Landlubber Outings – Page 5 – Have Wind Will Travel

The Dry Tortugas!

August 21, 2014August 21, 2014anniedike

April 26, 2014:

That’s right, the westernmost point of the Florida Keys, the furthest island out, the Dry Tortugas! This was the day! When we set off some three weeks prior from Pensacola on this maiden voyage to the Keys, we had originally planned to sail to the Dry Tortugas. We really wanted to make it all the way there via the s/v Plaintiff’s Rest, but we knew when we set off that it might not happen. The Dry Tortugas are another 70 miles west of Key West, so about another 15-20 hour passage there, depending on the sea-state and weather, and then another 15-20 hours back. So, to spend a few days anchored out at the Dry Tortugas would add another 5-6 days to our already-extended trip. All evidence to the contrary (and until we hit it big with the Powerball), we do still have day jobs we had to get back to. But, we weren’t going to let that stop us from seeing one of the most pristine islands in the states. We booked a ferry and set off:

And, you may laugh at this, but I have to say, riding on that ferry kind of blew my mind. We had just traveled some 550 miles at the average speed of 4.5 knots. If we “broke six” on the sailboat, we were making some real time. And, now, here we were on this big ass ferry doing 29 knots. We were flying!

I looked like a goofy dog hanging his head out the back window as we ripped across the Gulf.

“Jeepers, Captain! Look at us go!”

I couldn’t stop staring over the side of the boat!

It really was a strange sensation, though, to be moving SO fast across the water when we had been harnessing the power of the wind for most of our voyage, slowly cruising across the Gulf, picking our way along the coast to avoid the shoals and crab pods. Oh, and the crab pods! I had been so trained while we were sailing to keep a squinted eye out along the horizon for them, that the first one I saw as we were rushing through the water on the ferry, I nudged Phillip and pointed it out. But, before I could get out the words, “Look, Phillip a crab … “ zwhoop! There it went. Sucked right up under the ferry. Dodge crab pods? Please. These people had places to go! It was crazy to see the ferry just mow a path right through them when we had taken such care all through the Gulf to gingerly pick our way around them. Big. Fast. Motorboats. That certainly was new to us.

But, cruising on the ferry was pretty nice. We left around 8:00 a.m., and they had a little breakfast buffet spread out for us. The typical kind of hotel continental breakfast food (bagels, cream cheese, toast, bright yellow fluff eggs) but it was air-conditioned inside the galley and there were plenty of places to curl up with a book and just relax. I finished The Paris Wife, which we had picked up at the book swap in Port St. Joe. It was somewhat of a tragic, but touching read. Incredibly creative historical fiction viewpoint through the eyes of Hemingway’s first wife. Highly recommend it. And, Phillip dug into In Our Time – the bikini sprint birthday book. We enjoyed sipping our coffee and reading while we cruised along. Around mid-morning, we started to spot some islands on the horizon.

And, then she started to come into view.

Fort Jefferson.

I couldn’t believe the color of the water around her–so bright it was almost electric. This piercing, neon green. These photos can’t even begin to capture it. It’s hard to take your eyes off of it, it’s so striking.

Just as we were pulling in, a sea plane landed.

And, then I saw the sign:

Ha! What a laugh. It should just say: <— Poor Folk Millionaires —>

When the ferry docked, we were free to explore. Both Phillip and I were a little hesitant when we first booked the ferry because we really would have liked to have come to this beautiful island on our own sailboat and explored at our leisure. Having to follow the rest of the fanny-pack clad tourists along, brochure in hand, being lead every step of the way by a verbose tour guide, is not how we wanted to experience this pristine landscape. But, I will say, the folks running this ferry tour did a great job of allowing us the freedom and flexibility to experience the island on our own terms. The ferry docked around 11:00 a.m. and a lunch spread was laid out. You were then given the choice to either follow the formal tour guide, brochure in hand, and get a detailed history of the fort or you could explore on your own. And, you didn’t have to eat lunch on the boat. (You could if you wanted to, and many did because it was air-conditioned.) But, you were also free to pack your own sandwiches and snacks up and set up your own picnic style lunch wherever you wanted on the island. Snorkel gear was available in all sizes. You could just check it out and bring it back at your leisure. It was really a great “hands-off” approach to a tour.

Once the ferry docked, we set off for the Fort.

It reminded me a lot of Fort Pickens back in Pensacola. Lots of underground artillery bunkers, windows set up with a swivel gun for firing, twisted corridors and barracks for storage.

We came across some neat finds while we were down there:

One of the makeshift boats they used to cross from Cuba.

An old Fort tower, lighthouse-slash-lookout.

