We covered the same ground this past week, more or less, that we did in September when we sailed in the opposite direction, from Hampton north to Annapolis, but all our anchorages were different. Even though we visited Stingray Point both times, we went in via the Piankatank River (to its south) in September, and via the Rappahannock River (on its north) in October. Here is a map (33 KB) showing both north and south routes, north in red and south in gray.
We didn't see a lot of other cruising boats until we got south of the Rappahanock. Suddenly it seemed there were sailboats all around us, all heading south. We shared an anchorage with an Island Packet in Brown's Bay off Mobjack Bay, and in the morning, as they followed us out and south, other boats filtered out of Mobjack Bay and into the channel toward Hampton Roads.
When we passed the entrance to our anchorage of refuge from Hurricane Dennis, by Fort Monroe in Hampton, we looked in and were astounded at the number of boats there. We'd shared the place with only one other boat when we were there in September. The Hampton Public Piers, where we'd moved when the storm wouldn't leave, was entirely full up with boats doing the Caribbean 1500 rally. The Hampton River was crowded with anchored boats, as thick as they had been in Annapolis around the time of the boat show, and in fact, we saw many boats we recognized from Annapolis. We were especially pleased to see our friends Alisa and Terry on Kindly Light, which had been at a mooring in Annapolis harbor near us.
In fact, although we'd thought we were at the tail end of the cruiser migration, it now seems like we're right in the thick of things. We listen to the SSB and ham cruiser nets each morning, and the position reports are still scattered up and down the entire coast. But there is a huge concentration in the Hampton and Norfolk area, and almost everyone's getting ready to hit the ICW.
The Hampton River was packed with boats, and most of them had both bow and stern anchors to keep from swinging into each other -- or into the channel. The local marine police were radioing boats who anchored not completely clear of the channel, asking them to move (and in at least once case we heard of, showing up in a boat to move them!). This made things a little tricky, as the river rapidly shoaled outside the channel.
We had found an apparently perfect spot in about 9 feet just outside the channel between two marks. But as we prepared to lower our dinghy and run to town for our errands, we got a call on the radio -- we were partway in the channel. So we set a stern anchor, figuring that would fix things, and turned off the radio.
But when I dinghied ashore, I could see from the public dock that we were still in the channel. When I returned to the boat, I decided that we really needed to move, since they'd asked us not to anchor in the channel. Britt pointed out that there was plenty of room in the channel around us, but I felt like we were being real jerks, and insisted that we do the polite thing and move. It was quite an argument, but I was really uncomfortable, so I decided to do something about it. I dinghied out and lifted the stern anchor, then moved it shoreward quite a bit so that when we tightened up both anchors we were well out of the channel. And we were still in 7 feet of water, so everything was great, right? Except -- I had forgotten it was high tide.
Bad weather was forecast for the next day, starting in the afternoon with a real blow coming toward evening, and along with many other boats in the Hampton River, we decided that it would be a lot safer to leave the crowded anchorage before it happened. So the next day, we made reservations at the city marina in Norfolk, figuring that we could do some indoor touristy stuff during the predicted cold weather for the next few days, and prepared to move on. Except -- it was low tide. The depth sounder read 4.8 feet, which meant that Windom's keel was about 6 inches deep in mud.
Britt smugly "I-told-you-so" when I failed to power out with the motor, and of course it was my fault we were stuck. However, it was important that we unstick ourselves quickly. High tide wasn't for another 6 hours, and we wanted to get out right away. Fortunately, the reason we wanted to get out was the thing that got us out of there: we hoisted the sails, which heeled us over in the increasing breezes. Whenever we tilted with a big gust, I gunned the motor. After a few tries, we slid forward smoothly, and Britt hauled up the anchor quickly, then dropped the sails, and we motored out into the grey gale. It was only a few hours to Norfolk, where we tied up at the marina, forestalling any more arguments about anchoring practice -- for the near future, anyway!
We've gotten into the habit of monitoring VHF channel 16, and October 31 was an amazing red-letter day for the Coast Guard. We're not sure why, because the weather was lovely, but there was a constant stream of distress calls. An overturned boat, several mechanically disabled boats, and not one but two fires on board vessels. One was on a 600+ foot cargo ship carrying rubber, the Hoegh Duke, and after I heard the initial distress call we listened for updates all day. The radioman spoke English with an Asian accent and was clearly panicked. One of the holds was on fire, and they were anchored outside the bay. The Coast Guard contacted him every half hour or so, and put out requests for assistance, and sent equipment and trained people. That evening we heard that the fire was out and all was ok.
A few days later, as we motored down the channel toward Norfolk, we saw the Hoegh Duke in a pier, being unloaded. The ship looked fine (all cargo ships look pretty beat even when they're in good condition, I think!) but I bet they had a lot of repairs to make.
