Good Grub – Page 5 – Have Wind Will Travel

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 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!

April 6, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 4 – Clean Plate Club

April 26, 2014April 2, 2015anniedike

I heard a light little shuffle up on the deck, a gentle swish of a bag and then the warm scent of fresh-baked muffins filled the cabin … Okay, they weren’t fresh-baked, they were wrapped, but the gesture felt the same. We woke on Sunday morning to find the Sunday paper and the two darling little banana nut muffins laid lovingly on the deck of our boat by the friendly staff at Port St. Joe Marina.

When they say they are the “friendliest marina in all of Florida,” I have to say … I believe them! We sat and read the paper, and drank coffee and nibbled on muffins all morning. After two nights in a row of two-hour shifts at the helm, a nice, leisurely morning on the boat was just what we needed.

Yes, we took pictures of it. We’re just that devoted to the blog …

Around noon, or even a little after, we finally ventured out to see what the ole’ town of Port St. Joe had to offer. We were thrilled to find beautiful, breezy walking paths around the marina,

a potentially perfect cove for kite-boarding,

a quaint little downtown strip with several quirky bars, unique restaurants and other delightfully tacky establishments. Definitely our kind of place!

Now, I don’t know about you fellow cruisers, but when Phillip and I eat out on our sailing ventures, we like to try and scout out the little local places that offer food we can’t really replicate on the boat. Something unique to that area, or unique altogether that we haven’t had in a while – like some great middle eastern food, or a decadent french meal, or some funky little taco hut that has a line around the corner. Not knowing at all what we were in the mood for, we stumbled upon this colorful little Mexican place – Peppers – and decided it was definitely worth a go.

And boy, was it! A hot basket of chips and salsa hit the table as soon as we did, and didn’t stop coming the whole time we were there. A hot, piping basket even came out with the check that Phillip and I tried to wave off, but that we actually ended up putting a pretty serious dent in anyway. We split the “California Burrito,” which was about the size of my right calf (yes, the right one – it’s a little bigger than the left).

It was bursting with flavorful beans, rice, corn, chicken, cheese. You name it. A perfect combination of savory flavors and crisp greens, and it was doused in this addictive queso. It was awesome!

Clean Plate Club! We are card-carrying members.

We made a few more stops on the way home to provision up (milk, cereal, coffee and the like) and scoped out a few more eateries for the next day’s outing. We saw a pizza place that some folks at the marina had been telling us about – Joe Mama’s Pizza – but found it was closed Sunday and Monday, and we were planning to leave on Tuesday. Bullocks! But, in all, we congratulated ourselves on such a fortuitous stop. We had never been to Port St. Joe by boat and we were thrilled we’d landed here. Everything was within walking distance of the boat – bars, restaurants, the Piggly Wiggly. Whatever you needed. And, while a storm brewing in the Gulf is bad news for sailing, it certainly was promising for some awesome kiting in the St. Joseph Bay. We kept an eye on the wind, hoping the storm would bring us some great conditions for kiting while we were there.

On our way back to the boat, we met some great fellow cruisers that were docked up right next to us – David and Mary Lucas on Liza. David and Mary were headed down the west coast of Florida to make the cut through the Okeechobee. We invited them over for sundowners, shared some tall boat tales (although our harrowing dinghy debacle seemed to take the cake – as it often does), cooked up a great grilled chicken salad for dinner and called it a night.

April 5, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 3 – Don’t Mind the Weather

April 23, 2014May 23, 2014anniedike

It’s funny how things tend to work themselves out when you’re sailing. We had a follower tell us a while back (and rightfully so) that the most dangerous thing you can have on a boat is a schedule. While time is decidedly always an issue – if only we all had an infinite supply we could go anywhere we want and stay six months – but the weather and wind and the sun also play a role in where you end up by boat. It’s often a place you didn’t expect to go; rather, it’s a place you chose when you thought the weather wasn’t “working with you,” but once you get there, you often decide it is most definitely a place at which you’re glad to have ended up. And, then you start to wonder whether the weather had it in mind all along …

So, the wind, in our minds, had not been “working with us” since we started off on this venture. It was directly out of the southeast, dead on our nose, for the entire first night and day of the trip. For that reason, we didn’t make near as much ground as we would have liked toward Clearwater, and with a known storm coming into the Gulf in the next day or two, we decided to pull out and head into Port St. Joe.

Log book:

We had never been there before by boat, but we had heard great things. It wasn’t originally in the plans for us, but, that’s the thing about plans. But, as soon as we changed our heading toward St. Joseph Bay, we found ourselves on a perfect beam reach, making great headway, and doing some of our best sailing of the trip yet – right into the black abyss.

The wind has a wicked sense of humor. But it was like she was congratulating us on such a wise decision. We were sailing along so fast, we were going to reach Port St. Joe before sunrise, and – as many of you fellow cruisers I’m sure follow the same rule – on the ole’ Rest our goal is never to come into a new Pass at night, so we actually had to turn around and sail back out into the Gulf for a bit to make sure we didn’t beat the sun in.

It was a strange feeling to have worked so hard to make way forward for a day and a half, only to now turn around 180 degrees and sail for a few hours at 5.5 knots in the opposite direction. Like I said … funny how things work out.

But after an hour or two of sailing back out, we finally turned around again, and sailed back in to St. Joseph Bay right around sunrise. The fog was still so heavy we struggled to find even the flashing bouys. Markers you would typically see miles out would now only reveal themselves at about 100 yards.

I sat up at the bow and squinted through the mist to try and find them.

“There’s one!”

As the sun finally started to creep up and melt away some of the fog, we caught our first glimpse of land on the horizon and it turned out to be a beautiful morning.

