Heading South in the Aftermath of Hurricanes

The story of our 2016 trip south revolves around two uninvited guests, Hurricanes Matthew and Nicole. We await the impact of Hurricane Matthew in Galesville at our home base marina but, Matthew has other ideas and skirts the southern US coast from central Florida to Virginia, leaving us totally unscathed. Now, the Chesapeake is beginning to show signs of Fall.  We have clear blue skies after Matthew departs, and the trees along the shore are starting to change. 

Color change starting in Galesville

On our first leg south we sail as far as the mouth of the Potomac and tuck in behind a point off the north shore for a calm night at anchor in this isolated location.  

Chesapeake sunset with fishing weir nearby.

The next hop takes us to New Point Comfort off Mobjack Bay.  Again we tuck behind a point, this time one composed of sand dunes, an unlikely sight along the western shore of the Chesapeake.  We have enough time before sunset to enjoy a walk on the beach. 

 A pelican convention at New Point Comfort

The following day we head into Hampton Roads in a dense fog. Transiting this heavily traveled commercial and naval port is a challenge in the best of conditions, but today is close to terrifying as we are passed at close range by 1000 foot freighters that only emerge from the fog as large steel walls at the very last second.  Radar and AIS take much of the danger out of such situations, but we breathe a sigh of relief as we tie off one of the free docks in Portsmouth.  We are asked to leave the dock the next morning as the Great Chesapeake Schooner Race will be utilizing these docks at the conclusion of their race.  We move to a nearby anchorage and then return to the docks by dinghy to see the boats as they arrive.  They range from old wooden work boats, to well preserved beauties, to recently built boats sporting a schooner rig.  The crews are friendly and talkative. 

Summer Wind, which we saw earlier at the Naval Academy, takes some lucky midshipmen on a weekend of racing.

Interesting juxtaposition of the wooden schooner Virginia with an aircraft carrier in the repair yard.

Soon we begin a three day trek down the Intercoastal Waterway (ICW), and we start to see and hear of the damage caused by Hurricane Matthew.  The docks at Great Bridge are virtually empty as the bulk of migrating boats are lingering in the Chesapeake. Just prior to our arrival they are underwater from the flooding.  We have timed our arrival in Great Bridge well as the annual Waterway Festival is set up right off our dock. Traditional craftsmen, food vendors, and local non-profits have put up tents in the adjacent park.  We make the rounds but are particularly fascinated with the display presented by the Army Corps of Engineers, the agency that manages the ICW.  On display and open for visitation is their recently updated survey vessel.  The crew shows us how the side scan sounder measures and records water depths in a much more efficient manner.  This boat has been surveying all of Virginia’s waters since the hurricane before notifying boaters that passage is now safe.   We find that encouraging as we consider venturing further south.  All is not right in Virginia’s waters though.  Flooding in the Great Bridge area has receded, but further west in the Dismal Swamp (an ICW alternative) water is so high that the locks are inoperable and boats, including friends who took refuge during the hurricane in these locks, have been stuck in place for two weeks.  The crew on the survey vessel will be heading that way to assess the damage and determine how to rescue the trapped boats.  Happily, in a matter of days a make-shift arrangement allows these boats to proceed, but now, two months later, the Dismal Swamp route is still closed to regular traffic.  

We proceed down the ICW carefully watching for storm debris as a sunken log or floating branch can cause havoc with our boat. Fortunately we see very little that concerns us other than 65 foot bridges with clearances reduced by several feet due to the flooding. We are lucky our mast measures in at 62 feet to the top of the antenna; many of our friends are not so fortunate and are either staying put in the Chesapeake or taking the outside route around Cape Hattaras. We have a pleasant several days making our way through this sparsely populated area,

A typical scene along the Alligaator Pungo Canal on the ICW in North Carolina.

stopping at the luxurious marina at River Dunes, near Oriental, for a two night visit which includes a day with Ohio sailing friends who have recently relocated to New Bern, NC.

At this point we decide to head out into the ocean rather than contend with the flooding and debris issues that plague the Carolinas. Our first hop takes us from Beaufort, NC (Cape Lookout) for a short overnighter to Wrightsville Beach.  

Sunrise at sea.  Earlier it was a bit rougher, necessitating sea sickness meds.

Several friends who have gone around Hattaras are there to greet us.  Wrightsville Beach is a vacation community full of beach houses.  It is off season through, so we enjoy the un-populated beaches for several days. 

The beach at Wrightsville.  The Atlantic storms  provided some fun for the local surfing population.

We have an interesting encounter with a women who was hired as FEMA’s disaster photographer.  She had just spent two week in interior North Carolina recording the damage from Matthew.  Her shell-shocked facial expressions animate the stories she tells of destruction and loss.

The next hop takes us again off shore, around Cape Fear, and down to Charleston Harbor.  While Matthew is out of the picture, a subsequent hurricane, Nicole, is staying way off shore but sending confused seas our way, and the passage is less than pleasant at times. We anchor just across from the City Marina Mega Dock and admire the many large yachts that stop here on the way to the Caribbean. 

