October 2007

monday october 8,2007 (myrtle beach)

Calm and relaxed after a glass of wine, Jaime and I watched a spectacular sunset from the bridge deck. Slapdash is tugging gently at her anchor and the only sound here is an occasional gurgle or splash of water against her hulls. This ideal anchorage is just 30 miles south from the Grand Dunes marina we left this morning; just a few miles next to my wildest dreams. If you hit the furthest reaches of my imagination then you have gone too far… that is to say; yes, we are still here in the Grand Dunes Marina. That little image is exactly how we had planned to spend the evening of October 8th, but it will have to wait. Let me explain…

We left you shortly before what was to be our maiden voyage. We were going to return slapdash to our slip at the Grand Dunes from the boatyard once the repairs from last weeks exciting events were completed. The fiberglass guy worked his magic and as promised had the port hull looking better (and stronger) than new. We couldn’t have been more impressed with his work. With that little bit of boat rhinoplasty completed, it was just the stanchions we were waiting on. The guys showed up and removed the good stanchions from the starboard side to use as templates for the ones that were destroyed. They took them away for fabrication and would return to install all of them once we had the boat safely back “home”. So we began plans for a Monday departure. Grand Dunes was 10 miles away, and this would have to serve as our official maiden voyage.

There were more than a few nerves strained at the thought of it. Our first excursion, although not under our command, encountered a few “bumps in the road” and the memory was still fresh. Nevertheless the scheduled time drew near. We had rallied our crew (Dan and Ryleigh) and before there was too much time to spend thinking the worst, the huge 4 wheeled boat lifter contraption (previously pictured) wheeled around the corner. This was surely to the dismay of the long line of sugar ants which had been steadily marching aboard uninvited to plunder and pillage within minutes of our arrival. They watched helplessly (as did we) as the slapdash was plucked from the ground and soon out of their reach. Now that she was hanging 4 precarious feet from the ground by this contraption, I admit to a sick feeling of dread. It was likely the perspective gained through my service as first hand witness 3 days prior, to the relative fragility of fiberglass. That may have contributed to this pessimistic outlook. Regardless, it was wasted emotion because the process was flawless. Four experienced marina personnel including the Maintenance and Site Managers watched over the event. Once the hulls were safely in the water and the crew was invited aboard, the vessel was now under our command… gulp!

Jaime was stationed on the forward deck port side. Dan was forward too, on the starboard side. Both were ready to fend with their lives, Dan with a boathook and Jaime with a long handled scrub brush (we couldn’t find the second boat hook). Ryleigh was in the cockpit documenting the proceedings with unbridled vigilance (as we would learn later when downloading her 172 pictures from our camera), and I was at the helm gritting my teeth. Rudders and drive leg were lowered. Dagger boards were raised and locked into place. The instruments were lighted, the key was turned and all systems were go. The engine was thrown into reverse, the wheel turned hard to port and the stern swung around the same. We slowly backed out of the cradle and into the narrow marina. Then it was forward with a hard starboard turn of the wheel and we were pointed in the right direction. So far so good. Everyone in the area by this time knew our story and looked on with anticipation. They were wasting their time though; we were ready for anything and as professional a crew that this place would ever see. Okay, maybe not but Jaime and Dan were a formidable team. They looked as though if called upon, they could have saved the Titanic from the iceberg; Dan with his fearless boat hook and Jaime running around with her brush. We wouldn’t have the opportunity to test them though. Before we knew it, and without any fending, we had negotiated two more turns and found ourselves safely in the middle of the intra coastal waterway.

It was smooth sailing from then on. We spent the next two hours taking turns at the helm, messing up VHF protocol with the draw bridges, and hamming it up for the paparazzi. I mean Ryleigh. Our return to B2 (our dock and slip) was much the same as our departure a couple hours prior; we were ready for anything and rewarded with no drama. Safe and sound. If there ever was an opposite of the few days prior when leaving this place under tow, this was it.

With our boat where it should be and the few displaced sugar ants being annihilated by the dozen, all we could do now was wait for our new stanchions.

While we were waiting we decided it was a perfect time to take in all the sights and sounds that Myrtle Beach had to offer with our guests and crew. Dan and I set out to relieve this place of its cheap beer. It can be had for as little as 12 dollars per flat (24) here so our work was cut out for us. We fought bravely. In the end, cheap beer won; it always does.

If you ever find yourself in Myrtle Beach, I hope you enjoy one of the following:

- Mini Golf

- Pancakes

- Strippers

- Discount beach stores

Those are really the four pillars of this place. Everything else is a multiple thereof. If you are American imagine Las Vegas with less casinos and a big beach. If you are Canadian imagine Niagara Falls with less Canadians and a big beach. The place is tacky. Like an amusement park exploded all over the place. But hey, when in Rome right?

We did it all. The highlight that we all agree upon was found at a giant strip-mall-meets-Disneyland type place called “Broadway on the Beach”. The name itself is odd because we didn’t see any Broadway musicals offered, nor was there a beach to be found. What we did see we all agreed was the best night out of the week; the dueling pianists of Crocodile Rock. Two pianos facing each other, each manned by a penis (that’s singular for pianists right?). They managed to play every request written on a bill. A twenty guaranteed that your song would be played next. We were only in the place as long as it took to get a round of drinks ordered before they had Ryleigh and Jaime on stage! They were gifted in the form of a jello shooter each (served from a giant syringe) for being good sports. I cannot elaborate further on this portion of the evening, and only mention it to let you know that pianists can be a lot of fun when they duel.

We returned one morning to find that all the work had been completed on our boat. The stanchions were up and the mechanic we had hired to do the 500 hour engine service was just finishing up. This was a huge lift. We even joked about it on the way there saying “wouldn’t it be cool if we showed up and everything was already finished?” And so it had appeared.

