushed us from our anchorage towards the Alligator River. We approached the river with the wind diminishing to almost nothing. At the mouth we were surprised to see a huge number of fish traps in the river. They prevented us from cutting the corner around Durant Island and added several miles to our course. With the wind almost gone, and many miles to go, I started the iron wind and proceeded to motor around the traps out into the open waters of the Albemarle Sound. Three quarters of an hour later we were free of the fish traps and the wind had returned, not strong, but allowing us to steadily gain on our destination.
Sailing along we saw numerous large motor yachts heading up the Intracoastal Waterway, all under power, passing us with a wave. Even the big sailboats motored due to the many shallows. Slowly we sailed on. At this point, because of some faulty navigation on my part, we turned north towards the wrong point of land. The wind had fallen and we were once again motoring. But something just didn’t seem right. Back to the chart and turning on the automotive GPS I realized I was aiming for the wrong point. Oh no! This mistake cost two quarts of gasoline and two hours of travel in the wrong direction. Funny how the low land masses here look so much alike.
Getting reoriented, we quickly changed course, realizing that to make Little Broad Creek before dark was now going to be a real challenge in the light air. We certainly did not have enough gas to motor there. Using every breeze, gust, and puff we could find, we worked our way closer and closer. The progress was painfully slow, but as evening fell the wind picked up a bit and at last we rounded Camden Point and the start of the Intracoastal Waterway. Our goal for the night was just ahead ... but where? The shoreline was a solid mass of marsh ... where the heck were the creeks? We pushed on north. The light was failing and we were both pooped. I felt mutiny in the air. We needed to find an anchorage and soon! At last a break in the marsh appeared but it was too small to be Little Broad Creek. We pushed on. Faced with what seemed to be a never ending wall of marsh grass, we began to doubt the charts. As the sun delivered its last bright rays we spied an opening! At long last—Little Broad Creek. We motored in, picked our spot and dropped the hook.
We prepared another meal aboard and I reflected on the day’s trip, my erroneous navigation, the waste of precious fuel and the close call in finding the anchorage just before dark. It had been a long, long day. We were both exhausted and turned in early.
I awoke about 4 a.m. to a stuffy cabin. Hoping the mosquitoes had all gone home, I pushed back the slide and removed the cabin door. Oh, that cool air felt sooo good! It wasn’t long, though, until a few mosquitoes came calling. Since there was almost no wind, I got out my yet untested ThermaCELL mosquito repelling lantern. After quick assembly I fired it up and placed it on the cabin floor. It takes 20 minutes or so to heat up and start doing its thing. Fully awake now, with dawn breaking, I sat up in the quarterberth to watch and see if it discouraged the little black devils. I closed the slide leaving the door off. As the unit warmed I could see the little varmints start exiting the cabin. As it came to full temperature, mosquitoes approaching the open doorway would take a whiff and turn around and fly away. Cool! Unfortunately it’s only effective in a near dead calm. But it does work. (Picked mine up at Walmart)
The sun edged above the marsh. The few clouds were dark and puffy. Today would be our last leg back to Kitty Hawk Bay some 25 sailing miles. The forecast called for winds from the east and we were going east. Possible thunderstorms in the afternoon. This would not be an easy day.
Because of the distance we had to sail, we ate a hasty breakfast and got ready to go. With a slight southerly breath of air we motored out of the creek and headed south for Kitty Hawk. Slow progress was soon supplanted by no progress. Fuel for the Yamaha was now a concern. I reserved a quart for maneuvering in the bay and up the return canal to the dock, and another for an emergency. I had a gallon left. That left two quarts to spare.
We agreed to burn two quarts while it was calm to position ourselves so when the wind finally arrived we could take full advantage. The motoring placed us eight or so miles closer to Kitty Hawk. When the wind did arrive it was right on the nose, forcing numerous tacks in shallow water to approach the bay. Every time we tacked back we thought we had gained enough to make the opening, but the strong winds just would not let us in. Finally, after a long tack out into the Albemarle Sound we were able to get enough angle to return to the center of Kitty Hawk Bay. What a relief!
