Engine Issues – Page 2 – Have Wind Will Travel

“I’m Okay!” … sort of (Viewer Discretion Advised)

September 18, 2014September 18, 2014anniedike

April 28, 2014:

The first thing I remember seeing after the fall was the big, white meat of my arm. Between the time I hit, opened my eyes and blinked several times at it, it had grown twice the size. I knew it had hit, something, and I knew it hurt, but to see it so swollen, so suddenly, just mesmerized me. I really thought it might be broken. In all of the wild antics of my youth – gymnastics, barrel racing, cheerleading, jello wrestling and other numerous, countless stupid decisions in college – I had yet to break a bone (knock on wood) and I was thinking this might be the end of that lucky streak. I clenched my first a time or two and rolled my wrist and, while my entire forearm was numb and throbbing, everything seemed to be working fine, so I decided the bones were at least intact.

“I’m okay … I think,” I said. “I, … I think I’m okay.”

I heard Phillip set the auto-pilot so he could come on deck to check on me and I noticed the main halyard (that bleepin’ thing) was now dangling at about his waist-level on the deck. Before thinking about how it got there, I grabbed it (that bleepin’ thing) and began to surmise that I must have pulled it down, at least in part, during my fall because it was now so much lower. But, I couldn’t recall exactly, grabbing it or letting it go. But that got me thinking about the fall. Why had I fallen? What had snapped?

As if hearing my thoughts, Phillip said “the lazy jack snapped,” as he stepped up on deck. I didn’t even look up (assuming I even could turn around to see it), I knew exactly what he meant. We had busted the lazy jack line for the stack pack on the starboard side during our passage to Port St. Joe.

That time it was because of rough wind and weather that had caused the sail to put too much force on the starboard lazy jack line, causing the rivet on the spreader to rip clean off.

And, what we gathered from that incident was that the lazy jack lines are not intended to hold extensive weight. We have since learned (from our trusty rigger, Rick Zern) that this design is intentional so that the rivet for the lazy jack line will fail before excessive strain is placed on the spreader. Makes sense. But, clearly this riveting (no pun intended) fact somehow escaped me as I was doing my circus act up on the boom, reaching with all my might, one strained, out-stretched hand to the halyard, the other with a mighty death-grip on the port-side lazy jack line.

And, then SNAP! I’d done ripped the one on the port-side off, too, and suffered a mighty fall as a result.

Dad-burnit!

It all made sense–now–as I lay in a crumpled heap on the deck. But, what’s done is done. At least I hadn’t broken anything, or so I thought. As I started to stand, though, to re-secure the halyard, I discovered a new pain–my knee. It seems it, too, had hit something and it, too, was already swollen. Phillip frowned at me and laid a sturdy hand on my shoulder, which told me to sit tight for a minute. He secured the halyard then helped me to my feet so I could hobble back to the cockpit. Like my arm, my knee was numb and throbbing, but it appeared to be working. Phillip seemed to be comforted, slightly, by the fact that I was somewhat satisfactorily mobile, but I hated to see such a look of worry and anger on his face. While I had managed to get that bleepin’ halyard down, it was at a serious cost, and it was clear the Captain was not impressed with my … heroism.

We set me down in the cockpit for a good once-over (I warn you, this is not pretty):

The arm had developed some gnarly purple streaks where (I can only assume) it sheared down the lifelines on the way to the deck.

It was fat and painful, but, like I said–working.

The knee had developed this very strange ping-pong ball-shaped lump on the left side of my kneecap:

I wasn’t sure what to even make of that. Why the perfect round lump? Why swelling in such an isolated spot? I had injured my knee before–well, this knee (the left) actually, years and years ago. I tore my ACL while tumbling in high school and had it surgically repaired back in 2000. But, just last year, I sprained the MCL in my right knee during my first attempt at skiing. It had swollen then, too, almost instantly, but it was a global swelling of the whole knee–not just a perfectly segregated ping-pong ball lump–and it required a massive needle and surgical suction for that swelling to eventually dissipate. (You may recall the removal of the spawn of Satan from my knee!). This lump was strange … We did all we knew to do at the time–ice everything and see what developed.

As I sat there, looking back on it, I can’t promise I wouldn’t jump back up on that boom to try and retrieve a swinging halyard–it is such a monstrous chore to retrieve it once it inches its way out of your reach–but I guess the best I can say is I hope to never let go of the halyard again. We already knew this lesson, we’d learned it several times, but it just happens, sometimes as a result of rocking waves or other hazards, but other times just as a result of a senseless human error (it’s entirely possible to just accidentally let go of something). I mean, you have hands to hold things, but they’re human hands, so they err. I am hopeful, at least, that we have now sufficiently modified our halyard-shackling procedure to eliminate the frequency of the latter.

We always secure our halyard away from the mast while at anchorage or the marina so as not to be “that guy” at the party.

Yes, that one. If the sun’s just starting to set at the anchorage, folks are just starting in on their second cocktail or dinner, kicked back in the cockpit for a quiet evening on the hook and you’re the one whose halyard is banging, trust me, you are that guy.

And, to make sure my internet scouring for the perfect “that guy” images does not go to waste, do know that there are various websites on the web devoted entirely to helping you NOT be “that guy”:

1) “Avoid Being that Guy (or Girl) at a Party” (you gotta love Wikihow’s gender equality – no one wants to be “that girl” either); and

2) “Office Holiday Party – Making a Good Impression”

Rather, we like to come to the party real quiet-like, nice and smooth and subtle. The svelte gentlemen in the black attire, if you will, the guy that everybody likes.

Yeah, that guy. So, when we drop our main sail before dropping the hook, we have made a habit of securing the main halyard to one of the lazy jacks that holds up the stack pack. Here:

After this incident, we decided to snap the shackle back to the sail before leaving the dock or anchorage, but we found this occasionally allows the sail to start bouncing up a bit, particularly in rough seas, putting slack in the main halyard line which may cause it, if the wind is on your stern, to get wrapped around one of the arms of the spreader. Recall, this is exactly the incident that caused me to climb up on the boom in the first place. And, this is true even with the stack pack zipped closed as the rocking and bouncing of the boat can cause the sail to inch the zipper open and try to climb. This does not happen often, however, so we chose the lesser of two evils–that is, securing the main halyard to the sail before leaving the dock/anchorage so that we are not doing it up on the deck, while underway, potentially in rough seas.

But, we have since learned an even better trick from a trusted boating friend and the knowledgeable fellow that did our bottom job back in May of last year (thank you Bottom-Job Brandon with Perdido Sailor). We still remove the shackle from the stack-pack line and attach it to the main sail prior to leaving the dock/anchorage, but we now bring the line down and wrap it around the winch on the port-side of the mast so that the tension is pulling the sail down (not up) to prohibit any slack from forming in the line.

See? In sailing, you learn something new every day. And, trust me, you will find a way–every day–to do something you’ve been doing for years in just a little better way. It’s all about getting out there and doing it, making mistakes and learning, but continuing to do it. A fine example is our stack-pack lazy-jack fix! If you recall, when the lazy-jack line on the starboard side busted, the Captain came up with an ingenuous way to raise it back up using a somewhat-of-a spare line (the staysail halyard), so that we still had a functioning stack pack for the remainder of our trip to the Keys:

He’s kind of smart like that sometimes!

But, since we had had to improvise and rig up a busted lazy-jack line before, we now knew how to do it again. With another somewhat-of-a spare line on the port-side–this time, the topping lift for the spinnaker. But, as it seemed we were running out of “spare” lines to hoist broken things, we vowed – “no more lazy-jack snaps!” – for the rest of the trip and hoped it would stick. For the time being, I was numb but not broken. We decided to hold the ice on for the first hour or so to attack the swelling, then we would remove it and have me move about a bit later in the day to assess the real damage. I was sure there was going to be some (potentially severe) soft-tissue injury to my knee–and what an annoyance on a boat!–when it’s always up and down the companionway, kneel down here, squat there. I couldn’t imagine losing the full function of such a crucial joint. I was nervous and anxious about my limbs and my ability to fulfill my duties as First Mate for the remainder of the trip. I mean, we had just left the Keys. We still had 500 nautical miles to sail …

But, what’s done is done. I had fallen, and I couldn’t change that. And, we were still on the best sailing voyage of our lives. I laid back on the ice, the Captain handled the sails and we set out for a beautiful day of sailing across the Gulf.