Adix, which we saw earlier this year in Maine and which was originally owned by Alan Bond, at the Mega Dock.

And nearby, Hanuman, a J boat replica which we often see in Newport, on its way to the Caribbean winter racing circuit.

Arriving with us are two other friends, one of whom was stuck in Myrtle Beach for almost four weeks due to Matthew.  They rode out category 1 hurricane force winds safely at a dock, but were not able to leave the area as flooding had closed a swing bridge on the ICW to the south and raised water levels to the north to such an extent that they couldn’t pass under a fixed bridge. Four weeks later, they finally squeaked under the northern bridge and entered the ocean at the Little River Inlet.

Charleston is one of our favorite stops along the way south.  We spend a Saturday morning at the huge Farmer’s Market, a Charleston tradition that includes street performers, music, food vendors, crafts for sale, and a wide array of produce from the area. 

Welcome to the Farmer's Market

Sitting at a table in the shade, enjoying a Latte and the music at the Farmer's Market.

We always enjoy biking down the streets of the historical district, gazing at the beautifully restored homes and gardens. 

One of the restored townhouses in historic Charleston - I love the coordinating window boxes.

Peaking into a private garden - in the distance is the same wrought iron bench that we had in our garden in Ohio.

We see little damage from Matthew on the west side of Charleston’s peninsula, but along the east side which is more open to the ocean, one marina is totally destroyed and another has an area of broken docks. One day we take a water taxi and long bike ride out to Sullivan’s Island and an ocean beach.  Edgar Allen Poe was stationed at the fort here so lunch at Poe’s Pub seems appropriate. Since it is almost Halloween, we decide to become tourists and take a “Ghost Tour” of the old, historic Charleston Jail. We readily admit we saw no ghosts, but the stories of imprisonments dating back to pre-Revolutionary War days are chilling.  Prisoners rarely survived more than a week or two due to overcrowding, disease, and poor diet. 

The dismal Charleston Jail in daylight - tour proceeds help pay for the ongoing restoration.

Halloween night is celebrated with our cruising friends at a restaurant overlooking the Charleston harbor and skyline.

Our insurance doesn’t allow us to enter Florida until noon on November 1, and luckily November 2 we have a good weather window to head down to St. Augustine.  It would otherwise be an easy passage but waves from Hurricane Nicole, which is now wandering around near Greenland, makes it uncomfortable, and we decide to duck into the St. John’s River (Jacksonville) and continue on to St. Augustine on the ICW.

The mooring field in St. Augustine is just recovering from Matthew, and we are fortunate to be able to snag one of the few available moorings.  As days pass, more moorings become available after divers certify them as safe. And it is here in St. Augustine we see the very real damage a direct hit from a Category 2-3 hurricane can inflict. The storm hit at the worst possible time – during an unusually high tide. One of the marina’s main docks has been destroyed.  The storm surge raised the floating concrete docks up and over the pilings, crashing sections back on to the pilings and nearby docks. One of the marina’s main docks has been destroyed by the hurricane.  The storm surge raised the floating concrete docks up and over the pilings, crashing sections back on to the pilings and nearby docks.  The street in front of our marina had been a several foot deep river of water.  Stores and restaurants in the Old City flooded. Yet a month later, most everything in the tourist district has been cleaned up and re-opened.  

Pretty St. Augustine with its Spanish influenced architecture.

We do smell mold, though, in the first floor restaurant at an establishment across from the marina and decide to eat in their upstairs dining room instead. We take a bike ride out to Anastasia Island, the barrier island between mainland St. Augustine and the ocean.  Here the damage is more apparent.  One entire neighborhood has been flooded up to the middle of house’s first floors.  At first glance the homes seem fine, but a closer inspection shows the interiors have been gutted.  Piles of disintegrating plaster board, discarded appliances, and destroyed furniture line the curbs.  Pods stand on driveways holding salvaged belongings and RV campers are hooked up in yards as temporary housing.  The sound of electric saws is everywhere as owners and contractors feverishly work to make the homes livable again.  It is so sad that we don’t take any pictures, not wanting to add to the owners’ despair. 

One picture we did take of storage units free for the taking near the effected neighborhood - indicative of what was happening.  Also there was a table with power tools for loan at no cost.

We venture on our bikes to a marina on Anastasia Island that has been seriously damaged.  The north east winds battered their outer docks which either crumbled from the onslaught or broke away and drifted with boats still attached.  Over 50 boats were destroyed or washed ashore.  Since it is a sandy area, many were refloated and repaired while others that washed high and dry up on to the dunes were lifted by helicopter back to the water at $35,000 a shot. 

One lone sailboat still parked in the dunes - perhaps its owner couldn't come up with the $35,000.

Finally, we head out to Anastasia Island State Park to walk along the beautiful, dune edged beach.  

Miles of unpopulaated beaches at the park.

Wood storks at the park.  The center one displays their unique way of kneeling.

It is a calm and peaceful day on the ocean, and it is difficult to imagine a hurricane had passed through here just a few weeks prior.

