Good Juice – Page 3 – Have Wind Will Travel

A “Sloppy” Sunset at Mallory Square

July 29, 2014anniedike

April 23, 2014:

It had been 20 days, 5 overnight passages and 550 nautical miles, a busted Jenny shackle, a beat-down outside of Charlotte Harbor, and we were finally here – KEY WEST. We were ready to take that town by the cahones! All hail the fighting conchs! And, it seemed fate wanted us there. She’d been expecting us. Because the minute we backed in to our slip at the A&B Marina, we had a buddy there to greet us – Postal Bob! No, not because he is – or had ever – gone “postal,” because he used to BE postal. Bob retired from the good ole’ USPS and now sails his 34 Catalina down to Key West and beyond every year. A sharp sailor, super generous and knowledgeable about the area, and just all-around a great guy. Here he is:

Bob was the perfect tour guide for our first steps off the boat. He showed us around the marina and gave us the inside scoop on the best dives, the coolest beach bars, the marina and the facilities (four free washers and dryers and four locking bathroom/shower suites) – Suite! He also made sure to point out the place where they serve 50-cent oysters at happy hour. I mean … is there really anything better? You’re right – a cocktail … perhaps:

That was certainly on our radar. We spruced up immediately and hit the closest food joint we could find – Alonzo’s Oyster Bar – not 100 yards from the boat!

“We’ll start with mojitos and your oyster platter, please.”

The oysters were delicious – they did them up three ways on the platter – rockefeller, baked with garlic and parmesan, and buffalo style. The mojitos weren’t too shabby either.

Cheers!

But, that was, of course, just for starters. I mean, we HAD been sailing for about 30 hours. We were ready for a full-on, three-course landlubber meal. The catch of the day – Mahi Mahi – done two ways – grilled with rice pilaf and garlic green beans, and

in a juicy wrap with fresh tomatoes and some secret Alonzo’s sauce – YUM!

Full of fish and rum, we were ready to explore! We found the famous conch train tour and decided it was probably the best way to get a good layout of the island right out of the gate and learn some interesting facts about the architecture, tourist attractions and history of the area.

All Aboard!

Our tour guide really cracked me up, though. He had the most smooth, buttery voice, and every old house or monument he pointed out in the town was “just lovely,” “divine” or “quite keen, don’t you think?” I would bet if someone lit themselves on fire on the back of the train and started jumping around, he would reply calmly, “Please be sure to contain your flames and exit carefully off the back of the train. Oh, and have a lovely day!” He cracked me up.

But, he was an excellent tour guide. Along the way, he showed us the Southernmost Point of the United States:

Hemingway’s House (that was definitely going on the list):

And some of the most picturesque houses on the island:

Once we had our bearings, we set out on foot and found Mile Marker Zero – the Southern End of U.S. Highway 1.

We also found some not-so-famous, but just-as-fun, monuments as well.

Oh my! Is that the REAL Marilyn, or are you just blowing smoke up my skirt?

Well, you know how us sailors like wind!

We walked to several end-points on the island just to admire the view of the coast.

It was particularly liberating looking out at the Southernmost Point – to look across the water and know the next dry shore was a-whole-nother country. Cuba! We had really brought our Niagara 35′ all the way to the southern tip of the United States. Certainly that was worth celebrating!

And, you know how the Crew of the Rest like to celebrate … that’s right. With a hearty drink! It was time to get sloppy!

We’d heard a lot about this place. Sloppy Joe’s Bar. It was apparently Hemingway’s Hangout back when he used to traipse around Key West, a sloshing drink in one hand and the wadded clutches of a fiesty chap’s collar in another. While we weren’t planning to get that sloppy (at least not yet!) we were hell-bent on stopping in to have one or two, or a few!

Sloppy’s was definitely our kind of salty, sea-bar place. It reminded me a lot of Pirate’s Cove down in our neck of the woods. You remember Jerry Garcia and the Riff-Raff?

We settled in nicely at the bar, and I found the “Sloppy Rita” suited me just fine.

And, Phillip had no qualms downing a pink drink!

Probably because this chick poured it:

How you doin’?

We had a great time hanging at the bar, watching the Key West wildlife and cheersing each other on making yet another successful passage. We ordered another round and then things got … well … a little sloppy:

Nice drunken pic!

Still upright and mobile, though, we decided to stumble on over to Mallory Square where the Captain knew they put on quite a carnie sideshow show every evening at sunset.

It reminded me a lot of Clearwater and the panty-dropping time we had there! It was literally just a few blocks from the boat:

With loads of street performers, tourists and lookie-loos. Total entertainment.