We also learned some really interesting history about the Fort while we were poking around. While I had a sinking suspicion that the name of the island had something to do with turtles (and I envisioned a Sir Francis Drake-like character stumbling upon a sea turtle-infested spit of land), I also know I have a tendency to make these type of silly connections on my own initiative that have nothing to do with reality, so I never spoke of it, but alas it was confirmed! We learned that Ponce de Leon discovered the islands in 1513 and named them the Tortugas (which does mean turtle in Spanish) because of the hundreds of sea turtles he and his men found along the islands and shoals. The Dry was added to let other explorers know there were no springs here. It was a pretty rough environment for voyagers. After 30 years on Garden Key, and due to an excruciating lack of sufficient supplies and provisions, the U.S. decided to forego the completion of Fort Jefferson, and it remained abandoned until the late 1800’s when it was used as a prison for a brief stint. I could totally see that.

The place was pretty barren. And, there’s not really anywhere you could go assuming you did escape. It is kind of out there on its own in the middle of the Gulf.

We made it up to the top wall and found a great view of the entire island.

We could see out to the anchorage, too, where we would someday be dropping our hook.

The Captain looked out across the boats, a sigh and a dreamy glaze in his eye.

“We’re going to be right there,” he’d tell me. “Right there … ” And, we will. I can assure you. Next time we come to the Dry Tortugas, the Plaintiff’s Rest will be resting her tired hull right there!

But, we were thrilled also to be there by ferry. No matter how we got there, it was too beautiful not to enjoy.

The water, again, is what continued to captivate me. A glowing turquoise.

Being the rogue travel rebels we are, we decided to pack up a lunch and eat on the wall that forms the moat around the Fort.

“Moat seating for two, please?”

With a view like that, I don’t think I’ve ever had a ham sandwich that tasted that good. We were fine dining al fresco! You could lean over the wall and look down at the water and see all kind of fish and marine activity.

We saw so much wildlife that day. Even whales!

So tame they would just float right by!

We had a great time picnicking on the moat. We could have sat there all day … But, you know us. Not much for sitting. We like to go, see and do! So, it was time to see what this crystal green water was all about!

“Lose those clothes, Mate! It’s time to get in!”

“Roger that, Cap’n!”

We snapped up some snorkel gear and set to it.

I have only snorkeled a handful of times in my life, so I’m positively spoiled now. Sorry Captain – you created this monster. Because, the snorkeling there, at the Dry Tortugas, was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Not six inches below the waterline and you could see a whole spectrum of colors and coral and wildlife.

There were tons of coral heads just teeming with life. Many of them had these little (I’m struggling to describe it) swirly poof things, kind of like a flower blossom, that stuck out of them and when you swished your hand by them, they would suck back in to the coral. You wouldn’t even have known they were alive, until you awakened them with a swish of water. It was the coolest thing.

We snorkeled around the moat wall and then headed out about 100 yards off the western side of the island to the coral heads. Phillip had a real eye for the wildlife and he pointed out a huge grouper, even a nurse shark. I know what they say about sharks – don’t bother them and they won’t bother you – but I’ll say I kicked away slowly and steadily, keeping my eye on that guy. This is one Mate who had no desire to be shark bait that day. We snorkeled around for an hour or so and then kicked back on the beach to bask in the sun.

After a short rest, we decided to walk along the moat wall around to the south side of the island to snorkel around the pilings. The walk alone was beautiful enough,

but, I got really excited when I saw the pilings.

Can you imagine the marine life we’re going to find in there? Let me tell you, you can’t. You just have to see it. We dove in, and it felt like we were swimming in a dream. Clouds of fish would swirl around you until you poked your finger out and swished them apart like a puff of air. There were hundreds, thousands of them, swimming together and swirling around like some chained piece of jewelry. It was mesmerizing.

So much so I forgot I was even human. Legs? What legs? I don’t have appendages, I’m a fish! The sting of it surprised me when it struck and I snorkeled around for a bit in denial. Throbbing leg? What throbbing leg? There are fish to be seen and poked! But Phillip rightly pulled me out when a light, murky cloud started to form around me. I did mention the shark, right?

Break out the old first aid kit … First Mate done got into something again!

And Then the Roosters Came

August 14, 2014August 14, 2014anniedike

April 25, 2014:

Okay, I’m going to be honest. We awoke from the previous day’s Big FOUR-OH in a bit of a drunken slumber. The sun rose, we moaned and groaned our way back into the upright position and stumbled our way back over to the Cuban Coffee Hut,

to do more stupid things … but not faster. With the vast quantities of rum and tequila still swimming in our veins, three Cuban coffee queens and we would still only be doing things at normal stupid human speed. But, we were Day One into Phillip’s second forty years and still on the hunt for new adventures in Key West. It seemed everywhere we walked there were plenty of interesting sites and scenes to take in.

“What the truck?!?”

“Don’t dredge on me!” it says. You gotta love the quirky conch personalities on this little island. Take this for example.

I know you see her. That pirate-clad pixie up in the upstairs window. What’s she sayin?

“Help me!”