We looked over the boat and everything seemed in place, it looked like the departure planned for the 8^th was not only possible but could now be done at our whim. We spent the next day cleaning from stem to stern, inside and out.

Between the repairs, the haul out, time spent on the hard, and our couple days of fun and games, she had really started to look rough. It’s astonishing how hard you have to work to keep a boat looking crisp. Really. I could write a whole post on it but already have one on the go here and need to move it along… By nightfall she looked brilliant again; as good as the day we first saw her and we couldn’t have been happier. Except for the fact that it was Friday night and Dan & Ryleigh were scheduled to catch a 7AM flight the next morning. This was an early night. They gave us a lift to do some shopping, and we snuck in a quick round of mini-golf (over rated) and that was nearly it. There is more of course to this past week. To protect the innocent and the length of this post I won’t go into any more detail though. We said our goodbye’s to Dan and Ryleigh that night as it started to rain. We made a quick retreat back to the boat after they left because the rain was really picking up. By the time we were trying to get to sleep, it was coming down in buckets, in sheets, driving down like you couldn’t imagine. This was no cloudburst either; it carried on for half the night.

Morning came with a new hope. We were on our own again, but the sun was out and our boat was finally clean and in working order. I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but even that stupid loser of a boot that started this whole thing had been successfully replaced. It is now officially my least favorite part on this boat. When we finish with this trip I shall have it melted down and turned into a toilet plunger so it can spend the rest of it’s days sucking shi… well, you get the point. However hard that boot tried, things at this point were actually looking up. And from now on every time things are looking up we will check for falling pianos. We will put our ear to the ground and listen for oncoming trains. Or if we are still on a boat (however unlikely it is that we should find things looking up while living on one) we will do as we did this particular morning, and check the hulls for water.

The port bilge was full. Stupid port bilge. It wasn’t its fault of course, but it was the first thing we had to deal with. Pumping water, soaking it up with a sponge, every manner of excavation employed. This was the first time we were faced with such an assignment, and our inexperience showed. Eventually it was dried and once we had determined that no new water would be joining us for the time being (crisis averted) we put ourselves to the task of finding out how this unwelcome water gained entrance to our vessel. We could have asked the ants if only we hadn’t already decimated them. Until now they have been the only successful home invader and would have likely been able to offer up some clues. But even without their help, the search led us to… dun dun dun, the stanchions!

Oh boy. Let me remind you that all but one of the port stanchions had been removed through force and without consent. Doing their best to remain rooted to the deck of the boat, these noble stanchions had to be torn asunder before they would leave their post. Because of this, many of the starboard stanchions were later removed to serve as templates for the construction of the replacements. In all, 11 of 17 stanchions had been removed either by force or consent. 64.7% as a matter of fact. And out of the 64.7% of the stanchions that were removed either through force or consent, 100% leaked. Profusely.

In truth hulls are designed to collect any water that gets into a boat, making the disposal of it easy. As dramatic as that part of the story may have sounded it really wasn’t too big of a big deal. But here’s something that is. Stanchions are mounted to the deck. If you live in a house, the equivalent to our deck would be your roof. To go one step further, our bilge would be your cellar. Now, most of you have a lot of things between your roof and your cellar just as we have a lot of things in the space between our deck and our bilge. I wish I could say that each of the 11 paths that the deluge of water followed from deck to bilge were unencumbered by personal belongings and equipment, but alas that would have to indicate that things were…looking up. And at this point they certainly were not.

Today (Monday) was hot. Really hot. We celebrated this by spreading out our personal belongings all over the dock to dry. We opened every hatch on the boat, and turned on every fan. It looked like one monster yard sale, but by the time we were feasting (it’s Thanksgiving in Canada today) upon canned chicken with sides of canned everything else, things had returned to “normal”.

Turns out that some of the stanchions were not backed by anything at all. No, really! The good people who installed them decided that it would be too much trouble to take down the headliner in the cabin in order to get at the underside of the deck, which they would need to do if they ever intended to fasten a nut to the other side of the bolts which they had inserted from the topside! So instead they just used an anchor, sort of the same type of thing you might use to fasten something to drywall when you can’t get access to use a nut to secure the backside. In the really tricky parts there was nothing at all. Then a few globs of silicone and they were home in time for lunch. WTF! If it wasn’t for the rain they may have actually succeeded in this little caper. By all appearances everything looked right. The problem is that the finished product not only leaked like a sieve, but had the structural integrity of the average bathroom towel rod. The fact that these guys were prepared to send us off in this condition is near criminal. We have been incredibly patient and understanding to this point. Up until now most of these things were the result of an unfortunate accident. Accidents happen. This work was not an accident though. Unfortunately it appears to have been the opposite, a deliberate attempt to deceive us.

Tomorrow morning we get to meet with the fine fellows who did the work, and we shall uncover another chapter to this story soon enough.

friday october 12,2007 (myrtle beach)

The day started early with a rather animated phone call. I was attempting to get across to the person who was responsible for the vandalism (aka, repairs) to our boat that everything that had been done needed to be redone. Every stanchion replaced leaked and the boat was probably worse off now than it was before he started. This is no easy task when you have 21 days of boat owning experience and are talking to a self proclaimed “expert” who keeps reminding you that he has 21 years experience.

It wasn’t going anywhere until the idea was proposed that an intermediary would investigate my claims and either confirm or contradict them. We would both accept his conclusions. He could then deal with a professional (not some overly emotive and inexperienced owners that were clearly just overreacting), and we would be able to deal with someone who wasn’t being defensive about getting caught in some shady business. For some reason we weren’t very excited about the prospect of having the same guy who did the work in the first place on our boat again so he also agreed that the intermediary could do any of the repairs that he deemed necessary.

