First Things First

Colleen drove all the way from Buford, Georgia to Charlotte, NC to help me get the boat on Chuck’s Truck for its journey to Duck Creek Marina near the coast, which it would have to take without me.  She also very graciously volunteered to drive me and the dog to meet the boat when it got there.  She arrived early on the 14^th at Antonio’s house where I had been staying while the boat was “on-the-hard”.  We drove to Lake Norman so I could snap a photo of the loading and settle my bill with Tim of All-Season’s Marina.  Spending more than I had originally planned on there, the first evidence of what would become the financial debacle peeked out.  Then we spent the day running around town taking care of the last few things I needed a car for in Charlotte.



Chuck the Shipper at Lake Norman

This was our trip to New Bern in Colleen's (borrowed) car

After a nice night of hanging out at Antonio’s and throwing back a few beers, we woke up really early on the 15^th and made our way halfway across the state to meet the boat in New Bern.  Turns out it was actually across the bridge from New Bern, an unremarkable town unremarkably named Bridgeton.  There we watched the boat unceremoniously slung around, although this time it was made a little more interesting because the people operating the sling were ancient oaks- literally almost a century old, yet the men scrambled around like spring chickens, hopping to and fro swinging their hooks wildly.  This was all before I had so much as had a conversation with them about what they were supposed to be doing.  Bob, Frank, and Jim definitely knew what they were doing and it was clear I’d need to own a boat, and work around them for a few decades before I had the right to “talk shop” with them.  I could not help but be reminded of the three-blind-mice of infamy watching them work their magic.

This is what Bridgeton looked like from my perspective on arrival:

...and the very nice view of New Bern from the Bridgeton bridge on the way there.

This is Bob, one of Duck Creek Marina's three blind mice

Once the boat was safely in the water again I settled up with Chuck and his Truck, and was wished well as he pulled away to continue the transient life of a shipper.  He outlined his next few days, which covered more miles than the average American travels in a decade.  Then he was gone.

The boat getting taken off Chuck's Truck, just prior to getting wet again

The boat, still mast-less, was in a watery concrete bunker of sorts, and Colleen and I retired after hitting up the grocery store for some essentials and a Chinese takeout as a treat.  The Chinese was pretty bad (even for a rustic town called Bridgeton [under the bridge]) but the company made up for it.  Morgan made friends with the local yard-dog, Fred, who liked carrying around rocks and digging in the black waters of the marsh, which was everywhere.  It was going to be a very long drive back to Georgia for Colleen the following day, so we tried to take it easy and went to bed nice and early.

After Colleen’s departure the next morning I set about preparing the mast to be raised and remounted on deck.  There were electrical concerns that needed to be fixed including getting my steaming light (halfway up the mast) working, but just organizing the rigging and ropes after the highway trip proved to be a real frustration.  Together with the three Ancients we got the mast back on-deck Friday and I set about getting things locked down where they were supposed to be.

The "Ride" I borrowed from the Ancients to get to the store

By this point I had leaned on the three Ancients quite a lot, borrowing their bike with no (real) brakes to get to the nearest store, their expertise in the electrical domain, and their patience…  but Antonio was arriving the next day and only had a week to travel with me, so I couldn’t slow down.  I was having to get used to asking favors wherever I could because I uncharacteristically didn’t have my own transportation, nor an extra set of hands (which is needed for almost everything having to do with boat prep).

Antonio arrived the following morning and we continued the process of readying the boat.  In a massive miscalculation I decided to replace the jib halyard, and used a rope of questionable tensile strength to do so.  I figured that once the jib was up it didn’t need too much strength to stay up… which I later learned was not quite accurate.  Not before climbing the mast to run this dubious new line, however.  Antonio used the one proper rope I had on the boat to hoist me with a winch to the top of the mast which was quite the experience (one which I will have to repeat in the relatively near future).

That same day we met a young guy named Ryan who was working on his boat getting it ready to be put in the water for his own adventure.  He was very helpful, giving us a ride to West Marine so I we could repair a small tear in the mainsail with the aptly named product “Sail Tape”.  He also offered us some outdated charts that would come in handy and we found a note in the rain outside the boat with some advice and more well-wishing.  It reads like this:

Yo Guys,

Here’s the missing page from your chart book that will get you out of here. 

Also, I’ve attached some sage that you should light and circle the boat with (which was missing).  The protocol is typically to have a Portuguese virgin piss in your bilge, but the sage will have to do.

 Last, if you’re gonna leave the boat moored in Fl, hang some CDs on deck, otherwise you’ll come back to bird shit all over the place-

Ryan

A few more long trips by foot and bike to the grocery store (which was the closest building to Duck Creek Marina) and some drinking later and Antonio and I were ready (maybe) for our departure the next morning from New Bern