Have Wind Will Travel

Bombs Over Baghdad!

November 18, 2014November 18, 2014anniedike

May 5, 2014:

Shrimpers. That’s what they were. Those strange looking UFO ships out on the water.

They were huge shrimping vessels with massive football stadium-like lights flooding the deck. No red or green for port or starboard, so you couldn’t tell which way they were going (or coming!), only that they were getting closer and closer and closer. Super annoying when you’re cruising at night and not sure if the shrimp boat is going to come across your bow or cut behind your stern. And, what was worse, when they finally passed us about 100 yards off of our port stern, it looked like there was no one on deck or at the helm. They were probably all below playing poker and smoking cigars or something, just trudging blind across the Gulf, blissfully unaware of any other potential vessels in their path! Stinking shrimpers! We were cursing them all night. We probably “encountered” four or five of their “kind” that night and had to stay on constant watch.

Sadly, too, there wasn’t much wind that night. We had to motor until about 1:00 a.m. when the winds finally picked up to about 3 knots. It wasn’t much, but it was the most we’d seen in 12 hours, so it was enough for us to throw out the sails. I will say the Hinterhoeller is an exceptional lightwind boat. Favorable seas and any breeze 3 knots or greater and we can usually achieve hull speed about 2 knots less than the wind, if not more. So, if it’s blowing 5 knots and we’re not beating into big waves, we can usually make around 3 knots, which is great. A typical wind of 7-8 knots, and we’re often making 5, easy. Like I said, an incredible vessel that still never ceases to amaze us. Thankfully, with a light 3 knots of wind that night, we were able to finally kill the engine for a bit and sail! Until about 4:30 a.m., when the wind died out again and we had to crank back up. Dag nabbit! But, we did cruise right on into a beautiful sunrise over the Gulf.

May 6, 2014:

And, have you ever had one of those perfect Saturday mornings where you wake up, lounge around in your PJs, make a big weekend-morning breakfast like french toast, or pancakes, and then fall back asleep till like 10:00 a.m.? Ahhh … Isn’t that the best? Well, this morning was kind of like that. We watched the sun rise, made some piping hot coffee, sipped it, devoured two heaping bowls of steaming oatmeal with raisins and brown sugar and then …

took a nap! The morning chill was still in the air and we were both a little tired from the two-hour shifts the night before, so we eased into the day nice and slow like, taking turns napping in the cockpit. But, the sun finally started to ease up and so did we. It was a gorgeous day out in the Gulf.

Unlike the crystal green waters we had encountered around Clearwater and Tampa Bay, the waters here were a deep, rich royal blue,

and just as stunning in their own way. We even had a sea turtle come and visit us!

I know, looks kind of like a grainy alien photo, but I promise, it’s a turtle. I finished a fun, quick suspense read that morning – Lee Child’s 61 Hours – and the joke was we had been motoring about that long, too. 61 hours, huh? Not quite that long, but it felt like it. About 12 hours the day and night before, and add another 6 or so since we’d cranked around 4:30 that morning. So, 18 hours so far, which is a long time to keep that engine going. We decided to turn her off and bob for a bit so we could let her cool and check the oil.

You know what they say — “Diesels love oil like a sailor loves rum.” (And, by “they” I mean Captain Ron … naturally)

There you go girl … Drink up!

The wind was still mocking us, gracing by our boat at a light 0.5 to 1.3 knots. 1.3?? Look out! It’s getting gusty up here!! It was amazing to see the waters of the Gulf, which we have seen many times brimming with 3 foot, 4 foot, even 6 foot waves, look like solid … glass.

There would be no sailing for this vessel anytime soon. So, we cranked back up and decided to heat up some of our broccoli-less broccoli crappola (also known as sweet potato chili),

and throw together a great cucumber, tomato and feta salad for lunch.

This salad is great because it’s super easy. It’s literally cucumber, tomato, a little bit of olive oil, salt, pepper and feta. A great way to throw together some random vegetables you may have on the boat or some feta that needs to be eaten. With water like glass, a nice lunch spread laid out before us, and nothing but easy motoring to do, we thought we were in for an tranquil day. But, that’s when it struck …

You might recall me asking you all, in jest — What’s the Worst Thing You Can Have On a Boat? And, no, it was not the “busted mate”

(although that was close). For us, it was the LEAK!

Our stupid dripping dripless. That was the worst thing we’d had on the boat … up unto that point at least. But recall we ran through some possibilities then – fire, lightning, etc. Now, it seemed we were about to have something new. Phillip and I had just curled up in the cockpit with our chili and salad and were ready to kick back for a relaxing lunch when

>> BOOM <<

Out of nowhere, with nothing out of ordinary in sight. We both jolted upright and starting looking around. And then again

>> BOOM <<

It sounded like bombs were exploding over head. I’ll never forget how quickly Phillip put his bowl down and jumped behind the helm, scanning the horizon. In military mode. Of all the things that we could expect to happen on the boat. A bomb?!? You have got to be kidding me. When another BOOM came with no sign of an explosion or threat near our boat, we started to run through the possibilities. Phillip said he knew they often used the northern part of the Gulf as a testing zone for bombs and other detonation devices. They would fly out of Tyndall or Eglin Air Force Base and drop in the designated zones. Tyndall AFB is just south of Panama City.

Assuming they had a drop zone about … yay … big (give or take)

and assuming our projected path of about … here’ish (I know, real technical stuff),

it was wholly probable that we were either in their testing zone or at least close enough to hear it. While Phillip knew they often did testing in this area of the Gulf, he said they usually issued some notice or warning to mariners over the radio to advise of the bombings. If they were bombing anywhere near us, he would have expected to have heard an advisory go out over the radio or to have seen marine vessels or air support checking to make sure the testing zone was clear. He clicked on the radio and listened for any advisories, but we didn’t hear anything. Either the testing was occurring much too far away to constitute any potential threat to us (although I can assure you it did not sound like it), or the ole’ Rest had gone rogue and done slipped through their barriers! Flanking them on the inside! We didn’t see any action on the horizon or hear any advisories on the radio, so we figured we were at a safe enough distance, but that didn’t stop us from standing up and doing a 360 every time another bomb went off! BOOM!

It was the wildest thing. As cruisers, you prepare for a lot of contingencies when you start doing overnight passages and Gulf crossings – you pack spares for every single piece of equipment, and then spares for those spares, you have a ditch bag handy and rehearse man-overboard drills, you keep a knife, a flashlight and a gaff near the cockpit in case someone or some thing goes overboard – all kinds of safety precautions. But, a bomb plan?? I can tell you we certainly did NOT have that. But, like I said, they seemed to be no real threat, so we let the bombs drop all around us all afternoon while we continued to motor toward Carrabelle. As the sun started the drop, the wind laid down even more (it was blowing — if you can even qualify it as “blowing” — between 0.3 and 0.5 knots) and the water began to look like a smooth satin sheet laid out before us.

Eventually the two became one and there was no discernible horizon.

It was incredibly beautiful and humbling, to know that a body of water so dangerous and deadly at times could lay down and spread out like a smooth silk path for our passage. Even more awe-inspiring was the friend who joined us for dinner. A tiny, lone sparrow flitted around our boat twice before finally coming to a shaky halt on a lifeline and heaving little pants of exhaustion from his overwhelming flight.

Where did he come from? Where was he going? How did he make it all the way to our boat, more than a hundred miles offshore, in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico? We didn’t know, but we didn’t need to. He was welcome regardless. He closed his beady little eyes and stayed right with us until the sun set and we could no longer make him out.

It was Phillip, the bird and I, motoring into another night on the Gulf, with Carrabelle awaiting us, on the other side of the sunrise.

Close Encounters of the Gulf Kind

November 11, 2014November 19, 2014anniedike

May 4-5, 2014:

With 4-6 foot seas, a steady 17-20 knots of wind pushing us in, and our bow doing a nice ‘figure eight‘ motion in and around the Venice inlet, we made our way in. The Captain did a phenomenal job holding a steady line and making his way between the two rocky jetties on either side. No small feat considering the boat that had traversed before us, ended up like this.

