The Wisdom of Solomons

Position: 38°19’42.6″N 76°27’31.7″W

We found Aleta where we’d left her, at Zahniser’s Marina, in Solomons, Maryland. Our work order had largely been completed, and with few surprises and a hefty bill we were ready to leave the dock and carry on. The weather, ever the butt of decision-making, was unsettled to say the least. Pulling out of the Patuxent River we headed north towards the Choptank River with no particular objective in mind. Perhaps we’d look into Oxford or Cambridge for some distractions. We anchored in the same spot we took back in October, before being towed into Oxford. Thunderstorms blew in and settled down for the next 36 hours. Flash flood warnings blanketed the region and record rainfall was causing havoc. Good time to be on a boat letting out a bit more anchor chain as the water level rose.

From the Choptank, one option was to head north to the Chesapeake and Delaware canal. From there we could head down the Delaware River and on out to the ocean. That route would save at least 125 miles and halve the offshore passage. Tingling, my sailor’s Spidey sense intimated that, while attractive, heading north might not be the best idea. With so much rain drenching the land all kinds of crap would be washing into rivers and on into the bay. Who knows what that might entail? Better to go with the flow and head south.

Back Up the Patuxent

Our first stop took us past the familiar landmarks of Drum Point and Solomons as we finally sailed under the Thomas Johnson Memorial Bridge northwards. At Cuckold Creek we found 12 feet of water and dropped anchor not too far from Stoney Kingfisher’s original restaurant. By this time Marlon had been on the boat for more that 48 hours and had peed only once. He was very happy to kiss the ground, and I don’t mean in a papal way.

Stoney’s was in the throes of a retirement party, with men stiffly sporting suits they rarely wore. Their partners were enjoying the occasion. Perhaps the suits reminded them of what they first saw in their guy to begin with. We ate fried and unremarkable food and then headed out for a longer walk with Marlon around the village green. Thunder rumbled over the damp streets, but it was mostly dry lightning between the voluminous clouds.

Reedville

Avid readers of this blog blessed with long attention spans may recall that we paused in Reedville last December for a spot of refueling and a chat with the owner of the Crazy Crab Restaurant. Or they may not, since we apparently never wrote about it.

Back in December it was a cold, clear day when we radioed the Crazy Crab fuel dock and asked if they were open. Charles, the owner, drove down and filled us with diesel and proffered the pump out hose, despite his restaurant being closed for well over a month. He encouraged us to come back in the summer when things were in full swing.

Eight months later we rediscovered our original anchorage, a fair mile from the Crazy Crab, but further still from the overwhelming smells of the Omega Protein fish processing plant. To be fair, Omega’s olfactory impact on Reedville is entirely dependent on the direction of the wind. Much like paper mills in Washington and Oregon, I am sure workers there tell their kids, “…that’s the smell of money.”

Baylor

Dining at the Crazy Crab is fun. The place is overrun with families and children of all sizes. I like places like that. Plus, it seems to have twice as many employees than any national chain, so service was both quick and amenable. There was a long list of specials, including stuffed softshell crab and oysters.

Our waitress, Baylor, was how I imagined Erin Brockovich before she became Julia Roberts: sassy, brassy and her own person. She had left Reedville in the dim and distant past as a teenager and under her own auspices. At some point she ended up in Tallahassee married to the wrong guy and decided that enough was enough. She fired her ex, sold up and moved back to Reedville. Her high school crush got in touch and after a couple of years of courting (and a cigarette and brown liquor embargo), they married. He works at Omega Protein and she waits tables, doing what she can to make ends meet. We were charmed by her stories. Baylor told us she gets her strength from her mom who is at this moment battling cancer. It’s a good thing that she’s strong. Life is throwing her punches that she’s rolling with, but she’s not leaving the ring anytime soon.

Fishing Bay

Wind. We had enough wind to thoroughly enjoy a day’s sail despite scant southerly progress. Electing to put into Fishing Bay, the site of our very first VLOG, we anticipated the evening’s weather show. It was not disappointing. Clouds moved in from the south, obliquely at first. I thought they might head off to the west and miss us entirely. Then a few flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder indicated that things were going to change. Dark, heavy rainclouds swept in from the east, arching above us, making us feel like we’d found the eye of the storm. Slowly the mass revolved and then coalesced into a torrential downpour. Briefly. Then again. Pause. And once more. The temperature dropped and eventually the entire paisley carpet of rain faded away leaving us snug on our anchor chain.

Cape Charles

Cape Charles is the last act on the Chesapeake. Close enough to Norfolk that it gets a fair amount of weekend party-goers, it still has the eastern shore’s laidback vibe that we find so inviting. As a town, Cape Charles is in the midst of a transition from blue collar cement and end of the line train depot, to a fully realized holiday destination. Microbrews in the local fish restaurant sit next to acres of disused marshalling yards. I asked the owner of our marina, the Cape Charles, what the town was going to do with all that land. “That”, said my wild-haired, middle-aged, beer-bellied interlocutor, “is the 65 million dollar question.”

Maurice

Opting for a walk along the wharf, we made our way to The Shanty for an early dinner. Even at 4PM the place was hopping, only becoming busier over the next couple of hours. At some point in the proceedings we became aware of a guy’s weekend: a bunch of guys out celebrating and living large around the bar. One of them, tall and angular, reminded us of a friend from Portland, Tyrone, and Carol managed to get as much information as she could on her way to and from the loo. The celebrant was Maurice, an Iraqi War vet now battling, and winning, his struggle with PTSD.

Maurice is fit and about 40. He stands 5’ 7” with black rimmed glasses and a fashionably shaved head. He came over and introduced himself and began filling in many of the questions that we had. We were charmed by him. One of the things he said that has really stuck with me was, “…the army teaches you how to go to war, but it doesn’t teach you how to come home.” His return from duty wasn’t easy and took a toll on his marriage. But with support from the VA and his friends he’s turning things around. He’s working on his Associates Degree in computer science and is taking aim at a Bachelor’s degree next. His goal is to work in the northwest, as long as he can keep in touch with his daughters. We exchanged emails and have since been in touch.

Chem-Ease

The following day we provisioned and filled with water and were just about to leave when a posse of folks turned up asking all kinds of questions about Aleta, which we did our best to answer. Moreover, three of the four of them were Chemical Engineers. I have a strict rule that I don’t deal with more than four Chem-E’s in a day! (Tai made the fourth.) Highly experienced, they were generous with career advice and email addresses. It will be up to Tai, whenever the time comes, for her to make contact as she takes the first step in her career.

With that we left the dock and headed out of the Chesapeake in search of points north under a dubious forecast. Just before we left one of the other boat owners asked us if we’d heard the news about the dam breaking? We had not. Apparently, a dam on the Susquehanna had overflowed, dumping tons of logs and other kinds of navigational hazards into the upper reaches of the bay. I was glad my Spidey sense had tingled at the right moment.

---