Cruise to the Keys 2014 – Page 5 – Have Wind Will Travel

In the Hands of Heisenberg

June 3, 2014June 2, 2014anniedike

It wasn’t ten minutes after we hung up with Steve that we had the engine cranked and warming. We were pulling our dock line off of the mooring ball to head over to the SMMR, Inc. shop on Salt Creek so Steve could have a look at our busted Jenny swivel.

We could tell Steve was real sharp over the phone. He knew immediately what had happened to our Jenny shackle and the likely problem we were going to have fixing it. The ball bearings weren’t really the issue. Steve had plenty of them lying around the shop that he could use to replace the ones that had fallen out of our shackle. The real problem would arise if our shackle turned out to be too damaged to be re-assembled. If it was in fact broken beyond repair, we would need a new one. And, while we do have an incredible, sturdy, wonderfully-built old boat, she is still an OLD boat, and the harken furling system that had been put on her was decidedly outdated. Meaning, a new shackle likely wouldn’t fit on the old foils that were put on our forestay for the old harken system.

The foils are thin metal plates that are fitted on the forestay to allow a snug fit for the Jenny halyard and a sturdy frame for the luff of the Jenny when tacking.

Our Jenny’s quite the tacky gal!

We were hoping for the best as we motored on over to Salt Creek so Steve could have a look at our shackle. Now, I will say, I was fully expecting to encounter many a salty sailor-type when we met Steve and his crew. You know, some old rough-handed, leathered, weathered riggers:

Okay, maybe not that old, but something along those lines. I certainly wasn’t expecting Walter White.

But, that’s who we got! I swear Steve Smith was a spitting image of everyone’s favorite close-shaven meth chef:

See?

And, he was every bit as smart and resourceful, too. Steve was amazing. He took one look at our busted shackle and knew just what to do. He was going to have to unpin the forestay from the pulpit to get the shackle off so he could see about repairing it. Steve had us loosen the backstay to ease the tension on the forestay so he could get it off.

It was strange to see the forestay disconnected from the boat. While I know Steve is an incredibly knowledgeable rigger, it still gave me a stomach ache to see him unpin her and let her go free and dangling. She is just such a crucial piece of rigging. The life of our Jenny was certainly in his able hands. Once Steve got the shackle off and had a good look at it, he agreed with Phillip that it was possible the sir-clip would be put back on and the ball bearings replaced it might be alright. He wouldn’t know, though, until he got in there and started re-assembling her and, like I said, he already had several boats lined up that day for rigging repairs. But, he started eyeing it curiously, turning it over and around in his head, and said:

“You know, I think I may have one of these in the shop.” I mean … really?? An old part that nobody makes anymore? The life-saving swivel piece that could save our Jenny? Just lying around the shop? Phillip and I got our hopes up as Steve walked back to the shop. And, then he emerged!

I’m sure Steve wasn’t as overly dramatic about it as I remember it, but (to me) he looked like the bad boy from the final scene of The Breakfast Club – his hand thrust defiantly into the air.

Except he had a swivel shackle in it! Hallelujah!

Steve – likely sensing my budding excitement – to us the shackle he had found was the Unit 2, and ours was the Unit 1, so there was a chance it wouldn’t fit. (All, I could think, though, was “So, you’re telling me there’s a chance it could!”).

And, despite his already full line-up for the day, Steve rolled up his sleeves and set to work on us immediately. Steve slid the “new” used shackle around the foils on our stay and it was a perfect fit. I’ve never seen anything fit snugger (on something that wasn’t a Kardashian).

Steve told us, “Now, we’re real proud of our old used crap around here,” as he was re-securing the shackle. “I’ll have my wife look it up and see what price we can give you for her.” They only asked $100 for it. IT. A part no one makes anymore, that we couldn’t order or buy online. A part that was going to mean the difference between our hanking on a whopping oversized Jenny the entire trip or furling her – and – that meant we weren’t going to have to have a whole new furling system put on either during the trip or after – and Steve was only asking $100. We had priced out a new swivel (which may or may not have fit on our old foils, and they ranged anywhere from $400 to $500. Phillip and I would have easily paid a pretty penny for Steve’s “old used crap,” but we were even more thrilled to pay an ugly one.

“You bet, Steve. Slap her on there!”

And, so he did. Within an hour and a half of us pulling up to Steve’s shop in Salt Creek, and even with other boats lined up that day that he had to get to, Steve had our stay put back on, with a good-as-new shackle for the Jenny and we even raised her a time or two and furled her back for good measure. Phillip and I were stoked! Steve really went the extra mile. He noticed the splice on the Jenny halyard was a little thick and caused the line to catch in the throat at the top of the mast, so he cut it off and tied us a halyard knot in it. He also noticed that the end of the jib halyard we had purchased for the trip wasn’t whipped at the end, which just didn’t sit well with him as a rigger. He whipped out his whipping line and sodder tool and whipped us right up. Even gave me a free lesson in whipping that I put to good use later. We couldn’t have been more impressed with Steve. We’re almost as big of fans of his as we are of Walter White.

With our Jenny fully repaired, raised, furled and ready to go, Phillip and I motored back to the Vinoy Basin with smiles the size of Texas. It was around 2:00 p.m. when we got back, and we cracked open a beer (okay a cocktail for me), and kicked right back there in the cockpit to admire our furled Jenny.

All in a day’s work!

The View From Up Top

May 30, 2014anniedike

April 14, 2014:

You guessed it. Another mast climb. After we let our hair down and painted St. Pete red on Sunday night, Captain was quick to wake on Monday morning and put this crew to work!

Thankfully, this time we were able to use the main halyard to raise me, which is faaarrr more reliable that the spinnaker halyard we had to use last time to retrieve the main halyard. That thing scared the Bejeesus out of me. (Yes, that’s a word – quite the fitting one here). I think we stretched her three times her length last time. And, having the boat tied securely to a mooring ball while I ascended (as opposed to swaying like a treetop in the wind mid-sea) made the climb infinitely more comfortable.

“Look Ma! No hands!”

In light of the vastly improved conditions, I took some time this time to get some footage! I give you … the view from up top!

Such a great shot! I love the view of this boat from up top. She’s beautiful from all angles!

Thankfully, I made it up this time without any issue. It was a nice, easy ride using the main halyard. As part of our preparations for the Keys, we had replaced the old main line with new VPC hybrid braid and what a difference! I don’t think she stretched one bit while hoisting my heavy bottom all the way to the top.

I even got some footage from up top!

Video HERE.

What I find incredibly entertaining about this clip, though, is while I’m up there is Phillip’s one-line dialog: “What about the piece that broke?” I mean, I’m up there risking life and limb climbing this mast (what seems like day after day on our sailing adventure) and the one time I try and take thirty seconds to capture it on film, Phillip is still all business. “What about the piece that broke?” he says.

