ICW: Day 1

OMFG! I can't believe how naive I was about the ICW! This is the image I had in my head: Lazing around in the cockpit, passing through beautiful marshland and watching wildlife, with the occasional bridge to clear, and letting every other vessel pass us; the kids pointing every which way in amazement as they saw osprey, bald eagles, and alligators. All that with the shiniest grins on our faces.

Let me repeat the opening phrase: OMFG! The first day on the ICW was nothing like what I had imagined!

We left Hampton early in the morning (early for our standars: 7:45). Unfortunately we had to see Norfolk and Portsmouth from the cockpit (it's getting cold and we need to get moving south). We saw one aircraft carrier and all manner of navy vessels, including a blinding white hospital ship. Did I mention the aircraft carrier? Beautiful behemoth. Too bad humanity is building those, but they're still impressive machines.

After the navy base, the traffic started. Tugs pushing all sorts of vessels, wakes that put those of weekend power-boaters to shame, small craft, big craft, everyone knowing where they were going but us. Overwhelming? Nah...

Navy shipyard?

Waterborne traffic subsided as we left the port and shipbuilding areas. But then the bridges started. Railroad bridges and highway bridges and county route bridges and bridges that seem to be there just to kill that tranquil image I had of the ICW. The railroad bridges, thanks be to Gaia, are "usually open," meaning that boaters don't necessarily need to contact the bridge operator to request an opening. We lucked out on all railroad bridges, especially on the first one, which was closed not 10 minutes after we passed under it.

Some bridges are closed unless an opening is requested. They open on a schedule, typically every hour or half hour, only if requested to do so. The bridge operators were courteous, curt, patient, and annoyed; the whole gamut of human moodiness. Most importantly, they did their jobs and we were able to motor on with minimal wait. We lucked out there too, because, even though we were told to control our speed and arrive at the bridges on their scheduled openings, we found the exercise tiring (whiny as we are) and decided to roll the dice and play it by ear. And it worked out too!

There are also fixed bridges. We motored under one that is 65 feet high. The tip of our mast is 62 feet off the water. It was tight. From the cockpit it looked like we were going to scrape the bottom of the bridge's deck. Fortunately, we didn't. This boat has gone through the ICW before without hitting any bridges. And we measured the mast specifically for this purpose. We should be fine...

The first few hours it seemed like there was a bridge every 10 minutes, leaving very little time for lazing around and bird-watching. Fingers quickly mucking with the chart plotter to make sure we were getting to the same bridge we were reading about on the cruising guide; eyes going frantically from chart plotter to other boats around us to the cruising guide to day markers to the bridge; brains on the verge of implosion. Frantic, incessant activity. It was interesting. Enjoyable, not so much.

We also experienced our first lock, called the Great Bridge Lock (and not to be confused with the Great Bridge Bridge!). The lock is there to move boats between the different heights of the Virginia Cut and the Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal. We entered the lock, tied up to the south wall, the gate was closed behind us, and a few minutes later the gate in front of us was open. I think we were floated up about a foot. An easy lock, fortunately, given our nil experience maneuvering Taia into and out of locks.

Great Bridge Lock

The Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal is a man-made canal, and empties into the North Landing River. This river winds through marshes and forests. It is beautiful. The 2 or 3 fishermen we saw, people who look like they just walked out of a Cold Mountain set, add to the character of the river. We're anchored in a bend in the river, just a few miles north of the Virginia-North Carolina state line. The wind is quiet. We trust the stars are there but neglect them in favour of staying warm in the cabin.

Albemarle and Chesapeake Canal

The ICW is nothing like I imagined it. The first 30 miles of it require a little more work than I expected. It's the only place of its kind that I know. It's unique.

Goodbye Chesapeake Bay

We're currently anchored in the Hampton River, smack-dab in downtown Hampton, VA. It's taken us 8 days to get here. Of those 8 days, we only sailed 6 days (mainly motor-sailed, actually, since the wind and the weather in general haven't been the most cooperative).

