On the Intracoastal Waterway

We began the intracoastal waterway in Norfolk, Virginia. The harbor in Norfolk is primarily known for its naval base, being the largest in the world. As we entered the channel we saw massive aircraft carriers and other huge ships. Many of these vessels are built in Bath, Maine.  We watched the USCG helicopters fly overhead to find a boat hailing for help on channel 16 because they were sinking. This first night we anchored in a small inlet because the bridge ahead didn’t open until the next morning at 8:30AM.  We were officially on the intracoastal waterway.

The intracoastal waterway is labeled with green and red channel markers. The inland side of the waterway is marked with red triangles, and the Atlantic side is marked with green squares either hosted on pilings or buoys. They look about identical to your typical markers, but they also have little yellow stickers indicating that they are indeed navigational aids for the ICW.  The rule “red right return” commonly utilized to understand how navigational marks work does not apply here because of the route’s variating direction as it goes north on the western side of Florida and in other spaces down closer to the Gulf of Mexico.

The ICW (icey-dubs as we have named it) is a series of canals, protected channels, and rivers. It's part of a larger internal waterway called the Great Loop. The waterway in some places is freshwater, in other places it is saltwater. Some areas, probably most, are brackish. In a few places, the tide was very high, like five feet, where in others, there was almost no tidal change at all.

The ICW is a good option for traveling in the winter because it shelters anyone in it from storms. There are services along the way in case something were to happen to you or your boat, and there are plenty of other people all going the same direction. 

The intracoastal was funded back in the day because it offered a landscape for transporting goods to major ports. During the War of 1812, congress approved funding for it to be developed.  Carrying goods over water, rather than railway or motor vehicle is substantially cheaper. However, the invention of the railroad was prolific and deterred efforts by the government from the ICW project. When WWI hit, there was a desperate need to transport more material quickly so the Federal Barge Lines was established by congress. The barge lines ran on the intracoastal, which boomed activity and eventually expanded it reaching Louisiana and Texas. In WWII German submarines had been attacking US merchant ships, so there was more of a need to transport goods inland. The ICW then reached New Orleans to Corpus Christi. Now, 18% of US material goods will travel on the intracoastal waterway. That’s nearly a fifth of our material goods economy. The people who keep it operating are the Army Corps of Engineers who once developed the bridges, locks, and dredging, and now work to maintain it.

Federally it’s required that the intracoastal is 12 feet deep. However, the channel is not well maintained…like at all…and often we hit spots that are only 6 feet deep. There is no toll for the channel, but to compensate for this luxury, people who use or operate on the waterway for commercial purposes pay a fee for their fuel along the channel.

The intracoastal waterway hosts many obstacles including unpredictable shoals, underwater wrecks, bridges, currents, tides, and locks. An obstacle we were able to avoid is heavy boat traffic. Thanks to the time of year we departed (a little too late) we didn’t ever have an issue finding space on a free dock, in an anchorage, or at a marina’s fuel dock.  Thankfully dealing with multiple other boats in the small area at once wasn’t a huge issue which provided us with a lot of solitude and a sense of adventure.  The late departure, did, though, bring us lower temps.  While sitting at a bar in Georgetown we were watching the news for the first time in weeks, which was, of course, Fox.

Fox News warned us of the “Arctic Blast” headed our way over Christmas.  We took this as an indication to get somewhere we could hunker down for a few days. So we did. 

We figured Charleston would be a good place to settle in for the cold because of the free dock in Shem Creek.  The dock is right next to town, and a little past that free dock is a restaurant dock, right in town, where we posted up for four days. 

It was getting cold on the day we were passing to Charleston. We had warning of a storm later in the day, so time was ticking. We had gotten an early start, though, and morale was high that we would make it to Charleston in time. We had about ten miles to go at 3:30. That was when we found out the bridge we needed to get through to get into Charleston Harbor didn’t open between the hours of 4-6…and we were five miles away. To make matters a little more intense, the wind was supposed to pick up to a steady 25-30 knots at 6:00 and the bridge wouldn’t open in wind greater than 25kn. We tied up to a fuel dock and discussed plans. The issue at hand was as such: the cold weather was coming in on Friday night and lasting until Sunday night. Starting at 6:00PM (this day) Thursday, the wind was supposed to pick up to 25kn+ and not slow down until the end of the cold days. This meant that if the bridge didn’t open at 6, we were going to be stuck at this marina until the end of the cold spell and we simply just don’t have the money to stay at marinas. Going back wasn’t really an option because we were in a canal and the last channel going out to the ocean was in the opposite direction, 50 miles away. At five we called the bridgetender who had indicated he wasn’t reading a steady 25kn wind yet, and that he would likely be opening the bridge at 6. So we turned the engine back on and pushed. On our way to the bridge it started raining as the wind picked up. Both in full winter-gear, we cleared the lift bridge. At this time, my phone received a gale-warning for Isle of Palms, exactly where we were.

