Into the Swamp!
Notes from the first southerly wind of Spring 2023
This is Clouds Form Over Land, weekly writing about life at sea and going ashore.
There are three ways to cross the Virginia/North Carolina border in a boat:
Offshore
The Virginia Cut
The Great Dismal Swamp
Offshore is the most efficient, but comes with the warning of the “Graveyard of the Atlantic” where Cape Hatteras, shallow water, and the Gulf Stream meet to create difficult and dangerous conditions along the coast.
The Virginia Cut is known as the primary, commercial route on the Intracoastal Waterway, with greater depths and wider channels.
The Swamp is the scenic route, limited to vessels with a draft of fewer than five feet.
We consulted the guidebooks, asked around, and decided on the scenic route.
Choosing the Swamp seemed like an oddly fitting end to this 9,000-mile journey from San Francisco to the Chesapeake Bay. The route is a bit more like going for a hike than a boat trip, with towering trees overhead and turtles, birds, snakes, and fish shimmying in and out of view. The Swamp also has a lock system to raise and lower vessels into its higher water level, which would provide some symmetry with our experience transiting the Panama Canal a year or so prior.
The route is about 50 miles with one stop in the middle at the state park, also accessible by car. The park is accessible to car drivers via Highway 17 and they provide canoe rentals, too! When we pulled into the visitor center by boat, there was a gaggle of kids in kayaks greeting us. One spotted Cypress and kicked off a chorus of, “kitty! kitty! look! kitty!”.
This stretch in the Intracoastal Waterway had us on the move almost daily, starting at daybreak to get to the next port before the afternoon threat of storms. The best way to keep track was by copying notes from The Boat Galley’s ICW guide onto our bulkhead with dry-erase marker. This shows ICW mile markers, drawbridges and schedules (red ink), and destinations (blue).
Our swamp adventure began in Elizabeth City, North Carolina, a town known for its hospitality, charming waterfront, and numerous free docks for transient boaters. There was a storm in the forecast and we were hesitant to weather it in the open harbor of Elizabeth City, so we tossed off the docklines in the afternoon and headed ten miles upriver to an anchorage off Goat Island. On the way, we hailed the bridge operator, who stopped traffic and raised the draw bridge for us to pass through. Our spirits were high, coming off an easy passage across the Albemarle Sound and a tour of the new Harbor Town Cruises by my professor and friend Nick Didow. This area of NC is difficult to access by car but wonderful to visit. The new high-speed ferries, specially designed for the conditions of the Albemarle Sound, aim to spur economic development and enjoyment of the area. Check it out!
We set the anchor at Goat Island several hours before the sunset and alternated between relaxing and tidying up for the next day — constants when sharing a dwelling the length of 1.5 SUVs. The wind tickled the leaves in a way I hadn’t noticed in quite a while and at night fireflies came out to play, the first I’d seen in years.
I often felt bowled over by the richness of our surroundings and the preposterousness of sailing this same vessel through so many changing conditions. We bought Azimuth when I was 23 years old with savings from my first job and a loan from Lightstream. It’s been our home through many seasons of life and our ride through seven countries. We intend to tend this vessel for many years to come.
The familiarity of the cabin of the boat grounded us as we tethered our schedule to unknowns of weather, places, and people we met along the way. Somehow navigating waterways with familiar names in states we’ve lived in before felt more surreal than the deserts and jungles earlier in our journey. Perhaps it was the increased capacity generated by speaking our native language, booking marinas through an app, and limiting travel to daylight hours. Maybe it was because we were close and releasing long-held tension, more open to what was around us. Whatever it is, at the time, I was finding it easier to deepen into the present, rather than the rush of pressing plans or processing the past. Now that the journey is over, I sometimes wish I had enjoyed it more while it was happening, but usually I trust that I was doing the best I could.
The Swamp is about 1/18th of its original size, which used to go all the way to the James River. George Washington was a partner in the Great Dismal Swamp land company and directed the building of ditches to drain the swamp, log timber, and farm the land. As early as the 1600s, enslaved people sought their freedom in the Swamp and archaeologists believe it was the largest maroon community in North America. It was a stop on the Underground Railroad and dispersed after the US Civil War. TED-Ed has a short video on the topic.
The water is black/brown from the tannins in the cypress trees. Duckweed floated a bright green over top. We had to look ahead and above to avoid hitting tree branches, hand steering the whole way. The guide post at the park had several enjoyable hikes and a road side visitors center with information about the area. We spotted a rattlesnake, zebra swallowtails, deer, and many other critters.
The Swamp route was narrow and shallow, almost closing in around us as we glided. It was unlike anywhere else I know, almost hugging our weary, salt-drenched hearts.
The Swamp has two locks. We were surprised to be raised, rather than lowered, into the swamp. The locks operated at certain times. The attendant hopped in a pickup truck to meet us on the other side. At the last lock, we had some time to spend while a southbound boat made their transit. There was a nearby Food Lion, so I restocked us with snacks, a six-pack of King of Clouds beer, and frozen breakfast burritos, a lifesaver during the early and chilly mornings.
The Swamp inspired us to take turns riding around in the hammock, a new invention during the home stretch. I’d like to return someday by car and paddle around.
I’m not sure how to end this post, so please accept this view of Cypress the navigator:
