The next leg turns out to be the most interesting yet. Another long one at nearly 30 miles. It will lead across the St. John’s River past a military shipyard, then into a series of mostly wild and winding linked creeks through broad empty marshes, around small remote islands, across Nassau Sound, and finally up the west side of Amelia Island, where we hope to meet with the family of a friend for dinner. If we can get there in time.
The tidal current is for now in our favor, so we quickly finish breakfast and get underway to take advantage of it. One of the things you soon learn on these waterways is to pay close attention to the tides. Not so much to have water under the keel (we’re a small boat), but to ride the currents like sledding hills. Timing of your runs can make the difference between four hours of easy travel, or seven slow hours all uphill. If you time it right, it’s all downhill both ways.
We want to ride the outgoing tide to the St. John’s River, then push across into the marshes on the other side, up to “the head of tide”. This is like the peak of the next hill, where water flows inland around islands from two directions meets. The opposing currents butt heads there and cancel each other out. From there we ride down the other side, then catch the next incoming tide up the Nassau River and along the length of Amelia. At least, that’s the plan.
At the first bridge we can already see the effect. The outgoing current almost doubles our speed.
As we approach the St. John’s, though, we have a steep uphill climb through a tricky stretch of water. All the water coming down the river is against us. And the ICW has been dredged and rerouted, likely to keep traffic away from the shipyard. It now runs along a hardened artificial shoreline to port, with submerged rocks on starboard.
We barely make 2 knots against the current. There’s some concern we may not have enough power to keep us off the rocks. On the radio we hear Coast Guard reports of a boat aground nearby, which is not at all reassuring.
We slog on, and run high past the entrance to Sisters Creek on the opposite shore to avoid getting swept down into the shipyard as we cross. Then make the turn across the river and slip into the mouth of the creek, where the current eases immediately. Rising high above us is the rusty hulk of a large bulk carrier. Doug thinks it’s a dredge dumper, made for hauling spoil out to sea, with doors that swing open underneath like railroad coal cars. One man in a hard hat clatters away with a jackhammer and grinder up on the superstructure like he’s firing a machine gun, the only visible worker on board.
Once into Sisters Creek it’s like we’ve entered another world. We can raise sail again and cut the engine. We glide past shore birds and empty islands. A pod of dolphins feeds alongside and follows us. The tide is almost ebbed here, so the channel is shallow and narrow.
At a turn in the creek we pass a large sail cruiser hard aground on the inside of the curve, canted over in the mud. An inflatable dinghy bumps the hull beside it. Maybe the one in the alerts on the radio? If anyone is onboard, they are hiding down below. The name on the boat is “Mad Max”. I bet he’s mad, too.
At Nassau Sound we swing out into the wide river. Here we have both wind and incoming tide in our favor, with the southern tip of Amelia Island to starboard. Across the sound we head up the South Amelia River. Manatees do lazy rolls at the surface, and white pelicans glide in sleepy undulating lines over the waves.
Our destination is the far north end at Fernandina Beach – our last stop before we finally exit Florida. (Wahoo!) We have made good time. But Amelia is a long island. We still have 12 miles to go. By late afternoon we lose the wind and tide and fire up the diesel to cover the last few miles.
Approaching the harbor we find the first of many surprises. Fernandina Beach is a lovely, very old southern town. But it’s bookended by two very large pulp mills. We could see the first one for miles as we made our way north. Another pod of dolphins is feeding at the surface as we finally pass it just south of town. Beyond that, tied up at a wobbly wharf is a string of shrimp boats that look mostly retired. Fernandina Beach has a long history in the shrimp fishing industry, so maybe these are just here for decoration; a nod to the old days before shrimp was farmed overseas and made local fishing for them unprofitable.
The harbor is large and welcoming, though, and mostly full. We get fuel and a slip and much needed showers before walking into town for dinner.
A+ accommodations.
