Elizabeth City
We arrived at Elizabeth City in the late afternoon.  We had been looking forward to this port-of-call since we first heard about this city's well known "Rose Buddies" at the world cruising club some years before.

We heard that Fred (a gentleman retiree) instituted a tradition of giving ladies on cruising vessels arriving at the city's docks, a rose from his garden.  And, just as we were told, every afternoon around 4 PM, Fred rolled up in his golf cart with a boquet of freshly cut roses.

He drove the docks, looking for new arrivals and presented each lady with a rose.  In addition to those fragrant gifts, whenever there are 3 or more boats docked, Fred arranges a wine and cheese party.  
Reg at the helm on the Intra Coastal Waterway
The city provides free dockage to cruisers in their bid to encourage cruisiers traversing the ICW to stop and linger.  Fred and the "Rose Buddies" provide the charm.

A Magical Evening
Elizabeth City did provide  us with an evening of  magical moments.  We were walking back from the showers around 9 PM, it was a perfect night with a full moon and stars that blanketed the sky.  Crickets were chirping and the smell of night blooming jasmine filled the air.  Holding hands we walked through a neighborhood of beautiful turn-of-the-century homes that backed onto the Pasquatank River.  

Passing a field between two houses, we saw that it was filled with fireflies - thousands of fireflies.  They were in the trees, the bushes and the grass twinkling like shooting stars as they darted across the sky.

When we turned back to the street,  we were surrounded by fireflies appearing everywhere we looked, swooping and diving around mailboxes and through picket fences.  

​We felt It was if an unseen hand had flipped a switch and all the fireflies in the world lit up.  We stood transfixed and amazed.  Watching them dart from bush to bush to bush and chase each other around the neighborhood, we began to understand fairies.


Blue Heron in the Dismal Swamp
No Swamp and Not Dismal
Elizabeth City is near the southern terminus of the Dismal Swamp.  The Dismal, as it is referred to locally, is a 107 mile long land-cut (canal) connecting the Pasquatank and the Elizabeth rivers.  Constructed in the 1700's by a consortium headed by George Washington it remains the oldest continuously operating canal system in the U.S.
The water is the color of strong tea and was prized by 18th and 19th century sailing ships because it stays fresh for months.  Tannin from tree roots provides the color as well as an antiseptic property that prevents bacterial growth.  The canal is currently used by slow moving, shallow draft pleasure craft transiting North or South between Norfolk and the Albermarle Sound.
The morning was gray and blustery when we finally got underway.  Our departure had been delayed an hour and a half due to mechanical difficulties with the lift bridge.  The first marker of the day came into view about nine o'clock as we rounded a bend.   By the time we entered the channel, the day had brightened and the wind had laid down.
The Dismal is walled on both sides by lush foliage.  Tangles of trees and bushes come right to the water and all but the center of the channel is covered by overhanging trees. 

The water was so still, it reflected like a mirror and it was difficult to tell where the water ended and the sky began.  We saw turtles sitting on logs, cranes fishing in the shallows and all kinds of water animals going about their business undisturbed by our passing.  

Tea brown water, deep green foliage and the fluorescent blue of the sky made-up the morning pallet.
There was almost no traffic.  Every half hour or so we would meet another vessel pushing ripples in the surface of the water as it ghosted by. 

Speed in the Dismal is limited to six knots.  Speed restrictions and its seven foot depth limits traffic to mostly pleasure craft, sailboats and trawlers.  Commercial vessels and fast moving sport fishers use the Virginia Cut where they can travel at full speed.  That is fine with us. 

​The serenity of this peaceful place doesn't need the noise and wakes of the go-fast crowd.
The Dismal Swamp
Most boats can't complete the canal's 107 miles in one day so, many cruisers plan to overnight at the visitor's center and complete the trip the following day. 

​The North Carolina Visitor's Center is just past the midway point Northbound.  Dockage is free.  However, dock space is limited and it is often necessary to raft to early arrivals.  During peak season the rafts can be three or four deep with boats stretching right across the channel.