Uhh-uuhhh Miss Sparrow. You got yourself commandeered up there. We want no part of your pirate drama! But, do feel free to show us some pirate booty!

I know, I know …

Speaking of, while we were mozeying around downtown, I got to show Phillip the little hole-in-the-wall bookstore where I stormed in during my first blaze down Duval Street to get his birthday book. For some reason, the Captain didn’t think that story was funny the fifth time I told it … “C’mon, that’s good stuff! Wait till I write up the blog on it!”

But, a couple of coffees down and now on the hunt for lunch, right around the corner we found our haven. A pink stucco gas station-turned-Cuban Caribbean eatery! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Paseo’s!

Take it in …

Phillip ordered up a hot pressed Cuban sandwich,

and I got the Paseo’s Greens bowl.

Basically, a huge Carribean bowl filled with pickled beets, cabbage, and piled high with the most succulent chicken thighs I have ever put in my mouth.

And … I’m a champion wing eater! That chicken was so moist I started to think they had to be wringing their necks out behind by the building upon order and roasting them up in house. And, then my suspicious were confirmed! Because …

... that’s when the roosters came!

They were clucking around all over the place!

Even little baby ones!

Right by my feet!

“Those must be the thighs I ordered! Grab ’em Pedro!”

The roosters really started to rally the troops when our shared side came out – a whole roasted ear of corn (still in the shuck), slathered with seasoned sour cream and topped with fresh chopped cilantro.

I mean …

The Captain and I ate ourselves just about sick. It was hard to sit upright after we finished. A good fifteen minutes after our meal, and we were still kicked back under the gas station awning, picking corn from our teeth and letting the misters spray us down.

Ahhh …

After that meal, we were stuffed! We headed back to the boat to nap it off. Because that’s what you do in Key West. Drink, eat and nap. In that order. Oh, and wash your boat. We did that, too. Since the previous day had been devoted entirely to celebratory matters, we spent most of the afternoon getting our boat chores done – filling the tanks with water, filling our spare diesel cans and giving the boat a good, long scrub-down. She was literally caked with salt from the passage. You could physically see it on the handrails and stanchions. Our girl was itching for a bath. And, it was a hot day to do it, but there’s just something about getting that boat all cleaned up, even in the sweaty heat of day, that’s truly rewarding. We showered up afterward, too, and the boat and crew all felt better for it.

As you may recall, we had plans that night to have dinner with our buddy Postal Bob on his Catalina 34. Remember, we had the mackerel, he had the shark, and Captain Ron was coming with the yellowfin tuna!

Bob invited us over around dusk to start with some sundowners and tall tales at sea.

“C’mon on board!”

And, there’s Johnny, too! Mr. Walker and his son made the trip from Ft. Myers to Key West with us on his 38′ Morgan, the s/v Windwalker. Bob’s boat was set up perfect for hosting. A big spread was laid out in the cockpit, a full bar was opened to everyone below. Bob had a specified “beer cooler” in the cockpit full of brewskies and he was working on a four-course feast when we arrived! Not to mention his boat. Gees! It was like a condo at the marina. He had A/C, a microwave, TV … That’s living! We sat down below in the A/C for about all of fifteen minutes before our teeth were chattering. It seems we had fully acclimated and preferred to dine al fresco. It was a beautiful evening out anyway, and the cockpit is just always a great place to gather.

There’s the Windwalker/Plaintiff’s Rest crew. Johnny next to me, and his son, Jeremy, next to Phillip. They were a lot of fun and, thankfully, they hadn’t yet heard all of my crazy stories.

“No, wait, wait. Let me tell you boys about my bikini sprint to the bookstore … “

Bob was such a generous host, too. He did all of the prep work himself down below and plated everything up while we were visiting in the cockpit.

“You keep passing drinks up here and we’re going to want some dinner to go with it!” I call it the “Give a Mouse a Cookie” phenomenon. But Bob had us covered. He cooked up the mackerel we had caught on the way down to the Keys (yes, we still had plenty enough left over to feed the whole crew). That was one big fish!

And, Bob taught us a great trick about mackerel, too. We had cooked up a few filets our first night in the Keys and while it was good, it had turned out a bit more meaty, a little tougher, than other fresh fish we had caught and cooked up. But, Bob said “just soak it in milk!” He let the filets we brought over soak for a bit before he grilled them up, and that did the trick!

That mackerel was perfect. And, Bob had made beans and rice, a salad with fresh grated parmesan and grilled zucchini and squash! See? A four-course meal … pretty much. Certainly a fit feast for a boat. We passed a few plates around and this crew didn’t wait to dig in!

“Thanks Bob!”

It was a great night spent with great fellow sailors down in the Keys. Phillip and I really felt like two of the group. We were cruisers now! We watched a beautiful sunset from the dock while we polished off the mackerel and another round of drinks.

We decided to call it an early night because we had a big day the next day. The biggest of the whole trip perhaps (aside from the Captain’s birthday).