Thankfully the inlet into St. Joseph Bay was an easy one and we made it into the marina and docked up without issue.

Between you, me and the fencepost (well, and all followers of this blog, I guess) I still get a little nervous every time we pull up to a dock because you just never know what’s going to happen. I have failed to lasso a stern pole, jumped off the boat without a line, and a-many other docking mishaps I have failed to mention on this blog that still cause me a little heartburn when we start pulling our big beauty out of the open blue and up next to treacherous pilings and other fiberglass beasts. A little tip – I always call ahead to the marina (despite the occasional eyeroll from the Captain) and ask them every time to send out a dock-hand (I’m assuming that’s a sufficient title) to help catch a line. I mean, it’s a big, expensive boat, our most prized possession, I’m not ashamed to ask for eight hands on deck to help save her. The marina at Port St. Joe has a reputation for being the “friendliest marina in all of Florida,” and I’ll say I have to believe it. They sent a young chap right out who proved to be an excellent line-catcher and he helped us get tied up and gave us a quick tour of the facilities. I can’t say enough good things about the folks at the Port St. Joe Marina. They all went above and beyond.

Plug that baby in!!

The Captain … always doing a double-check. (Rum drink in hand … )

Once the boat was secure, we set out to check out the marina office and get checked in.

Even the pets at Port St. Joe are friendly. We had a lovable white lab welcome us right in with a soft pant and a smile. (To my good friend Anna – he reminded me of Tugg!!)

The dockside bar there at the marina, looked the perfect place to try out the local Port St. Joe cuisine, so we settled in for some fine oysters and fish tacos.

Yum!

The folks at the marina office gave us a great welcome packet with maps and flyers and coupons and told us we would have a paper delivered to the boat every morning, with free muffins on Sunday. I mean, who doesn’t like muffins? (Especially free ones!). The book swap was excellent, too. I had blazed through The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I was looking for some new material. I scarfed up another Jack Reacher saga and a James Patterson,

and Phillip found a Hemingway novel he’d been meaning to read for a while – The Paris Wife.

We were definitely pleased to be in this Port. Great food, excellent facilities and our boat was nice and secure. We were plenty happy to spend a day or three here to wait out the weather.

While we hadn’t planned it, it all seemed to work out. Like I said, perhaps the weather had it in mind for us all along.

April 4, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 2 – Into the Black Abyss

April 20, 2014May 4, 2014anniedike

It laid limp and lifeless, strewn across the deck in a sad display of failure.

Our busted lazy jack. After inspection, we found the eyelet on the starboard spreader that the lazy jack was shackled to had detached entirely. Never to be seen

Humph! Well, it’s just a lazy jack. People have been raising and lowering their mains the UN-lazy way for thousands of years, so we figured we would just wing it. As long as we could secure the fallen line and get our sail up and back in the stack pack manually and zip her open and closed for UV protection, we were fine. But, it was little bit of a morale blow. It’s like you know things on the boat are going to break when you undertake a passage like this, but you hate to see it actually happen. For me, the boat tends to become an extension of me. It pains me to hear her groan and flex under strain, and seeing things on her rip, shear and break gives me a bit of a sinking, sickening feeling. I couldn’t resist the urge to lovingly pat the dodger and say “Sorry girl.” It wouldn’t be the first time I would do that, and certainly not the last, on this trip. A hard passage sometimes just can’t be avoided – that’s kind of the whole point of going offshore, but, damage to the boat is never easy to swallow – particularly on Day One of the trip.

But, we chalked it up. It’s just part of it. We were still on passage and needed to focus on the course, the weather and the hourly log entries. We secured the lazy jack lines and hunkered back in the cockpit, thankful for sunlight and visibility.

Yes, more sailing selfies! Phillip’s not much of a photographer and I’m a bit of a fanatic, anal retentive blog-documenter, HENCE – the perfect solution – selfies! Thank you “flip-around-option” on the iPhone. And, to quote my fellow cruising buddy Dani – “Without my quality selfies – it would be Phillip and Plaintiff’s Rest, followed solely by the paparazzi.”

After checking the chart and the weather and making some calculations, we decided at the rate we were going with the southeast wind dead on us, we weren’t going to make it to Clearwater, even on a straight haul, for another two and a half days. And, we were both a little tired from the rough night already. Plus, we were expecting a storm to come into Clearwater on Monday or Tuesday and we certainly didn’t want to be crossing the Gulf in that, or sitting in Clearwater waiting it out. We had always wanted to check out Port St. Joe (we’d heard great things!), so we made an executive decision to pull out of the Gulf and take refuge in Port St. Joe to wait out the weather. We set our course and noted the 53 nautical miles to go.

We had a great sail on Friday. It was nice wind and weather most of the day and Otto was doing all the work. Phillip and I took turns taking naps, reading, writing (the blog AND the log) and munching on turkey and manchego sandwiches.

Late that afternoon, Phillip and I were both stretched out in the cockpit, deep in our own literary worlds, when we were startled by a jolting, nearby “Pffft!” Phillip and I eyed each other quickly and leaned up. “Dolphins,” Phillip said. I figured as much but couldn’t get my brain to process fast enough to get the word out. Dolphins! was right. Not a second later, we heard another “Pfft!” right by the stern. I looked over and saw three dolphins popping their fins out of the water in unison. “Three!” I squealed, finding myself capable of only mono-syllable words and giddy girl noises. I scrambled for my phone to snap some shots.

Having missed the chance to document the last few dolphin sightings for a phone tragically left down below, I wasn’t going to miss this chance. I started making my way to the foredeck snapping a few shots along the way of what now appeared to be an eight-to-ten member dolphin squad. I got some great footage: Video HERE.

