October 1, 2006

At daybreak wisps of steam rose from the dark water like smoke over a mirror. The ghostly images were illuminated by slanting sun rays, giving the entire picture an ethereal effect. We were the lone traveler under the Great Bridge at its eight o'clock opening, a bridge we'd walked over many times during the summer. We eased through the lock just beyond the bridge. 

Two hours later we were at the Deep Creek Lock on the north end of the Dismal Swamp Canal, way too early for its 11:00 opening, so we dropped anchor along with two other early birds. A few minutes later we were surprised to hear the lockmaster announce via VHF that we should all weigh anchor and come on in. We did, and hitched up on the starboard side in the number one position with the others close behind. Then two more straggled in to tie on the port side. All five of us were ready but we still had to wait until 11:00. Music drifted overhead from the outdoor PA system, mostly old songs from the 1940s. The lockmaster came by and told me we'd be having a rough ride, being first in line, and strongly advised me to cleat my line instead of just holding onto it. I'd been in a predicament like that before so he didn't have to tell me twice. We all stood ready to rise up the wall in the incongruous setting, enclosed by the grimy lock walls on a gorgeous fall day listening to Dinah Shore sing Blues in the Night. Finally the gate opened and copper-colored water churned as if a giant egg beater was underneath. The lockmaster walked over again to offer advice. "Never be first in line if you want a smooth ride." 

We motored through the ever-tranquil Dismal Swamp Canal to the visitors' center, where we edged up to the dock to spend the night. Now I know what those seedlings were that we'd seen sprouting last April - they were cotton plants, now ripe for picking. The cotton may be soft and fluffy, but if you reach down to pick one you're likely to get a sharp stab from the point of the open cotton boll.

In the 1820s the Halfway House Hotel was built along the canal on the North Carolina/Virginia state line, where it's said that Edgar Allen Poe was inspired to write The Raven and where Edna Ferber wrote Showboat, upon which the famous musical is based. 

An after-dinner stroll seemed like a good idea until we got about 20 feet down the trail and the blood-thirsty swamp angels descended on us. Folks on the other six boats dashed inside for safety too. That put an end to the social hour.

Our 7:30 a.m. departure was planned to coincide with the South Mills Lock opening, once again smooth and easy, and we didn't mind at all that it would be the last lock of this trip. We were close to the end of the canal where it eases into the tightly winding Pasquotank River. Rounding a bend, we passed Army Corps of Engineer workers hauling up fallen trees to make the waterway snag-free. We would've stopped in Elizabeth City had it not been for heavy weather moving in the next day; if we didn't make it across Albemarle Sound, we'd have to stay several days. Weather rules when you travel by boat, unless you're a glutton for punishment. This was the third time we'd crossed the sound and by far the smoothest. 

An almost-full moon rose over the Alligator River that night and we were gently rocked to sleep swinging on the anchor. Next morning it was more easy cruising on the Pungo Canal through quiet waters banked by the first hint of autumn colors. At 2:30 we claimed our usual Belhaven anchorage next to the boat ramp where they have cleats to tie up a dinghy. Old majestic homes along the waterfront are well-kept and picture perfect. 

We'd had such an easy few days, I guess something icky just had to happen. That night I was in the middle of a peaceful dream when I woke up to something crawling across my face. After flailing my arms like a nut and leaping out of bed to shake the sheets and blanket, sleep was over. At 5:00 a.m. I was up to stay. 

Next stop, the city marina in Washington, North Carolina to visit our friend Alice and at the same time keep one step ahead of the cold front heading our way. We turned up the Pamlico River, stained brown by tannin from cypress trees along the banks (and growing in the water). A cold mist began but let up just as we stopped, long enough for us to get settled into our slip. It was homecoming night in Washington and we watched the high school kids set up their floats along Water Street for a four o'clock parade. At 3:45 the temperature dropped, the sky darkened and the rain came hard. They started their parade on time but the drenched cheerleaders in their little costumes were about to turn blue.

Norfolk may have its mermaids, but Washington has crabs.

We had fun hanging out with Alice and once again she schlepped us around town for errands. NOAA had predicted a good weather window for leaving on Monday but that didn't happen. By Sunday night they'd revised the forecast for rough water and thunderstorms until Wednesday. We sat tight.  

(click on pictures to enlarge)