The sunset was “quite keen” as well:

It was a great first venture out in our new locale. Key West … What a sight! After watching the sun dip out of sight, we made our way back to the boat and decided to grill up the massive king mackerel we had caught on our way down there. You remember him:

What better way to honor the poor fish we’d ripped out of the Gulf than to haul him all the way to Key West and grill him up on our boat our first night there!

I guess you could call it a moveable feast!

The mackerel turned out excellent. The Captain grilled it to perfection and we just added a little butter and lemon. With fish that fresh, that’s really all you need. We crashed hard on the boat that night, thankful to have made the overnight passage safely to the Keys, and grateful to be, now, safe and secure at the dock, able to sleep through the entire night. No night shifts tonight! We had made it! And, tomorrow was going to be a big day for us. Day two on the island, Hemingway’s House on the agenda and a pretty significant leaf for the Captain to turn over. The big Four-Oh. So much in store!

Martaritas and Oysterfellers

June 30, 2014June 30, 2014anniedike

April 18, 2014:

Did I say a margarita? Okay, it was probably more than one … maybe more than two. After we got the “car” (aka our dinghy) cranked and running, we scooted on up to the dinghy dock at Ft. Myers Beach to see what all the fuss was about. We checked in at the Matanzas Inn and, like many of the other mooring fields we had stopped at along the way, Ft. Myers did not disappoint. For a sum total of $15/night, we were secure on the ball with welcomed access to the dinghy dock, restrooms and showers, and (in our opinion), a pimped out laundry room:

I mean, more than one washer and dryer … and a book swap?!? This place was four star! We were thrilled with the amenities. We signed up for two nights and hit the town, puffing out our chests and cheering ourselves along with a mighty “They can’t handle us!” mantra.

We headed first to the beach to see the shore and what kind of salty, sandy folks we were dealing with in Ft. Myers. We stumbled upon a place called “Top O’ the Mast” and thought how fitting?

I’d been there a time or two already on this trip. Why not? Let’s give it a try. We ordered up a couple of their signature rum runners and headed out to the beach.

There we found a diverse bunch of beach bar bums and laz-abouts that felt just our speed. We kicked back with our drinks and watched several gals who looked like they were about three years out of middle school and three sheets to the wind crash their kayak repeatedly in some heavy surf, an older couple on wobbly legs attempt to dance to Eagles tunes and a steroid-infused jet ski rental dude hit on anything remotely resembling a tweenager. It was an easy, entertaining scene.

We then ventured out to find some late lunch beach grub and we came upon an open bar restaurant spilling over with folks called SOB – Smokin’ Oyster Brewery.

Whether it was the name or the atmosphere, I’m not sure, but that place fit us like a worn glove.

We’re not!

When we walked in, there was a band playing in the corner, an old Commodores song I believe, and the lead singer/saxist (or is it saxophonist?) was sauntering around barefoot, playing his heart out, making all the old biddies croon.

He was a big beast of a guy, with what appeared to be several drinks spilled down the front of his shirt, but he was an incredible musician with an obvious passion for his … work. We kicked right back and ordered up a cocktail, a margarita and some delicious sweet, crunchy coconut shrimp.

That was followed by another round of margaritas (I told you it was more than one!)

and another appetizer – the oysters Rockefeller – which I couldn’t manage to call anything but “Martaritas and Oysterfellers” by then.

Luckily the gal who was waiting on us spoke ‘Annie’ and she was able to pick up what I was putting down. For the most part … But, put it down we did. We followed the appetizers up with a slow braised pork shank. Put your fingers to your lips and spritz them out with a smack. Mphua! Whatever that is – that’s what our pork shank was. DE-lish. (And don’t ask me where the picture of it is … I took one I know, but lost it I’m sure!)

After filling our spirits and savoring our big, filling late-lunch, we sauntered back to the dinghy and cruised on back to the boat.

There she is! What a beaut!

We kicked back in the cockpit and took in, what I can now safely say, was the best sunset of the trip.

By cockpit that is …

After the horrendous storm we had encountered in the mooring field the night before, it was nice to see the view we had just seen the day before brewing with ominous clouds now serene and stained with shocking pinks and a burning yellow.

It was so beautiful it silenced us. We both sat in awe, enjoying the slow movement of our chests rising and falling in gratitude,

as the realization started to sink in. We had made it all the way down to Ft. Myers — by boat! Our next stop was Key West. We would be making the jump across the Gulf in just a couple of days. This was it! We were on it. The trip we had been planning for months, preparing and provisioning for for weeks, dreaming about for years. And, here we were. Truly living it. But, we both knew we were enjoying every stop, every step and every breathtaking sunset along the way.

