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It’s time to pack up your summer clothes and your favorite foods and brews and ride the Atlantic ICW south, to a winter’s worth of summer. Although it begins in Boston, you won’t get the feel of being on this “Boater’s Route 66” until you’ve passed through the Chesapeake into Norfolk, Virginia, where the waters tame to river-like calm and the highway numbering begins. Mile marker #1 begins near nun #36 in Norfolk; you’ll have passed 1,095 of these by the time you’ve reached Miami.
These mile markers, which indicate statute distance, will help you both to navigate and to plan your travel day--you can literally walk your fingers along them on the charts. Be advised that the Coast Guard and Marine Environmental Police patrol limited speed and no wake zones in the residential areas, bridge approaches, and in manatee protection areas.
For a problem free trip, pay close attention to your charts and the depth, stay within the channel, and keep an eye on the “road” fore and aft of you. There are a litany of charts and books available. We relied on at least six sources, which included area-specific electronic and paper charts, the popular flip-over ICW chartbook that covers Norfolk to Miami, and a similar one from Chartracker. A good set of binoculars will help you identify navigation aids and afford a close view of the shore life. Bring a camera, too!
Don’t leave home without a working marine radio. Monitor VHF 16, used for hailing and distress, at all times; and to be prepared to communicate on VHF 13 whenever you are near a bridge or a large vessel, such as a barge, tanker or dredger. It’s customary to switch to a non-commercial channel for conversation—but not all boaters do. There are no secrets on the waterway. Everyone hears who’s calling towing service and who’s just delivered a horrendous wake.
Throughout the trip, your eyes will be glued to the depth sounder, as well as the army of buoys and range markers intended to march you through the dicey areas. Heading south, green is usually to port. At junctions, where there are several buoys, your charts will tell you which indicate continuation of the main waterway, and which lead to small inlets. There are red and white striped range markers in areas where shallow water closely abuts the channel, usually two. Line them up, one behind the other. Use either navigation charts or common sense to negotiate unmarked areas. When in doubt, keep to the center and run parallel to the outsides of curves to avoid the shoals. If an area appears shallow, it is. Keep a sharp lookout for clumps of marsh grass, twigs, tree roots, and other floating debris that threaten to jam your prop.
If the current is going your way, it will speed you along; but be vigilant about checking your wake to make sure it hasn’t coaxed your boat out of the channel—the most popular way to run aground. If you’ve a powerboat with no keel and smugly think running aground is of no concern, you’re wrong. One morning, we heard the same two powerboats hail towing service, twice. If you are aground, you risk damaging your hull: if the bottom is sand, reversing hard may wedge you in further or pump sand through the engine’s intake; if it’s rocky, you may harm the hull by reverse action. Keep in mind that the further south you travel the lesser the tide differential; you can’t always count on the tide rising high enough to float you off.
The US Army Corp of Engineers is responsible for keeping the ICW channel a clear 7- to 12-feet deep at Mean Low Water (MLW); but funding is always an issue, leaving untended areas that have filled in or are riddled with shore debris and some areas impassable. Check for problem areas before you depart.
The first time a powerboat slowed down and chugged by without slamming us with the customary wake, I gasped in disbelief. This consideration is unheard of in our home cruising grounds, where boaters conveniently forget they are responsible for their wake. Bone up on nautical lingo, so you’ll know the difference between a one whistle (port) and two whistle (starboard) pass, as it will be embarrassing to clarify this over channel 16.
“Sailboat going south, we’re comin' up on you. We’ll give you a nice, easy, one-whistle pass, if you’ll slow down.”
“Thanks for the slow pass, Captain.”
Travel through an ICW channel is needfully slow. A wakeless pass prevents stirring already shallow waters, making them shallower, causing a boat to go aground. In the above instance, the sailboat would pull back the throttle to idle speed to allow the boat to pass. Otherwise, the overtaking boat would need to speed up to pass, creating a greater wake. Once the pass is complete and both boats resume speed, we found that, as the overtaken boat, we could avoid being jostled by turning into the wake of the boat in front of us.
Be prepared to gnash your teeth over those X%#$**/ bridges, especially if your boat has a high rig. Use the bridge information chart to determine the bridge name, type, height, and opening schedule. The ICW criterion for fixed bridges is 65 feet clearance at MLW, but we found the Pungo River and Lake Worth inlet bridges, a bit shy of this. Also, a 50-foot fixed bridge near Miami inlet bars some boaters from using the ICW between Miami and Fort Lauderdale.