Back at Sea! Me, Phillip and the Mackerel Makes Three!

July 14, 2014July 14, 2014anniedike

Yep, a mackerel! Which we originally thought was a wahoo, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Back it up. Rewind. Bzzzwwwhooop.

April 22, 2014:

We woke to a beautiful sunrise on our last morning in Ft. Myers Beach. While we love being on anchor (or on the ball, or at a marina, or however we find ourselves stopped and secure for the time being), what we really love is sailing. Getting that boat going! She loves it too. It’s what she was built for. We brewed our coffee, filled our mugs and tossed our line off of the ball. We were going to do some sailing today kids!

See how we smile? Like Donna Summers at a disco! Just doing what we love!

We expected about a 30-hour passage to Key West. We left Ft. Myers Beach around 8:00 a.m., and we expected to arrive in Key West around mid- to late-morning the following day. While there is a mooring field near Key West, the Captain had booked us a few nights at the A&B Marina in Key West Bight. He figured since it was our first time there by boat, and the expected highlight of the trip, might as well splurge a little, huh? Go big or go home! Isn’t he great? He called the marina that morning to confirm our reservation and learned then that we were going to have to back in to our boat slip. *Gulp* I’ll save that nugget of a story for another day!

For the time being, we were thrilled to find that the motor cranked that morning on the first turn, using the engine battery. After the issues we’d had the night before with the dead starting battery and the engine overheating, we were incredibly pleased to see everything charged and running so well. After we got to thinking about the overheating a bit, we figured it might have been one of those freaky amoeba-like snails we’d seen swimming around in Ft. Myers Beach. Have you guys ever seen these?

They’re hard to capture on film but I kept trying. They look like some strange slimy Darwinian organism that hasn’t quite evolved yet. I imagine it’s what a conch looks like once it’s spilled out of its shell, and they swim by flapping their wing-like … things.

Some riveting “flapping footage” for you:

Some were tan and spotted, others black and splotchy. They were just so weird. Phillip first spotted them when he spent a solid three hours changing the oil of outboard on the dinghy. You remember the day the car wouldn’t start …

Yeah – he got up close and personal with the water that morning and said he saw like fifteen of them swim, or flap, by – whatever it is they do. With so many of them in the water, we started to think perhaps one of them weird snail things got sucked up against our raw water intake through-hole the night before, causing it to clog and the engine to overheat. It was totally possible, likely probable. I have to say I derived a small bit of pleasure imagining the little snail turd, panic-stricken, stuck up against our hull, unable to flap away. Serves him right trying to screw with our boat!

But, we watched the engine temp closely that morning and found she was holding just fine, so whatever had happened, we figured it was a fluke and counted our lucky stars. We made our way out of the mooring field and headed out to sea! (Or the Gulf … same thing … to me, anyway. Whenever we head out to go sailing, anywhere, we go to the SEA!!)

It was nice this time to have a boat buddy along for the passage – our friend Johnny Walker and his son, Jeremy, on Johnny’s 38′ Morgan, s/v Windwalker. They were making the passage as well from Ft. Myers Beach to Key West.

There’s the Walker – coming under the Matanza’s Bridge!

It was a gorgeous morning. Blue waters, a bright sky and big billowing sails.

Yeah … billowing. Unfortunately, the wind was a little lackluster that morning, so we had to motor for a few hours, but we were thankful to see the engine purring right along, running just fine. It was right around noon, though, that the wind kicked in, and we found ourselves on a perfect beam reach for the afternoon.

There’s Johnny up ahead!

All you could see was beautiful blue water to the edge of every horizon.

It felt incredible to be back out in the Gulf! Otto (our auto-pilot) was holding great, we were making good time and the sea state was perfect. We tossed out our fishing line a little after noon and kicked back to enjoy the sail. Around 2:00 p.m. Phillip decided to cook up our “big meal” for the day – broccoli and beef stir-fry – as we figured if you’re going to eat a big meal and get sleepy, better to do it during daylight hours so we would be refreshed and ready to hold our respective shifts that night.

But, of course, right when we decide to cook something we brought, we find food from the sea! (See, again with SEA!). We had a fish on the line!! Who knows how long he’d been on there. The stretchy band we used as our “indicator” had broke clean off and the line had been taut for, likely, quite some time. Phillip was occupied with lunch below so I started to reel him in.

Yes, it took that long …

But we finally got him up to the boat, and MAN, what a beast!

It took a team effort to get him hauled in to the cockpit, but we got him in there. We bagged him up mafia style, but I swear he kept trying to eat his way out and nab Phillip’s toes! Chomp, chomp!

He had some wicked teeth!

That’s actually what helped us identify him. We looked through the fisherman’s guide to try and find some identifying characteristics to determine what he was.

The spotting on his back and body looked kind of like a wahoo, but his teeth and upper dorsal fin gave him away.

We had caught ourselves a king mackerel!

A thirty-seven incher, too!

How’s that for royalty!? But, then the fun began … Guess whose job it is to clean the fish we catch on the boat. Go on. Guess! That’s right … it’s the First Mate’s. I busted out my fileting tools and set to it.

While the Captain …

Well, he was hungry. And, to be fair, he had cooked us up an awesome lunch.

One of our go-tos on the boat. Broccoli and beef stir-fry. Recipe HERE.

To be honest, though, I’m not sure how he could find the scene in the cockpit very appetizing …

It was a bloody mess. (No British accent intended).

But, it seemed I was getting better at it. I carved off some pretty sweet looking filets.

Trying hard to get every last morsel of meat off.

If I had to guess, I’d say we carved off about 9 one-pound filets total. Quite a bit of fish.

Yum!

But, also quite a bit of work. From the time of the catch-and-bag, then the gut-and-clean to the dreaded wash-and-scrub of the cockpit, the whole fish debacle turned into about a three-hour chore. But, I mean … what else are we doing, right? It seemed our buddies on the Windwalker smelled the blood, sweat and toil and they ventured over to have a look at our spoils.

That Morgan sure looked great glistening in the afternoon sun.

And I sure wish we could share the pictures they took of us while we were underway, but let’s just say I don’t have them yet … (Jeremy – you know who you are, and what you have not yet done!).

In all honesty, though, it was a great day sail. A lot of fun with the big fish catch and nice to have boat buddies sailing along beside us. After the big meal and the boat chores were done, we settled in for a nice evening of leisurely reading as the sun dropped down in the sky.

We were still on a perfect heading easing into the night. Our bellies were full. Our hands were finally clean (albeit still tainted just a bit with that distinct fishy smell). But our hearts were content. We were really out there. Sailing across the Gulf.

When the sun rose again, we would finally be there — the Florida Keys!

Bonnie the Bunny

July 9, 2014July 10, 2014anniedike

April 20, 2014:

Tomorrow was it. We were going to head out around daybreak to make our final passage south to the Keys. We were beyond excited. We spent the morning cleaning and readying the boat for the next day’s passage – re-tying the fuel cans we had filled the day before, re-checking the fluids we had topped off, taking out the trash. You know, real exciting boat stuff. We were planning to meet our buddy Johnny and his wife Cindy around mid-morning to make a mega run to the store for provisions. Cindy had driven down to spend the weekend with Johnny and had been nice enough to offer us boating bums a ride to the store before she left. Don’t mind if we do! Knowing we weren’t going to have to haul our supplies back pack-mule style, we made quite the luxurious list and even planned our attack from produce to paper products. We were going to get all Supermarket Sweep on them – matching sweatshirts and all.

Yeeeeahhh!

But, sadly … as ready as WE were to do some serious grocery shopping, it seems the rest of the world wasn’t ready for us. We found Ft. Myers tends to take their Easter pretty seriously. Every place was closed. Every … single … place. We drove by Publix. No. Target. Closed. Winn Dixie? Shut-down. I hate to say it, but we finally ended up at the all-American icon of convenience shopping. Mmmm-hmmmm. Wal-Mart. You can always count on old Wally World to be open. We each made our rounds and packed Cindy’s little car to the brim. And, of course – what do you always want to do after grocery shopping? EAT! After planning for and picking up everything we would need to cook and eat for the passage and the following week, all we could think about was food. We stopped at this little McGregor Cafe in Ft. Myers and scored pretty good.

