Captain's Log

Skinwalker Log, November 19, 2008, Thursday 1319 hrs

30 34 N
081 27 W
Mile 725 AICW 10 miles south of Fernandina, FL

How do I start writing about this portion of our southbound odyssey. Oh, Yeah. BANG, Shoosh, BANG, Shoosh we are heading toward the outer ICW Marker of St. Andrew Sound, located just outside of the sound exposed to the ambient fury of the North Atlantic Ocean. BANG, Shoosh. The wind is on our beam and we are being bashed by the confused seas defined by the North east winds, a rushing in-coming tide and out flowing river. We are tense with anxiety as we go BANG Shoosh every four seconds. This is not fun. To add to the “not fun” part, it is 0930 hours and it has only reached 40 degrees; which is better than the 29 degrees we awoke to while anchored in the south end of the Frederica River of St. Simon Island, Georgia.

It has not been easy being us for the last two days. We double and triple our layers of clothes during the day and pile blankets high on us at night—so high the weight of the blankets are an obstacle when attempting to turn over. But yet the vast nearly impenetrable marshlands of Georgia glow as with a magic veil under velvet sky saturated with celestial orbs that loom large in the thickness of night.

We have been running hard and fast without success to stay ahead of the cold. A few days ago, or was it months, I had decided to make an exceptionally long day’s run in a length of waterway that had sparse anchorage possibilities. Thanks to fair tides and my mistresses of propulsion in the engine room, we arrived at our first choice of anchorages early, and then elected to push the ladies harder and farther to reach the next anchor hole some miles down the road. It was a “Newbie” error in judgment to continue and once we reached a point of no return the tide punished us for my arrogance. We didn’t make our anchorage before night.

We got caught out on the ICW as the last of the sunlight turned from orange to purple to the darkest of darks or, as I think of it, the “evening vespers”. I think of that because saying as many prayers immediately before my impending death is important to me. I ask for all sorts of forgiveness and postulate how it will be forever if ‘please Lord, just let me live through this one last foolish newbie mistake”. I pray to all the gods in case there are more then just one. Well, although pretty sure I wasn’t going to die, I was equally sure my life wasn’t going to be very nice for the next couple of hours. It wasn’t.

The dark came on thick and impenetrable. Cloud cover scuttled in hiding the moon I had counted on. Then the clouds sank to earth and engulfed us in a terrible fog.

I became disoriented. I was lost in the middle of a waterway 1000 miles long but with a navigation channel in this location only 50 yards wide. You wouldn’t believe you could get lost in something only 50 yards wide—But I promise you it is so much easier than you might imagine.

I finally found one side of the waterway by gently running into the mud and I found the other side by noting a private dock looming up before me, right before I ran into the mud on that side. I took a big breath, released some of the panic and confusion and attempted to zone in on our computer navigation system, but we were going too slow for it to give us a good directional indication. Next I reduced the radar range to a quarter mile and managed to find the center of the channel south bound--I think, and developed enough forward speed long enough for the GPS to orient us with a proper direction. We pulled out the 1,000,000 candlepower spotlight and Lynn took it out on the bow to seek out reference points such as channel markers although they were few and far between. Once we found one in the dense fog we were able to go pillar to post, red to green for about two hours at approximately four mph to the first available anchorage on a side channel in the marsh which, of course, was one requiring going past the channel and making a near “U” turn and then curving hard to the right to complete the entry while dodging shallows and two hands full of crab traps.

Wow. Were we ever glad to get our anchor down. Soon after arrival, of course, the fog dissipated, the moon came out and we wondered how we ever got so confused. Easily, is the correct answer. We were fortunate to move out of the ICW when we did as we heard a small cruise ship, the American Eagle, groped its way down the still foggy section we had recently traveled. We watched from the safety of our side channel as the Eagle ghosted out of the fog in front of us and glide by with lights ablazing.

After we had a hot meal of homemade soup we stood outside in the moonlight and listen to the silence. Soon the fog returned adding an eerie stillness in a world of nothingness.

I heard something. Lynn concurred.

It was a strong dull sound, almost a baritone hiss, as if a thousand trucks on a very distant freeway, their sound of tires on the pavement deep and throaty. It started almost imperceptibly gently in the distance that seemed like a mile or two and we followed the sound as it came slowly closer and grew in intensity. It was as if a sound was stalking us. Frightening, yet fascinating at the same time. We almost wanted to hide below, but we were frozen in place as out of the fog we became suddenly aware of rain. It was the rain traveling slowly across the vast marsh, beating a relentless tattoo on the tall splendid grass that we heard coming slowly, relentlessly, seeking out the Skinwalker. It was one of the most unusual experiences we have had since the beginning of our cruising life.

Our life is unique and full of joy and we hope yours is also.

Bones & Capt Lynnie