Author: anniedike

While it’s not necessarily bikinis and beach towels, the islands in New England offer their own unique charm.  Phillip and I have had an exceptionally difficult time deciding which port(s) in the New England cruising grounds were our favorite. They’re all so lovely.  While Block Island—our first island in NE—struck us, we later thought its “firstness” may have had more of an impact than we realized, when we finally got to experience other islands like cordial little Cuttyhunk and memorable Martha’s Vineyard.  Join us, on our first exploration through these exquisite little NE islands.

July 2022

After our endearing experience watching the nation’s longest-running Fourth of July parade with our entertaining friend Bridgett in Bristol, RI, we sailed across Narragansett Bay to Greenwich Bay and explored Warwick, RI (always makes me think of Dionne Warwick and the Psychic Friends Network … couldn’t help it) as well as Greenwich, RI.  Then it was back down to Newport to stock the boat back up for the next couple of weeks which we planned to spend checking out the first of the Elizabethan Islands, Cuttyhunk, and then the coveted Martha’s Vineyard—a place I honestly thought I would never go in my life!  It always sounded so fancy!  And, to tell you the truth, for half my younger years I literally thought it was just a vineyard owned by Martha Stewart.  Not kidding.  It’s a good thing Phillip plucked this little country girl out of Alabama and opened my eyes to this great big world.  

I don’t think Phillip or me will soon forget our sail from Newport to Cuttyhunk.  The boats that fly in and out of the Newport harbor are simply mesmerizing.  All shapes and sizes and speeds and styles.  The sailing feels like the breath in and out of that historic port.  When Phillip and I left on a brisk day in July (yes, it can be brisk in NE in July) we found ourselves immersed in a fleet of other boats, all with rails buried, tacking and gybing all around us.  It was exhilarating.  And, Ubi was matching them toe to toe.  It is always so rewarding to be reminded that not only did we purchase one of the most comfortable liveaboard monohulls I could imagine, she’s also just really fun to sail!  Outbound did an exceptional job building our (second) baby girl!

The Cuttyhunk Welcome Committee

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a cordial welcome to an anchorage.  Cuttyhunk is the first of the Elizabethan Islands in Massachusetts (and so it served as our introduction to Massachusetts) and just a short day-sail from Newport. Phillip and I didn’t know what to expect when we pulled into the protected little cove that serves as their mooring field. We saw a few mooring balls that seemed to be reserved or off limits, and, otherwise, most of them seemed to be already taken.  As we motored around in search of an available ball, a little John boat came out to us, confirmed we were looking for a ball, and took us straight to one that was available—a relief as it’s not ideal to grab a ball and get secure only to be told immediately afterward that you have to get off and move because you snagged an unavailable ball.  But, the assistance of the friendly folks at Cuttyhunk did not end there.  As soon as Phillip and I got Ubiquitous secure on (what we were now sure) was her ball for the next few nights, that same john boat came back out and tied alongside.  

“Ahoy! We’re the Cuttyhunk Welcome Committee!” he said cheerfully.  “Here are some trash bags for when you bring your trash to shore.  They only pick up on Tuesdays.  We’re having a potluck tonight at the dock if you want to bring something and join.  Rum is always popular.  Oh, and breakfast tomorrow morning as well.  Champagne is quite popular. There’s trivia Monday night, too, and Soprano’s is open now.  Great pizza.  Enjoy our little island.  Hope to see you ashore!”  

Everyone on the “welcome boat” waved and wished us a good evening.  It was incredible.  Phillip and I, and UbiQ, felt so welcome!  I think we were invited to every social event they were hosting that weekend.  And we’d just arrived!  Phillip and I looked around at the other boats in the cove and felt like we’d just settled among friends.  We dinghied ashore the following day to explore and were thrilled to soak in another hydrangea-adorned, breathtaking New England island.  Cuttyhunk offered its own charm in that it is so small.  A local at the museum told me the population can get down to as low as 15 people in winter.  Just 15 people!  They had a little library with a cardboard sign taped up.  A trivia night that—we quickly surmised—was fiercely competitive among regulars.  Just so many little things that charmed us.  We will definitely return.  

But, then, you have to imagine this place in the winter, how those lone 15 people see it.

The fact that these islands can really only be enjoyed by cruisers for a few months out of the year, I feel, makes them all the more special and attractive during the summer months. We enjoyed our weekend at Cuttyhunk, but it was soon time to leave that cozy mooring ball with our sights set on Martha’s Vineyard, a port that had evolved into a coveted destination for us that summer after many (many!) cruisers told us how lovely it was and that it was their favorite New England port.  Challenge accepted.  We had to sail there and experience it ourselves to find out.  

Making Happy, Chappy Memories at Martha’s Vineyard

While each of the New England ports Phillip and I visited last summer brimmed with hydrangeas of every color, Martha’s Vineyard positively overflowed with them.  I couldn’t stop taking photos of these fluffy pastel masterpieces we saw everywhere we went.  They also make incredible backdrops for selfies.  Doesn’t life among hydrangeas just look more enjoyable?  I know I will look forward to seeing and soaking up these exquisite flowers every time we do New England for the summer.  

But, that’s simply the flora and fauna.  Martha’s Vineyard also offered incredible shopping (Phillip and I found some really unique galley pieces and post cards and trinkets to send home to friends and family).  I discovered one of my now favorite photographers at the Untameable Gallery.  

Phillip ate the best cauliflower (yes, cauliflower) Reuben at Rosewater Market.  

Edgartown is filled with exceptional restaurants and bars overlooking the harbor.  

The mooring field on the inside is also rather large and easy to navigate.  But, we anchored on the outside with just as much ease and comfort and the dinghy ride in is quite exciting with the notorious car ferry (featured in JAWS!) going back and forth from Martha’s Vineyard to Chappaquiddick every 5-10 minutes.

Ashore, the streets of Martha’s Vineyard look like scenes straight out of a child’s storybook.  I kept thinking little blonde-headed children were going to walk up to me and introduce themselves as Hansel and Gretel.  

Phillip and I also took the bus one day to the island to spend the day in awe of the multicolored Oak Bluffs and stone-strewn shoreline (that’s a tongue-twister) on the north northeast shore of MV.  We saw a few other things while we were there that I don’t think I’m at liberty to mention on such a public platform …   Those of you who know MV, get it.  In all, it was a wildly fun day for the eyes and a glorious day at the beach, albeit a different kind of beach than we’re used to, but beautiful in its own unique right.  

I believe if I were to ask Phillip, however, he would say he holds the same memory from Martha’s Vineyard as his fondest—our day with Frank.  Phillip and I had run into another boat (this happens frequently when so many cruisers are visiting the same ports all summer), Jamie and Sheryl on Pacific High at Martha’s Vineyard with whom we had buddied up with in Ft. Lauderdale and other ports.  Jamie, Sheryl, and their crew and Phillip and I decided to go out for drinks ashore in Edgartown one evening and we ran into this lovely man, Frank, and his dog at the Behind the Bookstore bar.  Frank is a long-time local of Chappaquiddick and he regaled us all night with tales and stories that brought the history of the island to life which included, naturally, the Ted Kennedy scandal.  Having now seen the distance Ted ran and the channel he swam while that poor woman was drowning in the car he wrecked was heartbreaking and haunting but it did add to the rich allure of both islands.  

Frank’s stories, however, told of island life during the dreary winter months and how the locals that stick around pass the time: “Alcohol and books, more alcohol and firewood.  Don’t burn the books,” Frank said.  He was a hoot.  After a few crazy hours over drinks, the man was crazy enough to invite the five of us to Chappaquiddick the following day where he offered to chauffer us around and provide us with a personal tour of an island he has watched grow and change for forty years.  We did not regret the decision to take him up on it.  It was fascinating to see Chappaquiddick from a local’s perspective, understand the growth and changes, and get some scoop on the sly celebrities that have purchased homes there: Spike Lee, David Letterman, Carly Simon, James Taylor, and Diane Sawyer to name a few.  

Frank ended the tour with drinks and snacks that he served up for us himself at his home there in Chappaquiddick.  Overall, it was such a hospitable tour and a unique memory to take away from the island.  Martha’s Vineyard—and hopefully a reunion gathering with Frank—will be high on our list this coming summer!

Since 1785.  2022 was going to be their 236th straight year running, on the very same street where we were standing.  Do you know what Bristol, RI’s biggest claim to fame is?  The longest-running annual Fourth of July parade.  And, for its 236th year, we were planning to sail from Newport to Bristol to see it.  I was expecting big things.  Elephants.  Ladies juggling swords.  Pyrotechnics.  What we got was a completely different, mesmerizing experience.  And, I wouldn’t have traded it for any sword-juggler in the world.  Come with us, folks, from Newport to Bristol during our cruise in New England this past summer to experience a true Bristol tradition: the longest-running Fourth of July parade in the nation!  