Our impression of Chesapeake Bay is mixed. We liked it, but have become convinced that we've experienced it on the wrong boat (too drafty for these shallow waters) and with the wrong weather (it's been coldish and rainy). We'll be back for more; of that there's little doubt. The bay is like a cradle of United States history, starting with the early settlements of the seventeenth century.

In a couple of days we'll be sailing across Hampton Roads and into the Elizabeth River. Norfolk and Portsmouth sit at the confluence of the Elizabeth and the James rivers. Also, the Intracoastal Waterway has its mile 0 marker in the Elizabeth River. That's where we're headed.

The scenery will change for us and hopefully the weather will get warmer.

Winds of Change

We think Taia is ready and so are we. We're going to start sailing as soon as we come back from Pittsburgh. And things will change for all of us.

Up until now we've been at a marina. We still had a car. Life was still easy. When we come back from Pittsburgh, we won't have a car anymore and our daily routine will change.

The plan is to sail the Chesapeake Bay and get to Norfolk, where the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) starts. We'll motor through the ICW (you can't really sail much because it's pretty narrow) and eventually get to Florida. Along the way we might do a couple of offshore overnight hops to gain some experience.

We think we will be sailing an average of 5-6 hours a day (weather permitting, of course). There may be days where we don't sail at all, though,  if we want to check a place out or wait for better weather. As we go, we will need to keep track of a few things:

1. Weather conditions. Monitoring the weather and what mother nature throws at us is going to be a constant in our lives from now on.
2. Tides and currents. This is, probably, one of the biggest changes for us. Having only sailed in lakes before, we never had to deal with any of these.
3. Water depth. Taia's draft is 6 feet. That means we need at least that much water or we run aground... This was never an issue for us in Lake Huron. Chesapeake Bay is shallow and so is the ICW. 
4. Bridges. We'll need to cross under a few bridges on our way to Florida. That means we need to know what the bridge clearance is (Taia's height is 62 feet) and then contact the bridge operator to request an opening.
5. Traffic. There's a lot more boat traffic here than what we are used to in the Great Lakes. I already started reviewing all the rules of passage I learned a while ago!
6. Route planning. Every day we'll need to plan where we want to go, check if the weather conditions are suitable for that trip and find a nice and protected anchorage to spend the night.
7. Water consumption. Taia has 2 water tanks totaling 300 gallons that we use to drink, cook, bathe and anything else that requires water. We have been measuring our consumption and we believe that will last us about 2 weeks. At that point, we will need to go to a marina and re-fill our tanks.
8. Diesel. Taia has 2 tanks totaling 130 gallons. We still haven't measured how much that will last us but with the new tank level monitor we installed it will be easy to know when we need to drop by a marina for a refill :)
9. Propane. We have two 20-pound bottles of propane that we use to cook or barbecue. As soon as the one we're using runs out we switch bottles and start looking for a place to have the first one refilled. Each bottle should last about a month.
10. Electricity. We have 10 batteries, totaling about 1000 amp hours. Once we start sailing, all our electricity will come from that. So we need to watch it. We have measured our consumption and we think we're going to be using about 250 amp hours a day. Fortunately the boat is equipped with a battery monitor and a diesel generator to charge the batteries. Once we get to Florida we'll install solar panels to reduce our diesel consumption.

To prepare for all this, we have been doing a lot of research. We have bought the latest electronic charts, paper charts, and guides. We also follow a few blogs written by people who have cruised the areas we'll be visiting. We also talk to people that have done this or are about to do this. 

Another change that is happening is the goodbyes. As we prepare to sail south, we are forced to say goodbye to people we have met in the last year. With some of them, we have became very good friends. Some of them we'll see again in the islands of the Caribbean. But it's never easy to say goodbye. I really hate farewells. But, hey, I'm already used to them. After all, 13 years ago, I migrated to Canada...

We're Ready! (are we, really?)

About an hour ago we tightened the last bolt for the last project on our must-have-before-we-leave list. Every project we set out to complete by mid September is done. Yes, you read that correctly, mid September. We wanted to be out of the marina by then. Without wanting to point out the obvious, let me state that we are behind schedule.

