Landlubber Outings – Page 6 – Have Wind Will Travel

A Room Without a Roof!

May 27, 2014anniedike

April 13, 2014:

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

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

Walking the downtown strip on Parkshore Drive.

Drinks at The Birchwood.

“How about a drink there First Mate?”

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

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

Beautiful banyan trees at the Waterfront Downtown Park.

Drinks and dinner at the Parkshore Grill.

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

Clean plate club!

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

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

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

April 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 8, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 6 – Wicked Wind of the West

May 2, 2014April 30, 2014anniedike

As we sat that morning on the boat sipping our coffee and cranking away on our laptops (yes, despite all evidence to the contrary, we do have to work – at times), we heard a boat pulling up next to us at the dock at Port St. Joe. A raucous voice rang out, “Pat, get that little furry thing of yours and grab a coat — I mean, it’s freezing out here!” Freezing? In Florida? That was enough to rouse us. We peeked out the portholes to find a friendly blonde carrying a little disheveled dog and a big, skipper-looking type handing her a jacket. We met them later – Bob and Pat (and Lucy the dog) on Maverick. They had been in the Bahamas since November and were just now making their way back to the Niceville. Great couple.

We caught up with them later and swapped tall sea tales over dinner, where Bob earned himself the fitting title of “Skipper Bob” – and for good damn reason – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

We were keeping a keen eye on the weather that morning. We had thought about leaving Port St. Joe that morning to motor the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway (better known as “the ditch”) through Lake Wimico over to Apalachicola to anchor out for the night, then jump back out in the Gulf the next day to make our way to Clearwater. But, with the wind that was building when we woke that morning and the reports on the sea state out in the Gulf the next day, that plan quickly became very unlikely. But, we liked Port St. Joe. We had great facilities here and all resources within walking distance of the boat, so we were happy to stay another day to hold out for a better weather window, particularly if it increased the odds for two of our favorite things – kiting and pizza. Wind meant good conditions for kiting, and staying another day at port meant we were going to get to try that amazing wood fired pizza everyone and their little disheveled dogs had been talking about since we landed in PSJ. That sealed the deal. We decided to stay. And, as the wind started to pick up that morning, we decided to get out for some more kiting!

Throw on the wetsuits again!

Let’s do this!

It was blowing probably 16-18 mph when we got to our little cove. We pumped up the 12 meter and Phillip made a run out to test it out.

And, when I say he made a run out, I mean, ripping it upwind, flying across the cove, jumping, making it all look so damn easy.

He tends to do that (and sometimes I hate him for it). Kiteboarding is an incredibly challenging sport – at any level – which is one of the reasons Phillip and I love it so much, but the learning curve is very steep. It takes months, years even, to get to the point where you can get up and go safely in any conditions. It’s frustrating to stand on the shore and watch others do it, and make it look easy, when you want to join them so badly, but it’s also exciting in the same vein because it gives you so much to look forward to. It really is a sport you never tire of. There is always some new skill or goal (big or small) that you can strive for and, because it’s so hard, when you accomplish it, the reward is uniquely satisfying. While all of this is easy to say, it’s hard to remind yourself of it when you’re standing by, watching others go out and make it look effortless. But, after a few more aerial acrobats and stunts, Phillip finally came back, hooked me up to the kite and told me to give it a run. I didn’t hesitate!

But, the wind was really picking up and I was struggling to hold down all 12 of those meters. I ate it pretty good several times:

The first time I busted, we suffered our second equipment failure of the trip. The first was our starboard side lazy jack that failed during our first night sail. Now, we could add a busted kiteboard to that list. I crashed so hard it busted the pad right off of the kiteboard.

Smooth move, Annie.

But, that didn’t stop me. Since it was blowing so hard, we pumped up the 9 meter and headed back out. Phillip tore it up again, jumping, transitioning, and zipping all around the old derelict sailboat that sat in the cove.

He handed it over to me again, and I tore it up, for a bit, until I really tore it up.

During this wicked fun run, I landed hard on an oyster bed and tore a hole in the arse of my wetsuit.

Can’t see it?

There it is!

