It was an inauspicious beginning. So what's new? We were planning to splash "Vixen" on Saturday, May 18. I had hoped to surprise my brother Bruce, who was to fly into Newport News on Saturday, by arriving a day early to splash the boat, rig, load, and be ready to push away from the dock when he stepped aboard. We had the ICW chartbook by the Kettlewells, the ICW cruising guide by the Moellers, the ICW Facilities Guide (not very useful), and I even brought along the Coast Pilot (out of curiosity, I guess; I also have a copy of World Cruising Routes, but didn't think we'd need it on this trip). But due to a last minute re-scheduling, I ended up making the six hour drive to NN three days early on two hours' notice, and leaving the little last minute organizing, and surprise, undone. What would be forgotten this time?

We set a goal a few years ago to eventually sail the entire ICW proper, all 1240 miles of it, meaning from Mile 0 in Norfolk, VA to Key West. So far, over four years, we've accrued about 80 miles, Marathon Key to Key West, and Savannah, GA to Hilton Head, SC. Tough to do in one week a year. But one's reach should exceed one's grasp, right? And there will always be something to look forward to.

We also wanted to determine a few other things on this trip. What kind of gas mileage would the Honda get, how much battery power would we use, and how would Vixen be to overnight on for a week or more? (see "What I Learned on my Summer Vacation" at the end) I had realized too late what a great opportunity this would be to try the Honda's 3-amp alternator to charge the battery, so I didn't find out in time that all we would have needed were two 10-gauge wires from the alternator leads to the battery posts.

This would be Vixen's first real cruise under my ownership. The plan this trip was to launch Saturday afternoon and make for an anchorage that night, then spend at least six days cruising "The Loop" — down the more eastward Albemarle & Chesapeake Canal Route of the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW), west around Camden Point, and back north through the alternate route on the Great Dismal Swamp Canal, considered the protected and scenic route of the two (see map below). We just moved the plan up three days.

The trip is about 140 miles, and depending on weather at the southern end, we could either opt to just sail in the Albemarle for a while, or continue down the ICW, cross Albemarle Sound to the Alligator River where we sailed Vixen a little last year, and maybe on to Belhaven. We'd grab a bus or rental car back up to the truck and trailer in Chesapeake, VA. We had set one other goal: get to Mile 0, turn around and scoot out of there, since I envisioned heavy commercial and Navy traffic in Norfolk and Portsmouth chewing us up without a hiccup. Experienced cruisers later told us it's nothing like that and pretty easy. Crossing Hampton Roads might be a different story, but we would stay south of the Roads on this trip. We decided to go to Mile 0 on the return trip, since the Dismal Swamp Route rejoins the main route at Mile 7, an easy three or four hour round trip from there, as opposed to a 6 or 7 hour trip from our launch point.

We are somewhat familiar with the Outer Banks area; my brother had lived there for several summers and sailed a few of the sounds on his MacGregor 26, a good boat for four in the shallow waters. They took a few two- and three-day cruises, but only as far north as Elizabeth City, NC, at Mile 50 on the Dismal Swamp Route.

I had spent the previous couple of weeks calling marinas and parks near Mile 0 looking for a ramp or lift to launch from, to no avail. Mile 0 is smack in downtown Norfolk and farther down, the ICW passes through downtown Portsmouth. There are great city dock facilities and several marinas, but they are designed for the annually migrating cruisers and liveaboards. There is no room for parking anywhere in the area. I finally found a marina with a ramp and storage for truck/trailer at Mile 15.2 on the Albemarle & Chesapeake Canal Route. It wasn't the best direction for prevailing winds at the southern turn, but there was no choice. We could always sail further south to the intersection of the two routes and come back up north. We have finally learned to cruise to the weather, not to a schedule.

We packed for the usual Virginia/North Carolina weather in May, 70's during the day, 60's at night, temps that had been confirmed by the long-range forecasts, as were partly cloudy skies and moderate winds, 10-15 knots. A few T-shirts and shorts, with a pair of long pants and shirt, just in case. We had always overpacked on previous trips, including a summer sleeping bag in which I would roast at night. This trip I brought a pair of regular sheets and a flannel sheet to act as a light blanket, and it worked well without taking up much room. Pillow cases filled with clothes would serve as pillows. We had everything we'd need for comfort. Yeah, right.

On the drive to the marina from NN Airport, we missed a turn and, though not much delayed, we got turned around a little. We found the marina, got the boat rigged, loaded and launched, and when asked by the owner where we were going, we pointed up the ICW and said "south". "That's north", said he. As we pushed the bow away from the dock a little before 2:00, he looked real hard at us since he figured he'll have to identify the bodies later.

Because the ramp and dock were literally 20 feet from a swing bridge, I backed out about a hundred feet to get in position for the opening. Bruce remarked about the inch of water that had collected in the cockpit and the four inches in the rear locker, apparently from backing. As we shifted to forward and passsed through the bridge, much of the water quickly drained out. Later we learned that by loading the heavy stuff—12 gallons of gas, 5 gallons of water and the toolbox—in the bow of the v-berth when putting and by not sitting midway back in the cockpit, we stayed dry as a bone. Vixen seemed to cruise better, too.

