Month: July 2020

The last time…

I awoke, for the last time on our journey, early this morning to clouds and rain that soon followed. We sipped our coffee, blogged a little, and by 8:30, I was on the bow, rain jacket donned, pulling up our anchor…for the last time on this trip.  For this 4-hour leg, my mind kept returning to the same thought:  That (whatever I’m doing at the moment) is the last time I’ll do “that” on this trip.  We believe, trust, and certainly hope there will be other trips.  All week, we have discussed our sinking moments, knowing that today this journey will end. 

We reached Hell Gate (a well-known tight spot on the ICW just prior to entering the Ossabaw Sound around noon. With a good push from the current, we were ahead of the 1 pm scheduled arrival.  Our welcome party that Amanda organized would not be there yet.  So, we rode past the entrance to Delegal Creek toward South Wassaw Island.  It was still there.  For twenty years, this beach has been our favorite “re-creation” spot. Lots of productive time was spent here, rebuilding brain cells from the stress of a 60 hour/week business. On this little beach are memories of building sand castles, picking up shells, throwing horseshoes, footballs, and frisbees, sitting under the umbrella eating pineapple sandwiches and Oreos, drinking cool refreshments, and napping, often waking to the drool on my t-shirt or bare chest, hoping no one had noticed.

The detour to South Wassaw allowed time for the reception to gather for our entry into Delegal Creek Marina.  I turned the Honey Queen around, and as fate would have it, hit bottom one more time (but probably not the last time).  Though the water was charted as 21 feet deep, I must have needed one more lesson in humility, because the water quickly became 4 feet deep (we draft 5 feet).  The idea of being stuck on a sand bar, on an outgoing tide, and having 15 people waiting on the dock was humiliating. I randomly picked a turn to port as an escape route.  The boat was barely moving as it slid through the sand; 4 feet…4 1/2 feet…5 feet…6 feet… and soon 21 feet of water (as charted) was below the keel. (Side note: I had the bottom of the boat scraped for barnacles before we left Marathon. The diver told me the bottom paint appeared to be in good shape, except the bottom of the keel. There was no paint there. I told him I knew where I had left that paint, recalling the number of shoals I had blazed). I was so relieved we broke loose and the show would go on. Though a little late for the 1:00 pm grand entrance, we pulled into Delegal Creek and wound our way to the marina. 

There, friends and family members yelled and waved to us, welcoming us home.  What a rush! Of course, now I would have a large audience for my (yes, I know) last docking of the trip. The pressure was on, knowing I would be under the microscope. With the wind blowing from the North and outgoing current going the opposite direction, I pulled into the fairway and attempted to back toward Slip #C-19.  The current grabbed the boat and started pushing me into the adjacent docks.  I was certain the wind would be the stronger of the two forces, but I was wrong.  And all these people are thinking, “How did so called “captain” get this far, the way he drives?”  I hit reverse as the current carried me sideways.  I was able to clear the boat on the face dock (by a safe margin) and regather my thoughts.  I turned the boat into the wind with the stern facing into the current, and proceeded to zig-zag into the slip, like I knew what I was doing.  I got a small round of applause from the members of the audience who were boaters.  I was far more relieved than proud at the outcome, because there were lots of pictures and witnesses.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

With many friends present, and 2 of our kids (Ben and Clint and wives and grandchildren) I was humbled.  Here we were home, safe and sound, hearts packed full of special memories and friendships that we will share for a lifetime, and all these kind folks were here to celebrate the closing of this chapter of our life, America’s Great Loop.  Amanda and Wes crossed their wake and are now, officially, Gold Loopers.

Trip Statistics

Distance traveled 6,231 (statute) miles

Hours (engine) 811

Average speed 7.7 mph

Fuel burn 3.87 mpg

Gallons used 1,610

Observations

Best Day May 4, 2019: This Saturday was filled with the wood boat show, the thrill of watching kids being mentored by adults, as they built and raced their new boats.

Worst Day June 21, 2019: We crossed the Chesapeake from Deltaville, heading to Tangier Island. The weather forecast called for lots of wind in the afternoon, but our ETA was noon, so I figured we would be fine. Not so. The rough seas stirred the debris in the bottom of the diesel tanks. At 11:00 am, the engine stopped, filters plugged, 1 hour from our destination. The Coast Guard rescued us and towed us to Tangier. It took us 4 days in the marina to get the nerve to cruise again.

Longest Day October 29, 2019: We boated 101 nautical (116 statute) miles in 10 hours., averaging more than 10 knots. Very swift current and no good place to stop or anchor; we flew down the Mississippi River!

Favorite Place August 25, 2019: The Pool at Collins Inlet, Georgian Bay. One of the prettiest places I’ve ever been. They say up here a dip in the Pool will change your life.

Epilogue–Crossing the Wake

On June 7, 2020, Honey Queen crossed her wake in Savannah, Georgia. Like many before us, the excitement and emotion of the symbolic crossing was a high for us both. One lesson, of many, we learned: Crossing your wake is the accomplishment of a large team, not just two, old retired folks.

To those who made this adventure possible, we salute and celebrate you. Larry, the former owner of our boat, who gave 4 days of his time to orient us with every detail on the boat he had loved. Captain Chris Caldwell, who taught us how to navigate and dock (and a 1,000 other details) the Honey Queen and built our confidence. They convinced us we could do it. To the professional tow operators, who answered our ignorant requests on the VHF, with a “1” or a “2”, we thank you for your kindness. Speaking for all Loopers, we thank Kim Russo for making this experience a positive.  She assisted in “herding the cats”, coordinating our groups to navigate the river system during lock closures.  And she lead the movement to resolve the outrageous anchoring law in my home state of Georgia.  That was a really big deal! Our buddy boats, On Missions, Salty Dog, Vitamin Sea, and All Talk II became more than friends.  Their expertise, wisdom, sense of humor, and companionship made our experience safer and LOTS more fun. Every marina operator and dock hand that caught a line, took our trash, pumped us out, and gave us local knowledge really filled a gap as we gained experience. And, of course, every Looper along the way, who became our neighbor, we are grateful to you for all the docktails and tall tales we shared along the way.  Without a doubt, the friendship of boaters brought great memories to the adventure. But the biggest recognition must go to the Admiral, the swabby, the cook, the organizer, the navigator, the roommate, and friend for more than 42 years, Amanda. She completes “my” Loop.

Fair winds, friends.

Wes & Amanda Dorman

Honey Queen

1998–39’ Krogen Hull #3 (of 51)