After a few minutes, eighteen pictures, approximately six squeals, and two videos later, the dolphins finally swam away — headed off to, I hope, intoxicate some other sailing vessel with their slick, sultry dance. Phillip and I plopped down in the cockpit breathing big sighs of contentment from their visit and let our thoughts lingered toward dinner. Ahhh … our freezer food.

Before we left Pensacola, we had made two hearty meals that we had frozen in gallon ziploc freezer bags for the passage, beef and pork bolognese and chicken and sausage gumbo. We had both decided the night before that the sea state was too rough to try to heat up anything down below. With five-foot waves, any movement down below is timed and orchestrated with the severe rocking of the boat. After you’ve been on the boat long enough, you can sense a heavy heeling coming and when it occurs, you know you have a one-to-two second window of opportunity to hop up fast and make the quick three steps to the next handhold and then wait again for the next break in motion. You just get used to it. Needless to say, the thought of doing anything down below, least of all boiling a big pot of water to heat up dinner, was easily nixed. Nope. It was turkey sandwiches, Cheez-its, grapes, chips and Pretzel Crisps the first night. Anything that could be easily grabbed and eaten by hand. Toddler food, pretty much. But, the sea had calmed down to about two-to-three foot waves by Friday afternoon and we decided it would be best to go ahead and eat our heartiest meal early in the afternoon in case the expected urge for a post-dinner nap struck us we could go ahead and get it out of the way before nightfall. So, around 2:00 p.m., we set to heating up the first of our frozen bagged meals – the beef and pork bolognese – which was a little bit of an adventure. I started a pot of boiling water and fumbled around with our pot clamps a bit, trying to get them to hold the boiling pot in place, but our fancy schmancy All-Clad pot was too big to allow the clamps to get a good foot-hold on it, which meant gimbling the stove (allowing it to tip freely with the boat), was not going to be an option. So, I decided to stand by and keep an eye on it and hold the bags up by hand.

Not too much work. Especially considering the reward. Once the bolognese was sufficently heated, we dumped it into cereal bowls and set to it.

Yum!

A nice hearty meal under our belts and exactly what we thought would happen, happened, we took turns taking nice leisurely naps in the sun. Knowing we had a full night of two-hours shifts ahead, there was no need for apology or explanation. When one of us got sleepy, we told the other “I’m going to shut my eyes for a bit” and that was that. “Sleep while you can” was the rule. If you felt it coming on and the conditions were calm, sleep was the best thing you could do for yourself. So, shut your eyes and get some!

And, it was a good thing we did, because the second night was even more exhausting as the first. Heavy – and I mean HEAVY – fog set in. Visibility was approximately 30 feet around the boat, at best. It was like driving your most prized possession through the pitched-black knowing full-well it may crash any second into something completely devastating.

We couldn’t see ANYthing. It was onward and forward into the black abyss with 25 feet, at least, of the most precious fiberglass, wood and steel charging in front of you. It was actually a good thing we were offshore because we knew we were nowhere near land and that ship traffic was unlikely, but you still have a fear that something’s going to come barreling through the mist and appear right in front of you at any minute. As a direct result of All is Lost, I now have a completely irrational fear of spontaneous hull breach by random bobbing shipping container. Thank you Robert Redford! I felt like I was easing my way into a busy intersection blindfolded, just waiting to hear the screech and crunch of the crash. The fog was absolutely horrid!

March 5, 2014 – Rigs & Ribs

March 19, 2014anniedike

Isn’t that just the way it always happens? You let your guard down. Go out and have some fun. And, it comes back to bite ya! We thought we had made it through the worst of the projects. Crossed everything off the list pretty much. Hence, the Mardi Gras lollapalooza – which was awesome! But, then the rigger came and blew the lid off everything …

Alright, it really wasn’t that bad, but he certainly had us whipping out our pads and starting a NEW list. Errgghhh. But, let me start by saying he was amazing. It was DJ with Zern Rigging, and he laid his hands on every inch of our standing rigging, explaining every turnbuckle, every shackle, every tarnish and all the tackle.

He was incredibly patient and informative. He really took his time educating us on rigging maintenance, repair and replacement. Let’s overlook the slight fact that they charge by the hour (I kid) and commend him on an exceptional inspection and instruction session. DJ was incredibly complimentary of the Niagara, though. Said it was in the best shape he had seen any vessel in quite some time, particularly considering its age (28 years). He said several times what a great job we had done maintaining this, that and the other. While it was heart-warming, we knew it was Jack, the boat’s previous owner, that deserved all the credit. He handed over a quality vessel to us, and DJ could see it. He also had another chap with him whom he referred to only as “Apprentice” (seriously – as if it were his one and only name – like Madonna) and whom he sent straight up the mast to inspect the rigging up top.

While the inspection was worthwhile and highly educational, DJ did find some issues. He told us we needed to replace our main halyard. He believed it had swollen from 7/16 to 1/2 over time and he showed us the dust that came off of it as it was pulled around the winch – a sure sign of age. He recommended we get a new, VPC hybrid performance braid to replace it. Okay. Apprentice also reported the snap shackle on our Jenny halyard was corroded and needed to be replaced, which, if they couldn’t re-splice it, would require a new Jenny halyard as well. Okay … He also spun our winches and let us hear the high-pitched ringing-bell sound that came out of them. I thought it was a glorious sound. Like a cheery little school bell releasing the kids to recess. Yippee! Apparently it was not. DJ said they all needed to be disassembled, cleaned and re-greased. All of them. Sheesh! Give us some good news, would you? Nope. You need to replace the lifeline attachment points, he said. Like it was no big deal, he said. Okay, it’s really not – and I’ll spare you the details for when we actually do it. Trust me, you’ll be there. We like to spread the wealth (and the work) on the ole’ Rest!

