Attack of the forty foot…Paris Hilton?

Listening to "Silence Is Golden" by Forro In The Dark

I sit at the dinette table listening to music, lulled by the rocky motion of Paragon and the sounds of Drake making pasta with clam sauce.  It’s cold cold cold outside and, what with the steamy boiling water and the heat from the hydronic heater, the windows have a foggy condensation that obscures the outside.  I take my hand, wipe a swath clear, peak out and see...a forty foot Paris Hilton running her hands through her hair and staring back at me.  

Well kids, we’re not in Oriental anymore.  

The last month was absolute madness.  I felt as though Drake and I were in a little red wagon  careening down the side of a mountain, desperately holding on and unsure of whether we would land triumphantly or crash and burn in a mini fireball.  We had a firm date (heh!) set for departure, crew scheduled, and notice given at the marina all the while looking at a to do list that never seemed to end but, in fact, seemed to expand by the hour.  Systems that had previously worked meticulously (for years!) suddenly gave up the ghost when sensing our demanding schedule and left us scrambling to diagnose and fix eleventh hour problems. 

Finally we reached a point where the things left on the list no longer prevented us from leaving and...

We left.

We left Oriental, North Carolina after several long years of work, sweat, despair, tears, setbacks, breakthroughs, and finally triumph.  

Originally our plan was to leave on the 15th of March which fell on a Friday, but in keeping with superstition we delayed a day and decided instead to leave the next day.  We used that Friday evening to have a gathering to get a chance to say goodbye to some of the amazing people we had met during our stay in Oriental.  Some who came we had known for years - one couple we had met just days earlier - but all had affected our lives in some way.  They came bearing gifts of wine, knowledge, charts, boat cards, well wishes, and good conversation...I have to say that both Drake and I were touched and so pleased to have been a part of this wonderful community.  

Saturday morning dawned clear and chilly, and we pushed off of the dock at Sailcraft Marina for the last time with Adam, the first crew of the trip.  We had met Adam earlier in the year and had been exchanging emails, and the occasional chat over coffee, since our first meeting.  When Drake and I discussed wanting to have crew Adam was one of the first contenders.  With a background in both racing for fun and recreational sailing, he impressed us with his competence, confidence, and personality-wise he seemed as though he would be a good fit.  

A last sunrise over Whittaker Creek

Motoring out of Whittaker Creek we passed the sleepy marinas and began the three day journey up the Intracoastal Waterway to Norfolk, Virginia.  Our first big destination was New York City and the original plan was to head up to Ocracoke, wait for a weather window, jump out of Oregon Inlet, then head offshore straight to New York.  In a perfect world it would take us about three and a half days to get there, but in the event of inclement weather we had several places (Cape May or Atlantic City) where we could tuck in to wait out the storms.  Unfortunately, Hurricane Sandy had created such shoaling in the inlet that it was now impassable with the Coast Guard reporting a depth of two feet or less.  

Another option was to motor to Beaufort, NC, await a weather window, and then go around Cape Hatteras before heading North.   Thankfully, due to some good advice and common sense on our part, we decided that route was just not worth the risk.  For those not familiar with this particular area, Cape Hatteras is known as the graveyard of the Atlantic and with good reason.  It is the meeting place for the Mid-Atlantic Bight and the South Atlantic Bight and also where the South flowing Labrador Current and North flowing Gulf Stream collide producing rough seas and dense fog.  Add in the Diamond Shoals, which extend for up 14 miles or more offshore, and the frequency of Nor’easters which scream down the coast with alarming frequency at this time of year and you have a recipe for disaster.  Combining the opposing currents, storms, and potential for rough seas seemed foolish when we still needed to complete shakedown sails on some of Paragon’s systems.  Finding out that a key element didn’t work while motoring/sailing along the ICW could be inconvenient...finding it out off of Cape Hatteras could be deadly.  

So Intracoastal Waterway it was. The first day was a bit of a push since we had to motor almost 65 miles to reach our first anchorage.  Several people had told us that we MUST stop at Coin Jock Marina, but in order to fit that into our time line we had to make some serious miles on the first day.  This was not such a difficult task with three people aboard.  Anyone who has traveled the ICW on their own knows that even simple things like grabbing lunch or going to the bathroom can be difficult...pulling over is not really an option, so things must be coordinated carefully.  Splitting time at the helm between Drake, Adam, and I meant that everyone had a chance to rest, eat, nap, and marvel at the root beer coloured water that was a result of tannins leaching from the surrounding trees.  Drake even had a chance to climb the mast to get a bird’s eye view of our journey.