A juicy Rueben sandwich and a lobster cake salad.

Yum! But, the best part was our waitress. Bonnie … the Bunny.

You see? As much as I love to write fiction – I really don’t have to make this stuff up.

Bonnie (“the Bunny”) pranced around the entire time sporting fuzzy purple bunny ears and offering up what she called her “Special Bunny Peeps Cake” to any poor customer who couldn’t turn her away. She even suffered it on the entire wait staff like office birthday cake.

When I walked through the dining area to go to the restroom, there were ten of them in there, at least, all picking with plastic forks at pieces of neon peep fluff on their styrofoam plates. They would stuff mouthfuls in their cheeks and give Bonnie an exaggerated “Mmmmm” smile-and-nod when she would walk by, telling them “It’s my special recipe! I make it every year!”

It was … hilarious.

After our big venture to all of the closed stores, we headed back to the boat and packed her up for the next day’s passage to the Keys. We still had some beautiful afternoon hours left, so I decided to bust out the old inflatable SUP and get to it.

See Annie pump.

Pump Annie pump!

Whew! I tell you. I love that my SUP is inflatable (so we can break it down and stow it down below) but she is a chore-and-a-half to blow up. By the time you’re done, the thought of paddling is exhausting. But, somehow I managed!

I tossed her in the water and set to it.

Go Annie go!

Ft. Myers had lots of residential inlets where the houses are all waterfront along the seawall and you can paddle around in each of them, checking out peoples’ boats, backyards, pools, houses, etc. I love paddling around nice waterfront homes. I like to imagine all the costly upkeep and maintenance they must require and bask in the contentment of living on a boat!

And, I was feeling pretty content … that is, until I returned to the boat and Phillip told me the engine wouldn’t crank. Say what? We’re leaving for the Keys tomorrow. Could you repeat that?

But, sadly, it was true. The engine wouldn’t fire – at least not on its own battery. Luckily, we have two different battery systems on our boat. One battery system is dedicated to starting the engine while the second bank (the house batteries) is much larger and equipped to run all the other systems on the boat. We also have a nifty device that allows us to combine the battery systems together if necessary by the simple flip of a switch. When we combined the circuit and pulled from the house batteries, the engine would crank, but she would not fire from the starting battery alone. Errgghh … What did I say about those big waterfront mansions being more trouble than they’re worth? Well, forget that. We had boat problems!

We traced the connections and wires from the alternator to the battery combiner (which regulates which set of batteries get charged) and found the inline fuses for the starting battery had blown.

This meant the starting battery was not getting a charge when the engine was running. This was good news because it was an easy fix. Replace the small fuses and we figured we would be in business. Then, all we needed to do was run the engine for a bit to be certain the starting battery was in fact charging.

We replaced the fuses, combined the batteries and cranked her up. Everything was running great. We had water coming out of the back and plenty of gas to give the boat a charge, so we let her purr. It was just about dusk, so we poured a couple of glasses of wine and headed topside to watch the sun set.

Ahhh … Isn’t she beautiful? We sipped from our glasses and drank in the pink horizon. Life was tranquil and serene. Everything was perfect … until the alarm went off. Yes, the ALARM. A high-pitched, shrill tea-kettle whistle rang out from the cockpit. Phillip and I jumped up, knocking over our deck chairs and glasses as we scrambled back to the helm as she shrieked angrily at us. It was the high-temp alarm. Picture a car steaming on the side of the road.

It meant our engine had overheated. What next?

We immediately shut her down so she could cool. But, we were stunned. What in the heck had happened? Our temp had been holding fine. Water had been spouting out the back. Then all of a sudden it overheated?? We didn’t know what to think. After she cooled a bit, we got back down in the engine room and started checking out the heat exchanger, making sure the seacock (that allows raw water to pull in to heat the engine) was open and working fine, basically just troubleshooting … again …

But, while we didn’t find any obvious issue with the cooling system on the engine, I did notice something on the battery combiner that we had missed before. There was a little green clip that plugged into the combiner that had apparently wiggled its way out of its slot. This little guy:

Who the heck knows when that happened – likely when we were beating our way into Charlotte Harbor during our last horrendous night in the Gulf – if I had to wager a guess. But, the good news is, we spotted it. An easy fix. Just push her back in. *Click* And THEN our engine battery would get a charge. I can’t stress enough how important it is to know your own boat. Tinker around on it, try to troubleshoot things yourself, try to fix things yourself (to the extent possible) and, basically, just piddle around with the systems. I, personally, like to sing this while I do and recommend you do too:

Phillip won’t admit it, but he secretly digs that tune!

It’s amazing what you’ll learn. Most of the systems on the boat are really simple if you just take the time to figure them out, and the confidence you’ll gain in handling everything on the boat yourself is easily worth it. So – take some advice from Julia Andrews and get to know her!

And, while I say that, as much “knowing” as were doing on our boat that evening, we were still totally stumped by the engine overheating. Phillip jumped in and checked the seacock through-hole on the hull of the boat to make sure there wasn’t some trash bag or something caught up in it.

Nothing. We let her cool completely down, checked the coolant levels and the seacock (again) and decided to re-crank and see what happened. We both sat in the cockpit watching the heat gage like a hawk.

Still sipping our wine, of course. I mean, we’re boat people, but we’re still cruisers …

Thankfully, though, she held at her standard operating temp of 180 degrees.

To this day, we really can’t tell you what happened. The most likely explanation is that something got temporarily sucked up against the through-hole under the boat and the engine could not pull water in to cool itself. Then when we shut off the engine, the suction stopped and whatever it was floated away. We suppose … That’s all we could do. Was suppose. But, it was getting late and, either because of, or despite, all our efforts, the boat was currently running great and was ready to get under way the next morning. So, we supposed ourselves right to bed to get some rest for the passage tomorrow. We were just a 24-hour run away from the Keys!

No Autographs Please!

July 4, 2014July 4, 2014anniedike

April 19, 2014:

I don’t know if I’ve ever said this before, but for those of you out there who think cruising is all cocktails and sunsets, I can assure you it’s not. Owning a boat is a lot of work. You may recall our “million mile march” through St. Pete to pick up a portable pump from the Back-Door Marine Supply Guy to change the engine oil. As the previous day in Ft. Myers had been devoted primarily to getting the dinghy to crank, the next bright and sunny day was committed to changing the oil in the diesel engine on the boat. Fun, fun!

It was definitely time to do it, though. With all of the motoring we had unfortunately had to do to “weather” the weather in the Gulf, we were well over our allotted 50 hours, so we set to it.

It certainly was a cleaner job, though, with our new, smaller plastic oil pump.

The oil dumped right in, and we were able to seal her off and plug the tubes nicely with Q-tips, so no mess!

We also checked the raw water strainer to make sure she wasn’t clogged.

Unfortunately, she came out looking like a love-child mix of Bob Marley and Medusa.

Yipes! It was definitely time to clean her out as well and we noticed a significant difference in the flow rate of the water exhaust on the stern after we did. Let’s just say she had a lot more “oomph” – I believe is the technical term.

We also checked the sacrificial zinc on the heat exchanger. He was almost toast!

Because the metals that are immersed in seawater in the heat exchanger create a battery, that also means they lead to corrosion. If you’re interested, read more HERE. And, this little guy is meant to take the brunt of that. He corrodes first (hence the term “sacrificial”) and then we replace him with a new soldier so the other, more important metals, don’t corrode at all. Or so the theory is.

That is one battered warrior! Thanks Zinc!

We also checked the fuel filter as well.

“Umm … sir, I definitely see some build-up here.” It was time to change that as well. Not much of an issue, but when we began to disassemble the housing for the secondary fuel filter, we ran into a slight issue.

The connector ring broke …

But, never fear! That’s why we carry back-ups! And back-ups for our back-ups! I got my little First Mate fingers back there and fixed her right up.

Good as new!

We then cranked her up to make sure everything was running just right, our engine was maintaining temp, water was flowing out of the back (this time with “oomph”) and that our oil level was right where it needed to be. All systems were a go, so we hopped off the mooring ball for a bit to head up to the fuel dock to fill up and dump our oil. The Diversified Yacht Facility there was huuuggee!