I was apprehensive about two things: a new through-hull knotmeter, the seal of which was untested in water (luckily no leaks, since I forgot to check for thirty minutes after launching), and the Honda 5HP, which started sputtering an hour into last year's last trip. I suspected bad gas then, which I had since replaced, but was unable to find a spare fuel filter before leaving on this trip, because I forgot to look. Time would tell. I thought I recalled asking the Montgomery listserv group what average mileage I could expect from a Honda 5 and thought the answer was 5 mpg, so besides the 3 gallon tank, we have 2 6-gallon jerry cans of gas bungeed to the bow pulpit, following the rule of carrying one and a half times the amount of gas one needs to get to the next fuel stop in case of no, or opposing, wind. Sounds overly-cautious, I know, but it happened a couple of years ago coming back from the Dry Tortugas, when the Gulf of Mexico was like glass for five days in March and we traded a loaf of bread and a few bucks for some gas from cruisers coming back in from a month on the water (best trade items seem to be those bags of salad fixins, fruit, and eggs). The next day the wind picked up and we sailed the 30 miles back to Key West.

It was thirteen miles to a marina and we were about two-thirteenths of the way there when we met our first cabin cruiser, who saw no need to slow down when passing, as is common courtesy. We held on tightly as a four-foot sharp wake headed our way from 30 feet away. I took it on the port quarter, but as the bow crashed down from the second wave, one of the jerry cans did a neat cannonball off the bow pulpit. The bungee just happened to hook back on itself so the can kinda surfed on the water as I scampered up to the bow. Back on board and re-bungeed tighter, plus I tied the tops of the two cans together. No problem the rest of the trip, and we met no other idiot powerboaters; even the hundred-foot yachts slowed down. A doff of a cap or a "Nice pass, Dreamcatcher, thanks" on the VHF was apparently the proper acknowledgement.

We tied up at the Pungo Ferry Marina Thursday night. I was hoping there'd be a tropical fruit stand nearby so I could ask if they had a Pungo mango. Dockage was 75 cents a foot, $12.75, as were most of the marinas we passed, except for the free ones later. We tied up behind a small cabin cruiser whose residents watched Jerry, Sally, Rikki, Oprah and the others on their TV until 10. We listened to VHF and heard the latest forecast, which had changed dramatically from just hours before. The forecast that had predicted 10-15 knot winds and temps in the 70's and low 80's 12 hours earlier was now predicting 30-35 knot winds swinging around from Southwest to Northeast with day temps in the low 60's and nights in the low 40's. Waves in Albemarle Sound were predicted to four feet and small craft warnings were out, with thunderstorms for the next few days. Gulp. We decided we'd wait for the morning forecast before deciding what to do. We had a triple-reefed main and a storm sail on board, and it would be another day at least down the Currituck River on our present course before we hit the Albemarle. We walked over to George's, the area's only "five star" restaurant, for an overpriced buffet dinner. Near as I could tell, it was five stars, on a scale of ten. Good, but not great. But the place was big, not very full, and it was out of season.

I discovered two solutions to sleeping problems I've had on previous trips with my brother, because 1) he has restless leg syndrome, and 2) he snores. I normally sleep very poorly onboard, meaning I'm not as alert during the day as I'd like to be. Though I started out in the v-berth, it soon became obvious that I risked becoming a soprano from one wrong knee jerk. I decided to try the quarterberth. It was an absolutely perfect fit. I couldn't believe how comfortable it was no matter how I turned and I slept there the rest of the trip, and will sleep there for now on. As for the snoring, I grabbed a pair of those foam ear plugs before leaving home. Hardly any sound came through, the wave slapping became a nice gentle white noise and the snoring virtually disappeared. I used them every night and slept great. I'm not sure if I'll use them at anchor in case something should happen, but it's not really much different than sleeping soundly at anchor, although I rarely can.

No shower today.

The next morning we entered the marina store and before we could say a word, the manager said they had just been talking about us. The consensus was that it wouldn't be smart to keep going. The forecast was the same as the night before, if not a little worse. I said something about not knowing if we'd be able to make it, he looked at Vixen and said "The boat will make it." Gulp. He, too, was looking kinda hard at us, just like the last marina manager. Bruce and I looked at each other for a second and decided to make other plans. The manager also told us that the most dangerous length of boat, involved in "90%" of capsizes in the Albemarle Sound, was 14 feet. The combination of shallow water, winds, and east-west orientation that creates a long fetch and a short choppy wave period, raises the stern and plunges the bow deep. I figured he was talking about those sleek runabouts that look pretty in the lakes and rivers, but are bad news on these sounds on windy days. Unquestionably, Local Knowledge is the most valuable and current information available ("Let's ask LK what to do"). To quote the cruising guide,

We decided rather than sit at the marina for three days, we should head back up the east route and run back south down the Dismal Swamp Canal farther west, a route that's extremely well-protected (below). It's maybe 50 feet wide, 6-12 feet deep, has no current since it's between locks at about 9 feet higher than tidal waters, and lined thickly with juniper, cypress, and a lot of other trees and plants I know nothing about.