It was the destination that had motivated us, initially, to set our sights on the sea, but it was now the journey that was capturing us, calling us onward, always, for more – to anywhere and nowhere – by boat.

The Back Door Marine Supply Guy

June 10, 2014anniedike

April 15, 2014:

After our leisurely stroll through the Dali museum in downtown St. Pete that morning, it was time to focus on some boat chores that afternoon. We were in the market for a portable oil change kit. While we certainly hadn’t planned on motoring as much as we had already on the trip, you know our philosophy on plans. With the various mishaps we had experienced with the sails (losing the main halyard and the failure of our Jenny swivel shackle – both of which we had decided were the product of operator error – poor boat!), we’d had to motor more on the trip than we would have liked. But, that’s what she’s got a motor for I guess, so …

The manual for our engine recommends changing the oil every 50 hours. We knew we were going to cross that threshold soon, so we needed to have a pump and canister ready when the time came. While we have an oil change kit at home, that thing is a bulky, messy, metal beast that looks like an offspring of the Tin Man:

Face it Man, he’s definitely yours.

We keep it in a big rubbermaid container because everything in it is covered in thick, sticky oil. It just wasn’t an item we really wanted to pack on the boat for a month-long trip to the Keys. But, we now found ourselves in need. Phillip had been researching and talking to some marina supply folks in the area to see if we could find a local shop that carried a portable oil change kit. We were either going to have to pick one up there in St. Pete or down in Ft. Myers for sure. The cleanliness of the oil in the engine easily trumps the inconvenience of a big oil change tub on the boat.

Luckily, Phillip found a local marine supply shop in St. Pete that had one. And, since we had the afternoon off after our journey through the incredible world of Dali, we decided to venture out and get it. And, as it always seems, our ‘venture’ quickly became an ADventure.

As you know, we traveled to the sensational city of St. Pete by boat. Which means, when we venture away from the boat, we have to travel by foot, bike or cab for supplies and provisions. Sadly, Google maps steered us wrong that day and we ended up walking about eight miles to and fro across the city searching for an Auto Zone that no longer seemed to exist (at least not in the prior location). And, ignorant of the monumental trek we were about to make, this dumb mate wore a cute little pair of summer flip-flops that weren’t really up for the task:

I know, cute right? Perfect for the museum, noooot so much for the Million Mile March. These dogs were barking! About mid-way through the trek, I finally just kicked them off and resigned to sport some wicked Wal-Mart feet for the rest of the venture.

And, don’t pretend you don’t know what those are …

Yeah, I’m not afraid.

But, we did finally make it to the marine supply store. Wait … I’m sorry. Warehouse. The Marine Supply Warehouse. Yep. There it is:

A small door in a duplex with a sign that read:

Well, the Captain wasn’t afraid.

He marched right in there.

And, man, when they say warehouse … what they really mean is … 500 square feet and three aisles:

It was no West Marine, but they did have the oil change kit we needed and plenty of other boat goodies. And, while the Back Door Marine Supply Guy that ran the shop was pretty knowledgeable,

he’s one of those types that will always answer your question with a question:

Customer: “Hello, sir. We need an oil filter, a Puralator L30001. Do you have one?”

Supply Guy: “What are you going to use it for?”

Customer: “To change the oil on our boat.”

Supply Guy: “What kind of engine do you have?”

You see what I’m saying. It’s like you have to answer his three magical questions before he will grant you the wish of the product you’d like to purchase.

But, nice guy – after the inquisition – and he did hook us up with the oil change kit we needed, so he’s tops in my book. After the epic pilgrimage to his back door, though, it was clear there would be no more walking for this crew. The Captain called us a cab, which arrived a prompt forty-five minutes later (speedy!) and we hitched a ride back to the other side of town to pick up the oil and filter and some other provisions for the next passage.

“Auto Zone, please.”

Once we made it back to the boat, we were pleased to find the new oil pump fit nicely in a locker under the vberth. No more big, oily rubbermaid container for this crew. We now travel full-time with oil change kit in tow. So, the St. Pete pilgrimage really paid off. We checked the radar and forecast for the following day and decided we would head back out into the Gulf tomorrow and try to make the approximate 24-hour run down to Ft. Myers, this time, hopefully, without any sail issues.

We ventured out one last time to the downtown strip in St. Pete for some drinks and dinner.

I ordered up the namesake “Tryst” cocktail at the Tryst Gastro Lounge, a fun, up-scale contemporary bar on the downtown strip. Both the drinks and the atmosphere were superb.

We then enjoyed a hearty St. Pete last supper at the British Tavern, The Moon Under Water, which began, as any good British meal should, with a stout painkiller and a beer,

We then devoured a tabbouleh and lamb starter,

and polished it all off with a shepherd’s pie and fish and chips. This crew was going to be full (stuffed actually!) and well-rested for the trip tomorrow.

