Gulf Crossing – Page 4 – Have Wind Will Travel

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

May 14, 2014May 14, 2014anniedike

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

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

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

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

Right around here we believe:

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

There will be no running aground today, thank you!

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

“Hoist them sails there, Mate!”

“You got it, Cap’n!”

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

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

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

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

Rockin’ the selfie!

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

AOK!

Ahhh! Nice and refreshing!

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

Whoa-NO …

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

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

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

May 11, 2014May 11, 2014anniedike

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

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

The Captain’s real smart like that sometimes.

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

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

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

That is, until we handled our business …

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

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

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

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

Yeah, it gave me heartburn too, Larry.

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

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

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

Ahhh … the memories!

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

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

Phillip ordered the shawarma beef, which was equally delicious.

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

The Clean Plate Club strikes again!

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

“Want a ride back?” says the cabbie.

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

Johnny N they call him.

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

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

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

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

May 8, 2014May 7, 2014anniedike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uh-oh … guess what day it is!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 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!

April 3, 2014 – Keys Log Day 1: Lazy Jack Snap!

April 17, 2014April 16, 2014anniedike

Clearwater by Sunday morning was going to be a two-day, three-night haul. The longest Phillip and I had ever undertaken together, but we were excited about it. Invigorated by the challenge and adventure of it. But, it was early in the trip – we were still feeding happily on excitement, adrenaline and the thrill of taking sailing selfies!

Look at me! I’m headed out to SEA!

We had a great sail out into the Gulf. The tide was coming out at the Pass and, even with a strong southeast wind pushing against us, it pretty much gushed us out of the pinchpoint at 4 knots. We motored through to be sure to stay in the channel, but once we were safely out, we cut the engine and clocked over southeast.

It was around dusk at that time, and I learned another of many important lessons in sailing. Don’t try to eat light when you’re sailing. “Oh, I’ll have the salad greens with the low-fat dressing, please.” No. That’s not going to cut it darlin’. We had been working on the boat all morning, packing up the last of the provisions, re-tying the Jerry cans and the anchor, running the solar lights, packing more provisions, filling the water tanks, etc. A lot of up and down the companionway stairs, hauling heavy items here and there, in general, some hard work. And, allst I had was a bowl of cereal and a little salad under my belt. Probably around 600 calories … total, and I’d probably burned about 2,469.82 calories, approximately, by that time. I was starting to feel a little pekish and convincing myself it was not seasickness. I’ve crossed the Gulf before, in 4 to 6 foot seas. I don’t GET seasick. But, I just felt weak, a little queasy, a little weird. Then Phillip mentioned the idea of dinner and it sounded like some grand revelation. Food?? Why yes, yes I would like dinner! And, let me tell you, I ate my friends. I started inhaling and choking down my fair share and thensome of the tuna salad we had brought for dinner while Phillip eyed me suspiciously as I shoved heaping forkful after heaping forkful clumsily into my mouth. And, he told me I needed to eat more. “You need to eat before you’re hungry,” he said. And, he was right. I should have stock-piled some energy hours ago. But, I wasn’t going to let this happen again. I started eating! A handful of almonds, three handfuls of pretzel crisps, followed by chocolate-covered pretzels, peanut butter Chex, trail mix, some snap pea crisps, some more almonds, before I finally just gave it up and inhaled a calorie-dense protein bar – much like the kind boxers scarf when they’re trying to get to the next weight class. I was ravenous, carnivorous, OM-nivorous. Eating anything in sight with unabashed abandon.

But, within minutes, I felt better. Much better. Food. Who knew? Ladies – it doesn’t matter if you’ll be slipping into a bikini later, if you’re sailing, you’re burning it off. Eat early and eat often.

Unfortunately, the wind was right on our nose all evening and into the night. We were taking long tacks back and forth, trying to make our way upwind but not making much ground. While underway, we entered our coordinates, as well as our heading, speed, the sea state, weather and other note-worthy items, in the log book.

The afternoon sail was nice, albeit not very productive, i.e. we didn’t make much ground toward Clearwater, but it was a comfortable sail. After the sun dropped down, we donned our safety gear and settled in for the evening.