The afternoon we arrived, all the space at the dock was taken, so we rafted to a boat already at the dock.  The boat was "Little Gidding".  David and Eillene were Canadians in their fifth year of cruising.  They were on their way to Annapolis for a refit before heading out again.  

The four of us were sitting in their cockpit having cocktails when I noticed a six-foot rattle snake stretched out on the dock sunning itself.  It was following our conversation, looking at one person and then the next, as the conversation moved around the cockpit. ​
Pointing at the snake, I said "You know, we must be having one hell of a conversation for that rattlesnake to be so interested".   I didn't think I was speaking loudly, but within seconds people from boats up and down the dock came running with their cameras.  Cruisers were closing in from both directions. 

The snake looked at the growing mob and decided it was time for a swim, and into the water it went.  For a heartbeat there was absolute stillness on the dock.  Then, I've never  seen cruisers move so fast.  Back on their boats, they were stuffing towels and bathing suits into their cockpit drains.  

The four of us had a good laugh and continued our conversation.  For the remainder of the evening, every so often I would catch someone's eye wander over and linger on the cockpit drain.
Transiting the Dismal canals
As we exited the peace and tranquility of the Dismal Swamp, we found ourselves in the fast lane of the Elizabeth River. 

Barges and tugs bore down on us at 15-20 knots blasting their horns!  With limited maneuverability these water leviathans had no patience for our slow moving cruising vessel.

​In Norfolk, we passed at least a 100 naval vessels being moth balled and felt like an ant among elephants.
One of Us Knows Where They're Going
Each boat has her own personality.  the longer you are with her, the more she reveals. 

Our first anchorage in the Chesapeake was in Mobjack Bay  We sailed in on a light breeze one sunny afternoon.  Topaz brought us to a sheltered anchorage on Putin Creek, in front of a white cottage with a lawn and garden that came right down to the water's edge. 

That evening, Teri was reading an old Chesapeake Bay cruising guide that I had picked up in the discount bin at our local chandlery before we left to go cruising.  It had been our of print for many years.  After reading for a bit, Teri looked up and said "You know there is a place around here called "Colvin Cove" and it's named for Tom (Tom Colvin).  His boatyard was here around the time he designed BlueTopaz".

The next morning when we came on deck, we looked across the anchorage and there about a hundred yard across the bow was "Colvins Cove".  The boatyard is still there, however, the Colvins don't own it anymore, but the yard is still building boats.

We dinghied over and talked with the owner.  He said "I saw her (BlueTopaz) when she sailed in yesterday and I thought she looked like a Colvin.  You see them sailing up and down here.  You can tell them by their lines  - and they seem to know where they're going".  Teri and I might have been as green as sea grass when it came to cruising the  Chesapeake but BlueTopaz knew right where she was going. 

The two days spent anchored across from Colvin Cove provided us with our first exposure to Chesapeake hospitality.  We were trying to get to a grocery store.  Following the directions in the cruising guide,  we dinghied around and around the anchorage putting the dingy aground several times as we hunted for a place to go ashore.  Hot and frustrated,  we gave up and on our way back to the boat we saw a small sailboat ghosting up the creek.  With a twist of the throttle,  we easily caught up with the two sailors lounging onboard.



Our first anchorage in the Chesapeake graced us with a beautiful sunset.
We pulled along side, apologized for disturbing their sail, and asked how to get to the grocery store.  They looked at each other and laughed.  One said "well, you can't get there from here - not by boat anyway".  The man at the tiller waved his hand and said "Meet at my dock in half an hour and I'll take you".

He provided us with directions and we arrived at the appointed time.  We were met with two ice cold beer and lots of laughs about us not being the only cruisers with that not well informed guidebook.  His family was from a long line of Bay folk and his wife's family had been the recipient of an original glebe (a glebe is a 17th century land grant from the King or Church of England).  He shared some local history and after a short visit, drove us to the grocery store, waited while we shopped and drove us back to our dinghy.