Where were we going tomorrow you ask?? I’ll let you wager a guess …

The Big FOUR-OH

August 8, 2014August 7, 2014anniedike

Thursday – April 24, 2014:

A BIG day for Phillip. And, a BIG day for us. Waking up in the Keys. Does it get any better? After taking in the carnie sights and sunset at Mallory Square and cooking up our fresh-caught mackerel the evening before, we woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Phillip’s birthday – ready to paint the island red! Like any other thirsty sailor, we headed out for our first drink of the day – COFFEE! Not a few blocks from the boat, we ran into none other than Postal Bob! That man was everywhere. He told us we needed to try this great little Cuban coffee stand just a few blocks over and we started putting together some plans to have dinner on his boat the following evening. Still having plenty left from our hefty Gulf catch, we said we could bring mackerel. Bob said he had some shark. And, then this salty surfer looking dude …

Yeah, something like that

who was just randomly walking by said “Well, I’ve got some yellowfin tuna I can bring. Where we meeting?” You gotta love the Keys!

We bid Bob farewell and headed over to the famous Cuban Coffee Queen hut.

Not a bad little jaunt from the boat. And, in addition to the yellowfin tuna guy, there were plenty of quirky little Key West sights to take in along the way.

Two hundred miles from everywhere!

The sight at the coffee hut certainly had that authentic Cuban charm. There were roosters clucking around. Coffee runners (each of whom seemed to sport the same style dreads and flip-flops) loading up mopeds to go make Cuban Coffee Queen deliveries. A line of folks waiting for their coffee and breakfast sandwiches. This was definitely the happening coffee spot!

The guy at the counter cracked us up, too. We didn’t see any orange juice on the menu so Phillip asked “Do you have any OJ?” The guy sloshed around a huge vat of juice for us to see, which wasn’t really an answer, so Phillip asked “Is it for sale?” To which the sweaty Cuban coffee clerk replied, “Sir, everything’s for sale. I’ll sell you the shirt off my back if you want it.” I liked that guy.

We got two piping cups of Cuban coffee and an awesome pressed Cuban sandwich.

Yum!

Even the merchandise seemed to have a good sense of humor.

We were definitely pleased. The coffee hut was going to be our regular stop every morning for sure! After coffee we ventured back toward the north side of the island near Mallory Square, where we found some great sculptures and tourist pieces.

This whimsical number is located near the Custom’s House and is intended, I presume, to be a boy dreaming about … well what all boys dream about.

I decided to take some liberties and show him a little bit of the real deal …

But he couldn’t handle it!

And, besides, this guy was painting the scene while we were there, so I didn’t want to taint his muse.

But, being a sculpture too, he seemed to also be impervious to my charms.

Thankfully, this man is not!

There were a ton of great “touristy things” to check out near the Square.

Which makes sense. That’s right where the cruise boats come in.

Not so big from afar.

After the Square, we headed over to the north side of the island to check out some of the houses and gated properties. The other side of the tracks I guess you would say. No roosters clucking around or grungy coffee runners on mopeds here. This part of town was pristine.

The houses were gorgeous. Bright local brush and flowers spilled over every fence and seemed to reach out for you. We scoped out a few lunch spots but decided to head over to Hemingway’s House and do the tour first.

Come on in!

We got lucky and scored an exceptional tour guide. This young, bright-eyed college-looking kid, but he was super knowledgeable about all things Hemingway, and he had a real passion for sharing the trouble writer’s story and pointing out so many little idiosyncrasies about the house and its former (and current!) inhabitants.

Have you ever heard of the six-toed cats? It seems some cats that came over on ships developed a sixth toe (making them polydactyl), and those that did were sought after for their improved mice-catching capabilities. Apparently Hemingway also developed a bit of fondness for the finger-favored felines and started a small collection. The house is now home to about 40-50 six-toed cats. That’s like 1,200 toes!

The cats are lying around all over the house, completely oblivious to the hundreds of tourists passing through.

I mean, I wouldn’t give much mind to us either. We’re just walking around staring all of the time. These cats have their own personal veterinarian who comes to check on them all, make sure they’re properly fed, cared for and maintained. So, yeah, all they have to do is lie around and snooze. What a life!

One of my favorite parts about the tour was the story of Hemingway’s “Last Red Cent!” It seems Hemingway’s second wife, Pauline, was none too pleased with Hemingway’s constant travels as a war correspondent, probably because it also helped to foster his philandering ways, so she had a $330,000 (in today’s dollars) pool built while he was away.

Legend has it when Hemingway returned from the Spanish Civil War and learned of Pauline’s pricey pool, he threw a penny at her and said, “Well you might as well have my last red cent!” Pauline was happy to. She claimed that and plenty more when the couple later divorced, and she had the cent embedded in glass near the pool to show her friends when she hosted grand cocktail parties by the pool.

