Another short passage, though made longer because Lene had to go grocery shopping again, her fourth day in a row! So we did not leave until early afternoon, when the tide was flooding into the St. Marys River, reducing our speed. Once we arrived and the anchor was securely set, some course plotting for the stops between here and Fort Lauderdale, a good dinner and we snuggled in for a night that was supposed to be even colder than the one before, but wasnt. While I played with the charts, Lene checked out Cumberland Island by trhe internet. It is a "National Seashore" administered by the National Parks Service. Im grateful to Dick and Elle for suggesting Cumberland as a great place to stop and to Lene who found the activities on the island. It is very roughly the size of Manhattan Island and we passed its beachy Atlantic coastal side while heading south for the St. Marys River inlet about a week ago. Our anchoring location was on its east coast, just off "Sea Camp", the NPS ferry dock,

Dinghy left, ILENE, right

where small boatloads of passengers come over from St. Marys, twice a day, to mingle with folks like us who come on our own bottoms.

All the tourists are also divided among those, like us, who spend a day (or less) on the island and those who bring tents, food, water etc., and camp out at its camp sites, by permit, for up to a week, $4.00 per head! The campers can be further divided between those who take campsites less than a mile from the dock, and those who carry all their stuff up to eleven miles (and back) to camp at wilderness sites.The eight folks here came as a group, took the near option and very friendly.

We were fortunate to get two open spots (another couple had not been able to make it) on a guided tour for eight people in a government van for only $12 per senior.

led by NPS agent Roy

This was a six hour tour and Roy kept talking to us throughout and answering our questions about the geology, flora, fauna, history and politics of the island and the state of Georgia.  He was a great tour guide and very knowledgeable...and isnt allowed to accept gratuities!









We saw an armadillo

and more than a dozen of the 150 wild horses who inhabit this island.

They receive no food or veterinary services but live breed and die on the island and are quite unafraid of humans. They are smaller than the jumpers and hunters I know from barns and their life expectancy is half that of domesticated horses. They and the wild boar, were introduced here by the Spanish. We also saw wild turkeys and deer, close up, but without photos.
Live oaks predominate. This one  extends further to the right than shown, and as you can see, is quite wider than it is tall. They

are not harmed by the Spanish Moss that hangs from them, except to the extent that when wet, and the moss can hold up to ren times its weight in water, can break branches off the trees.. The branches can curve down to the ground and back up again, when they grow in open cleared fields, like the one pictured. Most of them are "Second Growth"; the primeval forest having been cut down to supply curved timbers for building ships like Old Ironsides, the USS Constitution, made largely of Cumberland Island live oak.
We visited the first African Baptist Church, near the north end, a very small, one room chapel in which John John F. Kennedy Jr. was married. It was also visited by President Carter, a Georgia boy.

We stopped at Plum Orchard, a huge formal house, of about 25,000 square feet, built by the widow of Andrew Carnegies brother, for one of their sons and his wife. Completed with indoor squash court and swimming pool about 112 years ago, it reminded me a bit of Downton Abbey, in terms of the social structure and activity norms of the people who lived there.

Even larger, 37,000 square feet, was the Dungeness Mansion, built by Mrs. Carnegie for herself on the ruins of the home of the former plantation owner. Her kids decided not to maintain it after her death so only the stone and bare verticals remain.

Ms. Carnegie owned about 95 percent of the island. Sadly, those kids, who never had to go to school or do any work, generally died young, of alcohol related disorders. Roy told us there were very limited fond feelings among the children for their mother.

The island is now almost entirely owned by the government but about five percent of it is held by about 25 folks with "reservations of rights", i.e., the right to exclusive control of their land until they die. Then, one by one, the government will take over and will either restore the buildings for park or administrative uses if they have historic value or raze the structures and let the wilderness take over again. One such rights holder is Carol, who like the horses, lives off the land, at the north end, and has done so for 44 years, while becoming an expert on sea turtles.
This wall is made of "tabby" which is home made "cinder blocks" molded from burned seashells, sand and water to make a cement in which unburned sea shells are embedded in lieu of gravel to make concrete.

In the morning I went back for a walk across the island to the sea. Even with light waves, you could hear the Atlantics roar from half mile away. Long board walks to avoid disturbing the very wide dunes;

except the horses tracks show that they ignore the signs.








And then there is a very wide beach. You can barely see the three NC elementary school teachers, seated, half way back to the dunes, just slightly to the right of center.

On our way back north, we hope to explore this island by bike. We loved Cumberland.

