Home->Sailing Trips->Wet and Windy

Wet and Windy

Text by Paul Clayton, Photographs by David Swanson and Paul Clayton.

The weather at the change of season from summer to fall can be unpredictable. Beware the equinoctal gales, the old sailing ship men used to say.

At least it probably wouldn't be so mercilessly hot as July and August 2024 had been. A combination of heat and factors on the home front had kept me off the water from late May, so I was ready for a trip. My friend and fellow sailor David was equally ready to get out on the water, so we arranged to take Terry Ann for an extended cruise the third week of September. We both have an interest in sailing into remote, unfamiliar waters, and one idea was to cruise up the western shore of the Pamlico Sound, exploring Wysocking Bay and Long Shoal River before running up Old House Channel to Manteo and looping back down the Alligator-Pungo Canal. Another option was to go southeast across the sound to Ocracoke. However, developing weather ruled out both possibilities. The National Hurricane Center issued a statement on 09/11/24 that "an area of low pressure is expected to develop off the Southeast coast this weekend. This system could become tropical early next week, and possibly move towards the Carolinas". Already the winds were wrapping around from the northeast, precluding a trip up the sound, and with a potential tropical storm aiming for the North Carolina coast, we didn't want to get stuck in Ocracoke. A third option would be to sail south, perhaps to Oriental, and then come back north after the winds turned.

Saturday

There is generally no point in planning an early exit from Washington since the railroad bridge is usually closed until 11:00 or noon. Bath is an easy half-day's sail down the river, so I suggested to David that he try to get to the boat by mid-day. As it was, he got in early. We loaded his two enormous duffel bags plus sundry other plastic bags (I'm not complaining - he was responsible for bringing the snacks). There was no railroad traffic this morning so the bridge was open, and we left the dock at 11:00. We set single-reefed main and working jib immediately and motor-sailed down the channel, shutting off the engine a short way downstream from the railroad bridge. The wind forecast was for 10-15 mph northeast with gusts to 30, which is why we had the reef in. We clipped along between 3 1/2 and 4 knots most of the way, with occasional gusts pushing us to near 6 knots. There was some rain, not heavy, but enough for us to drag out foul weather gear. The weather was courtesy of the above-mentioned system off the NC/SC coast that was slated by the NHC to become Helene. It never developed tropical characteristics so it didn't get a name, but it pestered the North Carolina coast with rain showers, gusty winds, flooding of tributaries of the Neuse and Pamlico, and ocean overwash on the banks. The name Helene ended up being assigned to a massive, highly destructive storm that developed in the Gulf a week later.

Near Pamlico River marker "5" we dropped sail and motored directly into the wind to the State Dock on Bath Creek. We tied up around 4:00. David walked up to the museum while I sat in the cockpit and had an IPA. Shortly thereafter a Hunter 31 put in with a roller furler issue - a halyard wrap. The complement of the boat included the captain, his wife, three young daughters and a large dog. I shudder to think about it.

Sunday

I got up early and tied a second reef into the main, since the forecast mentioned possible gusts of 35 knots. We cast off at 7:30 and motored out into the creek,raised sail, rolling out the jib about half way, and turned off down the river on a beam reach. Even with the shortened sail we made fair time past the big mine at Aurora, the ferry crossing and the rapidly eroding Indian Island to the mouth of Goose Creek, where we joined the ICW route. Our plan was to run down the channel to the Bay River and then decide whether to continue out around Maw Point to the mouth of the Neuse or turn upriver and look for a sheltered anchorage.

We carried sail all the way up Goose Creek to past Campbell Creek, where we hit some fluky shifing winds that made us fire up the engine and put away the sails. At Hobucken we tied up for a few minutes, hoping to buy a bag of ice, but the little store on R.E. Mayo's dock was closed, it being Sunday. Notably the management had upgraded their decaying docks by laying concrete Hog Slats directly on top of the splintered and rotting planking. We continued motoring south with a fairly strong current behind us, and moderate wind from the east. The water was very high. While engaged in unseamanlike idle conversation, I lost track of my position and ran hard aground near the mouth of Gale Creek. Looking at the chart later, I realized to my mortification that the grounding occured at a point that is normally above water.

We worked for about an hour trying every trick we knew to get the boat off, short of inflating the dinghy and rowing out a kedge (parenthetically, even that wouldn't have worked, due to the heavy winds blowing directly from the angle of the deep water.) Eventually I gave up and called TowboatU.S. They dispatched a boat and 45 minutes later the Deaton towboat Shamrock appeared, with none other than John Deaton aboard. It was a pleasure to see him, who I had grown to like and respect during the time Terry Ann spent in his yard while they installed the Beta. John and his crewman set to work getting a line on the boat and towing us off, with no small effort, as we were thoroughly stuck. Afterward they guided us down the ICW to deep water in the Bay River before heading off to their next job.