Take that Hemingway! Plenty more stories about Hemingway’s House if you’re interested HERE.

But, I have to say, my ACTUAL favorite part was Hemingway’s office. He had a suite built out where he would spend the better part of the day every morning toiling away on this vicious craft. Writing can be so exciting, so invigorating one day, and so draining and absolutely depressing the next. It’s a terrible burden to know you’ve written something that can be better, but also a blessing to know that you can write it better – if you’re willing to sit down and push yourself there. If you have it, which Hemingway, certainly did, it’s a torturous gift, and it certainly tortured him. It was incredibly humbling for me to see the actual room where Hemingway chipped away at the same stone.

After Hemingway’s house we were famished. We decided to dine at a little Creperia we had passed along the way. La Creperia.

And … Oh. My. Gosh. The best crepe I have ever had. By far. Hands down. No questions about it. Not mine – I ordered the La Campagnarde:

(frisee, lardons, tomatoes, potatoes, shallots, egg over easy, with a red wine vinaigrette), which was good, but Phillip ordered one with chicken, spinach, mushrooms and this decadent bechamel sauce. It tasted like creamy white country gravy melted with cheese and poured over succulent chicken. I don’t have any pictures of it because we tore right into it and devoured it in seconds. My phone never stood a chance of getting in there. The crepes are still ranked to this day one of our top meals on the trip. It was a perfect little bistro setting, too. We sat outside at a cute little rod-iron table, sipped mimosas and ate our fill!

After our gluttonous lunch, we decided to do what any fat, full tourists in Key West would do — lounge it off, sipping cocktails at the pool all afternoon!

“Two cabana chairs, please! And a drink menu!”

I did capture some fun shots on the way, of the Schooner Wharf Bar,

(we’ll be stopping in there later in the week), the dinghy dock,

(yes, that’s just for the dinghies!), and some seriously old salts hanging out at the dock,

(watch out National Geographic, here I come!) before we made it to the pool. But, make it we finally did!

Ahhhh … that’s better! We were on Cloud Nine all afternoon, just watching the people, reading (I finished The Paris Wife there!) and napping.

Sexy beast!

And, we had some serious entertainment at the pool. There was a noisy, bachelorette bunch near us that underwent complete military-style invasion. There were five girls, hovering around the obvious bride in the center, all laughing and giggling and taking selfies, and you could see this bunch of Ed Hardy-type muscle-bound dudes behind them planning their attack. First, the guys sent over a tray of shots to the ladies, who downed them no problem, with giggles and hiccups and a swipe of the chin (“tee heee! I love buttery nipples!”) but still no penetrable chink in their armor. So, the dudes then sent a drink over – to the bride – smart move and then they started to flank them, one-by-one, approaching with drinks in hand. One guy came toward their circle via the pool and started distracting an obvious weak gazelle on the outer rim. She engaged and started swimming around with Mr. Muscle which left an opening for Guy No. 2 to saunter over. He made his way in and started trying on the next gal’s shades and complimenting her on her style. That soldier fell fast too. They were dropping like flies, leaving the bride pretty open and exposed. We watched each tactical maneuver, commenting and narrating over the rims of our rum drinks – of course, until the guys had completely infiltrated. We were actually impressed. Maybe these guys had a chance, but Phillip called it. “Please? A bachelorette party? Those are the worst odds.” And, he was totally right. A couple of hours later, having burned through a couple-hundred dollar bar tab, I’m sure, the ladies packed up shop, huddled around their bride and marched right off, leaving the chumps behind. It was … awesome!

After a nice, relaxing afternoon by the pool, we decided to stop on our way back to the boat at Alonzo’s Oyster Bar for happy hour and try their 50-cent oysters Postal Bob had been telling us about.

Nothing like a salty oyster and an ice cold glass of white wine to remind you you’re a sailor in love with the sea.

For Phillip’s birthday, we had made reservations at this place called Santiago’s Bodega that we had scoped out the previous day during our conch train tour adventure. We cleaned up around dusk and headed back out on the town for more drinks, of course, before dinner. A little buzzed and definitely feeling a little frisky, we walked the docks waving at all of our marina neighbors and eyeing all of the big yachts we would never be able to afford.

Phillip looked like a kid in a candy store, a goofy smile spread across his face, nudging me and pointing at each one, “Look at that one.” “Hey, did you see this one?” “Check that out!” He was definitely spending some daydream dollars!

Maybe for your fiftieth Captain. … Maybe.

Once we snapped out of it and made our way off the docks, we found ourselves strangely drawn to the scent of Hog’s Breath!

A big guy clutching a guitar was actually singing a Lady Gaga song, Poker Face, as we walked by and we knew this was going to be a treat. His name was Cliff Cody. We saw him there several times during our stay in the Keys, and I swear if you closed your eyes and just listened, you would think you were sitting three feet from Travis Tritt. Cliff sounded JUST like him. The guy was pretty incredible.