NOT: “Man what a great climber you are, Annie.” “Wow, you look like a real pro up there, Annie.” “Go ahead, take all the time you need up there, Annie.”

NOPE. It’s “what about the piece that broke?”

Like I said … a real slavedriver. Yeaaahhh … He’ll regret that later …

Much like the piece of the shackle that had come down (the swivel portion), the “piece that broke” (the part that connects to the Jenny halyard), it didn’t seem to have any obvious defect. I shimmied it down and Phillip inspected it down on the deck. He said it seemed the sir-clip (aka c-clip) had just popped off, which caused the shackle to come apart, allowing the swivel part to fall, and the halyard piece to remain at the top of the mast. But, we were still missing some bearings, so repairs were certainly in order. I also pulled off what looked like some marred black plastic at the top of the foil on the forestay.

We also put the inner forestay back in on the way down. You’ll love this … So, if you recall, our inner forestay busted during our initial Gulf Crossing when we were sailing the boat back from Punta Gorda, FL home to Pensacola, FL and we had a new one put in as part of our Keys preparations. Well, the darn thing banged around like a banshee the first week of the trip and drove us crazy. For that reason we decided to take her out when I had to climb the mast the first time to get the main halyard down.

Yeah, I can just imagine what you’re thinking (and saying to yourself with an imaginary pat on our heads): “Poor little novice sailors. You will learn.”

Don’t worry. We were doing that to ourselves. When Jenny had her crack-induced fall-out and busted, we said the exact same thing to ourselves. “Oh, no worries. We can just hoist the staysail and keep on cruising.” Except that we had taken down the forestay for the staysail. I know … real brilliant like. But she was banging! And, I’ll tell you, with sailing, if you’re not out there screwing up and learning from your mistakes, then you’re not really sailing. So, we chalked it up. “Might as well put that back up while you’re up there.” Which we did. Lesson learned. Make sure all of your safety and back-up gear are always ready, rigged and in working order. You never know when you’re going to need them.

The great news was, we made it back up and down the mast a second time, safely, and we now had both busted parts of the Jenny down, as well as the Jenny halyard. Done and done. Hopefully no more mast climbs this trip. But, we had even better news. Once we got down and situated, Phillip got on the horn with the folks at Embree Marina who our previous owner had recommended in St. Pete, and they referred us to a local rigger – Steve Smith of SMMR, Inc. We gave him a call and, while he had a few boats already lined up to work on that day, he asked us if we could motor over that morning so he could have a quick look at our Jenny shackle and give us a diagnosis. We told him we were tied up to a mooring ball in the North Vinoy Basin and, turns out, he was just a short hop out into the bay and around the bend, up Salt Creek.

“Uhhh … you bet Steve. We’ll be right there!” We readied the boat and headed out.

A Room Without a Roof!

May 27, 2014anniedike

April 13, 2014:

Because we’re HAAPPEEEEYYY! Who wouldn’t be with this set-up in St. Pete? Fresh off the boat, we found ourselves right on the downtown strip. Lots of upscale bars and restaurants, a resort hotel and even a super swanky rooftop lounge. We spent our first night in St. Pete high on the town!

Jenny, what Jenny? That’s a problem for tomorrow! Enjoy the show:

Walking the downtown strip on Parkshore Drive.

Drinks at The Birchwood.

“How about a drink there First Mate?”

“Why, thank you Captain. Don’t mind if I do!”

Exquisite lobby and decor at the Vinoy Renaissance on the North Basin.

Beautiful banyan trees at the Waterfront Downtown Park.

Drinks and dinner at the Parkshore Grill.

Too bad we dug into dinner before this “foodie” could snap her shots. Whoops. But– take my word for it — it was awesome. A stacked juicy cheeseburger with hand-cut fries!

Clean plate club!

Drinks (yes, more!) this time at The Birchwood Rooftop Bar:

We could actually look out and see our boat there in the mooring field. Soooo cool.

See? You’d be happy too! We were definitely digging St. Pete. Not a bad place to be stuck for repairs. Not a bad place at all …

Annie On the Ball!

May 24, 2014August 27, 2015anniedike

April 13, 2014:

So, now you know our first night at a KEY was not the peaceful, dreamy stuff Sandals Beach Resort commercials are made of …

Ahhh … bring me another cocktail Pedro.

But, we at least survived it. Despite my horrific, vivid night-magination, I was thrilled to wake and find the pulpit on the bow had in fact NOT snapped off and the boat had NOT flipped over during the night, but we had spent an incredibly rough night at anchor. Key or not, I don’t think we’ll be planning to drop the hook on that side of Egmont anytime soon.

“I want my money back!”

As soon as one stray shard of morning light struck the deck, we pulled the anchor and high-tailed it!

We set out across Tampa Bay at daybreak.

But, it’s a biiiiiig bay. We still had a long way to go to get to St. Pete.

We did enjoy coming under the SkyWay Bridge.

Having both been to St. Pete by land, the bridge was sort of iconic for us – a true monument to how far south we had actually come by boat!

And, I know the thing is like 8,000 miles high, give or take, but I swear, it still feels like we might hit. I hate watching the mast go under bridges. Because, I mean, really, what are you going to do at the moment of impact if it does hit? I just squeeze my eyes tight and think short thoughts!

But, I’m happy to say we cleared her just fine!

And, while we did have to motor that morning because the wind was dead on our nose and the bay was pretty chopped up, we did enjoy traversing new waters and were excited to see St. Pete come into view on the horizon.

We called ahead to see if we could find a transient slip or a mooring ball, and luckily they had room for us in the mooring field in the Vinoy Basin. We’d never snagged a mooring ball before and with all of the docking debacles we had suffered already, you can imagine what went through my mind …

Certain disaster. Likely ending with a mate overboard … Grabbing a mooring ball is not always easy, and I can imagine in heavy winds or current (or with novice-slash-clumsy crew *throat clearing*), it can be pretty darn difficult. Proof:

How Not to Pick Up a Mooring Ball

But, I was ready. I had gaff in hand, line all tied and secure. I was going to GET THAT BALL!!

And, get it I did! On the first try! We snagged her right up and secured that boat in no time.

And, man, what a great place to stop for repairs! The Vinoy Basin was beautiful.

It had its own dinghy dock, within rowing distance.

And, we were within walking distance of all the facilities and the downtown strip!

It is a city-maintained marina, so nice facilities – shower, laundry, and all of that. And, at $14/night, we certainly weren’t putting a hurting on the cruising kitty. The basin also offered decent protection from just about any wind direction. Oh, and the dockmaster – real nice guy, can’t remember his name, though I’m sure it was Bill, or Billy, or Mack or Buddy – even came to pick us up in the famous Dock Mule!