With a couple of hours wasted in this frivolous enterprise, it was getting too late in the day to look out the river mouth at Maw Point, and John had suggested that the Mouth of Neuse area was wretchedly choppy anyway. Instead, we turned up the Bay River and set the jib with a brisk quartering wind, motor-sailing with intentions of anchoring in Vandemere Creek for the night. That proved to be a good choice. While the creek is unmarked, we were able to creep in following the chart plotter and find a protected anchorage in about eight feet of water.

Monday

In the morning we polished off a pot of coffee and had breakfast. I never could persuade David to try one of my egg and cheese sandwiches, which Taylor and I devour religiously on our trips. He preferred Pop Tarts, which evidently he isn't allowed at home. With the anchor weighed, we carefully reversed our inbound track, motoring in a light rain to the more open water in front of the town of Vandemere proper. There was a time when the Bay River towns of Vandemere and Bayboro were active commercial fishing centers and the Hurricane Boatyard between them did a thriving business re-engining shrimp boats, replacing their tired Fords and Internationals with brand-new, modern Caterpilars. These days there is little or no commercial fishing in the area and Hurricane has re-imagined itself as a DIY recreational yard. Looking for ice, we found an open dock at the Pamlico Packing Company on the Vandemere waterfront. We tied up and walked through the vacant facility, past an active potato packing shed and on to Squidders Supply Store, which we found closed - too early. We stood around for a minute, debating on what to do, when a car pulled up. The driver told us her nephew ran the store and she would try to call him and get him to come open for us. After a few minutes, she apologetically said that he didn't answer, but she had left him a message. With that, she drove off, and soon another car came up with the said nephew. He denied that anyone had called him, stating that he just happened to see people in front of the store and came to investigate. So perhaps his aunt accidentally called someone else - maybe the sheriff. Either way, the nephew was friendly and sold us some ice and soft drinks. David used the restroom and commented on the special anti-Biden toilet paper, saying that at this date it seemed kind of pointless, but he had used the regular paper so the political paper could be saved as a souvenir, and we all got a laugh.

We walked back to the boat in the rain and considered our options. Proto-Helene was clearly not going tropic, but still threatened heavy weather, so we decided to run up the river to Bayboro. Not many or maybe no recreational sailcraft make that run, though I had years earlier aboard Valor, but the river carries plenty of water and there are still a few shrimp boats tied to the local docks. The only recreational dock in Bayboro is a canoe and kayak facility, but for all we know it might carry adequate water for a keel boat. Once we got to Bayboro we could turn back downriver and tie up at Hurricane or find a good side creek to anchor in. Or maybe...

There were three big shrimp boats and one smaller one tied up to the unloading/icing docks, and past them, right before the bridge that carries Highway 304 east to Vandemere, there was a small dock that may have been a facility for crab boats to unload, but was vacant. It clearly wasn't in very good shape, but it was well-protected. We eased up and set lines and fenders.

Nearby was an old building with a few pickup trucks parked out in the partially submerged lot. We found the building functioning as a net loft, and one older man was inside getting ready to have his lunch. I asked him if he knew who owned the dock behind Captain D.J. and how we could contact him to get permission to tie up for the night. He got out his little address book and thumbed through it, found a name and number for me and said that very likely he would allow us to stay overnight. Back at the boat, I made the call and quickly got permission, though the dock owner was flabbergasted that we were aboard a sailboat. He gave us fair warning that the dock was in bad shape and he had no insurance, so I reassured him that we both had insurance and wouldn't leave the boat after dark. And with that, we had our spot, and probably qualified as the first visiting sailboat to overnight in Bayboro in oh, maybe the last 35 years. (There is the mast of a sunken sailboat sticking up behind one of the shrimp boat docks, but I'm considering that to be a resident.)

It was around lunchtime so we decided to walk into town and get a bite to eat. The streets were half-flooded and periodic showers swept through, so it was a wet mile to Charlie's Restaurant, where we had a decent country-style lunch. As we finished and contemplated the walk back to the boat, a couple came in and took a table next to ours. It took just a minute for the gentleman to identify us as sailors. Turns out he had spent much of his life cruising the world on sailboats, including an Alberg 35 like mine. After a few minutes of talk, his lunch companion graciously suggested that they drive us back to our boat if we could wait for them to finish lunch, and we gladly took her up on the offer. Back at the boat, the old man came aboard for a quick look around while his companion, who we had learned was a retired Methodist minister, waited in the car.