That thing is no longer airtight. But, that didn’t stop us either. I swapped to our bigger board – not ideal for these heavy winds (blowing approximately 18 at that time) – but it was the only one we had left. I was determined to make my way back to Phillip between the derelict sailboat and the shore. It was a tight squeeze and I tried 1,000 times (thank goodness Phillip is patient), but I finally did it!

Here she comes …

She’s making it …

She did it!

And, what do you think Annie does when she accomplishes something great? She jumps around like a giddy school girl, that’s what!

In all, aside from the crashes, bumps and bruises, it was one of the best kite sessions either of us had had in a while, so we were stoked.

We love kiting!

We headed back to the boat to clean up the kite gear – easy to do when you’ve got a spigot right next to the boat –

and get cleaned up for dinner. We were planning to meet our new dock-mates, David and Mary Lucas on Liza, for some of that famous wood fired pizza, and we were thrilled to hear they had met Bob and Pat earlier that day as well (it’s easy to make friends at such a friendly marina!) and had invited them to join us. Great! The more the merrier!

We hung up the wet stuff to dry and got cleaned up and shaved up. I snagged some ridiculous selfies while the Captain cut his hair.

But it was certainly time – he was becoming a long-haired hippie boy …

the sexy beast!

After clean-up, we rounded up the crew and headed for town. We quickly discovered Joe Mama’s Pizza is so popular, you really need a reservation, but it was only a 45 minute wait, so at Pat’s wise recommendation, we decided to head a few blocks over to The Thirsty Goat (don’t tell the Haughty boys!) for a pre-pizza drink! It was a lively atmosphere as they were just setting up for their weekly trivia night.

And as we were settling in, watching them set up for trivia, David, God love him, said “Well, I don’t know much about goats.” I thought I was going to die. The man is unexpectedly hilarious!

In all, it was a great group – David, Mary, Pat, Bob, Phillip and I:

We had a great time sharing a round at The Goat before hustling over to Joe Mama’s for some of that famous pizza, which was every bit as good as the folks at PSJ had been telling us for days.

But, while the pizza was phenomenal, we were really surprised by the sauceless, but perfectly savory, wings that came out first.

All very good eats! Oh, and “Skipper Bob.” Yes, let’s talk about how he got that name. We learned while chatting that Bob and Pat had been to the Keys many times so Phillip and I took the opportunity to ask them over dinner about some passages, inlets and anchorages around the Keys that we had heard were shallow and potentially hard to navigate. Bob’s response? “Nah, you just bump on through. If you hit bottom, just rev up the engine. It’ll bring the nose up and you can just skip on over to the next one. I’ve skipped my way in many times.” Phillip and I sat there wide-eyed and dumbfounded. We certainly had no intention of skipping our way into anything, but we liked Skipper Bob’s style all the same. Just skip on in there! We’ll never forget him. It was a great night and our last at Port St. Joe. We headed back to the boat in a fuzzy splendor congratulating ourselves on what a fine day we’d had and tucked in for a good night’s rest. Tomorrow – the ditch!

April 7, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 5 – Goodbye Gorton

April 29, 2014May 4, 2014anniedike

They say for a sailor, wind is more valuable than money. If that’s true, we were filthy, stinking rich when we woke that morning. It was blowing 20-25 knots and gusting in the 30s! If we wanted kiting wind, we certainly got it. It was time, finally to bust out the kites! Phillip and I quickly donned our kiting gear and got out there!

First suit sighting of the trip! Finally!

And … then we cover her right back up! That water was still a little cold, though. There is one thing I do not like to be when I kite, and that is chilly!

Once we were geared up, we headed over to the cove we’d sighted the day before and pumped up!

Phillip took a spin first to see what the conditions were like. He is by far the expert and can usually give a pretty good assessment of whether the wind or conditions are too much for me.

Once we got the kite pumped up and launched, we had a few lookie-loos stop by to see what we were doing. I always get a kick out of what people think about kiting – some examples:

Onlooker says: “Man, I can’t believe you guys are doing that in this wind!”

We think: Well, you kind of NEED wind to kite. We wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t.

Onlooker says: “I bet you have to be SO strong to not blow away!”

We think: Not really, any lightweight can learn to kite. It’s just about how you fly it.

But, I understand why they’re often so taken and intrigued by it. It is a pretty novel act to watch – powering yourself across the water with a kite. And, Phillip certainly makes it look easy.

