Aboard Eleanor

The crew of the Eleanor is giving thanks for a safe passage so far!  We toasted with coffees (The ICW is no place for a cocktail!) to all of our good fortune to be sharing this experience. Jon and I are lucky to have found each other, found Eleanor, and have our great friends and partners in crime and other ridiculousness, Jenn and Craig Barnabee, aboard. 

We’ve been able to stay in the ditch since we left more-Moorehead City, but that didn’t mean it was simple. There was red everywhere on the sonar – meaning the water was treacherously shallow on the edges of our course and sometimes in the middle!  The occasional signs advertising boat towing services don’t inspire a lot of confidence. We took turns helming, brows furrowed over the depth sounder, but Jon never really got a break as he navigated, calling out marks and possible trouble spots like an auctioneer.  

“Red, right – see red, aim there, okgreenseeitturnharderI’mslowingusdowneretheresanothertrawler!”  

Happy hopping dolphin pods brought us some relief from the constant concentration. And for some reason I love these old fishing boats. 

Yippee skippee, at around 4pm we got to use our Chesapeake Yacht Club reciprocity to check in at Myrtle Beach Yacht Club, featuring big clean showers and restrooms. It’s amazing how happy I get these days over these seemingly small amenities. We ate at Clark’s (next door to the club) which featured only oysters from Virginia.  Backtracking on my oyster tour proved disappointing. Still, I pigged out on shrimp, scallops and grits. We capped the day with hot toddies. 

Lots of frost on the bow this morning as we cruised out of port at sunrise. Hadn’t we come south??  

Today we hit the wide and winding Waccamaw River, dripping with Spanish moss and a bit of fall color. 

I don’t want to steal Jenn’s cool bridge photo thunder, but here’s one I liked: 

We had second breakfast of bagels and locks, served on Thanksgiving themed paper plates. That could be about it for any sort of traditional celebration today. It may be a Chinese take-out sort of evening, though we do have plenty of wine, bourbon and beer stowed.  However we celebrate our arrival to our final destination, we’ll be grateful. 

(Posted by Jenn)… Wednesday, Eleanor carried us to North Myrtle Beach, NC. It was a cool, sunny day, and we went under many interesting bridges along the way. Here are a few of them…

A few other pictures from the day…

(Posted by Jenn) …. We spent a whole day in Morehead City, waiting for the gale warning to subside. So, we walked around a lot and ate a lot… first a big breakfast at Grumpy’s diner (I forgot to get a picture)… Then some shopping… and then a nice dinner at Catch 109. All bookended by a beautiful, windy sunrise and a beautiful, calm sunset. Morehead City and Beaufort (across the bridge) offer some really nice southern charm, along with nautical scenes and yummy seafood. Here are some pictures…

(photo of MHNC

DAY THREE (from Terese)

The Pamlico Sound was smooth as pancake batter and Eleanor slit the surface in all of her elegance, turning gracefully into the Neuse River and Adams Creek. We arrived in Moorehead, North Carolina in plenty of time to grocery shop (there’s a bar in the Lowe’s food store!) and get back for beer and dinner at the Red Fish Restaurant. Murky rain and a damp chill = early bed times. By 4am we were drinking coffee, planning day four’s attack on the ICW. Gale winds were blasting the bimini top though, causing Eleanor’s top to flap and rustle. Inside our dockage, waves crashed over the pier. As we watched our designated departure time of 7am dissolve, we aimed instead for breakfast at Grumpy’s, which bears no evidence of its moniker. Naps and emails followed. By 1pm the wind was still beating up the shore. I envisioned myself left hanging by one arm from a piling as Eleanor bobbled away. (Many of our dockages have bow pilings. It is my job to “lasso” them using docking sticks on the way in and de-lasso on the way out. Really, it’s a whole other blog.) Luckily my husband made the call: we surrendered for the day, Jon and Craig opting to tinker with engines while Jenn and I went shopping. I’d like to offer a plug for a lovely olive oil shop, an old fashioned General Store and a few galleries. We were disappointed, though that a shop boasting the best coffee in North Carolina, closed at 2:15pm! Really over -the-top yummy dinner at Catch 109. New ICW goal: oyster sampling!

White caps in our dockage

So the gale was supposed to abate by 10 this morning…but at 1:00pm  it was still howling at 30+ knots. Eleanor is very maneuverable with her twin screws, but lacks a bow thruster and the winds were holding her hard against the dock. Getting off would be tough.

Looking at the chart, there are opportunities every twenty miles with marinas where we could stop, but many lacked restaurants or interesting amenities, so we ultimately came to the conclusion that it would be too much effort to get underway to go a few miles down the waterway and end up in a town with less to offer than Morehead City. Plus it is freakin’ cold! Temps in the low 30s. Wind chill with the GALE FORCE WINDs is way colder! So, we happily paid for another night and settled in.