July, 2022: 

While it is very hard to say which port was our favorite in New England.  Noank Village was quaint and genuine.  Block Island has its own charm, and bluffs, and island pride.  Martha’s Vineyard has hydrangeas in every color of the rainbow and exceptional dining and shopping.  But, Newport.  I think the sailing in Newport is what stole our hearts and put it #1 on our New England list.  It is such a historic port where boats have been sailing to, often from across the Atlantic, for hundreds of years.  The many varied sizes, colors, and crafts of boats in the harbor is dazzling.  And, the quaint brick streets, salty taverns, and new additions—like the Sailing Museum, Cliff Walk, the Mansions, and Tennis Hall of Fame—made the place a real gem.  

This doesn’t even mention the popular little beaches where the sight of surfers made my heart leap, and made Phillip jump at the idea of gifting me a lesson for my big Four-Oh!  Story here.  

And, the place was so cruiser-friendly, with a “water barge”—basically an easily accessible floating dock in the harbor—that you could dock up to at any time and fill the tanks, a free dinghy dock behind the Sailing Museum with a great work space there for cruisers as well as bathrooms, showers, laundry, and a book exchange – my favorite!  But, I think our favorite part about Newport was just sitting in the cockpit on the hook watching the dozens of different sailboats go by, from big tall-ships, to pirate-esque sailboat charters, to Bristol fashion craft boats, to little racing dinghies, even mega yachts, and vagabonds.  Everything in between.  The harbor itself can easily be enough entertainment for happy hour.  

Phillip and I love Newport.  I think the only thing that could make it better is … Bridgett!  We invited a good friend of ours up from Pensacola to stay aboard the boat with us for a few days to visit these cool New England ports (and I do say cool because Pensacola in July was in the 90s while Newport was in the 70s, so much more comfortable).  Bridgett has been long-affiliated with HaveWind.  She was the originator and facilitator of our Progressive Boozer Cruiser Back in 2015.  We bonded then, and we’ve been inseparable friends ever since.  

We enjoyed several days strolling around Newport, extending and accepting fun sailing challenges at the Sailing Museum, and enjoying some lovely rooftop “bevies and bites” (Bridgett’s words) with our amazing friend.

We then whisked Bridgett up the Narragansett Bay to Bristol, RI aboard the gallant (and fast!) UbiQ.

Why Bristol? We were not going to miss the nation’s longest-running Fourth of July parade from a lovely little perch that Phillip booked us (something we heard was a long-standing tradition in Bristol): viewing the parade from Linden’s Place.  

As we settled in our chairs with a front-row view of the street, I was astounded at how many people began to line the streets.  On this tiny little island in Narragansett Bay, folks really turned out for this parade.  And, I now know why.  It wasn’t the pyrotechnics, the acrobatics, or any flashy, razzle-dazzle.  It was Mayberry.  Straight-up back to the 1950’s good old wholesome USA Mayberry.  

It was amazing to realize this same parade has been marching down this same street, Hope Street, for over 200 years!

In addition to the traditional “small-town” elements of parades I love: horses (I always hope to see Clydesdales); baton twirlers (I love when they throw them up and spin around), and marching bands (I am a sucker for the drum line), this is a list of just a few of the folks and little “floats” (often carts pulled behind bikes) that I remember marched in the Bristol Fourth of July parade: 

1. The oldest person in town (her banner boasted she was 102!);
2. A guy named “Bob” whom we learned sat on the Board of Commissioners (everybody knew him, some even called out asking about his wife and girls);
3. The local milkman (I’m not kidding, he still delivers bottles to folks’ doors, everybody knew him); 
4. The local postman (everybody knew him); 
5. We then joked we would see next the utility company and water authority (we squealed with delight when we did, everybody knew them);
6. Bristol’s elementary school spelling bee winner that year; and
7. This cute little 2nd grader who had won the art contest for Bristol’s 2021 “town button” (in Bristol they still wear buttons).

The whole thing felt so local.  It was beyond charming.  We had the great fortune to sit next to a long-time resident of Bristol who educated us on each person and float in the parade.  It was fascinating to see this microcosm throwback to times when everyone in town knew everyone.  Phillip, Bridgett, and I left the parade feeling uplifted and giddy.  It’s tough for me to recall a Fourth of July parade I have ever enjoyed quite so much.  I hope Phillip and I find ourselves back there in July of this year to experience it all again.  

After the parade we strolled ourselves over to the Thames Waterside Bar & Grill (pro tip: live music always helps to steer us in your direction) and spent an absolute hilarious and entertaining few hours hanging out with a flock of Navy guys on leave at the bar as well as a handful of other colorful characters, Joey from Boston who invited us to his restaurant if we ever we sail through Boston, an English teacher named Dan who invited us to come hear his band play if we ever sailed into Greenwich (on the other side of the Narragansett Bay).  It was just an incredibly memorable day.  Bridgett always plays a heavy hand in an experience like that.  She’s like the flame every moth in the room is attracted to.  Bridgett, we had such an incredible time hosting you aboard UbiQ!  We hope you’ll come visit us again soon!

And, of course, no Fourth of July should ever end without fireworks. Back aboard Ubi anchored near Bristol in the Narragansett Bay, Bridgett, Phillip and I were treated to fireworks from every direction. I finally got those pyrotechnics I’d been craving.  360 degrees! Wherever you looked, lights were bursting like popcorn on the horizon. It was a real treat!

And, folks, if you ever find yourselves in the Narragansett Bay around the Fourth of July, you now know where to go and what to do!  Next up on our New England, we’ll continue our travels to the quirky little island of Cuttyhunk, and the regal, storied Martha’s Vineyard.  Stay tuned! 

Not a surfer was stirring, not even those serious about the sport.

My wetsuit was hung in the cockpit with care, in hopes that in the morning a hot instructor would be there. 

My 39-year-old brain was nestled snug in our vberth with visions of what me at 40 would look like on this Earth.

With Phillip’s promise of a birthday surf lesson on my mind, I closed my eyes to leave my 39th year behind.

Phillip’s scrambling the next morning woke me with a clatter: “Get up, it’s time to go!”  “What bikini?”  “It doesn’t matter!” 

For the water in Newport in summer was a brisk 65, but with a wetsuit it made you feel fresh and alive. 

We topped the hill on Memorial Boulevard and to my eyes did appear, the little crook of Easton beach with lapping waves I could hear.

A slick long board was brought to me nice and quick by my “tasty waves” instructor whose name was Nick.

After a few practice pop-ups on the beach, Nick took me to the water where there was a lovely swell, 1-2 foot each.

On my tummy the rise of each wave felt strange and new as Nick pointed me to shore and, shouting, told me what to do.

“When I tell you to paddle, dig hard, don’t give up.”  “Now PADDLE, now PADDLE, DOUBLE PADDLE and POP-UP!”

And just like that, to my utter disbelief and surprise, my body was propelled in a way and by forces I could never surmise.

I did it, I thought.  I surfed a wave.  Popped up from my belly.  I could see Phillip ashore looking astonished and (I hoped) a little jelly.

As I coasted to shore and his joyous face came into sight, Phillip shouted: 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, ANNIE.  YOU SURFED WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!”

So … this is 40.  Not too shabby I’ll say.  

This impromptu surf lesson from Phillip was the perfect gift to celebrate my big day.  While we kite-surf a ton and I’ve “surfed” plenty of waves that way, I’d never “popped up” and truly dropped into a wave.  It was mesmerizing, thrilling, seemingly miraculous.  My brain could not convince my arms, right before each pop-up, that it was going to work, and then you just have a little faith and jump up and (most times) there you are, suddenly surfing.  I will relish any chance to surf, in the traditional way, like this again.  What an incredible feeling!  We are also looking forward to sharing more of Newport (then Bristol, RI for the Fourth of July!) with you all here on the blog.  (But I love the tradition of writing a unique ‘Twas the Night Before’ piece here each Christmas (2017 and 2020); I hope you enjoyed this one).  Phillip and I wish you all a wonderful holiday.  We’ll see you here next year (2023, can you believe we made it?) to continue sharing our first summer in New England!  Stay tuned!  And, happy new year!

It’s hard for me to find words that capture the feel of New England.  Mossy stone fences?  Steep grassy hillsides?  Squiggly boat reflections in the water?  Fleeces in July?  Raw oysters and rosé?  It’s tough to say, exactly, but it was this cool feeling in our lungs that told us “We’re not in Florida anymore.”  In May/June of this year, Phillip and I sailed back up through the Chesapeake and into the Long Island Sound to spend our first summer in New England.  We had heard of many cruisers who do this every year—sail north to Rhode Island, Maine, Massachusetts, etc. to get out of the hot temps and hurricane box during hurricane season and then sail back down the east coast in the fall to enjoy the tropical temps and Bahamian/Caribbean islands in the winter.  Like snowbirds, in a way.  Call them sailbirds. 

Since work obligations and travel restrictions kept us in (or close to) the States last winter, Phillip and I decided to find out what these sailbirds knew that it seemed we didn’t.  In April, Phillip and I decided to point Ubi north to the Long Island Sound to sail around New England for the summer.  What did we find?  The ports were cool, accommodating, most only an easy (and fun) day sail away.  The experience was vastly different than all the cruising we had done before in the States.  Phillip and I soon became staunch fans of summering in New England.  Have you ever done it?  Wonder what it’s like?  Come with us, and experience what we felt was our first true taste of New England: Block Island, RI.

