Problem Resolution on the ICW Day 4

posted by Ardys

Early start on the ICW, just after sunrise

We want to reach Oriental, NC by Friday and so we pulled anchor before 0700.   No shore visits for Jax, (see previous post ICW Day 3) and he was given just half rations, as partial insurance against toileting “issues” over the long day’s ride.  I spread out his “special carpet” again at the mast and called him to it and tried to convey that this would be a good place for him to pee.  Again, a cursory sniff, the tail wag, and a glance up to let me know he would be agreeable to a couple ear scratches.  Clearly, he was just humoring me about the carpet thing.  

Alligator Pungo Cut

 We started the day at STM (statute mile) 100.  We would be going as far as STM 164.  The sun was shining and over the course of the day, the wind picked up.  My husband said for probably the thirteenth time since we began the ICW, “This is really beautiful.”  Today I agreed wholeheartedly.  I was taking photos right and left; of wetlands, trees, grasses, eagles, vultures, then Carl yelled, “Jax just peed off the boat!”  What?  What?  “He just walked to the front of the boat and peed off the side!”  Without any prompting?  I felt proud of his brilliant accomplishment.  What a relief to know that he can manage on long overnight voyages or when we can’t find an anchorage with shore access. 

Cedar knees protrude from below the surface

By midmorning, we came upon a small sailboat off to the side of the narrow channel.  An older gentleman (older than us, that is) with a chubby little cocker spaniel; he flagged us down by waving a long cloth over his head and yelled,  “Could you help me out?  Could you give me a tow?”  He had been aground and said that SeaTow “pulled me off for free, but they wanted $250 an hour to tow me and I only have $60 in my pocket.  So they left.”  He said that if we’d tow him he’d give us $40.  We certainly didn’t want the last bit of money this poor man had.

Most boaters carry towing insurance.  One use is worth it.

So, there we were, separated from this fellow mariner by 15 feet of water and trying to assess the situation—thin man, barefoot, shoddily dressed (more so than we were anyhow) on a little sailboat that upon closer inspection appeared to be rather decrepit.  He said, “ My engine doesn’t run.” I, for one, was not surprised.  He had no cell phone, no VHF radio.  “I sailed it all the way across the Albemarle Sound, and down the Alligator River to here and then I ran out of wind.”  That news DID surprise me.  Plucky guy, I thought.... or naive, or not very bright, or desperate, or all of the above. He could see we were a little hesitant about engaging in this endeavor with him, so he employed a more cajoling tone.  “One dog lover to another, eh?  Maybe our dogs could get acquainted?” The thing is, we were not feeling especially chatty.  We were thinking too hard, and mumbling to each other, “what do we do?”  We were miles from the next bridge and any semblance of civilization.  Additionally, we were worried about what lay ahead of us—shoaling and debris and about whether we’d fit under the next fixed bridge?  How far would we need to tow him once we began the tow? We couldn’t leave him in a worse spot than we found him.

The Tow

I have met a LOT of people in my years as a social worker who live in ways that many of us would find abhorrent.  Sometimes with a mental illness, a social phobia, mild developmental delay, “wet” brain from years of heavy alcohol use or some combination of those.   Somehow they got by with very few resources and when offered alternatives, they declined them, for reasons that were not always understood by others.  I have known folks who lived in tiny trailers, derelict houses without running water, and broken down RVs without heat in the Minnesota winter.  This man before us today was the first person I’ve met living “that life” on a sailboat.  I realized he would not be the last.  He assumed we would tow him, and since we couldn't think of any other response, we did.  He tossed me a piece of rope not more than 25 feet long that he had tied to a gallon milk jug with some liquid sloshing inside—his makeshift weight for the rope.  The rope immediately frayed apart when I detached the milk jug.  While we towed him, we continued the mumbling--studying our charts.  Where could we tow him?  How would he get to land?  He didn’t even have a dinghy.  How had he been managing without a dinghy?  (It was clear that HIS dog was conducting his potty business entirely on his boat).  Because we have a deep draft boat, we couldn’t bring him close to land, either.   About five miles farther down the ditch, we came upon a bulkhead with a dock jutting out over the water.  A big “For Sale” sign hung on the dock.  The decision was made quickly—this would be a good place to drop the tow.  There was obviously a road there and he could likely make it to shore because of the dock  We said our ‘goodbyes’ and ‘good luck’ and disconnected the tow tope.  He steered his boat toward the dock.  

Reflections from Northern Star

An hour later, we heard a sailor call on VHF Channel 16 to report "a derelict sailboat sitting in the channel" at the exact mile marker we had left our tow. The Coast Guard was requesting additional information from other mariners who may have had contact with this boat.  My husband responded and gave them the limited information we had. How was it that neither of us had even thought of calling the USCG to report this poor guy sitting in a channel, in a boat, totally dependent upon the wind to pick up so that he could move again.  I don’t know what the Coast Guard was going to do, but I suppose they have a protocol for handling such social problem situations.  Carl noted kindly that I am not yet a marine social worker.   Clearly not, and we may have not done right by this man.