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Today would be easy. Aside from a disconnected group of docks floating along the sides of the channel, we had no bridges on this leg. Last night, Wally warned the group to stay in the channel between markers G35A and R42. Shoaling would be an issue right after McClellanville.
Esteban raised the anchor. We were underway by 7:30 AM. Five miles later, the jib was flying in the Winyah bay. A moderate breeze blew from the Northeast. The sun was shining, and I was wearing one layer.
Before we entered Estherville Minim Creek canal, Esteban rolled in the jib. Meanwhile, Cap’t Morgan reminded Jim not to stray from the Bob423 path.
Video from Julie (Summer Salt)
Traveling here is similar to previous legs. Salt marsh is common. Pine trees are prevalent. Cypress and Spanish moss are sprinkled here and there. Today, we saw a nice slick—perfect for kitesurfing—between the marsh.
Esteban drove while I worked on my laptop. Summer Salt reached Whiteside Creek first and snapped a picture of YSTOP as we entered the anchorage.
YSTOP — Image from Julie (Summer Salt)
Midnight was next.
Midnight entering anchorage
While the rest of the group found spots, YSTOP turned in circles. Esteban worried about the chain twisting, so we retrieved the anchor and moved next to Gypsy Wind.
Sundance, Faithful, Summer Salt, Midnight, Bellum
As the sun set, we cooked and listened to the sounds of Wally cursing his dinghy.
During the night, the wind and current competed in how to direct the boat. The anchor chain creaked each time it stretched, and the boat vibrated as high speed molecules collided with the hull. Around 4:20 AM, the creaking stopped, causing my mind to breach its consciousness. I dragged myself from bed, shoved my legs into a pair of jogging pants and pulled my fleece over my head. Upstairs, I opened the electric panel, flipped the Instruments breaker and walked to the cockpit. Esteban’s phone gave its warning, “Anchor drag.” He added 20 feet to the radius then followed me outside.
Between our stern and the salt marsh was 25 feet. A flat, black forest to our left hid all indicators of movement. I said to Esteban, “It’s low tide. Maybe we see the grass that was under water.” I paused. Shapes formed in my mind. White numbers and curved lines appeared against a blue background. “Oh crap. It’s high tide, not low.” I removed the instrument cover. The depth was 16 feet under the keel.
“Anchor drag,” Esteban’s app sounded again. We looked behind. The marsh was 10 feet away. I started the engines. Esteban grabbed the spotlight and walked to the bow. In the light’s reflection, a narrow band of water and grass appeared.
“How close is that?”
“Maybe 300 feet,” he said. From my perspective, the distance was 100. I moved YSTOP forward. Esteban aimed the spotlight. I pushed the throttles in opposite direction. The boat did not turn. He moved his arm 20° more degrees. I increased the power. The grass remained in same. I increased the power. The boat crept to the right. The grass moved to the left.
Esteban lowered his arm and raised 20 feet of chain. He stood and positioned his arm at 45°. “How can it still be over there?” I mumbled. I turned the boat. He started the windless again.
“Anchor is up. Let’s try again here.”
“Where's the marsh?” He extended his arm. We were less than 200 feet away. He dropped 50 feet of chain. We waited. Behind us, the marsh was 100, 50, 20 feet away.
“We’re dragging.” I yelled. I pushed both throttles forward. He pointed the light, and I adjusted the boat.
“Anchor is up. Move forward.” I increased the power.
“It’s 20 feet of depth.”
“What?”
“It’s 20 feet of depth,” I said louder.
“Let’s drop here.”
I eased the throttles and let the wind slow the boat. He dropped 75 feet of chain.
“Put a point on the chart.”
“What?”
“Put a point on the chart to see if we are dragging,” he said louder.
I touched the man-over-board icon and a point appeared. The boat icon moved half a centimeter from the point. I waited 10 seconds. The icon moved another half centimeter.
“I think we're dragging.” Esteban walked over. The icon moved farther.
“We should go closer to Wally,” he said. We weighed anchor for a third time and used Gypsy Wind’s light to lead the way.
“You’re too close to Wally.”
“How can you tell?”
“You’re too close. You need to go more to the left.”
I slowed our speed and waited. The marsh felt close.
“Go more to the left.”
Feeling like a sloth, the boat turned into the wind then forward. The marsh before us looked 100 feet away.
“Let’s drop here,” he said.
“Okay.” He dropped 75 feet of chain.
“Put a point on the chart.” I placed a point. The icon moved half a centimeter. The boat lurched. The chain creaked. The icon did not change. 30 seconds went by. The icon did not change. He dropped 50 more feet of chain. By 5:45 AM, we were re-anchored. The grass behind was 100 feet away. For good measure, I grabbed the iPad and placed points on two other navigation apps.
The sun would rise soon. I walked downstairs, rolled into bed and calmed my thoughts. Esteban kept watch. And what about sleep? Well, that would wait for tonight.
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