Month: October 2016

Where Peter and Marion have their island home. House up on stilts, to avoid the surge water in storms from reaching the house itself, even in hurrican weather. In fact the building regulations require all new houses in the areas likely to be affected by flood waters, to be on stilts. Makes for imaginative staircases. The traditional Charleston houses all had ornate staircases up to the front entrance, one on the right for the ladies and one on the left for the gentlemen. This being a State previously with plantations with slaves, and even though slavery was abolished long ago, there is still a visible difference between the white and black areas of the town and its environs.  The recent mayor, of 40 years no less, had a life-long vision of getting the two societies less segregated and more integrated, and had had considerable success.

Peter has been very generous host and taken me to places of historic interest, brushing up his own knowledge he says, latest to see the world’s first naval submarine used in warfare, in the 1860’s. The “Hunley” was powered by seven men operating a long cranked shaft connected to the propeller, in very cramped quarters. The mission was successful, sinking the largest ship maintaining the blockade in the Civil War, but the Hunley did not return. It was found only recently, in an unexpected place, raised and now housed in a research building in a special tank and water, and being painstakingly cleaned from its coralgrowth and brought back to “original”. Sat in a model of the “cabin”, and cranked. Very cramped. Very claustophobic. Pioneers must always suffer.

Friday evening an event in their common house, numptious nibbles, our contribution being gravlaks, (much praised), followed by voluminous retired chef Robert singing popular songs and arias in an enormous voice, drowning the accompanying piano and violin. Resounding applause. Then his recounting anecdotes from the life of one of America’s iconic chefs, Julia Childs. Quite a mixture. Quite an evening.

Yesterday evening, (saturday), a dinnerparty here, including a guest who experienced hurricane Hugo in his sailing boat, way up a sidecreek to the river. Fascinating tale of straining anchors holding against screaming winds. Rather him than me!

Today, sunday, a very chilly morning, around 10 C. and a gentle breeze to freeze me when coming back up the beach after my morning dip. Very invigorating. White fingers for a long time afterwards. If the temperarure is as low tomorrow, my swim will be either postponed until the sun warms significantly, or cancelled. Probably the latter, as we have to catch the 9:30 ferry to get me to the airport. :-((. 

Alls well

Early to rise in the Red Roof motel, a frugal “continental” breakfast augmentet with Miranda’s meuseli (thankyou), and off into the pre-sunrise morning. A few miles to the beginning of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which climbed and wound and wound and climbed at a gentle angle up to about 1200 meters, all amongst trees. Many trees. Zillions of trees. Then an opening and a parking area, with a view. What a view! It was still a misty, moisty morning, and the valleys were shrouded in thicker fog, but the silence was golden. No birdsong. No rustling sounds from small creatures in the undergrowth. No traffic. The distant hills and mountains not yet lit by a cloud-shaded sun, but visible as a series of shadows. It was the clearest part of the day. 

The mist clearing gradually but being replaced by haze.

The road was never boring, nor was it straight. The planners must have only had curved rulers to place on their maps. But a magnificant bit of road-engineering. 

The stopping places, called “overlook”, were well warned with a sign, and were usually assosiated with a view.  Some were not. 

Actually, there was a small, clucking stream behind the sign, so it was justified I suppose. 

From the heights, the road wound down to lower levels, and a cultivated field or two appeared. The hay bales, round, looked as though they had been there a while. Then back up again, and views over to the west side of the range, with lusher valleys and small villages.

Then down again, and a detour into Roanoke for lunch. A BigMac was quick, consistent food.

Then the southern part of the route. Much more cultivated and populated. Even the odd clutch of cabins. Different. At this time of the year, outside holidays, unused. Also derelict buildings, small farms mostly. And then the odd, modern, house, maybe a mountain cabin. All-in-all a most interesting experience.

Then find a place to sleep. The Red Carpet inn sounded enticing, and turned out to be clean and suitable for a night. The card to put in the doorlock to open it had the unfortunate characteristic that, if put in a pocket with a moblie phone, it got wiped. Getting back from the Japanese restaurant next door, (not splendid), was confronted by a locked door, only openable by getting the card re-programmed in reception, which had a notice saying ” back soon”. A “soon” can be quite lengthy when you have to wait, and the coffee was lukewarm. 