They had handfuls of 100-foot yachts stacked in there like toys. It was incredible. They were also very friendly and got us filled up (water and fuel), dumped out, scrubbed up and everything in between. We were ready for our next passage for sure.

We were thinking of heading out the next day, Sunday Funday!, to make the jump across the Gulf to Key West, but our buddy, Johnny, whom we were meeting up with in Ft. Myers, was going to wait to make the crossing on Monday, so we decided to suffer another day in Ft. Myers Beach – ain’t life tough …

The minute we got the boat back on the ball, we cleaned up, spruced up and made a right proper to-go drink for shore:

Phillip: “I’ll have an ‘Oh Shiiiit’ please. Heavy on the rum!”

Annie: “You got it Cap’n.”

We trolled around downtown checking out the local tiki bars and scenery.

And, the local wildlife as well …

I think this one may be extinct real soon …

Then the craziest thing happened. We were walking on up to Petey’s Upper Deck, above the Matanza’s Inn, when this guy on the dock hobbled humbly up to us and asked “Are you Annie, on the Plaintiff’s Rest?”

I mean … Total record-scratch moment. Errrruunnnhh (or however you spell a record scratch sound?).

“Excuse me?” I asked, thinking I surely had never seen this man before and didn’t know how he could possibly know me, or my boat …

“I’m friends with Bob,” he said. “McDonald. He got me hooked on your blog.”

Eek! A real live blog follower? An honest-to-goodness fan? And, he’d spotted me on his very own in Ft. Myers Beach?? The fame went instantly to my head.

Okay, I wasn’t that bad … hopefully … but I was certainly smiling from ear to ear. Here he is – Capt. Doug on the s/v Puffin!

He’d been “on the ball” in the Ft. Myers mooring field for about six months and has been following our blog for quite some time. He was a great guy – a lot of fun – and certainly living the right kind of salty life there in Ft. Myers Beach. Like many in the boating community seem to do, he offered to help us with anything if we needed it or provide us names of fellow mechanics, riggers, etc. if we needed any work done in the area. We had a big time chatting with him about ‘old blog times’ – the original Gulf Crossing and other debacles. He was great. Thanks Doug!

And, you’ll be happy to know I wasn’t too celebrity about it. I gave him an awesome autograph, which I’m sure he’ll hang right on top of this one:

See? Didn’t go to my head at all …

After the exciting celeb sighting, Phillip and I hit the deck! Petey’s Upper Deck for their famous Key Lime Coladas.

Mmmmmm …

Those things were awesome. And, totally calorie-free I was told. Or, was it calories don’t count at the beach? I can’t remember. Either way, they were incredible. All three of them!

We finally met up with our buddy Johnny Walker on the s/v Windwalker who was making the trip down to the Keys with his son, Jeremy. Say hey Johnny!

Johnny is an incredible diesel mechanic, a life-long boater and fellow die-hard cruiser. He’s also just a few months shy of 72 and still living on his boat and living out his dream. No matter what story we told (and I’ve got some really tall ones – hacking off our dinghy in the middle of the Gulf, fixing a transmission leak with a Dasani bottle and some duct tape … ) it didn’t matter, Johnny had heard it three times before and knew of someone who had done the same thing in 6-8 foot seas with one arm tied behind his back. The man was full of colorful tales. Oh, and spare parts as well. No matter what minute little part we may have noticed was having an issue on our boat, he had three of them and was happy to share.

See – here he is now: “Oh, I’ve got one of those. I’ll drop by your boat later and bring it to you.”

Johnny was a trip. Beyond generous and full of spunk. And, that’s his wife Cindy, a real salty survivor. She’s been through some serious times on the boat with that man. Her stories, and her perspective, rather, actually impressed me the most. She can remain calm through anything. That’s the kind of gal you need on a boat. She had drove down to spend the weekend with Johnny in Ft. Myers Beach during his trek to the Keys with his son, so she was just staying a day or two. (But, that meant she had a car! A real, live car, which also meant a full-fledged trip to the store for us the next day! You know how we love our provisions!).

We had a big, hearty time hanging out with Johnny and Cindy, scarfing up their great greasy pizza at Petey’s. (Which I was also told did not have any calories). We continued to tell tall tales until nightfall, then we dinghied on back to the boat and crashed hard, yet again. This beach living is rough!

The Car Won’t Start

June 24, 2014June 24, 2014anniedike

April 17-18, 2014 (Keys Log – Day 16):

I’m happy to say we survived the epic flooding in Ft. Myers. I’ve never seen rain come so fast and so hard. But, as fast as it came, it went.

The sun came back out and we found ourselves high and dry, safe and secure. Which meant it was time to do what we normally do right when drop anchor (or snag a mooring ball). That’s right … make a cocktail! Or three.

Now, typically I would have snapped a few shots of us mixing our drinks, toasting the sunset, smiling like happy sailors, but if you recall, after our horrendous night in the Gulf, the harrowing entry into Charlotte Harbor under nightfall and the approximate one hour nap we had that morning, we … were … beat. That silly little selfie above is all the photo-taking I could muster for the evening. It was the last shot of the day.

And, I believe it was somewhere in the middle of his second rum drink that the Captain started to nod off and dip his head into his glass. I can’t blame him. The man had held the helm of our beloved boat for about 12 hours straight. And, then motored us all the way over to Ft. Myers in the same day. It was around 6:00 p.m. and we were both fading fast. Phillip kicked back on the settee to “close his eyes for just a minute” while I threw some dinner together – one of our go-to’s on the boat – chicken tiki masala with naan. The funny thing was, though, I was banging around, clanging pots, opening cabinets, shutting doors, doing a great number of things any one of which would usually have the Captain sitting upright, looking around, but none of it phased him. He was OUT. Gone, done for. Knee deep in REMs. I roused him for supper and watched with a wicked grin as his head bobbed and wobbled above his plate and he shoved clumsy mouthfuls in, barely taking the time to chew before swallowing. His entire plate was gone in under six minutes, and he was back in a deep sleep within the seventh. I have to admit it was pretty entertaining. I have never seen him that tired. We both fell asleep around 6:45 p.m. and slept till about 8 the next morning. It was glorious. Now, did we wake to a sticky, caked-up tiki masala mess? Sure! But it was totally worth it.

We woke slowly, took our time sipping coffee and reading and just absorbing the morning. One thing we had noticed intermittently during the night – although it didn’t really phase us, was that our mooring ball kept going underneath the boat and scraping loudly from one side of the hull to the other.

The balls at the Ft. Myers mooring field were rather large and ours made a raucous sound every time it trudged its way from one side of the boat to the other. Now, usually the boat pulls away from the mooring ball because of the wind, so the ball going under the boat is normally not an issue, but the current in the mooring field was strong and it kept pushing our boat up over the ball. The Plaintiff’s Rest was literally on the ball. But, as we started to look around at the other boats in the field, we noticed that unlike us, they had connected the line on the ball directly to their bow cleat. We had used our dock line to make a bridal which we connected to the ball, but that certainly gave the mooring ball a lot more room to play with. So, we decided to take a cue from our fellow moorers, nix the dock line and just tie the ball directly up to our boat.

Then the ball was too close to the the bow to make its way up under the hull. Problem solved. On to the next!

While we didn’t anticipate one, as it seems is always the case in boating, we certainly got one. We had big plans that morning to dinghy to shore, go exploring, get some lunch, check out the facilities. You know – get the lay of our new “land.” But, unfortunately, when we decided to leave the “house” that morning, the “car” wouldn’t start.

I mean, that’s pretty much what your dinghy is when you’re living on a boat. It’s your car. Your means to shore. While we probably could have rowed to the dinghy dock, it was about 200 yards away, against the current. And, we were planning to stay there in the mooring field for a few days. Sure would be nice to have a car …

So, Phillip set to it. He cranked and pulled and yanked and cursed that thing – for half an hour at least. I laughed and took pictures.

He hee hee.

Then we decided to really troubleshoot it. When Phillip looked in the oil window, he could see the oil in the outboard was murky, which meant it had probably taken on water, somehow, during our horrendous night. To this day we are still not sure exactly how that happened. But, c’est la vie. So, he changed the oil in it.

And, boy was he right. It was murky. The oil almost looked like chocolate milk.

He ended up changing it three times before it began to look like oil again.

