Weekend Cruises – Page 2 – Have Wind Will Travel

February 15, 2014 – Evolution of a Party

March 5, 2014March 5, 2014anniedike

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

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

Evolution of a Party

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

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

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

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

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

Ha ha ha. You’re so funny Bob!

Then the birthday girl comes out …

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You! Yeah you! Get in here!”

Things continue to escalate …

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

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

Birthday girl takes the stage.

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

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

Then you start to make bad decisions …

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

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

Phillip gets a jump on us.

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

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

Like, stealing the Hampton Inn golf cart!

Go, go Speed Racer!

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

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

http://redfishbluefishpensacolabeach.com

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

January 4, 2014 – Wood Reveal and Hand Reel

February 11, 2014anniedike

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

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

Patent pending.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We got something!”

November 9, 2013 – “When Are You Going to the Islands?”

December 10, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Isn’t that what you’re all thinking? At least that’s what I get asked three times a week. (Yes, I’m talking to you Bleeke!) Soon, people. Soon. Stick with me. But, I’ll tell you, even when we do get there, it’s not going to be any more beautiful than this:

And, when we cook up a meal in the galley off the coast of some remote island in the Keys or Bahamas, it’s still going to look like this:

Adventure is relative and can be found anywhere. Usually, it’s the act of getting there that’s the real “journey,” not the destination itself.

But, you want to see us on a passage. I get it. So do we, minus the transmission fluid catch this time. Although I’m sure you want to see some equally entertaining minor disaster occur that we have to resolve in true MacGyver fashion with bubble gum, nail polish and sheep shears (all of which we keep on the boat for just such an occasion).

I’ll see what I can come up with.

Trust me, we were ready to get back out there, too. With the summer pretty much behind us and all of our major boat chores done, the rubber gloves finally came off,

and we set down to plan our trip. Which we, of course, had to do over wine and dinner – a whole roasted snapper, anyone?

Between work, family and my obligatory appearances on the rodeo clown circuit, we had about two weeks to work with in November. Yes, we do plan to go longer and further later, but that will have to come later. All evidence to the contrary, we do have to work. I can’t stress to you enough how expensive boats can be. Now, let me remind you how far the actual Keys are:

I think even MacGyver’s scruffy eyebrows raised with that one. It’s about a four-day passage offshore, if made straight. That’s 96 hours of solid sailing, which means someone always at the wheel, even with auto-pilot, you still need to keep a lookout and stay close to the helm, particularly at night. This means, for four days, you only get to sleep in one-to-two hour snatches. It’s fun, don’t get me wrong. There’s a certain sense of freedom, adventure and accomplishment when you finish a passage, but it is also a very tiring stint at sea, even in the best of conditions, exhausting and harrowing in the worst. If we made the four-day passage straight to the Keys, we would need a day or two to rest and recover and that would leave us about one day to enjoy the Keys before we had to start meandering back, two or three, perhaps, if wanted to make another four-day epic passage back across the Gulf. But that would put us on a tight schedule, and we learned the hard way during The Crossing that you can never be on a tight schedule when sailing. You have to build in a cushion for the weather. It’s just part of it. We hated to push the Keys trip back, but it had to be done. Trying to squeeze it into the tight travel window we had this winter was not going to allow us the time we wanted to truly enjoy the Keys. Plus, there were plenty of places we wanted to cruise locally and enjoy. We decided we would make the trip to the Keys in the spring (after skiing season – of course – that’s a must!) and stick around these parts in November.

Phillip and I decided to head East to Carrabelle.

That’s about a two-day passage straight. Forty-eight hours, assuming a good weather window. If you recall, our boat spent some time over in Carrabelle when the transmission went out, and we really enjoyed poking around the sleepy little mariner towns around there, which feel like they’ve been preserved in time, when sea-faring sailors roamed the streets, rum bottle in hand. We wanted to head back and spend a couple of days immersing ourselves with the old salts and eating some of the best fresh oysters I have ever let slither down my throat.

