Naval Firepower

I spent my time somewhat stranded in Swansboro, fixing the engine and plotting my escape 

Tuesday March 6^th:

After far too long in Swansboro, NC I found myself pulling away to head south dolphins in tow (which I hoped was a good sign), engine running smoothly without any of the smoke that crippled me the last time I had moved the boat.  I was charting completely new territory, and as long as the engine held out- there was nothing that could stop me.

Except… the Navy.  They did a very good job of it too.  Not 7 miles from Swansboro a Navy patrol boat turned me back, telling me via the VHF radio that the ICW was closed “due to a live-fire exercise”. 

I had been hearing thundering booms for a whole week while I was in Swansboro- they went through the night and even in the wind storms that hammered me while I was trying to fix the engine the thunder could be heard, if a little muffled by the wind.

The restricted zone defeats me again, this time with an Apache

I cannot express the disappointment I felt having to turn back AGAIN… and returning with my head bowed and shoulders defeated to Dudley’s Marina back in Swansboro literally cursing the Dolphin good luck sign… only to find out (by calling the base later) that I had the choice of waiting and getting clearance to pass through the restricted zone (which the Navy hadn't let on); this is the same restricted zone that contributed to the decision to turn back when Antonio and I were on the ocean that fateful night little more than a week prior.

Wednesday March 7^th:

Try, and try again.

I disembarked from Dudley’s early in the morning and was back to knock on the Navy’s door again, this time armed with the knowledge of my rights to halt their Live-Fire after a 20 minute wait to make “best speed” through the firing range.  Here is a low-quality taste of what war games sound like:

What you’re hearing is the whine of the Mini-gun, a rapid fire computer controlled Gatlin gun that will make Swiss cheese out of anything the computer might be interested it targeting, and the deeper sound is the fifty caliber machine gun, the heaviest of the human point-and-shoot death machines.

The Marine base seemed to shut down after I got clearance- the sudden lack of "war sounds" while the military stood down to little old me was eerie.  The skeletons littering the landscape didn't help- I got to see some of their casualties as I passed through this land of cloak and dagger:

The V-22 Ospreys were just as active as I hauled ass through the trench back to the safety of civilian life and out of the barren wasteland of the warzone.  Blackhawks and Apaches were abound amongst the F-18’s and all sorts of larger aircraft; I couldn’t help but feel a sense of imminent invasion and causes for war were right around the corner.

I got another intimate taste of how unpredictable the waters of ICW are- I was where I was meant to be, but “something” very hard stopped me in my tracks while I was at my top engine speed- BOOM the whole boat lurched forward as my keel struck whatever was submerged and I winced at the too familiar sound of everything in the cabin flying off the shelves and onto the floor.  Later, I found things that were originally at the back of the boat very near the front.  Whatever I had hit, I hit very hard and all five tons of my boat was stopped instantly.  I’m guessing it was a boulder, or a huge chunk of steel, but whatever it was I half expect to find a sizable chunk missing from my keel the next time the boat gets hauled out of the water…

After that unexpected halt my nerves were pretty frayed, the gunships were still circling and the best part was I had a bridge that needed to open just for me (a first).  It was an intimidating roadblock I knew was in my way, but not as intimidating as the zone I was already in.  The bridge was the finish line, so I was glad to have gotten there.
As I passed out of the restricted zone is seemed like a cease-fire had been lifted and with all the more gusto after being halted, the war machine revved into motion, with every imaginable weapon lighting up like a Christmas tree- of course, I couldn’t see any of them.  But seeing isn’t believing when it comes to the sounds of shells exploding, or the hum of mini-guns spitting out hundreds of rounds per minute, or fifty caliber mounted machine guns hammering away like a construction worker high on caffeine.  All. At. The. Same. Time.

With no ceremony, and still somewhat jarred from the “open-fire” order that went out upon my departure, I requested the swing bridge be opened as Moses and the Red Sea, and so it was.  I passed through and my boat and I were re-christened “movers of bridges”.  A pretty exciting moment, that nobody was around to witness, although Morgan the Dog seemed a little bit worried to see the massive bridge move out of the way…

I didn't realize how used to such a thing I would become

For the rest of the day military craft were buzzing around like big gas guzzling flies and I could still hear the battleship cannons for miles and miles.  I made some calls and found a cheap place to keep the boat overnight- a small dock still under construction.  I was in a slip reserved for professional fishing boats that were apparently out to sea for a few days taking advantage of the pause in rough wind weather.

Lots of empty vacation homes on the ICW

Two swing bridges in one day, what!?

An anchored boat in a spot I had considered trying to anchor my boat

Before realizing this boat was permanently grounded making the mistake I considered....

Apparently John Travolta played a character that lived in this building... or something

Ron's building was basically a convenience store on the water right next to the public boat ramp that was being updated with some new technology.  He couldn’t offer me shore power or wireless internet, but he did let me ride with him into “town” which was a gas station.  The ride gave us plenty of time to talk, and upon hearing my description of the restricted zone, he offered up some of his own local rumors.  

Apparently between two and three Navy destroyers were off the coast, and possibly an aircraft carrier- which accounted for the massive thundering blasts and subsequent explosions I’d been listening to.  He explained that for the past 6 weeks they had been running war games constantly 24/7.  He was worried about it because similar war games had taken place in similar fashion before every major conflict, most recently the Iraq War, before that- Desert Storm.  He could only surmise that these latest games were training for an imminent Iran conflict.

Made it 36 miles... a record under my own power!

Marker 90 Marina (on the right, Travolta to the left)

I went to bed, belly full of Subway, thoughts heavy with a much more tangible sense of war looming.  It was a very rural area, but I felt that this is where you find people who have a deeper insight into these matters than most of the populous.  Mainly for two big reasons; they witness some things that don’t make it to the realm of public knowledge, and they have been around long enough to know what it means.
As I lay there drifting off to muffled sounds of shells being fired from offshore, I thought about what would happen if war games like these were publicized.  We were living in Venezuela when Desert Storm went down, and I remember news footage of the newly instituted “Smart Bombs” doing their damage.  I was 8 years old.

With the Iraq war still fresh in even the youngest citizen’s mind, I think some more interest and scrutiny would be taken regarding where we are with Iran, and what the mobilization effort is really doing if these war games were in the public’s face they way they were for me that day.  If there is one thing I’ve learned in my years of travel, if it’s going on in one small place like Sloop Point NC, then it’s going on nationwide, and there are military bases and installations everywhere.

I listened to hundreds of thousands of American dollars being discharged (or more) and thousands of gallons of jet fuel being burned in that one day- and this had been going on for six weeks.  While I doubt there were any injuries or fatalities, it brought the cost of war very close to home, and impressed me that an engagement (even the vague possibility of one) costs our people much more than what we send overseas, and has a lifelong lasting impression on locals who have seen decades of this behavior come and go…

Thursday March 8^th:

The next morning Ron arrived with a big heavy anchor.  We had talked about how I wanted to get a cheap anchor because I really couldn’t afford marina prices every night, but wasn’t confident that my current anchor I had gotten at Lake Norman was heavy enough to hold my boat in rougher weather.  Confidence is king when it comes to getting a good night’s sleep while anchored in unfamiliar waters alone in the rural dark.  For $20 he gave an anchor that would hold for sure, and after getting some basic contact info for if and when I returned his way, I pushed off to continue south to Wilmington.

So long, Sloop Point NC