Awesome. We were ready to get showered up and check out the town. It was Sunday afternoon. We weren’t going to be able to deal with our busted Jenny until tomorrow at best, so might as well enjoy it, am I right?

Sure Buddy, give us a ride. Let’s see what this town of St. Pete is all about!

April 12, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 10 (Part Duex) – Jenn-AAAYYYY!!

May 18, 2014May 19, 2014anniedike

Apparently April showers do not bring May flowers on our boat. We had just popped back out into the Gulf out of Clearwater Pass, enjoying one of the best sails yet of our trip, when we were showered with ball bearings from above. Phillip and I gently made our way up onto the foredeck to try and figure out what in the heck on the boat had just totally busted. We each started picking up these little bronze looking balls on the way that were lying all over. It was clear they were bearings, but to what exactly? We inspected the drum at the base of the forestay that furls the Jenny.

She looked fine, but we could tell the bearings in the drum were the same type that had rained on the boat, so we figured it had to be the swivel shackle at the top. We knew we were going to have to let the Jenny down to have a look at it. Not a real problem, yet. Perhaps we could fix it … We were being optimistic.

Phillip started to uncleat the Jenny halyard at the mast to lower the Jenny, and I positioned myself on the foredeck, ready to grab and flake her as best I could while Phillip eased her down. But, there was no easing about it. As soon as Phillip uncleated the halyard and let just a little slack in it, our big, whopping (135%) Jenny all came toppling and tumbling down onto the foredeck. Wha-boom! Thankfully, she fell so quick, she landed all in a heap, and – more importantly – all on the boat. Whew!

We wrapped her up with the Jenny sheets and secured her on the foredeck.

And, she looked so sad there. All tied up in a ball on the deck … Instead of the bright-eyed, fresh-faced Jenny we saw in the early parts of Forrest Gump,

ours looked more like the strung-out, cocaine-snorting leaper she turned into.

Yep, that’s the one.

Our Jenny was totally busted.

Jenn-AAAAYYYY!

Unfortunately, the bad news just kept coming. We found the reason the Jenny had come all tumbling down at once when Phillip let some slack in the line was because the halyard shackle had come apart. There are two parts to the shackle that raises our Jenny: 1) the part that clips to the head of the sail and spins when the Jenny furls and unfurls, and 2) the part that clips to the halyard and remains still when the Jenny furls.

Hence the ball bearings in between. The really bummer part about what happened to our halyard swivel was that, when Phillip let just a little slack in the line, the shackle came apart – right about here –

and the part that attaches to the head of the sail came down, while the part that clips to the halyard stayed … Yep, you guessed it. At the top of the mast. Not ONE DAY later on this trip and we had another bloody halyard stuck up at the top of the mast. I mean …

We inspected the part of the shackle that had come down – the part that attaches to the head of the sail – and she did look to be in semi-working order, assuming the ball bearings were put back in.

We didn’t see any obvious crack or defect. But, we had no idea what the other piece that was still at the top of the mast looked like. It was clear there was going to be yet another mast ascension in this mate’s future to retrieve yet another halyard.

We began the troubleshooting process, which on our boat generally starts by whipping out what we call the “manuals bag” – an old canvas bag our previous owner kept on the boat that is filled to the brim with the owner’s manual to every single part and system on the boat. I’m telling you – manuals are key. Keep them (all of them!) and read them first when a system fails. It’s amazing what you’ll learn.

After a quick review of the manual for our Harken furling system, we were definitely of the opinion we had perhaps pulled the halyard up too tight when we raised the Jenny after having the UV cover re-sewn during our Keys preparations.

The halyard should be within the top 4″ of the foil, they said …

Snug but not too tight they said …

As if that can be determined with any kind of precision. (Insert frown here). But, we figured we had pulled her up too tight when we raised her, causing pressure on the joint between the part that attaches to the halyard and the part that attaches to the sail, resulting in the pop and shower when we were furling the Jenny. We certainly didn’t mean to, but it seemed we had caused the failure. Once we started to think it back through, though, we were actually surprised to find the two pieces of the shackle had somehow miraculously held together until the very moment we had decided to drop the sail, when we were ready for her to fall.

Can you imagine if the shackle had come apart in heavy winds, when the Jenny was under full load? The whole thing would have crashed into the water … Along with the Jenny sheets … And what if we had been motoring? And one of the sheets had caught in the prop? What if … When we actually started to think about it, we started to consider ourselves incredibly lucky that it had happened the way that it did. Perhaps Jenny was looking out for us after all. Maybe she does know what love is …

Once we had pretty much diagnosed the problem – we knew we no longer had a furling Jenny – we started working toward a solution. We started getting some of our cruising buddies on the horn to let them know what happened and get their thoughts. We were somewhat close to Punta Gorda, where our previous owner used to keep the boat, so Phillip also decided to call him to ask for a recommendation for a good marina in the area. He referred us to Embree Marine, where apparently they had done some work on our boat before. We called a few times, but unfortunately no answer. But, it was a Saturday, and we began to realize we likely weren’t going to be able to actually talk to anyone about repairs until Monday. And, to add just a little more dung to our already-heaping pile, Phillip did some research on our Harken furling system (checked their website and some sailing blogs) and found that the fine folks at Harken don’t make the halyard swivel for our furling system anymore. Apparently, ours was the Model 1 series, and they were now on like Model 7. There was the real possibility we were going to have to have a whole new furling system put on the forestay.

Like I said, when it rains, it pours …

But – you remember our motto for that day? If you don’t, let me remind you —

Wasn’t nothing gonna slow … us … down! Whoa-NO!

We had to keep on movin’! And, so we did. We knew we were going to have to pull out of the Gulf and into St. Petersburg for repairs. But, it was getting to be late in the afternoon, so we decided we would anchor for the night and make our way into Tampa Bay tomorrow. Phillip started checking the maps and the cruising guides, and we found Egmont Key. The cruising book described it with “tall palm trees, clear, and glistening waters, where couples stroll along the white beaches without a care.”

“Without a care … “ We could be that! Who needs a furling Jenny? I mean, really? Sailors have been hoisting their Jennies for hundreds of years. We were either going to get her repaired or hoist her the old-fashioned way. Let’s pull on into this anchorage, make us some dinner, and keep on enjoying this trip, shall we? We made it to a KEY! And it was gorgeous there. Sugar white sands, a beautiful old light house, crystal green water. It was perfect.

We dropped anchor and jumped in for the first swim of the trip!

“That’ll be two dollars, ma’am.”

Then we took a nice shower in the cockpit.

Ahhh …

Then it was cocktails at sunset.

Phillip waved to the cruise ships that were coming through Egmont Channel.

Then we cooked up some amazing crab cakes with red peppers and the Captain’s own homemade roumalaude sauce.

Yum!

