Great Loop 4th Segment

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Marianne threw off the lines as we left the dock in Daytona Beach. We did not realize that it would be the easiest maneuver of the day. We sailed up the ICW and I began to realize that my new partner Glenn Shipman was an experienced mariner. He had crewed on a 62-foot Northhavn between Spain and Marocco in heavy seas. Besides that he is a retired airline captain, who is used to a certain commando structure. In other words he repeated what he just had done, i.e. “fenders taken off” or “lines stowed” to let me know. That made it easy in a way but he probably expected equally precise commands from the captain and they were not forthcoming. We journeyed on another perfect day up the ICW carefully paying attention to the markers. As we reached the town of St. Augustine the waterway became more expansive and suddenly the depth alarm went off and the engine began to stutter: we were in too shallow water, again. Just as we recovered reaching deeper water we contacted the City Marina and they let us know where our slip was. The harbormaster informed us that the bridge had just opened and we were to watch on coming traffic. The bridge was north of us and the oncoming traffic was no problem. I took a wide swing around the row of boats on our dock. Suddenly I heard that Glenn shouted: The stern is getting too close to the bridge. At that moment I realized that we were in big trouble, because a strong current had pushed us toward the bridge and a collision with the bridge now was unavoidable. Looking forward I watched as our new Great Loop Flag was being torn off the teak post by the top of the bridge and shortly later the top of the whole boat came to rest against the horizontal portion of the bridge, the current pinning us against the bridge.

Using the bow thruster showed us only how strong the current was: it was totally ineffective and did not move the bow an inch. We needed help. A dockhand observed our precarious situation from our slip where we were to have tied on by this time. Another Good Samaritan came to help but his engine was ineffective against the current.

Fortunately the Boat US towboat arrived within fifteen minutes and even it had difficulty straightening us out. Once our bow was free getting into the slip was no problem.

Then we had to assess the damage: Dinghy, its engine and the davit had been mangled together and could not be pried apart. Part of the swim step had been torn off and some wood on the transom had been chipped. Where the bridge had been in contact with the flying bridge there was a gash in the fiberglass.

Obviously there was no one to blame but myself. On the other hand I would have expected the dock master to warn us about the strong current at the time. He could have also put us into a slip on the opposite side, where the docking would have been a lot easier. It also should have been a warning to me that the boat docked next to us in Daytona Beach had a difficult time docking although she had bow and stern thrusters. Her captain had called me about it the day before.

The accident had happened, now we had to deal with the consequences. Since this was impossible to do on a Sunday night we had to wait till the next morning. It was easy to rise early after a night filled with boating nightmares. I contacted people and boatyards in town. The second contact was a man who was willing to come by right away to look at the damage. He was a man in his forties who owned a shipyard a couple of miles upriver. With great hesitation and a certain trepidation we sailed out of the Marina, made it under the bridge, then under another bridge and slipped into the Camachee Marina where the yard of our new friend Peter was located. In the afternoon he and an assistant were able to unpry the dinghy from the davit and drop it into one of their working boats. It turned out that the dinghy and its engine were a total loss. From the davit only the davit lift was saved. The fiberglass and the wood could be repaired in the yard and since no appropriate dinghy was available in St. Augustin we decided to wait until the net biggest city, probably Charleston, SC to purchase one.

The next morning the fiberglass repairman and the carpenter began their work. The carpenter took a half day, the fiberglass all day and he was unable to match the white color of the area surrounding the damage.

On Wednesday morning we took off for Fernandina bypassing Jacksonville. We saw a little of Jacksonville’s suburbia: along the ICW some stretches nine miles long had one more or less tasteful and expensive house with a boat lift in the backyard. The wealth and the taste of the owners could be seen from how they had decorated their boat houses and how big and expensive their boats were.

The other indication that we were near a city were the many bridges. The only indication that we passed an important Florida town were the floating docks for large ships and a few large ships docked in the area of the shipyards. We pressed on and made it all the way to Fernandina, a total of 61 miles.

The Marina was clean, the attendants helpful even in emptying our waste tank. Glenn really liked the town because it is located on Amelia Island and he named his daughter Amelia. The town is fairly old and has replenished its older glory. The historic town is basically intact and only the types of stores had been changed.

I rode my bike the four miles or so to pick up a new blood pressure medication, since the old one had given me grief. This strenuous ride in the heat resulted in a wonderful next night’s sleep.

The climate was beginning to change, maybe it was only the weather. The nights became slightly colder although the daytime temperatures remained in the eighties.

During our next stop in St. Simon Island we met an outstanding personality.
As we approached we heard this most professional voice over the radio communicating with people who were looking for a slip. “ Would you like to dock against the current?” was one of the questions. Then as we docked she was most helpful and did not even hesitate a moment when Glen accused he of changing her mind: “That is my privilege as a woman”. She presented the information about the town and the free courtesy car and besides that she was young ( in her thirties) and well endowed. She explained to us where the grocery store was, gave us the key to the courtesy car and the next morning she even brought doughnuts and a paper. There was no question that she was the top dock personality so far: she fulfilled all roles: harbormaster, dock master, dock hand and PR person.