Later in the evening, the wind picked up to 15 knots, and we put the first reef in the main, followed by the second, followed by a reef in the Jenny. The sea state was probably 4 to 5 foot waves, thoughout the night, which made for some rough wave jumps and crashes on the boat, all of which sound entirely manageable in the cockpit but horrific down below. When we started taking our two-hour shifts, it was hard to close your eyes and try to get some sleep when each wave sounds like the hull is cracking in half. It’s not, and some part of you deep down knows that, but another small part also asks “Are you sure? Was that a crack? Maybe I should get up and check … ”

That first night was pretty rough. We rode waves up and down, crashing water over the bow, and occasionally spraying us in the cockpit, and took turns getting fitful, disjointed pockets of sleep. But, the true champion that night was Otto — our auto pilot. That guy. I mean. Damn! He held through howling 15 knot winds and rolling 5 foot seas. He held much more than I ever thought he was capable of. He would, of course, on occasion, lose his ability to grip the wheel. It would spin freely under his belt, his motor screeching out trying to stop it, and then he would follow up with a cackling cascade of beeps to let you know he was losing it. As much as you wanted to curse him. (Okay, I did often – “Damn you Otto!”), you really couldn’t. He held the wheel probably 80% of the night. I mean, a little slippage was allowed. But, the problem was, if you weren’t at the wheel the moment he slipped, by the time you jumped back there, clipped in, got your bearings and turned Otto off it was sometimes too late. He’d fallen too far off course and you were in a jam, having to turn the boat around in a large circle and catch the wind with a forceful pop around the backside. Needless to say, it was a long night, and was certainly hard on the boat.

We woke the next morning to find out just how much. Phillip was holding the sunrise shift and when I started to blink to, thankful to see light pouring in through the windows, Phillip heard me stir, and shouted down to me, “I’ve got bad news.” Oh-no, I thought. That’s just what we need. I scrambled up the companionway to see what he was referring to. And, there it was, the remains of our lazy jack lines (on our new stack pack) strewn haplessly across the deck. The eyelet on the spreader that held them up had snapped clean off.

Well, they must be called lazy jacks for a reason. Perhaps we could handle the not-so-lazy route for the rest of the trip. In all, considering the night we had, it seemed a minor loss, really. One day down and only one piece of (lazy-slash-luxury) equipment down. We shrugged our shoulders and continued south. What do you have in store for us Day Two?

October 10, 2013 – To See a She-Man About a Boat

December 3, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Now, I don’t really consider a dinghy a “boat.” I mean, I guess it’s a watercraft. It floats and carries people. You can paddle or motor around in it.

Okay, I get it. But, if our sailboat and the dinghy were tied up together in a slip, and someone said, “Hey, nice boat!,” I wouldn’t say, “Thanks, she’s a 2001 six-seater Caribe with matching oars.” I would, assume, like the rest of the world I would hope, that he’s talking about the sailboat. The real boat. (And, I will tell you, I was going to include a fun little Webster’s or similar dictionary quote here to prove my imminent brilliance, but every definition I found started with “A small boat that … ” — Bullocks!).

Apparently, the boys in blue are equally correct in their definition of a “boat.” After a nail-biting ten minutes in NYC, Detective Whazzisname from the Pensacola Police Department finally called us back and told us they had been trying to track Phillip down back in Pensacola on behalf of the Fort Walton Police. Turns out it was the Fort Walton guys that wanted to talk to Phillip “about his boat.” A very important piece of information Sergeant So-and-So could have told us that wouldn’t have left us imagining Plaintiff’s Rest smashed into a pile of paint and epoxy at our dock back in Pensacola. But, apparently, he wasn’t at liberty to disclose such vital information. Phillip started to suspect then that it could be about the dinghy, although I was a little skeptical. I mean we cut her off in the middle of the Gulf …

I believe you all remember the “harrowing debacle.” When we had to literally hack the dinghy off the stern during The Crossing to save the boat:

“Afterward, we all fell into a heap in the cockpit, drenched and shaken, but feeling more alive in that moment than we had the entire trip. I doubt Mitch could even comprehend nausea at that moment. Our bodies were feasting on adrenaline. We sat there, our chests heaving in unison it seemed, gathering our thoughts and wondering if what just happened had really happened. Phillip shined a light out into the sea as it to confirm our collective inquiry and there it was. The dinghy. About 50 yards away from the boat, lines floating around her like spindly fingers reaching back for the boat. She was truly out there, detached from the boat and floating away. We had really done it. Cut her off. The damn dinghy.”

Now, what do you think happened to that dinghy? I imagined it floated along, finally free as a blue-jay, frolicking with the dolphins and dorados. Much like the wide-eyed cat in the psychedelic cat food commercial batting at little fish-shaped pieces of meat leaping about, as happy as happy can be.

