We knew this stretch of the journey would be special. The Outer Banks, with its wild beauty and deep-rooted family memories, had always been a place of adventure and nostalgia for us. But this time, instead of lazy beach days and ice cream runs, we were facing a challenge: three major crossings—The Neuse River, The Pamlico Sound, and The Albemarle Sound—each notorious for their unpredictable moods.
Originally, we’d planned three days for this leg. But the forecast had other ideas. A storm system was closing in, and if we didn’t make it through in two days, we’d be stuck for nearly a week waiting for fair weather. It was tempting to sit tight, but the thought of pushing through, racing ahead of the front, felt like an irresistible call to action. So the plan was made—two days, three crossings, and a whole lot of determination.
Darkness still blanketed the marina when we woke up. The air was thick with anticipation as we prepared Koko for departure, moving through familiar motions with quiet efficiency. By first light, just before 6am, we were off, reversing smoothly from our slip—until I nearly sent us into the shallows by misjudging a nearby marker. A quick spin of the wheel, a burst of throttle, and disaster was barely avoided. One second of inattention, and things could have gone very differently.
The Neuse River crossing loomed ahead, and the forecast wasn’t kind. By midday, winds were expected to build to levels that would make things messy. Our only hope was to beat the worsening conditions. So we pushed hard, constantly checking both the forecast and the ominous wall of clouds behind us.
By the time we reached the Neuse, we were staring straight into 15-18 knots on the nose—borderline uncomfortable. But there was no turning back now. We hoisted the staysail for some extra stability—not that it was a match for the wind and waves. Koko pitched and rolled in the chaotic swell, every movement rattling through our bones like the rhythm of an unrelenting drum. For three uncomfortable hours, we fought through the waves.
But then—relief. We had made it. As if rewarding us for our effort, the sun broke through, the wind eased, and the world suddenly felt peaceful. We cruised past shrimp boats, stretched out on the foredeck, and finally took the time to eat.
With the hardest part behind us, the afternoon crossing of Pamlico Sound felt like a gift. The water flattened, the breeze softened, and we sailed in near silence, soaking in the serenity of the moment.
Our original stopping point had been Belhaven, but knowing that tomorrow’s run would be even longer, we pushed ahead, reaching the entrance to the Pungo River just before sunset. Dropping anchor in a quiet, secluded nook, we found ourselves sharing the space with only two other boats.
We would have loved to continue further, but the Pungo River-Alligator River Canal lay ahead—a long, straight ditch that would take about three hours to navigate. Attempting it in the dark wasn’t an option, so this peaceful anchorage would be our resting place for the night.
As if to congratulate us for our hard work, Mother Nature settled in for the night. The winds died, the water flattened, and we were finally able to breathe, fully appreciating the peaceful isolation of the Outer Banks backcountry.
Tomorrow, the challenge would continue—but for now, we rested, grateful for the day’s victories.