We were disconnected two+ days in North Carolina. No internet, no blog, no e-mail. The Intracoastral Waterway crosses the Alligator National Wildlife refuge with the last of the Eastern black bears (did not see any) and some red wolves (did not hear any). We found beautiful anchorings, one with four boats, three of which we recognized from previous dockings—fun to follow each other from place to place. Sometimes you know the boat by name, but not their crew. We have been called “Peregrine” before, as in “Knock knock, Peregrine, can we come on board?” We were alone in the second anchoring at Campbell Creek. The sky had just cleared up after a few overcast days, and we sat in the cockpit catching a few rays, sipping wine–we started on our black box vintage, or bladder as Dickie calls it in an all too close analogy that I will leave to you to develop.

I used the internetless time to check out the i-movie tutorial (disappointed to find out that I can’t stop finding new fun projects. I was hoping to “empty” myself during this trip, as in looking at the sky and water and letting the breeze take me wherever it wished. But in the end I’m way too much of a doer to stop very long—and much enjoy the mechanical aspect of the trip, like understanding how things work. Although I find the idea attractive, I’m not gonna sit in a cave and let stalagmites grow on my head). So, I made a couple of (crude) movies, but can’t blog them, grr. I got to the point where one is on my desktop, reduced to a medium size, but it won’t blog through (Ben—any suggestion?). Not that it is a great loss.

We docked at Beaufort last night (fuel, water, pump out, shower, chit-chat with human beings other than each other, restaurant), and left first thing this morning. With its treacherous waters, Beaufort has a history of boat wrecking, and (therefore I’m guessing) of boat building industry. Pirate Blackbeard is still the shipwreck star with his 1718 Queen Ann’s Revenge—people are still diving for it.  We did not visit Beaufort’s museum. We want to move on when we can, fearing the cold might close on us. We’re making good time, motoring our way through. Canals and rivers are too narrow to sail anyway. But here is a picture of Blackbeard from Hampton’s museum.

When Blackbeard was caught, his head was severed and exhibited on a pick to scare other pirates away, at what became Blackbeard Point in Hampton. It was then hung to the bowsprit of the ship that captured him, and sailed back through Beaufort inlet (an effective way to spread live news without media I’m guessing). You’ll notice the close-up framing of my photo. I wanted to focus on his awesome features. Yet, the truth is that the wax head in the museum was displayed on a pick. I know I’m morbid here, but you would too if the last vision of your beloved son was of him dead, yet offering the most beautiful profile possible for the few seconds we saw him before he was cremated. I had to write it sometimes. And Dickie and I howled and rushed to him and touched his face and hair. His hair was clean. They had washed it.

As we left Beauty-full Beau-fort this morning (picture above), and I was busy getting lines and fenders out of the water, I heard a ploof and saw circular ripples in the otherwise calm water just below where I was standing. Oh no my phone! No more photo, film, how am I going to blog?  Or since I’ve been careful to keep my phone in my zipped pocket, was it the key to the three tanks that I lost and we don’t have a duplicate? I heard the ploofy sound again, and realized it was too loud for such small objects and surely I had not loss something else. And then I screamed, “Dickiiiiiiie” and you guessed  it, it was a porpoise right there, right by Peregrine and me. Oh, what a delightful, thrilling sight. We have reached warmer waters, we are back to the South, close to home.