Our sail back up the east coast found us stopping in many of the same ports we did on the way down in the fall of 2021: South Beach, Miami, St. Augustine, Charleston, SC, Hampton, VA.  We then sailed back up the Chesapeake to Annapolis, MD and took the C&D (Connecticut and Delaware) Canal headed to New York. 

Some fun highlights along the way:

• Having Chris and Megan, our adventurous Pensacola friends who purchased our 1985 Niagara 35, fly in and join us for a sporty passage (their first overnight) from Miami to St. Aug in April.  Megan and Chris did great on passage and—very cool—found it so inspiring they set off on their first overnight in the Niagara this past October.  We’re really proud of these two!

• Hosting our equally amazing Pensacola friends, Stephen and Beth, on UbiQ for a few days in St. Augustine (the second oldest city in the United States after Pensacola … Pensacola people know what I’m talking about), but a very fun “ancient city” to pilfer.

• Celebrating my big FOUR-OH on May 28th with a “passage feet” selfie in Solomon’s Island making our way back up the Chesapeake toward Ubi’s home port of Annapolis.

• Catching up in Hampton, VA with these two incredible cruisers, Spandana and Dev, whom we cruised around the Abacos with in December of 2021. Spandana and Dev had quite a rollercoaster of a year, but they are back in the swing of cruising and sharing their eclectic stories at For Sun and Stars on Youtube. Check them out!

• Enjoying a visit with Ubi’s former owner, Jim, and his partner, Ann, in Annapolis and enlisting his invaluable help putting a new set of lithium batteries (540 Ah) in the boat.

• Traversing the C&D (Connecticut and Delaware) canal for the first time on our way toward New York City with a thick shelf cloud threatening to drench and toss us that, thankfully, just ended with a little drizzle and a glorious rainbow.  Whew!

• Sailing around in the New York Harbor by the Statue of Liberty for the first time with the grand skyline of NYC in the background.  We anchored behind Ellis Island to enjoy the view of the Big Apple from Ubi at night before making our way with the tide through Hell’s Gate the following day headed toward Port Washington, NY for our first foray into the Long Island Sound and New England for the summer.

Port Washington, NY

It would be difficult to put the feeling of the Long Island Sound into words, to explain why it felt so different than the hot salty waters of Florida and the Bahamas.  Phillip and I have cruised plenty of islands, strolled crystal white beaches, baked in the sun and salt, but Port Washington felt new.  The reflections on the water were clearer.  The morning fog thicker.  The short cruising season (before the ice of winter sets in) making the “summer window” seem more savored.  The ancient lighthouses and stone fences.  The quaint little village feel of the city.  Everything about the place told us this summer was going to be a new experience.  And, what we found we really loved about Port Washington was not only the beauty but the convenience.  A mooring ball that was only $45/night and came with a free water taxi most business hours of every day.  Great shopping downtown and a diverse range of excellent restaurants (La P’Tite Framboise (the “little raspberry”) for French, Nikkei for Peruvian, Diwan for Indian).  The dinghy dock located right across from the Stop ‘n Shop for groceries and just a short walk from the laundromat, the wine/liquor store, UPS, Walgreens, Ace Hardware, Target, etc.  Not to mention (I mean … holy cow) Port Washington is just a short, $10, 40-minute train ride on the LIRR then you’re in Penn Station, with a full day in NYC to explore (while only paying $45/night for NY lodging)?!  We rode the wheels off the LIRR.  Why wouldn’t you?  NYC, right there! 

We stayed 4-5 days in Port Washington getting some office hours in, provisioning up, and enjoying the big city before bumping back and forth across the Long Island Sound to our next extended stop in Noank Village, CT.

Noank Village and Mystic, CT

Noank had the same New England charm that Port Washington did, but it was like the amplifier was turned up.  It is a small village so there aren’t near as many shops and restaurants, but that’s what made it feel that much more intimate—the cladded houses, steep drives, rolling lawns.  The kaleidoscope of boats in the harbor.  We grabbed a ball from the Noank Village Boatyard that, too, came with a launch.  We started to notice many New England cruisers don’t carry or commission their dinghy when they come into a harbor.  They just grab a ball and call the launch.  There is an elegance and ease to that.  A great opportunity to dawn your best boat dress and wedges for a fancy dinner ashore.  In Noank, I also got to know this incredible life-long sail maker, Katie Bradford with Custom Marine Canvas, while we were there.  Katie launched her marine canvas business in Noank in 1985 in an unheated warehouse ( … in Connecticut?!) with only one employee, her cousin, and she’s been killing it ever since.  Katie was a hoot.  Just a real Noank character.  I love when you get to know a place like that.  We also enjoyed eating at Ford’s Lobsters looking out over the harbor.  And, Mystic, CT, was just a short and very cool dinghy ride away (through an old swing bridge).  The incredible marine history at the Seaport Museum was a real treat.  If you do, do not (do not!) miss a dinner at Bravo Bravo.

Block Island, RI

Phillip and I have been struggling all fall to decide which of the New England islands and ports were our favorite (a very tough problem to endure).  Newport is exceptional, and likely our top choice.  But, there’s Martha’s Vineyard.  Cuttyhunk.  Bristol.  It’s really a tough call.  And, for me—at least until we got to Newport—Block Island was my favorite.  And it may still be.  It was our first island, and maybe that’s what did it.  And, it is an island in the Atlantic Ocean.  That offered its own extra element of magic.  The hilly terrain, sprawling lawns, and charming lighthouse captivated us as well.  The monochromatic bluffs and river-stoned beach took your mind to another place.  We biked the entire island and loved the challenge of the rising hills and thrills of the drops.  Drinks and snacks at The Inn at Spring House was a real treat.  Made me feel kind of like someone who could say “We summer in the Hamptons.”  It was surreal.   But, that’s just the fun and elegance.  Block Island is also just a short day-sail away from Montauk and Sag Harbor to the west, Naragansett Bay to the north, and Martha’s Vineyard to the east.  It also offers an easy inlet and nice large harbor for cruisers, convenient access to the dinghy dock, the entire island is walkable with a great fish market (Dick’s) and lots of quirky shops (home décor, books, trinkets, toys). 

Mostly, what Block Island taught us, is that these New England villages bloom in the summer when cruisers and travelers flock to their refreshing temps and warm waters, because they hibernate in the winter when the population dwindles to a few dozen hearty locals and the place undergoes a complete transformation from fluffy hydrangeas and bicycles and ice cream cones to an uninviting frigid, snow-covered terrain.  The bounty of summer on Block Island can really only be experienced over the course of a few months, so the Islanders really open their arms to it.  For this reason, in New England, we found, cruisers are not simply tolerated like it can sometimes feel in Florida—pushed into shrinking anchorages and asked to tie their dinghy to a rusty pole and crawl up to the dingy back door.  In New England, they’re welcome.  They have “water barges” that offer free water for cruisers, numerous well-maintained (free!) dinghy docks, launches and water taxis, and (to mine and Phillip’s immense delight), designated dumpsters for our trash.  I’m not kidding.  Come to Block Island in June and you’ll experience the open-arm feel of a summer in New England.  “Boat Trash Here” the sign read.  And here we are, Phillip and I thought.  Thanks for the hospitality Block Island.  We’ll be back.  And, we’re excited to keep sharing here the many other wonderful ports of New England that stole our hearts this summer.  Stay tuned!

“Speak to a human!” I shouted at my phone. 

“I’m sorry, I know you want to talk to a human,” the UPS Bot dismissed me, “but first I need your …”

“Z2519996757,” I spat at him.  It was our tracking number.  I still know it.  I still scream it sometimes waking in a hot sweat.  “SPEAK.  TO.  A.  HUUUMAN!”

Our riser/elbow saga made for a fantastic article in SAIL Magazine’s September 2022 issue.  

Phillip and I were also very pleased to see the featured image SAIL chose for the article was the elegant s/v Orion, Outbound 46 Hull No. 74, whose owner, Leo, saved us last fall from a winter spent hauled, wrapped, and on the hard.  No thank you.

Thank you again, Leo!  Phillip and I were also able to meet up with Leo on several occasions this past summer when we were cruising around the Long Island Sound in Newport, RI and Darien, CT and thank him, and his lovely wife, Diane, proper in person.  We have found it is a wonderfully small, congenial community of boats that cruise New England during the summer, an experience we look forward to sharing with you all here over the next few months.  For now, we want to thank the creative team at SAIL Magazine for printing this fun piece.  If you haven’t already, pick up a copy of the September 2022 issue and let us know what you think! 

On Bravery

“You’re so brave,” she said.  “To stay on the boat by yourself and handle all that alone.” 

