Waterhole Cove: Waterhole Shakedown

A run to Waterhole Cove off the Choptank's Harris Creek was just the thing for a spring shakedown cruise. by Jane Meneely illustration by Richard C. Goertemiller There was no reason not to go for an overnight spin on the boat. So what if it was midweek and there was still brightwork to do? It wouldn't bemyboat we were taking. It would be my brother Henry's mightyINSSA(which, by the way, stands forI'll Never Say Stinkpot Again), his extremely comfortable Gulf Star plushcaboozy 44, with hot-and-cold running water and private staterooms and a full-size fridge adequately stocked with beer. It would be a shakedown cruise, which meant that something would go wrong-we just wouldn't know exactly what until it happened. It's an aspect that lends an enticing air of adventure to the game. Sure, I was up for it. Heck, I'd even bring dinner. We decided to make a run from Herring Bay across to Harris Creek-a three-hour trip, maybe, with plenty of time and space for the boat to pitch whatever fit it needed to in order to get the winter kinks out. My sister-in-law Pat and I took care of the dock lines while Henry climbed to his throne on the bridge, and off we went, the twin diesels rumbling and spitting in grand form. We eased out of the slip and into the channel, and before you could string three expletives together Henry came barreling down the companionway. There's no steerage, he said, as he disappeared into the engine room to pump up the pressure. Part of the beauty of twin-engine diesels is that they don't actually require a steering wheel in order to maneuver. Playing with the forward and reverse throttles, I could keep the boat in the center of the channel until Henry determined that pulling into the next open slip might be the prudent move. So we did, and there we sat, idly keeping the boat off the pilings (we'd left our dock lines behind) while Henry fiddled and faddled and added more goop to the steering system until the wheel began, finally, to behave. So what if we were late getting started? (I mentioned the adequately stocked refrigerator, yes?) With no further ado, we powered through Herring Bay and then curled east. The late afternoon sky had glazed over with thick gray clouds and there was a brisk breeze building. In the distance we could see a tug and tow moving smartly down channel. Otherwise we were pretty much by ourselves. The autopilot headed us straight for Knapps Narrows, and we followed the green markers into the channel up to the bridge. The Crow Brothers' buyboats, tied to the bulkhead across from the Knapps Narrows Marina, were all rigged for laying spat, with plywood sheets raised high atop the bulkheads to hold in all those baby oysters. Their crews, done for the day, were climbing into a waiting pickup truck. On the other side of the bridge, the skipjackKathrynlay up to her scuppers and doubtless hard aground, just beyond Severn Marine Services. Not so bad as it looked, really. There's no engine below decks. Just pump her out and patch her up, and you could sail her away. Still, it's sad to see these old beauties tasting mud. We headed north, up Harris Creek and past Dun Cove. Waterhole Cove comes next, to port, and that's where we dropped the hook, just off Sherwood's community pier. In calm weather, this makes for a great layover, being protected on three sides. But it has a wide opening to the east, so think twice if weather is building from that direction. Dun Cove offers far more shelter. Still, Sherwood is a happening place, with things to see and do shoreside. The origin of Waterhole Cove's name is pretty interesting. When European colonists first began settling the Chesapeake shoreline, captains made it a point to land their ships far enough upriver that the fresher water would kill off the teredo worms that routinely infested their wooden hulls. If they were lucky, the water was fresh enough to fill their water barrels, as well. As colonial farmers spread out along the Chesapeake and its tributaries, they found pockets of fresh water mingled with the brine of salty creeks. Perhaps local Indians pointed these out. At any rate, the "sweet" water apparently bubbled up from underground springs that opened into the creek bottoms. Supposedly, that is how Waterhole Cove got its name-seagoing ships would pull in here to replenish their water barrels before heading off to distant ports. Ashore is the village of Sherwood. Its community pier is substantial, and visitors may tie up there for an hour or so, first-come-first-served. There's also a small dinghy landing on the shore end of the pier. We rowed ashore and took a leisurely stroll into "downtown" Sherwood, past modest homes and a small graveyard (tombstones date from the early 1800s). Bearing right we came to Sherwood's "commercial" district, consisting of the post office and an antiques shop. Sadly, the store was closed, according to the postmaster, the proprietor had to run into town. Most of the time, we were told, he was more likely to be in the shop or at least on the lookout for customers from his home next door. Route 33 (the main drag between St. Michaels and Tilghman) lies a hundred yards or so from Sherwood's hub. Cross that and hike another quarter mile or so, and you'll come to Lowe's Wharf, where a restaurant and bar offer food and libation to all comers. We had a lovely dinner waiting for us on the boat (steak and asparagus), so we passed up this otherwise stellar opportunity. Back aboard we enjoyed a cool spring breeze and lovely sunset, marveling that our shakedown had been so easy-only one malfunction. Imagine that! Chalk it up to good karma. The next morning we piled into the dinghy and motored off to explore. Among other things, we were curious about two range lights we had seen the night before. We found them, posted at the end of another substantial dock well inside the cove. The associated residence looked big enough to be an inn of some sort, and we made a mental note to Google it out. That's when the dinghy ran out of gas, and Henry and I had to row back to the boat-so much for karma! At least, Henry pointed out, now he could fill the dinghy's tank with fresh gas. "It's nice to know we've burned up all the old stuff from last year," he said. I just kept rowing. Fortunately we made it back to the boat and from there to the marina with no further mishaps. And thus began our boating season. Getting There Waterhole Cove is about four miles up Harris Creek on the west shore, just beyond the zig-zag between the "9" and "10" marks. The chart shows a spire to the west, marking the town of Sherwood, but don't count on it as a landmark; it's a modest little church steeple that is now all but lost in the trees. Instead, look for a long wooden pier with a bench at the end, which marks the lower lip of the cove. Anchoring off that, we found good holding with lots of swing room. [7.07 issue]

