North-northeast

The tops of pines were beginning to sway and even dance at mid-morning, the bright greens contrasting with the cerulean skies generated by the high pressure system camped over the Southeast.

The marine forecast predicted NNE winds of 9–12 knots, and they were arriving. The breeze created exquisite conditions for sailing.

Navigating the minutiae of preparation and rigging, I recalled a missing item from my last sail. I had neglected to change my shoes before heading out, and later realized that my slide-style sandals were just that – I had no traction moving around in the cockpit. Today my feet had grip on an excursion dedicated to sailing.  

I headed into the north-northeast wind with a course to access Bulls Bay via Venning Creek. There was a manmade structure protruding above the marshes in the distance, and as I tacked to windward the anomaly resolved into the booms of a shrimp trawler. It appeared to be located in the bay, but progressing up Venning Creek I saw the shrimper was motoring in my direction. Venning Creek takes a ninety degree bend from northeast to east-southeast, and the trawler finally swung around into my reach. Preparing to give him room, I was surprised when he turned sharply to starboard and headed into a small creek into the marsh. I had sailed that course before, but only at high tide, and recalled the creeklet swinging around two hammocks on the dredge spoil before meeting up with the Intracoastal Waterway. I was stunned by this medium-sized shrimper navigating this little waterway. The captain obviously knew these waters well, and was taking a locals-only shortcut on his way back to McClellanville.

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Around the bend, I was now on a close reach heading out toward the bay. The marsh grass swayed to port and starboard, the green cordgrass in places topped with golden blooms.

The high pressure system squeezed the humidity from the air, resulting in a sublime clarity. This wind was not the north-northeast of low pressure systems – the nor’easter of numerous maritime disasters. Kingfisher sizzled through the water, and the wind softly whistled around my ears. Before the bay, I commanded the crew: “Heh Siri, open the camera”, and she complied, though without the traditional “Aye aye.”

Out into a small chop at the creek mouth, I finally bore off to parallel the marsh edge in Bulls Bay. My destination on this southern course was the entrance to Anderson Creek at the southwest end of the bay. The wind was moderate, and the progress steady. Several black items appeared on the surface – crab trap buoys? – resolving into the dorsal fins of bottlenose dolphins paralleling my course. One surfaced just a couple of yards off my port quarter, no random occurrence. Ahead white water marked a shoal, and I adjusted course to avoid these shallow waters off the northern side of the creek mouth. The water’s movement amplified by the outgoing tide shook the cordgrass, colonizing in these accreting shallows. 

The homeward passage through the creek was smooth despite the falling tide. In one of the last sections, a fish jump resounded in the creek, and I recalled another splash during my last sail. The “plunk” off my stern that day was no fish, and watching my wake the source of the splash was confirmed by the rising of a loggerhead. On the current trip, I headed off into a small channel along the mud flats and shell rakes separating this water from the ICW. It was windward sailing, and as I passed through an opening to the Waterway, a large tern cruised overhead. It triggered another memory from a few days before, when a tern grabbed a sizable fish right near the dock where I was observing. The encounter was so close that if I was more familiar with the fish species I could have identified it. 

I sailed to windward a bit further north up the ICW. A number of white birds crossed my course – egrets, leaving their high tide roosts on the mainland. As they headed out to the Cape Romain marshes, I headed in.