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Charleston is like New York in at least one way: both were started at the confluence of two rivers, and the point of juncture is a park and called The Battery.

It is surrounded by lovely stately old homes.  But you cant sail by close because a sand spit extends out from the point.

A pretty easy day of it, 9:45 to 3 pm, motoring all the way in the ICW, which was wide and deep. Cold but not unpleasantly. We made a connection with the boat next to us in the Charleston Marina, "Kachina", a Hans Christian 33, with the most beautifully treated teak.

It is sailed by John and Joanna currently from Colorado but originally from Canada and Marthas Vineyard, respectively. We exchanged cell numbers and stayed close to them all day. We had originally selected Steamboat Creek for the midway anchorage to Beaufort, but Lene read about Tom Point Creek after it was recommended by Jim of "Goldie,"

a home made, steel, blue schooner. So the Admiral changed our destination. The two creeks are only about a mile apart.
The only obstacle today was one low bridge that opens every half hour from 9 to 3:30, only about 4.5 miles from the marina. We left when we were ready and the marina had sent a man to help a boat come in, so he stayed and helped us get off. But it was too late for the 10 am opening so we went very slow for the first 4.5 miles and got there in time for the 10:30 opening and still had time to get through Elliot Cut before its very swift tidal flow turned against us at 11:15.  After anchoring,  I lowered the dink and used it as a platform to get some rust stains out and polished some stainless, before being chased inside by the cold. A cold front with stronger winds passed during the period midnight to 2AM, but our anchor held.

Where is Tom Point Creek, you asked? Oh, it flows into the Wadmalaw River. It runs between Stann and Little Britton Islands. Still no help? Well you wont find Tom Point Creek in Google, except for information on the tides there, but it is about 20 feet deep and just wide enough for a single column of boats to anchor, and swing with the tidal change; a strong tidal current runs through it, For the curious, look in Google Earth at 32 degrees, 38.75 minutes North; 80 degrees, 16.86 minutes West.  It is bordered by salt marshes on both sides

and the book said -- and correctly so -- that dolphins swim up the creek, playful looking but looking for food.





In the morning all six of us had mango pancakes before setting off at about 9:30.

Joanne and Jim

Jim and Susan

Both John and Jim are very handy, the former a carpenter and boat builder, the latter a mechanic who built Goldie and who has lived aboard for 40 years. Both are professional delivery captains so they know something about sailing, in fact, a lot!
When we pulled the hook I did the math: with the Ladies Island Bridge, near Beaufort, closed from 4 to 6 and it being dark by six, we needed speed to get to that Bridge, from which is less than 1/4 mile more to the Downtown Marina of Beaufort. We supplemented the engines power with the small jib and trimmed it on every point of sail during the twisting ICW to gain an extra knot or two. We slowed down only in the three "Cuts" between different rivers. The cuts were short but reported to be shallow, though no problem for us today. A passing shrimp boat, its wings out, surrounded by its posse:

 We made the 3 pm opening, with the grace of the kindly bridge tender. The hundred cars and trucks lined up waiting until 3:06 when we passed, may not have thought of her so kindly, though. I think it was Lenes feminine voice that prevailed upon her to wait for us.

We plan to be on docks, here and in Hilton Head, for several days, using dock power to provide heat until the polar vortex goes away.

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Yes, there should be an apostrophe in "Marys," on the north bank of the St. Marys River, but there is not. And yes, we have gone north, about three of the 6.8 miles, from Florida into Georgia.
We spent four nights at the end of the west dock of Langs Marina. Many of the boats elected to anchor out in the wide, roomy anchorage, though it is beset by tricky tidal currents and strong winds.

The marina is funky to say the least. Most businesses strive to modernize and offer the best and latest conveniences. But not Langs. The cruisers guides warned us to wear slippers in the shower rooms; they are not cleaned very regularly and are old fashioned. The electric towers into which we plug our thick yellow shore power cables offer electricity at only $3 per night -- if you can get it. Most of the towers, including those near us, do nor work and apparently have not worked for several years. This was inconvenient because it has been cold here and Lene would have liked heat. Help with our lines getting onto the dock? Sure; if your neighbors are about and willing to help.  There are some pretty nice boats here, power and sail, including, across the dock from us, a DeFever trawler operated by the founders and owners of the Active Captain website. But Langs is also home to some boats that look rather derelict. And as you can see in this picture of two felines concentrating intently of the bravest of the remaining birds, guano is not washed form the dock except by the rain.