Video HERE. (But he always does!) I was chomping at the bit to get out there, but I stood by on the shore, like a faithful kite groupie, snapping pics and footage and fielding questions from the peanut gallery. We had two guys keep coming out in shifts, one then the other, to check us out. Once I struck up a conversation with them, they told me they ran the local tavern there and were taking turns leaving the bar one-manned so the other could come out and watch Phillip kite. They were really captivated by it. We also had a gal from the Gulf County Visitor’s Center, which was right down the road, stop by to snap some pictures. Phillip seems to attract onlookers like the paparazzi. I sometimes feel like his big-shot manager on the shore – “No pictures, please!” But, the Gulf County gal, Kelli, got there just as Phillip was coming in to deliver the bad news. It was really picking up out there – blowing probably 28-30 knots – and Phillip said it was probably too much for me. He could barely hold down the 9 meter kite (our smallest). Unlike money, sometimes the wind is just too much. But, my time would come.

I told the gal from the Visitor’s Center that I had some footage and pictures I could send her as I helped Phillip pack up the gear. She was grateful and told us to stop on by the visitor’s center while we were there for some freebies and good info on the area. We’re always game for good local info and anything free. So, after we got all the kite gear cleaned up, we set out to find the visitor’s center. And, find it we did! They had a great facility there.

Our newest kite groupie – Kelli!

The gals there were really nice and invited us in for a tour of the facility. They told us about the annual scallop festival they host where they send several travel writers out for a day of scalloping in the St. Joseph Bay so they can do a write-up on the festival and the area. Guess who will be coming back in September! Sweet! They also gave us some free samples of Tupelo honey which is made right there in Gulf County. Sweet-ER!

In all, the gals there were very nice and gave us some good tips about motoring the ditch through Lake Wimico, some good anchorages near Carabelle and some lagoons to look out for.

We thanked them for the info, left the facility to stroll around town a bit and stumbled upon The Thirsty Goat. They had some awesome t-shirts there. Thirsty? Get your goat on at The Thirsty Goat. Ummm … yes, please! I snagged one and slipped it on. And, it was some kind of stroke of luck because I had it on when we made to the next stop on our impromptu pub crawl – The Haughty Heron.

I didn’t even think about the fact that I was wearing the competitor’s logo proudly as I strolled around the place, eyeing their t-shirts and almost wishing I’d saved my one “bar shirt buy” for this place!

Haughty or Naughty? “Naughty! And, do you have that in a small?”

But, the cool thing was when the guys came out from the back to help us out and offer a drink, they turned out to be the very same oglers from the kiting cove. THESE were the two blokes who were taking shifts at the tavern to come out and check us out! Recognizing us as the local kiters and spotting my Goat shirt, the owner, Blake, quickly said he wouldn’t stand for it. He hooked me up quick with a good ‘goat cover’ – one of his own Haughty Heron shirts – for free!

He also poured us two free glasses of Healdsburg Ranches merlot to try.

I’ve told you our position on freebies …

In all, it was a very “fruitful” venture. We didn’t even mind that it started dumping buckets as we were walking back to the boat and we got totally, completely head-to-toe soaked. (It certainly didn’t hurt that our ‘spirits’ were nice and high by then … we were literally singing in the rain!). We made a make-shift drying line in the cockpit to hang up our sopping threads and tucked in for the night.

And, friends, while the day was done, I had one more deed yet to do, and I feel I have to share it with you. It’s certainly is a significant milestone in my sailing career and easily a very blog-worthy event as I feel these guys have sort of developed into their own character on the blog over the course of this past year. You’ve seen them time and again, keeping me warm and dry and highly visible in fashionable raincoat yellow. Yes, that’s right, the Gorton’s Fisherman Pants.

The ones, actually, that came with the boat. Plaintiff’s Rest’s previous owner had left them for us, knowing, probably, what a true sailing asset they were.

It was time to say goodbye, though. They were huge and clunky and completely cumbersome to begin with, but I used them all the same because they served their purpose. But now, they had started to flake and crumble and leave little yellow flakes everywhere I went on the boat. We were also coming into summer and they were an extremely hot, constricting foul weather cover. We had picked up some new Frogg Toggs at Port St. Joe, and I had to retire the Gorton’s pants.