Surprisingly there was someone here that we both knew and agreed could fairly arbitrate the issue. A professional captain who owned a local yacht maintenance company was here doing some repairs on another boat at the marina. Jaime and I had met him a day earlier, this would be the guy. So with the terms and conditions in place and having settled on this captain to middle man the situation we hung up. Both relived not to be dealing with the other anymore.

Once the captain arrived it took about 5 minutes for him to see that we indeed had cause for serious concern. He even pointed out some things we hadn’t noticed and had everything he needed to get started right away.

Before he arrived we had contacted the factory where our boat was made and learned all about the proper installation, materials and sealant that should be used. We were relieved when this guy proposed exactly the same methods, and even used hardware that exceeded their recommendations. I worked with him through the day, and six hours later we had removed every piece, replaced and sealed it properly. This upside is that this was a good learning experience. You could swing off the stanchions now, and I know a lot more about the boat than before this whole escapade.

With that bit of unpleasantness behind us we were able to start focusing on our departure plans. Nothing huge just a bunch tasks that were of the annoying variety. This is a copy of our list:

- Finish gel coat repairs

- Grease outleg

- Apply a protect to the “stupid boot”

- Figure out how to secure dingy to keep it from swinging

- Get holding tank pumped out

- Pay marina for slip

- Clean out the dockside bin and stow everything away

- Update website

- Complete and submit stupid tonnage application

- Have registration papers notarized… again

- Courier documents to our agent

- Update maintenance log and ships log

- Fill water tanks

- Fill propane tanks

- Fill diesel tanks

- Empty garbage

- Do laundry

- Get groceries

Goes to show that you can’t escape the mundane chores of life no matter what you do. We got through most of it though, and afterwards I decided to reward myself with a beer. While at the little dockside bar I met up with an interesting character named John. He’s from New York and is here doing some work on his boat. Turns out that he’s one of the very few sailors here (there’s only 3 or 4 besides ours, the rest are all power boats) and is only 1 boat away from us. He got really excited about our trip and bought a round of drinks, which led to shots, which led to champagne, which led to dinner. His girlfriend and her friend came by as well and we ate and drank until the wee hours. It was just what we needed. He had a lot of great advice and we had a blast. If everyone we meet is as out of the ordinary as this guy was we are going to have a seriously interesting trip.

With the chores finished up we are on our way over to the only other catamaran in the marina. There’s a few neighbors getting together there to discuss departure plans and we were happy to get an invite. These folks have made the run to Florida several times so they will have good advice about anchorages, marina’s, and other local knowledge. We’ll soak up as much as we can because first thing tomorrow morning we are outta here.

It’s been an eventful stay. We’ve met a lot of great people here and have been treated really well. If you ever find yourself on the ICW and in need of a marina, look for mile marker 357 and pull into Grande Dunes, you won’t regret it!

saturday october 20, 2007 (beaufort, sc)

The following is an attempt to sum up the last 7 days or so. My memory (shaky at the best of times) will need to suffice since the disc which held the logs I had been keeping about our maiden voyage is likely inside the belly of a fish.

Fueled and watered, we set off as planned Saturday morning (Oct 13th). Our destination that day would be an anchorage recommended to us the night before during the session held on a neighboring boat ,“Xanadu”. It’s name was Bull Creek. I’m not sure about the origin of this name, but it’s not suited. This place should be called the Little Amazon or something like that. It was a page stolen from the Jungle book. We made it there without incident and even managed to drop, set, and secure our anchor without harming life, limb, or boat. The weather could not have been more perfect for this trip. Hot and sunny. If we were somewhere other than a ditch in a boat equipped for serious sailing we would have complained for the lack of wind, but for today’s purposes we could not have hoped for better.

In the morning we woke up just before sunrise and found otherworldly competing with serenity right outside our boat. The water was so perfectly still that you felt like you should hold your breath for fear of sending a ripple across it. If that were the only trait the water had that morning then serenity would have been the right word. As it was there were thick billows of mist or steam rising up all around us at the same time. If there was a swamp on Mars I’m sure it would look a lot like our view that morning. The pictures wouldn’t do it justice but instead of trying to drag Jaime from the cabin to see, I decided to just pull back the sun shade off the window so she could see it from the bed. I did that and expected to see the same look of awe on her face as mine when she took in the ghostly view. Instead she burst out laughing. Not exactly the effect I was looking for. It turns out that the scene of a gangly big white guy in his underwear pulling the curtains back from the deck of your boat at 7AM is a funny one.

We broke camp, pulled up anchor, and made for Five Fathom Creek just outside McLellanville. It was another fine day and we were hoping to add some substance to our wildlife list. The ditch didn't let us down. Jaime spotted a big alligator which dampened any enthusiasm we may have had for a swim that afternoon. Then we were both shocked to see dolphins swimming all around us. The locals would roll their eyes but it’s easy to forget that you are right beside the Atlantic Ocean along this stretch. We had about the same expectation of seeing a dolphin that day as we would if we were floating down the Bow River in Calgary. It didn’t take long to lose count of all the dolphins but every sighting still brings us both to the cockpit to catch a look. It probably won’t get old anytime soon.

On Monday night we anchored at another spot recommended by locals. We found Steamboat Creek without drama and liked it right away. The weather hadn’t changed so we both took a dip to cool off. This anchorage bared no resemblance to what we imagined alligator territory to look like. This place was more like a nice bay and was more ocean than river. After a fresh water rinse from our deck shower we took the dingy to a little boat launch nearby. We had been on the boat for 3 days straight and needed to stretch our legs. There were 5 or 6 locals fishing and crabbing when we arrived. One old guy was talking to us before we could get the dingy tied up. He was asking if we knew anything about this place. We admitted that we did not. He asked if we had been swimming. We admitted that we had. Then he informed of the Mako shark population. Apparently they were as thick in this bay as the no-see-ums that were buzzing all around us. We weren’t sure if we should believe him or if he was just some crazy old man having fun with the Canadian tourists. Turns out that he was a crazy old man but he wasn’t lying about the sharks. He walked us over to his truck and showed us the Hammer Head shark we had caught while we were taking our swim. Hammer Head shark? What is it with this place? Death defying acts like swimming with sharks are always so much easier when you are totally clueless.

