I left the Charleston Municipal Maritime Center after retrieving my anchor in the middle of the yacht basin. It was windy from the northeast, right from the direction I wanted to go. I decided to travel up the intracoastal waterway instead of beating against the wind.
I motored across the harbor past Shute's Folly, a sandy islet with an old castle on one end. To the east I followed another sailboat into the waterway and caught up to them at a drawbridge. Bridges usually open at the top of the hour for non-commercial boats. Using Fugawi software and GPS with the computer it's easy to look ahead and compute ETA at the next drawbridge, then make adjustments to your speed to arrive right at the top of the hour. I can tell by the wake if I have the boat at its economical speed and if the GPS gives me a speed over ground that seems high or low, it is probably the wind or current affecting my speed. At some inlets there is opposite current effects approaching and departing the inlet. This next section of the intracoastal was full of cross inlets and varying current speed. It is a problem to have to stop for the night, and typically a day's progress is 50-70 miles. I looked for an inlet on the chart to go out to sea and motor all nig! ht. As the day went on the wind continued to blow strongly from the northeast. I contemplated an overnight passage crashing into the wind and the waves and decided to stay in the intracoastal. There was a ferry that ran through the swamps to Bull Harbor, but there was no way to know if sand bars or low tide would stop me, so I kept going in "the ditch". After it got dark I anchored just past a little town called McClellanville. It looked interesting with shrimp boats tied up to docks. I half expected to see Forrest Gump appear.
It was chilly that night and I wondered why I ever left the Keys. The next day brought me to the Waccamaw River and Georgetown. This was open water and as I went north it became fresh water. I was further and further from civilization. There was a boatel called "Buckshot" which had fuel and food, but I passed it, hoping to refuel further on. The channel was blocked by a sherriff's boat with red buoys all around it. I backed down and asked if they had a diver down. It was too funny to watch one of the porky deputies try to unfurl their diver's flag and hold up his droopy pants at the same time.
I had my heart set on making a drawbridge near Myrtle Beach. Although I was motoring north through bayou country, the sea coast was also angling north with beachfront property and probably some late spring break revelers just to my southeast.
When I got to the bridge it was open. It was a rail bridge and they are usually open, unless a train is due. I went through and continued as it got dark. There was a glow from the lights of civilization making the waterway passable at night. I finally came to a closed bridge at Barefoot Landing near North Myrtle Beach. The landing offers free overnight dockage, but it was full. I slowly retraced my route to an empty dock not far back down the waterway. I came to a halt in the mud. I was going slowly so I could back off and try again. I ran aground again. The water level was dropping. I checked the JTides program and saw that it was low tide in this area. I remembered Captain Rob's advice, "If you run aground, throw over the anchor". The logic is that the wind and current may keep you aground if the tide rises, but if you have the anchor out, you'll be afloat anchored in shallow water. So, at 1 or 2 in the morning I found myself afloat anchored in shallow water. I used the windsurfer mast as a pole to move the boat to deeper water. It also served as a depth guage.
In the morning I got underway and passed through the bridge alone. I found my VHF was not working properly and had to signal by waving my arms. The lady bridge tender was speaking to me with her bullhorn and I was gesticulating an answer. The rest of the fleet at Barefoot Landing remained at the dock.
I was approaching another bridge when I saw a fuel dock and I needed fuel. I stopped and while tanking up asked the dockman to call the bridge when I left and ask them to open for the white catamaran. A lot better than waving my arms and blowing the horn.
Farther on I passed the Little River inlet that I had taken on my way down to get out to sea. I began calculating the time it took to get here from Beufort and I remembered the drawbridge 12 hours north and anchoring there between private piers and not being able to sleep, worrying about dragging the anchor. Then, not being able to hoist up the anchor due to a huge coil of wire caught on it.

(Continued on page #27)