Drake hanging out on the spreaders

As dusk neared we pulled into a lovely and deserted anchorage.  On the way in we passed two free standing trees on the edge of the little bay and I was delighted to discover that what I assumed were leaves actually turned out to be birds perched on every branch.  Combined with a spectacular sunset it made the first anchorage of our journey magical.

The next day was easier and we reached our desired destination in Coin Jock just as the Marina was closing its doors.  The man working that evening, JD, was even kind enough to wait an extra moment or two to catch our lines as we pulled up to the dock.  Many a cruiser had insisted that we must (MUST!) stop here because, despite its tiny size and remote location, the restaurant had wonderful prime rib.  I have to disagree with them.  It wasn’t wonderful...it was some of the best prime rib I have ever had.  Anywhere.  Should you happen to find yourself within a day or two of this little hamlet I strenuously recommend a detour to enjoy the hospitality and fabulous food.  (Did I mention the complimentary homemade chips they set on the table?  To. Die. For.)

The lovely Coin Jock Marina and Restaurant
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

Leaving early the next morning we headed on to Norfolk for what we thought would be an easy day.  It was misty and a bit colder with rain showers slowly soaking us, but our spirits were high and the heater down below did a wonderful job of defrosting our wind-chilled cheeks.

The last twenty miles of the ICW just south of Norfolk has quite a few bridges (and one lock) that have to be traversed, but our timing was almost perfect and we arrived at the N&S RR Bascule Bridge #7 (usually open) and the Gilmerton Lift Bridge before its rush hour restrictions.  Throughout the day the Gilmerton Highway Bascule Bridge opens at specific times, but for three hours both in the morning (6:30 - 9:30) and evening (3:30 - 6:30) they are closed for commuting traffic which means if you arrive at 3:45 PM you have an almost three hour wait.    

Pulling within sight of the bridges just past 3 PM, we had already mentally dropped the hook in the anchorage that lay a mere five miles beyond in Portsmouth just across from Norfolk.  Adam had told us about his many problems and delays while dealing with the Gilmerton Bridge, especially with all the recent construction, but that had ended and we felt confident.  

The lift bridge was not the problem this day...it was the railroad bridge.  Noticing it was closed as we approached, we hoped that whatever train was about to cross would hurry up and pass so we could make it through the next bridge before the 3:30 deadline.  When no train approached, and with our window swiftly closing, we talked to the tender at the Gilmerton Bridge who told us the #7 was temporarily out of order but that they were doing all they could to find someone to fix it and he wasn’t really sure what was going on since it wasn’t really his bridge and he really did wish us the best and a very good day to you.  Or something like that.  It was all very nice while being completely noncommittal.  

Thus began our wait.  Three turned into four, then five...and as the six o’clock hour approached with no bridge opening in site we started to seriously look at anchorages in the area.  Sundown was just over an hour away and we didn’t want to be caught circling in the dark.  The one other boat that had been waiting, a giant tug, finally gave up and turned around and we finally conceded that we should do the same.  

Circling as we wait for repairs to be finished
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

As Drake turned Paragon around our VHF suddenly sprang to life.  

“#7 is opening, #7 is opening!”, the bridge tender shouted, and I am certain he could hear our whoops of excitement all the way from his control room.

Because of the long delays the Gilmerton Bridge tender opened his lift bridge, even though the rush hour restriction was not over, which allowed us to motor through and drop the hook in Portsmouth just as the sun was setting.  

The rosy glow of our first city anchorage

Drake, Adam, and I spent the next day wandering around Norfolk and picking up some extra provisions.  The whole area was remarkably easy to get around using a mixture of their light rail, water taxi, and cabs.  It also felt wonderful to get a chance to walk and explore a new area after being on the boat for several days.

Riding back on the water taxi

Rowing out to Paragon in the anchorage after a lovely day

The next morning, a Wednesday, dawned cool and breezy as we decided on the next move.  We had planned on leaving, but the weather looked a little unpredictable and we wavered; go today or possibly be delayed for almost a week.  

This is the point where we allowed something that should not have come into play affect our decision. 

 A schedule.  

Schedules have no business influencing voyage planning while sailing.  Sure, in the most abstract form they can be considered, but as a friend of mine said, “When I’m sailing you can choose the place or the time, but you can’t choose both.”