We dropped the sails and began to motor towards the north shore looking for the canal entrance, but the strong winds made the boat hard to control. Due to the shallow water created by low tide and the strong east wind blowing the water out of the bay, the rudder had to be fully raised which limited my steering ability, and no centerboard meant plenty of sideslip. We were unsure exactly where the opening to the canal was and we could not see it from our position. Before we could get our orientation the boat got sideways to the strong wind and blew us onto a bed of seaweed completely fouling the engine’s propeller.
Oh no! The proverbial lee shore. Drat! Pretty much helpless at this point, the boat skidded sideways towards the soft marshy shore. Realizing drastic measures were called for I jumped into the shallow water with a long line. Fortunately the shore was all mud and marsh grass. Had it been riprap or bulkheaded I’d have a far sadder story to tell.
With the line on the bow, I struggled in the mucky bottom to haul the boat to clearer water so we could clean the seaweed from the prop and escape the marshy shore. After towing the boat 50 or 60 yards through the muck I came to some clearer water. We quickly ripped the weed from the prop and restarted the Yamaha. Still in the water, I pushed the boat dead into the wind, Rich put the engine in gear and gave full power as I leaped aboard.
With the little Yamaha roaring for all it was worth, we lurched free of the seaweed’s grip and out into open water. As we clawed off the lee shore we caught a glimpse of the canal opening. This time we were prepared for the wind gusts. In minutes we were literally bouncing through the cut into the canal. The tide was out and we really needed those extra six inches of water. Rich was on the bow, bouncing the boat with his weight in order to help us wiggle our way in, while I teased the Yamaha for having too little power.
Whew! What a struggle. I don’t want to do that again.
At last we were in the little canal back to the dock. I could have used a stiff drink right about then, but we had another mile to go up the shallow canal and the tide was low. The wind wasn’t done with us yet either. At one point the canal makes a pretty square right turn. With the rudder kicked, centerboard up and the engine set to shallow running, I could not make the turn in the crosswind and simply sideslipped unceremoniously into the marsh with the hungry pine trees grabbing at the mast. With the help of my trusty crew and the persistent little Yamaha, we were soon back in the channel and headed for the dock.
What a day! What a trip!
Epilogue
Every time I’m out on the water I hope to learn something. Some of the more important things I learned this time were:
This was an ambitious trip. Perhaps too ambitious. A hundred and forty miles in five days is a lot of sailing. Especially with eight hours of towing on each end. Our long days, though filled with some great sailing, were a bit much for two sixty-somethings. At the end of each day we were both very tired. Nothing like when we sailed together in our 40s. Next time out we’ll cover fewer miles and not work quite so hard. Which is not to say we didn’t enjoy the trip. We definitely did.
As “captain” you make decisions. In my case I didn’t listen well enough to my crew. At one point Rich told me that he thought we were making a wrong turn. I looked at the chart, the automobile GPS I had along, and the land. I chose not to follow his counsel. I was wrong, and I felt like a real dope hours later when I finally did recognize my error. Automotive type GPS is of limited use on water. If you really want to play it safe, buy a real marine GPS unit.
“Be sure you’re right, then go ahead” —Davy Crockett
I also reinforced the notion that proper preparation, inspection and repair of essential gear and knowing your equipment well is extremely important. You don’t make a trip like this unless your boat is up to snuff. The many hours of work and thought I put into preparing Whitecap before the trip paid off with no problems and no breakdowns. She’s a sweet sailer. Even my previously problematic little Yamaha, having had a last minute repair before I left, performed flawlessly. •SCA•
Steve began sailing at 13 when he and his father built a 16' “Crescent” sailboat out of Mechanix Illustrated magazine. Since then, Steve has built and owned numerous sailboats, large and small. His favorite sailing places are the Chesapeake Bay, Chincoteague Bay, MD and Hampton Roads, VA. Steve is currently the V.P. of Communication for the Mariner Class Association (www.usmariner.org). He resides in Bethlehem, PA.
First appeared in issue #69
Nice Article…….yeah, as we age…shorten the daily miles and throw in a lay over day in the middle!…. Nothing beats a sailing adventure with a good buddy….mine “crossed the bar” about 4 years ago…..but left me with good memories like your story.