But, it was time for dinner! We headed over to Santiago’s and started a seven course tapas feast!

Croquettes, then salad, empanadas, stuffed dates, roast duck … It was a feast fit for kings. Or, fit for the Captain I suppose. We had certainly made a day of it. For a man that craves adventure, I think having sailed his boat all the way down to the Keys with a pretty rough-and-tumble First Mate, who can thankfully pass for pretty some days too, Phillip was feeling pretty content. I know I was – it felt like it had been my birthday too. It seems like we shared it. Such an incredible feat to accomplish sailing down there and such a luxurious day of food, wine and fun to celebrate it.

But, did I say the man craves adventure? I believe so. Two bottles of wine behind us, and this man decides he wants to go on a mission to find the “BEST key lime pie on the island.” “The BEST,” he says. “It has to be the best. Let’s GO!”

And, go we did. We hit Duval in a drunken fury, dancing and singing and poking strangers. We were a riot, and the night was young!!

“Ceeee-lebrate good times, C’MON!” Happy Birthday Captain!

Have you Ever Heard of Hemingway?

August 3, 2014anniedike

April 23, 2014:

Before we jump right into Phillip’s BIG day, our second day on the Keys and a hugely adventurous day all its own, I fear I have one small tale that I simply must tell. It’s time again, my friends, for another story:

Have You Ever Heard of Hemingway

As you are now aware, we pulled into Key West on a sunny Wednesday, April 23, 2014, the day before the Captain’s birthday on the 24th, and I, unfortunately, found myself admittedly lacking in the gift department. I know that sounds terrible. We had been planning this trip to the Keys for half a year. Surely I could have put two and two together and realized that we would be in the Keys for Phillip’s birthday and that I might ought to think to bring along a gift. Okay, true. I’ll give you that. But, rather than admitting that it actually did slip my mind (which I am not yet prepared to do – I did think about it–often–I could just never decide on the right item). And therein lied the problem. You see, the Captain doesn’t really like gifts. Particularly not useless little items that you buy out of obligation or unnecessary courtesy – you know, a cute little wooden frame with a sailboat on it,

awwwww…

a set of quilted coasters with sailboats on them,

just darlin’ …

a cheap, Chinese-made Captain’s hat with his name embroidered on it.

High fashion.

(But that doesn’t apply to me, Brother. I LOVE cheap, Chinese-made crap with my name on it!)

Captain Jo says “Ahoy!”

No, a real gift to the Captain is a meaningful, well-thought out experience. Something you put more mental effort into than running into T.J. Maxx on your lunch break. Something you had to go the extra mile for. Something that comes with a story.

Well, you know my history with stories. Here’s mine.

When we backed into Key West mid-morning on April 23rd, I had a plan. We had been reading a lot during our sail down to the Keys, particularly one book of interest was The Paris Wife. If you recall we found it at the book swap at Port St. Joe. If I haven’t stressed it enough, I LOVE marina book swaps!

You never know what you might find. There’s usually the typical John Grisham, Dean Koontz, Patricia Cornwell thrillers – many of which you’ve read, or if you’ve read one you feel like you’ve read them all.

Often there’s a Danielle Steele-type with the Italian-looking long-haired beefcake on the front, his shirt conveniently open to reveal his chiseled abs and some scantily-clad damsel in distress pining for him in the corner.

But, sometimes you come across a real gem. A no-shit book you’ve been wanting to read, a New York Times bestseller, sitting right there for free in the book swap. When we found a treasure like that, we began to call it “book mojo” and while we definitely did NOT have it in many other marinas we popped into, Port St. Joe seemed to be our mojo haven. There we found The Paris Wife, tucked away at the very bottom of the little end table that served as the book swap, buried under a stack of decoy books. The Captain said a friend had recommended The Paris Wife to him a while back (knowing he is an avid Hemingway fan)

and he had been wanting to read it for quite some time. We nabbed it, left behind a mediocre Lee Childs number (sorry PSJ!), and Phillip curled up with it first,

And finished it somewhere between Charlotte Harbor and Ft. Myers Beach and then passed it on to me. I dug in and was about half-way through when we touched down in Key West. I was, of course, still wrestling with the idea of Phillip’s gift and what I was going to do and, after nixing several exceedingly embarrassing ideas (writing a song and singing it for him on the ukulele, writing him a story about one of our passages (boring!), or perhaps perform some other service he would appreciate. You know, clean the entire condo, make him a special dinner … Seriously, people, this is a public blog. And, while he would be grateful, those are pretty mundane things – certainly not 40th-birthday worthy). So, I was thrilled when the idea jumped right out at me from the pages of The Paris Wife.

In the book, the author, Paula McClain, does an incredible job of telling the tale of the Hemingways’ early years in Paris from the imagined perspective of Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley.

(There she is!)

