Saturday, June 6
Southport to Mile Hammock anchorage
65 nm – 9.5 hours underway
There’s a saying: “A bad day on the water beats a good day at work.”
Today… felt like work.
The day did start on a high note. Kevin had the chance to meet Harvey and Terri aboard Otium out of Vero Beach—a great way to kick things off before we untied the lines.
We had both been a little anxious about departing the dock in Southport. Tight quarters, big boats, and very little room for error will do that. But Kevin handled it beautifully—and even earned a compliment from the captain of a stunning Ocean Alexander we had been especially worried about. That would be our win for the day.
Normally, before we get underway, we “walk” the route—checking charts, noting bridges, and spotting any potential trouble ahead. Between the nerves of undocking and getting moving, we skipped that step.
We would regret that later.
If you’ve followed along before, you know we usually avoid traveling on weekends. But we had a long day ahead, and it gave Heather the chance to take the helm for a stretch. Another decision that seemed fine at the time… and less so as the day unfolded.
We got a later start than planned, and by the time we reached Carolina Beach, the weekend crowd was in full force. And by full force, I mean relentless. Wake after wake from center consoles, boats in every direction—it honestly felt like the entire state of North Carolina had decided to get on the water at the exact same time. As far as we could see: center consoles and sportfishers bouncing us around without mercy.
Then came the bridges.
Swing bridges. On schedules. Opening only on the hour and half hour.
Without having planned our timing—and without the ability to easily maneuver or speed up—this turned into a slow-motion challenge. And since speed is not in Tortuga’s vocabulary, slowing down was our only option. So we crawled along at 3.5 knots, getting tossed around by passing boats while trying to time each bridge just right.
It felt like it lasted forever.
After hours of bouncing and waiting, we started thinking about calling it early and ducking into a marina. But no luck—everything was full. Our original anchorage option was also out due to shoaling and shallow water.
So… three more hours it was.
By the time we finally reached Mile Hammock Anchorage, tucked alongside Camp Lejeune, we were more than ready to be done. We dropped anchor among a handful of other boats with the wind whipping. Thankfully, we set well and had a solid hold.
Finally, a chance to exhale.
Or so we thought.
The sunset was magnificent – even Wimbi watched from a porthole.
As night fell, the sound of live fire training began—and didn’t stop.
After a long, exhausting day on the water, it was about as far from peaceful as you could imagine. Booms echoing across the anchorage, a constant reminder of where we were.
Maybe we’ll sleep tomorrow night.
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