Like when the family pet passes and you tell the little ones “No, honey, Brisco didn’t die, he’s living on a great big farm, chasing squirrels all day.” I envision it that way because that’s not the image I was left with when we sawed the dinghy off and watched her float away from the boat over big, murky waves, existing only in the single beam of our flashlight — until we clicked it off and turned our backs on her. And then what?

Then our dinghy floated herself all the way to Fort Walton Beach that’s what. Her journey had to look something like this:

I’m starting to think our dinghy looked less like the doe-eyed, frolicking kitten in the cat food commercial and more like this:

Cut me off of the boat will they? I’ll get those heifers!

Our dinghy wasn’t having it! She wasn’t going to let us leave her out there to drift aimlessly in the ocean. The cat came back! And, as fate would have it. Having floated freely across the entire Gulf, the minute she touched dry land, she ended up here:

Apparently she didn’t think to grab her papers before we cut her loose. Them’s the breaks!

Someone had apparently found her in the woods and brought her in to the station. Thankfully, we had registered the dinghy in Phillip’s name before setting off on The Crossing so they were able to track her back to us. But, they sure weren’t in a hurry. We learned the dinghy had been sitting there, staring sadly through a chain link fence, waiting for us to come get her, since July. July!? Yes, three months, sitting in a parking lot, out in the sun. But at least she’d made it back.

Phillip met with a stocky Fort Walton lady-officer of about this size and stature:

I heart you Melissa McCarthy.

She unlocked the gate and let us have a look at her. She had some nautical miles on her, but it was definitely our dinghy.

The outboard was nowhere to be found, but I’m sure that thing was toast well before she reached the shore. I remember when it crashed into the water from the davits, oil and gas flowing out of it like lava. I doubt it was salvageable. As we hoisted her into the trailer and strapped her in, I started to wonder what stories our dinghy could tell us about her adventure.

Perhaps she floated past Robert Redford in an ailing life raft, or an Indian boy and his tiger, adrift at sea. Or maybe she hallucinated the entire time and did bat at leaping, neon goldfish. We’ll never know. But, I couldn’t believe she had come back to us. All that way. The damn dinghy.

October 4, 2013 – The Heat is Hot!

November 27, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

For those of you who don’t know. “The heat” is the cops, the po-po, the 5-Oh. In our case, the Pensacola Police Department.

And, they were on us. It all happened during our trip to the Big City. That’s right. Chatahoochee, FL. Jeepers, what a town! I’m kidding. The real big city. NYC.

I had never been and, yes, I imitated the Pace Picante commercial repeatedly in the weeks before the trip and actually exclaimed “Jeepers!” several times while I was there—at least three times after we saw The Book of Mormon.

That show was super nifty. Check it out. An incredibly entertaining and insanely accurate ‘poke’ at religion. I highly recommend it. I also recommend, if you find yourself in that bubbling metropolis of humanity, that you buy a greasy foodcart product – a hotdog, some empanadas or any kind of poultry on a stick (it doesn’t matter which, as I believe they all originate from the same non-mammal meat product), sit on a bench and just watch the people. An equally entertaining and insanely accurate ‘poke’ at people. Here are some highlights:

Bar hag roaming through Times Square:

Wanda was right, this sharp shooter belt buckle really does make me look skinny.

Jersey Shore trainer at Bryant Park.

“Ummm-huh. Just like that Becky. Hold that position for me.”

Band of brothers at the bar:

Dude, I’m serious. It goes from this hand to the other.

The real Toy Story:

“You’re right Spidey, Buzz does smell like plastic.”

Oh, we seemed to come across this excitable blonde – at the Bull:

I mean, really? It’s just a bronze bull. And that “grab life by the horns thing” had totally been overdone.

We also found her at the top of 30 Rock (beautiful view!)

The city, not the blonde (although Phillip took a real liking to her):

Oh, but we did come across a real-life excitable blond at the airport:

Please tell me you recognize her immediately (as Phillip did not). No? Let me give you a hint:

The one and only – Hayden Panetiere. Her and Beyonce’s long-lost cousin rocked that flick! I totally accosted her at the airport. Super celeb sighting in my book. But, enough about that great big city — back to the boat.

