| West Wight Potter Owners Home Port |
Back
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
AHOY! SEA DRAGON
The shout rang out through the rainy mists swirling in the wind. Huddled down below in the
cabin, I came out of my blankets into the cold air as I opened the hatch to look out. The blast of
wind was really icy.
“Yes,” I said.
“Hello, Sea Dragon. Marney and I wondered if you would like to come over for lunch. We’re on
the catamaran, HOLLY, over there.” He pointed to a large boat at anchor nearby. I was grateful
for the invitation and readily accepted. I’d been at anchor for two days in temperatures that
made me think more of winter than a quiet sunny fall day. I needed to get off the boat. I can only
lay around for awhile before I need to get out, regardless of the weather. The man said his name
was Roger in his thoroughly British accent. In that moment I realized his boat’s flag was the Union
Jack.
“Well, this is neat!” I said to myself. “I wonder if they sailed here from the British Isles? “ Roger
motored away in the inflatable dinghy after giving me the time for lunch. I said I’d be there
gladly. “I’ll get to meet people from England! Being in the Chesapeake Bay might be
interesting.” It was the second day of a cold northeast wind full of damp and nastiness. It wasn’t
unexpected in the late fall but I still wasn’t pleasant. Reading and napping is great for one day.
and, a small boat is easily cleaned. I was ready for a change. Meeting new people is one of the
joys of cruising.
Before this cold burst of fall weather left the anchorage all the folks at anchor in Cemetery Cove
at Oxford, Maryland on the east shore of the Bay had met each other. Five boats wheeled at their
anchors and one “whirred” with the noise of an air generator. Their batteries got charged while
the solar panel folks waited for more sunshine.
We shared a potluck and one night of terrific stew aboard one of the four Wharham Trimirans
that were on a rendezvous. One of the tri’s had sailed across the Atlantic several times. It was a
good time to meet these interesting sailors and thanks to the Nor‘easter, we were more social
than we might have been in fine weather.
RAGGEDY ANNIE got her name after I met Roger and Marney because she just wasn’t a Sea
Dragon. Somehow Poverty didn’t fit either! After casting ideas around in my mind and on my
tongue, Raggedy Annie just fell out and sounded right. Sea Dragon was laid to rest with
whatever names she may have had in her 20 years of sailing. Proper ceremonies were observed
and Raggedy Annie she became. She even seemed happier and more frisky with her new name
when we left to visit St. Michael’s by the back door of Rodriguez Creek.
Sailing out of Oxford is straight forward and safe so long as the point to the west of the open
entrance (where it enters the Choptank River) is avoided. Shoals linger there and the brackish
waters are not clear. The Chesapeake Bay is silty or muddy, and looks like coffee with a heavy
dose of cream. The Bay is muddied by river run-off and centuries of shore side farming. I suspect
the gillions of blue crabs scurrying around on the bottom may contribute to a bit of the muddy
quality too.
Sailing out and around the point I could see oyster tongers were aligned along the banks and
shoals. I spoke with several as they worked the long shafted grab-rakes. Thoughts of an oyster
supper came to mind. My mouth watered remembering my grandmother’s oyster stews. And I
remembered the succulent pan-fried oysters a friend prepared as part of a sea food feast thirty
years earlier on my first visit to the Chesapeake region.
The long reaches of marshlands gave way to creeks, large homes on high banks amid the
endless honks of migrating geese. As I slowly wound my way through the well-marked channel, I
was amazed to see a couple of large sailboats at anchor up a side creek. Several osprey were
sitting on a day marker (nav. mark) alongside the route. A large flock of tundra swans graced a
distant shore lending an accent to the old white house on a rise behind them.
The creek began to narrow and wind farther into an undisturbed forested area. The depth
continued at 8 to 6 feet as I swung the lead. Soon I saw some houses and a wharf with crab boats
tied alongside and in a Mediterranean mooring style with bow anchors out and sterns to the
dock. Rounding the last left-hand turn, the anchorage basin both opened up and ended.
The motor was throttled back as I continued to use the lead line and explored the small pool. At
the far end was a roadway and culvert. I decided to anchor across from the crab skiffs and swing
on one hook. A secure set to the anchor in five feet at half-tide would be good enough. Plenty of
treed wind protection, not too shallow, mud on the lead, and the anchor set was as good as could
be hoped for. I turned the motor off and was home for a couple of days. As soon as the boat was
tidied up, sails covered, and I was ready, I brought the dinghy alongside and hopped in with
my little backpack on.
At the crab skiff wharf, I found I could beach the dingy on oyster shells and mud in a weedy
shoreline. The tide was rising as I pulled it up and tied it off to a huge baulk of timber on the
shore. Two rather smelly waste cans were alongside the timber. ‘A place for garbage,’ I
thought. ‘Good!’ It’s sometimes hard to find a garbage drop when you cruise and prefer to
anchor out vs. staying at expensive marinas. It’s almost as hard as finding a good, sheltered
anchorage.