It appears that being ready for cruising is like being ready for parenthood: you're never really ready and in the end you'll do what you think is best and can do. What's best is not always doable, so we learn to adjust our expectations or live in a constant state of neurotic disappointment. Not that we've had to adjust our expectations too much. We're lucky to have awesome kids and an awesome boat.

In our inexperienced opinion, Taia is ready to go. What about the crew? We're chomping at the bit! Two out of four butt holes aboard are tightly puckered up, but we want to get started. We dream of quiet anchorages, marine wild life, interesting towns with great people, and beautiful sunsets at sea. On the flip side, we fret about inadequate navigation and boat-handling skills, bad weather, sea monsters, and mermaids. Everything will come, the good and the bad. Everything will come sooner rather than later!

Ironically enough, we'll be taking a 4-day break from boat life next week. We're driving to Pittsburgh to spend a few days with family. After that, ready or not, we go. And we enjoy.

Our new routine

I talked to my grandma the other day and she said: "Aren't you tired of doing nothing all day long?". I laughed. Although is not the first time we were asked that same question. It's a common misconception to think that, because we're no longer working, we don't have anything to do. Well, believe it or not, we do!

What do we normally do?

I already covered in my previous post all the boat projects we've been working on. That usually takes up most of the day for Ernesto. He's always busy: fixing something that is broken, researching the best way to fix another thing, looking where to buy a spare part and finding the best price for it, etc. Even now, for example, he's replacing our cabin lights, while I write this post.

I, on the other hand, teach the kids school every morning. Ernesto will eventually join us too, but for now, that's entirely my responsibility. And I have to admit I enjoy it.
The rest of my time is spent doing mundane things: grocery shopping, laundry, preparing launch or dinner, cleaning the boat.

But every day we also try to do something fun together. Be it going to the swimming pool, playing a game together or going to a fun place. This week we finally decided to buy a kayak. The kids are super excited about it. And the grownups too :)

On the Vicissitudes of Shitting Aboard

We have a manual head, which translated to English means "a toilet with a handle that needs to be pumped vigorously ten to fifteen times to ensure that the bowl's contents are safely pushed through a 12-foot long hose and into a waste tank." As a side note, I'd like to add that nautical terms aren't entirely whimsical; they can pack plenty of meaning, as you can gather from the preceding example.

Around the muscle-enlarging pump there are two valves: a flapper valve and a joker valve (I'm not sure those terms are exclusive to the marine world). The flapper valve opens on the up-stroke of the pump, and thus the bowl's contents, be they shit, piss, Lego™ pieces, or toilet paper, make their way into the pump. On the down-stroke, these Lego™ pieces and their friends are shoved through the joker valve. This valve is a piece of rubber that looks like a ping-pong ball that grew a bill (like a duck, not like the ubiquitous yet hard- to-earn money). The bill has a slit that, upon pressure exerted by the user through the pump, is violated open to allow Lego™ pieces through. The idea is that once anything goes through the joker valve, nothing comes back into the toilet.

The joker valve often gets tired and fails to keep its bill shut.

What happens then?

Yes, you imagine correctly: Lego™ pieces flow back into the bowl. To be fair and truthful, it's only liquid that makes it back to the bowl. Brown and odorous and pungent liquid. A pleasure to perceive while you're having breakfast less than 2 meters away from the head (remember, a boat's head is its bathroom).

The solution, of course, comes through a pleasurable few minutes of pump disassembly, water of questionable provenance dripping all over your hands, and careful inspection of parts that are mostly covered in brown, slimy goo. If a part looks like it might cause trouble, it needs to be replaced. We like to avoid trouble.

Natalia and I have reared two children, so we're no strangers to having Lego™ pieces slathered over our hands or some incredibly cute baby pee sprayed on our faces. We are not grossed out by our own bodily fluids. We deal with bad joker valves like we dealt with diapers: it has to be done and we do it with a smile on our faces. After all, we live on a boat. That makes us happy.