And, called it a night. We’d deal with whatever the Jenny had in store for us tomorrow.

We were on anchor, nice and secure. Nothing could bother us now …

April 12, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 10 (Part One) – Rain On Our Parade

May 14, 2014May 14, 2014anniedike

I woke to find a friend on our stern line the next morning.

He didn’t even move as we rustled around in the cockpit and readied the boat for another passage. He just watched us inquisitively and minded his own business. I almost hated to shoo him away when we were ready to leave. But, we were ready to leave! We were heading back out into the Gulf that morning to make the approximate 100 mile (24 hour) run to Charlotte Harbor to meet up with our friend Johnny and his son, who were anchored out in Cayo Costa. That was the plan anyway.

We waved at the rising sun and made our way back out into the Gulf.

Now, when we came in the previous day, we unfortunately ran aground on the shoaling around the little island just after the bridge.

Right around here we believe:

After talking with the dockmaster at the marina, we decided to take the longer route this time, around the little island, where the channel is deeper.

There will be no running aground today, thank you!

We had one of the best sails yet of the trip that morning.

“Hoist them sails there, Mate!”

“You got it, Cap’n!”

The water around Clearwater really is the most brilliant green. Like torqouise but not so blue. This is the closest replica I could find:

They call it #00ff83. It’s 0% red, 100% green and 51.4% blue. But, I’ll tell you, it’s heaven. The most beautiful sight to see under the hull of your boat.

It was just gorgeous. And, we had a great east wind, right on our port bow, around 10 knots. As the Captain would say, “We were cooking!” It was a great sailing day.

And, for my fellow sailing blogger on the Sundowner – this one’s for you Dani!

Rockin’ the selfie!

We did get backwinded at one point, though, when we were messing with the sails and it turned us around. No problem, really, to turn a circle and get back on track, but we did have the trolling line out when it happened, and it got caught on the rudder. But, that wasn’t a problem either. The Captain jumped right in for a nice swim in the Gulf and got her untangled.

AOK!

Ahhh! Nice and refreshing!

It was like nothing could get us down. I couldn’t help but keep singing, “Ain’t nothing gonna break-a-my stride. Nobody gonna hold me down!”

Whoa-NO …

THEY DID-UHHNT!! Relive this lovely 80’s leotard and sparkly gloves rendition HERE.

But, what we didn’t expect was rain. No, not that kind. The skies were clear, the sun was out, the conditions were ideal. And, yet, it still rained. The winds started to kick up, so we decided to reef the Jenny in a bit. As we were winding her in, we heard a loud POP from above and then it rained … Ball bearings … All over the boat.

April 11, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 9 – For a Good Ride, Call Johnny N

May 11, 2014May 11, 2014anniedike

I will say, it took some time for both of us to come “down” from the epic mid-sea mast climb. That was something else. But, aside from the busted steaming light and lost gaff, we did have one good thing to come out of it. As we were detaching lines from my bosun’s chair and hooking everything back up, Phillip started looking at our busted lazy jack – the one of the starboard side that had snapped during our first night on passage.

And, he hatched the brilliant idea to raise it back up with staysail halyard. That pulled it back up pretty much exactly where it had been previously attached to the eyelet on the spreader.

The Captain’s real smart like that sometimes.

But, that’s one thing I have really learned to love about sailing. It’s all about improvising — learning your systems and, when something doesn’t work quite right or fails, knowing how to accomplish the same result using another system or a different method. Phillip read a story to me a long time ago by Cap’n Frank Papy from Sailing: Impressions, Ideas, Deeds that has always stuck with me. Apparently the guy was sailing a beat-up, broke-down, falling-apart boat from Jamaica to Ft. Lauderdale that was leaking from every orifice (think floating floorboards) and just when he was about to throw up his hands and throw in the towel, he thought about the engine. It’s constantly sucking raw water in to cool the engine, and then pumping it out – virtually a water-sucking machine, when you really think about it. So, Cap’n Papy closed the seacock, detached the raw water hose and ran it straight into his flooded bilge to both cool his engine and pump out the bilge. Blows my mind. And, while I know our lazy jack repair is decidedly “small-time” in comparison to Papy’s heroic hail-mary, it still reminds me that sailing is all about improvising, and it’s an incredibly rewarding and exciting challenge.

So, with our lazy jack back in action, and our sights set on Clearwater, we settled back in the cockpit for a nice morning sail.

And, I’ll tell you – they must call it Clearwater for a reason. That was the most crystal green water we had seen on the trip!

That is, until we handled our business …

But – good to know it’s all working correctly. That all systems are “a go,” am I right?

We even caught our first fish (plural) of the trip. Scared us both to death when the hand line popped fiercely over the rail. Both of us jerked up from our books, looking around wildly, thinking What the hell just happened? I’ll tell you, when something snaps loudly on the boat, it’s hard not to think the worst. What crucial piece of equipment just failed? It had happened to us during our last Gulf Crossing when the bolts on the dinghy davit bracket began to shear and pop off. Typically, a loud, unexpected pop in the cockpit is not a good thing … So, needless to say, we were both relieved when we found it was just the trolling line. Whew! Just a fish on! Reel her in!

It was a decent little king mackerel. We caught two that morning. But, they were pretty small – probably not worth the mess of cleaning – so we threw them back. We made our way into Clearwater Pass around 1:30 p.m. and started to ease our way in. Now, as most of you may be, we (well, Phillip, actually – he’s the primary helmsman) is an avid user of Active Captain, and he had seen on there that there was some shoaling in the channel after you come under the bridge. Knowing that, he made a wide turn to try to avoid it and unfortunately (we think) he found the shoaling on the other side. The boat lurched to a stop and we knew immediately we’d run aground. I hate that feeling! There’s no mistaking it. But, Phillip was quick to act. He threw it in reverse, had me hang way over the portside lifelines to lean the boat over and we were able to ease off pretty quickly. Thank goodness! And, it was a good lesson in how to respond quickly to get the boat moving again. A lesson that would come in mighty handy later.

Needless to say, after that small scare, I was all nerves and eager to get our boat docked up securely and settled in for the night. Now, the last time we pulled into Clearwater when we first bought the boat and were bringing her back from Punta Gorda, FL, we had 20-knot winds on our stern and two corn-fed Larry-the-Cable guys holding our bow off the dock.

Yeah, it gave me heartburn too, Larry.

We were not in any kind of mood to repeat that scene this time. So, I was thrilled to see when we pulled up to the fuel dock that they had courtesy lines, already pre-set at just the right length and ready to toss to you for tying up, which was awesome. No docking debacles today! We eased on in, filled up, docked up and gave that boat a good scrub-down! She was in sure need of it.

As were we. We showered up, dressed up, made a few cocktails to-go, and decided to hit the town!

