The Intracoastal Waterway
East Coast
By
Susan Hayward, m/v Limerick
“Tis the Waterway, East Coast, some call it The Ditch.
“Tis the bane of existence of boats. It’s a bitch.
We all love it or hate it. It’s awful intense,
And the tug-and-tows plying the ways are immense.
But there’s nature – the ospreys on each channel marker,
Clear water down south. (In the north it’s much darker:
Makes a moustache distinctive of Waterway boats.)
There’s the grasses and pin trees and myriad floats.
Round each corner lurks something – a tug and a barge,
The shrimp boats, fast bass boats, and cruise ships loom large.
There are bridges too short. There are waters too skinny.
There times that the channel includes way too many.
The sailboats are waked by too many go-fasts.
The go-fasts just want to keep going, get past.
It’s a slow gentle pass that the sailboats long for.
It’s the No Wakes and sailboats that make go-fasts sore.
All the radio chatter, the VHF noise,
Make you reach for the mike to dispense your own joys.
There are tree stumps and deadheads and floating debris.
There are spots where your boat bumps: you hope to bounce free.
If you’re stuck help will come out to get you unstuck
And commiserate with you on your boat’s bad luck.
Submerged pilings and rip rap all threaten your prop.
(It’s a bummer if something like that makes you stop.)
At the bridges the tenders will give you a lift.
The swing bridges swing. The fixed bridge is a gift.
In the small towns along the way, history abounds.
There are egrets in marshes and gulls in the sounds.
On the overhead wires sit the kingfishers fishing.
Then there’s other wildlife that you’d rather be missing.
No-see-ums and skeeters and huge greenhead flies
Fill the cockpit, all biting, all filling the skies.
And the skies can hold other more weatherly fears:
There are thunderstorms. Worse, hurricanes in some years.
Oh, the rain can drop buckets. The winds blow a gale.
You’ll get frost in the autumn or summertime hail.
On some stretches huge mansions line both sides, with docks
They have front lawns that feature small swans and geese flocks.
Down the way will be trailers and broken-down shacks,
But the view’s the same here on both sides of the tracks.
Ah, the view when you’re anchored out. What a great pleasure.
You swing on the hook. These are the times that you treasure.
You relish the solitude, use the binocs
To enjoy all the nature you miss at the docks.
We’ve seen eagles and foxes and minks on the shore.
We’ve watched dolphins cavort and fat manatees snore.
The banks may be grasses, or pines or great oaks.
You explore in the dinghy, with long languid strokes.
In the morning, departure is slowed by the fact
That the anchor and chain are impossibly packed
With a coating of mud that is slimy and sticky.
It’s a job to wash off. When it’s cold it’s real icky.
There are days when the weather dictates that you stop.
So you head for a dock and you shut down your prop.
The marina experience typifies most
Of the social demeanor here on the East Coast.
“Bring ‘er in, Skip,” the dockhands say, “Throw me that line.
We can squeeze you in here, it’s okay, you’ll be fine.”
There are fixed docks and floating. The currents run swift.
And the winds are quite calm ‘til you dock. Then they shift.
The transient rates, by the foot, are quite dear.
(You can count on them all going up every year.)
Do the washers here work? Got a courtesy car?
And the trashcans, the bathroom, the office: how far?
Once you’ve got that established, you’re off to explore:
You need groceries, post office, phone and much more.
Finally, there’s the Waterway boat’s Golden Rule:
Never bypass a place where they have pumps for fuel.
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