Rhode River, Maryland

Today we moved further north in the Chesapeake Bay, traveling from Plaindealing Creek near Oxford to the Rhode River, south of Annapolis. As we left the Tred Avon, the Oxford-Bellevue Ferry passed in front of us. This ferry (although not the actual boat itself) is believed to the be the oldest privately owned service in the country, having been established in 1683. Before a coal-fired steam engine was installed in 1886, the ferry used sails and oar power carry "horses and men," mostly local laborers between orchards and farms. The current boat can carry up to nine vehicles plus bicylists and pedestrians, but in the last couple days I have never seen more than two vehicles on board. No longer an essential everyday transportation link for locals, the 3/4 mile ride is popular with tourists, running every 10 to 15 minutes spring, summer and fall. 

Oxford- Bellevue Ferry heading for Oxford

The wind was not favorable for sailing in the direction we were heading this morning, so we had to use the engine more than we liked. Despite the heat and the humidity and the lack of breeze to cool us down while we were traveling, we kept ourselves occupied watching the occasional small pod of dolphins and continuously watching for crab pot markers bobbing in various colors on the surface. While our propellor would probably slice through the line if we ran over one, the waterman who owns the pot would probably not be pleased. 

Markers by the hundreds of thousands bob on the bay, but in some places the water is too shallow for crab pots to work well. In these areas of less than 40 feet depth, as we learned yesterday while talking with a waterman on his boat, trot lines are employed. As he explained trot lines to us, he never slowed down dexterously throwing out old bait and putting new bait--zebra clams purchased by the bushel in his case--in small mesh bags which he tied to a line every few feet. The lines with bait, 100 feet long or more, are stored in brine onboard until he sets off, usually in the early morning. Apparently, crabs are more active in the morning and less likely to spook when the trotline is moved. With his pre-baited lines as well as more bait onboard, the waterman will set out in his traditional small boat with a roof for shade. (We have seen many of these boats at work, and they always seem to be single-handed, but I have read that sometimes 2 or 3 people will work together.) An anchor--maybe 15 pounds--marks the start of the line and is marked with a float. From this point, the waterman maneuvers his boat down current, spooling out the pre-baited line behind and then placing a lighter anchor and a float at the end. The waterman then works the line from beginning to end, using a gaff or a hook to pull up the line and a net to snag the crabs that are clinging to the outside of the mesh bag just before each bag reaches the surface. 

After we dropped anchor around 4 p.m. and got everything on deck ship-shape, Peter fired up the generator and turned on the air conditioner. Once again, it was 88 degrees down below. (Almost two hours later, it has gone down to 80.) I, or course, have stayed in the main cabin while, Peter, who does not seem to be as adversely affected as I am by extreme humidity, chose to have a hot cup of tea (I will never understand drinking a hot beverage in hot weather!) in the cockpit before starting in on another project. He has been assiduously working in the heat creating an eye splice in the end of one of the genoa sheets. It is a tedious and exacting process; if done correctly--which, of course, is the way Peter does it--it is virtually impossible to see any of the underlying core in the line or where the sheathing has been re-braided. 

Peter creating an eye splice

The barometer has been falling today, and we expect thunderstorms tonight and tomorrow, which may bring relief from the humidity. There are a couple small islands near our anchorage in this river, and before dark we will explore by kayak.