We'd be approaching the Albemarle about the time the winds should return to normal. And we could layover in Elizabeth City, NC, a regular cruiser-friendly stop and nice little historic town dating back to the early 1600's. So off we went back up to Mile 7, where the Swamp route peels off to the west. It was in this stretch we listened to several Pan calls from the Coast Guard of capsized boats whose occupants were in need of rescue, but didn't check the coordinates; I assumed they were off the Banks somewhere. I also heard a few days later of a boat going down in the Chesapeake, 15+ miles north, during this time. We stopped back at the marina we had launched from and got ice, gas, and a few additional unnecessary items that I had forgotten to load the first time out of the truck, and we shoved off. This leg was the closest we would come to Mile 0, but if we went there now, we would lose a full day and be in wider, exposed and unfamiliar waters, unsure if we could find an anchorage in the congestion of Norfolk and Portsmouth. Maybe on the way back, if time permitted.

A few miles north while waiting for a bridge to open (all open every half-hour on the half-hour, though the Elizabeth City Bridge opens on request), we rafted up with a fellow at the Atlantic Yacht Basin and had a pleasant conversation with his wife and him for twenty minutes. The bridge opened and we headed into our first lock ever, at Great Bridge. It's only 2.7 feet, so if we screwed something up, we figured we can just step off onto the lock wall. But there was nothing to it.

Everything was going well when suddenly, the engine sputtered and died. A couple of fuel line bulb squeezes, a pull or two, and she started right up, and away we went. Five minutes later, it happened again. And again, and again. Either a clogged fuel filter or bad gas from that last fill-up at the marina. Either way, did we really want to go the next 45 miles without boat facilities? We thought about it; I had to pump the bulb each time. It didn't seem that would indicate a bad filter, or gas. So as we rolled along, I pumped the bulb every few minutes and the engine purred along with no hesitation. The problem was temporarily solved, and it couldn't be gas or filter. Hmmm.

A little confusion with the identity of a bridge or two, but we came to the I-64 bridge and after circling around to read the sign that faces Mile 0, we entered the Dismal Swamp Canal. With no markers to speak of, a narrow channel, and 6-8 feet max depth, a depth finder is mandatory, as we found out. Twice. In twenty minutes.

Deep Creek Lock is about four miles down, and it won't open again until the next morning. Time to find an anchorage. The cruising guide is a little confusing in that this four-mile section has no mile markers and only two day markers, across from each other. Trying one side creek that shoaled quickly, we backed out and looked for another anchorage indicated in the cruising guide "a short distance from the lock". All we saw were some dolphins about 30 feet from the lock gates. I thought I remembered reading in the guide that we shouldn't approach within 500 feet of the locks, so we turned around and headed away. We later found out it was the anchorage, a perfect one, and we should have tied up to the dolphins. I have no idea where that 500 feet thing came from. Next we anchored just ten feet out of the channel. If the wind held, we'd be OK, but we decided that the wind shift expected to begin this night could see us waking up in teh morning, blocking the entire waterway, or aground. So we raised anchor, putted over to a gentleman sitting on his dock gazebo and asked if there was a good anchorage around. He pointed to an area but said not to get in too close. A third of the way over, we slowed gently to a stop, aground. The bottom there was thick soft mud, so no harm done. The rudder, whose length seemed a handicap after numbing my arm when it cracked into something really hard last year in Manteo, and regardless of its sailing advantages, proved to have an advantage in this situation. While two or three runabouts zoomed around us with skiers and kneeboarders fishtailing behind them, I idled the engine in reverse, lifted the rudder, and backed off as pretty as you please.

Exasperated, I waved one of the runabouts over and asked if they knew of any good anchorages nearby. They told us ten minutes back, there is "The Cove" that is a perfect anchorage. I asked if that was the place with the big sign that said "CAUTION! Barge Berthing and Turnaround Area." Yep, that's the place, but it's perfectly safe and rarely used by barges. So back we went, sputtering and bulbsqueezing, in the midst of which I ran gently aground again and got off the same way as before, though for some reason I kept unbolting and removing the tiller first (I stopped doing that later). When we arrived at the entrance I couldn't believe it was the right place. The entrance is sandy beach on both sides, with maybe a thirty foot-wide entrance. I asked one of the several runabouts that were run up on the beach around the entrance if it was deep enough. "No problem. It's 12 feet all over." "Is it OK to stay here for the night?" "Oh yeah! We've stayed here a few times". I idled into the entrance and sure enough, the depth finder stayed pegged at 12. Inside is a perfectly round, man-made, thickly tree-lined anchorage, maybe 1000 feet in diameter and deep all the way to the shoreline. It's just before the lock system starts, so there must be some barge facility between the turn-off at Mile 7 and here. It's not mentioned in any cruising guides since I guess it's owned by some barging company, but I had the feeling it was never a problem (we rafted the next night next to a 46-footer of liveaboards that had been doing the ICW annual migration, among other cruising, for 19 years and had used it, too).