And, in case you didn’t know, a fun aside about the origin of the name “Moon Under Water”:

Accept the Queen’s Shilling by “fair means or foul” and you’re recruited into the British Army? And, they bury it in the bottom of a drink?! I would have been a goner for sure. I always make it to the bottom of a drink!

After several ‘bottoms,’ we made our way back to the boat and tucked in for the night. Having had our fill of downtown fun in St. Pete and feeling extremely lucky to have stumbled upon such a quick and affordable fix for our furling Jenny (thanks again Steve!), we were excited to get back underway.

“Phillip, do you hear that?”

“No, what is it?”

“It’s the Gulf calling. She wants us back.”

Hellooooo Dali!

June 6, 2014June 6, 2014anniedike

April 14-15, 2014:

After our visit with Walter White and his ingenious meth–od for fixing our Jenny, we were ready to get out and do some more exploring in St. Pete. There was some weather rolling through the Gulf that we knew we were going to have to wait out,

so we started planning our attack on the city! Like I said, the mooring field in the North Vinoy Basin is pretty sweet. It is maintained by the city, so showers, captain’s lounge and laundry facilities are just a short walk from the boat, and at $14/night, we were happy to spend some time having a ball on our ball!

There she is, nice and secure. Always waiting on us! We decided to shower up and hit the town. And, I have to say, thankfully, the showers at St. Pete are not too truck-stoppey.

They had a massive fan blowing in the bathroom that could pretty much blow-dry a sheep dog!

It was awesome. Just step out of the shower and *snap* you were dry.

Thumbs up for the fan! I was a big fan! (I know, I’m a comedic genius … you can thank me later) After working in the hot sun most of the day working on the Jenny, we decided a big, lavish Italian dinner was just the ticket. We hit up Bella Brava for some amazing margherita pizza and chicken marsala.

Not to mention an incredible bottle of Sangiovese. A new wine for me, and the beginnings of what I’m sure will be a life-long addiction. Sorry Phillip. But, he’s got a little addiction of his own …

Kilwin’s. “Two chocolate turtles, please.” But, while we certainly enjoyed the dinner and wine and sweet treats as we strolled through town that night, what we were really looking forward to checking out in downtown St. Pete was the Dali Museum.

It was right there off the main downtown strip. A complete shrine to one of the most significant artists of modern time, and it’s literally a five-block walk from our boat!

Have I said enough good things yet about mooring in St. Pete? Well, it bears repeating … So, the next day, we set out for the Dali Museum, which was certainly a highlight of our trip. Like many, I only knew him as the “melting clocks” guy going in,

but I was exposed to a mind-blowing array of massive (I mean 20 foot tall) paintings that Dali did that I found I could stand in front of and stare at for hours. Seriously. The “Lincoln” painting really blew me away. Up close, it’s big blocks and colors and a woman standing in front of a window, but then from 60 feet, it transforms into a portrait of Abe Lincoln.

I mean, how do you do that close-up? I tried to imagine how many times Dali must have stepped off of his scaffolding, walked back 60 feet only to walk back toward his painting to make one little brush stroke. His ability to create images from a distance was mind-boggling. He was mind-boggling!

Dali was like a mad scientist. Completely devoted to his craft, but just … out there. We got to learn some interesting history on him while we were there. My favorite was when he was expelled from the Art Institute. Apparently, when he came in to take his ‘final exams’, he simply told his instructors they weren’t “smart enough to test him.” Decidedly true — his talent was simply beyond comprehension. But with that snide comment, they sent him packing. Looking back on it, though, I’m not sure the man really needed the degree. He seemed to do just fine without it. I can’t say enough about his talents. If you haven’t checked out a Dali museum or watched a documentary or learned anything about him other than the “melting clocks” bit, I highly recommend exploring further. The last one I’ll mention is the “Matadore” painting – Phillip and I’s favorite. Again, another 20-or-so foot tall painting just littered with insane features. Take it in:

www.madamepickwickartblog.com/2010/06/the-bull-lies-down-on-broadway

First, I’ll ask if you can see the matadore (whose bust fills the full size of the frame but whose face and shoulders are made up of other individual items that, up close, do not compose a man’s face). Amazing! But, there were so many other aspects of this painting that amazed us when we really took the time to look at every small detail – the flies, the pond at the bottom with the sunbather, the tribute to Dali’s wife, Gala, in the upper left corner, the two capes of the matadore on his shoulders, (red and jeweled), not to mention the “invisible” dalmatian at the bottom:

www.edlieze.blogspot.com/2010/06/pattern-behind-self-deception.html

Do you see it?