Then we talked about the hydraulic back stay.

If you recall from the previous post, it was a high-performance feature our previous owner had installed for racing and it had been out of commission for quite some time and leaked hydraulic fluid upon use. Upon further inspection, DJ discovered the seal inside had failed over time so we could either replace it with a new one (approximately $4,000 depending on the type) or have it rebuilt (for a few hundred bucks). But, in order to have it rebuilt we would apparently have to ship it in some super airtight, military secure tanker because it had secret NASA fluid (aka hydraulic fluid) in it. Apparently the postal people get kind of postal when you try to ship things filled with hydraulic fluid. The problem was, the shipping was going to be expensive. DJ discussed some other options with us, though. Doing away with the hydraulic adjuster sounded like an easy solution, but that still left us with two options. We could either: 1) put in a completely new rod back stay, from stern to the top of the mast (doing away with the hydraulic adjuster option entirely) for about the same price as the rebuild; or 2) replace that section of the stay with a Frankenstein ensemble of turnbuckles (to allow insertion of a new hydraulic adjuster down the road if we wanted) for a few hundred dollars. Winch maintenance? Hydraulic rebuild? Turnbuckles? A whole new back stay? Yeah, that’s the shoulder-drop moment I’m talking about. You finish one list, crumple it up and throw it out, and then the rigger comes … Phoeey!

But, there was a bright side to this day. Ribs!

Long story short (because they’re “short” ribs – get it? Man, I’m on fire today!). Braised short ribs have kind of been Phillip’s arch nemesis for quite some time. We’ve had them at restaurants where they were incredibly succulent, moist and fell right off the bone, but we hadn’t been able to replicate that at home … yet. We had tried a couple of different tacks. Braising them according to the recipe for an hour and a half or so, then going rogue and braising them for two hours, almost three. But they still wouldn’t FALL off the bone like we wanted. We had made it our personal mission to achieve this supreme ‘fallness.’ Make those ribs our bi@tch! We started them that day around noon, knowing we would be spending a few hours with the rigger that day, and we were prepared to cook them all afternoon – even through the night if we needed. I’m serious. We bought a back-up dinner just in case it came to that. We were not eating those ribs until they FELL into our mouths.

So, we started with the essentials. I prepared the Creole holy trinity – diced carrots, onions and celery –

while Phillip browned the meat.

Then we threw the trinity in with the good meat fond,

Added some red wine, of course! (Not the good stuff – thank you Bota!).

Gave it all a good stir and added the meat!

Then we let it bake. And bake. And bake. And then bake some more. We kept checking it on it but refused to call it done until it was done. Until it F-E-L-L off the bone. Seven hours, kids. It was a true testament to our patience. We let that goodness cook for SEVEN hours. We knew it was time when I finally reached in to pull out a rib and I pulled out ONLY a bone.

Oh yeah. We knew it was ready then. Take that ribs! Whoo-peessh!

It was quite the hearty meal, and much-needed after the slightly disheartening news we had got from the rigger that day. We had a few more chores to complete and some serious decisions to make regarding the back stay. It was time to get to cracking on the NEW list and get it completed so we could start provisioning the boat and making our sail plan for the Keys. We were officially 30 days out from the Keys!

February 20, 2014 – A Hole in the Boat?!?

March 9, 2014anniedike

Yeah. Two, actually. One on the starboard deck and another on the portside. And they were big, too. About 2 feet x 2 feet.

Okay, so we created them. Sort of. I guess you can more accurately say we cracked them open. We’ve been chasing leaks on the boat, my friends. For some time now. Like any other boat that has been cruised offshore and subjected, at times, to high winds and waves, our 1985 Niagara had flexed enough to develop a few hatches and tracks that drip and trickle in the rain. We particularly think the sea state we encountered during the Gulf Crossing, heavy heeling right and left, pushed the older seals to their limits. Think of it like an old re-fillable ice tray that you bend and stretch to break the cubes loose. We used to have a pretty steady drip in the vberth from the vberth hatch. A good strong rain, and we would usually find a puddle the size of a small kitchen rug on the bed. Only on one side, though. Phillip’s of course. Anytime we were anchored out in rain, it was another round of Chinese water torture for him. I don’t know what the big darn deal was. Everything was dry on my side – I was sleeping like a baby. “What’s your problem? Stop fidgeting around over there and go to sleep!”

So, we rebedded the vberth hatch a while back to stop the insomnia drip. That fixed the leak in the vberth, but we still had several that were trickling down from the starboard and portside hatches in the saloon. A little annoying, and not good for our recently re-covered settee cushions. So, it was time to re-bed the starboard and port hatches, too. Thankfully, the vberth re-bedding had gone well, so I wasn’t too nervous about it. But, I mean, we are creating two whopping holes in the deck of the boat and then sealing them back up again. Let’s do be careful.

Often, how hard a seal is to break is a good indicator of the kind of shape the seal was in. I hate to say the starboard hatch popped clean off with minimal effort – a good sign that the seal had deteriorated, causing water intrusion.

The portside hatch was a bit tougher, but still not too much trouble to crack open. But, that was not the real bear of this project. Phillip has told me time and again, the key to a good seal is in the prep. You want to make sure you get every bit of the old sealant off.

Yeah, that stuff. The gunk. The goop. You have to get in there with some real high-tech scraping equipment. I personally like to go with an old flat-head screwdriver.

The goop on the deck actually wasn’t much of a problem. With a little gumption and elbow grease, we had the hatch bases clean in no time.

