Dividing Creek

We entered Dividing Creek and anchored in 8.5 feet in the first small cove. It is about a mile long tapering at its end in a mass of reeds. The edges ungulate from one side to the next providing swing room for boats to anchor not quite in the middle.

When Carrie Rose entered, she had already been down Granary Creek, and turned around at the narrow end while churning up dark gray-brown mud — never a great idea. I will be more careful in the future. This lapse in judgment would not have occurred in the North Channel because billion year old rock is not as forgiving to the prop as million year old mud.

There are small craft warnings on the bay but here it is calm, protected by the oaks and pines that line the banks. There was one other boat anchored here, a newish sailboat about 40 feet. They left early in the day probably towards Granary Creek but returned to anchor a little closer to us. I imagining they explored the above creek and found it wanting.

So, we sit here about a football field apart. They paddled by and said hello, and we rowed by and returned the gesture. It is nice to see a handsome boat in the creek, a focal point that puts the size and shape of the creek into perspective.

Carrie Rose moved here from Shaw Bay, a wide open anchorage, because of a dire weather forecast. It is hard to judge if it was a wise move because in this superbly protected spot who knows what happened on the more exposed bay. I have decided to not second guess myself; if I feel nervous, I am going to act. When I was practicing medicine it was not rare for me to tell a patient who was reluctant to go to the emergency department that if I was nervous they should also be. I’d say I was correct about 85% of the time. Not a bad average but only time will tell if my cruising average will correspond with my medical one.

On this creek on Maryland’s Wye River there are many sounds. Some are man-made: chain saws, skiffs on the river, the occasional rifle shot, small private planes practicing stalls, A-10 Warthogs flying low and direct back to their base, and private jets covering our section of the compass rose. Some are natural: song birds singing, great blue herons squawking, an osprey’s high pitched shrieking, schools of fingerlings rustling the water with their silver backs, the occasional plop of a fish catching an insect unawares, and the unfamiliar sight of two fins a foot or two apart surfacing under and around a swam of schooling minnows. These fins were identified for us by a trio of pre-teens, their leader compound bow in hand, as skate blown off the bay because of the recent storm.









This shoreline has a multitude of sticks that resemble hunting herons or maybe it is the other way around. The shoreline also has eroding banks littered with fallen trees. The Chesapeake is the third most susceptible area to ocean level rise on the east coast. Many large homes along the banks are stabilizing their shorelines with rip-rap or large wooden retaining walls.

With a little study, I realize that Carrie Rose is cruising through the northern pine-oak forest. I thought we were further south but it turned out not to be true. If she is to be in the southern mixed pine-oak forest we will need to get a few hundred miles south of here…sure is a big country!