Yeah, let’s just throw that in there at the end, as if that’s not a complete mind-blowing painting all it’s own, it’s just a tiny little add-on at the bottom of this Dali masterpiece. An after-thought, really. The Matadore really stole the show for us. But, the museum itself was incredible, too. Unique architecture and lighting.

A wonderful spanish-inspired cafe by the gift shop, Cafe Gala (named after Dali’s wife and life-long muse):

An aspiring heli-staircase leading up to the exhibits:

A hedge maze by the garden:

And, many other “melting” objects lying about, in tribute to Dali’s most notable work:

“Seating for two please, preferably in the non-melting section.”

And, they had a Warhol exhibit they were featuring while we were there that was really cool, too. Warhol was intriguing to say the least. Both artists lived and created in the extremes. They were radicals. They were rebels, and they pushed the boundaries of modern art.

I think I accurately captured his scowl!

They had some great Warhol pieces on display, and you could even shoot your very own Warhol screen shots. It was hard to hold still for that long, but the end result was pretty cool. I had a few that turned out alright, considering the subject matter.

In all, we had an amazing time at the Dali Museum. Still one of the most visually-fascinating displays we experienced on the trip and certainly a highlight. While stopping in St. Pete was not originally on the agenda, we were thankful, in the end, that things happened the way they did, because we will definitely go back. Isn’t that always the case, though? The wind just sort of takes you where you really need to go.

But, we stepped out of that surreal world into what seemed almost another. The wind was howling and the rain whipped around us as we sprinted back to the boat. It was clear we wouldn’t be doing any sailing that day. We planned our passage for tomorrow when the weather was expected to lay down. The rain cleared up that afternoon, and we decided to venture out to pick up a few boat items we needed for the trip. But, we had no idea we would be going from one radical to another. Dali in the morning, and the Back-Door Marine Supply Guy in the afternoon. Just wait …

A Room Without a Roof!

May 27, 2014anniedike

April 13, 2014:

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

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

Walking the downtown strip on Parkshore Drive.

Drinks at The Birchwood.

“How about a drink there First Mate?”

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

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

Beautiful banyan trees at the Waterfront Downtown Park.

Drinks and dinner at the Parkshore Grill.

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

Clean plate club!

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

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

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

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

May 18, 2014May 19, 2014anniedike

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yep, that’s the one.

Our Jenny was totally busted.

Jenn-AAAAYYYY!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snug but not too tight they said …

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

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

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

Like I said, when it rains, it pours …

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

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

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

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

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

“That’ll be two dollars, ma’am.”

Then we took a nice shower in the cockpit.

Ahhh …

Then it was cocktails at sunset.

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

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

Yum!

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

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

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

May 5, 2014May 3, 2014anniedike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Log book:

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

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

All out – 200 feet total.

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

25 feet

50 feet

75 feet

100 feet

125 feet

150 feet

175 feet. End of the line!

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

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

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

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

February 15, 2014 – Evolution of a Party

March 5, 2014March 5, 2014anniedike

A night of Sexual Chocolate behind us, we woke refreshed and ready on Saturday for our friend’s primo birthday party at the Hampton Inn. Being the cool kids that we are, we dinghied in (yes, in our party clothes – my dresses tend to go where I go), Dom Perignon in hand, and got ready to rock that shit.

And, then the party ensued. Without further adieu, I give you:

Evolution of a Party

For a party, you usually try to arrive “fashionably late” or at a time when there are least a few more people there than you.

Well, unless you count the wait staff, we botched that plan. But, we were already there, so …

Then you get a lay of the land. Scope out the venue, find the bathrooms and – more importantly, check out the wet bar and the food spread.

This is important because typically even the dullest of parties can be made worthwhile with free booze and finger foods. Next, people start filtering in. Some you haven’t seen in a while. You make nice, make small talk, make eyes at the wait staff to see if it’s socially acceptable to get a drink, yet, and fill your little plastic plate.

Things are a little formal at first. People start munching celery sticks and strategically leaving purses and jackets on chairs for seating. You make your rounds and chat politely with the fellow party-goers.

Ha ha ha. You’re so funny Bob!

Then the birthday girl comes out …

Man, fifty does NOT look good on Cindy. I’m totally kidding – she’s the blonde babe behind him, looking appropriately frightened by the deejay-in-drag who rocked that Tina Turner number. I can tell you there were many parts of him that kept on “Rollin’! Rollin’!”

Here’s Cindy. Anything but a drag! Happy B’day babe!