Adam had a plane out of JFK in New York on Sunday, so with that in mind we pushed off late Wednesday morning and headed out to sea.  Drake felt that we had a good chance of making some miles before tucking in to Cape May to await better conditions.  The rest of the afternoon went fine as we motored out of Norfolk and then, with sails up, we headed north into the night.  Things rather went downhill from there.

Motoring out of Norfolk
(photo courtesy of Adam H.)

On Thursday winds clocked to the North and increased until they were sustained at 30 knots with gusts up to 38.  Thirty-five miles offshore and unable to make much progress, Drake realized we would never be able to reach Cape May before sundown and decided to hove to.  We remained hove to off and on for the next 36 hours...making progress when we could in the 10-12 foot seas.  

During this time Adam was amazing.  My old nemesis, seasickness, had returned with a vengeance and I was violently ill for several days and unable to do much except wish for a swift and painless death.  He stepped up and attacked every new challenge with a steadfast hand and quiet confidence that was impressive.  In the midst of our sea trial, and with several things not quite working as they should, he kept a sense of humor about things that were beyond our control.  

As winds subsided and, remarkably my seasickness began to dissipate, we realized that we would be able to sail into Atlantic City before sunset.  A new course was set and we motored into the channel with plenty of time to spare.

Anchored in Atlantic City, NJ

Now I sit here at the dinette and, as the boat turns at anchor, occasionally see a giant Paris Hilton splashed on the side of the illuminated high rise casino.  I look around, shake my head, and think, "We're not in Oriental anymore…"

  

Pliobond sticks to your ribs

Listening to "Precious" by The Pretenders

The oven on Paragon has not worked since I arrived almost two years ago.  Something to do with a spring and a thing and a boyfriend who never, ever bakes.  Ever.  And this was cool.  I sautéed, simmered, and braised my way through through my cookbook much to my, and Drake's, delight.  Curried chicken, moyakodon, and super spicy beans and rice were some of our staples.  Then one day I had a craving for lasagna and suddenly nothing else would do.  Not only did I want lasagna, but I wanted MY lasagna.  Layers of gooey melted cheese combined with obscene amounts of garlic, spinach, mushrooms, chorizo and ground beef layered with spices and noodles and….oh my.  

There were other problems with the stove/oven.  I loved how heavy duty and over built it was, but all of the knobs had come off leaving us to turn on the propane using one jury rigged knob…except for the one burner that required channel locks and a stern grip (or glare) to get started.  The biggest concern, however, was the broken gimbal on one side.  The metal rod and attached hardware had bent at some point and presented a real hazard.  Cooking at sea is dangerous enough without the threat of the stove suddenly detaching and flying forward.  

If we had the motivation and an excess of extra time there is a chance that we could have taken the stove apart, ordered new parts, cleaned up some of the rust, fixed the gimbal, and generally restored her to her former glory.  If the parts were available.  If all went as planned.  If we weren't pushing off for New York in less than three weeks.  A lot of ifs...

So, with visions of cheesy baked food in our future, we ordered a new Force 10 three gimbaled range with a 19 L oven.  It has come in so, after we finish up some things we have going today, it's out with the old and in with the new.

Other projects are going…okay.  I cut the insulation for the aft clothes locker, but I didn't want to use the spray adhesive that Drake has been using.  Perhaps I should take a step back.  Are there any Douglas Adams fans out there?  If so (or even if not) there is a spaceship in one of his books, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe, that has some amazing qualities including the fact that it creates absolutely no friction.  Like any.  If you try to put your hand on this ship it just slides right off…nothing sticks.  

I believe this ship was coated with our insulation.  

Nothing (NOTHING!) seems to adhere to this stuff.  I thought I would use duct tape to keep it in place while I trimmed the sides, but the duct tape fell away like so many autumn leaves.  Regular glue just beads off and the spray glue Drake was using seems to have a limited shelf life since strips of insulation are drooping and peeling apart.  

Insulation that is falling down in the condiment locker

The spray adhesive does not seem to be working

I went to the hardware store yesterday, got a couple of different bonding agents, and I think I found one that will work.  It's called Pliobond (sticks to rubber, leather, steel, fiberglass, and your soul!) and smells sufficiently like cancer in a bottle to make me think it will work.  It also mentions that it is resistant to salt, gasoline, and some acids which is a relief.  I can't recall how many times I have left an open bottle of acid in the clothes locker only to have it tip over to disastrous results.   (I am joking.  I would never leave an open bottle of acid in the locker.  I always close the acid before I put it in with my clothes.)  The test piece seemed to hold so *fingers crossed* I'm going to give it a try and attack the aft locker.  It would be lovely to finally get everything off of the bed and be able to sleep in the aft cabin again.  We'll see how it goes…

I'm hoping this will work

Need some rain? Wash the boat!

