Heading South For The Winter
By Gene Edgecombe
Cruising south to avoid the harsh northeast winters has been on my to-do list for many years. My wife and I call the Chesapeake Bay home, and typically enjoy a sweater-to-sweater boating season. It starts around mid-April and wraps up in early November. We wanted to get out of the winterizing routine and run south with the rest of the snowbirds, but that was more of a trip than we were comfortable making in our former boat, a 1986 34-foot Silverton convertible.
The door to adventure opened when we purchased a 50-foot Viking Sportfish. This battlewagon fit the bill, weighing about 60,000 pounds fueled, she has a wide beam and a hull designed to knock down waves off shore. We were heading to Bohicket Marina on Seabrook Island, SC. We own a condo slip at the marina, which is only about five minutes from the house we purchased on neighboring Kiawah Island.
Leslie and I have tight work schedules so we knew this wouldn’t be a leisurely 600-mile journey. We planned to leave at first light on Thursday, arrive at Bohicket Marina on Saturday, and catch a flight back to Washington, DC, Sunday night. That meant little time in the intra coastal waterway.
As bad luck would have it a fast-moving storm, traveling north along the Atlantic Coast, hit the Chesapeake Bay on Thursday morning. We had planned to run just over 200 miles nonstop on the first day, from Herrington Harbour South marina in Friendship, Md., down the Chesapeake Bay, out into the ocean to Oregon Inlet, N.C., and about 15 miles north up to Manteo, to overnight at Pirates Cove Marina on the Outer Banks.
We waited, hoping the storm would subside enough by mid-afternoon to allow for a four- or five-hour dash to Norfolk so we could salvage at least a partial leg of day one. The storm was not as severe by then, but it was still blowing pretty well. If I were running with only my “ole salt” buddy George Cooper, I probably would have gone, hoping the seas would ease up as we ran south. “Coop” and I have been beat up by heavy seas a time or two in the past. However, I made the decision to wait until Friday morning, even though Leslie suggested we make the run to Norfolk. I was impressed at her willingness to move out into those seas. Like me, she was confident in the 50 Viking’s seaworthiness. Later that confidence would be confirmed.
Rappahannock Brings First Test
We awoke in darkness Friday morning to calm waters and a star-studded sky. After two days of frustration I thought life couldn’t get any better than this. We slid out of Herrington Harbour before first light. I slipped into the shipping channel to get a distant waypoint on the Global Positioning System (GPS), kicked the Viking up to 28 knots and set it on autopilot. All was right with the world.
Our cruise south to just north of the mouth of the Potomac River was uneventful and calming. But as we approached the Potomac, the sky became threatening with heavy storm clouds and the seas began to build to 2 to 3 feet. Waves increased to 4 to 5 feet as we neared the Rappahannock River. The Viking generally can handle 4 to 5’s with no problem, but these waves were tightly spaced and quartering from the southeast. It was making for quite a bumpy ride, causing me to back off to about 26 knots. Normally I would have slowed a bit more, but I needed to make Oregon Inlet by mid-afternoon. Life jackets were within easy reach next to me in the helm station console cabinet, and my wife took a position on the front bridge seat, bracing herself as each wave approached. Despite a firm hold, I could tell from her sudden height that she was periodically air borne.
The pounding continued the remaining length of the bay until just before going through the Hampton Roads, Va. channel into the ocean. When we entered the Atlantic Ocean north of Virginia Beach we encountered the most incredibly calm ocean waters I’ve experienced in years. With bright sunshine warming us we cruised about 8 miles offshore, entered the waypoint for Oregon Inlet 70 miles south, and put the boat on autopilot. Leslie went below to check for any damage. Unfortunately, those pesky seas in the bay caused the master stateroom TV to fly out of its recessed perch, making for a new flat screen TV opportunity.
We arrived at Oregon Inlet around 2:30 p.m. I had been through the inlet years ago, but didn’t remember it looking quite so menacing. The ocean was calm, but the inlet looked like a witches brew, with white caps over the shallows on either side. The chart suggested entering under the left span from sea of the threespan bridge. Since a dredger was blocking the center span and throwing the spoils toward the right span, the left was my only option.
Because of the continuous shoaling from currents, the charts for Oregon Inlet have no markers. In fact, there were no markers immediately inside the inlet, so I began slowly, following my GPS at idle speed to the main channel and on to Pirates Cove Marina. The captain of the dredger called to inform me that I was on the wrong track to reach the channel. As I tried to follow his directions for getting back on course I ran aground.