But the booze hasn’t quite kicked in. You still can’t decide whether you want to politely finish the glass-in-hand while making your way out the door and home to the couch to binge on Game of Thrones or — stay. You never know, things could heat up … Then, some music starts playing, some gals you thought were incapable of any dance move beyond the jitterbug start fist-pumping their way to the floor, and the waiter comes by with another round of drinks. Eyeing the ladies, you pick up a glass and tell yourself – Well, the booze IS free. You decide to stick around and that’s when … the lights dim and things start to get blurry.

You fill your drink – again – and find your way to the dance floor. Then you find your way ON TO the dance floor. Then you find your arms in the air, your hips moving about and your body doing things it normally only does when you’re home alone in front of the mirror.

Then things start to get real crazy. People you don’t know that well start dancing up on you, dancing up on everyone, and then someone gets the brilliant idea to start a ‘dance train.’

It feels a little awkward at first, but you think – What the heck? Let’s all get a little friendly! Grab a friend!

“You! Yeah you! Get in here!”

Things continue to escalate …

Is that chick twerking?!? I don’t know, but I’m going to find out!

You make an executive decision to stay fully committed to this party. Like it’s 1999. All night long, baby. All night long. Someone then has the bright idea to take this party to the ‘next level.’ You down your drink and wholeheartedly agree. Let’s all walk to the Shaker!! And, that’s where the party really ensues.

Birthday girl takes the stage.

“Move aside groupies! Fifty’s the new twenty baby!”

You snap plenty of blurry, drunken pictures to be sure you fully document the debauchery.

Then you start to make bad decisions …

Yes, the shot-ski. A long, ski plank with four holsters for shot glasses, the downing of which must be highly coordinated and communicated or total chaos will result. You can tell these four rocket scientists were up for the task.

I love to see the concentration on each of our faces – eyeing our individual shots, each with a tentative hand reaching for it, deciding whether we’re going to be a team player, or just make sure our own goes down smoothly – to hell with the rest of ’em. We’re clearly thinking way too hard, particularly in our inebriated state. But here we go:

Phillip gets a jump on us.

We all dive in. Except Grabby Gabbie on the end there who decides to grab hers and knock it back the old-fashioned way. Looking back on it – probably a wise decision, but not near as fun as going whole-hog.

But, you see, the problem with making a so-called bad decision that involves alcohol intake is that it only leads to even bad-ER decisions …

Like, stealing the Hampton Inn golf cart!

Go, go Speed Racer!

Ha. I’m kidding. I only made it about ten feet, grandma-speed before Jack-be-Nimble Hampton dude jumped in and stopped me. Doh! Albeit golf cart-less, I’m happy to report Phillip and I made it safely back to the dinghy and, even more importantly, back to the boat and called it a night. I’m not aware of any rowing-while-intoxicated ordinances, so I think we’re safe.

Thankfully, we woke up the next morning with most of our wits and faculties about us and were able to row back to shore to walk off our hangover at the beach, take in some picturesque sights and scrumptious fish tacos at Red Fish Blue Fish and enjoy a beautiful sunny sail home.

http://redfishbluefishpensacolabeach.com

In all, it was a great weekend at the beach, and a much-needed break from all the work and projects we had been doing on the boat. But, with a beach getaway under our belts and finally a hope that spring was coming, we were ready to get back to it and tackle the rest of the items on the Keys list.

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!”

December 25, 2013 – A Christmas Story

February 6, 2014anniedike

Despite our high spirits, our soggy songsheet caroling expedition didn’t really take flight. A few curious stragglers in Jackson Square stopped for a minute to watch us, but once they discovered what we really were – a band of wet cats howling in the rain – they soon passed us by. The Quarter was wet and lonely on Christmas Eve.

Cathedral View

But, once we finally shut our cocktail caroling traps, we heard over the rain a chorus of voices pouring out of the massive double doors of the Jackson Square Cathedral as people were trickling in. We quickly chunked our soggy songsheets and followed the crowd, and what a crowd it was. The cathedral was packed, wall to wall, with all walks of festive life, just wrapping up the last verse of Deck the Halls!

A cheery, snowman-sweater clad lady with antlers handed us some dry song sheets and nudged us in to the main room. Our eyes lit with the glow of candlelight and we began to peel off a few wet layers in the warmth of the church. It was a warm, satisfying scene. A nice, N’awlins style snub at the rain. I think my little Grinch heart grew a smidge. We found a little corner to occupy and jumped right in on Silent Night.