A run to Waterhole Cove off the Choptank's Harris Creek was just the thing for a spring shakedown cruise.

by Jane Meneely
illustration by Richard C. Goertemiller

There was no reason not to go for an overnight spin on the boat. So what if it was midweek and there was still brightwork to do? It wouldn't bemyboat we were taking. It would be my brother Henry's mightyINSSA(which, by the way, stands forI'll Never Say Stinkpot Again), his extremely comfortable Gulf Star plushcaboozy 44, with hot-and-cold running water and private staterooms and a full-size fridge adequately stocked with beer. It would be a shakedown cruise, which meant that something would go wrong-we just wouldn't know exactly what until it happened. It's an aspect that lends an enticing air of adventure to the game. Sure, I was up for it. Heck, I'd even bring dinner.

We decided to make a run from Herring Bay across to Harris Creek-a three-hour trip, maybe, with plenty of time and space for the boat to pitch whatever fit it needed to in order to get the winter kinks out. My sister-in-law Pat and I took care of the dock lines while Henry climbed to his throne on the bridge, and off we went, the twin diesels rumbling and spitting in grand form. We eased out of the slip and into the channel, and before you could string three expletives together Henry came barreling down the companionway. There's no steerage, he said, as he disappeared into the engine room to pump up the pressure.

Part of the beauty of twin-engine diesels is that they don't actually require a steering wheel in order to maneuver. Playing with the forward and reverse throttles, I could keep the boat in the center of the channel until Henry determined that pulling into the next open slip might be the prudent move. So we did, and there we sat, idly keeping the boat off the pilings (we'd left our dock lines behind) while Henry fiddled and faddled and added more goop to the steering system until the wheel began, finally, to behave. So what if we were late getting started? (I mentioned the adequately stocked refrigerator, yes?)