The gunk on the hatch itself, however … not so much.

I went with another fancy gunk-removal product. One of Phillip’s old toothbrushes. Figured he wasn’t using it anymore.

And, that did the trick. Then came the messy job of squeezing some 4,000 on both the outer ring of the hatch, around the screw-holes, and then on the deck where the hatch would lie and in the screw holes. We made the big mistake, when re-bedding the vberth hatch, of just using the squirt tube 4,000.

By the time we finished the job, both of our forearms were shaking and quivering so much, we couldn’t even hold forks for dinner. I think we slurped porridge that night or something.

“Please sir, may I have some more?”

This time we got one of those caulk guns and did it trigger style. Much easier on the arms, and much easier to guide and apply the 4,000. We also decided to go with the 4,000 (as opposed to 5,200) to allow a little flex and movement. After some research and asking around, it seemed the 4,000 was a better choice to allow some slight movement when the boat is under stress, rather than a crack in the seal. We did go a little crazy with the new goop, however, and had a time wiping and swiping it clean. I feel sorry for the trees that were felled just for our project. We went through gobs of wet paper towels trying to get the goop that oozed out down to a nice bead. But, it was worth it. I mean, it’s our boat. Anything’s worth it.

Ahhh … look at that perfectly-bedded hatch. I particularly like to admire it on a sunny day – mimosa(s) in hand – but that’s just me.

And, us? Eat porridge?? Not with this Captain’s primo cooking skills. It was filet mignon, seared to perfection and drizzled with red wine sauce, coupled with creamy lobster mac and sauteed spinach to celebrate the big achievement.

Cross that one off the list. What’s next?

January 18, 2014 – Apres Skis and Plans for the Keys

February 19, 2014anniedike

Is there anything better? You spend the day out on the slopes, wind-whipped, frigid-fingered and you stomp in, pop your boots loose and feel the blood finally flow back to your feet as you pick out a spot by the fire. You’re exhausted, but in the best kind of way – from pounding down powder-packed bulkheads, sculpted moguls and slick fairways. The sweat on your back starts to cool as you peel off a few layers, and you’re trying to decide between the irish coffee or the hot buttered rum. This is it, baby. Apres skis!

Even better when they’re served on a 12″ slab of ice at the famous Ice Bar at Uley’s Cabin.

We took off the end of January for our annual ski trip. This time to Crested Butte, and this time I was bound and determined – no injuries. Last year (my first year skiing) enlightened – and addicted – me to this stimulating, scintillating sport, but also sent me home with a wicked MCL injury. You may recall the removal of the spawn of Satan from my left knee. I had a healthy respect for the slopes after that, but I was excited to get back out there and build on last year’s progress. We had been training for weeks (“Work those quads!”) and we were ready for some snow.

It was wild, though, because the day before we were set to fly out, the wind was blowing at the beach and we hit it hard, tearing up some serious surf in the Gulf.

Okay, serious for me – it was only my second time to kite in the Gulf, and the waves were doing a number on me. Some fun videos here: a little bit of crash and burn, and a little bit of gas and go. Slowly but surely, I’m going to conquer that Gulf! But, the waves that crash me are like ripples to Phillip! Little speed bumps to hop over.

Video here.

We made a day of it out there in the sand and surf, thinking how crazy it was while we were watching the sun set during the drive home that, before it rose again, we would be hopping on a plane out West to go play in the snow.

Might as well. Life is short, right? Do it while you can. Crested Butte was certainly the place to. It had dumped the week before so there was a sufficient base and we came just in time for a week of beautiful blue skies and mild temps. We couldn’t have hand-picked better ski conditions.

Out of the five days we had to ski, Phillip and I each devoted one day to a group lesson and it was well worth it. As is with most awesome outdoor sports, Phillip is a natural and has been doing it longer. He was definitely in a skill level above me, but I lucked out. No one else signed up that day for an advanced lesson, so I got a private one for the price of a group ($130 for the day). Dirt cheap, particularly for the level of instruction I got. “His name was Joseph Norman Pierre Dumas,” she said dreamily, staring softly out at the setting sun. Seriously, that was his name, he was quite French (with plenty of wine and food knowledge to back it up – as a child, he worked in his parents’ restaurant in Quebec), he had been skiing 64 of the 68 years of his eventful life and had spent the last 38 as an instructor. Everyone on the mountain knew him. He was a total celebrity and was stopped everywhere we went with a “Hey Norman! Looking good man! Thanks again!” It seemed he had taught everyone on the mountain to ski, as well as their kids and their kids’ kids. It was probably one of my favorite days skiing – ever. Norman really polished me up, took me down tons of hidden, tucked-away trails and had me roaring down double blacks by the day’s end. It was an amazing day. For Phillip, too. He and a friend took the expert course and they, too, were the only ones in the class, meaning, essentially a private lesson for the cost of group. Their instructor took them up to the top of the mountain and they navigated their way down some seriously treacherous terrain.

The “Funnel,” in particular, was quite a knotch on their ski belts.

Their harrowing journey down that death-defying stretch was lived and relived – more bold and brazen with each re-telling – over bottle after bottle of wine that night at dinner. “Lesson Day” definitely went down as one for the books. But, the entire week was incredible. We had a beautiful condo at Crested Butte, where we kicked back each night and cooked up some serious feasts.

Our roommate’s rich, bacon-drenched cassoulet took the trophy for best home-cooked dish.