This was an old friend of mine, Bridgett, I was talking to recently during one of my extended solo stays on UbiQ.  To make full-time cruising and working aboard work for Phillip and me this past year we’ve had to be flexible and agree to some very different living arrangements at times, one of which has required me to stay aboard alone and manage the boat (sometimes at a marina, but other times on the hook or a mooring ball) while Phillip flies home to handle in-person work obligations.  Is this ideal?  No.  But the thought of Bridgett calling me brave for it struck me.  I felt there was some response inside of me to correct her, or clarify, but I couldn’t find it at the time.  Well, it finally came to me, and I thought it would make a good contribution to HaveWind and our attempt, here, to share the realities (not the romance) of cruising.  So, without further adieu, I give you Annie …

ON BRAVERY

The older I get (I did turn 40 this year, you have to be a little brave to do that), I don’t see the things Phillip and I do—the ways in which our lives differ from traditional land-based lives—as bravery.  Do our choices sometimes put us in situations that are frightening or worrisome?  Absolutely.  How does that saying about cruising go again: Days of paradise punctuated by moments of sheer terror?  Something to that effect.  We’ve definitely had our share of panic-ridden moments. 

But they were all self-induced.  We chose to put ourselves in those situations.  We weighed the possible risk against the likely outcome and made a decision.  I think that’s what struck me about Bridgett’s comment and what I’ve come to discover about myself, my life and decisions, and what I would consider true bravery.  Here’s the thing I could not formulate at the time.  It’s like that perfect comeback that you couldn’t come up with in the moment it would have been perfect to say, but it strikes you like a bolt of lightning in the middle of the night as you’re replaying the whole affair.  What I realized is, in my opinion:

IT’S NOT BRAVERY; IT’S JUST A MISSION STATEMENT

What is a mission statement?  Feel free to try to answer that for yourself before reading on.  Both defining it and coming up with one for yourself (or your team, or company, or whatever you choose) are fantastic goal-driving exercises.  Webster defines it as a “concise statement of your purpose.”  Don’t let the seeming simplicity of that deceive you.  Coming up with your own mission statement is extremely difficult because it has to be short, simple, with all of the fluff and fat boiled out—much like good writing, which is why I love that challenge as well.  For Phillip and I and UbiQ (because I see us as a team and this blog is meant to address our lifestyle and choices) this is what I believe to be our mission statement:

TO EXPERIENCE THE WORLD TOGETHER

What does a mission statement have to do with bravery?  Cultivating your true mission statement and approaching each decision you make by selecting the choice that best fulfills your mission statement can—I have discovered—make you do things other people may see as brave.  But you will just see it as a step toward fulfilling your mission statement.  Example: A baker who wants to exchange cupcakes for smiles takes out a loan and buys a dicey property for his bakery in the city.  Is he brave or just driven?  A woman who wants a large family decides to proceed with a risky pregnancy.  Brave or just dedicated?  A sailor wants to teach and raise his kids while cruising around the world takes them out of school and moves aboard.  Brave or just determined?  I believe one of the most challenging things in this life is finding what makes you happy, what you truly want.  However, if you do find it—which I’m incredibly grateful to feel that I have found what I want, both in Phillip and in cruising (and in writing)—you won’t have to feel like you’re summoning courage to take the steps that bring you closer to fulfilling that purpose.  You’ll simply be confident in the direction your perhaps-brave-looking steps are taking you—because they are toward your ultimate goal, whatever that may be for you.

For me, Phillip, and our amazing boat, Ubiquitous, who carries us to each new shore, any choice that keeps us and the boat safe and healthy and is geared toward giving us more time, in the end, to sail around and “experience the world together” is the right decision for us.  Even if that means I have to stay aboard by myself at times because we cannot find a marina or safe place to leave the boat alone for a bit.  Even if that means Phillip has to walk some seedy streets at night to get on planes and fly back and forth (even on 9/11 – that one freaked me out a bit).  Or one of us has to climb our mast to make a necessary repair. 

It especially means if we have to buck up and make an offshore passage when conditions are not ideal but it’s required to move the boat to safety, that’s just what we have to do. 

These are not acts of bravery in my opinion, they are simply risks assumed and accepted as necessary for the greater cause, the mission statement.   

The more I thought about Bridgett’s comment, the more I felt true bravery comes from an act of courage in a situation not of your own making and not for your own benefit.  Example: A passerby steps in to protect a woman from her violent spouse even though it may cause him harm.  A welder decides to back a fellow employee who claims she was sexually assaulted even though it might cost him his job.  A reverend leads a mass of nonviolent demonstrators toward a blockade of state troopers and attack dogs in the name of justice.  These are acts of bravery.  But, then again, perhaps people like this simply have a more deeply rooted, selfless mission statement: EMBODY JUSTICE.

But, what do I know?  Only that I keep uncovering more answers for myself with each passing year.  There is no greater teacher than time.  And the constant passing of it means no greater reason to create and accomplish goals. Which makes me want to ask each of you: What is your mission statement?

Many thanks to my wonderful friend Bridgett for inspiring this piece.  Love you my friend!

Yes, you read that right.  The Clothing Police.  We’ll get there, don’t worry.  Oddly enough, this anchorage was one Phillip and I agreed on immediately as one of our Top Three.  And, it wasn’t so much the place as … the people and the experiences we had there.  But, shouldn’t that always be the defining factor?  Phillip and I had never come to Ft. Lauderdale by boat, so this was an entirely new anchorage for us.  Our friend, Pam Wall (some of you might know that name ; ), lives in Ft. Lauderdale and we were hoping to get a fun visit in with her while we were there as well as explore such a big boating hub by water.  Pam recommended we try to anchor in Lake Sylvia if we could find room.  Thankfully, if cruising the east coast taught us anything, it’s how to squeeze into tight anchorages (and (try our best to) avoid collisions).  When Phillip and I came to Ft. Lauderdale, in February 2022, we found Lake Sylvia had about a dozen or so boats anchored in it.  It was tight but not too uncomfortable.  Lake Sylvia is here.

Not much of a lake, but I didn’t name it.  Know that you do have to do a little zig-zag on the way in to avoid some shoaling on the east side of the inlet. 

But, other than that, it’s quite easy (and fun) to come in under the 17thStreet Bridge (opens every quarter and three-quarters of the hour) and motor up the Stranahan and New River to make your way in.  Plenty of mega yachts to ogle.  Unfortunately, there are some deeper pockets in the middle of Lake Sylvia—20- to 25-feet or more of depth—but the majority of the anchorage is 9-13 feet, perfect for a bit of a shorter chain drop to accommodate others.  We typically had 75 feet out and we held fine and hit no one.  Phillip and I did have to monitor boat movements closely (particularly during tide shifts), and we moved several times to avoid a bump, but that’s just part of east coast cruising we’ve found.  We liked to settle UbiQ in right about here, near the inlet.

In addition to the handful of beaches and parks we found we could dinghy up to for free, you can also dinghy around all the little waterways and canals (feels a little bit like Venice!) scooting under the many bridges and dock up at the Southport Raw Bar for a minimal $5 dinghy dock charge (that goes toward your bar tab there, so no pennies lost in our opinion). Everyone needs a dinghy drink for the buzz home.

And, there’s a Whole Foods just down the road, as well as a Piggly Wiggly and many other amenities (shipping, laundromat, etc.) on, or near, 17th Street. So, it is a convenient place to anchor. It’s also a good hub for marine service providers in case you need some work done. Isn’t that always the case?

But, aside from the protection and conveniences … whhyyyy did we like this location so much that we picked it as one of our Top 3 East Coast Anchorages?  Just a few stories might help: 

Pam Wall Overhaul

This woman.  So much spunk and spirit packed into one tiny little body.  Pam Wall has inspired Phillip and I in many ways.  Her sailing resume is simply astounding.  And, the amazing part?  She laid down all those years and miles on a boat she and her late husband, Andy, built—the gallant Kandarik.  I still baffle when she tells the story of her driving the forklift to pour the lead into the keel.  That’s really getting to know a boat from the inside out.  And, while we were in Ft. Lauderdale back in February, Kandarik was hauled and undergoing some very extensive and exciting repairs.  A complete re-paint and new Kandarik graphic.  It was a real treat to see the transformation in person while we were there and get the opportunity to travel aboard Kandarik—even if only for a bit to help Pam motor from the Playboy shipyard back to her dock—and enjoy a day on the water with the Pam Wall.

Pulled My (Wo)man Card

This was priceless.  I totally got my woman card yanked.  (Don’t worry; I earned it back!)  Phillip and I met a fellow Outbound 46 owner who was also anchored in Lake Sylvia on s/v Fisaga.  Surprisingly, we’ve typically seen another Outbound at most anchorages, cities, or islands we visited.  We had followed the Fisaga crew—Eli and Hayden—via dinghy to the Atlantic side to kitesurf.  It had been blowing 20+ for days, which was great for the kite.  But, that meant some serious chest-high surf for Annie.  The only part of kitesurfing I don’t like is big, rough surf.  I have many talents.  Navigating rough waves under kite is not one of them.  When I first saw the conditions, Phillip and I both readily decided this would likely not be a kite day for Annie.  I also saw dozens of Portuguese man o’ war (literally about every 3-5 feet) strewn along the waterline on the beach.  Those things freak me out.  I’ve heard the sting can cause paralysis and permanent nerve damage. 

