I was hanging around in Banks Channel, Wrightsville Beach, and reveling in the fact that I had finally been out on the ocean again. A good sailor keeps an eye on the weather. I was close enough to shore and to civilization, that all the weather apps on my phone were available. Suddenly, there was a storm system coming the following week with some pretty heavy winds. I needed to remain in town for a bit longer to coordinate with a boatyard pal, Victor. I had helped Vic move his boat a few years ago and to celebrate he was going to help me, on a reunion cruise of sorts, jump offshore to Beaufort from the Masonboro Inlet. To avoid the windy storm coming, I had made a second reservation down at Carolina Beach.
As luck would have it, I convinced Mike, another pal from my boatyard days, to come down and have breakfast. We found the venerable Sawmill Restaurant on Carolina Beach Road and sunk into a booth for a good breakfast and a long conversation. Mike, Anthony, and I would indulge a bit in the boatyard after dark and imagine that we were the amateur security patrol for the dozens of boats in the yard. Going way back to my old blog, Mike was also instrumental in helping me survive the night I spent sleeping on a sinking boat. That story is here.
The windy storm forecast petered out by the time the day had arrived but I had a nice time back on a mooring in Carolina Beach. Ironically, Mollynogger had spent a good deal of time there before me. Eventually, I wandered back up to Banks Channel where it’s free to anchor. I managed to meet up with Mike again. He drove around looking for a place he thought he remembered, but we ended up at a BBQ place. This yankee, who is usually plant-based, had a fried catfish sandwich with coleslaw and fried okra on the side. I have never claimed to be perfectly plant-based and I will “go along to get along” whenever it is conducive to catching up with an old friend. Besides, that was a damn good catfish sandwich, better than average coleslaw, and I love okra!
Vic and I finally coordinated our schedules and decided the day to sail was that coming Wednesday. His mother (and his dog, too) had been on the trip we had done before on his boat, but Cheryl couldn’t make this trip. Nevertheless, she gave Vic a ride down from Beaufort, so we all had a chat at the public dock and then loaded up the dinghy; a couple guys, a knapsack, and some beer.
Victor and I can often have long philosophical discussions and that night was no exception. Halfway through solving the world’s problems, I had to remind us both that we were getting up early in the morning. The trip from Masonboro Inlet to the Beaufort Inlet was a little more than sixty miles. With about fourteen hours of available daylight that time of year, we needed to start moving as soon as the sun came up to reach Beaufort in daylight. I set my alarm for 05:30 and we crawled into our bunks. The V berth can get a little stuffy when it’s warm, so I slept up there and let Vic crash on a berth in the main cabin where there was a little breeze. Luckily, there hadn’t been many bugs in the air nearby and we could leave all the hatches open.
My alarm went off but I hit the snooze.
In a short minute, Vic yelled from the main cabin “Are you getting up?”
“Oh, all right,” I grunted.