But, we also enjoyed the local eateries in Crested’s historic downtown villa. Fine French cuisine at Soupcon (recommended by Norman himself with bunched fingers and a purse of his lips: “Izz pricey, but divine”) and the best, melty, cheesy, greasy-finger pizza you ever put in your mouth at Secret Stash. In all, it was an awesome week on the snow, and we both came home with all ligaments, tendons and soft tissues in their rightful places, still connected and fully-intact — no small miracle considering some of the terrain we traversed.

Some more fun home videos for you (with the low-budget quality to prove it – I have GOT to get me a GoPro):

Annie says stupid things and “Phillip says Ouch!”

A fan favorite: “A little ugly, but I made it down.”

And, a little gem I like to call “Nope, not me. Not me either.” It was our first day out there, just warming up and easing back into it, and this was the first black bulkhead we encountered, so Phillip filmed me coming down it (probably because those first few days, he was always way ahead of me, miles down the slope, waiting for me to traverse my way down, nice big loops, even the old snow plow if necessary. Like I said, I was not coming home with an injury this year. When I watched this clip the first time, I was like “Gees, I look good. Look at me zipping down that hill.” And then … zoom, there he went right past Phillip. Nope not me. So, then the next guy comes down, a little slower, and I was like “Oh, there I am. I look pretty good.” And, there he went too, right past Phillip. Finally, I see me. Way up at the top, making the most ridiculous, slow traverses back and forth across the bulkhead. Skiing slower than Betty White. All I can say is … no injuries. And, I came a long way by week’s end:

Video here. (And yet, again, Phillip manages to film skiers right in front of me that zip by and make it all look so GD easy). But, this was a significant headwall from the top of the North Face, for me at least.

I mean, I don’t know if you know this, but …

With our fill of winter sports for the year, we started to talk during the flight home of sunny skies and sailing plans for the spring. We had initially planned to take two or so weeks back in November and travel to the Keys, but that’s the thing about plans. They often change. So, we headed West instead over Thanksgiving– and made a great trip of it. But, now — apres ski –we had our sights set South. We started looking at some real options for the Keys.

We talked initially about making a straight run for it. Go straight across the Gulf and get the long, tiresome passage behind us so we could spend the rest of the time relaxing and recuperating in the Keys before picking and plotting our way back up the West Coast. On the other hand, we also considered taking our time sailing down the West Coast, stopping in at some old and new haunts, like Appalachicola, perhaps, or Port St. Joe. Clearwater was also a lot of fun or we could trying stopping in at Tampa this time, before making the jump to the Keys. We started looking at anchorages and depths around the Keys as well, both on the Gulf side and along the Atlantic. There are ton of options and lot of different areas and spots we needed to research before making any final decisions. We decided to to plan to head out some time in late March or early April and make the trip there and back in approximately four weeks – give or take a bit (as always) for the weather. The only real requirement is that we be down in the Keys for a certain big day that is coming up for Phillip. I’ll give you a hint – it involves a landmark smaller than a mountain and his geographical juxtaposition to it. It’s in April and Phillip wants to be out in blue waters, on his 35′ Niagara, to celebrate it. Definitely a goal worth fulfilling in my opinion.

While the trip planning was fun, as is always the case when you own a sailboat, we knew we had several projects and repairs we wanted to accomplish on the boat to make sure she was ready for the passage. We started making a list:

Then, we started ordering parts, getting quotes, checking prices and – more importantly – checking the kitty.

January 5, 2014 – FISH ON!!

February 14, 2014anniedike

I scrambled back to the cockpit to see for myself. We’d both been holding that damn trolling line all day waiting for a nibble — with no return. But, Phillip was right. There was definitely something on the end of that line this time. As he started to reel it in, I gathered up our official “fish kill” kit (the gaff, fish gloves, trash bags, filet knife and, of course, the actual “fish kill” – rubbing alcohol in a spritzer). Phillip said he didn’t think the fish was that big as he was pulling it in. Apparently it wasn’t fighting too hard. But, this time, he was wrong. SO wrong.

That thing was friggin’ HUGE!

I mean, the girth of it. She looked pregnant! I got the gaff in her and held her up over the stern while Phillip pulled the hook out. But, it made me nervous when he did because that thing started flopping and flailing, with only my hook to keep her from being our dinner!

And, I know you’re checking out my fine derriere in those Gorton’s fisherman pants. I know how good it looks. Don’t hate.

But, I’m telling you that thing was heavy. My biceps were burning trying to hold that thing up! Phillip broke out the “fish kill” and tried to spray her gills. I had used an old miniature hairspray bottle to make it (ladies – you know what I’m talking about):

The darn thing wouldn’t spray at first, but Phillip had it upside down (he doesn’t use hair spray … that often).

He was squeezing and pressing and cursing that stupid little bottle until it finally choked up some alcohol and coughed a little cloud on the fish’s gills, which only seemed to piss her off more. She started flailing around again and beating the side of the boat. My arms were shaking and starting to droop. Phillip finally took the cap off the fish kill bottle, and just started throwing the alcohol on her like a damn baptism but – nothing. She was still as lively as ever. We decided to just bag her and tag her. Phillip got a bag over the stern rail and up around her and we got her in the cockpit floor.

Smiling and carrying on like two kids on Christmas morning. “We caught us a fish!” We whipped out a measuring tape to see how long she was – 25″. I mean … I can easily say that’s the biggest fish I’ve ever caught – with a friggin’ hand line! Thankfully, Phillip had the wherewithal to think to look it up to make sure she was legal. Turns out she was a red fish, a red drum to be exact. You could tell by the black dot near her tail fin.

And, wouldn’t you know it – legal limit is no more than 27″. She was perfect! The regs said, too, that you can’t filet the fish until you return (in case they need to verify the size). So, we bagged that shit up like the mafia and stuffed her in the fridge!

