Isolated on the Intracoastal
On December 6, 2019, I awoke aboard my Mariner 36 sloop, Sparkle Plenty, to sun streaming into the cabin, totally unaware of the crisis that would unfold in the months ahead. Outside, a chilly Chesapeake Bay wind blew out of the south. With two crew, we soon motored out the narrow creek on the West River, about 10 miles south of Annapolis, Maryland. I contemplated the voyage ahead to Georgetown, South Carolina. There I would spend the winter in relative warmth. My plan was to return in April and resume my life.
After a rough three-day trip to Hampton, Virginia, we carried on to the Elizabeth River and into “the Ditch.” On the FM radio I heard something about “China” and “virus” but paid no attention. My focus was on bridge openings and making our designated anchorages before the early winter sunset. Our trip south was relatively uneventful except for one grounding on a mud bank that required a tow, my first ever in nearly 45 years of sailing. Soon I would be aground again.
In Georgetown, South Carolina, on December 21, I docked at Harborwalk Marina, just 100 yards off Front Street, the town’s main drag. I flew home for Christmas and returned at the end of January. By then, Wuhan, China, was starting to appear in the news with reports of a new virus. “Just another flu,” I thought.
By the end of January, the Wuhan outbreak was starting to make international news. In the US, February was a lost month. Even though the number of countries reporting the virus had exploded, locally it was business as usual. Then in early March, the country seemed to wake up. Once the focus shifted to “community spread,” I suddenly realized the virus might be here. Perhaps aboard the next transient boat? My slip mate’s boat? My boat?
Until now, our small group of liveaboards had shared drinks and cooked dinners together. As COVID-19 became a local issue, we started looking at each other with apprehension.
What effect would the virus have on our plans? What about Intracoastal Waterway bridges? Would the Corps of Engineers close the Ditch? What about the hundreds of boats about to head north? Should we sail or remain in port? As public health officials called for people to stay home, I decided to remain in Georgetown through April, for my own safety and the general good. Soon marinas started closing along the ICW, local businesses shut down, and social distancing became the new mantra. Few transients passed through. Cruisers went into hunker-down survival mode.
With cases spiking in Maryland, I extended my stay in South Carolina through May. Each morning, I awoke early with plans to accomplish several tasks, but my energy quickly dissipated. I experienced what many have described as “COVID-19 malaise.” In the evenings, I walked the historic district. The streets were deserted. I had a cab deliver provisions purchased online. I did laundry at midnight. I avoided my slip mates. I wore a mask and gloves whenever I left the boat.
Once Maryland allowed recreational boating to resume in late May, it was time to return home. But my June voyage was not what I had envisioned. I had wanted a leisurely passage, visiting towns and isolated anchorages along the ICW, followed by a week or so of cruising the lower Chesapeake. But that was the PRE-COVID-19 world. Now, a fast passage was in order, with limited to no external contacts. Then, suddenly, my local crewmember became unavailable. I immediately put out a crew call on my social media and crew finder sites.
The first reply was from Bill Cullen, an extremely experienced sailor known for his gear talks at boat-show seminars. Our passage would be a delivery with as few outside interactions as possible; we would sail as many miles as possible during the long summer days before dropping the hook. During the entire passage, we stayed at only one marina, in Myrtle Beach. From our departure, we raised sail whenever possible. Contrary to some “experts,” you can sail or at least motorsail much of the ICW when the wind is off your stern quarter.
With two weeks of provisions stowed aboard plus extra diesel and water, we made 12-hour runs and 70-plus-mile days; consistent southerlies allowed us to keep sail up along much of the Ditch. We free-sailed the wider rivers, sounds and the Chesapeake. Sailing added 1 to 2 knots to our motoring speed and more to our morale.
It was a fast but eventful trip, so quick that my relief crew was unable to join me, but Bill carried on. Ten days out of Georgetown, we pulled into my slip in the small village of Galesville.
As I write this, I am nearing the end of my self-imposed 14-day quarantine aboard. I made this decision long ago to protect my family and friends once I returned. Outside the marina bubble in the village, most people are not wearing masks. What are they thinking? In rough weather, sailors wear PFDS to protect themselves and their crewmates. If you go overboard without a PFD, you make a rescue much more difficult, putting yourself and other crew at greater risk. Right now, because of COVID-19, we are all experiencing some very rough weather. Like PFDS, we need to wear masks to protect each other.
Once my quarantine ends, I am apprehensive about leaving the boat. I feel like a singlehander returning from a long voyage at sea, unsure of my land legs. I am already weary of constantly being on guard. I am unsure about my future. Will I remain here, or will I sail south again? The only certainty I have is that Sparkle
Plenty still pulls at her dock lines.
Filmmaker Tory Salvia specializes in nautical productions and is the president of the Sailing Channel LLC (thesailingchannel.tv, sailflix.com).