We reluctantly leave St. Augustine for points south on the ICW.  Along the way we see many docks that have been destroyed by the hurricane.  Often there is a boat suspended on a lift under a protective roof with no way to access it from the shore as the connecting dock is gone.  Surprisingly, most of the homes here are of newer construction and seem to have survived the onslaught in fine shape – a sign of Florida’s strict building codes.  About fifteen miles south of St. Augustine, the hurricane actually opened up a new inlet to the ocean, but we carefully work our way through the area without running aground. We anchor just off the ICW south of New Smyrna Beach where a number of derelict boats have broken loose and washed ashore.  The State will have a lot of work ahead to clean up this mess. Another enjoyable stop is at the old town of Cocoa.  The downtown is reminiscent of “Old  Florida” and has been renovated with many nice shops and restaurants.  The water front park provides shore access for anchored boats along with a nice shady respite.

Waterfront park at Cocoa.

We are pushing south at a fast rate as we are hearing stories that the mooring field in Marathon, our ultimate destination, is filling fast.  We skip the SSCA Gam in Melbourne and only spend four days in Vero in a whirlwind of serious restocking and provisioning with a rental car. Here in Vero the hurricane brought down just a few trees but also eroded a large section of beach along a local park, leaving the board walk suspended above the water rather than the beach. We squeeze in time for breakfast at the beach, orchid shopping at the Farmer’s Market, and dinner at a riverside restaurant.  Usually we spend Thanksgiving here with a huge gathering of cruising friends, but that will sadly have to be skipped this year.

So we are off for a long passage to Marathon in the mid-Keys.  We leave the ICW at Fort Pierce timing the current just right as usually we have a nasty standing wave at the entrance. And for once, there are no confused seas from offshore storms.  It is a beautiful night on the ocean, illuminated by a huge full moon and the lights of Fort Lauderdale and Miami.  We are motor-sailing in a light breeze when all of a sudden the engine stops at 2 am. Burt is on watch and I’m asleep below, but a change in noise is enough to wake the dead.  The engine starts up just fine but stalls out immediately when we put it in gear. A search light pointed aft confirms we have picked up a long trailing line.  I pull it in with a boat hook and on the end is a large wad of line containing four small fish which are quickly redeposited into the water.  Somehow the line manages to be cut by the cutter on our shaft, and it disappears behind us in the dark. Yet, the engine continues to stall; we must have more line attached.  We are currently three miles offshore of the reef along the Keys in 400 feet of water.  But...we’re a sailboat, and we plot a course to cross over the reef into shallower waters where we can anchor.  It’s a good plan until the wind totally dies and we begin drifting towards the reef.  At this point, we decide to use our towing insurance, the first time since we began buying insurance in 2002.  An hour later, a tow boat has come from Miami and tows us into the protected harbor at No Name Key where we tie up to a concrete wall.  Come daylight Burt gets out our Hookah (an air pump hooked up to a dive regulator which allows us to dive deep enough to do maintenance on the bottom of the boat) and spends an hour cutting off a mass of line that actually obscures the entire prop.  

About 2/3's of the line that fouled our prop.  The cell phone to lower right is for size comparison. Included in this mass are sections of 1 1/2" hawser line.

This is a major fouling, and we are fortunate that there is no residual damage as it has the potential to destroy the prop, shaft, and/or the transmission.  By mid-morning we are underway to Marathon, stopping for a night at anchor at Rodriguez Key and then on to Boot Key Harbor where we take the last mooring available for our draft boat.  Now, a week later, the mooring field is completely full, something that typically happened around New Years in previous seasons.

When we arrive in Marathon, we are greeted by the sad news that “Captain Jack” had died the night before in his sleep.  At 94 years old, Captain Jack was a Boot Key Harbor legend. Previously a well accomplished sailor, he spent his last years tied to a wall at the marina, living on his boat.  Neighbors looked after him and in turn, he greeted all the ladies with hibiscus flowers picked from a bush at the marina and painted sea shells to give to boaters as gifts. The marina held a nice memorial for him a few days later, replete with a military honor guard as he was a World War II veteran.  Other than an invalid daughter in California, the boaters were his family.

On a more pleasant note, days later we attend a 99^th birthday party for Nicky, another Marathon mainstay.  Nicky lives on shore with his third wife and spent his professional life as an accomplished trumpeter with nationally known bands. Now he shows up at open mike sessions at local watering holes.  His usual gig is to tell a series of jokes (Ed Sullivan vintage) and then play some jazz trumpet.  And, play he does with remarkable energy and style.  This night he is joined by many of the Marathon musicians for a lively and joyful celebration.   

A poor picture of Nicky playing in the open mic session.

We can hardly wait for the 100^th!

So here we are in Marathon for probably another two months as we undertake a long list of boat projects and hopefully spend some time enjoying the area and visiting with other friends in the harbor.  It is Thanksgiving Day, and we have been invited, along with several other boats, for dinner at the shore side home of some cruisers we know.  It will be a lovely alternative to our typical Vero Beach Thanksgiving, and being so far away from family at the holidays, we feel blessed to have made so many wonderful friends over the years that can fill in as “almost family”.  From our boat to your home, we wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. 

Just another beautiful Keys sunset....