The afternoon brought showers and wind, and we mainly holed up on the boat, venturing out for a couple of quick walks in between downpours. In the morning we visited Sweet Annie's Coffee and Bakery for breakfast. They opened late, at 8:00, out of concern that the parking lot was going to flood. It didn't, and they had a crowd, since the schools and many businesses had closed so people had some spare time. Several families came in with their children. It appeared we were the only strangers in the building, everybody seemed to know everybody else. We had good coffee, acceptable breakfast sandwiches, and the cashier filled a water jug for us. Everybody we met in Bayboro was friendly and helpful. It's a poor, beaten-down one-time fishing village, but a good place to visit, especially by water.

Tuesday

As proto-Helene spun off into the distance, some blue skies were in the forecast. Our plan for the day was to motor the two miles down the river to Hurricane Boatyard and see if they had transient space available. If not, we would go on down the river and find a good anchorage, but we were really hoping to spend a day drying out and cleaning up after three days of sailing and walking around in the rain. Not long after 10:00 in the morning, we were in the office at Hurricane filling out paperwork and making a transaction on their cranky credit card reader. We each made use of the yard's somewhat primitive shower facility, festooned with placards issuing dire warnings to anyone who might leave it in a mess. The yard itself is one of the last DIY yards around, and some of the boats spend years or maybe decades being overhauled by their owners. We found some well-known boats there, most notably Admiral Samuel Eliot Morison's Emily Marshall. Morison, a Harvard historian and friend of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, persuaded the President to commission him into the Navy so that he could write the definitive history of the sea war. He served in combat zones in the Pacific, interviewing battle participants and gathering data. He served directly on the front lines and rose to the rank of Captain shortly after the war ended. On his retirement in 1952, he was given an honorary promotion to Rear Admiral. Morison and a team of researchers published the 15-volume History of United States Naval Operations in World War II between 1947 and 1962. Emily Marshall is a 36 foot Samuel Crocker design yawl. She looked to be in decent shape but no doubt needs work.

Also in the yard we found Tula, a "Victoria" Frances, in other words one of 175 of Chuck Paine's Frances design built by Victoria Marine in the UK. Paine was the house Morris designer for many years and 35 Frances hulls were built in the Morris yard. To me the Frances looks much like a scaled-down Halberg Rassey Moriah. The owners of Tula have a nice web site with entries about the places they have sailed.

We had plenty of time in the afternoon to relax and enjoy the sunshine. I saw the smallest of the Bayboro trawlers, Earl's Girl, pass by heading downstream. We also watched a sailboat that had just been splashed go out for trials with owner, prospective purchaser and surveyor aboard. Looks like somebody was getting ready for the first of the two best days of his life - which are, the day you buy a boat and the day you sell it.

Hurricane is in pristine marshy scenery. The upper Bay River reminds me of the ICW through Georgia, flat, winding, undeveloped. I would suggest that you go see it now, since that may be about to change. A developer has obtained the south bank of the river and platted it for 55 homesites with waterfront docks. Maybe it won't get built, like the greater parts of River Dunes and Albemarle Plantation or the "charming cottages" on the old hospital site in Belhaven, or the big marina on Pungo Creek that got no further than sinking the pilings, but maybe it will, like the massive development in Washington in the old marine area around the railroad bridge, or the whole waterfront in Manteo. In general, rich Yankee retirees don't like to be distant from the hospital or fine dining or quaint shoppes, so, since Bayboro boasts none of these things, the uptake may be slow.

Wednesday

We got off the dock in fog at 8:30 after coffee (David and I both insist on starting the day with a cup or two), quickly rolling out the jib to assist the engine. Later we raised the main and made good time downriver to the junction with the ICW, where we dropped sail since the wind was more or less dead ahead. We continued north with a short stop at R.E. Mayo's dock at Hobucken where we bought a bag of ice and a couple of drinks. It was pleasant motoring through the canal and once we hit the Pamlico River we were able to sail for a while.

We followed a megayacht in the Belhaven Channel and watched as it backed in to the Belhaven Marina facility. We continued on up to the Cooperage Dock where I almost ran aground by peering intently for Marker 12 to starboard when it was already to our port. We tied up after 33 miles, our highest day's mileage of the trip. After five days on the water we were starting to run out of things, groceries in particular, so we decided to walk to the Food Lion and resupply, killing two birds with one stone by picking up a pizza at Vinny's Pizza and Sub next door. The trek began with a wading expedition across the field separating the dock from the road. After all the rain it was quite deep, though that can be said even in drought conditions. We walked by the R&S 66 service station which I knew would be closed, but I wanted to see if they had a diesel pump where I could fill up in the morning. The owner who had just locked up came over with a fake scowl on his face and told me this was a no trespassing area, then quickly followed up that he was just kidding. We know each other, as he had put tires on the truck while I was down working on the boat in TJ's yard. Unfortunately his diesel pump was broken, but no problem, we could stop at Belhaven Marina on the way out in the morning and tank up. Off we walked to the shopping center and a while later lugged a couple of sacks of groceries and a pizza back across the swamp to the boat.