The back door to St. Michael’s is beautiful with tree lined streets, houses from before the 1900’s,
and well kept homes, yards, a park by the anchorage with tables and benches, and a gentle air
about it. The crab and oyster boats gave it the proper feeling of a working watermen’s entrance
to the town. The houses exuded character as well as history. Halloween was around the corner
and many homes were decorated for that strange holiday. Most of the homes were of modest
size. Kayaks and canoes were stored on racks at the edge of the park. A back door visitor walks
by that lovely park on the way toward the downtown. A left-hand circle around town leads a
walker back to the park. It felt good to be on sod again after being on pavement or cement
sidewalks and hard decks of a boat. I even went barefoot just to feel the cold grass between my
toes.
Like most tourists, I walked both sides of the main street, explored the shopping and went to the
beautiful Maritime Museum. Aside from buying some wonderfully fresh baguettes, I bought a
crab - a natural colored blue crab made of plastic. It’s life-like appearance has become a source
of some startlement and amusement as first time visitors come aboard and see my “pet” crab. It
even spooked a customs officer in Ontario one time. She let out a great squeal!
The fall day was lovely, especially after the three-day NE blow we’d experienced. The walking
felt really good. The baguettes lent a special odor to the scents of fall: old leaves, tidal waters,
faint wood smoke and fall flowers. The air had a tang to it along with that wonderful odor of fresh
bread. Many of the Halloween decorations were punctuated by political posters stuck in the
lawns. They reminded me that I had neglected to ask for an absentee ballot yet somehow I didn’t
care, thinking the candidates were neither one worthy of electing.
Dark comes early that late in the season. It had been a long day and I rowed slowly back to
Raggedy Annie in an increasingly darker and darker anchorage. A few street lights gave some
distant light. The water became a mirror as the wavelets and dinghy ripples quickly died away.
The village was quiet but for the occasional closing of a door or a dog’s bark. The church bells
chimed the hour. It quickly got a lot cooler as I ate my light supper of Swiss cheese, an apple
whose crispness sounded loud in the dark and the fresh baguette whose every crumb I lapped
up. Overhead the stars lighted the sky. Time for bed and peace at the anchorage.
Suddenly stillness became the wack of a beaver’s tail. Then more stillness until the rocking of the
boat woke me up in the dark of morning when the oystermen went out to tong. I’ve since been
back to the back door creek several times. The boatmen now wave as they go by and no longer
rock my boat! I’ve been accepted and welcomed.
It’s a long way from where I live and I thought I might not go back after my trip in 2008, but
writing this has made me change my mind!
Anne Westlund
westlund@lighthouse.net
The shout rang out through the rainy mists swirling in the wind. Huddled down below in the
cabin, I came out of my blankets into the cold air as I opened the hatch to look out. The blast of
wind was really icy.
“Yes,” I said.
“Hello, Sea Dragon. Marney and I wondered if you would like to come over for lunch. We’re on
the catamaran, HOLLY, over there.” He pointed to a large boat at anchor nearby. I was grateful
for the invitation and readily accepted. I’d been at anchor for two days in temperatures that
made me think more of winter than a quiet sunny fall day. I needed to get off the boat. I can only
lay around for awhile before I need to get out, regardless of the weather. The man said his name
was Roger in his thoroughly British accent. In that moment I realized his boat’s flag was the Union
Jack.
“Well, this is neat!” I said to myself. “I wonder if they sailed here from the British Isles? “ Roger
motored away in the inflatable dinghy after giving me the time for lunch. I said I’d be there
gladly. “I’ll get to meet people from England! Being in the Chesapeake Bay might be
interesting.” It was the second day of a cold northeast wind full of damp and nastiness. It wasn’t
unexpected in the late fall but I still wasn’t pleasant. Reading and napping is great for one day.
and, a small boat is easily cleaned. I was ready for a change. Meeting new people is one of the
joys of cruising.
Before this cold burst of fall weather left the anchorage all the folks at anchor in Cemetery Cove
at Oxford, Maryland on the east shore of the Bay had met each other. Five boats wheeled at their
anchors and one “whirred” with the noise of an air generator. Their batteries got charged while
the solar panel folks waited for more sunshine.
We shared a potluck and one night of terrific stew aboard one of the four Wharham Trimirans
that were on a rendezvous. One of the tri’s had sailed across the Atlantic several times. It was a
good time to meet these interesting sailors and thanks to the Nor‘easter, we were more social
than we might have been in fine weather.
RAGGEDY ANNIE got her name after I met Roger and Marney because she just wasn’t a Sea
Dragon. Somehow Poverty didn’t fit either! After casting ideas around in my mind and on my
tongue, Raggedy Annie just fell out and sounded right. Sea Dragon was laid to rest with
whatever names she may have had in her 20 years of sailing. Proper ceremonies were observed
and Raggedy Annie she became. She even seemed happier and more frisky with her new name
when we left to visit St. Michael’s by the back door of Rodriguez Creek.