We ventured out and reminisced on some of the finer establishments and questionable joints we had stumbled upon last time we were here. You may remember this little greasy spoon we ate at last time where I bought my delightfully tacky big-boob t-shirt to memorialize the visit.

Ahhh … the memories!

We decided to try a new place for dinner, though, so we checked the old Trip Advisor to see what the locals were rating “the best.” One of the top hits was this little middle eastern place called Mana Mana. We certainly hadn’t had any good middle eastern food yet on this trip and probably wouldn’t for a while, so Mana Mana was right up our alley. We began walking to town and hailed a taxi on the way. And, it was a good thing, because the restaurant turned out to be about five or six miles away and we were already pretty beat by then. We’d certainly worked up an appetite, though. Phillip and I ate ourselves absolutely sick! Mana Mana turned out to be a little hole-in-the-wall looking place, with a concession stand order board, walk-up counter, and just a handful of tables scattered about.

We were a little skeptical at first, but when we started to smell the food and see what he was dishing up, we knew we were in for a real treat. The guy running the place was really great, too. A true small-business owner. He made all of the food himself, was eager to serve us up some of his own authentic Israeli Middle Eastern specialties and even bring us a few extra treats and sides that we didn’t even order. And, the food was incredible. I got the falafel – perfectly seasoned chick-peas balls smothered in tahini sauce.

Phillip ordered the shawarma beef, which was equally delicious.

Both dishes were amazing. Within ten minutes, Phillip and I had eaten every last morsel on our plates.

The Clean Plate Club strikes again!

We were both satiated. Probably a little too full, but it was totally worth it. And, it turned out, rather than a cab, we had managed to score a personal driver for the evening. We found while we were checking out that our cabbie had decided to eat at Mana Mana as well and he was sitting there waiting on us to finish to drive us back home. And, it’s a darn good thing, too, because I don’t think Phillip and I could have walked more than a few steps. We were stuffed!

“Want a ride back?” says the cabbie.

“Don’t mind if I do!” the Captain replies.

Johnny N they call him.

We decided the “N” was for Nitro! Yeah buddy!

We had Johnny N take us to the CVS by the marina so we could stock up on supplies – water, milk, coffee, OJ, paper towels. Just a few basics. We savored the last burning embers of the sunset on the way back to the boat,

and then crashed hard. After a mid-sea mast climb, two fish on the line, an inadvertent run aground and a big, filling middle eastern feast, the Captain and I were beyond exhausted. The plan was to jump out the next morning back into the Gulf and make our way down to Charlotte Harbor. Our buddy who was sailing with his son down to the Keys was anchored around there at Cayo Costa, and we were hoping to catch up with him to make the jump to the Keys together. That was the plan anyway. Almost a meaningless term on a sailboat …

April 10, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 8 – Catching Butterflies

May 8, 2014May 7, 2014anniedike

We were both a little disoriented when we woke on the boat behind Dog Island. Having slept so soundly at anchor and waking to the alarm in pitch black, it was a little hard to tell if we were still dreaming or awake. But, we finally eased on up after a few alarm snoozes to start readying the boat for passage and preparing to pull the anchor. I slipped on my new Gorton’s – some, super trendy clown-pant Frogg Toggs – to try them out for the first time and got into my wader boots and foul weather jacket knowing I’d be doing some serious chain spraying.

We had 150 feet of links lying out there in the mud that needed raising. Before I even got down to 100 feet of chain, big chunks of grey clumpy mud were coming up in the links, and I knew this was not going to be a quick chore. “I’ve got mud at 100 feet,” I hollered back to Phillip to let him know he could settle in. We were going to be there a while! We spent the next 20 minutes raising and rinsing the chain, hoping it was piling up as it should down below so we wouldn’t have such trouble dropping it next time. We finally got her all up, though, and kicked back to enjoy some coffee as we motored out of the East Pass, watching the sun just start to peek up, an electric pink sliver on the horizon. It felt good to be underway.

Unfortunately, the wind was light in the early hours and we had to motor a bit, but we were enjoying watching land disappear on the horizon and seeing nothing but blue ahead. The wind finally came around mid-morning, and we got a nice run, doing 4 knots, toward Clearwater. Phillip and I curled up on the deck with a couple of page-turners and took turns napping in the sun.

We brought the solar shower up onto the deck, too, so she could heat up and give us each a nice shower that afternoon. After two days underway, we would certainly be in need of it. In all, it was a beautiful day out on the water. Our arrival time for Clearwater popped up about mid-day: 11:37 a.m. the next day. It only registers our ETA 24 hours out. Anything over 24 hours is designated only with bars, like a flat-line heart monitor, so it’s kind of exciting to see the arrival time pop up. Only 24 hours now baby! We weren’t in too much of a hurry, though. The water had grown a deep, crystal blue around us and there wasn’t a single blip on the horizon. We were still averaging 4 knots and enjoying the soft, soothing swells that we were rocking over.

We heated up the frozen chicken and sausage gumbo Phillip had made for us before we left.

We tried, again, to heat up the frozen bag in boiling water, but after we started to see a little gumbo leaking out into the water, we were sure some water had to be leaking IN to the gumbo, so I will say we will not be doing that again. It will be a few hours’ thaw in the sink and then we’re plopping it into a pot to heat. No need to risk tainting Phillip’s perfectly seasoned dishes just to spare a messy pot. No sir! But, despite some suspected water intrusion, the gumbo turned out great.

And, it was the perfect, hearty treat while underway. After dinner, we enjoyed a nice solar shower in the cockpit. It was our first time using the solar shower. We had found it on the boat when inventorying and we were excited to try it out.

Other than the finicky spout, which would occasionally pop off, spouting water like a fire hose and causing a slight, soapy mad scramble to get her back on, it was one of the best showers we’ve ever had.

Of course, we can say that after two salty days at sea, while enjoying some free warm water from the sun. Something about the fact that it’s been heated naturally makes it hard to beat. Around dusk, we had some dolphins come by to congratulate us on the excellent passage we were making – naturally –

and to bring us one of the most exquisite sunsets we’ve seen on passage. The water rippled like smooth silk. It felt like you could reach out and touch it and you wouldn’t get wet at all. It was incredible.

It wasn’t long after the sunset, though, that the wind started to die out. We tried to keep her going under sail, but the Jenny kept luffing and our speed kept dropping. The arrival time on the Garmin went blank again which was a sure sign – we were slowing down. So, we decided to crank up the motor and motor-sail for a bit. The batteries needed a little charging anyway. We sat back and quickly decided to declare it … wait, let me let you guess.