You probably wonder why I do not describe the scenery in more detail. It changes rarely: shallow islands, a few trees, narrow inlets, few boats, all this was fairly monotonous. Our attention was captivated by the markers, that indicated our route and we ccould not wander off even in our thoughts.

On our way to Kilkenny Creek, our next destination, we had to pass the Little Mud River. A day before we had passed another Mudd River that had been shallow down to four feet. The Little Mud River was even more shallow. The bottom was only 2.5 feet below our keel. You can imagine that we were silently focused only on the instruments and going very slowly. It did not surprise us that no other boat passed us in this area.

Kilkenny Creek was about a mile off the ICW. The docks were rickety and the dock master just the opposite of Melissa in St. Simon’s Island. The area must be a fishing paradise because as we docked other fishing boats returned with their catch and that was plentiful.

We had dinner in a nearby restaurant that was ordinary as most meals had been. The owner explained the geography of the area a little to us. What is called a “creek” here in GA actually was an arm of the many arms parallelling or crossing the ICW. These “creeks” can be wider than the Rhine, the Rhone or even the Columbia River before it reaches Portland, OR. Alligators supposedly are still common there.

Thunderbolt, our next stop was still in Georgia. The internet connection, our bridge to home and friends, was always important and I was happy that I had purchased a telephone modem. Although it was expensive it provided a reliable connection. From Thunderbolt it was only a bus ride to Savannah and Glenn decided to visit this city. He returned earlier than expected indicating that the city had not impressed him. He had wanted to take the Marilsnick into town but was glad that we did not because we would have had a restless night.

The ride across the border from Thunderbolt, GA to Hilton Head, South Carolina was not far, about 20 miles. We were rewarded with a luxurious marina and a wonderful resort that offered something to all guests. For the first time the dock hand met us in a dinghy just inside the harbor and guided us to our slip. The harbor is round and at the entrance an old lighthouse welcomes the guests. My friend Bruce Romig had recommended the Marina because of the proximity to many restaurants.

While Glenn walked and took a free bus to explore the island I limited myself to the resort using my bicycle. The restaurants looked attractive and the stores also. This was obviously an upscale resort with several golf courses and tennis courts. The bike trails had been well maintained and armed with a local map I had no difficulty finding my way around the condominiums, private residences and restaurants.

Beaufort, our next port, causes the visitor to be confused. The lady at the dock office pronounced the town “beefort” although everyone else seemed to say “bufort”. The town was populated by civic-minded citizens who were proud of their town, they put on an annual festival and honor their fallen citizens with memorials erected in the park adjacent to the marina, including one for those having served in Vietnam. For lunch I had a light bean soup with Italian sausage. Later in the afternoon I toured with my bike the Ante Bellum Homes, which have attracted moviemakers from Hollywood. The old structures are indeed beautiful although I have doubts how long private owners can keep them up.

In the afternoon I met a couple from Germany. He was a physician who had spent his career in the military, ending as a three-star general. Their son worked for BMW in nearby Greenville and they enjoyed a tour of the South. It is always pleasant for me to exchange histories and political small talk with fellow Germans.

The next morning we set our goal as Edisto Island, because we wanted to break up the 65- mile run to Charleston. It turned out to be a mini-marina so that we had to stay at the only dock big enough: the fuel dock. We were surprised how many vacation places there were in this little town. During a drive-by I found most houses unoccupied and many for sale.

On the 12th of May we arrived on time in Charleston, SC, a big town. It was the end of the run with Glenn Shipton, who has been a great teacher. He has an A-type personality but realizes it and sometimes even apologized if he was a little too dominant. It was nice to have him as a crew, although he admitted himself that he would be a difficult boss because everything with him has to super perfect. I learned from him how to back the stern off the dock (although I had learned it before), and he made sure that from now on forever I would pay attention to current and wind. This became an issue again as we docked in Charleston and a strong wind blew us away from the dock. Getting the nose into the dock, fastening the bowline and then turning the wheel away from the dock going forward in idle brought the dock close enough that Glenn could throw the line to the dock hand so that we docked safely.

As I anticipate Steve Spears as my next crew I want to reminisce a little about the past two months, because today it is two months ago that David Berntsen and I threw the lines off at the Dog Harbor Marina. This journey is definitely not a vacation. Planning, navigating and docking require total attention because so much can go wrong when someone who has not learned this professionally is daring to go on such an adventure. In Destin I learned something about an impeller, a device that brings cooling water to the Diesel engine, which should be checked during oil changes. During the next oil change we found that the impeller had some beginning issues. During our previous normal oil changes the impeller had not been inspected. Only coincidentally we discovered this problem. How many potential problems do I not know about? I have to focus my thoughts on other matters or I will become a hopeless worrywart.

The other matter is my health. During the segment with Marianne I did not feel well. I had no appetite, lost weight, had nightly muscle pains in arms and legs besides developing increasing numbness in my fingers from the spinal and foraminal stenosis in my cervical spine. After the heat subsided and after stopping an anti-hypertensive medication I began to feel better. After traveling more than 1000 miles my level of confidence has increased although my cautiousness is still present so that I can hopefully stay out of trouble.

One more thought: although I talk to children and grandchildren weekly I miss them tremendously. Admittedly, I suffer from acute hug-deficiency.

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