Listening to WBUR Boston's NPR News Station

Nothing ever works on a sailboat.  NOTHING!  Okay, this is an exaggeration, but that is how it feels sometimes.  You go to flush the head, the head that you just soaked with vinegar and thoroughly cleaned, and nothing happens.  You go to check the radar, the very radar that was working mere moments ago, and *poof* it's suddenly gone.  You sit at the dinette under the dorade vent tapping away on your computer when suddenly a drop of water plops down.  Never mind that the vent was just resealed.  Never mind that after it was resealed you sat with a hose and sprayed it with everything that little spigot could handle.  No.  This is a boat and everything on it has a shelf life and, despite your expectations, some expire faster than others.  

We have had a trying day.  Days.  Time is passing faster than ever, and every thing that does not get done or suddenly stops working is a mini disaster.  Now, when a replacement part needs to be ordered, we are actually looking at a calendar to make sure that it will arrive before we leave.  Notice has been given, a departure date has been set, several friends have agreed to crew, and we are feeling the heat.  

I'm certain this is my inexperience talking, but there is a part of me that feels it will all be okay.  I almost feel that we could take off tomorrow and, with what we have, be more than okay to start our travels.  Sure, there are things that need tending, but isn't that what cruisers do… travel the world and go to beautiful places to work on their boats?  Of course, unlike Drake, I am not in charge of the safety and well being of everyone on board and tomorrow comes faster and faster.  

It's not all despair and ringing hands.  Today Drake made wonderful progress cleaning off the deck and cockpit and I've learned something.  Much like a car, washing the boat seems to be a sure fire way to bring about some serious rain.  The last three times I have washed the deck rain followed within several hours, and as I sit here the rain is pattering away on those lovely clean decks.  *shrug*  Perhaps we'll be like the rain god mafia and people will pay us to stay away from their outdoor events.  Pay up or it's grey skies for everyone!

I have also been working on several things.  My avoidance of laundry has left me riffling through the back confines of the clothes locker where I discovered we had a serious moisture and mold problem.  (Do I sound like a broken record?  mold mold mold!)  This is interesting since the very next locker is fine, but this one is quite obviously NOT fine after I discovered one of my favourite jackets spotted with mold.  Blah!  After removing the shelves I scrubbed the whole area with a bleach mixture and will lay down a few more layers of insulation as soon as the surface is dry...hopefully that will take care of the problem.  

Before scrubbing

After scrubbing

Since everything that was in the locker is currently piled high on our bed in the aft cabin, Drake and I are bunking in the salon.  This has its perks.  Tonight we will lay on the settee, watch an action film that has nothing to do with sailing (I'm thinking The Bourne Identity), and recharge our batteries.  All I can think is...tomorrow will be a better day.

P.S.  I promise not to talk about mold for a while, maybe, and I've also included this sunset to remind me of the beauty that I am surrounded by every day.  

Sunset on Whittaker Creek

The Devil and Mr. Clean

Listening to "This Is Not A Love Song" by Nouvelle Vague

As the days fly by and our departure date looms in the foreground, Drake and I are madly dashing around Paragon in an attempt to finish all last minute projects and tie up loose ends.  In between whipping lines, downloading and figuring out weather fax, and repairing various things (the aft head door, the zipper on the strataglass) I have also spent a portion of every day cleaning and organizing.  

The organizing part can be quite satisfying.  Do we really need sixty 2-4 foot pieces of leftover rope?  What about the miles and miles of spare wire? (Drake is under the impression that one day he will meet someone in a far off place who needs to completely rewire their boat and TADAA!  Like a misguided superhero he will come to the rescue.)  Broken brushes, lids to tupperware bottoms that are long gone, random plumbing fittings, and a host of unnecessary items linger uselessly about.  Damaged items are thrown in the bin, superfluous extras are given away, and the remaining objects have been neatly stored.

The cleaning part is not as fun.  Fenders that have been neglected for far too long have accumulated a layer of grime and gunk that seems impenetrable.  Slightly dank pools of condensation that emit a stale smell seem to pop up overnight and soak everything in their path.  Best of all though is the sailor’s constant companion...mold.   

