We are all up at first light but we have hang around until it is actually light enough to see the channel markers clearly. It’s a beautiful sunrise which greets us but it does nothing to lift our spirits or make us dread the next hour any less. With Silver Moon ahead of us trying to work out how much headroom they have and our antennae sticking forward to try to give us a little advance warning if there’s not enough, we set off, retracing our path out of Shallowbag Bay. We leave our fenders on as there are steep wooden pilings around the bridge supports and if we are going to drift through under very little power, we could just drift into them.
Photos: Beauty and trepidation
As we motor out into the channel, four monohulls pull out ahead of us. We wait for them to pass then turn right out of the channel into the one leading to the Washington Baum Bridge. As we get closer a monohull pulls into the channel behind us followed by two sports fishing boats. The last thing we want is boats on our tail so I try to call them on all the frequently used channels to ask them to hold back and let us go through. No one answers. Terrific. I call and call and then slipping around the channels I hear one of them talking and using their boat name. When I call them by name they answer and agree to hold back.
Silver Moon goes through, Maggie trying to see just how much room there is over the top of their mast but it’s impossible. You look like you are going to hit even when you have loads of room.
The tide boards are present at the bridge. The watermark lines up with the 65 foot mark. We should be OK? But then we thought that last time.
As we approach I can see loads of early morning fishermen on the bridge support next to where we are heading. Brilliant. We could have an audience – it just gets worse and worse.
Mike puts the engines into reverse to stop the boat then puts them just into forward gear to get us moving again. I stand at the back of the boat watching the forward pointing antennae, ready to dash under the protection of the steel framed bimini if the worst happens. We glide forwards and slightly sideways towards the bridge. Neither of us talk. I watch the antennae slip under the edge, then the mast, and slowly, ever so slowly, we slip underneath.
I cannot explain the feeling as the mast slid out from under the far side of the bridge. Mike leaps out from the helm seat punching the sky. I turn to Mike. “I feel sick” I say. “So do I” he says. We both realise we have been holding our breaths. I start to cry. Over the radio Maggie and Bob are whooping with relief. They have slowed down and pulled over to watch our ordeal, feeling it almost as much as we do.
The boats behind overtake us, I get Mike his breakfast, we both take painkillers for the headaches that immediately flare up with the relief of getting through unscathed and we settle down for the journey to Ocracoke Island, part of the Outer Banks.
For a very short while we are able to motor sail but the wind dies during the late morning and the going is slow. It’s late in the afternoon when we eventually turn into the channel for the only town on the island and in the channel is a dredger. Bob asks the captain which side he wants us to pass on and he replies “port”. Now given that a dredger has no discernable front or back (to us anyway) it’s very hard to work out which way it is facing and they are almost stationery when dredging. Eventually he tells us to go on the green side.
Photo: When they’re this much bigger than you, you give way
Passing the dredger, we get the whiff of something unpleasant. At first we think it’s fish but then Mike realises that they are literally building an island with all the stuff they are dredging up, and this little island is completely covered with sea birds, and what do they do all day? Eat and poop.
Photo: Seagull island
Having got past the dredger, we get the car ferry – it’s all go at Ocracoke!
Photo: And then we move again
Eventually though we manage to get into Silver Lake, the rather nice inlet where we hope to stay the night. Unfortunately the dredging equipment has taken over half the anchorage and after motoring all around, Mike decides there just isn’t enough room for the two of us to anchor and heads for the town dock. We’ll just have to pay!
Photos: Silver Lake, Ocracoke
There are plenty of people who come to help us tie our lines and over the next few hours many more people come over to see the two huge cats moored in their little town. They really are very friendly.
We are treated to a wonderful sunset then Maggie and Bob come over for dinner. Maggie tells me how she had been crying with relief when Jeannius emerged from under the bridge and we down a bottle of rather cheap SB to celebrate.
Photos: Sunset over Pamlico Sound
Position: 35 deg 06 min N, 75 deg 59 min W
Distance so far: 2985 miles
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