Craig and I got caught up on a few maintenance issues. Topped off batteries, checked over the engines thoroughly, and generally made Eleanor ready to head back out tomorrow. Meanwhile the ladies went shopping, but that is their story to share with you later. We are off for another highly recommended seafood restaurant. Last night’s Red Fish Grill was really great so we head ashore soon with high expectations.  

URGENT - MARINE WEATHER MESSAGE
National Weather Service Newport/Morehead City NC
933 PM EST Sun Nov 21 2021

...GALE WARNING REMAINS IN EFFECT FROM 10 PM MONDAY TO 10 AM EST TUESDAY...

* WHAT...North winds 20 to 30 kt with gusts up to 35 kt and seas 4 to 7 ft expected.

* WHERE...The coastal waters from Ocracoke Inlet to Surf City.

* WHEN...From 10 PM Monday to 10 AM EST Tuesday.

* IMPACTS...Strong winds will cause hazardous seas which could capsize or damage vessels and reduce visibility.

PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS...

Mariners should alter plans to avoid these hazardous conditions. Remain in port, seek safe harbor, alter course, and/or secure the vessel for severe conditions.

                      *    *    *

The other part of the weather forecast is that it is unseasonably cold. 30 degrees here. Fortunately the heat is working great onboard Eleanor so we are comfortable. Have to go with the flow on the ICW. Looks like a good morning to go find a nice warm diner and have some biscuits and gravy for breakfast. 

“What type of boat is Eleanor?” our friend yelled from the dock in Wanchese, North Carolina. (It’s pronounced WanChe. The last part of Cheese is silent.) Denny had only seen pictures of her on Facebook and this was his first-time seeing Eleanor in real life.

Denny and his wife, Gail, good neighbors of Terese’s in Edgewater, were spending Thanksgiving week in Nags Head. They had read on FB we were heading for Oregon Inlet and had come searching marinas in the off chance they would find us. Bingo!

Denny’s question gave me pause. When asking bridge tenders for an opening we self-identified as a “black hulled flybridge southbound,” and while that was true as a description, it didn’t really capture what category of boat Eleanor fit. It really didn’t answer Denny’s question.

Eleanor is not a sport fisherman, although has some of the same design elements. Long open foredeck. No lifelines or rails forward. Tall flybridge set aft. But the comparison ends there. Sure, you can fish off her, but you can also fish off a pier. She has a comfortable bench seat that runs the full beam at the aft end of the cockpit. It wouldn’t look good covered in fish guts, and you certainly couldn’t land a big marlin onboard with that sofa in the way. She is Not a sport fish.

I’m a little vague on the difference between a Convertible and a Sedan. It may be the size of the cockpit, as the Convertible is supposed to bridge the gap between a Sport Fish and a Sedan. Our cockpit is for socializing and taking naps underway, not fishing, so Convertible is out.

Sedans tend to have a bit more superstructure carried forward and Eleanor is low and lean up front so doesn’t look like the other sedans out there. Plus, we are narrow for our length. Today’s Sedans are fifty percent beamier than us, so the lean and mean Eleanor slices through the water like a kayak vs a beamy rowboat. We sacrifice interior space compared to floating condos but are still comfortable. And finally, almost all Sedans are white. Only in the last year or two have they started adding color to the gelcoat and coming in other hull colors than plain white. Eleanor is black, with a varnished teak transom, and a cutwater and other trim in polished stainless steel. A very unique look on the water, and not something seen on other Sedans. So, we are not a Sedan.

Eleanor has a couple of other design elements that make her unique, and therefore hard to classify. The most notable is her forward cockpit, inspired from the designs of commuter boats that ran titans of industry to their offices on Wall Street from Long Island in the roaring twenties. Reached through a ladder in the forward stateroom, the “frockpit” as Terese has named it, is a delightful place underway for four to sit comfortably with a windshield deflecting the breeze up and over their heads. One could say Eleanor is a 52-foot bowrider and be accurate, but it misses the grandeur and art deco elements of her design.

This frockpit may be the best clue to answer Denny’s question. So, for now, Denny, to answer your question we are going with “Art Deco Commuter.” There are only another dozen Midnight Lace 52s out there, and twenty of the 44-footers, so we are in a pretty small group. I’m not confident our classification will catch on and answer the question without further explanation but with a unique boat we knew we would be open to conversations at every marina.

Eleanor floats contentedly, chrome gleaming in the morning sunlight, dew bubbles rolling off thick, new varnish. A full moon still hovers over the West River as her owners and caretakers, Jon and I, board, toting only our last-minute provisions. Our crew, Craig and Jenn Barnabee wrestle their gear aboard, stowing it neatly in the compact guest bunk room, which until recently had served as stowage for tool boxes and cans of Awlwood.