Uh-oh … guess what day it is!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCLO9OOMtqE

That’s right. Moooo-vie DAY! Or night, I guess. We booted up the laptop and hooked it in to the cockpit speakers and nestled in for a little something we like to call “Movie Night!” on the ole’ Rest. Black Swan it was, and were in the thick of it when the main started flagging. The wind was right on our stern and kept shifting the boom from one side to the other. We took a brief intermission to drop the main, should be an easy chore, right? Nothing to it in these light winds. Ha. Guess again. All hell broke loose when we let go of the halyard. Now, I’ve mentioned on this blog before how important it is that you never (EVER) let go of the halyard. But, believe me, it happens. It just does. And, I’ll say “we” let go of the halyard because there’s no need to point fingers. This wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, and it doesn’t really matter who does it, you both, somehow, have to get it back.

And, ours was swinging wildly back and forth, whipping around the boom, winding around the backstay, unwinding and swinging out freely again. It soon became clear we weren’t going to be able to reach it on tiptoes and with outstretched hands alone. Phillip got the gaff from the lazarette and started batting at it. He was standing on his tiptoes on the coaming, stretching into the sky, and he almost had it several times but it would slip out of his reach every time. For reasons that baffle us to this day, it was snapped shut initially, so that if we could get the hook of the gaff in it, we could conceivably pull it back down easily. But it soon came swinging back around opened and it was clear we weren’t going to be able to get it with the gaff, there was nothing to ‘hook.’ Now, how in the world that thing closed itself initially, on its own, only to open back up again, on its own, baffles us to this day, but I’m here to tell you that’s what happened. That’s when I came up with the brilliant idea of using the fishnet – which is about the equivalent of a big butterfly net – thinking the open end of the shackle would surely snag in the netting. I duct-taped it to the gaff for added reach, which was helpful, but it made it very cumbersome and unwieldly. Phillip was standing on the coaming on his tiptoes with me behind him bracing on the bimini and dodger in case he fell backward as he swatted and poked in the air – trying to snag it. It wasn’t funny in the moment, really, but I’m sure if a nearby vessel had got a look at us, swinging and swatting – trying to catch all those imaginary butterflies, we would have given them a big, hearty laugh. As Phillip gave it one last valiant swing, a wave rocked us, forcing him to leap down into the cockpit to save his footing and causing our Frankenstein butterfly contraption to bounce once on the deck and then slink off overboard.

I stared blankly at Phillip and asked, “Oh gees, is it gone?” “No, we’ll circle back,” Phillip said. “Find it!” First rule on the sailboat, and I knew this, but knowing is different than actually doing. If anything goes overboard (particularly a person), someone on board needs to immediately find the thing-slash-person in the water and shine a light on it if necessary or at least keep a watchful eye on it. Do NOT look away, not even for a second. Because you can lose a thing-slash-person in an instant in the great big sea.

You idiot, Annie I thought to myself. Look overboard! Find it! Thankfully, Phillip had instructed me quickly – it wasn’t too far from the boat. And, thankfully, it was floating and had some kind of reflective sheen to it so we could spot it easily with the flashlight. Phillip turned us around so we could get it. I got out our secondary gaff – the one for the fish, and headed up to the bow to snag it. “Nothing else is going overboard tonight,” Phillip said. “Hang on and be careful!” He pulled us up right along side it and I made one valiant reach over the lifelines and nabbed it. Whew! With all of our gear, limbs and bodies intact, Phillip and I plopped down in the cockpit for a disheartened rendezvous. It had been a hairy moment, and we were both glad to have survived it, but as we sat in the silence, our halyard wrapped around and banged loudly on the back-stay — as a reminder of failed efforts.

That’s it – wrapped around the back-stay:

I wanted to climb up on the boom and give it another go, but Phillip vetoed that plan. He wasn’t going to let me climb up on the boom … this time. Probably the right call that night, though, since it was dark. We had already taken some substantial risks jumping around on tiptoes swatting at the damn thing and losing some equipment overboard in the process, but something just didn’t feel right about letting it flail about up there. I mean, it is our main halyard. But, the decision had been made. We would deal with it in the daylight tomorrow. We left her banging on the back-stay and motored on through the night toward Clearwater. Having already suffered our own black swan moment, Movie Night was clearly over …

April 9, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 7 – MOTORIN’!

May 5, 2014May 3, 2014anniedike

WHAT’S YOUR PRICE FOR FLIGHT?? At least I think those are the lyrics.

Feel free to test me (and jam to that oldie-but-a-goodie) here. But, know that I don’t care either way, because that’s what I like to belt out. “Finding Mr. Right! Believe you will tonight!” That’s the way I sing it. And, the way I sung it that day. We were “Motorin’!” down the ditch that day. We had waited an extra day due to heavy winds and a kicked-up sea state out in the Gulf and while the winds had made for a good kite day for us yesterday, they made for a terrible night of unrest for us on the ole’ Rest. They were blowing us hard against the dock, all night long, which meant lots of groaning and squeaking on the fenders. It was a bit of a rough night for the boat. While we had planned to leave at dawn, we ended up waiting a couple of hours for the wind to lie down. She finally settled out some around 7:00 a.m., but we couldn’t wait much longer, we had a good 10 hours of motoring ahead of us if we were going to make it to Carabelle that night. We neededst to go!

We sipped some coffee and readied the boat and I sat there contemplating the Gorton’s pants. I just couldn’t bear to leave them hanging there so lonely on that pole,

and I certainly couldn’t wad them up and throw them in the trash. We’d been through so much together! While they made an absolute mess now every time I put them on, Phillip made the excellent point that it would be good to have a back-up set of foul weather gear – albeit a messy one – shoved away in some locker on the boat in case we had a third mate aboard who found himself foul weather gear-less. Good point! (Although I needed no real excuse to keep them on the boat as a good luck charm alone, it feels better to do it under sensible pretenses). Either way, we folded them up and shoved them in a vberth locker,

and I felt much better about it. There, there Gorton’s. You’re still with us!

Just as we were getting ready to shove off, our dock-mate, “Skipper Bob” on the s/v Maverick, came out to lend a hand. The wind was blowing hard off the the starboard bow and we were wedged in fairly tight between our two dock-mates, Maverick and Liza. With Bob’s help, we decided to let the bow off and back out around Liza then turn starboard and move forward. A great plan, in theory, but it was blowing about 18 knots. Phillip started to back out and tried to push his stern out far enough to clear Liza behind him but the wind wasn’t letting him move very far. He went back and forth a couple of times (the beginnings of an 82-point turn) and finally just scooched outside of Liza but when he started to move forward, the wind pushed hard on the boat broadside and sent her stern back toward the pilings. Bob and I looked like a pair of dancing monkeys, me on the boat and him on the dock, running the length of the boat shoving the boat off of pilings. It was a mighty struggle. I stuck a foot out and gave one last mighty push and the stern missed the dock by just inches and Phillip was revving hard to miss Bob and Pat’s boat in front of us. Bob was a huge help, though, and a good sport. As we just squeezed by his dinghy, he hollered out “You should’ve swiped her! We need a new one! Safe travels you guys!” It was a heart-pounding moment and certainly not the way you want to start a leisurely morning. When I finally made it back to the cockpit, heaving and sweating, my heart still thumping mightily in my chest, Phillip scolded me for sacrificing my body for the boat. Rightfully so. It was a good lesson. Unfortunately, it was also one that I would not really learn until later, but that’s well on down the line. For the moment, we were finally off the dock, our adrenaline subsiding and we enjoyed the sunrise as we headed out into the bay.