We then wanted to take our time heading back inshore, protected along the Intracoastal Waterway (as much as we could … we would have to pop out into the Gulf for several stretches where our mast height (50 feet) won’t allow us under the bridges). We pulled out the charts–and the snapper–and started plotting our passage.

And, what meal is complete without fresh homemade bread and salad? … None we know of.

The plan was to hope for good weather, so we could head straight for Carrabelle, spend a night or two there boozing with the locals, then mozey our way back to Apalachicola for some local fare, another night or two to booze again and get our fill of fresh oysters. Then, we thought we would check out Port St. Joe, a great littler marina there, Cape San Blas (lots of cool anchorages there, too), head back to Panama City in hopes of catching another sighting of our Lady Legs-a-Lot (you remember those heels!), then make the twenty-four passage offshore back to Pensacola.

Even with a few extra days’ cushion for potential bad weather, this trip, even taken leisurely, would still easily fill two weeks. We planned to leave November 15th and return on the 29th. This was going to be a significant passage for the two of us – heading offshore for a four-day passage. While I may have proven some creative gumption and gusto in surviving the dinghy debacle and transmission fiasco during The Crossing, this was going to be my first true offshore voyage as First Mate. I started glossing over our old sailing books again, working expletives back into my everyday conversation, upping my rum tolerance and practicing my knot-tying skills on empty wine bottles. Oh, and watching weekend-long MacGyver marathons. That helps too.

A two-week passage in the blistering winter? Done. I was packing all my gear.

Aside from the mullet, MacGyver ain’t got nothing on me!

September 11, 2013 – The Money Shot!

November 19, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

That’s a great shot, but that’s not it. This shot – the money shot – is stellar. Not only does it capture Phillip doing something totally awesome (but when does he not do things that are totally awesome?) but he did it right in the front of the boat, the glistening Plaintiff’s Rest. This shot is supreme. Trust me – but we’ll get there. First thing’s first.

First we had to get that beautiful boat out there on the hook as often as we could between boat chores. Let me give you some highlights of our summer anchorages (and I would imagine this song is the right backdrop for this rockin’ photo montage):

Just about every Friday at 5:00 p.m. (okay, who am I kidding – NOON!) we tossed the lines and headed out for the weekend. We often went west to Red Fish Point where we stayed for our first anchorage.

We enjoyed some exquisite sunset sails over:

And you know what happens when we start sailing? For those of you who said “clothes come off!” you would be right! But, we also drink! We are sailors you know! Every time the sun would start to dip, we would whip up one of our famous “Oh Shiiiit” cocktails or pour a fine glass of wine.

Nope, that’s not the money shot either. Not yet. Stick with me …

We would often head east too, over to the Pensacola Beach area to anchor out behind Paradise Inn or Big Sabine:

And we did some serious sailing along the way – I’m talking wing-on-wing! That’s where the Jenny and the main are on opposite sides of the boat – one pulled out to starboard and one to port. Looks like this:

It is a technique used to maximize the sail surface in light wind to allow us to sail downwind when the wind is directly on our stern. Here is our Jenny and main, wing-on-wing:

And … we sailed her like that under the Bob Sykes bridge! *gasp*

But the scariest part was, Phillip let me steer her like that!

A look of total concentration. I was in the zone!

Thankfully, we made it under, boat in tact, bridge in rearview and a big smile on my face.

Whew!!

We had some buddies sail along with us on occasion to get some great shots of us sailing:

Awesome shot, too, I must agree – but that’s still not it. Almost!

We cooked up some mean meals on the boat:

Sirloin steaks with chimmichurri? Yes, please! But, the wind often blew so hard it would blow out the flame on our grill. Have wind will NOT cook! So, guess whose job it was to hold up a cover while the meat cooked.

That’s right – you guessed it – the First Mate’s!

But it was totally worth it. I mean … look at that feast! We really don’t eat well on the boat, I’m telling you. Not well at all!