So, we had been planning this trip to NYC for a couple of months and, as it just so happens, that damn Tropical Storm Karen was set to roll in just as we were set to leave. Seriously. This was the predicted path:

The one weekend we had planned to travel, not by boat, and the jilted wench set her sights directly on our slip it seemed. The storm really put a damper on our pre-travel excitement. The night before we left, we spent the entire evening tying and re-routing extra lines (we even latched her to city property!), fastening extra chafe guards, taking down the dodger (to reduce wind surface) and strapping and re-strapping the sail covers, so they wouldn’t blow off.

We used pieces of firehose some sailing buddies have given us as chafe guards for the dock lines:

With the boat as secure as we could get her, we refreshed the storm tracker every five minutes during the flight and kept checking with folks back in Pensacola to see how the storm was progressing on the home-front. Bottom-Job Brandon and our broker-friend Kevin had offered to go by the dock on occasion to check on the old Rest. Initially, we were getting good reports. Winds of 25-30 mph only and no storm surge yet. But the storm was predicted to hit on Saturday night, October 5th, and it was only Wednesday.

That Friday afternoon, Phillip and I were making our way to the FlatIron building—a wine, a beer and two incredibly succulent Shake Shack burgers under our belt:

When Phillip checked his phone and noticed two messages from the office and one from a neighbor back home. Odd. He decided he better see what was going on, so we parked it on a bench near the infamous building while he returned the calls.

His neighbor told him a Pensacola police officer had stopped by looking for him, but he would not “disclose his business.” Odd-er. At the office, Phillip’s receptionist reported that a cop (presumably the same—a distant cousin to the Captain Mulrooney who accosted me at the Home Depot in Daphne I’m sure) had come by the firm, asking to speak with “Mr. Warren” but again declining to reveal why he had such a pressing need to speak with the Captain. Thankfully Phillip’s receptionist is inquisitive and scrappy and wouldn’t let the cop leave without coughing up a calling card. Phillip joked that it was a good thing he’d left town, because apparently the “heat was hot” in Pensacola! They were on his six!

Back in NYC, Phillip punched in the detective’s number and spoke with a raspy, chain-smoking bloke, Sergeant So-and-So, who told him the detective was out of pocket at the moment, but that he and the Detective had gone to his house and office that day trying to talk to him about his boat.

About his boat.

And that was “all he could disclose.” Disclose! I was so sick of hearing that word. As if when a cop has something to say, it no longer becomes “tell” it magically transforms into the utterly important “disclose.” Ooohhh. But, we did learn it was “about the boat.” A sickening thought when we had a tropical storm rolling in we were half-a-continent away. I imagined the boat had come undone, knocked half the dock out and had ended up speared through the million dollar catamaran in the next slip over. A sickening thought let me assure you. Phillip thought they were calling about the lines we had tied to the city rails, thinking they were going to—or worse, they already had—untied them to preserve city property during the storm, which meant the boat would be free to rock and sway violently and crash into the seawall most likely, which was no better than my vision. We wandered around the park in New York listlessly, toes nudged in the ground, staring sternly at Phillip’s phone and thinking the worst while we were waiting for Detective Whazzisname to call us back. I cannot disclose to you how worried we were.

May 27, 2013 – THE CROSSED!

October 8, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

So, after Dasani bottles and duct tape, what do you think the next most important item on a boat is? A plunger? No. Unfortunately, if the head stops working, that glorious contraption of wood and rubber is not going to save you. Try again. Something incredibly important, like transmission fluid or oil? The infamous ” Johnson rod,” maybe?

A what?!? A Johnson rod:

Seinfeld: The Fusilli Jerry (#6.20)” (1995)

George Costanza: [about mechanics] Well of course they’re trying to screw you! What do you think? That’s what they do. They can make up anything; nobody knows! “Why, well you need a new johnson rod in here.” Oh, a Johnson rod. Yeah, well better put one of those on!

You’re right. I’m sure it’s something incredibly important. But, during those early morning hours of May 27th, as we were coming into the marina in Pensacola, I’ll tell you what it was. Paper towels. Strong and brawny ones!

Mmmm … ain’t he a beaut? And, just for fun – it appears they cleaned old Mr. Brawny up over the last decade. Apparently today’s “modern woman” just wasn’t digging the 70’s ‘stache and blonde shag, so we get the preppy, shaved, PC version. Sad times.