Sailing out of Oxford is straight forward and safe so long as the point to the west of the open
entrance (where it enters the Choptank River) is avoided. Shoals linger there and the brackish
waters are not clear. The Chesapeake Bay is silty or muddy, and looks like coffee with a heavy
dose of cream. The Bay is muddied by river run-off and centuries of shore side farming. I suspect
the gillions of blue crabs scurrying around on the bottom may contribute to a bit of the muddy
quality too.
Sailing out and around the point I could see oyster tongers were aligned along the banks and
shoals. I spoke with several as they worked the long shafted grab-rakes. Thoughts of an oyster
supper came to mind. My mouth watered remembering my grandmother’s oyster stews. And I
remembered the succulent pan-fried oysters a friend prepared as part of a sea food feast thirty
years earlier on my first visit to the Chesapeake region.
The long reaches of marshlands gave way to creeks, large homes on high banks amid the
endless honks of migrating geese. As I slowly wound my way through the well-marked channel, I
was amazed to see a couple of large sailboats at anchor up a side creek. Several osprey were
sitting on a day marker (nav. mark) alongside the route. A large flock of tundra swans graced a
distant shore lending an accent to the old white house on a rise behind them.
The creek began to narrow and wind farther into an undisturbed forested area. The depth
continued at 8 to 6 feet as I swung the lead. Soon I saw some houses and a wharf with crab boats
tied alongside and in a Mediterranean mooring style with bow anchors out and sterns to the
dock. Rounding the last left-hand turn, the anchorage basin both opened up and ended.
The motor was throttled back as I continued to use the lead line and explored the small pool. At
the far end was a roadway and culvert. I decided to anchor across from the crab skiffs and swing
on one hook. A secure set to the anchor in five feet at half-tide would be good enough. Plenty of
treed wind protection, not too shallow, mud on the lead, and the anchor set was as good as could
be hoped for. I turned the motor off and was home for a couple of days. As soon as the boat was
tidied up, sails covered, and I was ready, I brought the dinghy alongside and hopped in with
my little backpack on.
At the crab skiff wharf, I found I could beach the dingy on oyster shells and mud in a weedy
shoreline. The tide was rising as I pulled it up and tied it off to a huge baulk of timber on the
shore. Two rather smelly waste cans were alongside the timber. ‘A place for garbage,’ I
thought. ‘Good!’ It’s sometimes hard to find a garbage drop when you cruise and prefer to
anchor out vs. staying at expensive marinas. It’s almost as hard as finding a good, sheltered
anchorage.
The back door to St. Michael’s is beautiful with tree lined streets, houses from before the 1900’s,
and well kept homes, yards, a park by the anchorage with tables and benches, and a gentle air
about it. The crab and oyster boats gave it the proper feeling of a working watermen’s entrance
to the town. The houses exuded character as well as history. Halloween was around the corner
and many homes were decorated for that strange holiday. Most of the homes were of modest
size. Kayaks and canoes were stored on racks at the edge of the park. A back door visitor walks
by that lovely park on the way toward the downtown. A left-hand circle around town leads a
walker back to the park. It felt good to be on sod again after being on pavement or cement
sidewalks and hard decks of a boat. I even went barefoot just to feel the cold grass between my
toes.
Like most tourists, I walked both sides of the main street, explored the shopping and went to the
beautiful Maritime Museum. Aside from buying some wonderfully fresh baguettes, I bought a
crab - a natural colored blue crab made of plastic. It’s life-like appearance has become a source
of some startlement and amusement as first time visitors come aboard and see my “pet” crab. It
even spooked a customs officer in Ontario one time. She let out a great squeal!
The fall day was lovely, especially after the three-day NE blow we’d experienced. The walking
felt really good. The baguettes lent a special odor to the scents of fall: old leaves, tidal waters,
faint wood smoke and fall flowers. The air had a tang to it along with that wonderful odor of fresh
bread. Many of the Halloween decorations were punctuated by political posters stuck in the
lawns. They reminded me that I had neglected to ask for an absentee ballot yet somehow I didn’t
care, thinking the candidates were neither one worthy of electing.
Dark comes early that late in the season. It had been a long day and I rowed slowly back to
Raggedy Annie in an increasingly darker and darker anchorage. A few street lights gave some
distant light. The water became a mirror as the wavelets and dinghy ripples quickly died away.
The village was quiet but for the occasional closing of a door or a dog’s bark. The church bells
chimed the hour. It quickly got a lot cooler as I ate my light supper of Swiss cheese, an apple
whose crispness sounded loud in the dark and the fresh baguette whose every crumb I lapped
up. Overhead the stars lighted the sky. Time for bed and peace at the anchorage.
Suddenly stillness became the wack of a beaver’s tail. Then more stillness until the rocking of the
boat woke me up in the dark of morning when the oystermen went out to tong. I’ve since been
back to the back door creek several times. The boatmen now wave as they go by and no longer
rock my boat! I’ve been accepted and welcomed.
It’s a long way from where I live and I thought I might not go back after my trip in 2008, but
writing this has made me change my mind!
Anne Westlund
westlund@lighthouse.net
Ragged Annie aka Sea Dragon