There are some more beautiful birds here too.

We are about 1000 feet from the street. Another thousand feet brings you to Seagles hotel, saloon and restaurant, where the festivities are held.

Thirty rooms upstairs at $90 to $130 per night.

 Langs is priced appropriately, only $1 per foot per night.

We arrived on Monday and each evening there was more and more shared food with drink getting our stomachs enlarged enough for the major feast at 1 pm on Thursday. There is also a communal check in on VHF radio channel 69 each morning, chaired by Ann of s/v "Sea Tramp". Her husband, Lynn, runs daily or twice a day trips with his van to where ever you may need to go in the area, including the supermarket (Lene went three times!), laundry, pharmacy, dry cleaners, propane refill, eye glass repair shop, etc.
We have been hearing about "Thanksgiving at St. Marys" for years and decided to join in this time. And we are glad we did. Dean and Susan of "Autumn Borne" are known by everyone here, probably because Dean has helped most of them, but they especially befriended us and introduced us to a lot of folks who we will be meeting up with further south in the months and years ahead.

Lene flanked by Dean and Susan and, at the sides, by the crew of s/v "Summerwind". Lets face it: the others here are mostly all retiree snow birds, like us, who come from all over the US, though some of us live aboard year round and others revert to land bases when not cruising. Good folks with a common interest in our boats and in telling each other and listening to each others sea stories. For the feast, the townspeople provided the baked turkey and ham and the cruisers each provided a side dish, salad, stuffing, desert, etc., sufficient to serve ten. But most brought more and this was no hunger game.

For the record, I made blanched string beans with bacon, blue cheese and toasted walnuts, and it got eaten up by the throng.



With the town abutting the back side of the Kings Bay submarine base, the town is postered by these bumper stickers:

Every Day In Camden County Is Military Appreciation Day.




They have a Submarine museum

a block from Seagles, where I spent a few pleasant hours. There I met Mr. Treen, a naval electrician with 18 years of service in the submarine service, currently assigned as base photographer. He was doing a story on the museum.
I got to remembering my six day ride on one of our submarines, the USS Requin (SS-481) As Hammerbergs Anti Submarine Warfare officer, I was exchanged for the Requins weapons officer for the segment of our circumnavigation of South America from Montevideo to Rio in 1966. My biggest thrill: they let me dive the sub. I yelled "Dive!", scrambled down the conning tower as quickly as possible so that others could slam closed and dog down the hatch above my head before water started to flow in and then yelled the command: "Blow negative to the mark!"  This meant to release compressed air into a forward compartment sufficient to give buoyancy to the bow and thus level off the dive. And then the submariners, who knew what they were doing, took over again. I recall the palpable sensation of quiet after we were submerged; the crashing sound of the water while a surface boat slices through it was replaced by utter silence.

Tomorrow, a communal pancake breakfast (yes more food!!), a swap meet and then we plan to go east and a bit north to an anchorage off Cumberland Island National Park for a few days before resuming southward from the St. Marys area.

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Four trips to the boat but only eleven hours work, scraping rust off the anchor chain. It is hard work with a stiff paint scraper and I cut myself one day after which I wore heavy work gloves. The problem is that it takes almost an hour to do a foot of chain and and ILENE has 300 feet, over 100 feet of which are heavily rusted. The guys at the yard told me to buy new chain but I priced it at about $1300 plus tax and shipping. Wow. Keep scraping, Roger! Here are

