The Intracoastal Waterway – or ICW – is an inland waterway along the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico coastlines of the US. According to Wikipedia, “Some sections of the waterway consist of natural inlets, saltwater rivers, bays, and sounds, while others are artificial canals. It provides a navigable route along its length without many of the hazards of travel on the open sea.” Officially, it begins in Boston and runs around Florida, back up and around to Brownsville, Texas. But here on the East Coast, people generally refer to the ICW as a route that begins in Norfolk, VA and goes down to the Florida keys. There’s good reason to think that way too, because the miles along this waterway are numbered; mile 0.0 is in Portsmouth, just south of Norfolk. Fort Lauderdale, near Miami is mile 1,063, and that is where we intend to jump over the gulf stream to the Bahamas.
We had a marvelous week in the southern Chesapeake, on our
way towards Norfolk where we were planning to start down the ICW. Pelicans are
rarely seen in Baltimore, but just south of Solomons, only about fifty miles or
so from Charm City, pelicans are everywhere.
We made an overnight stop at Fleets Island, Virginia, with an uninhabited spit
of low-lying land curving invitingly into a beautiful sandy beach. We had a
lovely afternoon walk there, and in the morning were greeted with a pod of
dolphins fishing for their breakfast just off the point near our anchored boat.
After the scenic beauty of the Chesapeake, Norfolk was a bit
of a shock. The home of the world’s largest naval base, Norfolk’s waterfronts
are bedecked with massive, ugly gray military ships, and giant cargo dockyards
with their accompanying cranes and forklifts. The boat traffic in these waters
is intense, and between the wake from the other boats and the sounds from the
shore, not to mention our own engine noise, one can feel a little light-headed.
I will never complain about Baltimore’s relatively modest stretch of industrial
ugliness ever again. I swear.
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| Even destroyers can look good on a beautiful sunny day. |
We spent the night in the mouth of the Lafayette River, a
surprisingly tranquil and gentrified inlet located just behind a loading dock
for gigantic container ships, and then moved down to Portsmouth the next
morning so as to be closer to the ICW entrance. We took in a movie at the
Commodore Theater, a beautiful old art deco movie house (the popcorn was under
salted and stale, BIG disappointment), and then loaded up with provisions from
the local Food Lion. Not that we actually needed anything…
I have a particular problem with food. During my childhood,
my mother was, if I were being charitable, what one might call “frugal”. A more accurate description might be “niggardly”.
Scrooge had nothing on my mother when it came to food, and other things too,
truth be told. She took care of us, yes, and none of us starved, but there was
enough of a feeling of restriction and deprivation that I grew into adulthood
with a definite insecurity surrounding basic needs. This shows itself in my cupboards
and refrigerator at our house back in Baltimore. It’s embarrassing, but even
without kids at home, my refrigerator is always packed with food, the cupboards
stuffed to the gills. The minute the shelves show the slightest hint of
available space, I begin to panic. Time to go food shopping! I have great
sympathy for those poor souls who end up on “Hoarders” or other such television
shows. It’s actually amazing that I don’t weigh three hundred pounds.
Now, on the boat, our larders are also totally overstocked.
Funny how your neurosis follows you, even when your lifestyle changes
drastically. Getting ready to go down the ICW for the first time has really
brought out my food panic. Where will we be able to buy groceries? What if we
don’t see a store for weeks? We MUST store enough popcorn and tonic water to
last FOREVER!!
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| One of the prettier scenes in Portsmouth |
We’ve studied the ICW Cruising Guide and Skipper Bob’s
Anchorages of the ICW, stuffed our boat with every imaginable non-perishable
canned or packaged food, loaded up on fuel and water – here we go!
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| Our neighbor at dawn |
We left early in the morning, hoping to get in a fair amount
of mileage. Most of the ICW is made up of narrow channels that can’t be sailed
upon – we will be motoring the majority of the time for the next month. There
are numerous bridges, many of which will need to be opened or raised in order
for our boat to be able to pass through. There are even locks that are used to
equalize the depths between various rivers and channels. All of these things
cause delays, so we’re not at all sure how long it will take us to get
anywhere.
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| Bridge #1 |
Our boat was first in line for the first bridge we came to,
and we dutifully called the bridge master on our VHF radio. He would have raised the bridge right away, but then he learned that a train was coming
through, so we had to wait. We had to just float around in idle in front of the
bridge while watching car after car of the cargo train, not knowing how long it
was. By the time the bridge finally raised for us, about forty-five minutes or
so, there was a backlog of boats behind us, all jockeying for position. We all
passed through under the bridge, one by one.
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| Rick is still nervous going under bridges... So am I - just look at it! |
The same group of
boats ends up behind us at the Great Bridge Lock, at mile 12. There is quite a
line of boats ahead of us, and there are already too many to fit in the lock. We will have to wait an hour for the next one. People on boats are pretty
similar to people in cars; someone always thinks they are special and don’t
need to wait politely in line. Most of the people who crowd ahead are in motorboats,
and we notice that each time, their boat is from New Jersey. No judgments. Just
sayin’.
This is the first time we have ever gone through a lock in a
boat, and we don’t know quite what to expect. All of the boats are met by a man
on shore and ushered in slowly, lined up as close as can be next to one wall of
the lock. The boats farther back in line are parked on the other side of the
lock. We’re all instructed to adjust our bow and stern lines as they let the
water out because the water level in the lock is going to lower by three feet.
There’s a party atmosphere in the air with so many boaters in such close
proximity. Or maybe Rick and I are the only ones who feel that way. (We had
some celebratory drinks during the hour we were waiting for the lock!)
The water slowly lowers, and then the lock is opened and we
are free to go. Except, no, now we have to wait for the next bridge, just past
the lock.
This is apparently what we have in store for much of our way down to
Florida. Go, then wait. Wait, then go. But hey, not being in the open ocean means no big waves, and that means no
sea-sickness for moi. I’m actually in heaven.
The rest of our first day was pretty uneventful. The sides
of the Virginia Cut were mostly cyprus-lined swamps, and then farther south
across the North Carolina border the shores opened up to a wide expanse. The
channel itself remained narrow, a dredged pathway through shallow water, and
Rick did most of the driving. I wanted to get away from the engine noise, so I
set up camp on the foredeck. Not used to drinking alcohol so early in the day,
I fell asleep up there. Rick put the autopilot on just long enough to take some
unflattering pictures. Thanks dear.
We ended up anchoring at around mile 45 or so. Not bad for
our first day out. Only another 1,018 miles to go!
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