In the book, Hadley offers a pretty riveting account of Hemingway’s early struggles as a writer, how he painstakingly fought over every word, struck and re-wrote every sentence until it was perfect, how he agonized over it. I understand the feeling. I do it, on occasion, when I’m really trying to polish a piece to perfection, and the result is always worth it, but it takes like five days to write two pages. It’s grueling, but ‘tis the life of a true writer. Perhaps with a little more time and gruel, I’ll get there.

I, myself, see the Captain as a bit of a Hemingway character—sure, he’s not a cursing, sparring, riotous drunk—but he does have an insatiable thirst for adventure, experience, all things in life that cannot be bought. With this perception, I grew a bit of a kinship with Hemingway’s first wife while reading the book. I felt a part of me understood her struggles. And, when she was discussing Hemingway’s daily toil and angst over his first book, I knew that was it! It was something Hemingway himself had spent months, years churning over, carving, crafting out of blank papyrus. And, it was also something Hadley spent months, years, encouraging him to do and supporting him while he often neglected her during the process. It was the product of such effort, such sacrifice, and the embodiment of such accomplishment – Hemingway’s First Book! That was it! That was the perfect gift. It was called In Our Time. And, this was OUR time, too. Phillip and I were finally sailing our boat, this beautiful Niagara 35, down to the Keys. We were on the adventure of a lifetime, finding ourselves daily in the simultaneous throws of struggle and triumph. This was OUR time, too. How perfect. Thank you Hadley!

But, here’s the real kicker. I am just blonde enough, while having immersed myself in a book entirely about Hemingway on the way down to the Keys, to have completely forgotten the man’s very history in Key West. (Although I tell myself, looking back now, that The Paris Wife, was all about his time in Paris, so it’s okay that I forgot about his time in the Keys. It is, right?). But, turns out the man did kind of live there for a decade, where he cranked out the majority of his note-worthy novels and his house now stands as a sacred monument and museum. Yeah, that part slipped my mind, when I wondered, worriedly, whether any small-time book store down there might have Hemingway’s first book. Surely this was going to be a long shot …

But, I was on a mission. I was going to go the extra mile. I was going to run to every book store on the island if I had to. I was going to find that book! So, right after we docked at Key West and got the quick tour of the marina and facilities from Postal Bob, I was trying to think of some reason to get away for a bit, just thirty minutes is all I figured I would need to make the run. I was pilfering through potential reasons and excuses in my head, when the Captain gave it to me. “What do you say we hit the shower?” he said.

“Absolutely!”

I told the Captain to go on ahead and get his own suite while I rounded up my toiletries and would be right behind him. Right behind him … Yeah, after I made my jog to the book store. Once he was out of sight, I packed up my shower bag, grabbed my towel and wallet, slipped on my shower shoes and started running. I had no idea where I was going. This was my first time on the Keys—seriously, my first steps in that town were a heated jog in squishy shower shoes. But, I figured in a touristy town like this there HAD to be a bookstore nearby. Surely. And, hopefully they had at least heard of, and carried some books, penned by this famous Ernest Hemingway character. Hopefully.

Yes, these are the real thoughts that ran through my mind as I ran through the streets of Key West.

But, I had two pretty major problems. First, I had my shower bag with all my toiletries, a towel and change of clothes with me. Not something you want to be carrying when you’re trying to make a mad dash. It felt like an awkward ruck-sack, but I slung it way over my left shoulder and held it fast to my back with my left arm, leaving my right arm to swing wildly to keep my balance. Second, I was just wearing my bathing suit. Yes, just a bathing suit. Well, a bikini to be exact.

Yep, that one.

On the sailboat and in the marina, a bikini is decidedly the in look. Totally appropriate. While sprinting wildly through the streets of Key West … not so much. It’s kind of a novel sight. I was certainly getting some stares.

But, there were more problems. Let’s face it, I had plenty. A string bikini top is not really the proper sports apparel for sprinting. And, ladies, you can empathize with me on this one – while having your *throat clearing* ladies bouncing wildly around while you’re running in a bikini may work well for Pamela Anderson

when making an overly-dramatic nineties water rescue,

“IIIII’lll be reeeaddy. I’ll be ready!”

in the real world it’s not comfortable, not near as pretty, and is certainly not good for the ladies. Let those things flap around enough and you’ll end up with a pair that look far more like a common household fruit than a Pamela pair.

Yep, that one. Ladies, I think you know what I’m talking about …

Like I said … not pretty.

So, despite the inappropriateness of it (I mean, I’m already running around town in a bikini), I placed a firm right hand on the “ladies” to hold them in place while I ran, thinking the faster I run, the less they’ll see of me. Which didn’t seem to hold true. It seemed the faster I ran, the more attention I garnered, but it was too late. I was on a mission, and I was running out of time. I popped in a few shops and breathlessly asked where the nearest bookstore was. After getting a couple of conflicting reports, I decided to ask at the tourist train station. Surely the people that give TOURS of the bloody island are going to know exactly where the nearest bookstore is. I ran up and grabbed a tall bloke who was dressed like a conductor and spun him around by the arm.