But, we found we had some serious competition next door. Some rogue pack of choir boys had decided to take the cathedral caroling by storm. There were five of them huddled together, all clad in delightfully tacky Christmas sweaters, one with his back turned to the pulpit, facing the others, and swinging his arms like a conductor. As he would point to each of them, they would individually strike up in bass, baritone and even one who I would qualify as a deep alto. Still smarting from our band’s fallout on the corner and still full of liquid courage, I made it my mission to sing over them. I mean, Christmas isn’t fun without a little competition, am I right? After a few curious looks and some light nods of recognition, one of the men finally sauntered over to me and told me they did this every year. Got together in their most hideous Christmas garb, started at the Jackson Square caroling, where they warmed up and drank heavily, and then they took their slurred caroling act on a long, slow pub crawl through downtown New Orleans, always ending at LaFitte’s.

http://vaultuncensored.com/tag/haunted-stories-about-lafittes-blacksmith-shop/

He asked me if I wanted to join them. Uhhh … yeah! This was my kind of scene. But, here’s the real kicker, as he was talking to me, I looked over at the rest of the tacky sweater choir members and was shocked to see a fellow sailor Phillip and I had met at one of our local anchorages. I was sure it was him. I nudged Phillip and pointed and, after some prodding and persuasion, he agreed. It was the Sinky Dinghy couple! Yeah, this is going to take some explaining. Bear with me – it’s worth it.

So, a few months back. Phillip and I were out on the boat one weekend at Red Fish Point. Another boat pulled in near us and, as most cruisers do, we watched them ease up and drop anchor. I mean, you’re sitting in your cockpit with a cocktail at sunset – what else are you going to do but watch the neighbors? But, they had a beautiful boat. Gorgeous lines, lots of wood (in perfect condition) and just a pristine, classic look. We couldn’t place it at first, but we found out when we met them the next day that it was a Hallberg Rassy.

http://www.hallberg-rassy.com/news/daily-updates/daily-updates-archive/1359673200/2419199/1/

Just to give you an example. Don’t mind the Swedish flag.

We were mesmerized, though, when the captain pulled up to anchor under sail. No engine grumbling, no motor running, nothing but the wind and his sails and rudder to guide him to the very spot he wanted to drop anchor. And, when he got close, he would drop his sails in a flash, skip up to the bow and let the anchor drop. A true sailor. Phillip and I both started to develop a slight crush on him at that point. And, the woman was this willowy, Elle McPherson character dressed in flowy, flowery bottoms and a teeny tiny bikini top.

You could tell she was beautiful from three hundred feet away. Just such an interesting couple to watch. And, watch them we did. As later in the evening, just before sunset, the captain pulled anchor and started to sail off, again completely under sail. The entire two days we spent next to to these two, we never heard the engine crank once. They sailed by us and gave a light wave, then sailed back by again. We found it really strange that they had pulled their anchor just to sail back and forth around Red Fish Point, but as they passed by, each of them with a line in hand, making ever so slight adjustments to the sails, you could tell they just loved it. Sailing. Even if it meant pulling anchor and dropping it again in order to get another hour or two of sailing at sunset in. You could see the pleasure they took in it. They had to be sailing a 38′ foot yacht, at least, but it looked like they were sailing a small dinghy.

The boat moved with such finesse. I hate to admit that we poked fun at them at first. “Ha. Look at these two. Sailing back and forth. Can’t decide where to drop anchor.” When we soon learned the truth was they knew damn well exactly where to drop anchor, and how to do it under sail. They were simply sailing for the pleasure of it. Like I said, true sailors.

Now, you might be wondering why we call them the Sinky Dinghy couple. Or perhaps you forgot all about that in my mesmerizing sail tale. Stay with me. So, the next day, Phillip’s folks came by and we buzzed around wakeboarding for a bit. Just as we were about to call it a day and head back to our boat, we saw the Hallberg couple out in their dinghy. The wind was blowing, probably 13-14 kts, and you could tell they were struggling to row against the wind. They started waving their arms when they saw us and flagged us down. It was strange because the wind was blowing them toward their boat, but they were rowing mightily (with one oar) away from their boat. Then, as we started to approach them, we could see why. They were frantically pointing at something in the water that they wanted us to pick up. It was a volleyball. Their very own:

“WIIILLLSSSOOONNN!!”

I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever shed a tear over athletic equipment before, but Tom Hanks got me close.

So true.

They had lost an oar and had been struggling against the wind to try and get to it. So, we fished their ‘Wilson’ out of the water for them, tied their dinghy to the our motor boat and pulled them back to their Hallberg. I believed they haled from somewhere in Louisiana, Metarie, if I recall, and they had been sailing along the Gulf Coast for several months. They told us they couldn’t believe their dinghy was actually still afloat and trying to go upwind as it has a small leak and usually started to sink within an hour, which is why they lovingly called it Sinky Dinghy. I hate to say I can’t remember their names, if we even got them, which is why we simply call them the “sinky dinghy couple,” but they were so mellow, and smooth. Very “I’m okay, you’re okay.” The woman left us with some ethereal salutation like “We extend gratefulness to you,” as they stepped aboard their vessel.