Ummm … no thanks.  With that combo, I was out.  We got Phillip pumped up and riding and I decided to take a nice stroll along the (man ‘o war-laden) beach, congratulating myself on my stupendous decision.

As I was making my way back to our kite gear, I noticed a woman there caring for an infant.  The little baby had to be a month old … maybe two?  She had some kite gear there, too, so I started chatting her up as her husband made his way to our site and Phillip came in for a landing.  The husband began pulling a kite out of a bag and blowing it up and I just assssuuuummmed (never do that) he was going to go kite while she stayed with the baby.  I was wrong.  So wrong.  Lord, was I wrong.  He set everything up for her, then sheeee strapped on a harness and started getting ready to launch.  The gal had just had a baby, like a month … maybe two ago and her husband tells me she hasn’t kited in like six months (I mean, she was preggers) and she picks this gnarly, nasty day to just get back on the horse while I’m standing scared and worried on the shore?

There went my woman card.

Nope.  Not gonna do it.  As I saw her body drag out past the surf with ease, slip her feet into her board, and sail off under kite, I knew I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t just stand there and watch that and not even try?  Maybe I’d get all tumbled and crash my kite and make a mess.  So what?  At least I would be able to say I tried?  (Thankfully, I forgot entirely about the man o’ wars when I saw her go out bare arms and legs without a second thought.  Truth be told, had I remembered them, I might not have gone).  But, go I did.  Phillip could see my face as she just scooted out into the Atlantic like there was nothing difficult about it at all.  I think he knew my decision before I did.  I suited up.  And, off I went.  I’m not going to say it was my most elegant kiting ever, and it was short lived.  But I did it!  And got my woman card back in the process. 

Here is a little video Phillip took.  I’m on the yellow kite and Rene is on the blue.  Two ladies out there in the big surf taking charge!

Backgammon Bonds Friends Old and New

And not just a single backgammon game.  An entire four-board round-robin championship.  This was some serious backgammon.  And, it also coincided with a wonderful rendezvous with some of our very good friends from back home in Pensacola who were cruising up the East Coast (while we were cruising down) and who had anchored near us in Lake Sylvia: Neal and Janet on Midnight Sun III.  We’ve met up with these fine folks many places—Annapolis for the boat show, Pirate’s Cove, AL for local shenanigans, even La Rochelle, France, where we all departed in 2018 headed across the Atlantic!

While we have many old cruising buddies in Pensacola –this won’t surprise you—we’ve made many new friends while cruising this past year.  Jamie and Sheryl on s/v Pacific High and Sarah aboard Caribbean Gem are just three of them.  Although we hadn’t met Jamie or Sheryl at the time, we rounded Cape Hatteras with Pacific High in our wake on the AIS.  We then crossed wakes with them in Beaufort, NC, and Wrightsville Beach.  You’ll find the world of boats out there starts to shrink when you’re a full-time cruiser moving from anchorage to anchorage.  But, we finally got the opportunity to meet (and befriend) Jamie and Sheryl while we were anchored together in Lake Sylvia.  We also got to learn how serious they are about backgammon.  

If you’re ever anchored near their 65-foot custom ketch, Pacific High, you’ll hear the dice rattling and clanging all morning while Jamie and Sheryl play backgammon over coffee, and then again in the evening while they play over cocktails.  Jamie moves the pieces so fast I can’t count his moves or even attempt to keep up.  Phillip and I play occasionally, with our cute little leather roll-up set, but we were no match for these two. 

Thankfully, however, backgammon is a game that involves a great deal of luck.  A luckier player can beat a more skilled player any time.  I think that’s what makes it never get old.  At the outset, it’s truly anyone’s game.  Since we had so many fellow friends and cruisers in Lake Sylvia with us, Jamie decided to host a backgammon championship on the wide expanse of his aft deck on Pacific High.  Several cruisers brought their own backgammon sets for use in the round robin.  Phillip and I snagged Neal and Janet and made it an all-out friends, old and new, backgammon championship and rendezvous.  We were rolling dice, drinking, and laughing too hard to take any pictures. It’s all up here (as Annie taps her temple). Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, his blissful backgammon event was even topped by a special invite aboard our new friend, Sarah’s, 62-foot Sunreef catamaran, which was anchored in Lake Sylvia as well, for a Super Bowl party where Phillip and I, along with Jamie, Sheryl, made homemade pizzas and watched the game on her 55” inch saloon TV screen.  Memories like this simply cannot be matched.  *cheers*

The Clothing Police

Gees Louise.  This gal is hilarious.  Louise.  Matriarch of the insanely cool Arakai family, a four-member crew that (much like Pam Wall) built their welded aluminum catamaran from a mold and have been living and cruising full-time aboard all over the world (Australia, where they are from, to Thailand, the Caribbean, the Bahamas, the U.S., etc.) for over ten years.  Louise is a licensed captain and jack of all trades.  Her husband, Lach, is a talented and creative engineer.  They’ve been homeschooling their two kids, Siara (15), and Kai (9), aboard while cruising.  Kai has never known a home other than Arakai, who is an impressive aluminum beast, a sailing machine, and a creative hub for the kids and their many artistic and athletic pursuits.  Getting to meet and befriend super cool people like this are one of just many reasons Phillip and I love to cruise.

But, if the boat is your home, at some point you have to have laundry day, right?  And, if there’s one thing we have learned big fancy, bazillion dollar-homeowners in Ft. Lauderdale do not like to look at or talk about, it’s their laundry.  As you can see from the map above, Lake Sylvia is surrounded by mega mansions.  Beautiful three-story glass and gold homes, many with fountains and pools, most seemingly unoccupied most of the time.  They’re probably second or third homes, places to simply vacation a few weeks out of the year.  Who knows.  But, it turns out these bazillionaires do not like to look out on Lake Sylvia, which they refer to as “their backyard,” and see (God forbid) your boat anchored there with beach towels on the lifelines.  For shame!

It was a sad day for Louise.  She got busted.  I’ve been written up for many things in my life.  Speeding tickets.  Parking violations.  Failure to appear for jury duty.  But, I have never received a clothing citation.  Louise can say she has, though.  The cop, however, was even sadder. He was sent out to troll around the anchorage and write cruisers up who had too many articles of clothing hanging around their boat.  We’ve now shared several anchorages with Arakai and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them on the hook without a single stitch of clothing drying on the lines.  There’s always some towel or bathing suit or something that needs drying.  That’s just part of boat life. 

But, it’s not permitted in Lake Sylvia, at least not so many to the point it looks tacky.  We all were watching (from below decks) the marine patrol boat that had saddled up to Arakai wondering what the cop was doing on their boat and saying to Louise.  When we finally got to catch up with Louis later and she showed us the actual violation—where, in the “Offense” section, the cop had handwritten “CLOTHING”—we all died laughing.  Louise said “the copper” (in her thick Australian accent) was really a standup guy who hated the fact that he had to get on their case, but it was his job.  Louise said “I had that capper rolling when I told him tomorrow I’d been planning to wash all of her bras and panties hang them out to dry later that afternoon, so it was a good thing he stopped by when he did. He wasn’t too keen on that,” Louise said, chuckling.  In the end, it turned out to be just another adventure and great boat story.  Louise got busted by the Clothing Police. 

If you go to Lake Sylvia, don’t let the Clothing Police get you!  I’d also recommend bringing a backgammon board.  You never know what new friends you might make over a game!  Or, if you’re lucky, a championship.  As long as you’re having fun out there that’s all that matters. 

Phillip and I have definitely had fun sharing our Top 3 anchorages when we traveled down the East Coast this past winter.  Phillip and I have since sailed UbiQ back up the East Coast and spent most of the summer soaking in all the wonderful sights, temps, anchorages, and islands the New England coast has to offer.  It’s a shame we haven’t been sailing these parts every summer.  But, it’s on our list now.  We can’t wait to start sharing our New England adventures here at HaveWind, too! 

This was our first SQUEAK. After the first time, I vowed never to do it again.  Or, at least, never to look when we did.  Phillip asked me from the helm if we were going to make it and I had no answer for him.  No words.  Were we?  I had no clue.  It sure didn’t look like it.  Not from my angle.  *nnnggh* I closed my eyes.  And then it was over.  We had just motored our 62.5-foot mast under an (alleged) 65-foot bridge.  The water table said it was 67 feet.  I didn’t buy it for a minute as we passed under.  I will never look again.  But, I’m glad we did it, and we’ve done it comfortably several time since.  Because our first squeak took us to our second favorite anchorage during our cruise down the East Coast this past winter:

South Beach Miami, anchored near Flagler Island

A fun collage from our stay in South Beach!

