Since our last update, we've hit some hotspots: Sassafras, MD; Annapolis, MD; Solomons, MD; Mill Creek, VA; Dwyer Creek, VA; Portsmouth, VA (mile "0" on the Intracoastal Waterway); Pungo Ferry, VA; Alligator Creek, NC, Belhaven, NC; and Broad Creek, NC (mile 173 on the ICW).

We motored to Annapolis from Sassafras -- it was so cold water was freezing on deck in the shade, so we were happy to reach Annapolis and anchor in the sunshine and watch the clutches of students from the Naval Academy (naval students?) run around town in their shorts and tshirts. We went ashore as quickly as possible and Randy applied himself to the schlurping of oysters. I won't elaborate, but it's happened several times since. It's not pretty, but he goes about it with great gusto and it seems to cheer him up.

Randy's son Ian who lives in Virginia met us in Annapolis and he very patiently helped us sort out some of our logistical difficulties. We spent the next day or so hunting for propane tanks (to replace our "illegal" Canadian tanks) that would fit in our cockpit locker. We have intimate knowledge of the stock of most of the West Marine, Viking Marine, and Fawcett's stores in this neck of the woods.There's really no retail joy for a woman in these places. Ian and Tom wandered around and laughed, and I bought a pair of Sperry black rubber deck boots for $20. Comfy, but still cold. Rubber boots are no damn good for freezing temps on deck. Tom and I both suffer from frozen feets, and we are deeply glad to be getting to warmer temps.

Annapolis bumpersticker: "To err is human, to forgive is divine. Neither is Marine Corps policy." And at Viking Marine, a sign for you, Aage: "Viking Parking Only."

Annapolis is a lovely place. We had great walks ashore, replenished all stores thanks to Ian and the car, spent a lot of time on the interweb at a coffeeshop, and Randy got a haircut. You can get a damn good military haircut in Annapolis. Tom got his cut, too (psych!). Not. We enjoyed great weather in Annapolis for a couple of days, but our next travelling day (Monday, Nov 21)) was wet. Not awful, just wet, but there was a gale forecast, so we headed into Solomons and tied up at the Hospitality Harbor Marina, and plugged in and turned on the heater and settled in for my birthday. Hot showers at the neighbouring Holiday Inn. Tom said that someone in a room near the men's shower was watching a horror movie at top volume, and at first he thought he was going to have to sprint down the hall and save someone from a horrible death. Kind of spooky -- you're in the bowels of the H.I., next to the dark and deserted Fitness Centre, it's a dark and stormy night, but there's stacks of nifty little soaps and shower caps and lotion. I only took two. Of everything. It was my birthday.

I also did laundry on my birthday. I know I've been admonished about the laundry content in the blog, but this is exciting: It's blowing and raining, as I mentioned, and Randy gets our wheely cart out of the dinghy, and we shove the sailbag/laundrybag into it and it doesn't quite fit, but it will work to wheel it all to town. So I'm below getting togged up, and Randy comes below for something, and then he goes back on deck and starts yelling. I poke my head on deck, and he's waving his arms, saying that the cart has gone off the end of the dock. So we're all out there peering into the water trying to figure out where it's gone, and I spot it floating around the stern. It's still afloat -- there's enough air trapped in the sail bag -- and Tom runs for the boat hook and we spend the next few minutes fishing the cart, the bag, and the laundry out of the drink. Most of the laundry was retrieved in the bag, but it wasn't closed at the top, and we had a few tense moments with the heavy flannel sheets (my head got soaked as they soared overhead to land splat on the deck), and a pair of pink underwear enjoyed a solo flight. We lost one wool sock, which bobbed slowly down the harbour in the rain.

All this before we even get to the laundromat. I'm holding back on the laundromat stories, you know, there's lots of local colour I could provide, but I'll just tell you that when I opened one of the dryers, a cloud of smoke came out.

A unique 47th birthday in Solomons. We walked to town and had beer and hush puppies and more oysters. You know you're not in Kansas anymore when you're asked "y'all ready to order?" So we ate hush puppies, watched pelicans fly by, and walking back to the marina, we noted a dead possum by the side of the road. The lads made a fab dinner - prime rib, asparagus, roast potatoes - and we stayed up late (9 o'clock).

For those of you who are bored by the laundry and food content in the blog, I can tell you that most days also have a fair share of scurvy and mutiny. Beatings as well. I prefer days without high drama.

Leaving Solomons we were treated to an airshow -- F18s every few minutes, and boy are they noisy. Solomons to Mill Creek brought us to a pleasant little anchorage that nobody here can remember anything about, then on to Dwyers Creek for American Thanksgiving (we had chicken), and we saw a pair of whistling swans fly by. They really do whistle. Sat out a gale overnight, and set out in strong winds and rolly waters which flattened out late afternoon. Boring, rolly, cold.

That was our last bit of big water (so I was told), and we pushed through to Norfolk and anchored in Portsmouth, VA (yes, another Portsmouth) right at the start of the Intracoastal Waterway (heretofore to be known as the ICW), mile 0. Odd to come all this way and be chuffed at finding ourselves at mile ZERO, but after a day of chugging through a few bridges and one lock, we were very happy with the change of venue.

