My parents moved to South Florida about 15 years ago. Along with seventeen million other retirees from any place north of middle Georgia.

Snowbirds.

I used to chuckle at all those blue-hairs ambling down I-75 every November, all hunched over, grasping the steering wheel between clenched fists, barely able to see over the dashboard. Their bumper-sticker reads “My great great grandchild is an honor student.” Two macrame pillows rest in the rear window, a stale box of Kleenex separating them.

This week, Jeff and I began our own southern migration. Along with seventeen million other boaters looking to cheat the chill of the northern climes.

We are Sn….sn….sno……I’m just gonna spit it out!

WE ARE SNOWBIRDS!!!!!!!

There’s even an organized rally named for the masses heading south on the 1243-mile Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway from Norfolk to Miami and Key West. The Snowbird Rally. Seriously– I kid you not. Am I joining them? Are you bat-shit crazy?? Hell will freeze over before I stoop to that level of antiquity!

We left  Maryland (independently) on Thursday, October 30th with the threat of a Nor’easter on our tail. The storm was forecast to hit the entire Eastern seaboard on Saturday, and we wanted to beat it to Norfolk, VA, the closest metropolis with a reasonably priced marina with shore power. It was going to get really cold, and my arthritis acts up in damp, chilly environments. Mamma needs her heat. And on-shore amenities within waking distance would be nice. Maybe a cinema and a reasonable restaurant?

Gawd, I sound like one of them!! 

Our first two nights southbound on anchor were uneventful. But the Chesapeake Bay was tumultuous from the time we raised anchor and set sail Saturday. Thankfully, the wind was coming from behind, so even though the direction wasn’t great sailing conditions, the 25mph winds and five-foot rollers carried us forward at record speed.

Since I couldn’t find my reading glasses, I’m afraid I wasn’t much help navigating in the fog. I did, however, have my hearing aids in, so I could relay weather information coming over the VHF. (It’s true. I’ve had hearing problems since my late 40’s-a result of the 4,536 rock concerts I attended in my youth.)

By the time we made it to Norfolk, the weather was rapidly deteriorating. We took the last remaining slip at Waterside Marina, hunkering down in the boat for the rest of the afternoon. The winds gusted over 60 mph that night, and even though we had heat, it was a two-dog night.

The next day was sunny, albeit still extremely windy, bringing the wind chill temps into the 20’s. I bundled up and headed to the office to find the shower house.

“Up the sidewalk and to the left. The door beside Hooters.”

Whaaaattt????

So the showers were located inside the Hooters building, the “restaurant” where, on this coldest day of the year, the waitresses were dressed in booty-shorts and halter-tops? Where one comes to ogle fresh meat while sucking on a chicken wing and tossing back a pitcher? Hmmmm….I’ll stink, thankyouverymuch.

Due to the weather, the Snowbird Rally was delayed until Monday. Jeff and I hung out in Norfolk until Tuesday to allow us some space. We really didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of the herd as they plodded along their merry old way.

Getting an early start Tuesday morning, we waited among a group of sailors for the locks to fill in the Great Dismal Swamp, allowing us passage south. Beside Kismet was “Silver Fox”, a fossil of a boat, at the helm an equally fossilized captain. His fists gripped the steering wheel as he stood on tiptoe to see out the dodger. As the locks opened, we gave each other a knowing nod.

We’re heading south.

For we are Snowbirds.