A gale is a strong wind, upwards of 33kn, and listed as a 7-10 on the Beaufort scale.  A knot is equivalent to 1.15 mph, to give some perspective. With heavy rain, the sun going down, and almost freezing temps (33*F) it was a recipe for quite the exciting evening. We were going to be exiting the protected canal and entering the Charleston harbor, where we needed to navigate our way to the shallow and unlit Shem Creek.  

As we entered the harbor, it was totally pitch black, and maneuvering through the harbor was totally epic.  Over the roar of the engine, it’s really hard to hear what the other person on board is saying. When I’m trying to shout information about what’s ahead from the bow of the boat to Dan who is usually at the helm, he’s usually trying to put together what I’m saying by looking at what I’m pointing at, or by reading my lips. However, with the darkness, rain, and gale-force winds, communicating needs to be reinvented.  Immediately off of the Shem Creek channel, our depth finder reads 2 feet, and the charts are indicating anything from 2 feet to “caution area”.  It’s vital to stay in the channel, and that is made complicated with uncomfortable conditions and inebriated communication.  

Dan has become really good with the helm. He docks us almost every time, can run in reverse, can hold water in currents, and has a knack for keeping us in the channel.  So in this situation, he is at the helm. I get up to the bow of the boat with our spotlight. He screams out where our charts are indicating markers, and I shine a light, either to our left, which should reflect a green square marker, or the right shoulder, which will reflect back a red triangle. We piece it together. First, I shine a light to the green marker, he aims directly for that. I keep shining it every few moments to keep him on track. In between the time when I’m not shining it on the green, I’m directing the light towards the right, waiting until I get eyes on a red marker. When I see that I shout, and he knows to look. Sitting up on the bow that night was epic. It was freezing. Neither of us could feel our hands. We couldn’t really hear each other. We were both shuffling: maneuvering with the rocking of the boat in our dripping-wet bulky winter clothes and our eyes waiting on the final marker to indicate we’re about to enter the Shem Creek Inlet.

We pull into Shem Creek and dock at the in-town restaurant dock. Nobody is going to come out and tell us to leave – it’s definitely too cold for anyone in Charleston to come outside – and we figure that is how it’s going to be for the next few days.

The cold days pass without much excitement. Morale, low. Christmas was spent hunkered down in a hotel room while the 9*F two days passed (shoutout to our parents).  However, we had our next adventure to look forward to.

We had spent basically the entire portion of our trip (Norfolk to Charleston) buddy boating with Quijote, a 36 foot Endeavor, based out of Lake Ontario captained by two dudes and their dog. However, due to some engine complications and more ~complex~ complications we decided to part ways and leave the cold. We wanted to get to Florida. So we decided to leave the hotel and get out on the ocean.

We left Charleston harbor and made our way out to sea. Predict Wind had indicated we’d get Northeastern winds that night and for the next two days, which was perfect for what we wanted. However, as we got out on the water, we found ourselves in less than 5kn southwest winds. Our plan had originally been to stay within ten miles on the shore due to our lack of offshore sailing experience. However, we wanted that wind to straight shoot it to St. Augustine, so we kept going further out, hoping for the wind to pick up and shift.  As the sun was setting, we had an incredible dolphin show.

Dan had pointed and hollered at the dolphins about a hundred yards off our starboard bow.  “They’re coming right to us!” we both shouted at different times. And they were. The first dolphin I saw swam under the boat and reappeared on the surface, blowing out some air before plunging back down. Another one off the bow! Before we knew it there were probably forty or fifty dolphins. I was saying “YO DAN LOOK OVER HERE!” and meanwhile he’s looking in a totally different direction going “NO LOOK OVER HERE!” and before we knew it, we were part of the pod.  We were surrounded by soaring dolphins arching their bodies in all different directions. Sometimes they flip around upside down, sometimes they twirl, sometimes they entirely breach out of the water piloting their bodies four feet in the air.  Either way, we’re stoked. And we’re even more stoked because at that point we were far enough off the shore we couldn’t see land…and the sun was disappearing…and we would have been totally alone out there for the first time if it weren’t for the dolphins.