First night in the waterway, we tied to a dock at the Pungo Ferry (which, in true Sherman style, is referred to as Mungo Jerry), and saw other boats on the same route to warmer climes. We had a brief chat with a couple on "Paanga" from Ottawa while we were waiting for the lock at Great Bridge. There were five boats in the lock, and it was a treat to see people doing much the same thing we were doing and wearing the same snazzy sorts of cruisewear. We watched the older couple ahead of us squabbling (he let the lines get wet, and his whitehaired wife did a lot of clucking and took over the line handling after that. Their lines were colour-coded.) Tom looked at me and said "glimpse of the future, eh?"

This is huntin and fishin country. And waterskiing. Pungo Ferry Marina seemed to be locked up tight when we tied up, but after dark, there was a knocking on the hull, and it was the marina fellas back from a day of duck hunting, come to collect our $42 and show us where to plug in. Earlier, we'd thought that we'd anchor further along, but ended up coming back to the marina when we found that the best place to anchor was in a clutch of duck blinds. We could hear the guns in the morning....Tom checked out the marina showers, but said it looked like someone had rolled in mud, then stood in the shower. We passed.

Being in the waterway means that the travelling is without up-and-down motion for the most part. We still get a few wakes, but nothing drastic. Which means that breakfast can be prepared and cleaned up after while we're underway. I can use the computer, and people can make their own sandwiches and get their own drinks when they feel the scurvy start creeping up on them.
The Alligator-Pungo Canal is a long stretch of ditch in the middle of nowhere - straight as an arrow, with interesting trees and occasional wildlife, and the usual giant powerboats passing us on a regular basis. They zoom up on the port side, we both slow to a crawl, and once they're past, they zoom off and we hit the throttle and chug merrily on our way. One big motor yacht today was called "That's a Wrap" and we figured the grey-bearded guy at the helm must be a famous director or actor. Or the heir to the Pita Boys fortune. This is how we amuse ourselves on days when there's no high seas, terrifying squalls, or laundry rolling off the dock.

Next stop, Bellhaven. Rather a disappointment from our point of view. We anchored and dinghied to a dock just in time to get rained on, and then took five minutes to cruise the downtown and deduce that the internet cafe was closed and wouldn't open for another two days, and really, that was all she wrote for Bellhaven. If it wasn't for the Fabulous Hardware store, we would have been really grumpy. If you were so inclined, you could buy blue cheese, a Red Rider BB Gun, Christmas ornaments that said "Merry Christmas, Y'All!", nails by the pound, Mike Holmes overalls in size 3, used books, wine, any kind of ammunition your heart desired, and a tool for removing oil filters from engines. But not, however, small propane bottles for bbqs and wee heaters, which we needed. In the centre of the hardware store was a spittoon, an ashtray, and a rocking chair with a brass plaque that said "reserved" for some fella, I forget the name. I wondered if he was just gone home for supper, or had gone off to the big porch in the sky and they were just holding his spot. Anyway, it was a great store, a big step up the retail ladder from West Marine.

Too bad the anchorage was not good. The breakwater was more like a picket fence, and by about 4 am, we were doing the hobby horse thing, so we got up really early, hoisted the dinghy as soon as it got light, ate our bacon butties and made tracks.

So just when we're getting used to this stroll-through-the-cypress-swamp cruising, badda-bing, we're out into a honking big river the size of Lake Ontario, the wind is 25-30 right on the nose, and we're banging up and down in a nasty short chop and wiping the spray out of our eyes. Every five minutes, we'd hit a series of waves that would basically stop us dead in the water. Not dangerous or huge, but annoying as hell. The idea was to get to Oriental, another hotspot (off-season pop. 1,000) and try to get wi-fi and get some business done, but after hours of this bashing about, with a thunderstorm threatened (currently at the top of my "Never Again" list), we made a right turn and anchored at Broad Creek, seven miles (about two hours in this weather) short of Oriental. Nice peaceful anchorage.

Duck hunters woke us up this morning, after a fairly quiet night, barring the thunderstorm and torrential rains (washed the last of the salt spray off the decks), and one drip over my pillow that had me living in another part of the bunk for most of the night, and we got away at about 7:30. Tom has the disgusting job of getting the anchor up and washing whatever stinky mess of mud he finds on the chain and the anchor. The reward this morning was a 12 or more porpoises, and an upclose visit from 2 or 3 of them who rode our bow wave for a while. They're huge when they're swimming a few feet below you. Tom and I stood on the bowsprit and we could hear them squeaking and clicking. It was fabulous -- what a great way to start a Wednesday.

On the domestic front, Tom has won the last six games of crib he and I have played, and he's just announced his retirement from the game. Just to cheer myself up, I challenged Randy to a game, and double-skunked him. He has likewise announced his retirement from the field. All I can hope for now is for the comeback fever to hit.

Small world: We were just sitting on the dock at Beaufort having a beer, and Mike Wambolt from Hubbards walked by.