Run for Salvation

North Myrtle Beach lies just over the state line at approximately mile 340 of the ICW. We are at least 17 days behind schedule. The timeline is mostly in my mind because one of our first rules for this adventure was ‘No Schedules’, but winter was chasing our tails and I looked forward to warmer weather.

The continuing stress of whether we’d successfully transit the next passage or run aground was taking its toll, especially on Mike. His curses about how unnatural it was for Aleta to be traveling the ICW were growing more frequent and teetering on the edge of rants. This was most definitely not fitting my ideal of a bucolic traverse through the protected waterways. Even my relaxed optimism was dashed when we looked at the Army Corps of Engineers surveys of the way ahead and activecaptain.com updates saying there were stretches with no more than 4’ of water at high tide…oh, SH*#!!!

We agreed that the rest of the ICW was impassable for us. Freezing rain was falling…but Charleston and salvation was only an 18-hour sail away – if we ran down the coast. The conditions changed hourly, but finally looked better than the last few days. So we decided to make a run for it. Having made the decision to leave we then waited until the tide was high enough to let us out of the harbor, head towards the Little River Inlet and on to our first off-shore overnight passage. Meanwhile the infection I picked up started to make its presence known.

We planned a course and pushed off at 3pm, expecting to arrive in Charleston Harbor an hour or two after sunrise. Given it was my first overnight and off-shore experience, we planned to do two hour shifts instead of the usual four. By 6 pm Mike was pointing out how poorly I looked and told me to lie down and try to sleep. I lay in the salon instead of the V-berth and even with low seas, Aleta rocked considerably. My earplugs did little to drown out the engine which unfortunately we had to run since the wind dropped. I ached and tossed and turned fighting the fever. I finally willed myself to sleep since I’d have to be taking a shift soon.

The next thing I knew Mike was waking me to ask which marina we were heading to. I blinked disoriented, the sun coming through the portholes. “Why didn’t you wake me?!! You weren’t supposed to stay up all night!” Mike muttered something about the Captain not letting a sickie take the helm. He didn’t fool me in the least – his barking at me to take the Cipro, drink more water, get some sleep, blah, blah, while he stayed at the helm for 20 hours was selfless and thoughtful. I’ll always remember my first overnight ocean passage being completely different than I anticipated. No solitude under the stars, anxiety over unknowns in the dark, watching the sunrise, but a gesture of love from my mate and captain.