The forecast was dire. A nor'easter thundering out of a darkened sky, only an occasional seagull would be seen whipping and wheeling above the crests of foam. Sheets of icy rain slashed across the dancing waters, riding the back of a wintery storm. The last of an ebbing tide was approaching; it was time to tie Sylvia loose for she had a date on the waterfront.
The weather forecast promised rain, accompanied by gale force winds, possibly pumping up gusts exceeding 50 knots, with a strong possibility of increasing by evening. Dark shadows of doubt flickered in and out of my mind. Sylvia's engine was good and strong, recently off the railway, her hull and topsides gleaming in fresh paint. She looked good, thanks to the efforts and sweat of Rob Eskew of Charlotte, who had volunteered to serve as an apprentice deck hand.
Sylvia's crew had gathered early, a little skeptical of facing such cold, windy and miserable weather conditions. A quick conference, all hands were experienced waterman. Roger Mays, capable skipper with a 500-ton license, and with Sylvia being a six-ton vessel, he seemed well qualified. Doug, a long-term commercial fisherman friend from Maryland, and Rob, an agile, apprenticing deck hand, would handle the boat while I served in the capacity of admiral. My function was to tell the skipper where to go and the rest was up to him.
The engine was purring smoothly as we dropped her mooring lines and eased into the channel to the sound. The ship's flag was snapping like a bullwhip, spray flying and a blinding icy rain streamed over the windows, chilling fingers and faces. The boat, despite her age, had been designed for such conditions. She took little notice of the windblown chop, as we turned into the nor'easter, sliding along, parting the seas in an easy motion. As acting admiral, I had the choice location in the doorway to the forward cabin, absorbing the heat of the engine while watching all hands at work.
There was no traffic to be seen anywhere. Boats tied up rocking and dancing in their slips, or at anchor along the entire waterfront showed no sign of life.
It was a different story as we eased alongside the Sanitary Restaurant's floating docks and began securing lines and dropping fender boards. About this time, out of the wind, rain and mist another boat, Nature's Call, appeared. Capt. John McCallum of Taylor Boat Works moored just ahead of us and jokingly claimed he'd brought a tow rope just in case.
Despite the cold, the rain, wind and adverse weather, about a hundred or more old boat lovers had mustered up the courage to brave the elements in order to attend Sylvia's birthday party. John Tunnel added a scale model of Sylvia alongside the huge cake, bearing a detailed likeness of the boat in sweet details that awaited serving. It was an old fashioned reunion with cake cutting, mingled with shiploads of tall tales, reawakening waterfront memories.
The weather was deteriorating, bringing severe thunderstorms with winds exceeding 50 knots. Sylvia's signal flags were snapping; the tide had turned. Sylvia's crew tied her loose, swinging her bow towards home.
Bogue Sound waters were a bowl of silvered jelly dancing to the tune of the screaming gale. The combination of cross winds and swift currents made channel navigation touchy. The empty dock waited; ashore trees bent and danced in the howling wind. Lines secure, an open fire and hot drink were waiting. It was a great day.
