As ice covers part of Newport Harbor on this pleasing to the eye spring morning, for some reason I'm reminded of some annoying moments while navigating the ICW--A.K.A. the Ditch. Or maybe I should say I'm remembering being reminded.
Last November I had the good fortune of helping to deliver a J 122 from NYC to Charleston. A bitchin' boat the J 122 if I do say. A bitchin' boat, a good crew and decent weather made what I would say to be a good trip.
On that particular voyage we prudent mariners that we are kept the VHF radio tuned to channel 16, and during that five day voyage we heard hardly a peep or a squawk emanate from those speakers. I'd almost forgotten the thing was turned on.
We eventually arrived in the Charleston Harbor ship channel and all of us were quite excited to be nearly there and I remember thinking something like 'it feels good to finally have rounded Cape Hatteras'. Maybe when I was thinking that was when the VHF radio suddenly came to life.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass on your port side."
"Oh God, the never ending litany of passing requests on the ditch." I half comprehendingly muttered.
"Whad you say?" Asked one of the crewmembers who hadn't navigated the ditch much.
"The radio was blessedly quiet through most of this trip and now this."
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass you on your port side." Repeated the voice over the radio for about the tenth time maybe, without a response.
"We're required to monitor channel 16." The crewmember said to me.
"I know." I said, I didn't want to get into a heated debate.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass on your port side."
Still no response.
I went through a quick recollection of times that I've slowly motored along the ditch with the VHF radio turned off because I was listening to music, a recollection of moments when I'd thought of painting a sign of a VW Microsbus on the stern of my very slow motoring sailboat, a recollection of navigating on a very wide section of the ditch with very little traffic and then a motor yacht of some kind appears from astern with plenty of room to safely pass and the operator steps out of the wheelhouse, looks down at my puny little slow sailboat with both arms raised and a nasty stink-eye grimace.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah to the puny little sailboat approaching channel marker 666."
Still no response as we're in the Charleston Harbor shipping channel with the range markers of Fort Sumter in line.
"In a few hours we'll be sitting in the restaurant eating steak." said the captain.
Fair Winds
Captain Bill.
Last November I had the good fortune of helping to deliver a J 122 from NYC to Charleston. A bitchin' boat the J 122 if I do say. A bitchin' boat, a good crew and decent weather made what I would say to be a good trip.
On that particular voyage we prudent mariners that we are kept the VHF radio tuned to channel 16, and during that five day voyage we heard hardly a peep or a squawk emanate from those speakers. I'd almost forgotten the thing was turned on.
We eventually arrived in the Charleston Harbor ship channel and all of us were quite excited to be nearly there and I remember thinking something like 'it feels good to finally have rounded Cape Hatteras'. Maybe when I was thinking that was when the VHF radio suddenly came to life.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass on your port side."
"Oh God, the never ending litany of passing requests on the ditch." I half comprehendingly muttered.
"Whad you say?" Asked one of the crewmembers who hadn't navigated the ditch much.
"The radio was blessedly quiet through most of this trip and now this."
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass you on your port side." Repeated the voice over the radio for about the tenth time maybe, without a response.
"We're required to monitor channel 16." The crewmember said to me.
"I know." I said, I didn't want to get into a heated debate.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah requesting to pass on your port side."
Still no response.
I went through a quick recollection of times that I've slowly motored along the ditch with the VHF radio turned off because I was listening to music, a recollection of moments when I'd thought of painting a sign of a VW Microsbus on the stern of my very slow motoring sailboat, a recollection of navigating on a very wide section of the ditch with very little traffic and then a motor yacht of some kind appears from astern with plenty of room to safely pass and the operator steps out of the wheelhouse, looks down at my puny little slow sailboat with both arms raised and a nasty stink-eye grimace.
"This is the trawler Blah Bid De Blah to the puny little sailboat approaching channel marker 666."
Still no response as we're in the Charleston Harbor shipping channel with the range markers of Fort Sumter in line.
"In a few hours we'll be sitting in the restaurant eating steak." said the captain.
Fair Winds
Captain Bill.
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