Phillip kept saying: “I told you we were going to catch a red fish! Did I not tell you??” He was stoked. It was that red fish rouser, I’m telling you.

The golden spoon gets ’em e’ry time!

And, I have never seen Phillip haul ass so fast back to the dock. We cranked the engine, dropped the sails and pointed that ship right home. Rather than make a bloody scene at the dock, we decided to haul our catch up to the condo and take care of things in the tub. Phillip stepped on the scale to weigh her and we were shocked.

20.2 pounds! Like I said … HUGE!

Sad thing was, though, even after the traumatic hoist out of the sea, the exorcist-style alcohol splashing on the back of the boat, and the hour spent in the fridge, that fish was still flopping.

I couldn’t believe it. It was time to take care of business. Phillip got the big serrated knife out and set to it.

I’ll tell you, fish are hard little bastards to kill. We were seriously trying to do it – quick and easy – poor guy, but I hate to say … it took a while! And, the bathroom looked like a scene straight out of Very Bad Things.

Finally, though, we got it done and set about to cleaning and fileting her. Funny, neither of us really knew how to do it. We were Googling and watching Youtube videos in the kitchen. Each of us with a filet knife in hand, watching the other’s progress.

We had no idea what we were doing, but we knew were about to have some fish that night! Sadly, we learned after we had cut the meat from the bones that you should try and trim off as much of the dark red meat near the backbone as you can because it’s not as tender and flavorful.

They say the dark red meat is a sign of an older fish – ours was apparently getting on up there because she had a good bit. So, we had to go back and trim her again to try and get as much of that off as we could. But, when it was all said and done, we ended up with a pan full of fresh (not-so-red) fish meat. Seven pounds total.

Which, if you think of what that would cost at the store, that was a pretty good cash crop to pull out of the water! We didn’t waste any time cashing in, either, we started cooking her right up – three filets a piece! We’d had a big day!

And, perhaps it was all the work of it, all the waiting, the effort, the labor, the reward – perhaps – but I think it was just the freshness of the fish. Either way, Phillip and I both agreed it was the best damn fish either of us had ever eaten. I mean, she had just been swimming out in the bay a few hours before, and now she was buttered and browned and lying right there on our plates ready to be devoured.

Over a bed of savory grits and piled up with roasted carrots. Oh shit! It was definitely a meal we will never forget. And, she was even good the next night too!

With sauteed spinach and roasted parsnips. And, the lunch the day after that, too. We were happy to eat red fish for a week. We caught that shit, baby!

Every time we’ve gone out on the boat since, we throw a line over the back hoping to catch dinner. The boat is now always stocked with a filet knife, bags, lemon and a much stronger spray bottle of “fish kill.” We are ready! Catching a fish that will feed us for a week is a great way to supplement the food budget on our next big passage. It’s all about getting ready for that trip. Stay tuned! Next time – our plans for the Keys!

January 4, 2014 – Wood Reveal and Hand Reel

February 11, 2014anniedike

So, we returned from NOLA to find our first five coats had set in nicely. As my Alabama kin would say — that wood was looking “right.”

With only “five coats to go!” we set to it. Usually putting a coat on the items in the guest bedroom (the grate, table, drink-holder and stairs) in the morning, and a coat on the boat (eyebrows, handrails, stern rail and companionway) in the afternoon. We had so many different items – each on a different ‘coat,’ I had to come up with a highly-technical check-off system to keep up with them.

Patent pending.

You may have noticed the dinghy on there, too. Since we had already turned the condo into a full-scale painting studio, we decided to go ahead and put a few coats on the dinghy transom and floorboards while we were at it. Not quite fifty, but a few shades of gray.

We were making good progress and were all set to put on the last coat on on New Years Day with grand plans of taking the ole’ Rest out that weekend to drop the hook. She’d been grounded too long! We had some friends over New Year’s Eve for a fun Pinot tasting (Letitia, 2009 and 10) and an exquisite middle-eastern meal of rosemary lamb chops, tabouleh, homemade bread and grape leaves with tzatziki sauce.

After such grand consumption, you’d think we would have trouble peeling ourselves out of bed the next morning to go work on the boat, but nothing could be further from the truth. This was it! Last coat day! The last time we would have to put on those stupid vinyl gloves, mix up a batch of varnish and get out in the cold to crawl on hands and knees and painstakingly stroking every nook and cranny of those damn handrails! We practically skipped to the boat! While the weather that day certainly wasn’t bright and sunny, it at least looked like it would stay dry long enough for us to get the last coat on. Just some tiny little flecks of green that were sure to pass us over.

Plus, we had the day off for the holiday and this was the last coat! I hate to say we got a little eager. We whipped up what we thought would be our last batch of varnish and set to it. And, wouldn’t you know, one of those menacing little green flecks (it had to be just one!) must have circled around like a hawk and decided to shit right on us. Not Pensacola, mind you, not even the whole downtown area, I swear it was just our marina, just our boat. At least that’s what it felt like anyway. And, it was just like ten minutes of rain – the whole day. But, it came right when we were finishing the “last” coat. We tried to blow the drops off, hover over the handrails to protect them with no luck, so we finally just started brushing the drops into the coat hoping it wouldn’t make too much of a difference. But, the clouds parted, the rain dried up and we could see the coat – our last coat! – drying a milky, swirly white. Bollucks! Phillip started to research it a bit, and some bloggers and boaters said we would probably have to sand down 3-4 coats and start over. 3-4 coats?!? Not to mention the fact that we were a little bit tired of this varnish project, that would put us well past the weekend and ruin our plans for a nice weekend outing. Needless to say, we were not pleased that day. Not pleased at all.