So, put on some nostalgic, sentimental song – I recommend Joe Crocker’s raspy theme song to the Wonder Years – With a Little Help From my Friends – as you scroll wistfully through these photos. They certainly were friends to me, and we hated to see them go.

We’ll miss you Gorton’s!

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

April 26, 2014April 2, 2015anniedike

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

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

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

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

a potentially perfect cove for kite-boarding,

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

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

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

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

Clean Plate Club! We are card-carrying members.

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

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

March 1, 2014 – Toss the List – It’s Time to Roll!

March 15, 2014March 17, 2014anniedike

Work, work and more work. It had been one chore after another for weeks. You’re probably sick of it, too. I know we were. But I’m thrilled to say we finally made our way through that damn list. Just one item left, and it was scheduled. Who needs a list? We chunked it and planned a three-day Mardi Gras Lollapalooza. We were going to catch the parades in downtown Pensacola on Friday night, then sail over on Saturday to Pensacola Beach and anchor out behind Paradise Inn to catch the parade on the beach Sunday. It was time for some beads, people. Time for some beads!!

Yeeeaahhhhh!

So, the list. Let me walk you through it and you can marvel in the vast breadth of our accomplishments. I say that because these last few items weren’t really much work on our part at all. But you can marvel, nonetheless, if you’d like.

The canvas and isinglass. We wanted to have a canvas guy come and take a look at the dodger and bimini to assess how much life we had in them and estimate replacing the canvas. We guessed our canvas was about ten years old and, unfortunately, the glass in the dodger was getting a little foggy and cracked in places. Sometimes we would come to the boat and find two new cracks had popped up overnight. They couldn’t be stopped. We knew something was going to have to be replaced soon.

Based on recommendation from our Broker-turned-Buddy, Kevin, we decided to give Tony with Coastal Canvas a call, and he was top-notch. Came out when he said he would and even saved us a few bucks. Told us we only needed to replace the isinglass in the dodger, but that the canvas was still in good shape. So, we had him swap out the glass, and it was like putting on glasses for the first time and you’re overwhelmed at the sight of all the leaves! Everything was so crisp and clear.

You may notice the missing bimini in this photo. Tony did such a good job on the glass that we followed his recommendation for the bimini. He believed the canvas needed to be redone, and we worked with him on rearranging the bimini frame to give us a bigger window in it for the helmsman to see the wind vane at the top of the mast. Even during our blistery winter, Tony came out several times to take measurements, make adjustments and install our new bimini.

Cross that off.

The gasket on the coolant system, luckily, was an easy chore. Just the removal of one hose on the coolant system, a bucket to catch the coolant that drained out, then scrape off the old gasket and glue, slap on a new gasket and glue and she was good as new.

Done and done. What’s next?

The dorade box. That damn thing.

Yeah, there she is. She had been loose for a while and several months back, she unfortunately took a tumble when the Jenny sheet somehow wedged itself up under the loose corner and ripped her right up off the deck when we tacked.

See? No box. Luckily, when she took the tumble, we saw it and were able to catch her before she made her way overboard. But, until we got her remounted properly, we had been taking her off every time we sailed (so the Jenny sheet wouldn’t knock her overboard again) and putting her back on once we were at anchor. A bit of a chore and a burdensome box to keep up with. So it was time to re-mount her. Now, I’ll say, we tried, the first time, to do it right. Waited for a good weather window. Pulled her up and cleaned off all of the old sealant and re-bedded her with some 4,000. A couple of the screws had a little trouble biting, but we figured the 4,000 would hold her. I’m sure I’m going to get some commentary from the Peanut Gallery here about butyl. Well, just wait. Unfortunately, she wiggled her way loose, again, and Jenny threatened her once again. She gets real territorial up there at the foredeck. So, the second time we didn’t fool around. It was 5,200 or bust. Now, we know what they say: “That stuff is permanent. You’ll never get it off.” Well, we don’t want her to come off. A shot of some 5,200 around the screws and we stuck her down. She’s not going anywhere. Take that Jenny!

With that little project done, we only had one more item left on the list.