Seriously beautiful people. Phillip and I watched them again that night as they pulled anchor once more to simply sail around the Point at sunset, coasting right back to their same anchorage point and dropping the hook again, all completely under sail.

So, now that you have the background, you can see why Phillip and I were so excited to see them. Right there, in New Orleans. With us at Christmas! We were star-struck. I got bold and went over to the band of sweater-clad brothers and approached Mr. Hallberg and asked him if he remembered us, the couple that rescued him and his lovely lady-friend and their volleyball out at Red Fish Point. And, folks, I’m embarrassed to continue telling you this, but I’ve already started down this road, so … The man looked at me like I was a wayward street performer who had asked him if he had seen my spotted dog. He started to shake his head back and forth, but I was sure! “Don’t you sail? A Hallberg Rassy? C’mon! I know it’s you.” I think I saw him sober up right in front of me, as he craned his neck back and said, “No. I think you’ve got me confused.” But, rather than admit defeat, I reached over to the willowy woman next to him and gave the same schpeel. “Remember, we picked you two up in your dinghy and fetched your volleyball.” She shook her head at me sadly, and said, “You have confusion in you.” Which told me she HAD to be the same lady. Nobody else talks like that. In my clear state, I started to try and convince them of who they were most certainly not – our sinky dinghy couple. Finally, the choir boy who had initially approached me wedged his way in and gently nudged me aside. I apologized, tried to recover, and asked where the drunken caroling bar crawl was going to begin. He stuttered and mumbled and said one place, then quickly changed it to another, exchanging quick glances and secret nods with the non-sinky dinghy couple. It was clear they were rescinding the invitation. I had run them off in a crazed frenzy.

But, that’s fine, I’ve played the crazy role before. I just couldn’t believe I was wrong. They looked SO much like the couple we had seen on the Hallberg. The funny thing was, they did end up at Lafitte’s, as did we. We finished off the evening there with a wild witchy piano woman who could play any tune you could dream up, without any sheet music, or ever looking at her hands. She had long scraggly hair and a smoker’s face – definitely not much of a looker.

Okay, although a spittin’ image, that’s not really her. But, let’s give it up for the “Sea Hag” of the Keys! Story here. Perhaps we’ll pay her a visit in the slammer when we make it to Marathon this spring.

But this woman was a pianic wonder! A man shouted Streets of Philidelphia, and she dove right in. I shouted Witchy Woman (finding it appropriate) and she struck it right up. Another woman called for Walking in Memphis, and it instantly rang out. Then Phillip hollered Watching the Wheels (Lennon) and she stopped playing with a discordant bang on the keys. The Hag looked at him for a moment, and said, “No. That song’s too slow. A snoozer. No.” Phillip stood there slack-jawed. She had yet to reject any random request, and she shot him down cold without an ounce of remorse (much like the infamous Sea Hag!). We of course helped Phillip recover by saying “Eehhh … she probably doesn’t know that song. That’s what it is. It’s too hard. There, there.” He nodded slightly and recovered. A little.

In all, we were having a grand time circled around the piano (which doubled as the bar), until the sweater choir boys showed up, full of merriment and cheer and singing brightly, albeit visibly, three sheets to the wind.

Men

At first they didn’t see me, as they made their way around the bar, but when they approached the piano, mid-Hark the Herald Angels, the sinky dinghy look-a-like dude coughed out loud, hid behind one of his band-mates and eased away as fast as he could. The rest of them grew wide-eyed at the sight of me and they all started shuffling and singing faster and making their way to the exit, which gave us all a mighty chuckle. They were literally afraid of me, and it was glorious! I’d scared them namby pambies right out of Lafitte’s. Serves ’em right. They can’t handle Lafitte’s!

We struck right back up with the Hag and a rousing rendition of Piano Man, polished off our drinks and called it a night. Christmas morning was spent walking the quarter with some piping cups of Joe from Stanley and taking in a fine turduckin lunch at Cafe Adelaide. While we had been to the Swizzle Stick bar many times (and loved it!), this was our first time at the Adelaide, and it is certainly one we will add to our N’awlins Must List. Fine food and the best service we have ever experienced in the city. In all, it was a great Christmas spent in a great city. But, we were eager to get back to that boat and finish our self-proclaimed “Winter Coat Drive.” Only five coats to go! So, put on some Christmas music, curl up with a hot peppermint schnocolate and enjoy this montage. Hope you all had a Merry Christmas. Cheers!