There is always current around bridges, so don’t crowd other boats passing through. Boats traveling with the current have right of way. If you’ve a low-riding boat, simply lower non-structural items, such as antennas, if necessary to pass under. The tallest part of the bridge, barring a construction defect, is at the very center. Aim your bow towards the “dangle” that marks this spot. You should see a set of tide boards marked with numbers--65, 63, 62, and down— flanking the entry area. These denote the present clearance based on high or low tide. Here’s where binoculars come in handy. Numbers rub off, or gather sea crud so they are not always legible.
Some drawbridges open on demand; others at scheduled times. Contact the bridge tender on to request an opening, to verify the next opening time, and to advise him or her of your approach. Once you are inside the half-mile mark, the tender should acknowledge you and hold the bridge. Keep communications flowing, so he or she knows you are doing your best to get there. A bridge tender may decide to delay a scheduled opening in order to balance car and boat traffic, or to accommodate all of a convoy of approaching boats. If a bridge has an unscheduled opening, you may be able to sneak though.
Should you miss a bridge, there’s little to do except pirouette outside it until the next opening. This means paying constant attention to the current flow, the shallow surrounding areas, and the other waiting boats that pile up around you.
Overall, the ICW is a not-to-be-missed educational experience. You’ll gain confidence in navigating shallow waters strewn with gnarled logs that float like dead bodies and snap endless photos of air, while trying to capture diving dolphins and eagles with spread wings. Like me, you’ll learn not to cringe as you slide under a fixed bridge that appears shorter than your rig and to duck when your mast light and antennas drop off. But most of all, once you reach your destination, you can pat yourself on the back for having completed the Intercoastal Waterway, one of the most deceptively challenging cruises of all. |
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Author's Note:
There are areas of the ICW that are no longer navigable, due to lack of funding for dredging. For these areas, you will need to travel on the outside. As I last traveled the area in years 2002-3, be sure to check on the latest status of area shoaling, as well as specific marina information before you set out.
If the thought of putting your boat to bed for the winter gives you the chills, head south young man (or woman), where the sun waits to warm your body and your soul and your boat can blissfully bob in its summer splendor. Just hop on the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) and join the 13,000 recreational boats that traverse its waters each year.
Also known as”The Ditch” or “Boater’s Route 66,” the ICW is a government-maintained, toll-free inside passage that has operated since 1920. This string of natural and manmade rivers, lakes, sounds, bays, streams, swamps, and canals affords mariners a safe, comfortable passage and enables them to bypass turbulent offshore seas.
The Atlantic ICW hugs the east coat of the United States; but its branches extend to Brownsville, Texas and Apache Bay, Florida, on the Gulf Coast. Mile markers set along the ICW measure distance in statute miles, which are 796 feet shorter than nautical miles. Although congressional legislation has authorized that the AICW be maintained at 12 feet from Norfolk to Virginia and 10 feet from Fort Pierce to Miami, the controlling depth can be as shallow as 5 feet. There are areas of the ICW that are no longer navigable, due to lack of funding for dredging, which will require travel on the outside. Be sure to check on the latest status before you set out. One web site you may find helpful is http://www.atlintraccoastal.org/WW_facts.htm.
What’s it like?
Many speak casually about traveling south, and the ICW is often portrayed as a cakewalk. Certainly, it is, when the alternative is bucking opposing Gulf Stream current, and the nastiness surrounding Cape Hatteras and Cape Fear’s Frying Pan Shoal on the outside. But don’t be fooled into complacency. Navigating the ICW requires the patience of a St. Bernard, the sharp eyes of an eagle, and a huge chunk of chutzpa.
It’s a long, but lovely trip. We logged 1,444 nautical miles between Connecticut and Palm Beach Florida—nearly as far as the offshore Caribbean trip we took several years ago. I spent my first week on the waterway in awe of its beauty and the next few weeks wishing an end to the long days of motoring, worrying about making it under a hodgepodge of bridges, and praying we wouldn’t run aground. Watch for local boats: tankers, barges under tow, dredgers, draggers, shrimpers, and small pleasure boats that skitter about every which way. The effects of 9/11 are evident in the stepped up security in naval zones throughout Maryland, Virginia, and the Carolinas.