The hydraulic back stay. Our previous owner had installed a hydraulic adjuster on the back stay to make fine-tune adjustments to the mast when racing. He sailed our Niagara in the single-handed Mackinac race and had really pimped the boat out with some serious racing capabilities, the hydraulic back stay being one.

As you know, we’re not racers; we’re cruisers. More sunsets and cocktails than buried rails and big victories. So, the hydraulic adjuster hadn’t been used in years. She no longer worked and would occasionally leak a little fluid at the base. Wanting the boat to be primed for the Keys, we scheduled the riggers to come check it out the following week to see if she could be repaired or whatever options might be available. So, in our eyes, the list was done. It had been about a solid month of boat chores, and it was time for some boat fun. Our Mardi Gras Palooza began.

On Friday night, we caught up with some marina neighbors-turned-friends — Dick and Cindy on Forever Young — and, after a hearty fill of fine wining and dining at Carmen’s Lunch Bar al fresco, we were seated like royalty for the parade to roll through. We didn’t even have to get out of our chairs if we wanted. But, we of course wanted! Beads is what we wanted!

And, any other grungy, recycled Mardi Gras throws they wanted to toss at us. I think – in addition to all the beads – I caught a kids-size Mardi Gras 2008 shirt, a busted-up Nerf football, a moonpie, and a tomahawk. Yes, a tomahawk. It was a wild night. But, we got up early, stocked the boat, enjoyed a great sail over to Pensacola Beach and dropped the hook right around sunset.

We cooked up another feast on the boat, gorged and called it a night. We had a big day ahead. Lollapalooza Day 3 started with mimosas on the foredeck.

Followed by hurricanes and a little uking in the cockpit.

And then two tickets to crazy town. I can’t even begin to express to you the … quality … of people we encountered at the beach. There were tailgaters, hipsters, Krewe members, kids on leashes, gangsters, bikers, trannies, questionable trannies, Navy boys, you name it. While the parades were fun, the people were the real entertainment!

We caught another neck-full of beads and useless stuffed animals and loved every minute of it. The Mardi Gras mini-vacay was just what we needed. The next time we drop that anchor it will be on the first stop to the Keys. Only a few weeks now kids. Stay tuned!!

February 15, 2014 – Evolution of a Party

March 5, 2014March 5, 2014anniedike

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

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

Evolution of a Party

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

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

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

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

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

Ha ha ha. You’re so funny Bob!

Then the birthday girl comes out …

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You! Yeah you! Get in here!”

Things continue to escalate …

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

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

Birthday girl takes the stage.

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

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

Then you start to make bad decisions …

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

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

Phillip gets a jump on us.

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

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

Like, stealing the Hampton Inn golf cart!

Go, go Speed Racer!

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

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

http://redfishbluefishpensacolabeach.com

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

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

February 19, 2014anniedike

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

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

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

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

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

Video here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie says stupid things and “Phillip says Ouch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

December 25, 2013 – A Christmas Story

February 6, 2014anniedike

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

Cathedral View

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“WIIILLLSSSOOONNN!!”

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

So true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Men

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

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

December 24, 2013 – Let Them Know It’s Christmas Time

February 3, 2014anniedike

So, with five solid coats on the boat and only “FIVE COATS TO GO!!” we headed West to N’awlins for Christmas and, as it always seems to happen with us, everywhere we went, a story was sure to follow. Let me share a few. On Christmas Eve night, we were planning to head to Jackson Square where we heard they were caroling by candlelight. All attendees are provided with sheet music and candles (a brave proposition among a bunch of rowdy, festive cajuns) and everyone joins together in holiday chorus.

Such was the plan. Before we made it there, though, we decided to stop in one of our favorite watering holes – Sobou (short for ‘south of Bourbon’). It is the bar in the new W hotel that opened in the Quarter. We’ve been there several times and always loved the atmosphere at the bar and the quality cocktails, and this night certainly fell true to that mark. I had seen the same bartender there several years in a row, this lively, gregarious woman, usually with a flower stuck in her hair, who really lights up the scene, often busting out in song and dance (with incredible opera-house worthy vocals to boot) and always — always — making fine cocktails while entertaining the ever-shuffling crowd that passes through.