The view was amazing when we came under the bridge to Port St. Joe. A gorgeous sunrise, the slightest bit of fog on the water and pelicans everywhere, just skimming the water.

Well, most were skimming. One wasn’t so lucky. As we turned in under the bridge to Port St. Joe, we heard a mighty thump up at the bow. I had been staring off the starboard side, watching some pelicans glide above the water, and I was shocked to now see one, ten feet away, flapping and wrestling around on our foredeck. A pelican! Flopping around on the boat!?! For whatever reason, perhaps he’d had one too many Sailor Jerry’s at the old Pelican’s Perch the night before, or he was just the local pelican idiot, he had flown right into our Jenny sheet, and the more he squirmed and flung those big, clumsy wings of his around, the more tangled up he got. The sheet was wrapped around his neck at one point. I thought I might have to go rescue him and actually got a little excited thinking about it. Man-handling a real, live pelican? I mean, could it get any better? Phillip and I watched him a moment or two longer in astonishment, exchanging a few lame guesses as to what in the hell had driven him right into our boat. I remember Phillip saying at one point, “Is he retarded?” Good question. How do you know if a pelican is? He finally flapped himself free of the Jenny line, though, and then waddled and snaggled his way through the lifelines and took off from the starboard bow. I watched him fly for just a bit and then he quickly plopped down in the water, shook his head a hard time or two and just sat there for a bit. Trying to get his bearings I would imagine. Big dumb bird. That was wild.

Once we’d shaken that image out of our mind, we sat back and enjoyed watching the sun come up over the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway (“the ditch”). It was incredible. Big, rusty shrimp boats lining the docks, fog dissipating on the horizon, jagged tree stumps lining the shore. I felt like we were making our way right down the ole’ Mississipp’ and that Huck Finn would pass by on his raft at any moment. It was such a surreal feeling.

We made a pot of piping oatmeal and savored our morning in the ditch.

Lake Wimico was gorgeous too and we made a nice, easy day of it motoring over to Apalachicola. We needed to fuel up for the planned Gulf Crossing tomorrow, so we stopped into the fuel dock just before Apalachicola Bridge and suffered our second docking debacle of the day. I’m starting to think I’ve got some kind of horrendous docking curse. The current was really working against us, pushing us right along the dock, so it was crucial we get a line on –and fast. I called ahead to let them know we were coming (like I said, I’m not afraid to ask for an extra hand to save our boat!), and I threw the guy the bow line as we were coming in. It landed at his feet and before he could get down to it (sadly he did not move at the pace I do when we’re docking – that of a mad jackrabbit), and I watched in horror as it snaked slowly away from his feet and into the water. I’m sure I didn’t hide my distaste very well … But, perhaps I should have taken a lesson from him. Phillip always says “Smooth is fast.” As I scrambled wildly to pull the line back up before it made its way back to the prop, I slipped nicely on the wet foredeck and found the only thing that saved me from going overboard was the fat welp I had just created on my chin when it wedged against the lifeline. Smooth Annie. But, at least we knew the lifelines we had re-tied during our Keys preparations were working.

They certainly kept my sorry self on the boat that day, and it wouldn’t be the first time we would test them on this trip. We finally got the boat secure at the fuel dock, though, and set about fueling her up. If I haven’t expressed it quite clearly enough – I hate docking! Something always seems to go awry and put our boat in grave danger. It’s like watching your dog cross a busy street alone. It’s just unnerving sometimes.

But, alas, we gassed up and made our way out into Apalachicola Bay. It was a gorgeous day and we had favorable wind. While our morning motoring was fun, we have a sailboat for a reason. We like to sail! I didn’t hesitate to jump up on the deck and ready our sails!

And, we were thrilled to see some guys out oystering in the St. George Sound. When we ordered oysters in Port St. Joe, we had been told they came from Texas, because the local supply was low, so we were glad to see them out there harvesting. They said the oysters were coming back. Good! Cause we like to eat ’em!

The wind picked up that afternoon, a steady northeast around 14 knots, and we actually did some of the best sailing yet on our trip. We were heeled over, averaging 6.5, sometimes 7 knots most of the way. That was the fastest we had gone the entire trip and it felt great! I was curled up and leaning over the coaming on the windward side — pretty much the equivalent of a dog sticking his head out of the car window — watching the hull cut through the water. We were sailing baby!

We made it over to Dog Island around dusk and got ready to drop the hook. We had covered a lot of ground that day!

Log book:

We struggled a bit with the anchor chain. As part of our preparations for the trip to the Keys, we had pulled it all out at the dock to (a) check the length and (b) remark the 25-foot indicators. Regarding the length, 200 feet was our belief, but we wanted to verify that and make sure the end was secured to the boat. I certainly did not want to be the one to send the entire thing out and overboard because we’d never eye-balled the end. “Did you get the anchor out?” calls the Captain from the cockpit. “Yep, just fine. She’s all OUT!” DOH! So, we pulled her out for a look-see:

And do know that the entire time we were hoisting chain along the dock, I couldn’t help but shake the song “Back on the chain gang!” from my head.

All out – 200 feet total.

Yep. Tied in. Whew! Now for the indicators:

25 feet

50 feet

75 feet

100 feet

125 feet

150 feet

175 feet. End of the line!

While the chain gang project was a good thing to do (you want to be sure), we believe, for whatever reason, our having pulled it all out and winched it back in at the dock, without tension, caused it to pile up on itself in some unfavorable way in the anchor locker, which made it a mighty struggle to heave it out, but we finally got 150 feet out and set right to what we do best at anchorage. Making some cocktails to enjoy the sunset!

I have to say – we love our stand-up ice tray on the boat. It makes these huge, Mad Men-esque cubes that look like they were made to be drenched in fine whiskey. Or rum … we usually choose the latter.

Dog Island was a fantastic anchorage. Pristine actually. Beautiful white sand, an exquisite view of both the Gulf on one side and St. George Sound on the other. There were just a few old wooden houses, mansions really, propped up on stilts overlooking both sides. And, the sunset was just stunning.