A small tear we had in the genoa quickly turned into a large one. The leech frayed (and still is fraying) because a seam popped for about ten feet. We brought down the sail and cut part of it so it wouldn’t catch on the spreaders where it tore initially.  It seems like it’s going to be an expensive fix, so for now, our genoa is torn.

The wind started to pick up pretty good around 12:30 AM that night. We both had bellies full of pasta and we had cleared the cockpit of basically all objects so nothing was flying around. The waves picked up a bit as they will, and the conditions got dicier as we sailed east.  We had gotten about fifty miles out that first night and realized we were in the gulf stream with northerly winds which is not a situation you want to be in.

The gulf stream is a strong current that begins in the southeastern islands with water collected from the equator area. It travels along the Atlantic coast up to the poles from the tropical zones.  The water near the equator is dense because of its temperature.  Water density is a function of salinity and temperature. Water in the north, like near the poles, is obviously colder and less dense. The higher density water pushes low density water out of the way and creates a northbound current. The gulf stream helps heat the ocean in the poles.  This current of the gulf stream, propagated by differences in density and salinity is called thermohaline circulation.  Rather than go straight up and down, the currents in the Northern hemisphere travel east because of the Coriolis Effect which is stimulated by the 22.5* axis rotation of the earth. The Coriolis effect also moves wind sideways rather than just straight, creating more widespread effects.

Being in the gulf stream, going north, with southerly winds, is very ideal for making time if you want to travel north, however, if you want to travel south, the current will pull you north, slowing you down dramatically. If you want to travel south in the Gulf Stream with northerly winds, not only will the current pull you north, slowing you down, you will also face chaotic water surfaces characterized by choppy, big waves. Ricocheting waves are called refracting waves which occur due to friction which is caused by different masses touching the water, energizing the liquid to move in different directions. In this case, the current is an energy force going north (the gulf stream) and the northern winds, blowing south, create friction on the surface, provoking waves that move south. The higher the wind, the more friction.

Choppy, big waves, like the ones we were in on the gulf stream pose a threat to us…on some level. On one hand, our boat is incredibly lightweight and draws only four feet. This means our boat is super ideal for island cruising because we can enter shallow anchorages and move quickly when we are going with the current or wind due to our weight. As a consequence, though, when we are in waves, our boat gets tossed more than another sailboat our size with a deeper or enclosed full keel typically would. The waves were not really a threat to our safety necessarily because they weren’t big enough to really flip us (that almost never happens) but they definitely were big enough that if we hit a wave incorrectly with a gust, we could have taken on water.  In addition, the waves also have a way of pulling the rigging really hard when we get knocked. Thankfully, our boat is rigged well, and the mast is keel stepped, so again, there is no major threat to our safety, but a constant wear and tear with a lot of weight on it in big waves, I would think, wouldn’t be great for it.

By 5 AM the sky is still dark and we’re definitely in the gulf stream. I can tell because when we look at the charts….we’re definitely in the gulf stream. The wind is continuously blowing 20kn+ and the chop is insane. Every time there’s a gust (probably around 30kn) the boat heels over and I’m putting all my weight on the helm to stop the boat from pointing upwind and causing us to heel even more. Due to the chop, going at a reach isn’t really doing us much more good, although it’s preventing us from heeling uncomfortably each time the wave slopes down. However, then a new waves slopes back up in a random direction and I’m chasing the downward slope of that one before we catch a crest and are pushed to shoot upwind. 