(Thanks to Food & Wine, who we were pleased to find on our return had done a write-up of Sobou in their January, 2014 issue, I now know her as Abigail Gullo, creator of the rye-and-brandy Sazerac they do there which Phillip goes all Mad Men over).

But on this night, I heard our gregarious bar wench well before I saw her. As we sauntered in the front door, her rich, buttery baritone voice poured out from the back at the bar, drawing us in with a warm “It’s Christmas time … ” I pushed forward wanting to get the best seat at the bar to see whatever Christmas production she was putting on unfold. As I settled into a seat, she gingerly put a napkin before me on the bar, and gave me a quick wink as she continued, “there’s no need to feel afraid.” The song was somewhat familiar, like I knew I was going to recall it once she got the chorus, but I couldn’t quite place it yet. The rest of patrons at the bar were watching her wide-eyed, in silence, when she broke character for just a moment to say “And then Boy George breaks in,” just before she threw her voice into a sweet soprano and cooed, “In our world of plenty … ” And then it started to come back to me. It was that relief song all those artists got together back in the 80’s and did – for the kids in Africa or something. It had a very “We Are The World” feeling to it.

You probably know it: Do They Know It’s Christmas.

I was just catching on. Yeah, yeah, I know this. I was nodding and smiling along with her, sparks were flying now. “And then George Michaels goes,” she said,

and she jumped into a full male falsetto, “But say a prayer to pray for the other ones.” The patrons at the bar were starting to nod too and sway their bodies to the invisible beat. “And then,” as she hunched down low with a sly smile, “my favorite. Bono,”

and she jumped up an octave, gave her voice a wicked raspy quality and belted into her muddler-slash-microphone: Well tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you!” The whole bar sang the entire song with her and by the end, she would point to the right side of the bar and they would sing “Feed the Wo-orld,” and then she’d point to the left and they’d respond with a rousing, “Let them know it’s Christmas time.” Now the right: “Feed the Wo-orld.” And the left: “Let them know it’s Christmas time!”

And, we hadn’t even had a drop to drink yet, but there we were, having an absolute ball, singing at the top of our terrible lungs without a care in the world.

She put us right in the holiday mood. And, got us nice and thirsty too. We all ordered one of the fun, festive drinks they were featuring and watched them set to work, placing glasses before us and spritzing them with absinthe or citrus, wiping the rim of the glasses with cucumber or lemon, and just taking their time making real, quality cocktails. Phillip ordered a rum old-fashioned, with cinnamon and sugar, and we had the pleasure of watching our bartender hack off a piece of ice from a 2 ft x 2 ft block they kept at the bar and, seriously, with the chuck of ice in a napkin in one hand, and a mini-hatchet in the other, he chiseled out a custom-crafted ice-ball (about the size of a raquetball) that fit perfectly in Phillip’s glass. There is a reason we always go back to Sobou.

Nice and liquored up, and our own pipes all warmed-up and ready for an encore, we headed to Jackson Square for the caroling. But sadly, even when we’re not sailing, it seems we live and die by the weather, and it certainly wasn’t cooperating that night. It was drizzly and wet, with black, murky puddles everywhere, and all of the rowdy cajuns were holed up in bars and other questionable joints looking out at us with light scowls as we passed by. The streets were empty. The small herd that had seemed to collect around Jackson Square for the caroling looked like a pack of wet cats.

Including us. But that didn’t stop us. Nice and buzzed and full of the holiday Sobou spirit(s), we picked up some soggy Christmas song sheets off the ground and started singing right there on the corner at Jackson Square.

People actually started to huddle around and ask us where they were passing out the song sheets and candles. To which we would respond by picking up soggy sheets from the ground and handing them to them while pretending we were too wrapped up in song to respond with an actual answer. The place was dead, but we were belting it out to the absent masses. We even did a wicked rendition of Do They Know Its Christmas again to make sure everyone was aware. I got to play the part of George Michaels, although I have to admit, I think it came across less like the beloved Wake Me Up! 80’s star we all know and love,

and more like the adolescent incestite from Arrested Development:

Who knew Olan Mills had a shipping container backdrop? Suh-weet!

But, we sang anyway. Full of festive energy and liquid courage we decided, “Screw the weather!” We were going to (sing it with me) let them know it’s Christmas time, damnit!