Finally Sailing Again

My Charmed Life Aboard sv Mollynogger

I had been in Banks Channel at Wrightsville Beach itching to go sailing. Somehow, however, when I grabbed my tools and things off of Ruth Ann in Fort Pierce, my tether did not make the trip. I could not connect myself to Mollynogger for going offshore. I’m not necessarily big on tethers and PFDs all the time, but I absolutely do use them at night or when the weather is rough. For sure, going offshore for the first time on an unfamiliar boat qualified as a tether-worthy enterprise for me.

I had spent recent days getting used to my new boat and doing little projects. And I visited a new dentist twice that week. The new life was the same as the old life I had left about two years ago. To get to the grocery store, I had to row a quarter mile to the Wrightsville Beach public dock, then walk two miles, shop, and walk back to the dinghy to row again. It felt so good to be moving. My boatyard pal, Anthony, came over on his boat, Liberatus, for a visit in the channel. It was good to catch up and hang out with an old friend. The wind was too strong to fly his drone that day, but he came back later and buzzed Molly from shore to get some very cool pics and video.

The locals could get wild in the channel on a normal weekend and Memorial Day was approaching. I needed to get out before the holiday so I had made a reservation for a mooring ball down at Carolina Beach. The channel there is a dead end and with fancy houses and cramped marinas along the way, it is a No Wake Zone for the entire length. Carolina Beach is touristy like Wrightsville Beach but a little more blue collar. It wouldn’t be quiet per se, but the waters would be calmer and that was a long way toward a more peaceful weekend.

Along with my mooring ball rental at the Carolina Beach Municipal Marina, I got a free pump out there. However, I was keen for adventure and thought I would try to get far enough offshore to empty my tank on my own. I got Molly ready, gurgled down the channel, and out into the inlet. When I got outside the jetties, I was surprised how strong the waves were. There was a storm system far offshore and its effects were reaching Onslow Bay more strongly than I had anticipated. Molly and I were jumping off waves, careening down into troughs, and getting tossed back up in the air again and again. If I had tried to leave the helm, she wouldn’t have held a course for long. In addition, if I had actually got down into the cabin to lift a floorboard, open a valve, and then reach for the switch to turn on the macerator, I would have been thrown around the cabin; surely to injure myself as well. I made it a little over a half mile offshore and turned around.

With my tail between my legs, l made my way down the Intracoastal Waterway to Carolina Beach. When I caught the Harbormaster on his lunch, he suggested that I grab a mooring and then he would call when I could come down for the pump out. It took a couple tries, but I grabbed the mooring pennant without incident and had a beer while I waited for the call.

When the Harbormaster was ready, I dropped the ball and motored down to the marina proper. The pump out dock is straight in from the channel in a wide space, but I crept in slowly to tie up. It was my first time docking her all alone. Mollynogger is almost three times the weight of Ruth Ann and I was still learning how she behaved, got up to speed, and how far she would coast. I emptied my very full blackwater tank, filled the fresh water tank, and jogged up the dock to get rid of some trash and recyclables. With a two blade prop, her stern will walk a bit at low speed. As we backed out of the dock, I left her in reverse just a bit too long and we did a short twist in the harbor to spin around and head back out. It was little clumsy but no problems.

Back at the mooring field, I snatched the pennant on the first try and we settled in for the long weekend. Next on the list was laundry. There are two dinghy docks there, one right near the mooring field and another all the way down at the marina docks. The laundromat is beyond the marina in town so I rowed down to the marina docks. It was a half mile in the dinghy but I enjoy rowing more than walking. The length of the trip was the same, only the mode of travel was different.

My friend, Al, and crew came down to visit on the weekend. I had met Al online as we each owned a Bayfield 29 at the time. A few years ago, we got his sv Pumpkin and my Ruth Ann side by side in Banks Channel for a mini Bayfield rendezvous. Al and Keith came aboard the Mollynogger for a beer and a chat (his beer, I had not gone ashore for provisions yet). Pumpkin was rafted up to Molly for the time which caught the attention of the harbormaster. Larry stopped by to check on us but we reassured him that it was only temporary. We had also had lunch at the Stoked Restaurant and Al gave me a ride to the grocery store (thanks!). It is good to know people on the coast.

Overall, it was a quiet weekend and I enjoyed the convenience of the mooring. I had ordered a tether to pickup when I got back to Wrightsville Beach. I was going back because anchoring in Banks Channel is free while the mooring ball, though reasonable, costs money.

West Marine is almost exactly across the road from my new dentist. As luck would have it, I was headed back to the dentist again, so I picked up the tether that afternoon. Both were just far enough away that it didn’t make sense to walk. I made efficient work of an Uber by getting a ride into the dentist, walking across to the store, and then Ubering back to the dock.