Eleanor, named for the former first lady as a hardworking and hardy lady—stylish even if she needed a bit of upkeep, is a 52-foot Choey Lee Midnight Lace.  We’d spent just over a year replacing bits of her parts, overhauling others, pulling and tightening her inside and out until we declared her fit for a voyage. Now, on this crisp, shiny morning, she is ready.

           

            We left Chesapeake Yacht Club at 7:02, with the leisurely goal of cruising the Intracoastal Waterway, reaching Eleanor’s winter port, Charleston, South Carolina, by Thanksgiving.  

  Both Jon and I are blissful at Eleanor’s steadfast performance as we cruised uneventfully down the Chesapeake, spotting the occasional dolphin and dodging the occasional crab pot. The ladies helmed often, taking breaks to slap together lunches and warm up below. About eight hours of steady speed landed us in Hampton Virginia, where there was time before sundown to scrub the boat then entertain friends for cocktails before heading off to dinner. 

DAY TWO

Another 7am departure treated us to bottom-up views of menacing Navy warships lined along the docks at Norfolk. Jon was able to describe various types and point out cannons and structural differences until we ran out of ships, passing bouy 26—our official welcome to the Intracoastal, then easily slid under the first bridge. It was the second, (or technically, third) which became our first obstacle. I binoculared the radio channel.

 “Gilmerton Bridge, channel 13.” I called out. Jon radioed the tender.

“This is Eleanor, the dark hulled fly bridge. When can we expect that railroad bridge to open?”

“I’m double checking. Ah, yes, it’s closed until Tuesday.” Today was Sunday. I began thinking this would be a long time to float around the ICW.

“That’s strange because I read that the closure was last week,” Jon responded. “Musta changed.”

More than a fly in the ointment, we’d have to toss our entire plan. Jon began shuffling charts.

“Looks like we’re headed out to sea,” he said, all grins. I wasn’t sure. 

“We’ll be able to see land the whole way, correct?”  The idea of our work of art, our pride, our personal tender bouncing about without a point of reference made me a little nervous. 

“We will. We’re coming out here,” he pointed to a chart, and we’ll go back in here,” he said, pointing to the Oregon Outlet. Or inlet, maybe depending on which way you’re going. Next he called a marina and made a dock reservation at Wachese, North Carolina. 

I took the wheel as we poked back up the Intracoastal, leaving the Gilmerton obstacle in our wake. A few hours later I took Eleanor across the line of demarcation into the great Atlantic. Pretty exhilarating… our girl was now an ocean-going vessel! She coasted gracefully up and down the ocean swells as Jon, Craig, Jenn and I swapped turns at the helm.

It was while Jen was piloting that the wind began to ripple then chop, making deeper and deeper troughs between waves. We passed around prophylactic Dramamine, swinging from seat to seat, avoiding unnecessary weaves through the cabin.  Eleanor cut through the seas, seeming to revel in her opportunity to perform, sashaying up and swerving down. Still, I was more than relieved to see the Oregon inlet bridge, even though it was known for its shifting shallows. Eleanor draws about three and a half feet. Jon took the helm and I sat close to the depth sonder, calling out descending numbers.  Waves were breaking on a shoal, just a few yards to our port. We slowed to near neutral. 

“Eight.”

“Seven-point-four.”

“Six.” I gripped the arm of my chair, bracing for a slow-motion grounding. 

“Five.” 

“Four-point five.”  An alarm sounded. If we lost just a few more inches we would ground.
             “Five-two. Six. Five. Six-three. Six-seven. Six. Seven. Eight.”

I let out my breath. It seemed we’d made it. I wanted a bourbon. Instead I squinted at tiny chart numbers as we weaved through a narrow channel toward Wanchese. Our overnight stay would be at the gas dock, surrounded by sport fishing yachts. Our hosts informed us that the town was named after Chief Wanchese and that was pretty much it for local color. The only restaurant in town was closed. We settled in for a cheese and cracker snack dinner, and snuggled into our jammies, way too early. I sat back in my bunk, fingering pages trying to decide which book to read.

“Hey Terese, your friends are outside!” Craig called from the saloon. Craig is our resident prankster. I could only imagine what he was luring me toward, maybe dive-bombing seagulls or fishermen without pants.  I padded warily out onto the back deck in my travel slippers to find my old neighbors from Edgewater standing on the dock. 

“Isn’t this crazy!” said Gail, who explained her son-in-law had noticed Eleanor and had seen Facebook photos and I’m not even sure how it all happened, but there they were, standing on the dock in Wachese, which I’m pretty sure doesn’t even have a traffic light. We chatted for a bit, their elderly bones unwilling to climb aboard, then they went on their way. A happy coincidence. I barely ever run into them in Maryland and we live ten miles apart. By now everyone else had dozed off, but the chilly chat had awakened me so I settled in to read those books for a bit before sinking into what would be a deep ten-hour sleep.