Shaken and stirred, and most definitely ON THE ROCKS! That is such a terrible sight to see. I kept imagining the keel digging in between rocks with each passing swell, with paint and flecks of fiberglass grinding off. Uhhhh … Still makes me cringe just thinking about it. Thankfully, we passed through the inlet unscathed and got our boat safely docked back in the slip at Venice. While we had been excited to head out that day and we would have loved to have made the passage to Clearwater that night instead of coming back to Venice, the rough sea state and boat beating on the rocks of the inlet made us incredibly thankful to have our boat safe and secure. One more day wasn’t really too much to give up, particularly when it meant the difference between a rough and potentially treacherous passage across the Gulf as opposed to a predicted smooth one. Schedules are a sailor’s worst enemy. So, having docked our boat once more and resigned to staying another night, we did what any good mariners would do, and went to see what the status was with the boat on the rocks! And, I have to tell you … it was not pretty.

While I’m sure the keel was stuck, the hull on the side was also in contact with the rocks, beating against them with each mild wake and letting out a gut-wrenching, nails-on-the-chalkboard kind of metallic groan when it did.

There was a pretty good group gathered on the shore watching this poor sailor, but there was little that could be done. Nobody seemed to know much and the guess was that he lost his steering or engine power somehow as he was coming in. Of all the luck … But, it seemed the worst of it wasn’t over for this poor bloke, because soon Sheriff Willingham showed up!

Or, at least that’s what I assume his name was. He looked like a Willingham. He seemed to keep asking the pitiful Captain for his “papers” – for towing I assume, but perhaps registration, insurance, who knows? And, everyone was just gathered around staring at his guy. I felt so bad, I stood there and not only stared, but filmed the whole thing too!

See, once again, I almost could have gotten myself arrested trying to capture this tale! Such a dangerous sport, this blogging!

It was a beautiful afternoon in Venice, though, with lots of entertainment at the jetty.

We even got to see one of those weird pre-evolution snail-like things I’ve been going on and on about up close and personal! A nice, young bloke (a.k.a, your average pre-teen American redneck boy) fished one out of the water in his baseball cap and showed it to the crowd.

It was a little shy at first (all closed up),

until another nice young dame (a.k.a. your average pre-teen American redneck gal) fished it right out of his hat and started rolling it around in her hands telling the crowd — “It’s a conch. I’ve seen ’em before.”

Mmmhhh-Hmmmm … a conch without its shell. That little snail thought so highly of her characterization that he peed purple all over hands.

Nice. Then she proceeded to shriek and scream and sling it all over the crowd, including Phillip and his perfectly white shirt. Even nicer.

In all, it was a great “show” at the Venice jetty that afternoon. After taking in the show, Phillip and I finally sauntered back to our boat and were sipping cocktails in the cockpit when we saw the tow boat coming to get the struggling sailboat off of the rocks.

I’m sure it was a bad day for that fella, but, Phillip and I both acknowledged as we watched him pass by, that it’s happened to others before him and it will happen to others after. While we certainly hope it never happens to us, seeing it in person was a good reminder that it is entirely possible. Something can always go wrong with the boat, and it’s just as likely to happen when you’re coming in to a rocky inlet as when you’re in the middle of the Gulf, a safe distance from any rocks, docks or other detrimental obstacles for the boat. It is totally possible that could have been us out there on the rocks. Thankfully it wasn’t, and hopefully it never will be (knock on wood), but it was nice to see he was still afloat, being safely towed to a dock and that, aside from a costly bottom job repair, he and the boat were both going to survive it. At the very least, he could be thankful for that and admire the gorgeous sunset that was falling over the inlet.

Phillip and I enjoyed another dinner at the Crow’s Nest Tavern that night and talked of the next day’s passage. Because of our failed start that day and our extra night in Venice, we were technically one day behind schedule (if we even wanted to admit we had such a thing on this trip). So, I decided to pitch another idea …

Instead of making the passage tomorrow to Clearwater to stay the night and then make the big jump across the Gulf to Carrabelle,

what if we left out of Venice tomorrow and headed straight for Carrabelle?

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Phillip said.

It was certainly worth a thought. The weather prediction was great. The seas were supposed to lay down. We were expecting a nice 10 knot breeze out of the North or Northwest. So, rather than the approximate 16-18 hour trip we were planning to Clearwater, why not try to make the approximate 40-hour trip all the way to Carrabelle. Go ahead and make the big leap? Why not? We had made about a 44-hour trip from Pensacola to Port St. Joe our first passage out of the gate on this trip and, while that was tiring, it was certainly doable. So … we decided to go for it. It was Carrabelle or bust!

May 5, 2014:

The next morning, we readied the boat (again), checked the fluids and headed out around 10:00 a.m.

See ya!

The seas were in much better shape this time. Whew! Unfortunately, the wind was right on our nose, so we had to motor quite a bit throughout the day, but we spent a beautiful day out in the Gulf. Man, what a difference a day makes.

We even had a whole fleet of fun little mammals come and visit us at the bow!!! They swam with us for about 10 minutes, flipping and flicking and rolling around up there. It’s true! That’s no …

I snapped a whole roll of them! (And, by roll, I mean approximately 34 iPhone pics – give or take). Notice the occasional thumbs and fingers in the shot. Very artistic …

But, it was rocking and rolling and if there’s one thing I do NOT want to drop while up at the bow … it’s my phone. So, grip it or lose it. I did manage to get some fun footage though:

And, lookie there! A real …

With the wind on our nose, we had to motor most of the morning. Around mid-afternoon, we decided to try and do some sailing, if at the very least, to give the engine a break. The tacks we had to make were so wide, though, that we were sure we were losing ground. We did some research and calculations of our velocity made good (VMG) to try and determine what speed we were actually making along our rhumb line. A little sailing knowledge for you:

So, let’s say (just to make it easy), your heading is 90 degrees, dead east, but the wind is coming directly on your nose, so to make way along your heading, you have to tack back and forth into the wind. Let’s assume, when you tack, the highest point at which you can hold the wind is 50 degrees off your course, either 40 degrees ENE or 140 degrees SSE.

VMG is the speed you’re actually traveling along your rhumb line (90 degrees) by tacking back and forth at 40 degrees and 150 degrees. You can use a VMG chart to determine what speed you are actually making along the 90 degree axis by using the speed you are making along the tack lines (the 40 and 140).

If you find that the speed you’re making along your rhumb line (using the VMG table) by tacking back and forth is less than the speed you are making just motoring directly into the wind, then it may be best just to continue motoring. We found this to be true in our case. We were doing about 4 knots motoring into the wind and on tack (about 50 degrees off), we were only achieving about 3.5 knots, where according to the table we would have to reach 6.2 knots on tack to achieve VMG. So, we decided to continue motoring, but we did enjoy learning the VMG tables and working the calculations. I mean – don’t you feel just a little bit smarter now?

You can thank me later. It never hurts to learn something new, and one of the great things about sailing is that you always seem to learn something new – every passage, every docking, every trip. We cranked back up and continued pumping on into the evening.

We made coffee right around dusk and curled up in the cockpit to enjoy the sunset.

There she goes!

There’s something so freeing about watching that bright pink ball sink beneath the horizon. Sometimes it can give you a little chill because you know you’re about to be faced with darkness, unable to see the horizon and barreling forward into the unknown for hours on end. But, a big part of that is also exhilarating. You’re about to forge into the darkness, with no horizon in sight, trudging for hours on end into the great unknown. It’s equally exciting and spine-tingling. And, this night was no different. While we have experienced quite a bit in the middle of the Gulf, we faced something that night that we had not yet seen before.

An eerie glow in the Gulf …

Was it another ship? A wayward, bobbing booey? Some mysterious glowing trajectory from a passing UFO … ??

