culls the catch in the stern. Hundreds of 

 gulls swirl about the boat. We point the 

 bow south for a few long hours of big- 

 water crossing as we pass sailboats and 

 powerboats queued up across the mouth of 

 Pamlico Sound. These are the vanguard of 

 the "snowbirds," yacht owners who spend 

 the winters in Florida and the Caribbean 

 and the summers up North. Migrating up 

 and down the waterway with the seasonal 

 predictability of warblers and snow geese, 

 these boaters forge their 

 own transient community 

 along the Intracoastal 

 Waterway, trading cul-de- 

 sacs and block parties for 

 anchorage in quiet coves 

 and conversations in ships' 

 stores. 



Bellamy and I tied up 

 once in Elizabeth City on 

 another waterway trip, and 

 we caught a glimpse of 

 this subculture when we 

 found ourselves invited to 

 a storied waterway 

 tradition: a Rose Buddies 

 party on the waterfront. 

 Each year, some 2,000 

 waterway boats stop for 

 the night at Elizabeth City, 

 and each time a handful of 

 new ships docks there a 

 corps of enthusiastic 

 waterway boosters named 

 the Rose Buddies springs 

 into action. They haul food 

 and drink to the water- 

 front, and waterway cmisers get a rare 

 chance to make contact other than a wave 

 from one boat to another. 



That night, the wide Pasquotank 

 River unfurled at our feet like a sheet of 

 hammered silver, sailboats from as far 

 away as Key Largo, Fla., and Montauk, 

 N.Y., were snugged up to dock, and 

 Bellamy worshipped a gleaming trawler 

 with scrolled wooden rails. While he 

 joined a small group of boaters discussing 

 the finer points of mooring and where to 

 find showers along the waterway, I 

 sneaked about the town docks, moving 



from conversations laced with an 

 Irishman's brogue to a New Yorker's 

 accent to a Virginian's soothing lilt. In 

 each of them was a sense of the waterway 

 subculture, of lives lived, for months if not 

 years at a time, on the move from north to 

 south and back again. 



I talked my way aboard the 

 Tockwaugh, the gorgeous 42-foot Grand 

 Banks trawler that drew Bellamy's eye. 

 The boat was flying both Maryland and 



other boaters' privacy." That limits 

 opportunities for real conversation and 

 makes the Rose Buddies parties one of the 

 few times that the waterway community 

 can come together. 



Another way is by trading boat cards, 

 and she explained by showing me a 

 business-card file with hundreds of cards 

 emblazoned with illustrations of power 

 yachts or sailboats, their names, owners, 

 lengths and designs. "When we see a boat 



The Elizabeth City waterfront is known for its hospitality. 



Florida flags. Inside, Joan Nauta, an 

 amiable woman with a quick smile and an 

 excitement about all things boating, 

 explained how the waterway forms a sort 

 of linear neighborhood. She and her 

 husband Walt had made the trip down the 

 waterway seven times, and they had come 

 to relish the Rose Buddies parties. "There 

 is a sense of real community on the 

 water," she said. "You always talk to other 

 boaters who have a boat like yours or a 

 similar dinghy," and everyone helps one 

 another if a motor conks out or a mast 

 fails. "But boaters really try to respect 



we recognize, we can pull the card and get 

 the name of the owners and hail them by 

 radio," she explained. "It's a fun way to 

 stay in touch." 



As she spoke, I glanced about at a 

 cabin full of polished wood and 

 electronics. Steps dropped down to a 

 bedroom, and there were stacks of 

 newspapers and magazines strewn about 

 and framed pictures on the wall. Just 

 like home. Nauta apologized for the 

 clothing tossed over a chair or two, 

 explaining that waterway boaters "really 



Continued 



COASTWATCH 11 