We took our walk but got this really creepy feeling. We were in the middle of nowhere, the people at the dock were less than ordinary, and we were on this narrow dirt road which led us past big old wooden houses and abandoned trailers. Our conversation centered around the reasons why we would have chosen to leave our key in the ignition of our boat. To add a little to the creepy ambiance, all the trees had this shaggy haunted looking moss hanging from the branches and the no-see-ums were feasting on us. We made haste back to the slapdash and took dinner safe from the flies, mossy trees and crazy shark catching locals.

The next morning we were excited to get going. Our luck was good and we wanted to milk it for all the mileage it was good for. Our next stop was Charleston and we were both looking forward to shore leave. It would be a chance to replenish our supplies, take long showers and update the slaplogs and emails. With a quick stop along the way for fuel and water we were ready to drop anchor by 3PM. This has been a part of our strategy. Being new at this game we like to get in early ahead of any other boats so we can take our time and pick the best spot without any pressure or peanut galleries. It also gives us plenty of daylight to deal with anything that might go wrong. Like it did today.

We decided to go past the big anchorage right in front of the city. It was packed and we thought we would be better off a little further up in a small anchorage. We would have to wait for the bridge to open for us but that was no big deal because there was plenty of daylight. We reasoned that the longer dingy ride to shore would be a small price for not having to worry about picking a passage between a bunch of other boats and dropping the hook in tight quarters. Turns out that there was nothing wrong with our logic; we just picked the wrong spot. Our anchor was down and set as easily as it had been the 3 nights prior and initially things were looking very good. We had one neighbor in this spot, which was in a narrow channel formed by a small island. Any shaky nerves we had about the clearance between us and the other boat were soon put to rest when we saw that there was plently of room for tide, wind and current to swing us around. He would be fine but the little island would not be so lucky. There was an offshore wind blowing 10-12 knots. When we first arrived the current was strong enough to keep us tight against the anchor line, but now the wind was winning out. A catamaran has a lot of surface area for wind to push against, and unlike a monohull doesn't have a bunch of size or weight below the surface to dampen the effect. In other words; its easy for the wind to bully us around when at anchor. It wasn't long before we were pushed up onto this little island.

Luckily it was all mud no rocks. Our situation was unpleasent but not dangerous. Our neighbor came over in his dingy and helped to swing our stern out into deeper water where I could start the engine without fear of damaging prop or drive leg. I backed us away from our unexpected landfall and Jaime pulled up the anchor.

We tried agin, this time a little further out. This was desireable because it was further away from the little island, but the deeper water there required us to let out more anchor line which sort of defeated the purpose of being there in the first place. We were still swinging dangerously close to shore. There was no choice but to pull anchor again and admit defeat. We had exactly one hour before sunset and 1 mile seperating us from the next anchorage. Being caught in the dark in a narrow waterway completely unknown to you is no small thing, so it was little wonder that patience and crew moral was tested aka we were fighting. We would have to pass through a small passage called Elliots Cut which forced the weight of flood and ebb tides through a funnel. At it's peak we would have been unable to push the boat against the current created even at full throttle. It wasn't quite slack tide but it would be close enough. At 3000 RPM we only made 2 or 3 MPH. It would be just enough to beat the current but we were now in a race with the sun.

We didn't expect to be activating a plan C so had not studied the charts for Stono River. When we did it was quick glances in between managing the boat into a strong current and watching for any markers, buoys or crab traps (which seem to be everywhere). When we were faced with a green (port side) aid to navigation we had to make a quick decision. Do we pass to starboard or to port? There were no sure signs. It wasn't obvious and we needed to make a call. We left it to port and counted on the Gemini's shallow draft to buy us some time. It did, just enough. By the time we looked up from the chart knowing that the aid to navigation should have passed to starboard in this case, we were in 7 feet of water. We adjusted and began making our way back to the charted route. We were throttled down to idle and watching the depth meter, 6.5... 6.2... 5.9... 5.3.... You have got to be kidding me, twice in one day? We hit 4.9 before it started counting back up again. If I had jumped out of the boat I would have been in water up to my chest (and then probably eaten my a Mako). We made it back to "deep" water (10 feet) without making two unplanned landfalls in one day.

We were dropping the hook for the fourth time that day just as the sun was slipping past the horizon. We weren't speaking to each other by this point. So I took the que and poured a couple of drinks. This time it was whiskey. One sour and one on the rocks. As we were sipping our drinks contemplating the narrowly averted disasters of the day, we glanced over beside us and both started to laugh. This was truly hilarious. There, not 100 feet from us, was the top 20 feet of a mast sticking up out of the water. It was the only part of some unfortunate sailboat still visible. The halyards were still attached and were clanging away against the mast in the wind as if to remind us that it could always be worse. The reason this struck us as funny is because immediatly after the 3 Brians incident, we were crossing the road and saw this poor little varmit that had been squashed into an almost cartoon manner. Literally as flat as a pancake. Just like Wile E. Coyote always looked right before he used a spachala to scrape himself up off the ground. Yes, it can always be worse.