But don’t let all this discourage you. The majority of ICW traffic is one way, depending on the season and the route is obvious with its distinctive buoys marking the most critical passes. No matter how fierce the waters on the outside, the ICW will maintain its silken calm demeanor. If the current is favorable, it will speed you along. One day we traveled in 30 to 35 knot winds, and the water barely rippled. There’s comfort in traveling with many of the same boats, day after day. You know them by their radio banter and, when they hail and switch channels to talk, it’s fun to sneak a listen.
There’s always something interesting to see, as if gliding along on a Disney ride. You’ll wind around creeks so narrow and swampy you’d half expect a jungle animal to pop out from the bushes. This treasure trove of nature spills over with egrets, blue herons, osprey, eagles, and other shore birds, many who nest atop the channel markers. It’s common to converse with dolphins, diving like synchronized swimmers, alongside--we watched in fascination as a pair tossed a fish back and forth, as if it were a ball—or, to spot a manatee. Some of the lakes and sounds are so expansive it’s easy to forget they are shallow. You’ll coast by vacant waterfront homes as large as hotels, as well as trailer parks and fishing shacks bursting with life.
Plot your course
The best way to enjoy this trip is to meander, stopping here and there for a few days to relax, visit relatives, and to sightsee. The problem is that few of us working folks have six to eight weeks to spare, which turns a pleasure cruise into a boat delivery. Here, having a fast boat will buy time, but it’s difficult to avoid delays due to bridges, shallow snaking passes, restricted speed zones, and boat traffic.
Use only the most current waterway guides and navigation charts. You’ll need marina and anchorage information, as well as bridge detail. Plan your trip, and time your legs to coincide with interesting and picturesque harbors having good facilities. Most sources suggest that you plan to travel 50 statute miles a day on the ICW during the hours between dawn and dusk.
Make time
It’s impossible to shorten the miles traveled, but you can pack more miles into a day by pushing beyond the 50-mile recommendation, beginning your day on the water at first light and finishing off at dusk (which in the fall arrives around 6 pm). If you are willing to stand night watches, put in a 24-hour day with a few short offshore legs when sea conditions are favorable. We signed on with an offshore rally from Block Island to Annapolis and traveled the Chesapeake to Beaufort, NC with plans to jump outside. Rollicking eight- to ten-foot seas forced us back onto the calm of the ICW, where we remained all the way to our winter port in North Palm Beach, Florida. Had the seas cooperated, we might’ve nipped out at Morehead City, Charleston, Savannah, St. Augustine, or Fort Pierce. Be aware that not all inlets are viable. Some are so treacherous that waterway guides warn against using them; be sure to do your homework.
Check your insurance
We left late September, after working out a plan with our insurance company. Most companies will up your coverage rate if you travel south during hurricane season, between June 15th and November 15th. Unfortunately, the end of hurricane season brings winter weather and, coming from Long Island Sound, you’re apt to travel many icicle-laced miles before reaching the springtime of the Carolinas. Our insurance company requested a copy of our itinerary and information about our boating experience before allowing travel. The extra cost to travel ahead of schedule bought us the conveniences of very available overnight facilities, light boat traffic, and summer sun all the way to Florida.
Bring money and food
Whether you are a powerboat or a sailboat, you will blast through fuel, as you will be motoring most of the way. A high-speed powerboat may require fill-ups several times a day. On the ICW, we found few areas where we could sail without concern about going aground. A hoisted sail also obstructs vision of important channel markers and restricts maneuverability in narrow channels.
The most efficient way to refresh fuel, water, and selves is to check into a full-service marina. To locate overnight facilities, we relied on the Atlantic Coast waterway guide and Chartracker, which is a combination chart and facilities book. Yet, detail was minimal. A separate waterway guide for each state would’ve been more comprehensive, though expensive. As you plan your mileage for the day, also choose your overnight stop.
Before committing to a marina, consult your sources to be certain it can accommodate your boat size or type. Do you have to travel up an out-of-the-way inlet to reach it? We were stuck circling for over an hour outside of a drawbridge closed for rush hour traffic; it was sunset before we made it across to our marina. Many wayside marinas are small and fill up fast. Be prepared to contact them via cellphone (and hope for a signal) to reserve a slip, as some don’t monitor their VHF. During prime season, failing to make advance reservations for a slip can mean anchoring out.
While there are designated anchorage areas on the ICW, you’ll be disappointed if you expect the cozy coves we enjoy in the northeast. One night, when we couldn’t reach a marina before dark, we anchored in a “swamp” in Bear River. It was lovely, framed in yellow-green marsh grass, but humid and buggy. That night the winds howled so loud we thought we were being buzzed by an airplane. We sat up all night anchor watching, for fear we’d wake up beached on the marsh. As much of the water is shallow on the tributaries that make up the waterway, you’ll find few moorings.
