Overnight After Overnight (After Overnight)

Hours turned into days turned into weeks turned into months…

Just kidding. But the ceaseless marshes of Georgia and endless days of motoring started taking a toll on our mental health. We motored non-stop all day every day and seemed to make no progress up the east coast. It was hot. Monster flies helicoptered around our heads. Noseeums (worse than mosquitos) feasted on our limbs. The ICW had shoaling everywhere, to the point where one of us would drive and the other would have to read hazard markers on Active Captain and give directions. The current from the eight foot tide always seemed to be against us. At this rate, it felt like we would reach New York in September.

One day, while motoring past a cut to the ocean, we decided to change things up a bit. The current was pulling us out to sea, and desperate for a change, Emily half-joked about sailing out to the ocean. I flipped the boat around in the middle of the channel and headed away from land. Our two minute should-we-actually-do-this discussion lead us to agree on just a nice lovely day sail, in time to ride the tide back in before dark. Though once we got out and put sails up and shut the engine down, it was too nice to turn around. We had forgotten how extremely refreshing it is to just go for a sail. With our spirits high and the weather forecast looking good, another two minute discussion turned into “let’s just sail overnight to Savannah!” Okay! It was perfect. Too perfect. The wind picked up, and Elpis was skipping and dancing and flying along. Though delightful, we again had to have another two minute discussion and reevaluate. At our quick pace, we would arrive at the inlet at 1 am, far too early; we needed to arrive in daylight to safely travel through the cut. Thinking about how great a full night of sleep sounded (as opposed to doing four hours on - four off shifts all night), we decided to head to the next closest inlet and just stop for the night. If this trip has taught us nothing else, we have at least learned how to be flexible and adapt to new plans.

After visiting Savannah, the stretch of South and North Carolina loomed. Coming from our Georgia experience, we weren’t exactly excited to see what was in store. The idea of looking at marsh for one more day was literally horrifying, and the cost of diesel was starting to add up. Logically, we decided to do three more overnights on our way up the southern coast, crossing natural bays in the shoreline. With each overnight crossing, it always feels like a good idea at the time, until it’s the middle of the night, you’re sleepy, and you really have to pee and you can’t do anything about it. By our third crossing, we had each listened to every piece of music possibly available to us, and the exhaustion from the short jumps made us feel like we had a constant hangover for a week. But we covered a lot of ground and we got to sail along under the stars. It was mostly worth it.

Our last overnight crossing had quite the finish. Unsure of the amount of fuel in the tank (the gauge had recently quit working), I decided to wait until we were near the entrance to Beaufort, NC to get out of some of the ocean swell and add fuel from a jerry can (we were motoring-sailing in a light breeze). Though before we arrived, our dear Chartreuse started to choke and sputter and come to a stubborn halt. I guess we were out of fuel. Haha. The breeze thankfully built enough to sail, so I still waited to tackle the jerry can project. I waited just a bit too long. Unbeknownst to us, a huge fishing tournament had just wrapped up for the day, and all the boats started to head back to the harbor at once. These weren't the nice cute little bass boats, these were multi-million dollar, three-story tuna tower massive sportfishers, and they really did not understand the concept of a slow pass. All of a sudden, we found ourselves being tossed and rolled and getting waked by three-foot waves constantly from every side, often at the same time. No fun.

We did our best to hang on. Emily sailed the boat through the busy channel as we tried to figure out where our turn was, while also conveniently being flushed towards land by the current. I timed a diesel pour with a minor flat spot, ruined by a latecomer and waves tossing diesel everywhere in the cockpit, conveniently soaked up by my tennis shoe. With some of the fuel landing in the tank, I attempted to bleed the lines while Emily sailed us through a winding channel surrounded by boat traffic. Unsuccessful and with no time left for me to work, we somehow managed to anchor under sail in one of the tightest anchorages we have ever been in. It was a little traumatizing, but we survived.

The plus side to our ordeal was being greeted by our friend Holt, whom we had met in the Bahamas. He graciously took us on a tour of town, fed us, and even let us use his house for showers, laundry, and a real bed! Thank you, Holt!

It is safe to say that we are officially really tired of doing overnight crossings. Grand total up to this point: 11 crossings.