rusted links draped over my denim clad knee, with "cleaned" links in the upper right. But another guy in the yard suggested a "hot dip" regalvanizing process that can be done by a firm in Jersey City. I checked it out and they will do the job for $350, first using acid to remove the rust and then dipping the chain in  molten zinc to get a good solid coating of it on the chain. So no more scraping for me.
I attended the Interim Board Meeting at the Harlem; a nice dinner as a way  the Club rewards its hard workers with good fellowship and a good meal "on the house!" And they gave out fire-engine-red fleece vests with the Clubs logo. I felt a bit guilty because as outgoing Fleet Captain I did not do much work for the Club in 2015.  I have been searching out a locale for our annual dead-of-winter outing, to take place in February.  Another scraping day was followed by a good brunch at the Club before a visit to the City Island Maritime Museum.  Its collection has evolved a bit in the last couple of years but the highlight was a lecture by the unofficial"Official Historian" of City Island, who is a sail maker by profession. His knowledge of the numerous businesses, their owners and craftsmen and the boats that were built here over the past couple of hundred years is intense, with slides to illustrate most of it. Big names in the history of boat building and sail making worked here. I met two couples of Harlemites and there were about a dozen Corinthians, who invited me to join them for dinner after the lecture. But after brunch and refreshments at the museum, I went straight home and had an apple for dinner.
I renewed my Corinthians membership and signed up for their one week cruise in the Mt. Desert Island region of Maine next July and August. I also joined the Seven Seas Cruising Association, after Bob, of Pandora, had encouraged me to do so for years. It appears that Im eligible for "Commodore" status based on the mileage I have logged off shore and the time spent aboard, but the third requirement for that status is that one be a member in the lesser class for a year. They do a lot of information sharing and I responded to two requests for information, about Angelfish Passage through the Florida Keys and about sailing in Turks and Caicos. I simply referred the questioners to the relevant posts in this blog. And I have spent some time trying to get the Nova Scotia portion of next summers vacation organized. I asked the other members of the SSCA to share their experiences with me and called Landfall Navigation, an excellent chandlery in Stamford CT, who sent me information on the relevant paper charts, published by the Canadian government, that we will need, and cruising guides. And I selected the right electronic chart, but I will not buy charts until next spring; you want them to be as up to date as possible. And I contacted Fernando, who did stainless steel and fiberglass work two winters ago, to get him lined up to repaint the blue boot stripe when it gets warm enough next spring. So work is continuing apace.

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A municipal manhole cover. Carol is Greek (or Latin?) for Charles and Polis, as in Annapolis or Metropolis, is city or town, hence Charleston, founded in 1670.

There are only three requirements if you want to cruise like we do, the other things are subsidiary. One is time. You need to be retired or independently wealthy or on a sabbatical or unemployed.  Second is money. Not a lot, but you need to buy a boat and maintain and provision it. And third, but no less important than the other two, is good health. On arrival here I thought we had run out of good luck with the third requirement. Lene was bent over with excruciating pain in her left knee. Every few steps was an attack of acute pain. We cant go on like this I thought. She cant climb over life lines and take big steps down from deck level to dock level or transfer between boat and dink.

I told her that we could haul the boat in a yard here in Charleston for the winter, fly home, get the medical problem fixed and come back here next spring and sail ILENE back to New York. The end of the adventure. But then I thought, before such a drastic decision lets get some medical advice. We consulted with our friend Bill, in Oriental, who is a retired Orthopedist. We took a cab to Roper Hospital where x-rays were taken by the ER doctor who gave us a referral for an ASAP visit with an orthopedist on their staff. The ER physician also gave Lene a soft splint, held in place by foam rubber and velcro, which essentially immobilized the knee, causing a very wobbly gait but the absence of the pain, and a prescription for anti inflammatory/pain killers. And these really helped a lot and Lene was walking, slowly but without pain, up to 3/4 of a mile each way. The orthopedist told her to "sail on," resting the knee when possible and using the pills and splint as needed. Her condition has a fancy name and is exacerbated by cold weather. Surgery, replacement and even cortisone can wait. Here is our sick bay, notice the flowers, and the gekko, to the right, below the clock, with short bits of weatherstripping hidden behind it so as not to mar the cherry wood. He will be a reminder of both our Carribean adventure and this trip.

Fortunately,we had spent a week here in the Spring of 2012 and seen most of the major sights, and can stop here again on the way home, because we did no sightseeing on this trip. We did laundry (it is free for boaters in this municipal marina, The Charleston Maritime Center, purchased a new Ipad to replace the one I ruined with salt water in the Chesapeake, and grocery shopped in Harris Teeters, a pretty good supermarket. We took a walk among the historic homes here

(notice my shorts; a warm day at last!) to

 a memorable lunch at Jestines with great inexpensive southern cooking and named after a domestic servant who died in 1997 at age 112, the daughter of an ex slave and a Native American. Jestine worked for a southern family for many years and the restaurant is owned by a descendant of that family. The Reverend Brown of the nearby Methodist Church and the financial secretary of the church recommended the fried chicken which Lene enjoyed and I had, among other things, fried chicken livers, fried okra, corn bread with butter and honey and southern pecan pie.

And of course there is always boat work: ILENE had a bath, her water tanks filled, her fuel tanks poisoned to prevent the growth of microorganisms that clog the fuel lines, gluing back one of the buttons that hold plexiglass panels in place against the screens of the cafe doors with gorilla glue and the top of the percolator lid with JB Weld, a metal to metal glue that is remarkably strong.