Who knows. But, it kept inching toward us seemingly oblivious to anything in its path …

Provisioning for Passage with “Broccoli Crappola”

November 4, 2014November 4, 2014anniedike

May 2-4, 2014:

While they were certainly barreling into the slip, it turned out the “Coming in Hot!” boys didn’t really need our help. About half-way into the slip, the skipper threw it in reverse full throttle and nudged right up to a piling on the starboard side with just the slightest ‘squeak’ and they were in. It was incredibly impressive. He handled that 30′ sailboat like it was a Sea Doo. They offered their thanks and waved us off, and Phillip and I set back to our main mission – DINNER. It was our second night in Venice, and after hob-knobbing and indulging ourselves the night before in the fine-dining atmosphere on the second floor of the Crow’s Nest Marina restaurant …

we decided to get back to our roots this time and slum it with the rest of the salty sailors on the bottom floor of the restaurant – the Tavern. And, what an experience …

They had this guy there playing live music. He appeared to have a little Middle-Eastern influence and just the slightest hint of a lisp. Strange combination, I know, but it gave his vocals this raspy, soulful quality. And, the guitar he was playing had like six strings on each side – a total of 12 – and he seemed to use every single finger on both hands to pluck each one of them. He was captivating. Here – see for yourself:

Good stuff, right? He was awesome. And, in between sets, he liked to play trivia with the audience – real old school music history stuff. Like, who wrote the first version of that song? What band did he originally play with? Way beyond my time, but several folks would call out answers and he would rip them a new one if they were wrong – all in good fun. He was quite entertaining. But, he didn’t turn out to be the actual entertainment. I hope you noticed in the video, the guy that was sitting with his back right next to us. The one the nice waitress had to ask “Sir, could you please scoot your chair forward so we can get by with the food?” If not – watch it again. Because, THIS guy was truly entertaining.

You’ll notice his clapping off-beat at the beginning of the video (when it’s not really a “clapping” kind of song if you know what I mean). We’d been watching him since we sat down. A real, attention-seeking fellow, that man, on the verge of belligerence. First, he tried to hit on a gal sitting next to him (who was with a male companion might I add) and that didn’t pan out. He then tried to guess one of the trivia questions, which also didn’t pan out. And, just when he had finally quieted for a moment, the waitress came by and kindly asked him to scoot his chair forward, stirring the nest all over again. He was offended … to the core. After she walked by, he threw his hands up in disgust and loudly protested. “What am I supposed to do, Gary? Sit like this??” he practically shouted to the guy sitting two feet from him as he scooched his beanpole chest all the way up to the table and hunkered over his food in a dramatic over-exaggeration. “I mean, what does she expect?” Wow. He repeated his scooch and hunker-down show every time the waitress came by and loudly pushed his chair back out in rebellion after she’d passed back by, his arms folded over his chest in a snooty pout. It was the adult equivalent of a tantrum, and … to our pleasant surprise – wildly entertaining. Don’t you just love people??

In any event, we thoroughly enjoyed the soulful music, rustic atmosphere and “live entertainment” at the Crow’s Nest Tavern that night. We ordered up a raw dozen, some rich escargot, a delicious bahn mi sandwich and an insanely-huge piece of Oreo cheesecake.

De-lish! Needless to say, we didn’t last long after that meal …

May 3, 2014:

We woke the next morning to another Lion King quality sunrise. NaaaaaaaasuhWHENya … Okay, I won’t go through it again. But, it was gorgeous coming up over Bird Island.

This time it was Phillip’s turn to take the sunrise session and get his African chant on while he paddled the coves and inlets around the marina.

We had been watching the storm in the Gulf, and it appeared the sea state was going to lay down enough to let us head out tomorrow for Clearwater. So, with a passage on the horizon, we set our sights on provisioning the boat. We had a good bit of hearty root vegetables on the boat (sweet potatoes, carrots, onions, etc.) that needed eating, so we decided to make a big pot of sweet potato chili. (It also rained most of the morning, so what better way to pass the time than cook up a big pot of soup!) We tried this recipe initially before we even got our boat, when we were just cooking out of galley cookbooks for fun – only dreaming of what we would actually make when we were on an actual passage, in our actual BOAT! And, we first made it on passage when we were sailing the boat back from Punta Gorda, FL where we purchased it in April, 2013. There we go!

While the chili was a hit amongst the crew initially, we did receive some complaints later from one disgruntled crew member — the infamous Mitch. (Let me just say I spared you some of the more disgusting details about our initial crossing) and suffice it to say that the man thoroughly enjoyed the chili going in — not so much coming out. And, when I was faced with the remnants he had left for me in the head, he boldly blamed the “Broccoli Crappola” we had fed him for dinner …

It was sweet potato chili.

Not a single stalk, leaf or floret of broccoli in it.

But, to this day, the Captain and I still lovingly call our sweet potato chili “Broccoli Crappola” in memoriam. Ahhh … Mitch. You gotta love that man. Since we had all the necessary ingredients already,

we went ahead and made a big batch of it for easy re-heat during passage.

This chili is great because the ingredients for it (basically carrots, sweet potato, onions, black beans, chopped tomatoes) are incredibly hearty and will hold until you’re ready to make it. It’s easy, cheap, delicious and filling. What more do you need on a boat? Recipe here. And, since we’d made a huge batch, there was plenty for us to have a bowl that day for lunch.

Did I mention the cheap part? Venice was certainly burning a hole in our budget …

In the afternoon, we headed over to the marina to do some laundry and clean up and – of all the people – guess who we ran into? Yep! The “Coming in Hot!” boys. As you recall, they were occupying the slip right next to us, so we, of course, as a result of natural marina curiosity, had watched them emerge from their boat around 10:30 that morning, stretch and moan and scratch some things, and head to shore. We recognized them when we came into the laundry area and struck up a conversation. And – it’s always fascinating the kind of people you meet when you travel. So the Captain was in his mid to late thirties, a tech guy, who was on a two-year sabbatical, traveling the world. He had been to the UK, India, Thailand, you name it. He met his soon-to-become First Mate, Will, while riding a train in India. They became fast friends and decided to travel the world together. Their first plan was to buy a bus and convert it into a hostel but they claimed they “got drunk one night and bought a sailboat instead.” And, here they were. In Venice, FL. Not an ounce of sailing knowledge between them and they were just figuring it out as they went. Sure explains the “Coming in Hot!” bit and the dilapidated boat. But, they had an infectious sense of adventure and infinite charisma. Great, great guys. We chatted with them for a while and decided to have a drink or three at the tavern while our clothes were spinning. A quick clean-up and an inspection of the arm confirmed what I already knew – it was still attached and still looked … awesome. It had graduated from elephantitis to jaundice with a nice yellow hue and still maintained a distinct “squishy” feel throughout. … Nice.

They were airing the Kentucky Derby at the Tavern and offering themed drinks (mint juleps and Pim’s cups), Derby swag giveaway and a big prize for the lucky customer who guessed the winning horse.

It was a fun atmosphere and we had no problem plopping down for some cocktails, calamari, a sensational burger and quesadillas. Yum!

With the laundry taken care of, and a big pot of chili ready for passage the next day, we curled up for a quiet movie night on the boat and made a list of the non-perishables (milk, OJ, eggs, creamer and the like) that we would need to pick up in the morning before heading out to Clearwater. We figured it would be about an 15-18-hour passage (approximately 70 nautical miles assuming an average 4-or-so knot speed), so we planned to leave early in the afternoon in hopes of making it to Clearwater the following morning. Like I said, we always try to plan to come into pass in the daylight – even if we’ve been through that pass before. Even familiar passages are more treacherous at night.

May 4, 2014:

Another beautiful sunrise in Venice. No surprise there. (No Lion King chants this time – lucky you).

A brisk morning walk around the docks revealed plenty more of those weird snail-like evolutionary creatures that we had come across in Ft. Myers.

I captured some more fascinating footage for you of their signature flap-swim stroke:

You’re welcome. And, you’ll be glad to know I spared you the Australian-accented nature documentary commentary that Phillip had to endure during the first three filmings: “The snail flaps furiously through the treacherous waters as the sun rises over head … ”

We decided to get another advantageous use out of the free bike rentals at the marina to make our run to the store. Venice was a very clean, friendly, accommodating marina, but a little on the pricey side, so we were trying to limit our last Venice adventures to free bike rides and chili bowls. Another picturesque cruise through downtown Venice, though. The tree-lined streets are perfect for biking of a leisurely stroll.

