Wide Planer Board Trolling Rig |
When we last left
our heroes, they were up a creek in Annapolis, MD having escaped the
buzzing of the Sailing Capitol of the U.S.A. After a peaceful night in
Weems Creek, beyond the Baltimore Annapolis Boulevard Bridge, it was
up and at 'em. Breakfast and coffee and hoist the anchor. This was, after all, a delivery, not a cruise. The sun languished in a
purpley-pink sunrise as we got back into the bay.
We were in the
middle part of the Chesapeake, between Annapolis and Norfolk. The
winds were against us so we were motoring. Even more ships in this
part of the bay, but with so much open water it seemed like less
traffic. More annoying than the ships were the fisherman. It was the
weekend and we figured that they were fishing for pleasure rather
than scraping the bay for a living, though there were likely some
working fishermen out there too.
I don't know if they
were fishing Rock Fish or Stripers(striped bass) but all the boats
were trailing these annoying planer boards to spread out their
trolling jigs. The planer boards ran out wide and behind like little
toy boats. Trolling requires dragging at a particular, constant
speed, back and forth over the shoals, shallows and depth contours.
Apparently, the best contours are those that are right at the edge of
the channel. So as we sallied our way south, fishing boats were
lazily cutting in and out of the channel to cross and recross these
magic spaces. As they concentrated on their specific, probably
secret, speeds, depths and fishing spots, the fishermen got really
uptight when we thought we had the right of way in the channel. One
guy bellowed that he was going to report us for making him alter his
route. At least, that's what it sounded like he said. We were a bit
too far apart for communicating.
Though we were
motoring against the wind and not sailing, the sun was shining and
the salt air, like a cool salve, soothed every spiritual cell and
opened every dirty pore, sloughing away the crust of civilization. I
stood on the back bench of the cockpit minding the autopilot and
soaking up the universe. Every foot of boat and bowsprit spread out
before me as I leaned and swayed with the rocking of the deck. It was
as if I were on a forty two foot long paddleboard. We were working
hard and traveling long miles each day getting Eleanor closer and
closer to her new home, and yet it was so relaxing and soul
enriching. I had struck this bargain, quit my job and joined this
voyage exactly for moments like this. I've learned so much about
sailing and about myself already that I can't imagine having not done
this; having missed this … this right here.
Damn thing, anyway ... |
Nevertheless, we
made it through the maze and back into open water. At the mouth, the
Great Wicomico River is a wide bay with several creeks on either
side. Gradually, it narrows and turns hard to port where a large
cove, like a burl on a tree branch, awaited us. Just past a nice park
on the tip of yet another 'Sandy Point' and around the #9 day marker,
we entered the quiet rounded cove and dropped anchor. Despite the
million dollar vacation homes on the beach arcing around us, we each
took a turn in the not-so-private cockpit for a bucket shower. We
would make Norfolk easily the next day.
Thimble Shoals Light |
At the confluence of
the James, Nansemond and Elizabeth Rivers, we headed toward the
downtowns of Norfolk and Portsmouth down the Elizabeth. We rounded
Hospital Point on the Portsmouth side and passed Red Bouy #36, the
official start – mile zero – of the Intracoastal Waterway(ICW).
Not only a milestone for our trip, but a stop where we were treated
by one of Alex's Project Bluesphere fans. Marty had arranged for us
to have two nights at the Waterside Marina, downtown Norfolk. Not
only that, Marty drove down from Richmond two days in a row; first to
take us to lunch and arrange the berth at Waterside and the next day
to grab us and go pick up Joe, Alex's father, at the airport. Joe was joining us for the trip down the ICW to Florida. But since we had arrived a day
early, we motored past the Tidewater Marina to check out the free
city dock at Portsmouth.
We peered into the
small basin as Eleanor crossed the opening. Already inside were four
or five boats, snowbirds surely, and the north landing of the ferry
that runs between Portsmouth and Norfolk. It looked mighty crowded to
me, but Alex was game to try. I cringed as we headed deep into the
basin for the last spot on an angled dock at the back. With a
flawlessly executed turn to back into the corner and some help from
fellow boaters to catch our dock lines, we were in for the night.
Downtown Portsmouth was a delightful spot with nice restrooms at the
tourist information office and a little lunch counter right across
the street. We settled in for the evening. The next morning we had
time to have a little breakfast and wait to cross the river to
Norfolk before Marty was to arrive.
In Norfolk, we
wandered into town for a nice lunch with Marty, did some caulking on
the outside of the cap rail around the boat, did some laundry, had
real(!) showers and reprovisioned. After getting Joe at the airport,
thanking and saying goodbye to Marty, we were ready to hit the ditch,
the Intracoastal Waterway. The ICW runs all the way to Miami, but we
were likely to make another offshore jump before then. Our story
continues …