On Passage: Southport to Charleston
The craziest, most inspiring, experience of my life.
Believe me when I say, I have never done anything like this before. Yes, I’ve taken solo trips up and down the east coast. And yes, I did move across the country alone to a town where I knew no one. But cruising is a whole other beast.
We bought Valkyrie, our Finnrose 37 sailboat, in 2022. One of only 20-something made, she's a beautiful 1971 37 foot sloop with a 3/4 long keel taking a draft of 5.25 feet. She was built in Finland for blue water voyages.
Our Finnrose came equipped with a Yanmar engine, 2 solar panels, batteries, and a plethora of additional sails. In the weeks before our journey, Andrew went through the boat with a fine tooth comb. There was so much we didn't know about the boat and the previous owner was no help. Ever the engineer, Andrew set to work learning as much as he could about our new floating home. In those weeks, I continued to split my time - driving to Southport each Friday and back to Charleston each Monday.
Setting Sail
Our time at Deep Point Marina came to an abrupt halt when we realized a storm was in the forecast. Andrew was scheduled to begin work soon and if we didn’t leave soon, we would have to hire someone to bring the boat to us.
With the help of our gracious boat neighbors, we prepared the boat for departure. One of the neighbors offered to take us out for a short trip to show us the ropes. With everyone aboard and the engine warm, we were ready to shove off. Andrew eased the engine into gear. Our neighborly deck hands ready to guide us out of the slip. The engine revved but we didn’t move forward.
The engine revved again, but still we sat in place. Andrew reversed gears and tried back up, moving an inch or two deeper into the slip. After multiple attempts, we knew something was wrong. Having sat peacefully in her slip for 5 years with much neglect, the barnacles had grown over Valkyrie’s propeller, making it impossible to move water over the rudder. Luckily, one of the neighborly deckhands was a diver. Running back to his boat to grab his dive gear, he assured us he would have us on our way soon enough!
One day and a lot of bottom scraping later, it was time to depart. With bated breath, we put the boat in gear ready. Much to our delight, Valkyrie crept forward. With all of our boat neighbor’s gathered on our deck wishing us safe travels, we waved goodbye. Andrew expertly guided us out of the marina and into the Cape Fear. Excitement, anticipation, and anxiety coursed through my body.
Sick Sickness
Andrew and I share many similarities, but this is where we differ - he thrives on chaos, I do not. While this trip was very well prepared for, there were many unknowns for me. While I have spent time on boats in the past, the calm lake waters of inland Carolina could not compare to the tidal river and the open ocean looming ahead. Having spent time as a fisherman in Alaska, scuba diving off the coast of Thailand, or thru-hiking sections of the Appalachian Trail, Andrew was in his element.
While my nerves began to calm a few hours into the trip - my stomach did not. With each gentle bounce of the ocean swells, I became slightly more seasick. Still not trusting our sturdy boat, but needing some rest, I laid down on the floor of the cockpit. And there I slept, using a life jacket as a pillow.
Living my Moana Life
I awoke from my nap around midnight. We were 3 miles offshore. The lights of small beach towns danced by. I climbed onto the bench next to Andrew as he recounted the events of the last few hours. We were still going strong, the sea was fairly calm, and the full moon shone bright in the sky. What an incredible view. We chatted for a few more minutes. Now it was Andrew’s turn to sleep. I took the helm and he kissed me goodnight. Leaving me alone with my thoughts and sea.
Half terrified, half completely thrilled, I sat at the helm, directing the boat south. I hugged the 3 mile line for fear of losing sight of the shore. Looking back, hugging the shoreline must have added hours to our trip. A few hours into my command, the familiar lights of Myrtle Beach came into view. The ferris wheel stood tall against the dark horizon. It’s an odd sensation to view such a familiar sight from a new angle. An even odder sensation was the realization that we were completely alone out there. The light from the moon reflecting off the water made it even more obvious that we were the only boat for miles.
After belting a full rendition of the Moana soundtrack, I was relieved of command. Andrew awoke and took the helm, allowing me to go below and sleep. Before crawling into the v-berth, I nibbled on some crackers and prepared some coffee for Andrew. We continued to switch off like this for the next few hours. Captain the boat for a bit, sleep for a bit. Repeat. During one of our switch-offs, Andrew told me how he gotten turned around at one point and was headed back up the coast!
Back in command with coffee in hand, I was ready for the sunrise. The sky changed colors and the day began to break. The weather could not have been better for November. The sun was warm with a soft breeze. The ocean swelled with 3 to 4 foot waves, giving us a small taste of what bluewater sailing would be like. Andrew and I reveled in the morning sun and watched coconuts float by in the current. We were both surprised to see coconuts this far north.
Thriving on Chaos
It was Andrew’s turn to sleep and I was happy to be at the helm. Until the engine began to overheat. Knowing enough about engines to know this was not good, I cut the engine. The abrupt change in noise level awoke Andrew from a dead sleep. He ran to the helm, ready to jump into action. Up until this moment, we had been solely motoring down the coast. We didn’t have enough time to fully inspect the rigging and sails and thought it best to test them out in a more controlled environment. Best laid plans of mice and men… Without propulsion, I lost the ability to steer the boat and we were quickly coming upon a shoal. Andrew quickly hoisted the head sail as I pointed our bow directly at the horizon.
Andrew ducked below and began taking apart our salon. Our engine was located beneath one of the settees which had to be dismantled and moved out of the way. Within minutes he had the engine exposed and was elbow deep in investigations. Luckily, he identified the problem almost immediately. He dug through a drawer of replacement parts to find a new belt for the alternator. With great care, he replaced the faulty belt. I turned the engine on as he observed the new part spin. Satisfied with his fix, he replaced the settee and joined me in the cockpit. We kept a close eye on our gauges for the remainder of the trip. The fix was successful.
So Close, Yet So Far
Nearing Charleston, I contacted the Isle of Palms Marina. The route plotted by Navionics pointed us to a shallow inlet leading to the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). Unsure if we could make it through with our draft, we sought advice from the marina. They were not hopeful and recommended we continue off short to Charleston Harbor and then double back up the ICW. Exhausted, we agreed. With 25 hours already under our belt, this diversion would add another 5 to the trip.
The sun was sinking low in the sky by the time we arrived at Charleston Harbor. We sat in awe beneath a cruise ship as it left the harbor. Throughout the trip, we had passed less than a handful of boats in the Cape Fear and a total of two fishing boats offshore. Charleston Harbor was buzzing with boat traffic. With the sunsetting and dusk settling in, anxiety crept back into my bones.
Slowly but surely, we made our way up the ICW and came across a new obstacle: the Ben Sawyer Bridge. Deeply exhausted, frazzled, and ready to be done, I radioed the bridge operator. With much difficulty, I requested the drawbridge be opened for our passage through. The operator could not spot us down below. Power boats sped through. The tide pushed us toward the bridge as we waited. Finally, we were permitted passage. Feeling very gracious I thanked the bridge operator for her assistance and was met with a sympathetic “You’re welcome, baby.” I could just imagine a sweet, old grandma sitting above me sensing my anxiety throughout the whole ordeal. Bless the patient ones.
Finally Home
With the last obstacle conquered, we had smooth sailing the rest of the voyage. We arrived at Isle of Palms Marina just after 8:00pm, almost a full 30 hours since departing from Southport.