And, there was a Publix right in the heart of downtown – just a quick bike ride from the boat.

Good thing we had baskets on the front for the groceries!

Tis me!!

And, I didn’t crash!! (this time). Funny thing was, when we came back to the boat, it seemed we had somehow missed the invite for the party!

There were boats, dinghies, floaties, redneck yachts and coolers all around our boat!

Apparently, Saturdays at Snake Island can get pretty wild! While we would have loved to have hung around with the redneck crew, we had a Gulf passage calling us. It was around 1:00 pm, and we were hoping to get underway before 2:00pm to ensure a morning entry into Clearwater.

We packed the boat, checked the weather one more time, and headed out!

We were expecting 10-15 mph winds out of the NNE, and a 2-4 ft sea state, which would have been a little rough but bearable. When we made our way out of the inlet, however,

we were faced with NW winds (the exact direction we were going) of 17-20 mph and swells of 4-5 ft. It was a very rough sea state.

Some swells appeared to be about six feet. The boat would heel back and climb over them and the wave would swallow the horizon behind the boat as we barreled down it.

We were averaging 0.5 to 1.7 kts – the epitome of beating to windward. After about three hours of this we had collectively decided we were miserable. We were barely making way beating into the wind in a sea state that was working against us too. The forecast was off. It could improve, but it was anybody’s guess as to when. If we continued to ride it out, we could end up stuck in miserable conditions for 24 more hours just to make it to Clearwater tomorrow. We had learned that patience in timing passages makes all the difference. There was no need for us to rush to Clearwater, particularly not in this horrendous fashion. We decided to wait 30 minutes or so and if nothing changed to turn back and wait for better conditions. And, as you can likely guess … nothing changed. Just thirty more minutes of making 0.7 knots into the wind. Having covered approximately 6 miles of our estimated 70-mile trip over the course of four hours, we decided to call it. We hadn’t even made it far enough away from shore to lose sight of it, so turning back wasn’t too much of a stretch. And, the minute we turned around, it seemed the entire weather system changed. It’s amazing how forceful and threatening the wind can feel when it’s coming on your nose only to have it turn into a light breeze when it’s coming on your stern. We now had big, beautiful following seas and were averaging 5.5 knots easy back to shore. While the six miles out took us four hours to cover, coming back only took an hour and a half. But, the seas were still kicked up, 4-5 foot swells had the boat rocking and rolling toward the inlet. And, you remember what I said about the inlet at Venice — very narrow:

And, very rocky:

The bow of the boat was swaying and rolling in an elegant motion, but only briefing passing at times the mark for the entry of the inlet. Imagine finding a sight for your target in the scope of your rifle, then trying to hit it while making a figure 8 with the barrel of your gun. Phillip and I both tensed when we realized how tricky it was going to be to steer the boat in between those two severely rocky shoals. The only good news was the closer we got, the wider the inlet seemed, but that also meant we were closer. Closer to the rocks and the jetty and the waves crashing on shore. And, just as we were nearing the entry, we saw another sailboat pitching and bouncing on the rocky shore. We weren’t sure at first if it was on the rocky shoal or just extremely close, but as we neared the inlet, we could tell. The boat had run hard aground on the rocks, the hull smashing into them again with every incoming wave.

“As if I need a visual reminder of what could happen if we don’t get this right,” Phillip said in solace, shaking his head and staring ahead, trying to keep the “figure 8” motion of our bow within the realms of the rocky inlet.

They’re Coming in HOT!!

October 28, 2014October 28, 2014anniedike

May 2, 2014:

Naaaaaaaaa-suhWENya! WanaBEEzeewhen-aaahhhh! Okay, you probably have no idea what I’m trying to replicate here (but if you do – five gold stars!).

We rose the next morning before sunrise. The sky was choked at first with soft, billowing blue clouds, covering every inch of the space overhead with only one sliver of light growing in the east. As the sun rose, the blue canopy began to dissipate and everything turned a fiery shade of pink.

Now you’ll understand — Naaaaaaaaa-suhWENya! WanaBEEzeewhen-aaahhhh!

I went for a sunrise paddle that morning – left before the sun rose, and watched it taint the sky as it climbed the horizon. I felt like I was the center of the Circle of Life! Everything seemed to open, bloom and awake around me and change from a dusky blue to a golden pink.

Pelicans were swimming and flying right along side of me.

Hey whenyahhna. Hey, heywhenyahhhna …

The water was rippled pink, purple and blue and the only sound I could hear was my paddle dipping in and out of the water. (Well, other than the African Lion King chants I was wailing in my head).

Hey whenyahhna. Hey, heywhenyahhhna …

And then I emerged!

“THE CIIIIRRRR-CUUULLL OF LIFE!!”

Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic in reality. I just pulled up to the boat.

Hello Beautiful!

But, it was an intensely serene sunrise paddle. Such a beautiful area right around our boat to tool around in.

I paddled around Bird Island. I didn’t know – then- that the other was called Snake Island, but I’m glad, now, that I avoided it! Since it was our first day in a new port, we decided to what any good adventurer would do … get out and explore! We walked around the boat a bit and checked out the cool rock jetty (Venice Inlet) that leads out into the Gulf – knowing we would be headed out that way in just a few days.

We noticed it was both (1) very narrow:

and (2) very rocky:

A bit of a bad combination for entry and exit in a boat, particularly in rough seas. The sea state was still kicked up with the storm rolling in to Clearwater, so we knew we would be hunkering down in Venice for at least a day or two. But, I tell ya, it wasn’t a bad place to be! We had the boat nice and secure at an excellent marina,

and we had attracted some friends around the boat.

And the jetty, inlet and Gulf waters were beautiful. Lots of folks came out it seemed to eat lunch, sit and read, and just hang out around the jetty. Excellent walking/meander grounds.

But, like I said — we were ready to explore! A little further than what was achievable on foot. So, remember the free bike rental I mentioned at Crow’s Nest Marina for marina guests?

Suh-weet! We checked us out a free pair and set to it!

The area around the jetty was really nice, and it was a perfect sunny day for a bike ride, so we decided to make a day of it. We biked … all … over!

Adorable little condos and townhouses by Crow’s Nest. Many of them had stairwells up to the roof where they had set up a little sunbathing area on top of their house!

Quaint shaded streets and light traffic made for perfect neighborhood cruising among HUGE banyan trees.

I almost crashed five times trying to look up at the Spanish Moss. Well, I take that back, I almost crashed several times because I’m just well, accident prone, and I was shooting while biking, AND I’m a blonde. So, I had a lot working against me. But, I somehow managed to stay upright. The biking was actually excellent exercise for the knee which still had a little pain and a pop, but was improving daily. We found an excellent public beach access that appeared to be the perfect place to set up for kiting if we got some favorable winds while we were there.

We actually met a kiter who was out there setting up that morning and chatted him up for a bit.

He told us the thermal winds in that area were usually pretty steady, meaning you couldn’t trust the wind prediction. It was always off. Good to get the local wind scoop!

Wind scoop …

Get it??

We rode our bikes all the way to town!

Tis me!

Annnd, I didn’t crash taking that shot either! You’re welcome.

We found this awesome 1950’s throw-back trinket shop – Nifty Nic Nacs!

So true …

Take an old photo, put a funny caption on it and BOOM! I just love these things!

Apparently, the shopkeep didn’t LOVE my love of them, though. He totally busted me for taking photos of his stuff. Sorrryyy! It’s just cause it’s such cool stuff! The lengths I go to to capture our adventures for you all … I could have been arrested!

Having biked all morning, we set our sights on lunch. A little research told us this Blue Island Bistro was the hot lunch spot in Venice, and boy were they right!

Quaint little bistro atmosphere overlooking the hotel pool.

A pile of hand-made shoestring onion rings, three chicken, avocado and lime salsa tacos and a piled-high pork & coleslaw sandwich later, and Phillip and I could barely walk, much less pedal! It took us a while to roll out of our seats and ease back onto our bikes to make the trek back to the marina, but it was totally worth it. That was a mighty tasty lunch!