We would have never even known this anchorage was possible for us without having fortuitously met and befriended some fellow cruisers in No Name Harbor who told us about it.  (Glen, Debbie, if you’re reading this – thank you again!) Even after you navigate the two semi-scary (but not so scary) 65-foot bridges to get there, on the chart it doesn’t look like there is enough depth to motor along the Venetian Islands to get into the anchorage.  But Glen and Debbie explored it via dinghy, checking the depths throughout the inlet, and they found it quite doable.  So they did it!  While I’m sure their first trek in with the “big boat” was a little hair-raising, by the time we met them, they had anchored there several times and were confident and comfortable with it as long as they made it from No Name over to the two 65-foot bridges that were required on the way in at low tide as the mast height on their Island Packet (with instruments) is approximately 64-feet.  Hence, the squeak.

This reminded me a lot of the “bear rule.”  You don’t have to be the fastest person running from the bear, just faster than the person behind you.  Terrible thought, but true.  One of our rules of cruising had always been: If you’re going to navigate into a shallow anchorage, always travel behind a boat deeper than you.  We were now learning the same rule applied to potentially short bridges and boats taller than us.  Phillip and I more than happily followed Glen and Debbie—and their 64-foot mast—into South Beach.

This anchorage is approximately a two-hour motor/sail from No Name, so it is fairly easy to plan and time it to accommodate the tide.  Sailing around in the Biscayne Bay is also very fun—nice depths and no crab pods—and the Rickenbacker bridge is  very tall, so no trouble there.  One issue is the crazy Miami boat traffic that can make the narrow channel just after the Rickenbacker Bridge feel a little tight and uncomfortable, so it would be ideal to make the move on a slower weekday, as opposed to a busy weekend day.  Phillip and I didn’t plan that incredibly well the first time and found ourselves making the trip over on Easter Sunday which proved to be quite chaotic on the water in Miami.  There were a lot of “Jersey Shore” type motor boats and yachts blazing through that were courteous enough but not fully aware of (or concerned about) our significant draft and clenched fists.

But, Phillip had a plan.  We deployed what he dubbed our “dragon wing” (the mainsail) while motoring the channel to remain highly visible and remind other boaters: yes, we are a sailboat, with a big tall mast and a deeper draft which means less maneuverability. I doubt that’s what the Miami dudes thought when they saw us, but at least—with the dragon wing up—they saw us.  Coming just after low tide, the two bridges were 67- and 68-feet respectively, so we felt confident enough.  Not comfortable, mind you, for our first time.  It still looks decidedly not doable every time I look up.  But we made our way under both bridges behind Glen and Debbie with the 62.5-foot mast on our Outbound, and we had no problem.  Here is what we saw coming in:

Low tide was at 14:28 that day. We came to the first bridge at 14:02 with the tide at -0.26 ft. The water table showed 67′ under the bridge.

We came to the second bridge at 14:08. The water table showed 68′ under the bridge. We dipped under both just fine.

We had decided to come right before low tide, as opposed to just after. Although in hindsight, we should have come just after to give us more depth after the two bridges coming in near the Venetian Islands. We have a 5.6’ draft on the Outbound, but we always like to consider ourselves 6’ for good measure and the chart showed several patches of only 6′ of depth.  But, with the zig zag pattern Glen and Debbie had advised us to use, we had no issues.  After navigating the bridges, the lowest depth we saw coming in near the Venetian Islands (at 14:17, seven minutes before low tide) was 6.7′. Whew!

We anchored here, just to the north of Flagler Island. 

With the ~ 3-foot tide, our depth ranged from 9 to 13 feet.  The holding was great.  We had 25+ knots of wind (with gusts of 30) blow through for days and we never budged.  The dinghy ride in was a little longer than our normal treks, but still an easy 5-7 minute ride in.  It also took us through “Shantyville,” a hodgepodge of boats that have been anchored (likely for years) with tons of barnacles and other strange growth on them.   Odd kayaks and makeshift floating rafts tied up to them.  That was one down-side of Florida.  Lots of ramshackle, unattended boats just anchored out making some anchorages look derelict and rendering them a bit dangerous as many boats were not anchored well and they were unattended.  But the temps and waters of Florida are beautiful so you have to take the good with the bad.  Thankfully, Shantyville was across the channel on the other side and not a threat to us near Flagler Island.  We only saw 3-4 boats anchored near us at any time (often 1-2 of them being our cruising buddies).

When we dinghied in, we docked here.  It is a bit of a ramshackle floating dock, but the cruisers use it.  Ironically there is a sign there that says “No Docking” yet I saw many dinghy lines tied right to it.  Oh the irony!  We never had anyone give us trouble docking there, and it is just across the street from Publix (super convenient for provisioning) and just down the road from Fresh Market, Trader Joe’s, a hardware store, UPS, a laundromat, etc.  The wealth of cruiser amenities this South Beach anchorage offered was one of its biggest draws. 

Not to mention the plethora of restaurants at our fingertips.  I mean, it is South Beach and offers a particularly wide variety of ethnic food, which Phillip and I love.  We ate exceptional Peruvian at Ceviche 105,

Cuban at Bella Cuba,

Italian at Pane & Vino, and exquisite cocktails and bites (I had a fried anchovy I can still taste) at Tropezon.  

We drank on the rooftop bar and saw flaming fire dancers at Mila. 

We spent an afternoon biking through the Wynwood District, a reclaimed art ghetto where exceptional street artists showcase their talents on every building surface imaginable.  It’s like strolling through the most eclectic graffiti art gallery for free. 

We decided to check out Little Havana inadvertently when they were hosting a huge 40-block street festival on Calle Ocho with live music, sizzling meat grills, plenty of cigars, rum, meat, cigars, and more rum. 

We jogged on the beach and pretended to be like some of the beefed up P90X folks who work out at Muscle Beach. 

We were mesmerized and moved by the haunting Holocaust Memorial on Miami Beach.

We booked an Art Deco tour that fascinated me and has prevented me from forever not seeing buildings with curved corners, movie marquees, pastel colors and parsed into threes. 

We saw an incredible play, When Monica Met Hillary, for its world premiere at the Colony Theatre.  Highly recommend.  

Although every drink cost $20.00 and the meals were quite pricey, the price for lodging (on our hook) was right.  We spent many days perusing the streets and shops and eating an interesting lunch out during the day then cooking aboard at night.  The many party-goers and bachelorette parties that liked to blaze around Flagler Island provided more than enough free entertainment from our cockpit.  Thankfully, the marine police patrol frequently and stop anyone who tries to throw up a wake around Flagler Island.  This not only prevents us from suffering a rolly anchorage but also lets us watch the show every time a jet skier gets pulled over.  Sweet revenge!

In all, South Beach offered us protection, convenience, entertainment, a kaleidoscope of exceptional food, shopping, and theater options.  And, I haven’t even mentioned the best part.  For us, anyway.  Phillip had heard they regulate kitesurfing pretty heavily at Miami Beach, allowing it only at designated locations and sometimes for a fee.  Meaning, you cannot just pump up and kite anywhere.  For this reason, Phillip and I hadn’t planned on being able to kite in South Beach … until.  We were walking the beach one day and saw a few kites in the sky about a half mile north.  Phillip and I walked over to them and found about a 50-foot patch of beach that is reserved for kiters.  The fact that it was so confined actually made it quite pretty to see 10-15 colorful kites covering the sand on only one patch of beach.  Phillip and I were intrigued. 

We started scouting around to see if we could dinghy to that location (rather than schlep all our kite gear the half mile along the beach we had just walked—a lovely stretch, but it would be a haul with our boards and pumps and kites and harnesses).  And, what did we find?  The canal we had been taking into town this entire time snaked around and (in theory) could take us right to where we were standing by the kite beach, on 25th Street.  What’s more, there at the edge of the canal on 25th Street was a lovely, lonely cleat.  It felt like the Kite Gods had put it there just for us.  “The 25th Street Cleat!” we dubbed it.  The next windy day, Phillip and I decided to pile all our kite gear in the dinghy and see if the canal was deep enough to let us dinghy all the way to the 25th Street Cleat.  Turns out, we could.  Dinghying the canal even felt a bit like a nice, cruise down the river on a gondola in Venice.  Almost.  Once at the beach, we kited our brains out.  And, I got to see some of the highest jumps I’ve ever watched kiters perform.  They were even jumping to incredible heights.  On foil boards no less!  It was amazing to watch!  And, I got out in some pretty big surf that several other female kiters were a little hesitant to get into.  It felt nice to not be the most frightened one on the beach that day.  Another little fist bump from the Kite Gods.

While it was a little tough for Phillip and me to narrow down the East Coast anchorages to our top three, this anchorage made it pretty easy to say: “Oh yeah, South Beach, that’s definitely one.” 

We liked it so much we stayed about 10 days on our way down (a long time for us at any anchorage) and a whopping 16 days on the way back up the coast.  It was that good.  Next up, we’ll share our Favorite East Coast Anchorage #3.  Any guesses where it will be??

