The refrigerator died in Charleston. You’d think, that’s a big old city, someone can fix a frig. Not so much. The backlog on marine work stretches out for weeks and parts are more difficult to get than a technician. David and I trouble shot with the help of the manufacturer (even pulling it out and testing the wires with a voltage meter). After 24 hours of calls and experiments, we determine it’s the module. Meanwhile, we were desperate to get off the dock downtown because the cross currents are so strong the boat rocks- a lot. Wednesday morning David says he’s going to call a guy he talked to earlier who lives on his Tartan 40 a few docks down because he’d asked for an update even though he had no time to help. Turns out he had injured his back the day before and was like, “I might know where to get a module”. This is the very abridged version of events, but suffice it to say, he found one, he helped, and we left in the early afternoon. Magic 🪄

We spent three hours making our way out of Charleston and up the narrows of the intracoastal along Isle of Palms, Goat Island and McClellanville. It was slow and consequently we only covered 18 nautical miles, but we anchored in a creek at the Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge and it was indescribably peaceful. Greeted by dolphins, egrets and pelicans, and able to hear the crashing of the ocean on the shore outside the creek in the sound. 10 million stars, a bright moon and the hum of a little refrigerator guided us to sleep in the flat calm creek.