We had good timing, too, because just as we made our way back to the boat, we got to see first-hand what that storm that was headed to Clearwater looked like. Our marina was haunted with looming grey clouds and dark horizons.

We hunkered down in the boat for a bit to wait for the storm to pass.

I actually love being on the boat when a storm comes through. Granted, I don’t want to be buried in a wicked thunderstorm, but it’s a neat feeling to be on your boat, on the water, out in the middle of a torrential downpour, but you’re dry and secure, watching it all first-hand. It’s kind of like getting a cozy, front-row seat to some of Mother’s Nature’s most amazing displays. And, our boat needed the rinse, so we were fine to let it pour, pour, pour!

I tell you one thing that rain didn’t clean, though, was the paddle board! Remember the new “friend” we had made at the marina? The one I thought was so cute because he was hanging on our dock line? I had been snapping shots of him that morning, telling Phillip “Look, Phillip, we’ve got a little buddy!” Awww … how cute!

Well, he turned out to be a real shitty friend, that bird! He used our paddle board as his own personal hunting perch and he SHAT all over it!

That terd! It took some serious industrial scrubbing to get it clean!

But, we got it clean, and cleaned ourselves up as well. The previous night, we had fine-dined at the swanky top floor of the Crow’s Nest Marina restaurant, so this time we decided to check out the casual, cozy tavern on the bottom floor.

I required some serious industrial cleaning as well after the foul fowl discharge clean-up! But, I think I turned out alright. You can’t see the elephant arm at all! We mozied around the marina a bit to check out this huge fishing boat that had pulled in for quick cover during the flash storm.

And, just as we were walking the docks, checking the boat out, we saw this other sailboat come flying in. The boat would easily qualify as a “work-in-progress.” It had big, brown paint patches in places, no lifelines to speak of and a few buckets and board planks lying around on deck. The boat made a quick u-turn near the fishing boat where we were standing and then started on a beeline back toward our boat – just hauling through the marina (which always makes you nervous). It’s like watching a car up ahead on the interstate swerving and screeching around. You’re either going to ease back and stay out of the way, or floor it when you pass them to make sure they don’t careen into you. But, the problem was, we weren’t on the boat! Meaning, we had no way of getting our boat out of harm’s way. We both craned our necks up and watched with tight-lip frowns as the blazing boat made a quick turn into the slip right next to us (not on us, at least). Whew! It was clear they weren’t going to hit our boat, but they were still barreling into the slip, headed straight for the dock. Phillip and I both started running toward their bow as one of the crew on the fishing boat shouted:

“THEY’RE COMING IN HOT!!”

Open Says-a-Me!

October 22, 2014October 22, 2014anniedike

May 1, 2014:

That’s right. May. We finally made it to MAY. Phillip and I both couldn’t believe we had spent an entire month on the boat and it had felt like only a couple of weeks, a few days at the most! Time was flying and our trip, it seemed, was slipping by faster than we would have liked. But, I’m sure it always feels that way. You never really want to go back … once you start going! But, sadly, we had jobs and meetings and all sorts of other obligations calling us back to Pensacola, so we needed to start making way that way. Although our original plan had been to make our way up along the coast to Clearwater before we jumped back across the Gulf to Carrabelle, considering our engine situation (one drip approximately every 10 seconds) and reports we had heard of storms rolling into Clearwater, we decided to motor up the ICW to Venice to shave a little off of our trip to Clearwater and closely monitor our engine in the safety of protected waters.

We would then make the Gulf crossing we had now made three times back from Clearwater to Carrabelle. It would be the last BIG crossing of the trip.

And, as you may recall, the last time we made this passage, from Clearwater to Carrabelle, we beat into 30 hours of rough weather and seas and had to hack off our dinghy in the middle of the crossing.

The really mind-blowing thing was, though, that she made her way across the entire Gulf alone and ended up in Ft. Walton, where we reclaimed her. This time, thankfully, we had opted for an inflatable dinghy, which was stowed safely below, so, assuming good weather, we were hoping to have a smoother passage. But, that was the next leg. We set our sights first on Venice via the ICW. Now, recall we still had a dripping dripless, although it was relatively minor, and a fluky manual bilge pump which we attributed to a cracked pump hose. So, our first mission that morning was to retrieve the replacement hose we had ordered at the Gasparilla Marina and make sure our manual bilge pump was working. That was the mission anyway …

I will say, it was a beautiful area around Gasparilla for walking, biking, canoeing, and

they had a very friendly staff at the marina, happy to sell us any type of hose we wanted. Cha-ching! Unfortunately, though, the new hose didn’t fix our manual bilge pump problem. Even after feeding the new hose from the pump at the cockpit down to the bilge, we still couldn’t suck the last bit of water out. It seemed the pump wasn’t sucking very well. It kind of sucked at sucking, I guess you would say …

But, our electric bilge pump was working fine, our manual pump was only kind of sucky and our thirsty Thirsty Mate, that trusty ole’ chap, was working great. Super suckage. So, we decided to go for it. We tossed the lines, had a friendly lad at the dock help us ease out (hence – no docking debacle this time!) and headed up the ICW toward Venice.

See ya!

Now, the ICW runs along the West Coast of Florida from Anclote Key (Tarpon Springs, just north of Clearwater) down to Ft. Meyers, and serves as a nice option if the sea state in the Gulf is gnarly and you still want to make way along the coast. Most of the bridges along that route are either 65 feet or taller or they open to allow marina traffic through. We had six bridges total to make it through from Gasparilla up to Venice.

Most of them were open on-demand. Meaning you call the “bridgemaster” (I assume that’s his technical title) about 10 minutes out to request he open the bridge for you — “Open Says-a-ME!” Assuming no traffic or issues, it’s no problem, he opens the bridge as you’re headed toward him and voila! Occasionally, he may have some traffic backed up or some other issue and you’ll have to do a few circles before he can make it happen for you, but it’s generally not a problem. Other bridges open on a schedule, once every 15 or 30 minutes. So, you just have to know your bridges ahead of time and schedule/plan accordingly.

Luckily, I travel with the most awesome Captain in the world, and he had figured all of this out ahead of time and had all the numbers and times and everything printed out, ready to go, while I sat around and ate grapefruit.

Ain’t life grand? Okay, I shared some with the Captain, too.

Grapefruit … yum!

But, Phillip soon wised up and put me to work, keeping up with the log book, checking on the bridge times and

(of course!) monitoring our engine drip.

Drip …

We were motoring under moderate load most of the day and she was dripping once approximately every 15-20 seconds. It seemed the hotter and harder she ran, the less the drip.

No comment … Likely the pressure and heat caused the seal around the stuffing box to swell, which created a tighter seal. In all, we were pleased with the slight drip and felt comfortable spending the day motoring up the ICW. The esteemed Captain called ahead as needed for bridges that opened on demand.

“Open Says-a-ME!”

And we tried to motor accordingly (slower or faster) to come up on those that were scheduled just about the time they were opening.

It was pretty cool to see the massive cranks and gears that raised these bridges.

It’s pretty impressive to take a road that can hold tons upon tons of traffic and just … eehhh … crack it open and let a boat through. While most opened up like a drawbridge, we did pass through one that spun on an axis.

Like I said. Pretty cool. Definitely a different feeling than making our way across the Gulf. While we prefer to sail — always — it was a nice motor day and we got to marvel at some impressive engineering feats along the way.

An inspection of the arm showed I was developing a rare case of what we quickly coined “elephantitis.”

Everything from the wrist down was normal until about here,

where it balooned out and took on a squishy, swollen feel all the way up to my shoulder. And, let me just warn you – do NOT Google images for elephantitis. Just. Don’t.

We made it to the Crow’s Nest Marina in Venice around 3:00 p.m. and settled in nicely at Slip No. 9. The staff at the marina were exceptional. They helped us dock, welcomed us with maps, info, a menu for the local Crow’s Nest restaurant and showed us the facilities. Washer & dryer, nice showers, restrooms, even free bike rentals for marina guests. Sweet!

Live webcam leading out to the jetty:

By then, it was getting close to 4:00 and we were getting … happy. “I’ll take an Oh Shit!, please.”