I was actually back at the dentist again the next day. Yes, four trips to the dentist in the space of about 21 days; and only stretched that far because the dentist had taken Memorial Day week off. Luckily, my teeth are relatively fixed for now. In addition, I no longer had any excuse not to go sailing.

I had been frozen for a time. There was a great feeling of relief to finally be back on the water. There was a lot of leftover stress from the job that I had had in Michigan. I had needed to stop and make some money, but I was also in Michigan to help my sister with our dad. And there was plenty of lethargy from the tension and grief of losing Dad. I hadn’t really let go of most of that since last fall.

The tether stared at me from the shelf where I had set it down. Mollynogger and the tether were both taunting me. Why aren’t we sailing, they each seemed to ask. I will spend my life trying to live up to a picture that a skipper took of me in 2015. And now I have a boat – is she really mine? – a boat that I need to live up to as well. Something finally stirred in me and I made ready to sail.

After starting the engine, I raised the mainsail, and then hauled the anchor. We motorsailed down the channel to the inlet and pushed through the onshore wind to get out into the sea. Masonboro Inlet is deep and fairly wide, so it was forgiving to a sailor getting used to his new vessel. Outside the jetties and off the wind slightly, I hauled out the genoa. The moment I turned off the engine, I was overwhelmed with emotions. This was the peace that I had been craving; just me, the wind, and my boat. My sea legs were coming back and I was finally right back where I belonged.

I planned to make a big loop and return to the inlet and on in to the anchorage. A very pretty ketch had left the inlet just before I got there and they seemed to be headed straight south from Masonboro. As I followed them for a time, I wondered where they might be headed. We tacked and headed off to the east leaving the ketch to wander. Rolling in the swell without a sound but for the sea rushing past Molly’s hull was such good medicine for me. It had been over two years since I had been at sea.

Heading back toward the inlet, Molly danced in the swell and we shook off the inertia that I had been trapped in. She galloped along on a beam reach and I gradually steered her broader and broader until the wind was just off her starboard aft quarter. An idea had started to sprout in my sailing brain. I’ve always had a good “wind sense.” Lazy days of sailing as a kid, just meandering around on some lake in Michigan, had given me hours and hours of sailing time. All the while, I had studied the boat, the sails, and the wind playing together. It was all coming back to me just then. The idea grew into a plan and I knew that I was going to sail all the way back into the Banks Channel Anchorage without starting Molly’s diesel engine.

Lolling through the swell by the jetties, I watched the fishing boats to make sure they were not moving. I observed the channel buoys that I could see and planned my next few moves. The sea buoys mark the way straight in from Onslow Bay, but just before the turn into Banks Channel there is a squeeze and a tiny dogleg to port. Luckily, there wasn’t much traffic and I hugged the port side of the channel. I would have been polite if another vessel was coming out but I had a clear run to the tight red buoy near the beach. I’ve been on Jack Parker Beach there on the southern tip of Wrightsville. It is disconcerting how close the buoyed channel is to the sand. There is plenty of water, it is just well closer than anywhere else I have known.

All the way into the Inlet, Green Buoy 7 and Red Buoy 8 are like a gate on an Olympic ski hill. I hugged Red 8 like a skier leaning into a turn. Just past the “gate,” I swung Molly’s bow into the channel and tightened the mainsail as the wind came around to her starboard beam. Red Buoy 10 and the Wrightsville Channel Junction Buoy marked our entrance into Banks Channel. Despite the condos along the shore, we still had enough wind to keep sailing. Bewildered powerboaters buzzed by as Molly and I strutted along at less than two knots.

Mollynogger seemed as thrilled as I to push back into the anchorage under sail alone. Peering down toward the North Banks Channel Bridge, I suspected that we had lost our place in the anchorage. The thrill of finally sailing my new boat and the soul enriching power of sailing on the ocean more than compensated for having to find a new spot to drop the hook. But it meant that I needed to start the engine to be able to tool around and find that spot.

The late afternoon sun brightened the windows of the condos blurring their unnatural presence. The wind knew we were done and nearly stopped blowing itself. I rolled in the genoa as Molly drifted in front of the Carolina Yacht Club. We had sailed the length of Banks Channel and couldn’t be happier with ourselves. As I stood below the mast and pulled down the mainsail, a fishing boat pulled up alongside to admire us. The captain introduced himself as a former Endeavor sailboat owner. He had seen me raising the main at anchor and knew that I was setting myself up for a safe and efficient trip down the channel.

“I could tell you’re my kind of sailor,” he said and wished us well.

It was only then that I finally turned the key and heard the Perkins roar to life.

I was back. I could feel it in my bones.

And we ended up anchoring very near to the very spot that we had left that afternoon.