The next day full of optimism and excitement we made our way to the marina recommended in our guidebook. We had already slept in and had a big breakfast. We loitered around the boat and generally lavished in a day off. All that was left to do was go and play tourist in a town full of history and great restaurants; Charleston. Not so. The marina wouldn't even let us tie up to their dock. It would seem that in the 2 years since our guide book had been published, the marina had been bought out and closed to the public. I couldn't accept that we couldn't even tie up a little dingy for a few hours, who would care? We tried everything though and to no avail. We had to turn around and head back to the boat. The really crappy part was that the only other place to land a boat (dingy or otherwise) was on the other side of Elloits Cut. Our dingy would never make it through that current. That would mean waiting for the right tide, prepping the boat for departure, pulling anchor again, and backtracking to one of those anchorages that had given us all the trouble the day prior. None of those things really held any allure so we threw in the towel. We resigned ourselves to a day off on the boat reading and generally just laying around. We would leave tomorrow, listen to fate and turn our backs to Charleston. Besides, we would be in Beaufort in a couple of days and that's supposed to be a smaller version of Charleston. Before we could leave there was one last thing. A clandestine mission in a war nobody cared about but me. We wanted a pound of flesh from the stupid marina that wouldn't let us tie up our poor little dingy. The sybolic act of throwing out our trash in their garbage can would have to do. Mission accomplished. And I'm happy to report that while sneaking our garbage bag past the marina office, that our dingy was in fact tied up to their dock the whole time.

We altered our course and went a little out of our way to follow up on a lead. You know how every good conspiracy movie sems to have a scene with a lab full of monkeys which play a central role in some top secret government sponsored project? Have you ever wondered where those shadowy government agencies get their monkeys from? Neither did we until we heard that there was actually such a place. We arrived at Morgan (aka: Monkey) Island with low expectations on Thursday afternoon. Still, we arrived at the prescribed time, about 2 hours before sunset. Then we anchored slapdash as far up the small stream towards the center of the island that water depth would allow. From there we took to the dink (our dingy). It was an expedition to the center of this strange island just a couple miles off of the main waterway. Once we had passed through the marsh lands we approached some very monkey looking habitat. We know about as much about monkeys as we do sailing around the world, but we had decided that if we were monkeys we would probably live here. Especially if we were shadowy government agent monkeys. Anyway, that's all we had to go on until we saw the signs. They said somthing about a federally sposored project, absolutely no trespassing blah blah blah. They were big signs with bold red and black lettering. This had to be the place but still, no monkeys. We went as far as we could in the dink and had to turn around. We made our way back to the most promising looking monkey habitat and shut off the engine. We took to the oars so that we wouldn't startle our prey. Then we saw him. He saw us. It was a monkey to be sure. He squawked and shook the branch he was standing on. I'm not sure if it was meant to intimidate us or to warn his monkey kin but he kept doing it. He looked like he could be of the poo flinging variety of monkey so taking no chances, I took us out of what I thought could be poo flinging range. Turns out he was just calling all the inhabitants of monkey island to come and look at the tourists in the tiny inflatable boat because soon there were dozens of them. It was quite a site, right there in the middle of South Carolina was this island absolutely infested with monkeys. And there we were drifting slowly past in a little dingy just out of poo flinging range, and them lined up along the bank screaming, bouncing, jumping, climbing and performing all kinds of monkey aerobatics for us. What is it with this place?

On Friday we left Monkey Island. It was a pretty typical day until we spotted another catamaran of the same make and model as ours. We hailed them and started chatting on another channel. The conversation turned to weather when they said that they had made better progress than expected and should be fine unless the storm comes early. Storm? Apparently there were 50 knot winds forcast today. We had no idea. I'm not sure it would have made any difference if we had known. We probably would have done all the same things and just been worried for nothing. The winds didn't come. It was a blustery day all right but no 50 knot winds. Everyone kept talking about the storm that never came. Then we woke up every few hours last night to make sure we weren't dragging our anchor or anything. I think I liked it better when we didn't know anything about the forcast. Not sure if that's the best approach to take, but I know there's a lesson in there somewhere.

Right now we are in the public library of Beaufort SC. Why not at an outdoor cafe sipping a latte while using our wireless enabled laptop you ask? Because its the latest casualty on our journey. It gave up the ghost a couple of days ago. It just keeps flashing this annoying orange light at me, mocking me. It won't do anything but flash the stupid light. Not to worry, we had heard about this library not far from the dock, and since I had cleverly saved all the slaplogs from the past week onto my little travel drive we would simply log in and transfer them over to the website leaving the laptop for another days' concern.

"Plop". That's precicely the sound that a travel drive makes when it falls from your shirt pocket to the water beneath the dock you are tying your dingy to. Now we use a ziplock bag to carry our things to and from shore.

So our stop off at the Beaufort public library was a little longer than expected. We leave tomorrow so are going to go and enjoy everything this little place has to offer. Did you know that Forrest Gump was filmed here? Its true. We'll tell you all about it sometime.

saturday october 20, 2007 (beaufort, sc)take II

First of all, it's pronounced Byew-fert. Second, Forrest Gump was actually filmed in Savannah Georgia and not here in Byew-fert. Thanks for all the emails on that one, didn't know there were so many Gump fans out there. Even with this terrible news we decided to tour the city anyway. Turns out that Prince of Tides and The Big Chill were filmed here. I've never seen either of those films and really want to bury this whole topic anyway. Please don't send us any more emails filled with random movies filmed in random small towns. Appreciate it and all, but I'm sure there's a website out there that belongs to some people that are taking a movie tour of the world that would be really choked.

So, it is a story book looking place. Lots of art galleries and antique stores. We walked around and looked at all kinds of old buildings including a church that dates back to the 1700's. There's these big long tombs there that actually served as operating tables for wounded Union soldiers during the American civil war. Kind of a bad day if you were wounded in battle and then wake up to find yourself being operated on in a cemetary. The whole civil war history plays a big part in the towns we've been visiting. The first shots of that war were fired not far from here so it's no wonder. Kind of interesting since we didn't learn all that much about it growing up in Canada.

