ICW # 5

It is impossible to traverse the coastal waters of Georgia “at will” in a deep-draft vessel. Five foot depths of water at low tide are commonplace and some areas we passed through such as “Hells Gate” and Little Mud River have mean low water (MLW) levels of 2’ and 4’ respectively. With a 6’ draft these areas must always be traversed just before high tide. If you cross them on a “flooding” tide (i.e. before high tide) and get hung up on a shoal, water is still coming in and in time, hopefully, will be able to lift you up and off. But if you cross on an ebbing tide (i.e. after high tide) with water running out, shoaling will leave you stranded high and dry. This latter scenario is fraught with potentially drastic consequences for the following reasons. The base of a sailboat is not flat and it doesn’t sit comfortably level on a shoal if stuck there on a falling tide. Because it has a long thin keel, it is in danger of toppling over onto its side if the tide runs out while it’s shoaled. If this happens it has to wait for a flooding tide to lift it up and level again. But a flooding tide can do just that—flood the boat and fill it with water if it’s heeled over too much!

In Georgia you must “play the tides.” This means planning your departure time each day in such a way as to arrive at trouble spots on a flooding tide. Initially we were very apprehensive about our ability to manage this. But as it turned out, with careful planning it was much easier than we had anticipated. For one thing, the tides here are very high—usually 7’-8’. And when we were here, a full moon had boosted them even higher—to 9’4” on Nov. 25th. In addition, strong “nor’easters” were blowing in from the Atlantic and many areas were flooded even higher. Thanks to modern technology our GPS unit could provide us with daily tide tables indicating times, heights and locations so it was possible to intelligently plan for each day. This system worked beautifully and we always had plenty of water under our boat. But others, more cocky than us, were not so lucky and, as we traveled this section of water, often heard distress calls over channel 16 from boats shoaled along the way.

Everything went according to plan until Mon. Nov. 26th. That morning we set off with “Makai,”our buddy boat, shortly before dawn, hoping to cross several trouble spots in one go. We had never left in darkness before and it was a truly magical experience. The water was smooth as glass with the reflection of the moon shimmering across it. The air was still and we made 8 knots as our boats sliced easily through the water and across Sapelo Sound. As the sun began to rise in the sky we approached Creighten Narrows, the first of several tricky channels. But no sooner had we begun to negotiate these waters than a mist arose out of nowhere obscuring the shoreline. As we motored deeper into this treacherous area it thickened into fog and within seconds visibility was reduced to zero! We had no idea how close we were to “Makai” or if she had stopped and we were in real danger of crashing into her. The only thing we could do was stare at the little boat symbol sailing merrily along the “route line” on the GPS screen, keep it on track, and hope that we had plotted everything accurately the night before. We prayed that our unit would not now malfunction! A few days previously it had been acting up—suddenly flashing on and off with “boat” and charted course lines running amuck and depths disappearing altogether. Please! Not today—not now! For more than two hours we slowly motored blindly through the fog. Imagine cotton wool surrounding the boat—for much of the time it was just like that! I was perched on the prow, peering out into nothing, when suddenly markers would loom towards us out of nowhere leaving us with mere seconds to swerve and avoid a collision. Occasionally we’d see a ghostly shape—another boat anchored or shoaled just off the channel but it would disappear again as quickly as it came shrouded in the shifting mists. But we were not in this alone. Channel 16 was alive with the chatter of boats ahead and behind us reporting on fog conditions at their various positions or asking for help. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the mist began to clear a little and we were able to identify where we were and make it safely into an anchorage. But no sooner had we dropped our hook than the fog enveloped us once again. Talk about luck! We didn’t make the progress we had expected when we headed off so confidently at dawn but we did survive this ordeal unscathed and for that we are very grateful.

Today we have a slip at Jekyll Harbour Marina where we have spent the afternoon touring the island, riding bikes, walking on the beach, and doing a little shopping and laundry. Tonight we’re treating ourselves to “Low-Country Boil” a regional specialty with lots of shrimp and other local ingredients. Then its only a short hop to Florida, 15 miles away.