Mmmmm-Hmmmm!

We sat and sipped and uked and watched the marina activity for a bit,

before cleaning up to head over to the Crow’s Nest Marina Restaurant for dinner. They had separate shower suites, with restroom and shower stalls, which is super nice.

Not “truck-stoppey” at all! The arm was looking awesome …

Not disgusting at all! Just kind of Popeye’ish if you ask me.

I do eats me spinach! But, it was progressing along fairly well and still attached … so, no complaints.

We cleaned up and got ready for a nice dinner at the marina restaurant. The bottom floor of the Crow’s Nest Restaurant is more casual, a tavern-like atmosphere with light fare, live music, etc.,

while the top floor is a ritzy, fine-dining restaurant.

We figured, when in Venice …

“Table for two, please. Top floor.”

And, the food … was … decadent! We ordered up some phenomenal chicken skewers and oysters to start,

which of course came with a basket of piping hot fresh bread and a trifecta of dipping goodness (salty house-made butter, crushed garlic spread and olive oil with spices.

Then, well, things got a little hazy. I remember ordering (and thoroughly enjoying) the snow crab legs, and Phillip got the lamp chops. But, let’s just say, we were a few cocktails, two glasses of champagne and a couple bottles of wine in. I told you we were going to take this crazy act on the road! I remember the crab legs, but not the bib …

“You say it brings out my eyes? Stop it. Cap’n, you’re making me blush. My, my … “

Don’t Worry … We Can Pump Gallons Out at a Time

October 15, 2014October 15, 2014anniedike

April 30. 2014:

So, we’d done our homework. We knew we had a Lasdrop stuffing box and that it wasn’t sup-POSED to drip. We also knew the guys at Gasparilla Marina would be sending a mechanic back out to our boat early the next morning to follow-up on our leaking stuffing box so we grabbed a bite at the Waterside Grill — buffalo shrimp, grilled grouper (plate and sandwich) —

enjoyed a sliver of sunset over the marina,

and crashed hard on the boat. We woke the next morning, though, to excessive buzzing, dinging and chirping of our phones. It seemed the masses were trying to reach us. After ignoring the first few, we finally lulled ourselves awake to see what all the buzz (no pun intended) was about. And, that’s when we got the terrible news. Our home port of Pensacola had endured 20 inches of rain in 24 hours. There was extreme flooding with inadequate drainage. Many homes were flooded, cars submerged, roadways engulfed. It was unreal.

ABC News – Powerful Floods Tear Through Pensacola

We started making frantic calls – checking on friends, family, the office, the condo, other boat owners. It was a mess. And, it was so ironic that everyone had been calling often checking on us as we were out making passages, crossing the Gulf of Mexico, putting ourselves in the path of potential storms and yet home is where she decided to strike, while we were tucked safely in a marina in Gasparilla. We felt a slight tinge of guilt that we were sound and secure while others back home were dealing with such damage and loss. We weren’t even sure yet about your own place or our cars. We just did what we could remotely and set our sights on making way back to Pensacola.

We got on the phone with the guys at the marina and they sent out a sprite little stick of a man (stiff breeze would have blown him over) to come check out our stuffing box. But, he was sharp, friendly and super-knowledgeable. You could tell he’d been working on boats for a long time. That’s just the kind of guy I want sticking his hands up under our transmission. Guy cracked me up though. Just before he bent over into the engine room, he snapped back up real quick and said “Better empty my pockets first. Don’t want these dumping into your bilge.” And, then he proceeded to set not one, but two packs of cigarettes and a lighter on the nav station. I’ll bet that’s a one-day supply for this guy.

He maneuvered some things around, wiggled it – just a little bit! – and said he was able to create a decent seal. One he thought would hold well enough to get us home. You mean, no haul-out?!? We were certainly relieved to hear that news. But, we were certainly going to test it to be sure. We decided to crank her up and go for a test run. Much like the crossing we did last year when we were catching and dumping transmission fluid back into the transmission, I found myself again, hunkered down next to that noisy engine, watching a drip.

But, that was fine with me. I’d much rather have an engine that’s running but requires a little drip supervision than one that’s not. So, I busted out the all-important boat tool used last time to capture the name on the stuffing box – my PHONE – and did my best to capture the drip so we could accurately time it and see what we were dealing with. I caught three drips in 30 seconds, meaning roughly 10 seconds in between each drip. In the video, I move the flashlight beam to indicate each drip. Riveting footage I assure you …

After watching her under various amounts of load, we determined the box was dripping roughly every 5-7 seconds at idle, every 10 seconds under moderate load and every 20-25 seconds under heavy load. The more load that was on her it seemed the more pressure on the box which created a better seal. So, on average, one drip every 10 seconds when the engine was running? We figured that was probably common, if not less, than the intended drip on most stuffing boxes designed to drip. Certainly something our bilge could handle, assuming we found ourselves having to motor a lot on the way home. If we were able to sail most of the way – no issue at all. So, we decided to go for it. We were going to make our way back home with the very minor dripping-dripless and address it once we got back.

As usual, we had been discussing the stuffing box ordeal with some fellow cruisers and our broker-turned-boat buddy, Kevin, offered some sage advice. While our electric bilge pump was working fine (in fact, its frequent automatic activation is what helped us uncover the leaking stuffing box in the first place), Kevin suggested it might be a good idea to check our manual bilge pump(s) before leaving the dock. Just … in … case. Smart man, that Kevin.

While Phillip always tells me the most effective “bilge pump” you can have is a motivated sailor and a bucket,

we thought it best to follow Kevin’s advice and check on our other mechanical bilge pumps. The manual pump in the cockpit,

and, the almighty Thirsty Mate!

It seemed the Thirsty Mate was working fine.

That thing sucks. In the best way possible. And, I rigged up a hook on the end of it that attached to the drain in the sink in the head so it could be used single-handedly by a crew member to pump water out of the bilge and into the sink to drain out (in case Captain’s holding the helm, and I’m doing the sucking – a likely scenario if we found ourselves really taking on water). So, Thirsty Mate – check!

Unfortunately, we didn’t have the same luck with the bilge pump in the cockpit … The suction was incredibly low and we didn’t think any water was actually making it out of the boat.

After some troubleshooting, we were sure there was some crack or poor connection in the hose from the pump at the helm to the bilge that was hindering suction (like a straw with a hole in it). We decided to get a new hose for it. Not that we planned to re-run the hose under the cabin floor and back up to the cockpit before we left, just so we would have a secure hose that we could connect to the pump in the cockpit and hand-feed down to the bilge just in case we had a sufficient leak, and the electric bilge pump went out, and we couldn’t sufficiently drain it with the Thirsty Mate. A lot of prerequisites there, which sufficiently met our concerns for getting back under way. Some friends, however, didn’t seem to have the same reaction. I explained our situation via text to a few non-boating gal pals of mine, advising them we did have a small leak, but we were able to pump “gallons out at a time,” so we felt it was fine to head back out into the Gulf, and THIS was the reaction I received:

GALLONS?!?

She mentioned experiencing something similar to “heart palpatations” at my use of the phrase “gallons at a time.” Where’s your sense of adventure? I’m kidding. I have some really great friends who worry a great deal over me, but in secret, they live vicariously and they know they love it! ; )

We felt good about it. One drip every 10 seconds, no haul-out and no costly mid-trip engine repair. Yee-haw! Let’s go! The only downside was that the marina said they couldn’t get the manual bilge hose we needed until the next day, so it was one more day in Gasparilla, which was fine with us. I will say, the marina there is pretty impressive. Hundreds of boats just stacked up on shelves like toys. The scale of it kind of blows your mind.

Those are all 18-20 foot center consoles sitting on the shelves like dolls. And, they have this HUGE forklift that plucks them out of the water like they only weigh ten pounds.

It’s so cool I filmed it for you!

And, you’ll find it highly entertaining to know that I forgot about the whole “Just Cause” conclusion in the video until I was just now re-watching it, thinking the whole time … Oooh, ooh, I know what I can say as the caption for this video — “Why did I film this … ” I’m so good I beat mySELF to the punch sometimes!

