North Edisto River to St. Augustine Heavy Winds and Rough Seas

October 30th, we rendezvoused with Buddy Boat, Sand Castle, and anchored in Steamboat Creek, off the North Edisto River. The plan was to leave at first light. Our anchorage was nestled in a marshy tidal creek with nothing visible, except the marshy grasses, trees, a distant dilapidated barn, and a gazebo, a pretty anchorage.

Morning weather brought bad news of storms and heavy winds off shore, so we decided to motor on to Beaufort throught the Intercoastal. By the time we arrived, the weather forecast was more benign so at 3 pm, we left via Port Royal Sound and were instantly sailing in an 18 knot wind, directly behind us. This was another night of remembering that weather forecasting is never an exact science. The winds increased through the night and by midnight we were experiencing steady 25 to 30 knots winds with gusts to 34 and 7-9 foot waves and averaging 8.5 knots over ground with the just the jib. Wind Dancer and San Castle were not alone out there, at least a half dozen boats traveled southward with us that night, visible both by their winking mast lights as they dipped into troughs and soared over  wave crests and their blips on the radar screen.

Two experiences marked the passage. At about 4 am, a strange light appeared, moving oddly up an down and even directly into our eyes. Checking the radar, we realized that the lights belonged to a boat moving directly across our path. The night was pitch black, the moon had set (more on that later). The closer the boat came to us, the odder it seemed. We couldn't see any navigation lights, only a powerful white spotlight raking the seas, flashing into our eyes and up again skyward. Suddenly, we were aware of a huge black shape on the horizon, visible only as an absense of light. The object moving toward us, a little to close for comfort,  was a tug, pushing an enormous unlit barge. There was the explanation of the spotlight, which was a warning. We veered off sharply to ensure that we came no closer.

Back to the moon. I had the 1 am to 4 am watch and was seated behind the wheel, feeling only slightly unnerved as we screamed through the night at hull speed on a vehicle with no brakes and limited manueverability. I had been keeping my eye on the other boats and radar images to insure that that all was well. Suddenly, I saw what appeared to be a sailboat with a pale red spinnaker bearing down on us from out of nowhere! We were on a collision course! I yelled at Rick to come up on deck and grabbed the wheel, prepared for evasive action. Within seconds, I realized, somewhat abashedly, that the red spinnaker was the crescent moon setting in the west and there I stood,  on deck, hands on the wheel, preparing to change course to avoid a collision with the moon. Such are the things that happen in the lonely dark hours of the midwatch on an overnight sail.

We survived until morning, but decided to duck into the easy Jacksonville, Florida entrance and finish the day by motoring to St. Augustine. The entrance was not difficult despite waves so large that we lost sight of our Buddy Boat between them, and despite the fact that an inbound Coast Guard Cutter passed us in the channel and a small freighter passed us outbound. We slept peacefully that night tied to a mooring ball in the St Augustine City Marina.