Our choices may surprise you.  This past cruising season was a wildly different one for Phillip and me—beginning where we purchased our Outbound 46 in Annapolis, MD and taking us down the Chesapeake, around Cape Hatteras, and down U.S. east coast for the first time.  Every anchorage was new; every inlet was novel.  There was a lot of learning involved and local intel required.  Phillip and I made many new cruising friends, several of whom gave us the critical scoop that allowed us to get in/out of these places safely.   Some were quiet and isolated.  Some were wild, whooped-up parties.  But, of the dozens of stops we made along our way down the coast October, 2021 through March, 2022, Phillip and I definitely discovered a few spots that stood out.  For those planning to cruise the east coast, we wanted to share our top three, show where we anchored, how we got to shore (and what we found there!), and the reasons these three anchorages were our favorite while cruising down the east coast:

1. Cumberland Island, GA and Lady Carnegie’s Impressive Dungeness Estate
2. Flagler Island, South Beach and the 25th Street Cleat
3. Lake Sylvia, Ft. Lauderdale and the Clothing Police

ANCHORAGE #1: Cumberland Island, GA and Lucy Carnegie’s Impressive Dungeness Estate

We should have spent a week there. Next time we will. After a glorious overnight passage from Charleston, SC (roughly 200 miles north) down to Cumberland Island, GA, Phillip and I navigated Ubiquitous into the St. Mary’s River to anchor near, and explore, Cumberland Island. Phillip chose this magnificent place for a reason, of which I was unaware. I had no idea what awaited me ashore. The might and gumption of the woman who assembled this kingdom.  The sprawling breadth of the estate she built.  The crumbling structures laying testament to the elegance that once was.  The wild, tangled beauty she spent a lifetime preserving. Simply put, the Dungeness remains are stirring and breathtaking.  I have a distinct memory of one of the wild horses who roam the Island, standing in what was once a tiled, heated pool in the Recreation Hall of Dungeness, munching grass and blinking at me while he chewed—completely unaware of the grandeur that once stood there.

Everything around me was in decay. But I felt like I could close my eyes and see the magnificence of the past mapped into the present.

Lucy Coleman Carnegie and Thomas Carnegie (brother to the Pittsburgh steel tycoon, Andrew Carnegie) purchased the Dungeness property (1,891 acres) in 1881.  They moved to the Island in 1884 and built a modest home on the site that was completed in 1885. 

The following year two pivotal things happened: 1) Thomas and his business partner purchased a whopping 8,240 acres of Cumberland Island; and 2) Thomas Carnegie died.  At that time, Lucy had only been living on the Island for two years, yet she—a recent widow—decided to stay and raise her nine children on the Island. 

Lucy bought out Thomas’s business partner and continued to amass her estate, eventually acquiring roughly 90% of Cumberland Island.  From 1890 to 1905, Lucy spearheaded a massive construction project to expand her and Thomas’s original modest home to a 37,000 square foot Queen Anne gothic mansion with over 50 rooms that required more than 150 full-time staff members to maintain. 

Lucy also had a massive Recreation Hall and other, smaller mansions and estates built for her own children all over the Island over the years. 

Walking the remains of Lucy’s legacy, the stunning Dungeness estate, it is almost as if you can feel her there.  Savvy business woman.  Entrepreneur.  Worker of the land.  Single mother of nine who devoted much of her life to preserving Cumberland Island, the largest part of which was declared a national seashore in 1972, a posthumous, but still shining, jewel in her conservationist crown.  Lucy was described in her obituary as a “keen hunter.”  She was also a boat captain.  A racer, hosting dozens aboard her steam yacht, Dungeness. 

Lucy ruffled feathers.  Stirred fires to become the first woman permitted to join the New York Yacht Club in 1894.  Lucy mystified and intrigued me.  The beautiful tangle of trees that cloak the Island I imagine are an accurate reflection of her complex mind. 

I had no idea this sense of inspiration and awe awaited me as we glided into the St. Mary’s River but I can still close my eyes and see sights from Cumberland Island.  Wild horses whispering behind the bushes. A tapestry of 19th century brick and tile, woven with young grass. Spanish moss fluttering. Sticky mud smacking under the sun. Phillip and I spent one memorable day exploring the Island and Dungeness estate. A promising weather window that would allow us to comfortably and quickly sail the next leg of our journey south to St. Augustine, FL encouraged us to leave the next day, but the next time we come to Cumberland Island, Phillip and I will stay longer and explore further.

We anchored here in the East River, a short dinghy ride across the River from the public dock (near the Ice House Museum) that allows access to the Island.

Cumberland Island does not have a bridge to the mainland.  To preserve its historic seashore beaching of boats is not permitted.  Private vessels can tie up to the Sea Camp Dock and then pay the park entrance fee to visit the island.  Phillip and I anchored in the morning and spent the afternoon perusing the park, walking along the Atlantic shore, and exploring the decaying Dungeness estate.  I wish we could have spent more time exploring the other structures on the island, the cottages and other “mansions” Lucy had built for several of her children (Plum Orchard, The Cottage, Greyfield Inn). I found a great blog post here from a Blue Ridge Mountain blogger that really showcases the other estates on the Island. But, honestly, I could spend a full day simply walking all of the shade-chilled, tree-roofed paths, listening to the horses.  If you are traveling down the east coast, put this magic Island in your path.  Come humbly, with open eyes, and I think you will find this Island, and Lucy’s legacy, will touch you as well. 

This cruising season proved very different for Phillip and me.  For our first nine years cruising, when we headed out for offshore voyages, Phillip and I, aboard Plaintiff’s Rest, had always left out of our home port of Pensacola, FL and either shot straight across the Gulf of Mexico down to the Keys (or straight to Cuba in 2016!) or dotted our way down the west coast stopping at some of our favorite ports along the way: Port St. Joe, Apalachicola, Tarpon Springs, St. Petersburg, Venice, etc. before ending at Key West/Stock Island and eventually the Bahamas.  When we weren’t traveling south, Phillip and I usually spent our weekends at local anchorages around Pensacola Bay: Ft. McRee (our favorite), Little and Big Sabine, Red Fish Point, and sometimes over to Ingram’s Bayou and the Wharf for longer in-shore cruises.  This year, however, we started our cruising season very far from home—in Annapolis, MD—and cruised, for the first time, down the east coast of the U.S.  It was no more sleepy, Forgotten Coast towns. We were in the big shipping lanes, making the same trek all the east-coasters do on their way down to palm trees and margaritas.

What did we learn along the way?

1. The anchorages are far smaller and more crowded;
2. The tides play a much bigger role in navigating inlets, docking, even anchoring; and
3. The diversity of cities, restaurants, and history to explore makes it all well worth it.

Lesson One: Smaller, Crowded Anchorages

Phillip and I (and likely many other Pensacola cruisers) just didn’t know how good we had it in Pensacola.  Aside from Ft. McRee on a Blue Angels weekend, there would often only be 3-4 boats in a spacious, good-holding anchorage during the week, maybe 10-15 boats on a typical weekend.  We’d have our pick of locations within the anchorage and typically throw out 125 feet of chain no matter the weather, simply because we could.  Why not, right?  Boy, those times were grand.  This year, those times were gone.

Sailing down the east coast in late-October into November is not a lonely jaunt, I will say that.  You’ll have lots of company.  Every other cruiser who is hopping down toward the islands is often making the same stops you are.  Which means you’re all looking for similar weather windows and often moving (and landing) at the same time.  These are the stops we made along the way (and we found them typical for many cruisers headed down the east coast). 

When Phillip and I and UbiQ rounded Hatteras and pulled into our first anchorage after the Chesapeake—Beaufort, NC—we knew immediately space was a thing of the past.  There were 15 other boats jammed up on the east side of the river with us. 

We could only put out about 75 feet of chain in 15-ish feet of water (a ratio that is much lower than our usual, but required) to ensure a safe swing radius.  Then a three-day blow came through Beaufort that had us all twirling and dancing.  The new Hylas 54 from the Annapolis Boat Show came in the evening we arrived and had to re-anchor several times before he found a spot he could squeak into, but that made everyone around him a bit uncomfortable.  “At least I know he has good insurance,” Phillip joked.  Unfortunately, it was not the typical, spacious setting we are used to on anchor.  Any time we were sitting below and saw a mast move by our port light, Phillip and I both would jump up and look about to make sure we weren’t getting too close to anyone.  I often spent my work days aboard sitting in the cockpit or up on the galley counter simply so I could see out at all times to make sure we weren’t getting too close to anyone, or that anyone wasn’t getting too close to us.  It wasn’t exactly peaceful. 

Wrightsville Beach was bigger and better, but the anchorage by the Yorktown in Charleston was a little tight and required us to re-anchor and move after we started swinging too close to a boat that had anchored there before us.  (P.S. That is boat code: if you dropped last and the boats get close, YOU have to weigh anchor and move.)  Thankfully, we had Cumberland Island all to ourselves (I don’t believe many people stop there, although it was one of our absolute favorites – more on that little gem later on the blog).  But, in Lake Worth (West Palm) and Lake Sylvia in Ft. Lauderdale?  We could see what our anchor neighbors were having for dinner each night.  We could hear their morning chats over coffee.  We knew their backgammon score.  It was … tight.  I didn’t like that at all about east coast anchorages, but it was just our new reality.  We had numerous near-misses, many mandatory re-anchorings (some at night), and even an unfortunate collision (with an unmanned boat) in West Palm (more on that later, too, with several important lessons learned). 

