DAY FOURTY-NINE, A dark and sordid affair.

Pete and PETE left Charleston NC this morning at 10 am and headed down the intracoastal waterway. After talking to a wild and crazy Pirate/Captain of the neighboring ferry, they were warned about incoming weather. But, with no deliberation at all, they left immediately, loaded down with booty of various kinds.



Just as promised, on the horizon, they saw a storm approaching. The clouds unzipped, and over the next four hours, "pissed all over them".

The intracoastal is filled with wildlife refuge areas, spiderwebs of creeks, hills, and wildlife marshes. They motored all day in dead calm winds and steady rain. They anchored tonight in Rock Creek, off of the Ashepoo River, way out in the middle of nowhere.

They have begun drinking coffee again at the Marinas where they do laundry and shower. They put both Peters' clothing in the laundry together to save money. They didn't comment on any ways of saving money showering.



Weather girl asked them,"if there was anything you would have people send to you, what would it be?"

The answer,"Baked goods, maple syrup, mail, and more Baked goods."

Bloggers: There will be an address for shipping them stuff, like baked goods, coming soon, prepare your items now, so there is no delay with preparation, or baking, or letting the dough rise, etc.

Bloggers: Let's get some more followers! Post the URL to your facebook, corporate emails, bathroom stalls, etc.




From Peter Ver Ploeg:

We spent a great couple of days in Charleston, seeing the sights and relaxing in the warm weather. How warm? Warm enough for us to see our first (and second) bikini-clad sunbathers, events that have left us feeling good about life ever since. We made a token attempt to get some work done on the boat, caught up on sleep, and made the Saturday night rounds along King Street, the main drag in Charleston.

There are dolphins everywhere down here. We saw our first in North Carolina and have seen dolphins almost every day since then. While we were in Charleston, Pete and I saw them everyday from our dock, surfacing with noisy spouts and big swishes of water right outside our marina.

After two days and three nights in South Carolina, we were ready to push on. The weather forecast for this morning called for high winds and hard rain. A fellow mariner called a warning across the water to us too but, we reasoned we would be protected from the wind in the narrow byways of the Intracoastal. Furthermore rain, when its fifty degrees out, does not concern us. The Strolla could use a good rinse anyway. So, with a hearty sailor's laugh and a manly sailor's wave, we cast off the dock lines and boldly strode forth into the gathering gloom.

Fifteen minutes later, the rain began, light at first but slowly gaining in ferocity. It wasn't cold. It was actually rather refreshing initially. The wind, however, swung around to our bow, increasing in intensity with the rain, and driving it directly into our faces. Standing at the helm, I could barely see. I had to keep my face down out of the wind, steering by compass, with only occasional peeks forward to spot course alterations and obstructions. Luckily, no one else seemed to feel like boating this morning so there were no other vessels to watch out for.


The rain tapered off and finally stopped altogether around mid afternoon. The route through South Carolina and into Georgia was beautiful, wild and remote. An intricate maze of rivers and creeks crisscrossed their way through and around vast swathes of marshland. Here and there, low hills rose out of the flats, every inch covered in lush green pine forest. From our view just above the water, they looked like the mossy backs of giant green turtles sleeping in the rippling brown grass. And birds, birds everywhere. To the usual crew of cormorants, gulls, terns, pelicans, and herons we can now add egrets, startlingly white against the brown winter landscape.


We found a nice anchorage just off the Ashepoo River, on Rock Creek. With anchor set, I shut down the motor for the night and listened for the familiar sound of the ignition alarm. Silence. The ignition light was off too. I checked the cabin lights, the navigation lights, the steaming lights. Nothing worked. Something seemed to be wrong. Without power, we couldn't restart the motor. There were twenty miles of marshland between us and the nearest town and the tidal river we were on was so narrow and winding there was no hope of sailing out.



Strangely enough, I wasn't worried. I watched the sunset and the dolphins thrashing around for their dinner, then took out my volt meter and headlamp and set to work, laboriously tracing my way through the ship's electrical connections. Within five minutes I'd found the problem. The boat has a master power switch. It has never worked and on our first day of ownership, Pete and I had turned it to "off" and left it there. This evening, for whatever reason, the switch had jiggled itself into working again. I turned it on and we were back in business.