That's why we opted to pay about a billion dollars and tie up at a marina, so we could plug in the little furnace while hoping the ice age would recede. The cold has destroyed my mood, and sucked the joviality right out of my marrow. But I don't even like skiing, so for me there's not much to be happy about. Yesterday, fewer than 50 miles north of us, there was a six-inch snowfall. The locals say it never gets this cold, but that's what all locals say everywhere.
Nobody tells the truth about sex or weather.
There's a low-pressure system stalled off the coast, eventually set to move east, to be followed by an arctic high. We didn't have a good weather window to go outside from Beaufort, as we'd hoped for a few days back. If we don't go outside here at Wrightsville, our next option is Southport. If that doesn't work out, then we'll be stuck in the waterway for several more days until we reach Charleston. We'd be committed.