Thursday

Getting to the downside of a long week's expedition, but still time for another adventure. We started the day by motoring down the channel to Belhaven Marina, where we topped off the tank with 12.6 gallons of diesel. The dockmaster cordially allowed us to leave the boat on the dock while we walked a block into town to eat at Gingerbread Bakery, a local breakfast joint that I have been patronizing for many years, David as well. The name has changed along with ownership, but it remains, in my opinion, one of the best breakfast places that I know. We each had bacon, eggs, I had rye toast and David had biscuits. Plus several more cups of coffee, of course. The owner came out of the kitchen and I complimented her on the grits. She chatted with us for a while, and I asked her, as a valued small-business proprietor, to suggest to the mayor that a boardwalk across the swamp between Cooperage Dock and the road would make the town a lot more attractive to sailors. She laughed and agreed. Back at the marina, we bought one more bag of ice and cast off.

We had talked about sailing up the river to the upper section above where the Alligator-Pungo Canal breaks off and anchoring overnight. I did that many years ago aboard Valor and David more recently, as he described in his article 264 Cruise. However, I had heard David sing the praises of Slade Creek, and decided we could get in there easily with the chart plotter. We turned south as we exited the Belhaven Channel and rolled out the jib to give the engine a boost. Soon we came down even with Slade Creek and squared in the narrow channel. Just like a number of creeks in eastern North Carolina, the plotter has made it possible to stay in the channel without white-knuckle inching in, backing and filling and navigating by means of soundings, though I still say keep an eye on the depth finder. We followed the center line up as far as the mouth of Wood Creek where we anchored in eight feet of water. The first set didn't hook up, but the second one did and we rode securely even as the wind reversed overnight. We had all afternoon to sit in the cockpit and read, with just a couple light showers, though we watched some massive thunderheads off on the horizon. David had Colin Fletcher's River about his trip down the Colorado River and I had Stefan Zweig's biography of French author Balzac, which I enjoyed in between battling an infestation of flies which had plagued us for a couple of days. After we got past the excellent breakfast we fought the flies for possesion of a cheese and cracker spread that David provided from his enormous snack stockpile. We saw a pontoon boat and a few recreational fisherman, but there were no roads in sight and just one small house partially visible up Wood Creek. There were a few houses a mile and a half down at the mouth of Slade Creek but remarkably little development otherwise. I was highly impressed by Slade Creek and hope to go back there. It would be a great place to raft up with a couple other boats, put out some fishing lines, explore the backwaters in a dinghy, and grill some steaks. It also looks like it would be one of the best hurricane holes in the area.

Friday

We motored out Slade Creek, then set all plain sail and shut down the motor. The winds had never really turned, still blowing out of the north, but more gently than early in the trip. We slanted off toward the west bank of the Pungo River, trying to keep the jib from back-winding, then jibed back over as we neared the junction with the Pamlico. Out on the big river, we reached on a starboard tack to light airs all the way to the mouth of Bath Creek. If the winds had been stronger, we might have gone on to Washington, but we decided to get one more night in on the Bath State Dock. With the boat secured, David took off looking for water and I quested for ice. The barmaid at Blackbeard's, smoking on the porch while she waited to open at 4:00, filled my tote with ice, incidentally complimenting me on the tote, which I had made myself. After supper we went to the bar, I had a beer, David had a ginger ale, and I gave her the tote.

Saturday

Saturday morning dawned cool, with spotty clouds and blue sky. As we motored down the creek, fog rolled in from Back Creek. Out on the river, we found more fog and not enough wind to set the sails, so we motored to Washington under clearing skies and warming air. By the time we docked it was probably 85 degrees, which felt hot, though we would have been delighted to have it earlier in this scorching summer.

David packed up his big duffels and left me with some of the snacks. We each availed ourselves of the shower facilities and then set out on foot looking for a place to eat. Downtown Washington was packed with tourists, and the one reliable - I won't say especially good, but reliable - restaurant, Down on Main Street, had a wait. We looked in the little bakery near the waterfront and asked the proprietors for a recommendation. One suggested - Down on Main Street, or the Ribeyes Steakhouse. I asked if there wasn't a decent locally owned place and got the suggestion of Blu. Since it was a short block away, we tried it. Bad idea - not that the food was inedible, but the decor and atmosphere were very strange. It was like they were trying to emulate a French cocktail lounge, and not doing a good job. The only consolation for me was that David was paying. I have yet to find a good restaurant in downtown Washington.

David drove off for home and I spent a day straightening out the boat. By the time I got home the storm that ultimately became Hurricane Helene was churning up the western Caribbean, threading the needle between the Yucatan Peninsula and Cuba in preparation for devastating the Florida Big Bend and parts of Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina and Tennessee. We can only hope we never see anything like that in eastern NC.

A few more photographs...