ICW Weeks 3–4: Charleston, SC to Brunswick, GA

Navigating the highs and lows of Georgia tides and sailing life

It’s now been two months since we moved aboard Osprey, and almost one month since we left the familiar waters of the Chesapeake Bay. On November 24, we crossed the South Carolina–Georgia border and entered a region defined by dramatic tidal changes. For those who read our last post and are wondering whether we ended up going offshore for the Georgia portion — we did not. We stayed inside the ICW for the entire Georgia coast and became very familiar with the state’s unique tides and currents.

Before heading into Georgia, we spent time enjoying the sights of Charleston, SC

Georgia’s tidal range is unusually wide due to its position on the westernmost edge of the Atlantic Ocean (click here if you’d like to learn more). Just as these tides swing higher and lower than what we saw on the Chesapeake, the highs of boat life often feel a little higher — and the lows a little lower. As we navigated the literal tidal swings of Georgia, it felt like the right time to reflect on the emotional ones, too.

Before diving into that, here’s a quick overview of our route since arriving in Charleston:

Route Overview

• Wed 11/19 – Thu 11/20: Zero days in Charleston, SC

• Fri 11/21: Charleston, SC → Steamboat Creek, SC

• Sat 11/22: Steamboat Creek, SC → Beaufort, SC

• Sun 11/23: Zero day in Beaufort, SC

• Mon 11/24: Beaufort, SC → Skidaway Narrows, GA

• Tue 11/25: Skidaway Narrows, GA → Crescent River, GA

• Wed 11/26: Crescent River, GA → Brunswick, GA

• Thu 11/27 – Fri 11/28: Zero days in Brunswick, GA, including a cruisers Thanksgiving potluck!

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High Tide: What We’re Loving About Boat Life

When I think about what we love most about boat life, it’s not totally different from what we loved on land — exploring new places, spending meaningful time with friends and family, and soaking in the simple joy of a warm sunny day. But something is different out here. The highs feel heightened, either because the moments are more rare, we worked harder to reach them, or we experience them more intimately.

Slow travel makes everything sweeter

Take Charleston, for example. After wrapping up a few boat chores on Wednesday morning, we spent all of Thursday exploring the city. Michael and I each made a list of things we wanted to do: a local coffee shop, Rainbow Row, a historic house tour, and a few other stops. Since we didn’t have a car, we mapped everything out and walked. I think we covered more than six miles that day and found neighborhoods we probably wouldn’t have stumbled into otherwise — including a delightful residential pocket with a fantastic coffee shop called Sightsee.

While Michael and Jen enjoyed Charleston on foot, Maisie got a little doggie vacation with a local boarder

Sure, we could have called an Uber. But after days on the boat, stretching our legs and wandering at a slower pace made the day feel especially satisfying.

Reconnecting with people we love

While in Beaufort, we reconnected with my cousins Jerry and Judy and enjoyed a delicious waterfront dinner together. As we reminisced, we realized it had been more than eight years since we’d last seen each other — at our wedding in 2017. Without this sailing adventure, who knows how much longer it would have been?

Sadly we forgot to get a picture with Jerry and Judy, but we captured a few from our time with Beaufort, SC

The cruising community is pure gold

It hasn’t just been friends and family lifting our spirits. The willingness of other cruisers to mentor and support us has been incredible — especially over Thanksgiving in Brunswick.

If you read our Week 1 post, you know our autopilot failed on day one of the trip. After diagnosing the problem, Michael sent the hydraulic ram to a specialist in Rhode Island. Knowing we’d be in Brunswick for Thanksgiving, we had the repaired ram shipped there. Michael spent Thanksgiving morning reinstalling it and trying to recommission the system.

Unfortunately — as boat life often goes — fixing one problem revealed another. It seemed the autopilot computer wasn’t functioning correctly. Frustrated, we took a break and headed to the marina’s Thanksgiving potluck. Over dessert, we met another cruiser, Ryan, who turned out to be a perfect example of the generosity of the cruising community.

A new Thanksgiving tradition - potluck with other cruisers - mixed with an old tradition

After we shared our autopilot woes (complaining about boat parts is the sailor’s version of runners comparing race injuries or corporate desk jockeys complaining about their meeting schedule), Ryan offered to help. The next day he spent nearly two hours with Michael troubleshooting, even removing the ram from his own autopilot so they could test a few theories. That kind of generosity turns strangers into friends very quickly.

The rhythm of nature

One of the best parts of boat life is being so connected to nature. Michael and I have always loved the outdoors — running, biking, hiking — and when we thru-hiked the John Muir Trail in 2016, one of our favorite parts was how our bodies synced with natural rhythms: waking with the sun, winding down with sunset.

We’ve found the same rhythm on the boat. The other day Michael said, “You know, one of the things I love most is seeing the sun rise each day.” I couldn’t agree more. A simple sunrise — something we rarely woke up for on land — feels like a small miracle out here.

Crescent River, GA had one of my most gorgeous sunrises we've seen so far

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Low Tide: The Challenges, Disappointments & Letdowns

During a recent phone call, my mom patiently listened as I walked her through all the logistics that go into planning a day’s passage on the ICW. After a few minutes, she said, “Wow, that’s a lot to think about — it’s not like other vacations.” My reply: “Well, this isn’t really a vacation. It’s an adventure.”

Living on a sailboat isn’t all playful dolphins and rum drinks at sunset. There are real challenges — and because this lifestyle is still new to us, the lows can feel sharper than they might from the comfort of a familiar environment.