He invited us to use his dock anytime we were in the area and said he looked forward to seeing us again and would happily look out and see our pretty little schooner.  He told us how schooners were built in this part of the bay and it wasn't uncommon in years past to see one anchored off his property.  

About two hours later, his buddy (the second sailor we met earlier) rowed up in a skiff saying he'd been fishing.  He asked if we would like some fresh fish and plopped  a half dozen, still wriggling drums, on our deck.  How could we refuse - and welcomed him aboard.
This was our first encounter with Chesapeake Bay hospitality.  However, it wasn't our last.  During the five months we cruised the Chesapeake we met with uncommon hospitality. 

​Locals seeing us walking in the 100 degree heat, stopped their cars and said "You look like sailors.  Do you need to go to the grocery store?"  They interrupted their day, drove us to a supermarket, waited while we shopped and drove us back to the boat.  Usually, after a brief chat, they wished us well and were on their way.  The people of Tidewater Virginia and the Chesapeake Bay truly made us feel welcome.
A Little Piece of Americana
We had Josh, our eleven-year-old nephew from Oregon, onboard for two weeks.  We planned to spend most of that time, including the 4rth of July, in Washington, D.C. but as cruisers' schedules go, we were nowhere near Washington when he arrived. 

We spent July 3rd, 4rth and 5th in Deltaville, Virginia.  Deltaville was our first experience with Chesapeake summers.  The average temperature was about 103 degrees.  It was so hot and humid you couldn't dry off after a shower.  After about five minutes, the clean clothes you put on looked like the clothes you just took off. 

​It was so hot, dogs didn't bark, birds didn't sing and crickets, well their legs were just too hot to rub together.
July 3rd is Heritage Day, in Deltaville.  So, despite the heat Teri, Josh and I headed to town to see what was happening.  To our surprise, the town was done up in red, white and blue.  It looked like the entire population had turned out for the festivities. 

There was a "Pet Parade" down Main Street, a Bar-B-Que at the firehouse and a triple header at the ball park.  For those of you who didn't read "Dick, Jane and Spot" in grade school, a Pet Parade is where the neighborhood children take their pets out for a parade.  There were dogs wearing bandanas and sunglasses, cats in hats, fish in bowls, bird cages riding in wagons, parrots on shoulders, lizards on leashes and a rock on a pillow. 

​We skipped the Bar-B-Que but we did go to the ball games.
Our nephew Josh enjoying the Deltaville Delta's game
A Baseball Game Right Out of The Last Century​
The Deltaville Deltas were founded in 1932, making them the oldest continuously operated semi-pro baseball franchise in the U.S.. ​


The Deltaville stadium is right out of "Shoeless Joe" .  It's an unpainted, three story, wooden structure with hand painted signs for the local hardware store, restaurant and Ford dealership adorning the entry.  The last major improvement was in 1959 when lights were installed for night games.

This night, the Deltaville Deltas were playing the Tapppahanik tides.  This rivalry goes back generations and it looked like the entire populations of both towns were in the stands.  There were kids, parents, grandparents and great grandparents sitting around picnic dinners. 

Behind the chicken wire protecting the fans from wild pitches and foul balls, sat four generations of a family of freckle faced redheads. It turns out that great grandpa, whose red hair had long since been replaced by a pate of freckles, played for the Deltas in 1938.  Teri learned this nifty bit and plenty of other trivia from the stadium announcer who seemed to know everybody and everybody's business. 

Following the last game, where the "Old Timers" took over the field, there were fireworks. Ooohs and Aahs from the crowd accompanied each and every single solitary rocket launch.

As we walked back to the boat, I felt we'd spent a day in another time and place.  It felt like we had just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  We were privileged to visit an America that still exists, but  only in a small town and only on Heritage Day.​
The Storm
The temperature was in the low 100's. humidity about 98% and not a breath of a breeze.  It was one of those Chesapeake summer days, the kind of day the sun beats on you like a hammer.  Haze hung in the afternoon sky like Spanish moss.