Up early again to another pathetic breakfast, and then by Garmin directions to the highway. Easy. Two hours down the road, and the lack of breakfast was getting insistent. Off at the next intersection, to Waffle House, where many were eating breakfast. Very noisy, and not too quick, but the waffle and maple syrup filled the need and with an extra coffee to go, we were back on the freeway at the speed limit. Actually, that lawfulness was not optimum, as I was getting in the way of eveything, including those huge trucks. I reluctantly succumbed to joining the masses, at about speedlimit plus 7to8 miles an hour. Much more relaxing. No police. No ticket. 

Then to Charleston airport to deliver the car and be met and welcomed by brother Peter. Big hug. Good. Much warmer here south in the midday sun. Then to the ferry to Peter and Marion’s Dewees home. Wonderful. Now some days of relaxing in good company, and hopefully a swim or many in the ocean, at the moment very disturbed in the aftermath of Matthew, which most fortunately had spared this area for extenive damage.

Life is OK. 

Having got Josin safely on land and cradled, and with almost all of the perishables and freezeables transported home for the winter, there will be no more aquatic activity until next spring. So, now someting else, travel!

Brother Peter has been kindly and repeatedly inviting me to come and stay, so a trip across the atlantic by plane, (it would have been too slow by boat), has happened, very comfortably in SAS’ Economy Plus class, new Airbus plane too. More space for legs and a wider, more comfortable seat, good food and service, to Newark, NJ. Avis hire car, a small Honda, which has performed adequately frugally, but with rather inflexible springs.

First a stay with cousin Miranda and husband Ken in Syracuse, NY state. NY city and NY state are two different things, with larger distances than overview maps indicate. Five hours, including a coffee stop, on multi-lane motorways was an interesting refresher course in American traffic, navigated by Garmin. Last hour was after sunset, and therefore extra interesting.

Miranda gathered her tribe for a family dinner, son-in- law’s birthday too, which was wonderful, as I hadn’t met any of them, children, spouses and grandchildren, (two more due innthe immediate future), before. Lasting impression!

Did some exporing of the local area, amongst other things to try and photograph the autumn colours, which were just beginning. A week or two later would have been better it was said. The Green Lake, with its large sandy, family-friendly beach bay, turned out to be unswimmable, bother. It had ‘shut’ for the winter.

Difficult to believe the notice as the temperature was over 70 degrees F. (You work it out in C!).

Today has been a long drive from Syacuse to Staunton, (at the north end of the Blue Ridge Drive, which will be tomorrow). I had planned to use as many other roads than motorways, to be able to admire the scenery, but with rain in the morning and some fail-navigation in the afternoon which had a magnetism for motorways, no opportunity arose to take pauses and pictures, except at the inevitable junctions, all peppered with McDonalds and the like. Better luck tomorrow.

From a weary-traveller John.

ZZZZZ

Josin is now safely cradled on land for the winter. We were three who needed to lift out early, before the collective session later in the month. The crane arrived on time and was ready to lift at 08:00 last thursday, which meant that I had to wake up and get up entirely unmentionably early. Nice morning though, little wind though chilly, sunny. Very effective crane driver, and cooperative gang finished the job in record time. A pressure-wash and scrub of Josin’s hull was only a little difficult at the water line, where a stubborn growth of green weedy grass had attached itself, otherwise very little growth and no barnacles. Must have been because of the cold water temperatures this year.

The day before, wednesday, was spent removing the sails and preparing the rig for dismantling, then pottering round to the mastcrane for lifting the mast out. Same three boats, same gang, same good team. Loaded my Berlingo, in van-mode, remarkably full with sails and booms, anchors and antennes, fenders and sheets and mooring ropes. Unloaded in the carport at home with decision to sort it all out later. Was weary.

The day before that, was Josin’s last tuesday evening regatta. Sunny, good breeze from the south east and chilly, and ten boats competing. The evenings are closing in fast now, and in spite of the start being half an hour earlier than usual, the finishing line was passed in the glooming. We came in sixth, poor showing mostly due to two hopeless marker-roundings, pointing us in the wrong direction and killing all speed. Caustic and ribald comments from other boats rushing past. Not my best effort there, no. But we were not last!!

Final winterisation, frame and tarpaulin awning, anti-freezing and extra support legs, topsides scrub and polish, will be done when I get back from two weeks in the US.

Going to visit brother Peter near Charleston, who is rightly worried about their seaside house on Dewees Island being exposed to cyclone Matthew’s high winds. News this evening, saturday, is that the winds have decreased, but the major worry now being extra high tides, which will almost certainly not reach the house. Phew!

Well, this may be the last boating blog, but I may well scribble something, with a pic or two, from America in the Fall, the Appalachian mountains being spectacularly colo(u)rful apparently.

All’s well.