Our dink was tied up to the city dock which is attached to the city park. The park is used for all kinds of events and today it was set up for this huge outdoor concert. There were two stages, security everywhere and gates being set up all around. A handful of those massive tour busses were back stage along with a half dozen trailers and trucks for all the instruments and stage gear, so it appeared that there would be multiple bands. All this commotion had us excited to find out who was playing. Turns out that it was some kind of Christian rock concert. Hurray. No offence to all the Christian rockers out there, but it's just not our kind of thing. Seems a lot like non-alchoholic beer or something. It was clearly a huge deal in Byew-fert though and it drew a crowd proportionate to the elaborate stage and set-up.

Funny thing about these guys is that they looked every bit the part. If you didn't know any better it could have passed for any outdoor rock or punk show. Tattoos, leather pants, spiked multi colored day-glo hair. Even some of the the band names were spin offs, like "The Not Damned" instead of The Damned. Wierd. The point of all this is not to piss off a bunch of people who dig Cristian rock, but to tell you about our back stage passes. Yep, we roll like that.

The front of the stages were penned in by those tall green fences you see at any ticketed outdoor event (at this one they prevented anyone who hasn't paid 20 bucks from finding Jesus). Backstage was where all the busses were parked and the musicians hung out. They had a bunch of their own security guards and even the local police watching the entrance. It was locked down as tightly as any backstage area should be with one small exception. The secure area enclosed our dinghy dock. When we returned to find this whole area on lockdown we were wondering how we would ever get back to our boat. At the moment some guy was on stage wailing about how he found Jesus after three felony counts and attempting a drug induced suicide (great role model) so hanging out and waiting for the concert to end was clearly not an option. We decided to just blow past the guards like we owned the place and see what would happen. We were intercepted immediatly and questioned. We told him that our dinghy was tied up here and that their gates blocked our only access. He apologized, stepped out of the way and just like that we were backstage at the biggest ticket in Byew-fert. It was classic, every time we would come or go to the dink we would just give a nod and they would let us right through. That dink opens a lot of doors.

After all the bible thumping beats we really needed a drink so headed for this cool little bar we found called Hemmingways. Later that night back on the slapdash we could hear the concert blaring away until the wee hours of the morning.

sunday october 21, 2007 (savannah, georgia)

At about 2PM this afternoon we crossed the state line. Small thing, but it felt like we had accomplished something. Here's what the chart book had to say about this stretch:

"The next 140 miles down the ICW are visually interesting and physically demanding. You will use your GPS, compass, depth sounder and binoculars as you wind your way along the serpentine rivers and cross open sounds that can be choppy when the wind kicks up."

With that in mind we set of for Savannah Georgia. At the prescribed place we turned away from the ICW and motored up the Savannah River. Something didn't look right, but we checked the charts a couple times and we were definitely on the right course. Things were looking very big. Maybe it was just the effect of leaving the narrow, sometimes claustrophobic feel of the ICW and emerging into this great wide waterway. Then the VHF crackled to life and we heard somebody hailing the southbound catamaran. This is what we have been called ever since we left Myrtle Beach so it got our attention. Usually when someone is calling you they are nearby and need to pass to one side or another, so it's easy to verify that it is actually your boat that's being hailed; you take a look around. If there's a boat nearby, and the signal was strong there's a pretty good chance that you are the southbound catamaran being called. In this case there were no boats nearby so we just assumed that we were picking up a call for someone else within range. A minute later the same call, this time it was more specific: "the southbound catamaran in the Savannah river just past marker G82". Now we knew without a doubt that whoever this was was definitely calling us. I answered back in my best captainly voice and soon learned that we were discussing matters with a real captain, the captain of the HC Everest. As the name would imply this was by far the biggest ship we have seen so far. The reason we didn't see it the first time was because we mistook it for a building. A big building. The building was headed right for us, and the captain was requesting a port to port pass. He politely requested that we stay as far starboard as our draft would allow. Jaime and I discussed this for a while and then decided to comply with his request, but only because he was so polite. This was classic; the little slapdash and the mighty Everest crossing paths on the way to Savannah.

We tentatively finished the 8 mile trip up the river. We passed a couple more tankers, and were quite proud of our nautical abilities as we successfully navigated the daunting 'Wrecks Channel' on the way in. Living up to its name we snapped pics of the exposed wrecks all the way along. More reminders that it can always be worse (you can never have too many).

We pulled up to the city docks. This was a waterfront city and they have a public dock right in front of historic River Street which is packed with restaurants, bars, and a city square. The streets were paved with cobble stones that had originally served as ships ballast for the first boats to arrive here from England. This was the heart of the tourist district and a crowd was watching us pull in. We rose to the occasion and made our first public landing like a couple of pros. We both had purpose in our walk and a little extra flair as we tied the dock lines and shut down the boat. We must have fooled them and looked like we knew what we were doing because soon we were fielding questions and gratefully accepting compliments about our boat from the people gathered in the square.

Stop what you are doing and go to Savannah. This was an incredible little city and will be tough to beat. It's 18 miles from the Atlantic and situated on a 40 foot bluff overlooking the Savannah river. The 4-5 story brick and stone buildings that line the waterfront were built hard against the bluff and connected to the street above by iron and wooden bridges. This was the first "planned city" in the US and apparently it was a pretty good plan. It's laid out like a grid with squares and parks throughout. Nearly the whole thing is made up of restored historic buildings which have been here through the turn of the century, and the turn of the century before that, and the... you get the point.