Everybody else was pulled up to the shore, so we slowly moved to the south corner to try the same. That's what gunkholing's all about, right? While Bruce called out depth, I moved towards the beach. When the bow finally touched sand, the depth finder, eight feet back, read nine feet. I jumped off the bow and tied us to a tree. So much for gunkholing, but it was fantastic, as long as a barge didn't enter during the night. We cooked dinner, coated ourselves with Deet and relaxed, watching the fish jump and everyone else leave. We had the place entirely to ourselves. But just in case, I set the fluorescent lantern on the deck by the mast for the night, since we discovered the fancy photoelectric anchor light I put on last year didn't work. Again. West Marine has discontinued it.

The fairly cheap Caframo fan that I had on board for my brother worked great, if you're in the market (buy the clamp base too, the suction cup is the only thing I know of that doesn't suck, and sucks). He is a connoisseur of fans and thought it was the best one he'd used. But this was the last night we would need it, unless it would burn slow and hot later in the week.

No shower today, either.
 

We awoke Saturday morning to partly cloudy skies and increased wind. The forecast called for increasing winds and showers and thunderstorms by early afternoon. As we came out of the cabin, the boat rolled in a strange way. We looked at the shore and saw that the bow was beached for about three feet. There isn't much tide in this whole area, maybe 6 or 8 inches average; what's more influential in the shallow sounds and ICW here is the wind pushing the water in or out. I've seen Currituck Sound change by 3 feet, often a third to a half of total depth, piling up against the west or east shore, and Albemarle Sound even more. Pungo Ferry LK told us bigger boats drafting more than four feet bounced their keels off the bottom in troughs. Gulp. Here, the southerly wind had pushed water out of the Waterway and dropped it by over a foot. We moved the water and tools to the stern, hopped out to the beach, and with a little side-to-side rocking and a good hard herniating push, off she came.

We headed back down to Deep Creek Lock, the only boat there for the 8:30 opening. The lock raises and lowers 9+ feet in elevation. This lock, and the South Mills Lock at the other end open four times a day, between 8:30 and 3:30, or a half-hour later, since they operate first for boats from one direction, then for boats from the other. And within a quarter mile of each is a swing bridge, also operated by the locktender. So as one putts down to the bridge, the tender hops in a truck and drives to it. Everyone plans their passage through this section, and into Norfolk, by these two lock schedules.

We called the tender to confirm opening time, and she took the opportunity to advise us as to the procedure. It was fairly routine for people to call on VHF explaining that they had never been through a lock before, and the tenders were always friendly, courteous and patient. We of course were old hands, having gone through all of one two-footer.

This one required tying up to the west side instead of the east. As we handed fore and aft docking lines to the tender who looped them around stanchions nine feet up (we were to take up slack as we rose), she mentioned that she had just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and asked would we like some? We are strange in that neither of us drink coffee (Bruce is addicted to Diet Coke and I'm a Mountain Dew man myself) but we had been read this graciousness was typical. She stood there and kept us company as we talked about the coming cold front and other stuff for the twenty or so minutes it took to rise. We waved thanks and good-bye to her as we passed through the swing bridge ten minutes later. A nice woman.

The locks mark the beginning and end of the Dismal Swamp Canal proper which was originally laid out by George Washington and was created to provide a protected shipping route. The canal skirts the eastern edge of the swamp, so it doesn't really look swampy. Because of the unpredictability of the weather, we didn't try to make the South Mills lock, some 22 miles down, by 3:30. Instead, we decided to make for the North Carolina Visitors Center at Mile 28. The wind from the night before was evident by a couple of 4-inch trees that had fallen and were blocking about a third of the width of the Canal, but they could be easily dodged by just about any boat. We passed another one the next day. Add to that the thousands of green leaves that had been blown off trees and looked like branches, or logs, and other prop-damaging stuff, not to mention the branches and logs and other prop-damaging stuff, and it was well worth two sets of eyes watching ahead. To add to the merriment, it was in this stretch that the skies opened up. We had just slowed down to pass several canoe-fuls of kids out for a nice little paddling trip, apparently accompanied by adults with no common sense. Twice we were asked by the adults where the feeder canal to Lake Drummond, which spawns seven rivers, was. They were a good half-mile from it and all the kids looked to be under age 12, with no sign of rain gear or experience, and they were making slow headway against the wind. We blew the air horn when we passed the feeder to let them know. Five minutes later as they were fading from sight, the wind picked up and a torrential rainstorm started. No one should have been out in canoes in that weather. We half-expected to read about them the next day in the paper.

It was in this stretch that Bruce solved the engine problem. He suggested re-checking my fuel line hook-up to the gas tank. Sure enough, when he re-attached it, we heard the solid "click" that this type of fitting makes. I didn't recall hearing it when I had topped off and re-connected the fuel line the day before at the marina, in a hurry to cast off. The engine performed flawlessly the rest of the trip.

We had the bimini up and two rainsuits on board, so we stayed fairly dry, though one of the jobs that had been left undone due to the earlier-than-anticipated departure was Scotch-Garding the Sunbrella bimini. A couple of hours of rain started a few drips where we touched it (which like nylon or canvas, seems to be a sure way to start a drip), but when it stopped it dried adequately pretty quickly. Whenever I'm asked what piece of non-safety gear I'd purchase first, it would unquestionably be a bimini. It completely transforms those hot days, or wet ones, on the water into a pleasant experience.