But the two biggest problems required the help of Dr. Bill, who, I told him, enjoys fixing boats almost as much as fixing peoples bones. As to the auto pilot, the most expensive component is the motor with linear drive -- the thinner rod to the left goes in and out of the thicker rod to the right, and pulls the rudder to steer the boat. The squeaking and beeping is a $ign of old age and thiS drive will have to be replaced $oon. Its kind of amazing that a guy who is 6 3" could contort his body to reach this place to copy down the serial numbers. Replacing the unit will be harder, but once replaced this one will be rebuilt and used as a spare.

The other problem was the lack of charge into the starting battery. Its sole purpose is to power the starter motor which turns on  the engine. So it discharges only for less than a second each time, but it uses a huge amount of power when it does. And the problem was that it was not being charged by any of the solar panels, the engine or shore power. So the voltage had gradually reached the very low level of only 12 volts. Bill talked me through a series of tests, via phone, which showed that either ILENE does not have a needed "combiner" or that component is not working.  The short answer is that periodically, when we are (A) on shore power with the built in battery charger turned on, or (B) running the engine, we have to combine the starting battery with the "house bank" (which consists of 6 six volt golf cart batteries), so that the starting battery can get charged. This is easily done using a small red plastic key.  Last winter the old starting battery died because I did not know this and erroneously assumed that when I hooked the boat to shore power with the battery charger on, it was charging both batteries. So many lessons to be learned. Thanks again Bill.

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Here is that Ladies Island Bridge, first from land, closed, and then from ILENE at the dock, open, with just a few of the waiting cars at the extreme left.

It was cold but the third day has been warm but first windy and then rainy. The wind pushed us hard on the dock, separated by our somewhat flattened fenders. Several boats that were anchored out dragged into the marshes.
Lene used the Downtown Marinas courtesy car for groceries and to obtain this Mr. Heater Buddy,

which burns propane, producing carbon monoxide and hence is not as safe as using the electricity driven heat exchanger, but used when we are not at a dock and carefully, for small periods of time while we are awake, it can take the chill off in the evening and early morning.

I washed the boat, cleaned the starboard rub rail with acetone and waxed it; not much for three days, I confess. I also plotted a whole bunch of alternative courses between here and St. Marys, where we want to arrive a few days before Thanksgiving for the festival there. All the way from a single 125 mile overnight passage to as many as four intermediate stops, each such shorter hop or combinations of them by the inside and outside routes. It all depends on the winds, as always. Each such potential course except the inside ones, consist of three segments: to get out to the sea, in the sea and coming in from the sea.
Beaufort is a very historical town and the county seat and site of a US District Courthouse (federal court), as well as a tourist town with many shops, galleries and restaurants. I checked out the mostly used bookstore with a huge selection of books by Pat Conroy, and an antique shop with a nice selection of antique nautical charts. The restaurant we found and patronized this time is Low Country Produce, located in the tile walled former post office and town hall. It has good reasonably priced innovative cuisine and sells groceries as well. We bought a jar of their pickled Jerusalem artichokes after having been given a few with our dinner.
I visited the John Mark Verdier House,

right on the main street, Bay Street, which survived the war and several fires since 1804. It is the site of the historical society but they offer only guided tours of the house, which they do not conduct for only one person, so I saved $10 and contented myself with viewing the public rooms.
I had never thought that the Union army "occupied" the South during the war, but they did occupy Beaufort, because it was a harbor from which, through port Royal Sound (where a multi-ship naval battle was fought) they could operate the blockade of the Confederacy to choke off revenues from the sale of Sea Isle cotton, the finest grade, to England. The white confederate residents fled leaving their property (slaves) behind, so missionaries came in to help them, as well as merchants, newspaper publishers, photographers and carpetbaggers of all types. Many of the buildings on Bay Street survived to this day and a diorama was created of them and,from photographs, of the others.

Robert Smalls was a slave who had been stationed on a cargo ship, the "Planter". He put his wife and family aboard and brought the ship to the Union forces and surrendered. For this daring heroic act he was given command of a Union warship, later granted prize money with which he built a house here in town and was elected several times to the US House of Representatives.

But perhaps the best part of this town was just walking among the old homes and the magnificent live oak trees with Spanish moss that grace them.

This last one is Bythewood (two sylables not three), built in the 18th Century by the sea captain of that name and perhaps our favorite. The owner, Heather Perl, came along, took this picture and invited us for dinner. Maybe on the way back we can take her up on that.