We blew up my new inflatable SUP!

That thing was a beast to blow up. Definitely good for the “gun show!” We had a great time paddling around, though, once she was inflated:

Then we deflated her and rolled her right back up.

Great for storing on the boat, not so good for the back. It is a wee bit of a chore but again – totally worth it – because we always finish our chores up with a drink (or four)!

Nope, that is STILL not the money shot – although he is a sexy beast! Don’t you just hate it!

We met up with some buddies and shared a case of PBR:

Then they passed out!

And their little dog too! As did we! Day-drinking is hard.

Our “Sail Groupies” (Phillip’s folks) often came out to hang out with us on the hook:

They eat a lot! But we don’t mind. We feed them so they’ll take us out wakeboarding:

And, they helped us get it. Yes, IT. The Money Shot. Phillip’s dad pulled him right around in front of our boat and Phillip threw up a “hang ten” sign so I could snap this sizzling number. I give you – The Money Shot:

Oh yeeeaaahhh! That is money. Looks like the opening trailer for a bad-ass movie to me. I believe this is the appropriate accompaniment: Big Pimpin’

Life on the hook is hard.

June 28, 2013 – Life on the Hook

November 7, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Yes, that’s what it looks like. Life on the hook. Well, on anchor, that is. The technical definition is “living on a boat and anchored some place not attached to firm land or bottom.” (http://manateefritters.com/2012/07/13/going-to-live-on-the-hook/). Gorgeous, ain’t it? I know now how great it can be, but, I have to tell you – this whole time – I did not. I didn’t know how mind-blowingly blissful the sailing lifestyle could be. It’s like when the doctor asks you what news you want to hear first: the good or the bad? You always say the bad. Get it over with right? Right. I think that’s exactly what I did.

For this entire Gulf Crossing, transmission busting, Dasani-bottle fluid catching, mast-climbing, greasy, sweaty, exhausting ride we’ve been on, I had yet to see the real reward, the true benefit of the sailing lifestyle: LIFE ON THE HOOK. Realize, I had yet to even know what it feels like to drop the anchor (not once) and have the boat stop in the middle of the water. Just STOP. No worrying about depth, or the wind or transmission fluid. No hoisting sails or pulling in lines. No checking the engine, refilling the coolant, watching the oil temp, watching the horizon for wayward ships, buoys or crab traps. Once we dropped the anchor, the boat … just … stopped. And she was safe, and secure, and poised right in the middle of a beautiful cove about 100 feet from the shore. At first, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Without any “work” to be done, I was a little lost. You mean, I can just sit back and have a drink and enjoy the sunset? Phillip said, “You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

Ahhhh … life on the hook. Let me give you a little taste. Here’s where we went:

It was about a 3-hour sail (that, thankfully, ended much better than Gilligan’s tour). Pensacola Bay is huge and catches a lot of fetch. It’s a great sailing bay and seems there’s always enough wind to do something with. We headed over to Red Fish Point, near Fort McRee (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_McRee). It is a barrier island covered with sugary, white sand and a federal park to preserve the remnants of the civil war area fort that remains. The park is accessible primarily only by boat and appears to be lost in time, preserved and serene, like it’s a thousand miles from anywhere. We had a beautiful sail over.

We were just thrilled to have the boat back in the water, the lines tossed and the two of us headed out for anchorage.

As I sit here today, I really can’t think of a better feeling. Oh, wait, sun on our skin!

I told you clothes come off when we sail. And, we were sailing! It felt so incredible. It’s like the stress and toil of the shore you’re leaving behind just seems to stay there. It doesn’t come out there on the boat with you. The most important thing is the wind. That’s the only thing you’re concerned about. Sailing is incredibly freeing.

The minute we dropped anchor and I had the option to “do whatever my little heart desired,” I dove right in the water, first thing.

I know. Looks kind of like a dolphin, but I assure you: ‘Tis me!

