One is a winding brackish river and the latter a sprawling shallow sound, at least as their names are known in eastern North Carolina. Yes, we’ve set weary eyes upon several of the former’s leathery reptilian namesake, basking, apparently well-fed along the shore as we slowly motor past, safely above waterline.

A person susceptible to “wanderlust” is not so much addicted to movement as committed to transformation.

Pico Iyer

A bit anxiously we untie from the tidy fuel dock of TJ’s Marina, with a multipoint turn in the adjacent tight cove. Robert exudes confidence as he stands guard pushing by hand from his now-vacant fuel dock. “Just aim straight for the far green marker; don’t cut over to the right until you’re no more than a boat length away,” he says, assuming we’ll avoid the shallower parts in the narrow channel. It’s all mud, I think, not too concerned really, as I closely follow our electronic breadcrumbs out toward the open Neuse.

Our initially pleasant ride up to the Pungo-Alligator River Canal (except for the clattering motor) achieved an easy ten nautical miles. That’s about where Kelly telephoned the Alligator River Bridge operator.

Alligator River Bridge: A milestone for ICW runners, this finicky swing-bridge refuses to open (normally on-demand) when winds become more boisterous. 

His vague response to Kelly’s inquiry indicates it remaining open today. A good answer, I think as winds are predicted to increase this afternoon. “Let’s not dally”, I say, while nudging the throttle forward to keep us at five knots into the steady 15-20 knot headwind.

Sighing relief, we’re now past the bridge, and it’s 1700 (5 o’clock in landlubbers talk), and 19 nm (that’s nautical miles, which is more than landlubber miles) to the next anchorage – on the other side of the Albemarle. Will we make it before dark? I’m cautiously optimistic, but a more realistic expectation becomes apparent as we approach the Alligator’s mouth – wide open to the tumultuous Albemarle.

We’re now barely making 2 knots into the oncoming waves, and wind is increasing to 25 knots on the nose. “Oh well, let’s find a spot”, I grumble. What’s the wind prediction for the next 24, 48 hours and beyond? Not looking good. Stubborn N/NE for another five days.

But prediction models don’t agree again, which happens more and more these days. They’re called GFS and ECMWF prediction models. With all their modern sophistication, we still can’t say what direction the wind will blow any more than a day or two in the future!

I decide to cut across the crab-trap riddled 9 foot deep channel toward an open anchorage spot, relatively in the land’s lee. Shallower and shallower, we carefully thread between the slalom of buoys, eventually finding ten feet of tannin-shaded brown water to comfortably swing with plenty of chain scope while avoiding traps.

We zip up the vinyl window cockpit enclosure and settle down just in time for happy hour. I dig a couple cold ones from the fridge as Kelly retrieves our “Newburyport” cribbage board. Shortly we hear a Coast Guard announcement on VHF: “Due to high winds, the Alligator River Bridge will remain closed until further notice “.

After two evenings, we attempt to cross the Albemarle, but 6 footers stop us cold. Rather than beating back and forth, tempting us to wrap our prop with crab trap lines, we tuck tail and return to our safe spot. Four more boats joined us that evening. Tomorrow the North winds shall drop and we shall escape!

To be continued…