Mold would like nothing more than to take over this boat and cover every slightly damp surface with its fuzzy and blackened finger print, so with a bleach mixture and scrubie in hand I attack.  In some cases, a quick swipe and a little elbow grease is all that is needed to put the sparkle back.  Other times, however, there isn’t enough elbow grease in the world to clean the dirty object, but this is where I bring out my secret weapon...the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.  

I do not know what sort of Faustian contract was signed in order to make this magical little pad.  I am certain that the key ingredients include crushed fairy wings and the tip of a unicorn horn mixed with the last remaining dodo feather, for how else could this eraser literally wipe clean the grimiest of grime with a mere swipe.  

I spent over an hour trying to clean a fender with the most abrasive pad available. Soaking it with soap, mineral spirits, acetone and, finally, the tears of my frustration, I had all but given up.  As a last resort I grabbed the magic eraser and sat back in amazement as it sprinkled it’s faery dust and left a sparkling clean fender in its wake.

Timidly at first, and then with a resounding WHOOP! I proceeded to clean stains that had left me stumped and under the impression that we would be simply be surrounded by discoloured patches around the boat.

Rust stain on the cabin top?  Gone!  Grease on the faux leather covering?  Finis!  A wine stain on the galley laminate that resembled the state of Wisconsin?   No more!  (sorry Wisconsin) 

Now for those of you who are scrambling over loved ones in an attempt to quickly reach the keyboard to tell me exactly why I should NEVER use the magic eraser on the boat, I beg of you to leave me in the dark.  This innocuous little pad has made my life easier in ways I cannot fully describe.  It has cut my cleaning time and, more importantly, frustration in half.  Therefore, to those delightful people at Procter & Gamble who have waged their souls so that I may better clean...I thank you.  

Side by side comparison.  The fender on the right is the third one I cleaned using nothing but the magic eraser.

Rope? Nope, but line is divine...

Listening to "Sexual Revolution" by Macy Gray

One of the first times I came aboard Paragon I was looking around and asked the name of the rope that was pulling up the big sail.  

If you can imagine at this point that big SSSSCCCCRRREEEEEEEECCCHHHH that happens in the movies where the music abrubptly comes to a halt as everyone turns to look at the goof ball who just put their foot in their mouth.  Thus began the first of many lessons about sailing and boats in general.  

Rope practically does not exist on a boat.  In the most general sense of the word there are lines.  Lines criss cross the boat in every direction, and as they begin to do certain jobs their names get more specific.  There are halyards, dock lines, sheets, and fender lines to name a few, and they all need attention in some way.  They need to be cared for, coiled and stowed, cleaned, whipped, and occasionally spliced.  

Drake was telling me a story about a particular gentleman who, when questioning potential crew, would ask if they could whip a line.  If the answer was no then he felt they didn't have the basic knowledge he required to help on the passage.  At this point, and after a bit of practice, I can resoundingly say I possess this skill.

For those not in the know, lines can become frayed at the end which can lead to some serious unravelling.  This can render the line unusable, but is easily prevented by tightly wrapping (or whipping) twine around the bitter end.  I'm certain there are many different ways to wrap that twine, perhaps with a lovely design or pattern, but I was taught a simple and effective way that works and takes little time.  

The twine is so tightly wound around the end of the line that it feels solid and will keep the lines from unraveling with even the heaviest usage.  In preparation for our departure in about a month (Gah!  About a month!!!) I spent the day checking all lines and whipping those that had none.  *Note:  These pictures are not meant to be instructional.  I'm just showing what I did.*

Waxing the twine to help it lay better

Preparing to start wrapping

Initially I go over, under, over to create an extra little 'lock' on the starting edge

Halfway wrapped

Now I loop the other end over and begin to wrap with the other side

Pulling the ends in the center tightens the whole wrap

Trim the loose ends and tie a square knot

Seal the ends with a lighter

Now, instead of looking like this…

How several of our lines looked prior to being whipped

...our lines look like this and are ready to go.

The beautiful finished product

Clip clip trim trim

Listening to "Kiss With A Fist" by Florence + The Machine

For quite a few years I traveled between places as dictated by the season.  Summer lodge, winter ski town, summer resort, winter ski town.  The constant travel, plus the general miniscule size of employee housing, meant that everything I owned could be packed quite easily into my tiny Honda Civic hatchback.  A couple of bankers boxes, several duffles, a roof rack and I was ready to move on.  