With slapdash secured and plenty of fenders in place to protect her from all the boat traffic we set off to find food. We found food, and beer, and some really cool street musicians. No matter where we were it was just a few steps to see the boat tugging away at the cleats. We told our story to a couple of guys that were a part of the crowd enjoying the buskers, and soon we were back at the slapdash picking up some more beer. Then they took us out to the Bayou Cafe up the street for a few more. By the time we decided to call it a night it was getting pretty late. We got back to the boat and saw that we had a couple of neighbors. There were 2 massive yachts tied up beside us. They were brand new, like still had the plastic on the windows kind of new. Turns out that they had come all the way from Australia on one of the container ships we had passed. The delivery crews brought them here for the night and planned to head out in the morning. We hung out with these guys for a while and toured both of the boats. The engine room was bigger than our whole boat, it needed to be to house the twin 1500 horsepower diesel engines. These boats were magnificent, and for the 2 million dollars it would cost you to own one they probably should be should be. To make a long story short, they needed a hand delivering the boats the next day and we signed on. What a rush. After you spend a couple of weeks going 6 miles an hour, a 32 knot trip in a multi million dollar yacht is quite a rush. They were burning over a hundred liters of diesel an hour at top speed (the gauges were in metric because the boats were from Aus), and with the cabin door shut you couldn't hear the faintest whisper from engine, wind or sea. Money may not be able to buy happiness, but it can get you a pretty sweet boat.

After the delivery we shuttled back to Savannah and finished up the day by taking a walking tour of Savannah, home of the Girl Guides. That's right, the legacy started here. We saw the house where the cookie peddling empire that we know today has its humble roots. Like I said, Savannah will be tough to beat.

tuesday october 23, 2007 (queen bess creek, georgia)

We put a snotty 40 miles between us and Savannah today. 20-25 knot headwinds all day, we missed a turn and had to back track, and it rained all day. One highlight is that we had our 3rd chance to get the sails up. That was fun, but we are getting tired of “The Ditch”. I think we are both felling the need for some tropical weather and turquoise blue water.

One highlight today is that we can take showers today. It was so great being tied right up to the heart of downtown in Savannah, but for all its benefits it didn’t provide for much privacy.

From this anchorage we are almost exactly 100 miles North of Florida.

saturday october 27, 2007 (fernandina beach, fl)

We made it! We’re back in Florida now. We came in last night after a couple of forgetable anchorages in Georgia. We were glad to get here safely. The weather went from bad to worse and as we were crossing one of the bigger sounds a huge thunderstorm hit us. In a matter of minutes visibility went to about a hundred feet. Water showered down on us and lightening strikes were way too close for comfort. Being in the middle of a sound underneath a 46 ft metal rod sticking up from the surface of the water is a dangerous place to be during an electrical storm. We checked the chart for the nearest place to take shelter and then made haste in that general direction. We wondered where the 6 or 7 commercial shrimp boats were that shared the sound with us were, but had bigger problems. We expected to have all the electronics fried at any moment, so Jaime was charting out the course to our shelter. I was peering out into the storm watching for markers and shrimp boats. Things were pretty tense and then a big flash and my hands were thrown off the helm and I was pushed back into my seat. I was sure we were hit, but after a quick check all systems seemed normal, the compass wasn’t even demagnetized so it was probably just an arc or something. My eyes were really bloodshot, that seemed to be the only effect it had. We made it to a little creek and pulled in to weather out the storm. It didn’t last long, and pretty soon we were back under way; a bit nervous, and again humbled but still making miles south which made us happy.

Fernandina beach is on Amelia Island which actually looks like a nice place. The island was first claimed by the French back in the 1500’s, then taken by the Spanish, then the English. Then the English gave it back to the Spanish who had it taken from them again, this time by a group of American patriots. There were a few more exchanges after that. It’s this hot potato history that explains their chosen moniker; “The Isle of Eight Flags”.

As fascinating as that is this will mostly be a fuel and internet stop for us. We’ll take a day to get our chores done and then make way for St. Augustine tomorrow. It will be a record day for us if we make it all the way there, about 75 miles. The weather is still crappy and we want to keep going South.

sunday october 28,2007 (fernandina beach, fl)

So much for the record day we had planned. Everything was all worked out, the tide would push us along the way and with an early start the trip to St. Augustine would be a cinch. We were up at 6AM and began making preparations in the dark. We had to lower the rudders, the drive leg, secure the dink, run through our engine checks and pull the anchor. We started these usual proceedings during a very unusual morning. The wind was howling. Halyards were clanging against the mast, it was difficult for us to hear each other on deck, and the rollers were building in size and speed. We decided to go about our tasks separately as usual and then once everything was ready we would meet together in the settee before pulling the anchor. In these conditions it would be tough to change our minds once we had pulled the anchor.

We finished up, sat down inside and tuned in the VHF to the weather channel. We listened to the doom and gloom story while looking at the charts to determine how much exposure we would have to the wind and waves during the long leg we had planned for today. After a good 20 minutes of deliberation we decided to go for it. Our reasoning was that we would surely experience weather worse than this on our trip, so why not get out there and dish up some crappy weather experience now.

We assumed our positions. Jaime was on deck and I was ready to maneuver spadash into place so that she could pull the anchor rode up. We lurched into gear. Normally the boat would surge forward under idle, but as I already mentioned this was not a normal day. It took 1800 RPM to make enough headway against wind and current to take the tension out of the anchor line. It was at that point that we decided to call it. We had no schedule, no commitments and no reason to hurry. Why test the odds today when we had good holding and nowhere to be?

We were both relieved to let the anchor do its job while we waited out the storm in the comfort of our cozy shelter. Jaime baked cookies which turned out much better than her attempt at bread a week before and had the added benefit of warming up the cabin. Seems funny to say that when we are in Florida, but this really was a crappy, wet and windy day.