We had been underway since the early morning and were looking forward to an icy drink in the marina restaurant.  It was about two in the afternoon when we turned the bend on the Sta Mary's river (off the Potomac) and caught sight of the marina.  About that time the weather alert on the VHF went off.  Beep-Beep-Beep.  A disembodied voice said a serious storm would be moving through the area.  Our panic alert ticked down a notch when we heard the storm wasn't  expected in our area until later that evening.

We docked at the marina fuel dock and after topping off the diesel and water headed for the restaurant.  The marina manager, doing double duty as waitress, asked if we had heard the weather alert.  We said we had and felt that there was enough time to get to our planned anchorage in St Mary's cove.  With a pained expression, she said "St Mary's isn't always the best storm hole, particularly when the winds are out of the northwest.  The wind can come down the river and really beat up the cove".  never to disregard local knowledge, Teri and I looked at each other, turned back to her and asked "Where would you suggest"?  She smiled coyly, shrugged her shoulders and said, " Well I'm not one to give advice.  But if it was me, with this storm coming, I would head over to Melbourne Creek and tuck in there".

After sandwiches, pie and three pitchers of iced tea, we thanked her for her suggestion and headed off to find Melbourne Creek.  Buzzed from all the caffeine, we cressed the St mary's River, turned up St Indigo's Creek and Melbourne Creek right where the indicated it would be.
​The chart couldn't prepare us for how beautiful that little creek was.  It's only about forty yards wide and a couple hundred yards from beginning to end.  Mature trees come down to the water on both shores.  At the end of the creek is a cleared field with a log farm house.  The whole area is part of the historic St Mary's Conservation Area and Archaelogical Site.

We spent most of the evening securing BlueTopaz.  With three anchors out and a rode chained to a tree, we cleared the decks and tied down the sails, booms and anything we couldn't get below.  Once everything that could be done was; we went below and had dinner.

We listened to the VHF as it tracked the storm county by county and then concession by concession as it approached.  You could feel the thunder as it rolled in from a distance.  Lightning cracked and streaked the sky.  

We were still buzzed from all the caffeine and like two kids at their first picture show, watched from atop the coach roof the massive storm clouds as they rumbled across the sky like a herd of gray buffalo.

We saw the storm long before the wind arrived.  We watched the trees in the distance bend at the waist as the wind marched across the coutnryside.  When the wind arrived, it moved across the treetops like a dealer fanning a deck of cards.

Like many things the anticipation turned out to be greater than the reality.  The wind blew sixty plus miles per hour.  However, we were well protected and the wind blew right over the top of us.  We spent a safe and uneventful but memorable night thanks to a thoughtful waitress.
Lik
We Tucked into Melbourne Creek, ready for the big storm 
The day after the storm we spent a pleasant afternoon with the Captain of the Maryland Dove - a replica of a 17th century trading vessel and part of the St Mary's Living History Museum​
BlueTopaz moored in St. Mary's Cove next to Charles Carroll's house.  Mr. Carroll was one of the signers of 
the Declaration of Independence​  
June-October
St Mary's Cove, Annapolis, Maryland
North: 38° 59' 145"
West: 76° 29' 385"
Annapolis Is A City That Speaks To Sailors
Everything about this beautiful, walkable city from Kunte Kinte Square on the waterfront to dinghy docks at the foot of tree lined streets - Annapolis welcomes sailors.

The first capitol of the United States; home to the US Naval Academy; arguably host to the greatest congregation of sailing vessels on the East Coast; and known as the sailing capital of North America - that's Annapolis!

Visiting sailors can choose from three creeks, a bay and a cove to moor, anchor or tie up at a marina; dinghy up to a dock at the end of most streets ending at the water and walk into the heart of the city.