We finally met up again with Dean and Susan of "Autumn Borne", who have appeared in this blog several times since we met them, coincidentally here in Beaufort, in the spring of 2012.

We also met their friends (our new friends), Benny and Lisa of "Rhiannon," a 42 foot Catalina. We six shared a pot luck dinner and played  and a game of cards.

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Yes, a long day -- underway at 6:15 and put anchor down at 3:45 -- 9.5 hours of motoring in the ICW. Today and yesterday we traveled on sections of the ICW that Ive never traversed before, having been outside at these latitudes on past trips. And I noticed how almost exclusively, and less so than in the spring of 2012, the ICW is in fact a one way street - southbound only - and seems devoid of commercial traffic. It is a road dedicated to snowbirds migrating south.

Our depth sounder is perhaps our most valuable piece of navigation equipment in the ditch and we watch it like hawks. When it starts to go from lets say 14 feet of water to 13.9. 13.8, etc, it means one of two things: either we have moved to a section of the ICW with shallower water, or we have started coming closer to one of the sides. We assume it is the later, try to guess which side we are too close to and go gently toward the other side, watching to see it the water deepens under us.

We noticed two potential mechanical problems that have to be thought through. One, the autopilot seems less responsive and more likely to roam a few degrees to either side instead of staying on the straight and narrow,Perhaps it is only a perceptual problem in that we notice the situation more when we are in a narrow path as compared to when there is nothing but horizon in front of us. Two, the voltage on the starting battery is getting low. Both batteries are charged together in the normal course of events, by the solar panel and by running the engine. The third method is by turning on the battery charger when we are attached to shore power. My current theory on this problem is that the battery charger is somehow decreasing rather than increasing the voltage of the starting battery. It seems to have done this last winter when I replaced the battery, and now again in Deatons, where again we had shore power. Yesterday I replaced the broken off lifting stem of the galley sink trap with a bolt and nut from ILENEs collection of them and cleaned out the filter leading to the fresh water pump, thereby restoring a healthy flow of hot and cold water.

Well today: The first thing occurred as we were getting underway in less than full light. About 30 small fishing boats, each with two warmly clad people were milling about. Lene had to pick our way through them while I secure the anchor.Then a siren sounded and they all took off at breakneck speed overtaking

us on both sides, motors roaring and wakes a making.Wild! Some sort of race or fishing contest perhaps.

We saw dolphins again, the third day in a row; they seem to love to play in the inlets and finally Lene got a shot of one, albeit not the greatest.

Why did our passage take so much time? Blame part of it on the bridges. There were four low ones on todays route, for which one has to hurry to be there on time and then to wait with other boats for their appointed opening times. Waiting, keeping a boat stationary in close proximity to others, can be quite a challenging task if there is strong wind and or tidal current. But today there was no wind. Actually we did get a knot from the Genoa for about an hour but after that the wind Gods took a break. By dumb luck we made the first bridge on time. The second required us to push ILENEs Yanmar diesel harder than I have ever pushed her --3000 rpms. In addition, we made it because the kindly bridge tender asked the waiting motor boats whether they would mind a five minute delay in the opening so the three sailboats could catch up. They graciously agreed. But the third and fourth bridges could not be made by speeding up so we had to make the appointed times by slowing down.

Wrightsboro is a college town for nearby UNC Wilmington, which city is far by boat but near by car. The anchorage is easily reached by small boats who take a left turn almost immediately after passing under the last bridge. But this route is not recommended for boats with deeper drafts like ILENE. We had to continue down the ICW for another 1.5 miles, then take the left, leading to Masonboro Inlet with its protective seawalls extending arms out to sea (through which we plan to depart tomorrow for an overnight jaunt to Charleston SC),

and another left along the inside of the barrier island and another mile and a half

to the sheltered anchorage area.

We lowered (and later raised and secured) the dink for a ride in to town, checked out the beach

and brought a few groceries. It is not supposed to be as cold tonight, or tomorrow, as it was last night and today. No, it is not shorts and tee shirts weather yet. And have I mentioned how much I have enjoyed and depended on Lene; without her company and help this trip would be no fun and very difficult.

After anchoring we learned that our friends, Dean and Susan on "Autumn Borne" pulled in here after us, at the end of an ocean sail from Beaufort. They have been chasing us since they left Catskill New York, We had a headstart. But while we are going outside tomorrow for 162 miles, overnight to Charlestown SC, they are going inside and visiting friends for a few days. So for now, we are still just two boats whose wakes have crossed.

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