Life was good safe and secure while the flood tide worked in unison with the northerly wind to hold us tight against the anchor. We exchanged comments about the good holding and how well our anchor seemed to be working for us. That same morning we watched a 45-50 foot cabin cruiser try to set anchor beside us for 3 hours before finally giving up and taking refuge in the nearby marina. Our cockiness was short lived. Gradually and inevitably the flood tide turned into an ebb tide. The recent full moon has added some extra gusto to the tides which are 8 feet at the best of times. Now we were right in the middle of a 4 knot current pushing directly against a 20-25 knot head wind. It was a good battle but neither side would concede. It was like watching a couple of guys arm wrestling, faces red with exertion, sweating and groaning but no movement either way. In this analogy we would have been right in the middle of their clasped hands. Basically the tide pushed us sideways and held us at exactly 90 degrees against the wind. Likewise, the wind prevented the tide from completing what would have been the usual 180 degree swing on our anchor. It pinned us against the current created by the tide. Now we were broadside to the full effect of the wind. Wind pushing against the water trying to rush out of the bay created these really steep and rapid breaking waves. They weren’t alarmingly large or anything, but not the type of wave you want to present the broadside of your boat to. At this point we were not in any danger, but were extremely uncomfortable. If the wind picked up any more and pushed more water at us, it could be another story because the anchorage we were in had no protection to the North wind. It basically had its way with us.

Six hours later the wind won the epic battle. The tide had spent itself and the wind had not let up a single knot of its seemingly endless supply. Now current and wind were allies and swung back around to face the waves head on. This was a much more pleasant scenario for us except for the fact that we were now close enough to another boat behind us to read over their shoulders. If our anchor was to slip in the least we would have no time to react before plowing into them. Time for another decision; do we trust our holding or risk pulling anchor and trying to reset it in these hideous conditions?

We had to move. With nightfall coming there was no way we could just turn in and hope for the best. We decided to use what little daylight was left to try and reset the anchor.

Wind and spray plastered Jaime as she struggled to keep her footing on the pitching bow. After watching that power boat struggle with their anchor earlier this morning we knew we had to be ready for anything. We discussed the game plan in detail before doing anything because once she was on deck and I was at the helm there was no way we would be able to hear each other over the wind. Fortunately a couple of other boats had already packed it in which left us lots of room to maneuver. Other than that weren’t really any redeeming qualities about the task at hand. Amazingly we managed to get the anchor up and safely secured on deck. It took nearly everything little slapdash had to make headway at this point, but she managed. We worked our way into a great position which would allow for as much anchor line to be dispensed as we needed to feel safe. Once Jaime dropped the anchor I eased off on the throttle and she began to play out the line. I had trouble regaining control once wind and current began to push us back so we wouldn’t be able to set the anchor. Normally we would let about a third of the planned amount of line out, cleat it off and set the anchor. Once we knew it was secure then we would let the rest out. Well by the time I had regained control at the helm enough for her to secure the line we had let out 200 feet. We got lucky though and it held fast. I’m sure our neighbors were relieved to see us put some distance between us, we sure were. With an firmly set anchor, lots of line, and good swinging room we secured everything the best we could and went to bed. We were exhausted from the efforts, constant motion, and howling wind.

monday october 29,2007 (fernandina beach, fl)

If it wasn’t for the exhaustion we wouldn’t have had any sleep at all. We did crash fitfully, until the tide turned in the wee hours. Then it was back to the old arm wrestle again. The boat lurched from side to side. Out the cabin window it was water then city lights, water then city lights. The view was accompanied by a lot of crashing and bashing. Unbelievably the wind had not settled in the least, in fact it was worse. The only good thing about the gale that was now raging is that it was strong enough to flatten out the waves a little. We knew that wouldn’t last though. As mentioned, neither of us slept much and I made frequent trips outside to check our position, and the wind gauge. It was now holding at 30-31 knots and gusting to 35. Waves were slamming into the hull so hard that you could literally watch the floor mats jump up off the ground. The sound was unbelievable, it was like living inside a base drum and everything shook and shuddered. I kept thinking about the advice an old sailor we had met the day before gave. He said, “These boats are a lot more comfortable in the ocean than you will ever be. They were built for this and can take a lot more punishment than you”. I hoped it was true because at the moment it sounded like the ocean was doing its best to crash through the hull and join us inside. Imagine someone repeatedly kicking and slamming themselves against your front door in the middle of the night so hard that the pictures on your wall were shaking and falling down. That’s what it was like.

We listened to the weather report again this morning. These are some tid-bits that the computer generated voice of the National Weather Service shared with us as we sipped our coffee and listened to the waves explode in their unrelenting suicide attacks against the side of our boat:

“Expect significant Nor East event to continue. Seas 12-16 feet. Gail warning in effect. Wind warning in effect. Rain warning in effect. Flood watch in effect. High risk of rip currents. Small crafts may capsize. Winds 40 knots.”

To be fair, it wasn’t all bad. There was actually some good news in there for us too. the computer generated voice went on to report that tropical cyclone formation was not expected in the next 48 hours. Wow, that’s just great.

We have now joined the other scaredy cats in the marina to wait this thing out. The marina was nearly full of boats waiting out foul weather, even the commercial fishing boats are all tied up. Our next trick was to try and get our boat safely into the marina in this weather, and that we did. Seems like every time we get ourselves psyched up to try and do something really big and terrifying, it goes off without a hitch. It’s the little things that get you out here.

What a relief to be out of that crap. After getting tied up we promptly fell asleep for a couple of hours, thankful that we didn't have to clutch the mattress to keep from rolling off.

Now we are going to find out what kind of indoor activities Fernandina Beach has to offer.