My little heart was soaking this “life on the hook” gig up. Loving every minute of it. It was quite a haul, but we swam all the way to shore. The sand was a brilliant white that felt cool and smooth under our feet.

And, it made sort of a crunching, squeaking sound when we walked on it.

Fun little fact for you:

Did You Know?

The stunning sugar white beaches of Gulf Islands National Seashore are composed of fine quartz eroded from granite in the Appalachian Mountains. The sand is carried seaward by rivers and creeks and deposited by currents along the shore.

I mean … was there life before Google? (I’ll credit my brilliant friend Meagan for that revelation!)

We spent the afternoon swimming to/from shore (clothes on), then dried off and poured some wine to sip on while we watched the sunset.

As usual, she did not fail to impress. It was absolutely gorgeous.

But, after all the swimming, we were ready for dinner. We set up the grill for the first time, which was a bit of an event for us. It hooks on the stern rail and connects to the propane supply on the boat.

Phillip hooked her up like a champ and threw some chicken on the grill. I sauteed some spinach and baked a fresh loaf of bread down below and – voila! – we had ourselves a right and proper feast!

I know, right there in the cockpit, a four star dinner? I was amazed. This anchorage stuff was totally tolerable. We did have one mini fiasco, though (as is always the case with us) when we were cleaning up for dinner. There is certainly no garbage disposal on the boat, so you have to be careful not to let any food particles go down the sink drain. You either have to put a strainer in the drain or scrape the dishes over the side of the boat before washing. We chose the latter. Phillip stacked the plates and everything in the pot we used to cook the spinach and went topside to start scraping. I heard him fidgeting and struggling with something and he finally stuck his head down and said “It’s stuck.” Stuck?? What’s stuck? “The plate,” he said. “In the pan. I can’t get it out.” He brought it down to the galley and I had to laugh. It truly was stuck.

One of the dinner plates had slid down nice and snug in the base of the pan and, with a little soapy water underneath it, it was suctioned in there like a leech in the wrong place.

Don’t worry, I “stood by” Phillip and tried to help. I got that pot on the stove and tried to extract the plate with a screw driver and a hammer, using some real technical surgical skills I picked up in Nam.

Phillip even gave it a go, but that thing wasn’t budging.

We had wedged a knife in, but even that wasn’t working.

So, we decide to heat things up. We put that baby on the burner and lit her up, hoping the steam from the water below would free the plate. She started bubbling up, and popping and sputtering. I thought the plate was going to explode. I was skeered.

With one final pop and no free plate, Phillip decided it was time the plate made a sacrifice. He went topside with the screwdriver and hammer and I was sure he was planning to demolish it. I heard some banging and a rousing “Eff you plate!” and he came down with an empty pot and plate shards. I kept a piece to go along with the bolt head that sheared off during the Crossing, costing us the dinghy. I’m going to make a wicked shadow box someday.

With the dinner fiasco finally resolved, we poured some more wine (yes, more) and watched the moon rise and the stars come out. Again, it was perfection.

But, it certainly paled in comparison to the sunrise the next morning. It was my first on anchor and it was magnificent. I think I shed a tear or two, it was so beautiful. Okay, I didn’t, but I certainly took a lot of pictures! This is only 4 of the 59 I snapped that morning so know that I culled it down for you:

We spent the day swimming, reading, napping, eating, drinking, swimming some more, napping some more and enjoying every minute of the day. Life on the hook makes you truly appreciate every moment. We whipped together another gourmet dinner that night. Our go-to shrimp feta pasta (recipe here: http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/09/23/may-25-2013-no-comment-the-crossing-finale-not-very-pc/), paired with some crisp rosé and enjoyed the sunset and dinner in the cockpit.

Sunset turned into moonrise and

like magic, I was “hooked.” This mate was ready to anchor anywhere! We were right here at “home,” just outside of Pensacola Bay, but, I swear, we could have been anywhere, the Keys, the Islands, half-way around the world. This boat was ready to take us there. It was that night, we started planning our grand adventure.