The Visitors Center is a popular place to overnight because there are restrooms and running water there. It's just over the North Carolina line and has two faces—Route 17, a primary route to the Outer Banks that parallels the Canal for many miles and the Visitors Center is a rest stop along the way. On the back side is about 100 feet of bulkhead for boats to tie up for a night or two.

At mile 27, we saw the boats rafted up at the Visitors Center a mile ahead. This was going to be another new experience as we had never rafted up before, and didn't know the etiquette. We went past slowly looking for a place at the dock, circled, and as we came back up looking forlorn, saw a head stick out of a buttoned-up cabin and ask if we wanted to raft up to them. We said yes please and, though I approached from the wrong direction, I came in slow enough that for once I actually didn't hit anything or anybody. Two or three folks came out of the protection of the cabin and helped move dinghies and catch lines. It turns out it's perfectly proper to ask to raft up, although there was a story of someone who refused to allow it and the other boat had to continue on. We were the third boat out, but were told that everyone there, about six boats including two good-sized catamarans, were traveling together and all would be leaving in a half hour for the South Mills lock. As the first cat left, our "raftees" helped move Vixen to the very end of the dock, where we tied up in water too shallow for any of the boats we saw on the entire trip (we were always the smallest).

Ten minutes later, we were alone, using the sanitary facilities, including directing the hot-air hand dryer into places it was never meant to heat, and making small talk with the ladies in the Visitors Center, where we enthusiastically and warmly watched a video on the Dismal Swamp (it's apparently not really dismal; "dismal" used to mean "swamp", so I guess we were in the Great Swamp Swamp), and we heard all about the ghosts, monsters, mosquitoes, flies, leeches, bears, wildcats, and three kinds of poisonous snakes that love it there. The water is the color of dark tea because of leaching from tree bark and peat, so much, in fact, that bacteria can't live in it, and it's therefore safe to swim in or drink, except perhaps for the fauna mentioned above. Sailing ships used to take it on voyages and supposedly NASA briefly considered sending it up with astronauts—used to what end (so to speak), I don't know.

Our solitude was short-lived however, for as we went back down to the boat, up came the next group who were traveling north together from the last lock-opening of the day, the same opening the previous group had headed down to make. We helped them tie up as seemed to be the custom everywhere on this trip, then sat back and watched as they came in. After two tied up, the next six boats eyed the spot in front of us that was too short, thanks to the space we were taking, but too bad, thought we, for the rule is first-come, first-served. Finally, a "little" 35-foot sailboat came up and slid in perfectly as pretty as you please. The fleet was capped by a 46 footer who pretty well boxed them, and us in, leaving just enough room for us to slip out in the morning. This was Highborn Lady, the sailboat that had been cruising and lived aboard for 19 years. The couple had to have been in their 70's, and so had decided it was time to sell the sailboat and relax by buying a barge and cruising Europe. Just do it.

See the tallest mast? That's Highborn Lady. See that little stick on the far left? Dat's my wittle Vixen

After everyone was settled in and hellos were exchanged all around, the woman in the boat in front of us said "Nice boat. That's a Montgomery, isn't it?" Startled, I said yes, it was, and how did she know? It turns out that she and her husband know our very own Harvey Wilson! I wrote Harvey (M-17 Stargazer ##294) who answered back "They're lately from San Francisco. Kathy is a Texan, and methinks Rick is a New Yorker by birth. I loaned them my 'Sail before Sunset' book, and they took it seriously!! Had Fantasea trailered to the ICW and followed a week later." Kathy gave us a great tip for a portable shower. She brought up a half-gallon hand-pumped rose sprayer and explained how by filling it two-thirds with room-temperature water and one-third with boiling water, you could take an effective shower or wash your hair, with more head pressure than a Solar Shower gives. I vowed to get one at the earliest opportunity. We also learned from the regulars that sometimes, in season, the entire canal is rafted across along the bulkhead's length for the night, since both locks are closed by 3:30 p.m. anyway, and it is strongly recommended that no one cruise the Canal at night.

What was kind of fun was talking to people who stopped in from the highway side to stretch their legs by coming down to look at the boats. I'd say we probably talked to more people about Vixen than others did about their boats, I suspect because Montgomerys are of a size that just about anyone can identify with and realistically own. Or maybe it was the twelve gallons of gas on the bow. "Where you headed?" they asked. "We're doing the loop". "How far is that?" "120 miles". They'd always look a little disappointed, probably thinking we meant the loop around to the Gulf and up the Mississippi. Bruce suggested we start telling people we were bound for Bermuda, I voted for "We don't know, we'll go 'til we get there", which is pretty much true for anybody on any trip, but sounds very intrepid. At any rate, next time I'll leave one jerry can at home. I always try to bring a surprise luxury item along, and this time it was one of those folding chairs which we set on the dock wherever we stopped and we sat comfortably reading, cooking, or just relaxing.