Lastly, I heartily recommend you begin your trip with a well-stocked larder. There are few good wayside markets within walking distance of marinas, so it will be difficult to replenish supplies. Typically, we ate breakfast and lunch underway, and then tried our darndest to overnight berth at a marina claiming a restaurant. Most eating establishments on the waterway are casual, and through the Carolinas and Georgia you can get some good down-home southern dishes and fabulous fresh seafood. Forget your diet. We gorged our way through crab cakes, popcorn shrimp, fresh fish, and hushpuppies—all fried to perfection. Side of fries? Sure. Don’t forget the catsup.
Coming Home: Northbound to Connecticut
430 miles drop behind us like pounds off a fat person on the Atkins Diet. With a Gulf Stream boast we are soaring home from North Palm Beach, Florida at double our normal speed. It’s been fun being a snowbird, but it’s time to enjoy the best of boating in our home cruising grounds, Long Island Sound.
The mass exodus north begins in May. Travel outside of the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway) is easier than in the fall: the current is with us; hurricanes aren’t a threat; and there are more daylight hours. Our trip plan is to run offshore from Florida, cut into the waterway at Cape Fear, and then shoot home from Cape May.
Commander weather service assures us a good weather window for the first offshore leg, a 2 ˝-day stint. Gil, Sam, and I sail into the blackness of moonless nights and into the dawn of new days holding watch schedules of three hours on, three off. We are welcomed at the Cape Fear inlet by a ripe-tomato sun rising over Bald Head Island, North Carolina. The beauty of the morning and the excitement of landfall washes away our fatigue and we almost forget how salt sticky we’ve become.
We continue traveling the Cape Fear River to the ICW to reach Wrightsville Yacht Club at Wrightsville Beach. It’s Mother’s Day, and we share space at the marina restaurant with grandparents, parents, and squalling kids--my own children, so far away. An egret struts down the dock as if going to his boat, and arcing dolphins frolic in the strip of water before us. Sam departs for home.
To Norfolk
“Hurry up; if we miss the 7 am bridge opening, we’ll have to wait another hour! Back to the ICW in all its splendor. The day starts out nicely as we motor past idyllic, lived-in homes with rolling lawns, accessed from the river from long wooden piers capped with Gazebos. Our sightseeing reverie is broken by building winds, gusts up to 35 knots that ice the waterway with chop. By the time we’ve endured the 60 plus nautical miles to Beaufort, North Carolina (Beaufort City Dock Marina), I’m ready to lie down in darkness with dead quiet.
But, we must eat, and it’s amazing how a fine meal of native black crab sautéed in butter can tame a raging headache. Our heat pump exudes cold or hot air to maintain a temperature. We go to sleep with the air conditioning in full force, and wonder why the heat is on by morning. Yikes! It’s 60 degrees outside! Gil and I erect “the bubble,” the protective vinyl cockpit enclosure that keeps us dry when it rains and warmer when it’s cold.
Leaving summer behind, we set off for Oriental, a half-day run. Albemarle Sound has fewer shallows than lower portions of the ICW and it is expansive enough to permit sailing maneuvers. In high season, making advance reservations is vital, as there are few marina choices. Whittaker Creek Yacht harbor makes a scenic second choice. There’s no tide here, so we fret over the small powerboat that appears to have gone aground and cheer when he breaks free. Later that evening we share a shuttle to the Oriental Steamer Restaurant with the powerboat crew who are trying, as we are, to reach a northerly home. The she-crab soup is a specialty here that shouldn’t be missed.
The following morning, we continue our crawl north to Belhaven and Rob’s Boatyard whose motto is, “We ain’t just a pretty face.” The marina area is the hub of a tiny town, where all but the local restaurant are closed. After a disappointing meal of overcooked fried seafood and iced tea, we walk towards River Forest Marina in search of cocktails and discover the stately Manor House and a southern-style buffet. The bartender buys Gil’s sob story about missing good old southern cooking and slips away to steal us a sampling of fried chicken.