Then, I found that the ski town suited me quite nicely and I started to put down some roots.  This is how the slow spread started.  Much like a cubicle worker sitting for eight hours on an office chair, my bottom line started expanding.  I collected books, acquired several house plants, lost a few due to my complete lack of a green thumb, and generally gathered more clothing and gear than I had ever had before.  Backpacking, hiking, rafting, downhill skiing, cross country skiing...the list went on and on and before I knew what happened I had become a bonafide house dweller with stuff.

The next time I moved was not so easy, and as Drake and I draw closer to our push off date I am reminded of that.  Paragon has been in the safety and comfort of a marina for so long that she's fallen victim to the excess of stuff that plagues many a house.  Drake and I both became somewhat lax when it came down to a cardinal rule of boats:  A place for everything and everything in its place.  

No where is this rule more important than in a small space, but I think especially on a boat.  A coffee cup haphazardly left on the edge of the book shelf is not simply a coffee cup but potentially a lethal weapon once the boat goes out to sea and begins to roll and bounce.  In addition to the safety issue, it's simply not feasible or comfortable to have more than you need while living in such a compact space.  Therefore, the trimming has begun.  

The galley seemed like a manageable place to start, especially since it is used every day, several times a day.  We have a space that runs behind the stove and counter that holds just about every condiment and sauce we might ever need to cook.  It had also become, unbeknownst to me, the place where condiments went to die.  I swear I have cleaned this out in the last year, yet I still found fermented plum preserves, a crusty tahini jar with a lid so rusted it crumbled in my hand, and an extremely suspect jar of capers from 2008.  

I pulled everything out, threw away anything that looked capable of intelligent thought, soaked and washed the Dri-Dek that lines the bottom, washed every jar, and replaced the containers in the most ergonomic way possible.  Things that are used most often are right in front, things that are rarely used are on the edges, and things that were never used are resting comfortably in the recycling bin.  

How did this all fit?

Dri-Dek up and first scrub finished

Bottles clean and put away

I even have extra space!

I know this is a small step, but hacking away at one unruly section of the boat and seeing it come together in such a lovely way feels great.  I only hope the spare parts locker goes as well!

A welcoming sight

The Battle Cry of Paragon

Listening to "Le Violette" by Luciano Pavarotti

Lying in the aft cabin this morning, eyes still shut and clinging to sleep, I heard the Battle Cry of Paragon waft into my consciousness.  Though it has many different endings, the beginning is always the same.

"Mo!  Do you know where my _________ is???"  

As in do you know where my headlamp, drill, shoes, boat pole, drill battery, jacket, glasses, belt, coffee, headlamp again, pen, little piece of starboard that I just had in my hand, backpack and, most recently, leatherman is.  

I have always known where things are located, even when they are not in their designated spots.  Should you happen to absently place your notebook on top of the washing machine or drop a shear pin in the top drawer, there is a good chance that I will somehow absorb this information and be able to regurgitate it's exact position even days later.  I do not know how I do this, but since Drake is the master of misplaced things we make a good pair.  

That being said, I found the missing leatherman this morning (port side settee in the plastic box under the cushion) and we commenced to enjoy our last day living at anchor in Ocracoke.  I spent a great deal of time on the phone ordering parts for future projects and arranging several returns while Drake sewed closure straps on the storage bags that live on the stern rail.  I even bundled up and sat on the bowsprit to watch the ferry, the jellyfish, and the various birds circling the lake.  It made me happy to sit outside in the frigid weather and just be a part of this magical place.

Watching the world float by

Freezing cold, but happy to be at anchor

Now the dinghy has been raised and secured, lines have been checked, and the cabin is almost completely stowed in preparation for our departure.  We have reached a point in our projects where we need an infusion of parts that are waiting for us in Oriental, plus we are currently burning our last pieces of wood in the stove.  It is supposed to be bitterly cold the rest of the week, with temperatures plunging into the low 20's, so off we go back to the marina.  

In celebration of our last evening, Drake has even surprised me with...STOVE TOP PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES!!!  Oh yes!  We are missing some key ingredients (pah! who needs baking powder!), but improvisation is what cooking at anchor is all about.  They are deeeelish and, with a cozy fire in the stove and hot chocolate at hand,  a perfect way to end our stay in Ocracoke.  

Stove top cookies!!

Did he notice that I grabbed some cookie dough…?

Finished product!

Tomorrow we head out into Pamlico Sound with the bow pointed towards Oriental.  

Last sunset in Ocracoke