Then he tried to crank her again. She would sputter and fire and run for a bit and then die. So, he would crank her again. She would sputter and fire and run for a bit and then die. So, he would crank her again, and so on. What was I doing, you ask? Laughing and taking video of course!

I mean, it wasn’t really comical, but what else are you going to do? The great thing was, all of our boat neighbors started to get in on the action. They had been watching Phillip jack around with that engine for about two hours now, listening to her crank and die, crank and die, crank and die. Several of them would throw their arms up and cheer when she cranked and heckle her when she died. “Booo!!” It was better than football. And, when the outboard would crank and Phillip would get going a bit, other boaters would circle the wagons and check on him to make sure he didn’t get stranded.

Boater: “You got her running there, partner?”

Phillip: “I believe so, but don’t go too far. Thanks.”

We even had some folks swing by and drop off what they called their “magic juice” – some special lube they always spray on their outboard when she gives them fits. Because everyone’s outboard gives them fits. It should just say in the manual: SOMETIMES SHE WILL CRANK, SOMETIMES SHE WILL NOT, AND THERE’S NO REASON WHY. That would at least squander the hope that she’s going to run like she’s supposed to.

But, the Captain was persistent. He stuck with it and finally got her purring. Then he started zipping around all over the field, lavishing in the cheers and hollers building around him – the roar of the crowd! Haaahhhahaaa. It was hilarious.

We packed that puppy up while she was running and made our way to shore! We stuck a little thank-you note to the “magic juice” can and dropped it off on our neighbors’ boat.

Finally the car had cranked and we were on our way. To Ft. Myers Beach baby! It’s time for a margarita!

May 26, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Best Sail of Our Lives

September 30, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

The sun peeked up above the horizon around 6:00 a.m. the next morning, finding us stretching and blinking in the cockpit, ready for a big cup of coffee and a crisp morning sail. We readied the boat, taped up a new catch bin under the transmission and tossed the lines. The sea that morning was calm and the waves were dancing and playing around the boat, literally pulling us home. We headed out of the pass at Panama City and set our sights west towards Pensacola.

To this day, Phillip and I still talk about that sail, with a dreamy look in our eyes, a blissful, breathy sigh and, sometimes, a small salty tear in one eye. Okay, no tear – those are just allergies – but we always refer to that sail as the “best sail of our life.” Because it was. The sea state was calm, 2 to 3 foot waves lulled and pushed our boat, and the water was a soft, denim blue.

It was a beautiful, sunny May day (not “May Day!” — just a day in May) and we spent most of the morning basking up on the foredeck and watching horizon.

And please do note here the fancy schmancy trash bag tied to the shroud. Just so happens we lost the flag with the dinghy (http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/06/24/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-five-a-harrowing-debacle/)and this was our rigged-up wind indicator in the interim: a good old Glad trash bag tied to a pole. We do get creative on the boat!

At one point we were sitting in the cockpit and Phillip saw a patch of light brown ahead on the water. He started checking the map and the depth gage to make sure it wasn’t a shoal sticking out that would cause us to run aground (we’re always worried about that damn depth!). He asked me to go up to the bow and look to see what it was. As I went forward, I could see the big, brown patch he was talking about but as we neared it, I could tell it was just some dirty, frothy blob of something floating out to sea. For my environmentally conscious followers out there, I’m sure it wasn’t pollutants, or radio-active at least. It was just sea junk. But it was shallow there, about 8 feet and the water was a crystal green, so clear I could see straight through to the bottom. Just as I was looking down admiring the water, five, six, seven dolphins came swimming up and around the bow of our boat, rolling around on each other, playing, jumping and diving.

Like a tweenager at a Justin Bieber concert, I started giggling and screaming at the sight of them. (And know that I had to Google Bieber to make sure I spelled it right – apparently it’s “i” before “e” – that’s just how big a fan I am). I scared Phillip half to death back in the cockpit, him thinking we were about to run up on a shoal and wreck the whole boat. But, I quickly assured him, it was just the most amazing sight I’d ever seen – no big deal. Those dolphins really were something. I’ve never seen so many swimming around and playing together like that. As a fun little aside, I now know what I think they were doing, click here if you’re interested: http://scienceline.ucsb.edu/getkey.php?key=1132.

While the dolphins were certainly “pleasurable,” the rest of that sail is what Phillip and I are really talking about when we mention the “best sail of our life.” It was around noon that day, and we’d just had a great lunch, a refreshing drink and were kicked back enjoying the sail when the wind came on us south, southwest at about 10-12 knots. The sails filled and never moved. We stayed on that tack for 16 hours. Six-teen. We barely had to hold the wheel, the sails were so balanced.

We set the auto pilot so it could make the centimeter adjustment that was needed every hour,

All set here Cap’n. Turn on the “Otto!”

then we moved up to the foredeck picnic style, with snacks, chairs, a book, and just enjoyed life. Phillip said he had never been a tack that long. It was incredible. The sea state started to pick up into the evening,

but it stayed on the same angle, south southwest, which only meant we went faster, still perfectly balanced, still gliding right along on our path with the helm needing only intermittent supervision.

Around ten, we saw fireworks on the horizon. Just tiny little dots exploding above the water.

We thought it might have been Destin, although we weren’t sure, we were so far from shore. But it didn’t matter where they were coming from, in our minds, they were for us. Our own little private fireworks show in the middle of the Gulf.

And, the moon that night was exceptional. It was bigger and brighter than I had ever seen it before, with defined crevices and craters crawling all over it.

Just amazing. It felt like we had a beacon spotlight pouring into the cockpit all night long. We kept turning around out of habit to see what big ass barge was coming up on us with that blinding light. We felt like those teenagers who got caught fooling around in the backseat in the parking lot when the cop comes up and shines a blinding light through the window. But, turns out, it was just the moon. It was shocking how clearly we could see everything. I could hold up my hand and see every wrinkle (yes, my hands have wrinkles – they work hard) in the middle of the night. And, it was a little cool so we were wearing our fleeces. We huddled up with some mugs of hot tea and just sat, letting the sound of the wind blowing through the sails entertain us. No incessant chatter, no small talk, and especially no freaking Delilah.

We neared Pensacola Pass around 4:00 a.m. and I tell you (aside from the time I jumped off without a line) I’ve never seen Phillip’s eyes light up like that. He looked like a little boy about to get a big cotton candy at the fair, sticky little fingers outstretched, hopping on one toe. He was finally home. Finally in waters he recognized. I’ll never forget his face when he saw the Pensacola Lighthouse. And, it really was neat to think this was the same lighthouse that had been bringing sailors into the Pensacola Pass for centuries.

http://www.pensacolalighthouse.org/index/history/early-history. That’s right. That life-saving beacon was built in 1824 (for a smooth $5,000 too!) and has been spinning ever since. Phillip and I took the tour a while back and really enjoyed it. The history and building are breath-taking.

With the lighthouse guiding us, we came into the Pass and started making our way home, having agreed that would forever be the best sail of our lives. Everything had been so perfect. Apparently too perfect. We finally had to pull off of our tack, that beautiful, glorious 16-hour tack, and crank the engine. Yes, the engine. The root of all evil! But it was the first time we’d had to crank it in about a 20-hour passage so all-told, it was worth it for that perfect sail. But, we had to have the engine to maneuver our way toward the pier. I went down to check on our catch bin and unfortunately she was filling up quickly. I know, the damn transmission again – could it BE anything else?? If you recall, in order to dump the “caught” fluid back into the transmission, we had to kill the engine and let her cool for about 10 minutes before I could touch the bolt to the transmission chamber to pour the fluid back in. Unfortunately, though, we really didn’t have ten minutes of sea to be a-floating through aimlessly. The wind was not working in our favor in the Bay and we needed the engine to keep us on track toward the entrance to the pier. We had to have a motor running, but our bin was filling fast. I was watching it rise to the top, clocking the speed of the drops, and trying to guess how much time we had left.

I hollered up to Phillip, “I think we’ve got about five minutes left on this bottle.”

Phillip hollered back, “We’ve got about ten minutes left to go.”

May 25, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Not Very PC

September 23, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

Like Phillip told me, apparently watching others dock is highly entertaining, particularly couples and particularly mouthy ones. It’s now a favorite past-time for Phillip and I. If Phillip and I are kicked back in the cockpit at the marina and we see some big troller coming in and hear the Captain shout “Now Linda, I need you to tie the springer line first this time!” (emphasis on first) our ears perk and we elbow each other and silently nod toward the troller because we know we’re about to get a show.