We savored the moment – and a few more cocktails – made dinner and called it a night. If things went well — and from our past record “well” wasn’t usually how things progressed for us when crossing the Gulf — but, if they did, we were looking at a thirty-hour passage out of the East Pass to Clearwater. Well or otherwise, we were eager to see what the Gulf had in store for us tomorrow.

April 8, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 6 – Wicked Wind of the West

May 2, 2014April 30, 2014anniedike

As we sat that morning on the boat sipping our coffee and cranking away on our laptops (yes, despite all evidence to the contrary, we do have to work – at times), we heard a boat pulling up next to us at the dock at Port St. Joe. A raucous voice rang out, “Pat, get that little furry thing of yours and grab a coat — I mean, it’s freezing out here!” Freezing? In Florida? That was enough to rouse us. We peeked out the portholes to find a friendly blonde carrying a little disheveled dog and a big, skipper-looking type handing her a jacket. We met them later – Bob and Pat (and Lucy the dog) on Maverick. They had been in the Bahamas since November and were just now making their way back to the Niceville. Great couple.

We caught up with them later and swapped tall sea tales over dinner, where Bob earned himself the fitting title of “Skipper Bob” – and for good damn reason – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We were keeping a keen eye on the weather that morning. We had thought about leaving Port St. Joe that morning to motor the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway (better known as “the ditch”) through Lake Wimico over to Apalachicola to anchor out for the night, then jump back out in the Gulf the next day to make our way to Clearwater. But, with the wind that was building when we woke that morning and the reports on the sea state out in the Gulf the next day, that plan quickly became very unlikely. But, we liked Port St. Joe. We had great facilities here and all resources within walking distance of the boat, so we were happy to stay another day to hold out for a better weather window, particularly if it increased the odds for two of our favorite things – kiting and pizza. Wind meant good conditions for kiting, and staying another day at port meant we were going to get to try that amazing wood fired pizza everyone and their little disheveled dogs had been talking about since we landed in PSJ. That sealed the deal. We decided to stay. And, as the wind started to pick up that morning, we decided to get out for some more kiting!

Throw on the wetsuits again!

Let’s do this!

It was blowing probably 16-18 mph when we got to our little cove. We pumped up the 12 meter and Phillip made a run out to test it out.

And, when I say he made a run out, I mean, ripping it upwind, flying across the cove, jumping, making it all look so damn easy.

He tends to do that (and sometimes I hate him for it). Kiteboarding is an incredibly challenging sport – at any level – which is one of the reasons Phillip and I love it so much, but the learning curve is very steep. It takes months, years even, to get to the point where you can get up and go safely in any conditions. It’s frustrating to stand on the shore and watch others do it, and make it look easy, when you want to join them so badly, but it’s also exciting in the same vein because it gives you so much to look forward to. It really is a sport you never tire of. There is always some new skill or goal (big or small) that you can strive for and, because it’s so hard, when you accomplish it, the reward is uniquely satisfying. While all of this is easy to say, it’s hard to remind yourself of it when you’re standing by, watching others go out and make it look effortless. But, after a few more aerial acrobats and stunts, Phillip finally came back, hooked me up to the kite and told me to give it a run. I didn’t hesitate!

But, the wind was really picking up and I was struggling to hold down all 12 of those meters. I ate it pretty good several times:

The first time I busted, we suffered our second equipment failure of the trip. The first was our starboard side lazy jack that failed during our first night sail. Now, we could add a busted kiteboard to that list. I crashed so hard it busted the pad right off of the kiteboard.

Smooth move, Annie.

But, that didn’t stop me. Since it was blowing so hard, we pumped up the 9 meter and headed back out. Phillip tore it up again, jumping, transitioning, and zipping all around the old derelict sailboat that sat in the cove.

He handed it over to me again, and I tore it up, for a bit, until I really tore it up.

During this wicked fun run, I landed hard on an oyster bed and tore a hole in the arse of my wetsuit.

Can’t see it?

There it is!

That thing is no longer airtight. But, that didn’t stop us either. I swapped to our bigger board – not ideal for these heavy winds (blowing approximately 18 at that time) – but it was the only one we had left. I was determined to make my way back to Phillip between the derelict sailboat and the shore. It was a tight squeeze and I tried 1,000 times (thank goodness Phillip is patient), but I finally did it!

Here she comes …

She’s making it …

She did it!

And, what do you think Annie does when she accomplishes something great? She jumps around like a giddy school girl, that’s what!

In all, aside from the crashes, bumps and bruises, it was one of the best kite sessions either of us had had in a while, so we were stoked.

We love kiting!

We headed back to the boat to clean up the kite gear – easy to do when you’ve got a spigot right next to the boat –

and get cleaned up for dinner. We were planning to meet our new dock-mates, David and Mary Lucas on Liza, for some of that famous wood fired pizza, and we were thrilled to hear they had met Bob and Pat earlier that day as well (it’s easy to make friends at such a friendly marina!) and had invited them to join us. Great! The more the merrier!

We hung up the wet stuff to dry and got cleaned up and shaved up. I snagged some ridiculous selfies while the Captain cut his hair.

But it was certainly time – he was becoming a long-haired hippie boy …

the sexy beast!

After clean-up, we rounded up the crew and headed for town. We quickly discovered Joe Mama’s Pizza is so popular, you really need a reservation, but it was only a 45 minute wait, so at Pat’s wise recommendation, we decided to head a few blocks over to The Thirsty Goat (don’t tell the Haughty boys!) for a pre-pizza drink! It was a lively atmosphere as they were just setting up for their weekly trivia night.

And as we were settling in, watching them set up for trivia, David, God love him, said “Well, I don’t know much about goats.” I thought I was going to die. The man is unexpectedly hilarious!

In all, it was a great group – David, Mary, Pat, Bob, Phillip and I:

We had a great time sharing a round at The Goat before hustling over to Joe Mama’s for some of that famous pizza, which was every bit as good as the folks at PSJ had been telling us for days.

But, while the pizza was phenomenal, we were really surprised by the sauceless, but perfectly savory, wings that came out first.

All very good eats! Oh, and “Skipper Bob.” Yes, let’s talk about how he got that name. We learned while chatting that Bob and Pat had been to the Keys many times so Phillip and I took the opportunity to ask them over dinner about some passages, inlets and anchorages around the Keys that we had heard were shallow and potentially hard to navigate. Bob’s response? “Nah, you just bump on through. If you hit bottom, just rev up the engine. It’ll bring the nose up and you can just skip on over to the next one. I’ve skipped my way in many times.” Phillip and I sat there wide-eyed and dumbfounded. We certainly had no intention of skipping our way into anything, but we liked Skipper Bob’s style all the same. Just skip on in there! We’ll never forget him. It was a great night and our last at Port St. Joe. We headed back to the boat in a fuzzy splendor congratulating ourselves on what a fine day we’d had and tucked in for a good night’s rest. Tomorrow – the ditch!