We were seduced by the city and stayed for seven weeks.  We spent days exploring the city's historic districts, Naval Academy and St Johns college.  St Johns is one of the oldest colleges in the US.  It is unique in that it only offers a Bachelor of Arts degree (credits are equivalent to a double major in history of math and science and a minor in literature & the classics.  The curriculum is based on the 100 greatest books of Western civilization - Fascinating!

 We frequented concerts at the Naval Academy and Annapolis Chorale Society; sampled the fare at the pubs and restaurants; and every Thursday you could find us at Chick n Ruths for their two-for-one sundaes.  Last but not least, we experienced our first two hurricanes Dennis and Floyd there.

​We lingered until the chilled winds of October chased us South.
Looking up Main Street (at one time Church Street) to St Anne's Episcopal Church.  The 1696 city plan placed the church on the second highest point of land, the highest point was reserved for the Maryland State House.  The symbolism was not lost on the populace.
Reg looking for a parking spot downtown Annapolis.
A forest of masts on Back Creek
From the deck of BlueTopaz (in the calm after the storm) we watched the backside of Hurricane Dennis moving East
Just tell us to go home
It is impossible to transit the Chesapeake without sailing through one restricted area or another.  There are military zones, spoil areas, fish traps, fish sanctuaries and all types of other restrictions.

We were motoring North heading for Solomon's Island, Maryland.  I was at the helm; Teri was checking the chart.  Teri said, "I think those are bombing targets over there" pointing to two large structures about 600 yards to starboard".  I said in my most diplomatic tone.  "Oh, why do you say that?"  She gave me that 'duh' look she reserves especially for me and said "Because, that's what it says on the chart!".  Recovering my captainly composure, I said, "I'll make sure to stay well clear.  Thanks!"

The prop hadn't turned twice, when a thunderous boom shook the boat.  We felt the concussion in our chests.  Frantically, we looked around for a splash or any sign of an explosion.  Finding none, we stared blankly at each other, if not a bit dazed and confused when the second and even louder blast came.  I turned the boat 180 degrees to the bombing targets and cranked up the RPMs and told Teri to call the Coast Guard.

"Coast Guard, Coast Guard, Coast Guard - This is the sailing vessel BlueTopaz - Over!"   We waited - no response.  Teri called a second time - more urgency in her voice. "Coast Guard, Coast Guard, Coast Guard - This is the sailing vessel BlueTopaz - Over!"  

​After what seemed like an eternity, the response came, "BlueTopaz, this is the US Coast Guard".  Teri told them that there were two of us onboard, described our vessel and provided them with our coordinates. ​
She explained that we heard two loud explosions and asked in an urgent tone "Are we in danger?"  After a few minutes the Coast Guard responded, "BlueTopaz, please say again your position"  Teri repeated our coordinates and they instructed us to standby.

After what seemed like forever, the Coast Guard came back on the radio and told us that we were in the vicinity of a bombing range (which we already knew) and if we wanted more information to call the Air Force on channel 16.

We continued to motor away from the targets as fast as our Volvo would push us.  We called the Air Force several times with no response.  Finally another boater responded.  He said that there were electronic bombing targets and the Air Force didn't drop live munitions in the area.  He went on to say that, if they were conducting exercises, there would be chase boats to keep all traffic clear.  This provided some reassurance but we still motored towards shore until we left mud in our wake. All the way to Solomon's Island, we stayed so close that even I could have dropped a plug into a soup can on shore.

We later found out that there was a munitions testing sight in the area detonating explosives.  The Air Force never did respond to our calls.  However, it seemed that every other radio on the bay was following our exploits.

When we arrived at Solomon's Island, we met several boaters, who after introductions laughed and said, "Oh, you were the boat that was being bombed the other day!"  For months after, we met people who took great glee in reminding us of our infamous day on the bay.

To all Americans, "We're Canadians.  If you don't want us here, just tell us to go home.  You don't have to bomb us, eh?"