With no further ado, we powered through Herring Bay and then curled east. The late afternoon sky had glazed over with thick gray clouds and there was a brisk breeze building. In the distance we could see a tug and tow moving smartly down channel. Otherwise we were pretty much by ourselves. The autopilot headed us straight for Knapps Narrows, and we followed the green markers into the channel up to the bridge.

The Crow Brothers' buyboats, tied to the bulkhead across from the Knapps Narrows Marina, were all rigged for laying spat, with plywood sheets raised high atop the bulkheads to hold in all those baby oysters. Their crews, done for the day, were climbing into a waiting pickup truck. On the other side of the bridge, the skipjackKathrynlay up to her scuppers and doubtless hard aground, just beyond Severn Marine Services. Not so bad as it looked, really. There's no engine below decks. Just pump her out and patch her up, and you could sail her away. Still, it's sad to see these old beauties tasting mud.

We headed north, up Harris Creek and past Dun Cove. Waterhole Cove comes next, to port, and that's where we dropped the hook, just off Sherwood's community pier. In calm weather, this makes for a great layover, being protected on three sides. But it has a wide opening to the east, so think twice if weather is building from that direction. Dun Cove offers far more shelter. Still, Sherwood is a happening place, with things to see and do shoreside.

The origin of Waterhole Cove's name is pretty interesting. When European colonists first began settling the Chesapeake shoreline, captains made it a point to land their ships far enough upriver that the fresher water would kill off the teredo worms that routinely infested their wooden hulls. If they were lucky, the water was fresh enough to fill their water barrels, as well. As colonial farmers spread out along the Chesapeake and its tributaries, they found pockets of fresh water mingled with the brine of salty creeks. Perhaps local Indians pointed these out. At any rate, the "sweet" water apparently bubbled up from underground springs that opened into the creek bottoms. Supposedly, that is how Waterhole Cove got its name-seagoing ships would pull in here to replenish their water barrels before heading off to distant ports.

Ashore is the village of Sherwood. Its community pier is substantial, and visitors may tie up there for an hour or so, first-come-first-served. There's also a small dinghy landing on the shore end of the pier. We rowed ashore and took a leisurely stroll into "downtown" Sherwood, past modest homes and a small graveyard (tombstones date from the early 1800s). Bearing right we came to Sherwood's "commercial" district, consisting of the post office and an antiques shop. Sadly, the store was closed, according to the postmaster, the proprietor had to run into town. Most of the time, we were told, he was more likely to be in the shop or at least on the lookout for customers from his home next door.

Route 33 (the main drag between St. Michaels and Tilghman) lies a hundred yards or so from Sherwood's hub. Cross that and hike another quarter mile or so, and you'll come to Lowe's Wharf, where a restaurant and bar offer food and libation to all comers. We had a lovely dinner waiting for us on the boat (steak and asparagus), so we passed up this otherwise stellar opportunity.

Back aboard we enjoyed a cool spring breeze and lovely sunset, marveling that our shakedown had been so easy-only one malfunction. Imagine that! Chalk it up to good karma.

The next morning we piled into the dinghy and motored off to explore. Among other things, we were curious about two range lights we had seen the night before. We found them, posted at the end of another substantial dock well inside the cove. The associated residence looked big enough to be an inn of some sort, and we made a mental note to Google it out. That's when the dinghy ran out of gas, and Henry and I had to row back to the boat-so much for karma! At least, Henry pointed out, now he could fill the dinghy's tank with fresh gas. "It's nice to know we've burned up all the old stuff from last year," he said. I just kept rowing. Fortunately we made it back to the boat and from there to the marina with no further mishaps. And thus began our boating season.

Getting There
Waterhole Cove is about four miles up Harris Creek on the west shore, just beyond the zig-zag between the "9" and "10" marks. The chart shows a spire to the west, marking the town of Sherwood, but don't count on it as a landmark; it's a modest little church steeple that is now all but lost in the trees. Instead, look for a long wooden pier with a bench at the end, which marks the lower lip of the cove. Anchoring off that, we found good holding with lots of swing room.

[7.07 issue]