The temperature had been dropping all day, and was predicted to be in the low 40's that night. Bruce, who had left his windbreaker in a motel before we left (we retrieved it on the way back), had on a pair of sweatpants, dockers, two shirts, his rain jacket, was wrapped up in the two sheets, and had socks on for gloves. I had a pair of cotton pants, jeans, two t-shirts, a flannel shirt, and was wrapped up in the flannel sheet, which was adequate at bedtime. At five a.m., we both woke up shivering. Half asleep, I struggled into my windbreaker while Bruce put his hood up and got into fetal position, something difficult for me to do in my coffin berth. The next morning when I awoke and tried to get out of my windbreaker, I realized it was on backwards and I came out of the cabin strait-jacketed.

No shower today. We have begun to stay downwind of people.

We missed the 8 a.m. lock opening out of sheer laziness, since it was an hour to the lock and I need a good 45 minutes to get going in the morning, and I don't do early on vacation. Everyone waved good-bye as we pushed away from the dock and threaded our way between Highborn Lady's tender hanging from her stern on our starboard and a stump to port. They had been nice people, stopping by to talk and inviting us to their potluck dinner that night. We declined, as we had wanted to try the freeze-dried Beef Stroganoff. Kathy and Rick had the Raspberry Crumble for dessert that night, so we didn't feel so bad. Both were apparently quite good, considering (in Wal-Mart's camping section). Besides, there was our showerless condition to consider regarding social situations.

We arrived at the lock about a half-hour early. The cruising guide mentioned a store that was accessible at the lock and we could see it, but we couldn't figure out how to get to it. There was a high bulkhead that we were tied up to between us and thenstore that from our vantage point looked like a railroad trestle on top. Vixen sat comparatively low so that we couldn't see the nice walkway on top of the structure. Even if we'd known about it, I'm not sure either of us could have scaled the bulkhead to get to it. We just kind of stared woefully at the store until the lock gates opened, and off we went. The locking went off without a hitch and we were officially out of the Great Swamp Swamp and at the head of the Pasquotank River. From here we only had about 18 miles to go to Elizabeth City, NC. The upper reaches are fairly narrow and deep to the shore, so that when it came time to refill the gas tank, we grabbed on to a tree onshore and with five feet under the bow, re-fueled and headed off.

As we wound our way more or less south, the river widened and deepened. The wind chill and cold here were the worst of the entire trip, especially in the wider stretches that trended with the wind direction. While my tiller hand would be numb, we'd watch guys onshore working on their yard in shorts and short sleeves. We made the 18 miles in about four hours and entered the outskirts of Elizabeth City. The twin bridges there open on demand, and because we were anxious to get docked and find some place to warm up, I started under the bridges before they were completely open, something I hadn't done before. As we turned to wave our thanks to the bridgetender, we saw her studying Vixen with a pair of binoculars and writing. Wuh-oh. I half expected the bridge police to be waiting for us at the dock. I made a mental note to go talk to the tender after docking in an effort to pre-empt any problems, then promptly forgot to do it.

The sign says "48 Hour Complimentary Docking". There are many marinas, boatyards, and anchorages very close by, best known is the Pelican at $1 a foot, or $.75 with BoatUS membership.

The public docks are about a hundred yards past the bridges on the starboard side. There were maybe four boats already in slips, including a French family of five who were circumnavigating the globe, and maybe a dozen slips empty. With the wind behind me (Gulp), I headed for a slip not next to another boat. These slips have two pilings at the outer end to tie up either side of the stern when docking bow-to. It had been so long since I had docked this way that we didn't have lines or a plan ready to catch them on the way in, as is usual. I figured I'd just get in somewhere, then with the bow secure, back up and loop to them. I later watched boats survey the situation, stand off while preparing lines, then come in. I never seem to think of the obvious. Some of the other boats' crews came out to help. As far as I know we were the only boat to come in that day, and they had been sitting there for a few days waiting for the weather to clear and were therefore eager to do anything new. As I pulled in with no damage done, they suggested that we might be more comfortable over at the dinghy dock. Normally, this is reserved for tenders and there is a two-hour limit, but that's in season. There was nothing to worry about today, since no one was anchored out. In rougher weather however, the slips are closed and everyone is made to anchor out. I had the feeling that this time of year, you could stay tied up for as long as you wanted as long as no one wanted in.

I backed out and threaded through the pilings and pulled alongside the dinghy dock. Lines were caught and we were pulled as far forward as possible for protection, but I watched as the rudder bounced off the bottom. We pulled her a few feet back, used the boathook to pull out to each of the two outer pilings for looparounds, and all was well. We were in.

Elizabeth City is an extremely cruiser-friendly town that is positioned on the Pasquotank just below where the river narrows and shallows. South of EC, the river widens to a mile or two. This was a fair-sized local port at one time, the site of a rebellion against British trade laws in 1622, and the point at which Wilbur and Orville arrived by steamer and tried to hire a boat to Kitty Hawk, a place no one they spoke to here had ever heard of, according to the plaque. LK has become more knowledgeable since then. There is a local legend here, a fellow named Mr. Rose, who for decades has come down to the public docks every day, welcomed new boats in, and invited everyone to a wine and cheese cocktail hour every afternoon. We weren't available the second day.