But I digress. So, we were nearing the marina and our Dasani catch bin was full to the brim with pink fluid jostling around, just waiting to drip over and spill into the bilge. While transmission fluid in the bilge is not a huge deal, it’s certainly not an ideal one. If it gets down there, it’s got to be pumped out and cleaned up and otherwise dealt with. Needless to say, it was best for us to catch the fluid if we could. So, I wedged myself down near the open engine and held up a wad of the old Brawnies under the transmission shifter arm to catch the drip until we got just a few minutes away, then I wadded up the biggest bundle of paper towels I could (about the size of a basketball) and shoved it down in the bilge to catch whatever dripped while we docked. A mighty fine ‘sorbant pad if you will.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hq1pcy2EPE8

And, you laugh, but I now know that the standard-issue oil absorbent pad, which we now keep under the engine at all times, really does look just like a wadded-up Depends undergarment.

So, with my make-shift “Depends” in place, I was ready “get back into life” and get topside to help Phillip. But, now we’re docking again, and we all know how exceptionally great I am at that. So, of course, my heart is beating and thumping out of my chest. My hands are all sweaty and I keep stubbing my toe on things as I’m scrambling to tie lines and hang bumpers. We were coming in here to the Palafox Pier in Pensacola:

Here’s the birdseye view:

We were planning to just tie up at the fuel dock while we got our things together and wait for the dockmaster to find us a temporary slip for the day. Our first plan once we got the boat to Pensacola was to have it hauled out for a bottom job. That’s where they pull it out of the water with giant straps and set it up on jacks in a shipyard to sand and re-paint the hull. We knew that would mean a couple of weeks out of the water, so we didn’t have a permanent slip lined up yet. If you recall from the survey, we knew we were going to have to have a bottom job on ours done as soon as we got her home as our surveyor (you remember the ever-charming Kip):

“Every gal loves a good banging first thing in the morning!”

had found the potential leak in the core where the strut is fastened to the hull as well as several blisters in the paint on the hull that were allowing sea water in (http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/05/12/april-3-2013-the-surveysea-trial/). Saltwater is just rough on everything, and every sailboat needs to have its bottom work redone once every 3-4 years. We knew it was time for ours so we had scheduled her for a paint a polish as soon as we got back. But, if you’re checking the calendar, you’ll see the day we pulled into that fateful dock was, unfortunately, Memorial Day (May 27, 2013), so she was scheduled to be hauled out the next business day – May 28th. As luck would have it, we had arrived a day ahead of schedule this time but if the initial Crossing taught us anything it was to never try to sail anywhere in a hurry. Always build in a few days’ cushion for weather, wind, boat problems. transmission leaks, complete engine failures, you know – the usual boat stuff. So, we just needed a temporary spot at Palafox Pier for the night. A transient slip they are called. But, the guys that run the marina don’t tend to open up shop at 5:30 a.m. just in case some rogue midnight traveler needs a transient slip, so we planned to tie up at the fuel dock while we waited for the dockmaster to arrive at 8:00 a.m.

This was our path in to the fuel dock:

Now, while I’m sure you may have tired by now of my many harrowing tales of our numerous docking debacles (docking is scary!), I will try your patience for just one more, because the true hero here was Phillip. The wind was strong that morning (of course!), blowing about 12-15 mph right out of the east:

Which meant it was blowing our nose right off the dock:

As Phillip began pulling the boat up alongside the dock, the wind kept pushing us off and the gap between the bow, and even the midship, and the dock kept widening. I just couldn’t make the leap (without losing a limb or two or my teeth when I hit the dock on the way down – and, to be honest, I’m kind of fond of all of those appendages – particularly the teeth). I had a line clenched tight in my hand, this time, but it was just too far to jump. I didn’t know what to do, but thankfully Phillip did. He was still close enough to the dock at the stern to leap off, stern line in hand (smart man!) and tie it quick to a cleat. He then ran forward and shouted at me to throw him the bow line. I wadded a few loops in my hand, gritted my teeth and tossed it up in the air. Phillip and I watched breathlessly as it snaked out, slowly unwinding and floating toward him. It was like Rookie of the Year pitching the famous “floater”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJWYzmJslis

You can imagine the dramatic Hollywood score playing in the background and the bright clang of the cymbals as Phillip caught the tail end of the line. Trumpets blared! He pulled the bow of the boat to the dock and told me to go back to the stern and kill the engine. I did, and the silence of the moment suffocated us. Everything was suddenly so inordinately quiet. There was no motor running, no shouting, no water or waves. Just silence … and safety. Phillip and I just sat for a minute on the dock, staring at her in disbelief. There she was, our boat, tied to the dock in Pensacola. She was safe, secure, home. We had finally done it.

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

September 30, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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