When the boat caught the first big gust, I had figured that with the sun coming up, we may be in for a, say, “slack wind” but alas, the gusts got bigger, more consistent, and were wearing me out after not sleeping all night. I called into the cabin where Dan was asleep on the living-room couch and as I did that a big gust heeled us over…a lot. The gusts were becoming more intense, no doubt, and we had all of our canvas up. I asked Dan to take down the mainsail. “Put on your lifejacket” I said…something I hadn’t said yet. “You’re going to need to tie yourself onto the boat”. He geared up and on all fours, made his way to the mast. He wrapped the jib halyard around him and cleated it off. With the boat rocking side to side, taking down the sail was no easy job. And it was way cold. My jaw was clenched as I watched him uncleat the main halyard in the light of his headlamp. You know Dan is taking something seriously when his tongue is out…it’s his concentration face. And his tongue was out. He managed to get the sail down and grab the helm so I could go use the bathroom. He describes moving around on the boat when it’s under way like the carnival ride where you’re pinned up next to a wall and the structure starts spinning, the floor drops, and your body defies gravity. It basically is that. Walking around below deck totally tosses you around, and peeing is no easy task. When I pee as the boat is under way, I have my hands balancing me, totally stretched out in different directions so I can’t fall over. As soon as I stand up, I reach around to find another solid point of contact. 

I came back into the cockpit to take over the helm again. As we spoke, morale was low. The ocean was testing us and we were ready to get somewhere where we could see land. That wouldn’t happen for another seven hours. But it happened eventually that morning. As the waters became calmer Dan took over the helm and I fell asleep in the cockpit. We thought that was going to be the most intense part of our journey to St. Augustine, but it wasn’t.

Two days after that we were again running off of no sleep. The night after being in the gulf stream we anchored off of Blackbeard’s island in Georgia to sleep, but after leaving there, we had spent the night awake, sailing, in much calmer seas. The seas that night were actually too calm, with the way the wind was we couldn’t send it straight south, so we were making “S” tacks and only cleared 10 miles south all in the dark of the night. Big L.  That day, though, we’d be coming into port in St. Augustine. Exhausted, we were, and a mistake, we did make. 

The St. Augustine inlet is pretty treacherous. We first laid eyes on it, unsure of what to think. Our charts indicated that the water was deep and that we could just enter the channel as we pleased. We simply didn’t do enough research.  We could see the beach bend into the inlet, and so we figured we’d follow. We both questioned each other about the breaking waves. I knew we shouldn’t be going into breaking waves – ever, but the charts were indicating a green light and we were a little too optimistic and excited to be done with our sleepless journey.  So we entered the breaking waves. 

Dan’s at the helm and I’m on my knees in the cockpit seat with my hands holding the hatch, supporting my weight. We start entering the foamy white surface. The waves are huge. Way bigger than they looked a hundred yards back. We both look at each other with emergency. We’re at a beam to them and they’re breaking something like eight feet over our boat. Dan doesn’t even has his tongue in his mouth, he’s gripping the helm yelling “WHAT DO I DO” and I yell “POINT OUT” and at this moment he goes “THE DEPTH FINDER” and I look and it’s reading 2.7 feet. And so now I’m like holy shit and he’s like holy shit and I’m thinking like “holy shit this is how someone shipwrecks” and I’m just hoping somehow we can maneuver out. And then I hear the throttle crank and Dan is pointing directly into the waves. The bow comes crashing down and the boat shakes. Next wave breaks. 2 feet. And we’re screaming every curse word we can just looking at each other like OH MY GOD. And somehow all of a sudden we are out of the breaking waves and back into the not-calm sea, about a mile off the beach.  

My body is tight and shaking aggressively, like how someone shakes when they’re climbing and freaking out. Both of us are totally in shock, and we need to chill out. But the ocean doesn’t stop moving and our boat doesn’t stop rocking and now the inlet is a threat, not a safe haven.  We point further out to get eyes on the furthest channel marker, thinking we should follow the entire channel. But the channel itself has the same intense breaking waves running through it and I’m thinking we’ve made some sort of mistake.  There’s no way this is the inlet. So I call a marina in St. Augustine, wondering what to do. He tells me to just go for it and keep left in the channel because it shoals dramatically on the right.  

In fact, the channel markers for this channel are only temporary. These markers are consistently getting replaced because of the shifting shoals in the area. Shoals are a stretch of shallow water which are built up of earth material and can be different forms like sand, rock, mud, etc. At the St. Augustine inlet the shoals are rock and sand.  

Dan gives me the helm and starts taking on the role as navigator while I am responsible for surfing the boat in over the waves.  We get to the lowest marked buoy (the furthest one from land) and he gives me a fist bump. We’ve got it. But we both know we’re each terrified. Hell, I’m planning my departure from the boat when we flip over. The waves are tall – like – really tall. There’s a storm in the distance and it’s pushing gale force winds. Which are pushing bigger waves. We have to go in the inlet or we’re going to be stuck in a storm for another night with no sleep.