Our first order of business was a walk to the nearest store. Elizabeth City rolls up the sidewalks on Sunday this early in the season, so little was open, but we found a gas station and asked LK 1) if there was a motel nearby and 2)where we could buy stuff. The nearest motel was farther away from the boat than I was comfortable with, and so we decided to stay on the boat. There happened to be a cabbie in the parking lot who drove us down to Wal-Mart ($3.75 each way) where we immediately bought two $4 blankets, food for four days (I thought Jiffy-Pop popcorn was inspired and would be a great luxury at anchor), and drinks. I ran over to the Garden Center but they only had the two-gallon size sprayer, too big. The taxi came and I asked him to take us to Lowe's at the other end of the strip center, where I bought my portable shower; I'm sure everyone within a block was anxious for me to try it.

Back to the boat, stowed the goods, and LK told us of a restaurant, Poindexter's on Poindexter Street (what a coincidence), two blocks away, that was open. We ordered a good dinner, neutralized the worst effects of having had no shower in their restroom, and kept one eye on the weather channel while imbibing in a celebratory beverage. Monday was going to be a perfect day for sailing the corner of the Albemarle or heading south down the ICW, what with 2-foot waves decreasing to one foot in the p.m. and winds 10-15, but we were truly shot. I voted for staying in Elizabeth City for a day to rest and prepare the boat a little; Bruce agreed. The next few days following would also be good sailing weather. We did our usual shivering walking back to the boat.

We made a few phone calls to let folks know where we were and how it was going. I made the mistake of calling my colleague at work and found there had been some developments that are usually my responsibility. It didn't sound too urgent at the time, so we got in our berths, snuggled up under our $4 blankies, debated if there was any ventilation configuration in which we could heat a small boat effectively with propane without taking The Big Sleep and decided there wasn't. I decided it was too cold and public to take a shower, so I turned out the lights, worried about work a little, but slept soundly and warmly anyway.

Still haven't had a shower, now the mosquitoes are wearing Off!.

Woke up to a great day. Warmer, clear, just a little wind. We walked one block to a great deli that bakes all its own breads and bagels and we ate breakfast. We discussed the day's chores in light of our plans. Elizabeth City is the last town of any size for two or three days going the route we planned, with only one iffy anchorage according to the cruising guide (Broad Creek, which is very exposed to the east) in the next 40 miles until Coinjock, NC. We figured Vixen would be able to gunkhole into anchorages others couldn't fit into. If we left here, it was three days to return to our starting point.

Before, and after, things were put away.

We cleaned up the boat a little, since we had finally figured out how to stow stuff without having to move more than ten items to turn around. Before leaving, we would need an anchor light for the next night, so we dropped the mast, took the old light off, and while Bruce sat in the folding chair on the dock guarding, reading and relaxing, I headed to Hurdle Hardware a half-block away. Although he didn't have a light socket, Jim Hurdle was extremely helpful and spent ten minutes helping me figure out what was needed, then told me who to try within walking distance. I walked about another three minutes to the bridge after I remembered I had wanted to talk to the tender. She remembered Vixen coming through the previous day. It turned out there was no problem, the state was recording bridge use, time and boat type for its records (read "budget") for all boats. She did suggest I get a louder horn, although I had used the standard hand-held sphincter-horn that usually splits eardrums. I think the problem was that I didn't hold the one long and one short blasts long enough. I walked on down to Pelican Marina, about five minutes farther on, where I bought your basic marine light socket and two bulbs. I stopped back by Hurdle's and bought a couple of things I could just as easily have done without, but thought it was only right.

I went back to the boat where I figured Bruce would be reading, but he was talking to people who dropped by to check out that day's boats at the dock. We and the French, who were drying tiny clothes on every horizontal surface, were the only two left, the others either having headed up to the Dismal Swamp for the lock opening or over to the Pelican for power and shower (I was told you can buy a shower even if you're not docked there, and there is an athletic club within a few blocks that charges 4 bucks a day for use of facilities, including showers. We didn't find out about this until too late, as the City Fathers were considering evacuating the town until we left). We installed the new fixture and bulb and lo and behold, blew a fuse. While replacing it, the little tab that holds the fuseholder in broke off. Cheap stuff and West Marine has discontinued it, too. If I buy it, it'll be discontinued the next year. By pushing the fuseholder in, we saw the light. We celebrated by heading back to the deli for lunch, large $5 deli sandwiches that easily lasted two meals. I called West Marine after our return and they guessed the problem before I described it, so they're sending me three replacements.

I had talked to Bruce a couple of times about work, and finally admitted I was beginning to feel guilty about not helping out. The next two weeks were already jammed up, which was why I couldn't make the CBR this year, and I wouldn't have minded sailing for a day, but three more days out were really going to affect what needed to be done. We reluctantly agreed to postpone the rest of the trip until next time. If I had decided earlier, we could at least have day-sailed some on Monday.

