Moving South

Last night we powered into Deltaville Virginia. Deltaville is not like most small Chesapeake villages. Instead of shops, marinas, and restaurants all huddled around the waterfront, Deltaville is built on both sides of route 33 which serves the small side roads that conduct traffic to various parts of the convoluted waterfront. This means that none of the many restaurants and marinas are within walking distance of each other. All transients, that's what we are, must trudge out To 33 and start walking.

But wait. We lowly transients are not only valued in this community of boat builders and boat experts, we are also in the company of southern hospitality. As Mandy and I walked along Rt 33 heading for the nearest eatery/drinkery, we decided to call a few joints to be sure that they were still open for business. Low season is here and many restaurants shorten their hours during the late fall. I talked to Joe at Kokomo's Bar and Grill. His place was closed Sunday through Wednesday but he offered to drop what he was doing to pick us up along the highway and drive us to his competitor's restaurant. We declined his generous offer but promised to return in the spring for a visit to his fine establishment.

I called a place called 'The Galley' to see if someone could drive us back to our marina if we ate there. Of course, no problem!! If the staff was too busy a local would put down his beer and drive us home. Holy crap! Is there a catch?

We walked the two and a half miles to 'The Galley' and had a fine meal at the bar. The barmaid/only waitress/part-time cook, Ellen, assured us that our glasses would never be empty on her watch despite running the lively place alone. When we were ready to leave, I mentioned that someone said that we might be able to get a ride. Within seconds Ellen produced an eager, friendly young man.

I know a little about southern hospitality so I said to the young fellow as he pulled to a stop in our marina, "This money isn't for you. It's for the kids' soccer team or cheerleaders' outfits." I threw a fiver on the dashboard.
"I couldn't accept it," he said as predicted.
"As I said, it's not for you. It's for your church."
"I couldn't......"
"It's for your mother's Christmas fund."
No further response. We said another thank you and he thanked us yet again.

This morning at 7:30 we cast off our lines and motored out of the marina into the Rappahannok River. We ran due east long enough to clear Stingray Point Light before turning south. Four hundred one years ago in 1609, Captain John Smith ran his trusty vessel aground on that very reef. While waiting for the tide to rise and lift him off Captain Smith decided to do some fishing. He caught a most unusual fish. He caught a cow-nosed stingray. Unfamiliar with the species, Captain Smith mishandled the tail of the animal and was stung by the poisonous barb. His hand and arm swelled for the afternoon but the ship's surgeon remedied the painful injury with a mysterious salve and the captain was well enough by suppertime to vengefully eat the beast that caused him such grief. The captain declared that the reef shall forever be named Stingray Point as it is to this day.

Tonight we are anchored in Willoughby Bay in Norfolk Virginia. It's one mile square, large enough to hold hundreds of boats. Tomorrow, we will enter the Dismal Swamp Canal enrout to Elizabeth City North Carolina where we plan to rest for a couple days as a front passes.