First off, trollers are huge. They need lines running from every direction to hold them in place.

Second, we know we’ve got a couple, a highly vocal Captain and a poor ‘Linda’ somewhere who’s scrambling for lines. We also know this is not the first time they’ve docked together because apparently old Linda didn’t tie the right line first last time and the Captain was displeased. He then shouted “And make sure to do a cleat hitch, remember!” (emphasis on MEM). Poor, poor Linda. A cleat hitch isn’t hard. It’s just around a couple of times, some swoop loops on each end and pull tight (or that’s how I’ve programmed it into my mind anyway – real technical Annie speak for you), but here ‘tis:

Sadly, though, it seems our dear friend Linda had been struggling with it. Poor, poor Linda. Phillip and I smiled slyly at each other. Oh yeah, this scenario is fraught with potential. We are definitely watching and standing ready to hop up and grab a line if Linda botches it.

It seems the good folks of Panama City felt the same about Phillip and I that day, and they, too, were definitely watching. Thankfully, they were also ready and willing to lend a hand. As the boat lurched into the slip, an old salt came running down the other side of the dock (apparently the side I should have jumped off on) and had Phillip throw him the stern line. He told me to jump back on the boat and toss him the bow line, which I did. I then jumped off, this time with a springer line in hand, and got us nice and secure. Whew! No crashed boat, no dock wreckage, and Phillip’s eyes finally returned to normal after an hour or so. Well, technically after a drink or three.

Having played the role of Let-Down Linda for the day and justifiably displeasing the Captain, as soon as we were showered up and back on the boat, I promptly threw him together a stiff drink. That always helps!

Here you go Cap’n.

Whew. He smiles. All better.

And yes, people, I was wearing a dress. You can see a little white fluffy sliver of it in the first pic. I mean, I only jumped off the boat without a line – no damage was done – it warranted a remorseful drink only, not a full-frontal apology, okay?

After drinks on the boat, we set off and and started foraging for drinks on the street.

Downtown PC was quaint and lively with fun little quirky bars scattered about. We decided on a place , that being The Place (http://www.theplacerestaurant.net/4543.html), and popped in for a swig.

The old-timey bar was great (and well-stocked!). Our bellies full of fine liquor and our “spirits” high, we stumbled on back to the marina to stock up on transmission fluid and hunker down for the night. Phillip played the domestic role this time and whipped us up an amazing batch of shrimp feta pasta.

Don’t crowd the onions!

This dish has definitely become a favorite for us on the boat. The ingredients are fresh and easy:

Onion, parsley, garlic and shrimp.

Oh, and butter of course. That salty, yellow bounty of the gods. Butter just makes everything better.

Tossed with fresh tomatoes and pasta. Super simple and easy to throw together at sea. (Recipe here: http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/06/04/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-two-sailors-delight/).

And, as it always seems is the case at marinas, we had some front-row seating to some real entertainment while we were making dinner. While we definitely prefer to anchor out as opposed to docking at a marina (for one, it’s cheaper – the nightly rate on the boat is … ummm … FREE) it is fun sometimes to stay at the marina and watch all the “crazies.” They’re everywhere. And, marinas seem to attract a very unique breed of them. Drifters, so to speak.

While Phillip and I were putting the finishing touches on dinner and setting the table up in the cockpit, we noticed the guy next to us was working on a real project boat. It was dusty and chalky with tools and buckets and hammers lying everywhere. A real mess of a boat. It looked something like this:

And he was coated with dirt and paint splatters, sweating and sanding away on the deck. Then, out of nowhere, we see this woman walking toward his boat. Well, I take that back we heard her first, very distinct heel clicks coming all the way down the dock. And, these were some serious heels, wedges I guess you would call them, about yay high:

Yeah, the crazy kind, that crazy people wear.

And when she finally came into view and we could take her in, she looked something like this:

Yeah … a real fox. And, paint-splatter guy looked something like this:

I know, right? This scenario was fraught with potential. We were definitely watching. Phillip and I slouched down a bit in our cockpit and eyed them furiously over the rims of our rum drinks. Miss Fox walked right up to his boat, gave him a knowing nod and held her hand out for assistance. Dirty Dude helped her into the cockpit, no words having been exchanged yet that we could tell, and she turned around and made her way backwards down the steps in the companionway. Granted, I think that’s the only way you can take steps like that

in heels like those.

Once she was down below, Dude put his hand in his pocket, pulled out something that I can only describe as “folding money,” fondled it for a minute, then shoved it back in his pocket and followed her down. Phillip and I shared an excited “inquiring minds want to know” look and kept our eyes on them. They stayed down for all of 3.5 minutes, give or take, and then she came back up solo (not a smudge of makeup out of place) stepped off his boat and clicked her heels right on down the dock. Dirty Dude came back up about a minute after, big grin on his face, chugging down some Gatorade and then he set back to work on this boat, like nothing ever happened. Phillip and I poured over the possibilities. Was she a hooker, a prostitute? His dealer, his daughter? Who the heck knows. Marinas are so entertaining. Hell, sailors are entertaining. This one, in particular, was not very PC.

Phillip and I could not stop chuckling about it as we plated up dinner.

Table for two please?

This place was super fancy. We had to make reservations well in advance. I mean, it was dinner

AND a foxy show.

We were ready for a relaxing evening after the passage from Carrabelle and we knew we needed a good night’s sleep before we made the last 24-hour run to Pensacola. We settled into the cockpit, devoured the shrimp pasta and toasted the sunset before calling it a night.

May 25, 2013 (yes, still!) – The Crossing Finale – Total Domestication

September 18, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

Once we got the “recycle” system in place, we could finally take a breath and kick back and enjoy the passage, intermittently at least. The drip was pretty steady and Dasani bottles just aren’t that big,so they were filling pretty fast. And I’ll tell you one thing duct tape adhesive does not like. That’s heat. The hotter it got down there near the engine, the gummier and gooier and less ‘adhesive’ our adhesive. And, the more I kept sticking pieces in the same place, the less they stuck. So, the catch-bin needed constant monitoring when the engine was running. About every thirty minutes or so we had to cut the engine to let her cool, so I could pull out the Dasani bottle and check the level.

Yep, she’s full!

Then pour the ‘caught’ fluid back in the transmission and pull the dipstick to make sure she was nice and coated.

Yep, all pink!

Then tape a new, empty catch bottle back up and start the whole process again. And, I guess because the engine just happened to be in the kitchen (well, under the sink) that job fell on me. That’s right, Phillip had me right where he wanted me, cooking, cleaning and fluid-catching in the kitchen.

“Make sure you change the oil down there too, honey, before you start dinner.”

“Yes, dear!”

Yep. Phillip had me all domesticated right and proper, handling all of my domestic obligations in the kitchen, including engine duty, like a real ladies maid. Emily Post would be super proud!

Screw Emily Post. We all know what Annie really does in the kitchen …

That’s right, make sure the wet bar is fully stocked and throw a rum drink together, stat! In all of my checking and changing and taping and sticking, I still found time to throw us together some hearty sea drinks.

We have actually named this particular drink the Oh Shiiiiit! (yes, with five “i”s) in honor of Phillip’s knee-jerk, expletive reaction when he had his first sip.

For those 14 and over (at least that’s when I started) – mix as follows:

1.5 ounces Malibu Coconut rum

1 ounce dark Meyer’s rum

1 ounce pineapple juice

0.5 ounce orange juice

And a splash of Coco Lopez (optional – it makes it a little heavier but gives it that real island flavor)

Drink responsibly.

Trust me, we did. Only one (each). Captain’s orders while on passage. And, always with food (everyone needs a good soaker layer). What do you think goes best with rum drinks??

Chips and salsa. Of course!

Complete with fancy salsa clip bowl, too, perfectly suited for a sloshing, sailing, salsa feast!

And yet I still manage to miss my mouth.

It’s a real talent. But, you know, if you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to want a glass of milk to go with it. Turns out if you give a sailor some chips and salsa, he, too, is going to want a sammich to go with it.

Yum! “Now save those Dasani bottles!”