When waves are created out at sea, they are more rolling with gentler slopes than coastal swells. These waves have a longer wavelength and are less of a threat to two lads on a boat like ours. Waves are not the movement of water. They are the movement of energy, and the movement of a wave is a circular movement called a wave orbit. Waves generated by wind are also called gravitational waves because gravity is necessary for them to occur. When the circle is interrupted by a mass of something that is not water, like the seabed, or the shoal in the St. Augustine inlet,  the circular energy of the wave is interrupted by the mass and the water is forced upwards, creating a steeper wave that has a breaking point. The wave becomes a function of depth. This type of wave is known as a “destructive wave”. So as we were entering shallow waters in the St. Augustine inlet, these already large gravitational waves were becoming more incredible by size and slope. From an ecological standpoint, this type of wave plays a role in an ecosystem by eroding river banks and the grounds surrounding waterways, and if it had the chance, probably our boat. It has a very strong, steep, and destructive downward force with a strong backwash.  A type of destructive wave you may encounter regularly would be the wave of a wake from a motorboat. 

The waves we were in were intense destructive waves. And the channel was about two miles long, with about a mile and a half of the channel ride of us being inside these massive waves. The waves were breaking five feet above our boat, and we had the engine full throttle. We were overheating but we didn’t even care because if we were too slow, the backwash from the destructive wave was going to pull us in and flip us. We needed to be faster. At this point, we weren’t even sailing, we were totally surfing. And we were clenching our jaws. The whole time I’m planning my departure if we flip over. I’m grabbing a surfboard and riding it in. At least I’m going out in style. No way am I gonna cry about this. Totally epic. I wonder what happened to the other shipwrecked boat on the shoulder of the channel as we passed it – what was their story? Did they end their trip proud and stoked? Or defeated?   Did the destructive wave…destroy them? Lol

As we passed the shipwrecked boat the wave height calmed down significantly. We were in the inlet. And eventually we were tied up at the free dock across the channel from St. Augustine. And Dan was buying dinner. <3 

I guess the opposite wave of a destructive wave is a constructive wave. A constructive wave, however, is kind of the opposite, it is a wave characterized by low wave height, with weak backwash, and a gentle slope. This type of wave is one you see at the beach that spreads a long way up the sand.  Ecologically, this wave plays a role by washing material high up on the land forming a berm. The long lines of seaweed that occur high up on a beach is a result of constructive waves, and this example of a “seaweed line/pile” is a berm. I would think that this would be important for the ecosystem because it essentially is a pile of solid matter getting deposited onto land. It probably helps to build a more solidified ground with nutrients from the sea. Unfortunately, though, seaweed collects a lot of waste in the ocean, and currents or waves push this polluted seaweed onto the land. A common beach practice, where public beaches are maintained, are for tractors to go over the land and pick up the seaweed because it’s an eyesore for beach-goers. Doing this probably makes a healthier beach for the people who want to go visit, it definitely makes it smell better, but unfortunately, I’d hypothesize that doing this would also inhibit a natural cycle from occurring. Different bugs that feed other critters and influence soil composition make their habitats in these deposits. Seaweed as well as other matter, “berm matter”, gets washed up offers tons of nutrients that, I wonder could theoretically be good for the soil and the waterways around the area. I would think that a buildup of these berms would also hinder erosion, which could work to prevent flooding and its consequences.

If you’ve ever seen a dolphin in the water, you’d probably come to the consensus that dolphins love waves. I’d imagine they’d like the wind waves because they occur in deeper waters…and that’s the only place we’ve seen them. Some people think dolphins enjoy swimming in waves because the energy from the waves helps propel them forward so they can swim at their ultimate speed and catch fish faster. Some biologists think they like waves because the propulsion from the waves helps them to knock parasites off their bodies.  It’s also thought that dolphins like waves because the movement and splashes in the waves help create vibrations that other dolphins can hear. Dolphins are very social creatures, and their hearing is incredible.  Their hearing is seven or eight times stronger than a typical human’s which occurs at 20kHz. They can localize sound as well as discriminate intensity and frequency better than we can. Dolphins, as well as bats, employ echolocation which means they’re able to find the location of an object by the reflection of a sound. This is how dolphins found our boat and directed their pod towards it on our first night out at sea. That is all I have to write for now thanks for reading if you made it this far