Towing is a cottage industry in this area, so do everything you can to stay in the channel, and always have your credit card handy. I had my pick of towing companies after a desperate call for assistance, selecting Towboat US since I had unlimited towing coverage with them. It was a good choice. The towing bill was equivalent to a fill-up — a thousand gallons of Diesel — but I was thankful to be free from the muck in the inlet. We were also fortunate that I hit soft bottom at idle speed and did no damage to the running gear. It was dark at this point and I insisted that the Towboat US pilot guide us through the dark to the main channel so we could get to Manteo safely. We arrived at Pirates Cove around 7 p.m.
Day two opened for us with high clouds and a steady breeze, typical of ocean-influenced waters. The plan called for a 195-mile run that would take us down the Intracoastal to Morehead City, N.C., and then in open seas to Wrightsville Beach before picking up the ICW again and ending at Southport, N.C., near Cape Fear. We had a substantial amount of inside running to do through Pamlico Sound and south to the Neuse River, where we would pick up the ICW before a short ocean leg. Given the shortened daylight hours and slow cruising in the Intracoastal, I had reservations as to whether we could make Southport before dark.
Behind Schedule, But Undaunted
We left Manteo and headed for Pamlico Sound at 7 a.m. The most direct route to the Sound was to retrace Friday’s route, running south in the Roanoke Sound channel, past Oregon Inlet inside and into Pamlico Sound. However, with the misfortunes of the day before still fresh in my mind, I chose avoid Oregon Inlet. Instead, I charted a course to Pamlico Sound that would take us north around Roanoke Island, through a bit of Albemarle Sound and then south into Croatan Sound.
We would lose a little time, but peace of mind was paramount here. Within 30 minutes or so, I was past the backside of Roanoke island and heading south into the Pamlico, running 28 knots on autopilot in calm waters all the way to the mouth of the Neuse River. The Neuse is a beautiful river and we would have loved to spend some time exploring the area, but the tight schedule we began with was even more limited at this point, so we kept moving.
The run through the ICW consumed more time than anticipated. It was about 12:30 in the afternoon when we entered the ocean for the 65-mile leg to the Wrightsville Beach inlet, which would take about three hours, plus another 30 minutes to get to the marina. We decided to stay at the Dockside Marine In Wrightsville Beach rather than risk having to do part of the final 21 miles to Southport in the dark.
We arrived at Dockside at 4 p.m., giving us enough daylight to refuel, throw a little fresh water on the boat and relax before dinner. Our slip neighbor was a motor yacht from the Annapolis area of the Chesapeake Bay, headed to south Florida. We told them about our troubles in Oregon inlet. They confessed that they had already run aground three times, with the largest part of their trip still ahead.
Although we fell short of our day two plan to reach Southport, we were optimistic about getting to our final destination in good time. When we left Wrightsville Beach at 7 a.m. on day three, the weather on the ICW was clear, with only a morning haze that burned off as the mid-morning temperature climbed to 65 degrees. Traveling the ICW was agonizingly slow because of the constant no wake zones. The alternate route would have been a 50-mile trek around Cape Fear, running far enough offshore to clear the shallow, and often turbulent waters off the Cape.
Despite the frustration of averaging little more than 12 knots, we finally emerged from the Cape Fear River just before 9 a.m., cleared the Cape Fear Inlet and headed into the Atlantic Ocean. We ran 12 miles offshore at just over 27 knots, heading toward Edisto Inlet, just south of the inlet for Charleston Harbor, a distance of about 140 miles.
For the next five hours, we lounged on the bridge without seeing another boat for most of the way. We entered the Edisto Inlet around 2 p.m., made our way into the Edisto River, and then finally to starboard into Bohicket Creek, arriving at Bohicket Marina 30 minutes later.
We certainly accomplished our goal of delivering our boat to its southern wintering destination in under three days, and got a real feel for the vessel under varying sea conditions. Looking back though, I would allow a week, at least, for this length of trip.
We could stop to smell the roses along the way. Perhaps visit some of the many quaint towns, explore the scenic rivers, sample local cuisine and, of course, talk with the locals to gain a sense of the area from a hometown knowledge base. It’s all about the quality of life. Hopefully, we’ll make a real vacation of it on our next trip south.