But, I’m happy to say, I went back to the boat the next day – determined! Apparently, the water in the last coat had dissipated because the milkiness was gone. There were some drops that had to be sanded, but it just took a light rubbing (certainly not enough to even shave the alleged “last” coat off) and she was ready to go. I slapped one more coat on (I’d count it as the eleventh) and she dried, slick and shiny, wet as glass. It was time for the big reveal!

We started to pull the tape back and I wish I could tell you it was a grand revealing, like snapping a crisp white sheet back with cameras flashing and resounding applause. But, it was not. It was cold, getting late in the day, we were shivering and wiping snotsicles, and the tape started tearing and flaking apart, leaving little slivers everywhere and adhesive residue (like when you’re trying to scrape a price tag off a picture frame). It was such a mess. And, the worst part was – the tape (I guess because it had been on there so long (about two weeks now)) started pulling off flecks of paint on the portlight frames.

And, some varnish had seeped through the tape at the base of each handrail, so there were little schooner gold puddles around each handrail post. Stupid tape! Like I said – not a grand reveal. But, it was done. The wood was fully-coated and the tape was (mostly) off.

The best part was, we were still on for a weekend sail. So, the hand reel. (And, I’ll have you know, I tried every way under the sun to name this post “Wad & Wheel,” thinking how clever!? What a great fishing analogy. But, what’s the wad? The wad of crappy blue tape we collected after the disappointing reveal? I certainly considered it … ) Since we were starting to formulate our plans for the big trip to the Keys this spring, one thing we had been wanting to do was put together a hand reel to throw over the back of the boat during passages to try and catch our own dinners. The more self-sustaining a cruiser is, the longer he stays out there, am I right? Teach a man to fish …

We had purchased this book back when we bought the boat, finding the little promo on the cover to be true – it seemed among cruisers this was “The definitive book!” on fishing.

http://www.amazon.com/Cruisers-Handbook-Fishing-Scott-Bannerot/dp/0071427880

Now it was time to put it in action. We looted the local bait & tackle shops and sporting good stores and put us together a fine tackle collection.

We put together a hand wheel, a yo-yo they call it, to fish off the boat at anchor, and a trolling hand reel to throw off the back of the boat during passage.

The book advised of using some kind of stretchy tubing as an indicator for when you have a fish on. Phillip got smart and bought some cheap exercise stretch bands from Wal-Mart that worked perfectly. Our broker/boat buddy, Kevin, had also told us one of the best ways to kill a fighting, flopping fish (to save the mess and potential damage of a bloody, beat-down in the cockpit) was with a spray bottle of alcohol. Apparently you spritz the fish’s gills with alcohol and rumor has it they go limp. While we have plenty of alcohol on the boat, I wasn’t about to see us waste the ‘good stuff’ on a stinking fish. So, I rigged us up a petite little spritzer of rubbing alcohol to do the trick – a fine concoction we like to call “Fish Kill.”

So, we had tackled the ‘tackle,’ but I’ll say the bait was baffling. Do you have any idea how many friggin’ aisles of bait, lures, hooks, doo-dads, ‘Gulps’ and whirley-gigs they’ve got at the sporting goods store?? I just can’t believe that if some of those work better than others, why are there thousands to choose from. I think it’s all a fugasi, fagazy, whatever. A total fake. No one knows what lure is going to work best. Like Skinny Matthew so eloquently put it in Wolf on Wallstreet — it’s fairy dust!

Mark Hanna:    Nobody knows if a stock is going to go up, down, sideways or in circles. You know what a fugasi is?
Jordan Belfort:   Fugazy, it’s a fake.
Mark Hanna:    Fugazy, fugasi, it’s a wazi it’s a woozy, it’s [makes a flittering sound] fairy dust.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WMx0BP31WM

But, we bought a few sparkly ones, some for mahi mahi, some for tuna, even a self-proclaimed “Red Fish Rouser!”, threw them in the tackle box and headed out for the weekend.

And, it was then, out in the sun, with the water glistening on it, that we really got to admire the wood.

It did look pretty effin’ awesome. Definitely worth all the work. I spent the day (again) crawling around on hands and knees on the deck scraping the last bits of tape, adhesive and varnish from around the handrail posts.

Quite a chore, but nice to do under sun and sail, and – again – definitely worth the work. The wood looked great!

We dropped anchor and immediately dropped the hand reel line to see if we could get any bites.

Nothing that night, but fishing was definitely fun at sunset, cocktails in hand. We decided the next day was going to be our day. We were going to get under sail early, stick our nose out in the Gulf and drop our trolling line. We were going to ‘rouse’ them red fish yet. Phillip would not shut up about it! “I’munna catch me a red fish damnit!”

We got up early, got everything rigged and headed out toward the Gulf. We threw the trolling line off the back and stared at it.

Both of us. In silence. Each of us grabbing it every few minutes and holding it in our hand to feel a ‘nibble.’ But, nothing. Nada, zip, zilch. We even sailed back and forth, several times, through churned-up, “fish frenzy” waters, dolphins circling and jumping everywhere, birds flying about and diving into the choppy waters. I mean, we were traveling right through huge pockets of fish. We were practically hitting them with our hull! Parting the red fish seas! But, nothing. We kept the line out and checked it a few times but we both finally kind of gave up on it, and just enjoyed the sail home.

We were both curled up reading, Phillip at the helm, me up on the foredeck, having forgotten almost entirely about the trolling line, just sailing across the bay, about 20 minutes from the marina, when Phillip looked back and saw the tubing stretched taut. He leapt up to the stern rail, grabbed the line in his hands and shouted up to me.

“We got something!”