This is an 85-mile day; to us, 10 hours on the waterway. We’re headed to Coinjock, a waystop in our travel between the Alligator and Pungo Rivers. Of the two marinas here, we opt for Coinjock Marina, the one with the restaurant. We think it’s odd that fellow sailboaters are across the river at Midway Marina, until we realize that our slip is plunked in front of the diesel tank, in line with a string of fuel-starved powerboats. This cute complex of matching brown-shingled buildings with white trim has a marine store and a mini market. At the structure labeled “RESTAURANT,” we gorge on the finest prime rib ever at too-good-to-be-true prices.
Gil has not slept well, as he is concerned about our 63-foot mast clearing the 60-foot Pungo River Bridge. Our alternative is to turn back and take the long way around. Tide height, wind, and current can make the difference between gliding or crushing through Pungo’s portals. Uncle Harry, a tall-masted sailboat ahead of us, squeaks through and then turns to hail us. “No problem, you’re making it just fine.” And we did.
The 20-mile-long Pungo Canal leads to the Great Bridge Lock.
Once inside the first lock, boats tie up alongside, until it’s time for the second lock to open the way. There’s contention for lining up. In an area where there’s no maneuverability, Gil shakes his fist at a small boat that cuts in front of us and then stops.
Heavy winds portent the storm on the way and, as we approach the Norfolk area, commercial traffic is abound. Military areas are cordoned off and manned by armed naval ships patrolling a host of artillery carriers and gray war ships.
At Tidewater Marina at Portsmouth, Virginia, we awaken to a raging storm --teeming rain and winds blowing 45 knots. Waterspouts are predicted for the area we navigated yesterday. We seek solace in food at the on-premise Deck Restaurant and get sopped through walking over. The stores in town are closed on a Saturday afternoon—dousing my one opportunity to shop; but there’s much activity across the way in the congested Norfolk harbor.
Chesapeake Bay
It’s 41 degrees outside and winds have abated to the 20’s. We’re headed dead into them, mounting hills of chop. Water crashing over our bow seeps in and soaks the V berth bedding. The barometer’s promised sunshine for the past two days, but I’ve yet to see it. We are in Chesapeake Bay, where conditions are akin to our own lumpy Buzzard’s Bay—both suffer from canal ebbs and flows. We tuck into Deltaville at Windmill Point and berth at Fishing Bay Harbor, a top-notch marina with superb facilities. After a tough 50-mile day, I fall fell flat on my face asleep, while Gil schleps the wet bedding to the marina laundry room.
After a lumpy start on our 60-mile trek to Solomons Island, the seas tame and the weather clears. We pass Lookout Point, the entry to the Potomac/DC area. Some marinas here in the Chesapeake are equipped with swimming pools and tennis courts. It would be fun to stick around and explore them all. However, we are on the move to reach Annapolis to pick up Mike, who will help us with our offshore leg home. This evening we are the last boat to tie up at Zahnicer’s Marina before the dock master goes home.
It’s a necessity to reprovision, so we walk to Washburn’s Supermarket, but catch a ride back to the marina from the store manager. Dinner at the cozy Top Deck restaurant is a marvelous way to cap a long day. As we approach Annapolis Harbor the next day, a pair of jet fighter planes buzz our boat. Once we are docked at Annapolis Yacht Basin, we stand on the bow with our cameras photographing the Blue Angels practicing maneuvers for tomorrow’s air show.
Offshore to Noank, CT
Commander weather service predicts storms at Block Island within the next few days, so we move up our departure time to beat the bad weather home. The day is calm, but we continue to beat into the wind toward Schaefer’s Marina on the C&D Canal for refueling. About one-half mile out, the motor dies, the last of our fuel, gone. Midnight Mail comes to our rescue with 5 gallons of diesel fuel, and Gil vows to expand our boat’s fuel capacity before the next major jaunt.
The Delaware River is a major shipping channel, so from here on we are on the lookout for ships approaching from the front and rear. Commercial traffic is rampant around Cape May, and as night falls, gigantic ships become Christmas trees of colored lights. Its cold and we’re bundled up like snowmen. Thank goodness for the bubble! This trip leg requires extreme vigilance, as it crosses both Cape May and New York shipping lanes, so we dare not have fewer than two folks on watch. Isn’t that the Queen Mary?”
By dawn, we are traveling close enough to shore to see shadowy buildings rim the Atlantic City skyline. As we pass New Jersey we are attacked by millions of flies--Mike calls them the “Jersey State Birds”—that travel with us until we can beat them off at Montauk, where we stop to refuel. It’s a short hop from here to Noank, Connecticut. Home has never looked sweeter than when one has traveled 1,444 miles over 16 days to get there. |
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