So, after all of the pumps were checked and our hose was ordered, we decided to clean up and hit the town! Or … the … Waterside Grill at the marina. But, hey, that counts. Look out Gasparilla!

It’s Happy Hour on the Plaintiff’s Rest!

Peel-and-eat shrimp, a fully-dressed hot dog and live music out on the deck. It doesn’t take much to suit us. After a few glasses of wine and a hearty dinner, we sauntered around the marina in high spirits,

entertaining ourselves with inSPIRed but obvious observations:

“How many you see there, Cap’n?”

In all, we were thrilled to have received good news about our stuffing box situation and excited to start making way the next day – one drip at a time. Look out Venice! We’re taking this inspired-but-obvious act on the road!

Good to the …

October 8, 2014October 13, 2014anniedike

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re probably right, but be patient. We’ll get there.

April 29, 2014:

While the run-aground in the ICW was certainly not fun (and quite embarrassing on my part) it, thankfully, was a very minor graze with a soft bottom and one that we were able to ease off of fairly quickly. And, while I know I deserved some of the scoldings and finger-shaking I received as a result, I’m not sure I agree that it rose to the level of demotion from my position as First Mate as one of our followers opted for (you know who you are!). But, I tell these tales so that hopefully some of you fellow cruisers can learn from our mistakes and, on the rare occasion, brilliant discoveries! It’s all about getting out there and doing it – mistakes included. But, assuming the demotion was in order, we’ll see if this little diddy can salvage me. I call it – Redemption of the Selfie!

So, still maintaining our slight trickle from the stuffing box around the propeller shaft, we motored our way into the Gasparilla Marina so we could have our leak inspected. And, you would think, by now, with all of the docking debacles we’ve encountered, we would be pros at docking. Well, we are better, but I’ll tell you, I’m just not sure anyone can actually call themselves a “pro.” You just never know what kind of conditions you’re going to face with the wind, current, pilings, finger docks, etc. There’s always some element to contend with that can turn your perfect entry into a … well, a cluster. As we made our way into the marina and found the slip they had assigned us to, we knew we were going to be contending with some pilings.

I even called the dockmaster to see if he could send some guys over to help catch some lines (Captain decided not to be too embarrassed about it, knowing my knee was not 100%) but, unfortunately, they were all on the other side of the slips at the fuel dock (a good 10-minute walk from our slip on the other side). So, it was the Captain and I, easing in … While we would have loved for it to have played out something like this.

Voila!

Sadly, that’s NOT what happened. After debating it a few times and exchanging a couple of confirmations (“midship first? stern second? then bow?”), we went for it. The wind was coming across our starboard deck, so we had decided, as we were easing in, to put a loose midship line around the second piling to keep us from hitting the dock on the port side. A grand idea at first …

But how loose is is too loose? Or, more importantly, not loose enough? You’ve got to cleat to the boat it at some point or it has no purpose, so I lassoed the pole, pulled out about 8-10 feet, cleated it and hobbled back to the stern to try and catch the piling on the starboard stern. Unfortunately, though, it seems my “8-10 feet” was not enough and as Phillip eased forward, the midship line pulled taut, causing the boat to … well …

Like I said, a total cluster. Thankfully, we were able to push off the port piling, back out and try again. This time we decided to forego the midship line, catch the stern on the way in and then run up and tie off the bow. Well, run, hobble, crawl – however I could make it happen. So, we tried again.

This time we caught the stern fine and start to ease forward. But, do recall that other element I mentioned. Ahhh, yes, a sailor’s best friend (or worst enemy at times). THE WIND!

The wind was pushing our boat over to the dock on the port side and we had yet to tie a line to hold the bow off. Without a friendly set of hands on the dock to catch a line, I tossed a pile of the starboard bowline onto the deck hoping it would stay put until I could get off to tie it.

Thankfully, the pile landed solidly on the dock, and I took off to catch it!

“Here I come to save the DAAAYYY!” Yes, that is what I sang to myself as I leaped.

Luckily the pile remained, I was able to grab it, tie it off and keep our boat off of the dock on the port side.

Whew! Have I mentioned before how much I hate docking – period – but particularly at new places??

With the boat secure, the Captain set to contacting the guys at the marina to have them come out and look at our leaking stuffing box. A young guy came out pretty quickly, jumped down beneath the engine and started pulling and wiggling the stuffing box, as Phillip and I kind of stood there, hovering, exchanging worried looks.

“You see something?”

He came up slowly, with a sullen look on his face, wiping the oil from his hands tediously, without saying a word. I took this as a bad sign. Like a doctor who’s about to dish out some really bad news. He told us he tried to tighten the hose clamps but he thought the seals were going to have to be replaced. Which meant … a haul-out. A haul-out?? Mid-TRIP?!? And, they’re so freaking expensive, too. The haul-out alone can sometimes cost 3/4 of a grand, not to mention the labor and expenses that will follow repairing the seals. And, anytime you haul-out, you always want to try and get as many “haul-out” requisite projects taken care of then to get the most of the hard-earned dollars you paid just to see your dripping keel, but that means more repairs, more time, more labor, MO MONEY. That was some pretty bad news. But, Guy No. 1 did say he wasn’t 100% sure and he was going to have his supervisor come out – the head mechanic at the marina – to have a look as well. A second opinion? Uhhh, yes please! Send in Guy No. 2!

It was nearing the end of the day, so we decided to get cleaned up while we waited for the head honcho, John, to come out and check out our stuffing box. The shower facilities at the marina were really nice, and they had a great Captain’s Lounge with TV, AC, books, wifi, coffee, etc. We also saw they had a little restaurant, the Waterside Grill, which we decided would suit us fine for dinner. After a long day-and-a-half of passage, we were ready to shell out a few dollars to kick back and let the friendly folks of Gasparilla bring us platters of fish & shrimp! When I hit the showers, a ‘body check’ confirmed that, a day-and-a-half since “the fall,” and the arm and knee were still showing signs of a collision.

I know, pretty right? The knee still had a little pain when bending and a funny ‘pop’ upon extension but, otherwise, was functioning reasonably well. The arm was functioning fine but was swollen to about twice its normal size and pretty hard to the touch. Just weird … No broken bones, though, so no complaints here. I’ll take functioning-but-weird any day.

When I got back to the boat, the head mechanic, John, was just leaving. Thankfully, he left us with better news than Guy No. 1. John said he thought it might could be adjusted, maneuvered somehow to sufficiently slow the leak to allow us to get home. It would just depend on what kind of stuffing box it was. So, THAT was our homework assignment. We had to find out what kind of stuffing box we had on there. Guy No. 1 had told us previously he could barely see the label on it from underneath the propeller shaft, but he couldn’t get a good enough angle to read the whole name. We searched our bag of instruction manuals to see if there was one for the stuffing box. (As I have advised before – always keep every instruction manual for every piece of equipment you install on the boat – you never know when they might come in handy). Unfortunately, no dice. We couldn’t find any paperwork on our stuffing box. We had to lay eyes on the label. But, the label was on the bottom of the stuffing box, facing down and there was only about a 2-3 inch gap between the label and the hull.

We broke out the little mirror that we keep on the boat.

I call this a mechanic’s mirror. We use it to look underneath things we can’t get under, much like a mirror under a car.

Super handy piece of equipment to have on a boat. But, the problem was, this label was too far underneath the stuffing box for the mirror to allow a reflection. The last thing you could see before the face of the mirror was lost under the transmission was just the tip of the label. We needed a new plan, so I got to thinking … I don’t know if you did this as a kid, but we used to make and buy those little boxed-mirror gadgets that allowed you to look around corners or over walls?

Nifty! Thankfully, though, my brother’s hair didn’t look like that. Or this …

But, we were HUGE Inspector Gadget fans!

(Doo-bee-doo-bee-doop. Inspector Gadget! Doo-bee-doo-bee-doop. Bum, bum. Whoo hoo! I know you’re singing along! Click HERE to reminisce further).

And we all know Penny secretly rocked that show.

“I’ve got it Uncle Gadget!”