We sat and watched the next group of boats that had crossed the Albemarle come up the river to dock. We went over to catch lines for them, and when it was over, discovered there were two English boats, a Scot, and a German boat who joined the French boat. We were the only Americans at the docks! It was the 17^th century all over again. That afternoon, we sat on the docks and talked to visitors who strolled the docks. This seems to be a popular pasttime, and continued on through the day and evening, with visits from both locals and tourists. Again Vixen which, I admit, is not [yet] the most shipshape representative of Montgomerys, caught a lot of attention and was praised for its salty lines. I don't usually care much about keeping things pretty, but it started to feel like a boat show or classic car show where you wanted to shine everything up and show off your pride and joy. Fortunately, I did not succumb to that feeling.

That evening as it cooled down, we headed back to Poindexter's for an appetizer and beverages, but mainly to stay warm, as it was still dipping into the 40's at night. We crawled into our berths again and slept soundly through the night.

We awoke, arose and had a full day ahead of us. First, find a cheapo car to rent, head back to the truck and trailer, come back down, retrieve the boat, and get back to Newport News that night so Bruce could fly back to Atlanta in the morning, while I drove back to Blacksburg, VA. Though Passport Rentals is one block down past the deli and hardware store, they had no cars to rent. Jim Hurdle came through again by calling City Wide Rentals, who picked us up in front of the deli fifteen minutes later as we were finishing breakfast. We took a nice Taurus for $24 a day, plus 10 cents a mile over 50 miles. (there is an Enterprise in town but all they had were SUV's and Minivans for $65 a day). Other than getting slightly lost on the way back to the car, everything went OK. We got back to EC around 2 and turned in the car. Although we had put over a hundred miles on it and should have been charged, they just "let it go", and charged us no mileage, since we only had it half a day.

The only real problem left was to find a ramp to retrieve Vixen. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, but with the wind from the north, the water had been blown out of the area, and was down over a foot, leaving all of the ramps too shallow and short. There are public ramps near where we docked, but today they were way too short and shallow. And, as we've all experienced, the practice of powerboats powering on and off trailers scours those deep drop-offs at the end of ramps that can ruin your day. We checked four different places, and even asked about lift services before Bruce happened to see a ramp at a runabout dealer who also did some boat repair. When we approached him with our problem, he suggested we first back down to see if their ramp would work before motoring Vixen over (they were across the harbor next to Pelican Marina, about a fifteen minute trip from our docks). I backed down, and they determined it would work. However, they didn't think my Toyota pickup could pull boat and trailer back up, and so wanted to use one of their own trucks (mine would have done it, but at this point I wasn't going to argue). I could see dollar signs accumulating, but there was no choice, other than leaving the boat docked somewhere for a week or two until it could be taken out. Bruce dropped me back at the boat and drove back over while I putted over. We got her between the keel guides and cranked her on up, then they pulled her up on the hard with no problem. We sat partially in their way for 30 minutes getting the mast down and in shape to move to a better place to prepare her for the long haul. Thirty minutes later we were ready to roll. I went over to find out what I owed. "Nothing", the owner said. "It's a slow day anyway". Two guys for fifteen minutes, their truck and ramp, for no charge. Amazing. I insisted on at least leaving ten dollars for beer for the crew and when he refused to take it, I stuffed it in his shirt and lit out.

The rest of the trip was uneventful; we retrieved Bruce's jacket and found a motel near the airport and FINALLY had a shower, although I hated to see some of my old shipmates drown like that. It took three tries to get any lather in my hair, and I gave up on shaving that night. We ran the air conditioning on and off all night, since we had almost become used to cold. Television shows seemed even sillier than usual. All in all, it was a cold, wet, and cramped cruise. I can't wait for the next one.

In no particular order:

• 79 miles on 7 gallons for an average of 11.3 mpg with the wind, against it and every which way. Minimal current though, where there even was current. At that mpg, we could have gone about 180 miles with gas on board;
• GPS read an easy speed of a little over 5 knots at half-throttle. Only a couple of tenths were gained between half throttle and full throttle;
• The final charge on the battery: 11.8 volts after five days full usage. I had a charger on board just in case we had made the entire trip;
• Cruise to the weather, not to a schedule, but keep people informed of your plans;
• Bridge, lock, and raft-up procedures;
• The knotmeter thru-hull didn't leak, but as usual, I left the sensor in the hull on the seven-hour trip home. Apparently though, being digital and turned off, no damage appears to have been done;
• Vixen takes on less than a pint of water a day, whether cruising or tied up. That's a lot less than me, and I hardly ever sink;
• The anchor light cover came off on the way home and all of the newly-purchased and kludged innards spilled out somewhere on I-64;
• I found a ton of room in cubby-holes, nooks, and crannies on the boat, and more importantly, thought of a lot of unnecessary stuff to put into them;
• The combination of sleeping with ear-plugs in the quarter-berth means I'll be happy to sleep on board en route while on the trailer, which will save a bunch of bucks, which I may use to develop a reliable anchor light for trailerables.
• This trip was entirely putting, which I don't mind, but the next leg from Elizabeth City down through Belhaven and onward should be almost all sailing.
• I could easily live on Vixen for a month's cruise, and hope to.
• A good hard ramp ain't easy to find;
• We almost doubled our total ICW mileage and are up to about 145 miles, a little under 12% complete. But we have now sailed some of it in every state;
• I never got to use my new shower.