THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 27, 1996 TAG: 9610240180
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 20 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ronald L. Speer
LENGTH: 66 lines
Sailing on the Albemarle Sound is a lot like the opening line in Charles Dickens' classic Tale of Two Cities: ``It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.''
Old salts put it this way: ``Wherever you want to go on the Albemarle, that's where the wind will be from.''
All day I thought about those lines as my little sailboat banged against 3-foot waves, whipped up by 20-knot winds coming straight out of the east. I had gotten a late start out of Edenton and was headed for Colington 60 miles away - directly to the east.
By 5 p.m., when shadows were getting long, I was wet, tired and a bit worried. Tacking back and forth against the wind, I had made less than 30 miles and had more than 30 to go. That meant several hours of night sailing, and since the moon was only a slice, I wouldn't be able to spot the crab pot markers that dotted the sound. Unhooking a crab pot line in big winds at night while singlehanding is not a lot of fun.
Checking my charts I discovered that I had passed the best-looking anchorage 90 minutes earlier, but there wasn't a lot of choice so I turned back. My 24-foot, 28-year-old Morgan rolled along easily with what sailors pray for, ``fair winds and following seas.''
At dusk the Wind Gypsy swept around Harvey's Point and into the new waters for us, the Perquimans River. Behind the point, which broke the wind, the waters were calm, and at dusk I furled the sails, dropped anchor and heated up a cup of hot chocolate.
Darkness came quickly, and soon the heavens were overwhelming as the Wind Gypsy's gentle rolling relaxed me like a babe in a rocker.
The skies were so clear that the stars seemed within reach, ready as ripe cherries to drop into my hands.
The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a white belt on a beer belly.
Peace settled around the Wind Gypsy as I sipped chocolate and ate cookies. I sprawled on my back in the cockpit, staring up at the past, the present and the yet-to-come.
The stars were thicker and brighter than ever I remember. The Little Dipper was easy to spot, and so were other stars long used by navigators to help them find their way.
I thought as always about how many trillions were out there, and what life is like millions of light years away. And if the stars don't go on forever, what is on the other side?
For a sailor, it was a perfect evening, snugly anchored in a safe harbor after pounding into fretful winds all day.
Occasionally a vehicle drove down the lonely road 200 yards from my anchor, and a spotlight was flashed on the boat. The point had echoed with explosions that afternoon when I first sailed past, and I remembered reports that Harveys Neck was a training camp for government agents.
But except for the spotlight, nobody bothered me, although as I dropped off to sleep I wondered if I might have visitors during the night carrying out an exercise.
Three times I got up and checked the anchor and the boat, but all was well.
After a breakfast of coffee and hard-boiled eggs, I headed for home, a glorious sunrise promising a good day.
It was. The winds had shifted to the southeast, at 15 knots, and the Gypsy threw her shoulders into her work and we were home by noon, ready to go back into the real world.
A world where I wouldn't be scared much, but where the stars are never as bright as they are in a sailboat anchored in the wilderness.
``How was the trip?'' asked a non-sailing pal who really wasn't interested. ``It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,'' I replied. by CNB