Timmy, I've a Feeling We're Not In Kansas Anymore

Where The Sidewalk Ends

It's Best Not To Proceed On Foot

Back out into the Chesapeake we went. Steering Slowly in the 3 ft following seas (waves that come up behind us) is not frightening or jolting but it is still difficult. Each wave picks up the boat and puts her down going in a different direction so that the driver cannot leave his post, even for a handful of candy corn, without being nudged off course. We saw many pelicans and many fishermen, but not much else. There was one lighthouse that we particularly liked. Similar to the one we toured yesterday, it seemed like a pleasant place to live, besides the outhouse hanging over the side. We'd hate to be sitting out there in a big storm!

Outside the entrance to the Potomac the waves got a little choppier. There was a lot of activity on the water on this November Saturday. This is the big Striped Bass Season down here. Looking at the charts we kept ourselves amused musing about the places we were passing. After the Potomac we celebrated our entrance into Virginia. There were armies of fishing boats all around us. Like any good little fishy, we tried to get through unscathed while trying not to get hooked on anyone's lines. We are fond of the Chesapeake fishing boats that are sleek and long compared to the stubby big nosed little sports fishing boats.

We wound our way into the Piankatank River, making big arcs to avoid the shallow water. The entrance into Jackson Creek was the narrowest we had seen. The surrounding shoals are quite visible and one has to hug the markers, though not too close because the shoals have grown since they were marked. At one point we found ourselves right in someone's backyard, though no one came out to greet us tea and cookies. Instead we headed straight through and made it up into a calm anchor spot with ease.

Shutting off the engines created a vacuous quiet. In a mix of peaceful and eery, a distant leaf blower let us know we were not alone. A long boat full of men glided by, home from a day of fishing in their camouflage insulated body suits. They blatantly stared at us (or really just Hannah), while we got the dinghy down into the water. After a short pull in flat water, we reached the high town dock and climbed up, there being no ladder, to begin our explorations. The dock put us on the edge of an open suburb. Like aliens in human disguises, we step off our ship into these otherwise normal neighborhoods where everyone is just doing his weekend chores, maybe getting in the family car to go out for dinner. Here in particular, our distance traveled is palpable as we walk off into a new culture, a new part of the world. We have indeed become the oddities (for a change?). [Like Teen Wolf! -Ed]

Deltaville is a far reach from what we could ever call home. With only a library, a hardware store, a gas station and a bar where the bartender truly gave Hannah a blank face when she asked about local beers. (H:"What beer do you have?" B:"Oh, we have them all." H:"What do you have for local beers?" B:"Local beers? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talkin' about." H:"You know, any beer made in Virginia?" B:"...I don't think so. We have Bud, Bud Lite, Miller Lite and Coors.") We were disappointed since we had been enjoying trying the local beers of the places we went. After pondering the situation we thought about how the choice beer in different places is not always the local brew, but can also be America's favorite corporate brew: Bud. Taking a sip of the nation's beer culture requires sampling both.

Although it is a beautiful area, and is a popular place for cruisers, we do not feel it is fair to give Deltaville a rating. It is simply not for us.