Know that I will later, when Phillip and I are boarding the conch train, have to sheepishly avoid this man’s eye contact and pretend I’ve never seen him before. “No sir, you’ve never seen me before. I’m afraid we’ve never met. Now, Phillip, get on the darn train already! Let’s go!”

I pant out my question to him about the bookstore and, after a few silent seconds of him eyeing me up and down with a frown, he points me seven blocks and two streets over. Seven blocks?! Jesus!

But, I’m committed. I’ve already gone too far. By now it’s been about fifteen minutes. The Captain is probably already lathered up and singing showtunes in the shower by now, thinking I’m in the stall next to him, and I’m still bookless. I grab the ladies and start running. By about the fifth block, my shower shoes are letting out a horrendous squeal with every other step. I’m sweating like a fat farmer at the county fair and I’ve got a raw, red blister forming on the inside of my foot. Things are not looking good. But, I finally see it – the bookstore! There it is!

I fly in. Panting, sweating, pushing wet, matted hairs away from my face. The clerk who is ringing out some polite, well-clad fellow and clearly displeased with my sweaty, wild-eyed entrance, gives me one quick glare and then continues his tedious checkout process, taking his sweet time bidding the old man a farewell and discussing his upcoming reads.

I stand patiently in line, twitching and pulling at my bikini until it’s my turn. The clerk gives me a fervent stare before snarling at me, “Can I help you?” Ahh .. finally! Yes, yes! I hope you can.

“Yes. Tell me, have you heard of Ernest Hemingway? He’s kind of a famous author? Wrote A Farewell to Arms and some others? Would you happen to have any books by him?”

The man looked at me as if I had just pulled my eyelids inside out, stuck out my tongue and said “Dook wut I tan do!” Like I was seriously disabled, disoriented, or just downright disturbed. Completely unaware of my now tangible stupidity, I continued, “Hemingway? Ernest?” And, I’m trying to think of other books by Hemingway to help this poor teller understand the obviously obscure, around these parts anyway, author I am referring to. The poor clerk. Yeah, I know—NOW—the gravity of the situation. The poor Annie.

He looks at me dead-pan and blurts out flatly, “We have a whole Hemingway section.” He points behind me to a huge Hemingway display with the man’s name in big, block letters, pictures of him everywhere, and three whole racks of books by Hemingway, books about Hemingway, books even remotely mentioning Hemingway. How fortuitous! This random little book store in Key West, the place I ran to on an off-chance I would find a Hemingway book and they have a whole section on … Then—yes, only then—it starts dawning on me. Oh yeah, he lived here. This is Hemingway’s home … I remember my own shameful question,“Have you heard of Ernest Hemingway?” Ha! I now realize what a wildly entertaining scene I have made.

But, embarrassing myself is a daily occurrence in my world, and I really could care less what a blithering idiot I must have looked like when I started scouring the shelves and saw it. Right there in front of me. In Our Time … They had it. They actually had it. Hemingway’s first book! Now the whole sweaty, painful, embarrassing adventure was going to be worth it. They had it!

I bought the book, avoided the clerk’s pointed stare as I checked out, declined the 8×11 headshot of Hemingway that they give out free with any Hemingway purchase (although I’m wishing now I had kept it – but I did have a good bit of running left to do), and made my way out the door. I sprinted back to the showers, snuck into a stall and started washing up as fast as I could, texting Phillip and telling him the stalls were all booked when I came and that I’d had to wait to get in, but that “I’d be quick!” I hid the book in my shower bag and later wrapped it in paper towels from the bathroom to give to Phillip the next day. Like I said, the man loves experiences, stories, adventure, not pretty wrapping paper. I knew it wouldn’t matter to him. It’s one of the many things I love about the man. And, I had certainly earned a story to go along with it. I couldn’t wait to tell him, when he opened the gift the next day, all about my shower shoe adventure.

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!

Bonnie the Bunny

July 9, 2014July 10, 2014anniedike

April 20, 2014:

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

Yeeeeahhh!

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

A juicy Rueben sandwich and a lobster cake salad.

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

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

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

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

It was … hilarious.

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

See Annie pump.

Pump Annie pump!

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

I tossed her in the water and set to it.

Go Annie go!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It meant our engine had overheated. What next?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Autographs Please!

July 4, 2014July 4, 2014anniedike

April 19, 2014:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is one battered warrior! Thanks Zinc!

We also checked the fuel filter as well.

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

The connector ring broke …

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

Good as new!

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

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

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

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

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

Annie: “You got it Cap’n.”

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

And, the local wildlife as well …

I think this one may be extinct real soon …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See? Didn’t go to my head at all …

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

Mmmmmm …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 …