The wind even started to pick up after lunch and we were finally able to kill the engine. My God what a glorious feeling. She sputters and rattles to a stop and then it’s just quiet. So … quiet. All you can hear is the wind whistling through the sails and the splash of the water on the hull as the boat moves through the Gulf. We had a great sail that afternoon. The wind was blowing around 12-15 mph, more south, southeast now, which helped ease us around Cape San Blas

mostly on a broad reach. (No, that’s not when a hooker goes for your wallet. It’s an official sailing term, but I’ll save that little nugget for another day).

But, as the wind always does, she started to really blow (I told you she was a bitch!). She picked up to about 18 to 20 as we sailed into the night. The sea state was 3 to 4 foot waves, and the boat was cooking. We were doing about 6.5 knots all night, with spurts of 7 and 7.5, particularly while I was holding the wheel. I couldn’t imagine you could get tired holding the wheel of a sailboat, but it took some real muscle to hold our course.

Thank goodness I’d been hitting the gym! Ain’t that right, Sonnie??

We decided to reef the Jenny in (that is, roll her back up a bit so there’s not so much sail exposed to catch the wind) about half-way through the night. In all, it was a bit of a rough sail, but nothing like the initial Crossing from Punta Gorda so we weathered it fine. Phillip even fell asleep a couple of times, this time withOUT one eye open, but still right next to me in the cockpit. I was thrilled to see him sleeping, finally, but pissed that he’d left the radio on the freaking Delilah show. Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. All you closet 94.1 fans. That all-time lover of love.

De-liiiiiiii-luuuuuhhh!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9v2-q_byiY

All. Freaking. Night. Long. Okay, for just like an hour and half, but it was the longest hour and a half of my life. But, with Delilah in our corner and all her sappy love song dedications to keep us entertained, we made it through the night. Having fought the wind all night, we were pretty beat the next morning. While trucking on to Port St. Joe was an option, we decided to set our sights for Panama City and stay a night at the marina to get a good, not-so-Eagle-eye, night’s rest. The wind turned right on our nose as we were coming into the pass so we had to do some motoring into Panama City, which meant more engine work for Annie. But we pulled into the pass around 9:00 a.m. and got ready to dock her.

Now, I really was nervous this time. This was only our fourth time docking our boat. The first time was in Clearwater. The wind was blowing around 25 mph off our stern then and I missed the stern pole but luckily we had two corn-fed hosses holding us off the dock. The second time was in the Carrabelle River. The water was glass and we had Mitch. The third time I’m not sure you would really even call it a “docking,” per se. That was when the engine cut out in the River and we had to throw out an anchor and throw the Catamaran guy a line and he walked us around to a dock. That doesn’t really count. This time was going to be a true ‘docking,’ and it was just Phillip and I. No Mitch, no hosses, no corn (if that would help). Let me just tell you, docking is super stressful. Phillip has told me before, if you really want some entertainment, watch a couple try to anchor or dock. There’s usually tons of shouting involved, finger-pointing, perhaps some dock or boat wreckage, all sorts of excitement. That’s because it’s stressful! One wrong move, one missed cleat and your boat, your beautiful, glossy, water-tight boat goes crashing into the dock or worse, the million dollar yacht next to it. Not something you want to screw up. I think this little gem pretty much sums it up:

Very informative. But, there we were, our first time docking together. Phillip had given me the best instruction he could. “Watch the wind to see which way it’s pushing the boat and catch a cleat on the leeward side.” Yes, that’s the best instruction Phillip could give. He can sometimes be a little ‘stern’ when he’s barking orders from the stern. But, he’s stressed. I get it. He’s driving the boat in. He needs a first mate that just knows what to do, not one that requires hand-holding. Thankfully he has that now, but I’m here to tell you he did not have that then. I couldn’t tell for the life of me which way the wind was pushing the boat, if there even was wind, and I had no clue which side was leeward. Leeward? Really? I had barely wrapped my heard around port and starboard at that point.

I was freaked. Phillip had the wheel and I had about three lines tied to different cleats all over the damn boat, ready to tie her any which way. Phillip started to pull her into the slip and I, ready as ever, Little Mate that Could, jumped off the boat prepared to tie anything. Tie … anything. TIE. Damnit! I had jumped off the boat without a line in hand. Brilliant! I stood on the dock knowing I had just royally screwed up. Phillip shouted “Okay, now tie that bow line on the … ” but as the words came out of his mouth he looked up and saw my empty, useless hands, holding not a dock line, a beautiful, woven, boat-saving dock line, but rather, merely held up, empty, in the most apologetic of shrugs. I guess Phillip needed to check the flowsheet to see what to do when: Mate stands helpless as boat drifts off.

All I could see were the whites of Phillip’s eyes as I stood there helpless, useless, while the boat continued her steady, forward creep toward the dock.

May 25, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Duct Tape and Dasani

September 10, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

There we were, with fluid dripping out of our brand new transmission like a leaky faucet and we were two hours from Carrabelle, two hours from Apalachicola, at least two hours from any port. It was like a geographical oddity.

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

We were two hours from anywhere!

And with only a half-quart of transmission fluid to go on. Having run her completely out of transmission fluid the last time, did we think to pick up more to have on board in case we needed to add more to the new transmission. Of course not! That would be way too effin smart. Nope, this was the same half-quart the infamous Mitch tried to hand us when we were topping off the fluids the morning she locked up in the Carrabelle River (You remember the Irony! http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/07/29/april-29-2013-oh-the-irony/). I’ll bet his greasy fingerprints were still on it. I can just see Mitch now, leaned back, fingers steepled, his body racked with the bellowing “Muuuu-ha-haaaa” laugh of an evil villain.

Okay, so I couldn’t find a picture of Mitch arched back in “villain mode.” Every picture I have of him he looks so sweet and blue-eyed. Mr. Innocent. But I know better. That Mitch is an evil, dynamite-laying, mustache-twirling villain. Deep down. A real Boris, that man.

And I just have to point out the “irony” of this Boris-comparison because Mitch’s real-life “Natasha” is not nearly as … vertically inclined.

You see. Gorgeous? Yes! Tall? … not so much. But, we love Michelle. You’ll see more of her soon, I can assure you.

But, Mitch and “Natasha” and all other evil transmission villains aside, we had really found ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Every drop of fluid that splashed to the bilge put us one drop further from home, and we had a long way to go. Let me put things in perspective for you. Here’s the trip we had yet to make to get our boat from Carrabelle to Pensacola:

Yeah, that’s right. Quite a ways to go. And, the first leg of the passage, from Carrabelle to Panama City:

is about 90 nautical miles, roughly a 22 to 24-hour trip.

Then the last leg, from Panama City to Pensacola:

is another 24 hours, easy. Like I said. Quite. A ways. To go. Hence, the pickle. The transmission drip was kind of a big dill. (Mmm-hmmmm … that’s right. Pickle jokes. Man I’m on fire today!)

Remember, we had very little wind that morning. It might have been blowing 3 mph. Maybe. But it was blowing out of the southwest, right on our nose, so it certainly wasn’t working with us. We weren’t going to get anywhere sailing even if I jumped up on the deck myself and blew into the sails.

And I’ve got a mighty set of lungs!!

Chill folks … That’s just me blowing up a rockin’ marshmallow number for Halloween last year. You remember ole’ Stay Puft??

Damn that was a great costume!

Okay, back to the tranny. Fortunately we still had cell reception so we called Mechan-Eric to see if he had any brilliant ideas. UN-fortunately, he didn’t answer his phone and we had to leave a message. You can just imagine the agony of the next few minutes while we watched little tiny pink drops fall to an untimely death in the bilge, one after the other, while I constantly checked my phone.

Slide to unlock. Click. No messages.

Tick, tock.

Click. No messages.

Drip, drop.

Then. Finally! My phone shimmied and vibrated on the nav station, like a happy little bee. Such a glorious sound. I clawed and clamored and clicked that thing open faster than I ever have before. It was Eric calling back with what he said was “good news.” If you recall, the guy we bought the new transmission from had bought it brand new for his own project boat, that he, as many men often do, couldn’t seem to find the time for. So, the transmission sat on a shelf for over a year. Eric said he had seen that happen before, when a new engine component sits for a while the little rubber gaskets inside dry-rot and have to be replaced. Eric was sure that was it, just a simple little 97-cent gasket. An easy fix. “Just keep pouring more fluid in and you can replace the gasket when you get home,” he said. “Good news, right?”