What was worse?  The boats all seemed to have a mind of their own.  In Pensacola, we were used to anchoring in “somewhat tight” anchorages—on occasion—but it was much easier to gauge space and a safe swing radius when all the boats fell back on their anchor in the same manner and all swung together—like a well-synchronized dance—in the same fashion when the tide or wind shifted.  But, when they don’t?  When one boat can ride all the way up its 75 feet of chain while yours pulls back all the way on its?  When the guy next to you has his bow pointed at your hip, and the gal behind him has her stern into the wind?  The anchorage turns to chaos. 

This unnerving phenomenon opened our eyes to the next important lesson we learned while coming down the east coast.

Lesson Two: Dangerous, Dictating Tides

In Pensacola, we never rarely even thought about the tide.  There was always enough depth to navigate any channel or cut that was required and travel to any anchorage we wanted to go to.  While we could sometimes feel the current when swimming or paddling, whether the tide was going in or out never entered our minds when anchoring.  It simply didn’t matter.  And, although we were aware of the slight current when docking, it was always out shadowed by the wind and we never envisioned a time when we would need to plan to dock or de-dock only at slack tide.  It was also a rare day where we had to plan an offshore voyage specifically to arrive at an inlet not simply in daylight, but at a specific hour to ensure entry with an incoming tide (St. Augustine requires this).

Much like spacious, deep anchorages, such gayeties became a thing of our past.  In certain marinas along the way (Charleston and St. Augustine come to mind), the currents are so swift and powerful, the dockmaster will not allow you to come in when it is not slack tide.  They accomplish this by not telling you your slip number until close to slack tide to ensure you make a safe entry.  Leaving at slack tide is also highly encouraged, but with help freely offered from one, if not two, dockhands upon both entry and exit.  And, their precautions proved sound, particularly in Charleston, where the currents run 90-degrees to the slips, swift as a river, and are powerful enough to push boats around like toys. 

Although we didn’t stay at many marinas on our way down, it wasn’t simply to avoid the treacherous dockings.  This year, cruising on our Outbound 46, we have the luxury of living aboard a wonderfully self-sustained boat.  But, we also found the marinas were crowded as hell!  Many were booked for months.  “Try us in March” they would tell us over the phone … in November.  There were several times when we would have liked to have had a slip so we could wash the boat thoroughly and enjoy some AC and other step-off-into-downtown amenities.  But, the answer was “no.”  We simply could not get a slip because the east coast is so crowded.  Everyone is marching south in the same direction at the same time.  Booked-solid marinas took some getting used to. 

However, the tides and swift currents proved our worst enemy not at docks, but on anchor.  I still can’t get my head fully wrapped around it, but each boat responds differently to the pull of the current.  Some hull shapes (full keels in particular) are gripped and dictated by it, while others (often catamarans) did not see as much impact, particularly when the wind is a stronger force.  But, when the wind and tides opposed each other, the anchorage would look like a handful of boats had been dropped from the sky, each laying a different way.  Some cock-eyed, some laid side-ways to the wind, while others marched way up the entire length of their chain (UbiQ did this often), which was an odd sight. 

This unsettling reality made it sometimes impossible to determine, when an incoming boat dropped their hook near you, if they were “too close.”  Neither of us could answer that question without knowing what would happen a few hours down the road when the conditions changed.  Phillip and I quickly fell into the habit of dinghying around and dropping off our boat cards to all neighboring boats and telling them to call us if things in the anchorage got “funky”—a practice that proved invaluable later on (and helped us make many new friends, although that is startlingly easy to do out here). 

Many times we held a boat off while the owner weighed anchor and tried to find a safer place (some times that owner was us).  Many times we saw boats cinched together in an unintentional raft-up (not the best way to make a new friend).  Many times we saw owners pay out chain, or pull up chain, trying to avoid contact with another boat, often with the intended result being the exact opposite thing that happened.  Many owners kept fenders out all the time—a practice we first snickered at initially, thinking they had forgot to stow them, but then adopted ourselves for two purposes: 1) to hopefully prevent damage if contact is made; and 2) to remind everyone around that contact is often, if not always, possible.  We also now keep the dinghy down and ready to be maneuvered and wedged in as needed as a big-ass mobile fender anytime things got funky in the anchorage and contact seemed possible.  We avoided many unwanted contacts by wedging our (or another’s) dinghy between UbiQ and an approaching boat.

After an unfortunate encounter in West Palm—that resulted in multiple boat-to-boat contacts and gave UbiQ her first real cruising scars (bummer, but it happens)—Phillip and I decided the tight tidal funk of the anchorages was the most unfortunate aspect of cruising down the east coast.  Never in all our nine years of cruising had we had a collision while on anchor.  Then, in the matter of a few months, we had experienced many more than we would ever have liked, several resulting in scratches, gouges, and other damage, albeit fully repairable.  Even when there was no contact, we often had less peaceful evenings and nights aboard because we were constantly worried about other boats, popping up topside often during dinner, movies, midnight even, just to make sure everything was okay out there.  And, the worst part, was the only answer you could give was “for now, I guess.”  It was stressful.

But, the good news?  Even this unfortunate element of east coast cruising cannot and did not out shadow the extreme pleasantries and eccentricities only the historic, diverse east coast can provide, prompting Phillip and I—time and again—to highly recommend cruising the east coast despite the crowds and occasionally uncomfortable tides.  Why?

Lesson Three: A Diverse, Unparalleled Collection of History, Food, Art, and Entertainment

Given the crowded anchorages, the wicked currents and challenging inlets, and the occasional boat-to-boat contacts, would we cruise the east coast again?  The answer is absolutely!  In fact, we will be doing it this very summer as we make our way, this time, up the east coast to the northeast area (New York or Rhode Island perhaps) for hurricane season.  Phillip and I were awed and enamored by the history and culture we experienced all along the east coast. 

• Beaufort, NC—with its quirky bars and sea glass and soap shops;

• Wrightsville Beach—with its mesmerizing display of daily surfers of all skill levels;

• Charleston, SC—with its impressive, stick-with-you history and horse carriage tours;

• Cumberland Island—with the mind-boggling Dungeness estate, history, and wild horses;

• St. Augustine—the second oldest settlement in the U.S. (Pensacola folks get it); 

• West Palm Beach—with its monstrous sand sculptures and nightly light show;

• Ft. Lauderdale—all the little canals, mega mansions, and the daily dock show at Raw Bar;

• Miami (South Beach)—with restaurants of every ethnicity, Muscle Beach, bikinis, hair gel, and outstanding kitesurfing;

• Marathon—with its tight cruiser community, memorable margaritas, and entertaining morning net;

• all the way down to the funky, live-music and Bourbon-Street-vibe of Key West. 

Phillip and I went on many tours that taught me so much I hadn’t really soaked up about the history of our young country and our inspiring, bloody battles for independence from British rule.  We perused old forts, churches, apothecaries, and graveyards.  We took trains, trolleys, and carriages through these grand cities.  We gorged ourselves at a full gambit of eateries, ranging from food carts to five-star dining rooms.  We didn’t say ‘no’ to a single distillery tour (particularly those that included tastings : ) and even bought several hand-made tonics and sour mixes that elevated our cocktails to entirely new levels.  We watched plays at local theatres and absorbed gallery after gallery of eclectic art. 

We ate too much.  We drank too much.  We walked blisters into our feet.  We went through two pairs of flip-flops each.  We dinghied down canals, under bridges, and up to public parks and tied to trees.  And, we would do it all over again.  Every stop was new, which brought its own challenges and unknowns, but also its own fresh feeling of exploration.  Local intel proved invaluable, and necessary just about everywhere.  It was fun meeting new fellow cruisers, making friends, and getting that intel and then turning around and passing it onto the next incoming newcomer.  These anchorages and cities are well-cruised by many and have a wealth of experiences and new adventures to offer. 

While the crowded, tight anchorages do pose their own potential threat, they also make it incredibly easy to make new friends and meet fellow cruisers.  I guarantee you will not be lonely cruising the east coast.  It’s quite popular.  And, Phillip and I now know why.  It was very different from the more isolated, sleepy Florida west-coast cruising we were used to on our Niagara—with its large, spacious anchorages and sugar-white, unpopulated beaches.  But the dozen, diverse cities we were able to experience and explore along the way outweighed the challenges for us.  Phillip and I learned while we love pristine beaches and remote islands, we also love (maybe just a bit more) the bustle and culture of cities, their bars, restaurants, and live music, the laughter and shouts of people, and (my God) the food and wine.  This cruising season has been a dizzying, delightful new experience.  One, we would be happy to repeat.  East Coast, we’ll be back.  Next up on the blog, we will share our three favorite, unique stops on the way down.  Uncovered island gems and sweetly-kept secret anchorages await.  Stay tuned!