Mechanical failures feel personal

When our autopilot repair didn’t seem to be working, our first reaction wasn’t, “What a wonderful opportunity to connect with new friends!” It was more like intense frustration mixed with dread and despair.

Mechanical failures are costly, time-consuming, and they get in the way of what we want to be doing. In this case, we had been hoping to sail offshore, but without a functioning autopilot, we weren’t comfortable doing that — a huge disappointment.

The day we didn’t plan — and paid the price

Another low point came the morning we left Charleston. Normally, we plan our passages the day before. But between the excitement of exploring our first big ICW city and maybe getting a little too comfortable, we completely forgot — and faced the consequences.

As we left the marina, we realized the Wappoo Creek Bridge wouldn’t open for another hour. Michael had to hold Osprey in position in a narrow, fast-moving tidal current. We were already delayed because the marina’s pump-out boat was running late, and now we were at risk of arriving at our planned anchorage after dark.

Normally, we’d simply choose a closer anchorage, but this stretch of the ICW is swampy with limited shore access for Maisie. We were staring down the possibility of another very questionable dog potty situation like our Bull Creek experience in Week 2.

When the bridge finally opened, we got moving — but not before one more low.

Elliot’s Cut: The Dreadmill

This one requires a bit of context setting. Both slow moving sailboats and fast power boats transit the ICW. Many portions of the ICW are quite narrow which makes it difficult for a fast power boat to pass a slower moving sailboat, like Osprey. Think of it like a single lane country road. The fast power boat pulls out from behind the slower boat and passes to their side.

Fast powerboats create a lot of wake as they motor through the water. This wake can violently rock and roll the boat being passed. Therefore, it is customary for passing boats to do what is called a “slow pass” to avoiding disturbing the other boat too much. The faster boat that is doing the passing will signal their intent to pass - either through a VFH radio call to the boat being passed, or simply by pulling to the side - then they will slow down so they do not create a giant wake. The boat being passed will also slow down, almost to a hover, to allow the passing boat to pass.

However, every now and again there is a rude boat that does not follow the procedure and passes us at full speed in a narrow channel, creating a massive wake that sends us rocking and rolling.

This is what happened just shortly after leaving the Wappoo Creek. I was down below making lunch when, I felt the boat rocking violently. Thinking a rude powerboater had passed us at full wake, I went topside. Instead, I saw breaking waves behind Osprey.

The picture doesn’t do it justice, but there were tons of breaking waves as we motored into the current in Elliot’s Cut

We were entering the infamous Elliot’s Cut — at nearly peak opposing current.

Elliot’s Cut is notorious for extremely fast current, and boats are advised to pass only at slack tide. Since we hadn’t planned ahead, we hit it at nearly 3–4 knots of current against us. It felt like being on a treadmill set to full speed and trying to run the wrong direction.

Thankfully, Michael’s excellent helmsmanship got us through. But it was a very clear reminder: in boat life, planning ahead isn’t optional.

The lowest low: self-doubt

The more challenging lows for me (Jen), though, have been internal — self-doubt and imposter syndrome.

Living on a sailboat requires learning an overwhelming number of new skills: small-space living, food management, electronics, plumbing, diesel mechanics, weather forecasting, navigation, steering, line handling… and, of course, actual sailing.

When we first started sailing in 2021, I knew nothing about boats. That first year and half, I learned the parts of a boat, the basics of setting and trimming sails, how to steer the boat, and how to check if the weather would be decent enough to comfortably enjoy a day on the weather.

When we bought our own boat in 2022, I didn’t even know how to turn on the lights in the cabin. Since then, I’ve slowly learned a bit more about each of the systems on the boat, and have improved my sailing and boat handling abilities. But I am still a novice, and many of these skills do not come naturally to me. And I think that the hardest thing has been remembering what it is like to learn a new skill, and how to gracefully practice something I am not yet good at.

Trying to remember to be patient with myself while I learn

It has been a long time since I haven’t been good at something. That sounds a bit conceited, but I think it is natural as adults to gravitate to the things we are good at, and leave the things we are not behind us. Before moving onto Osprey, I worked at a job that I was really good at. I enjoyed a hobby - running - that as long as I put a bit of effort into I saw immediate and concrete results.

It’s been different with sailing. It’s not something that I have naturally picked up, and with all the various components, it is difficult to track improvement. This has been frustrating for me at time. As my own toughest critic, I often judge myself for not learning more quickly or being more competent at a particular skill set.

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Slack Tide: Finding Contentment in the Middle

Slack tide is the moment at high and low — when the water is neither rushing in nor out, but still. (It also happens to be the exact moment we should have gone through Elliot’s Cut!)

Even here in Georgia, with its dramatic tides and intense currents, slack tide always comes four times a day.

During this stretch, we’ve found so many moments of calm and beauty — winding through marshy creeks, anchoring under big skies, watching the sun melt into the horizon after a long day. I believe these small pockets of stillness help build resilience for the lows and give us perspective to truly enjoy the highs.

Now that we are over 700 miles into the ICW, we are hoping to slow our pace a bit, allowing us to find the moments of calm which will fortify us for the challenges ahead and create space to celebrate our accomplishments.

Maisie reminding us to enjoy the moments of calm

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Up Next

If you’ve made it this far, you’ve probably noticed we’re a few days behind in our posts. We’ve done some fun and novel things since leaving Brunswick — including our first open ocean sail and entering Florida, our fifth state on the ICW!

More on all of that — and some early thoughts on when we’ll head to the Bahamas — next time.

Thanks for following along, and cheers!

— Jen, Michael & Maisie