Wrong Eric. Very wrong. As you know, we didn’t have that much “more” to pour in. (Cue the evil Mitch laugh again).

I explained our half-quart dilemma and Eric must have been on fire that day, too, because he did have a brilliant idea. Catch it. Capture it. Find a way to save those little pink drops of gold and pour them back into the transmission. Reduce, reuse, right? I nodded slowly and gave Eric the old “mmm-huh” as my inner gears started spinning. I relayed the news to Phillip, who responded with a blank, mind-boggling stare. “Do what??”

Thankfully, for Phillip, for the boat and for that damn transmission, I grew up country.

That’s right. Country. As a child, I “summered” on my Grandma (aka “Big Mom’s”) farm. In Alabama.

With cows.

And dogs.

And a four-wheeler!

Man, farming’s exhausting …

But, if there’s one thing I learned on the farm, if you can’t get there in mud boots or fix it with duct tape, it’s probably not worth it.

So, my country instincts kicked in.

“Phillip, I’m going to need that Dasani bottle.”

“And some duct tape.”

I cut the top off of the Dasani bottle and flipped it over to make a funnel into the bottle and taped it on.

Real high-quality engineering. Then I taped her up under the shifter arm of the transmission where the drip was coming from.

The drip was coming from the base of this bolt here and would then fall into the Dasani funnel:

The fluid would then pool in the bottle and voila!

We’ve now successfully “captured” the transmission fluid and can pour it back into the transmission as needed. See? Nothing to it. Just takes a little country ingenuity is all. … And some duct tape.

With the ability to recycle the fluid, we were then able to keep on trucking across the Gulf. We set our sights on Panama City and never looked back.

May 24, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – A Trail of Tears

September 3, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

We woke Thursday morning to the sound of gerbils. Angry, evil, little warbley gerbils. (Yes, that’s a word. If it in any way conveyed the throat-rattling, turkey gobbler-like sound they made, it did it’s job. It’s a word). You might think gerbils are these cute, cuddly little creatures, all soft and innocent, but I’m here to tell you they’re not.

They’re loud, mangy, annoying little boogers that woke us up at 5:15 on Thursday morning. Or, whatever it was sure sounded like gerbils, at least how I would imagine they would sound, if four of them were stuffed in a sock together, all wrestling and rabid. For your benefit, I tried to capture the lovely sound that morning so you could truly understand. Listen very closely:

http://youtu.be/1J0GBY2HB4A

And I would apologize for the language, but it was early and they were annoying and we are sailors, so … I make no excuses.

Okay, so you have probably figured out by now that they weren’t gerbils. They were birds. Angry birds.

I’ve since learned this particularly noisy breed tends to inhabit lots of marinas and they like to wake you up at four in the friggin’ morning with their warbley, sock-wrestling mating calls. Effin gerbils!

And, just as an interesting aside (so you get the benefit of all my hard blogging work), every time I Googled for images of gerbils, Richard Gere kept popping up. Yes. The actor. Richard Gere. I mean, every time! There were even pictures of him with gerbils.

I know … creepy, right? Which is why I decided to look into it. And, you gotta love Google because I found this little gem. Enjoy:

http://urbanlegends.about.com/od/celebrities/a/richard_gere.htm

Richard … you old dog, you! And, to add icing on this glorious cake (and this will be my last mention of ole’ Richard, I swear), Phillip got a big kick out of the fact that I had never heard this “gerbil rumor” before and had to conduct an independent investigation. I guess my age is showing. As several of you reminded me after my last post, I am, in fact, younger than MTV (http://www.cnn.com/SHOWBIZ/Music/9807/31/encore.mtv/).

So, the angry birds did deny us a nice, leisurely rousing that morning, but it wasn’t too much of a sacrifice as, if you recall, we had planned to wake up early and get under way before sunrise. Gerbils, or birds or angry roosters, we were ready to jump out of the v-berth regardless and get our beautiful boat a-goin’.

We checked the fluids: gas, oil, coolant and transmission fluid (of course!). Like I said, we will never again, until our little sailing hearts stop beating, NOT check the transmission fluid before we crank the engine. Whether it’s been a half hour or four days, we want to see that dipstick coated in sweet, pink nectar before we’ll even thinking about turning the engine over. So, with the fluids in check, we readied the sails and tossed the lines and headed out into the Carabelle River. We puttered along (knowing full well this time which side of the river to stay on http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/07/08/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-seven-right-of-the-river/) and made it out into the Gulf right at sunrise. And it was like she rose just for us:

Or it seems that is how sailing can make you feel sometimes. Like the world is spinning just for you.

And, this time it was just Phillip and I. Me and the captain, off on our first couples cruise. I was feeling like one incredibly lucky gal. I mean, could life really get any better?

Perhaps just a little, with a warm mug of heavenly hazelnut coffee I suppose, but just a little.

We brewed up some coffee and enjoyed the sunrise, and the sail, and the feeling of finally having her back out there in blue waters, headed home. There wasn’t much wind, so we were motoring most of the morning, but I could have spent all day in that cockpit, holding the helm, or curled up with a book (or my laptop!) just watching the water float by. I was perfectly content. But, that’s why I’m only the first mate and Phillip is the captain. Thankfully, he had the wherewithal to think to check on the engine. I mean, she had been sitting for a month, she just had a new transmission put in, and we had been running her for about an hour and a half.

Phillip gave me the helm and went down below to see how things were looking under the “hood,” which in our boat, is akin to looking under the sink. In order to access the engine on the Niagara, this “L-shaped” piece that houses the sink pulls back to give access to the engine, like a-so:

In place:

Pulled back:

And, the cool part is the sink hoses are all long enough and run in a manner that doesn’t require any unhooking, etc. to pull the sink back. You just pull it back, lean it gently against the table (we put a pillow in between to cushion it), do your business under the “hood,” then tilt her back down gently in place, and the sink is none the wiser. It’s really quite handy and, unlike many other boats which require removal of covers, plates, hatches, screws, etc. to get to the engine, this little “flip-top” contraption makes for very easy access when you’re underway. I tell you all of this because it was a feature we were about to become incredibly familiar with and incredibly thankful for.

As I held the wheel, I could hear Phillip down below pull the sink back, set it against the table and click on a flashlight to take a look at the engine. I saw his light moving in and around the engine and I could hear him wiggling some things and tinkering around. I wouldn’t have thought much of it had his silence not continued for just a little too long. Minutes passed and he he didn’t pop his head up and give me a thumbs up, or say “Everything looks great,” or “Good to go,” or anything like that. He was just quiet. Too quiet. I wanted to ask him how everything was going, but I knew he’d tell me when it was time, and a part of me didn’t want to know. I was perfectly content to sit up there at the wheel, watching the water dance by, pretending we didn’t even have an engine, or fluids, or any of that.

Engine? What engine? I’m just sailing along up here. Doop-de-doo:

But, Phillip finally raised his head in the companionway and gave me the exact look I was fearing. Something was wrong. He told me to put on the auto-pilot and summoned me down. I came down the stairs, and he handed me the flashlight without saying a word, which worried me even more. Although after the initial leg of The Crossing, I was certainly far more familiar with the engine than I was before, I was no diesel mechanic. If the problem was obvious enough for me to SEE with my naked eye, it was probably bad. And … it was. Underneath the engine and slithering on down to the bilge was a bright, pink trail of fluid.

Phillip and I were hoping it was just some of that famous Westerbeke Red paint Mechan-Eric had sprayed on the transmission to make it match the rest of the engine.

No, big deal. Just some paint. Surely that’s it. But, as it always seems, life can never be that simple. Having run the old transmission slap out of fluid the last time, we were all too familiar with that pink viscous liquid to be pretty darn sure what was trickling out of our engine was more likely than not transmission fluid. Phillip showed me what he had found during his wiggling and tinkering,

The leak:

Little red drops kept forming, one after the other, under the shifter arm, and falling to a grey grave below in the bilge. There was no denying it. Our brand new, bright red, painfully expensive transmission was leaking. We were two hours from Carrabelle, twelve hours from our next stop, with little wind and only a half quart of transmission fluid to get us anywhere. I felt like I could have cried too, a little red trail of tears right down to the bilge.