Okay, so I digress. But, I did get a little Gagety with it. I started thinking about those around-the-corner mirror devices and started looking around for another mirror. While two mirrors would have worked fine, the first thing that caught my eye was my phone and that’s when it came to me. The selfie app! Now, not only could I view the image via the mirror function on the phone (a.k.a., the “selfie app”) but this way I could capture it via photo to confirm, show to Phillip and keep for our records. I positioned the phone under the stuffing box, tilted just enough to provide a reflection on the mechanic’s mirror so I could see what the screen on the phone was capturing.

I took a few (dozen) missed and blurred shots, but I was getting closer.

There! See? You can almost see it there. A few minor adjustments, taps on the cell phone screen to auto-adjust and BAM!

I got it. Good to the … LASDROP! It was a Lasdrop stuffing box. Now that we had a name, we could get some dinner at the Waterside Grill, relax and check back in with John in the morning to see about a solution for our leak. See? Good selfie training CAN be an important skill to have on the boat! I know my fellow blogger Dani would agree. Redemption of the Selfie!!

On that note, let’s end on a selfie montage, shall we? Let this play in the background and enjoy … All Byyyyy Myyy-seee–heee-eelllf:

If It’s Called a Dripless, You Would Think It Wouldn’t …

October 1, 2014October 8, 2014anniedike

April 29, 2014:

Uh-huh. Go on. Say it. DRIP. We found while motoring that morning that we had a steady drip coming out from the stuffing box around our propeller shaft. The stuffing box is basically a seal around the shaft of the propeller to keep the water that’s supposed to stay outside of the boat … OUTSIDE of the boat.

While some stuffing boxes are designed to drip slightly when the shaft is turning, to cool the shaft, others are designed not to drip at all. Hence the name — dripLESS. But, ours was doing more than dripping. We had a steady trickle when the shaft was turning and a slight gush upon manipulation – think more of a heavy flow than light. We needed some protection!

Close …

While stopping the leak was a priority, until we could get to a marina to troubleshoot and diagnose, we certainly wanted to maintain the leak. It was dripping right into the bilge, which is not a problem assuming the bilge pump is working fine. We were certain ours was because the automatic pump actually seemed to have been kicking on a little too frequently during our last day or two in the Keys, a pattern we now knew was attributable to our dripping dripless. But, we decided to try and capture the trickle before it made it to the bilge to reduce the load on the pump in having to frequently dump the bilge. This called for the handy little pads we keep on the boat that I like to call “diapers.” Fancy name, I know. They’re those oil change pads you get at Auto Zone, CarQuest and the like.

We keep a roll of them on the boat and one always stuffed forward of the engine to capture fluids that might drip from the engine (particularly oil) before they can make it to the bilge.

There’s one!

We used them to capture the transmission fluid when it was leaking during our first Gulf crossing. You might recall the duct tape and Dasani bottle fix … good times!

Seeing as how we had a fresh new leak, we put a fresh diaper in to catch the water trickling in around our stuffing box.

Ahhhh .. that’s better. Motor-all-you-want protection!

We were making our way up the ICW by Sanibel Island where we had planned to spend a day or two at Costa Cayo.

But, that’s the thing about plans … They seem to all go to pot when you’re boat’s leaking! Granted, our leak did seem manageable. It was just a trickle (for now) and whatever made it past the diapers was only going into the bilge, which was pumping out fine as needed, but still. A leak is not something you just want to shrug your shoulders at, say “Ehhh” and keep on cruising. I believe it was a really smart man who said: “If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen out there.”

Brilliant.

So, immediately our priorities changed from finding a neat, new anchorage along the ICW to finding the closest marina possible. Turns out that was in Gasparilla – ironically, where we had our survey/sea trial for the boat back in April, 2013.

Here, we were a year later, bringing her back in, but this time we were hoping it would NOT require a haul-out!

Unfortunately, it was pretty tight in the ICW and we did not have favorable wind to sail, so motoring was the only option. Much like when we had the transmission leak, we were taking turns kneeling down by the engine, watching the drip, and making sure it was remaining JUST a drip. We were making good way through Pine Island Sound and expected to make it into Gasparilla around mid-afternoon.

All was well, right? You would think. Until I made just about the stupidest mistake I have made on the boat. Well … aside from the recent slap on the deck. But, it involved that … kind of. So, we’re motoring through the ICW. Nice and easy, plenty of depth, plenty of fuel, our drip was just dripping and our marina was just a few hours away. Nothing to it. Phillip set the Otto so he could go down below to — take care of some business (that’s all I will say) — and left me to watch our course on deck. To his infinite credit, he showed me the red and green markers in front of us and told me where to keep the boat. Easy peasy. But, this dumb mate decided to do something I will never again do when I am manning the wheel alone. I made a phone call. I know what you’re thinking. Wow … that shouldn’t be too hard. Drive a boat and talk at the same time? Okay, but do recall that I am unfortunately blonde, so walking and talking gives me a little trouble.

Me? I know …

But, apparently driving the boat and talking have proven to be the real challenge. I decided all was well on watch so I could take a moment to call some folks to catch up and let them know we had made it back across the Gulf just fine (well, despite the slight leak issue). But, I didn’t realize at the time that I hadn’t yet actually told anyone the story about my fall. I can safely say it was certainly a frightening, eye-opening experience, one that had left me battered and shaken and thankful to at least be upright, walking and conscious. I was re-living it again for the first time while talking to my Dad. I’m up on deck talking and sort of re-enacting my out-stretched hand for that damn swinging halyard, “I was reaching out, Dad, on my tippy toes, and … “

when I hear Phillip shout up from the head — “Annie, what was that?”

“What was what? I’m just up here talking on the phone.” (stupid First Mate)

“No, THAT. I feel it. Annie, we’re hitting bottom!”

SHIT.

I hobbled back to the cockpit as fast as I could and glanced at the GPS — 5.4 ft. SHIT! While engrossed in my fall story, I had let us drift out of the ICW onto a shoal. I turned the wheel sharp to starboard hoping to pull off. The boat grazed the ground, groaned and started to list to port. I could hear Phillip scrambling up and I knew what I had done. I hollered into the phone “Dad, I gotta go. We ran aground.” SHIT. I was apologizing profusely when Phillip came up. It was just stupid, and I had done it and here we were. But, thankfully we had been here before – running aground is just going to happen when you’ve got a big, honking keel down below. While it’s best to avoid it, of course, it also helps to know what to do when it happens. We had unfortunately hit bottom coming into Clearwater, on our way down to the Keys.

That time, Phillip threw it in reverse and I hung way over the lifelines on the port side to tilt the boat off the shoal. This time, we decided to take it one step further. We swung the boom all the way over to the port side and I hung all of my weight from it. The knee might have been giving me trouble, but the arms were functioning! With the wheel all the way to starboard and the boat listing to port she finally started to ease off and move forward. Within a minute, we were off and motoring forward again. I was sick with guilt, embarrassment, anger. I was SO MAD at myself.

One of my favorite all-time books growing up by the way. (John – you remember this one!). As a kid, I would get SO MAD at myself when I couldn’t do something right. I would stomp and huff and get in a real nasty funk about it – an all-out, over-exaggerated one-woman pout show. I’m sure it was wildly entertaining to those watching me. But I was MAD.

I apologized profusely over and over. Phillip was great about it. He knew it was a mistake and that I was incredibly sorry but we decided – no more phone calls for Annie while on watch. She just can’t handle it … But that did remind me to call my Dad back and let him know we were alright — disaster miraculously averted again. I’m sure hearing me say “we ran aground, I gotta go!” followed by a *click* was not very comforting for him, but he seemed to take it in fine stride. “I figured you were alright. You usually are,” he said. A true statement and a common one he made when I was growing up, typically when I fell off of things as I seemed I did a lot back then too. But, knowing me as well as he did, he told me “It was an accident, though, Annie. Don’t get in funk all day about it.” Good advice. I apologized to Phillip just a couple more times and pouted (just a little) as we made our way into Gasparilla.

I mean … a near-death drop, a leaking boat and a run-aground. What else was in store?

What’s the Worst Thing You Can Have on a Boat?

September 24, 2014September 24, 2014anniedike

April 28-29, 2014:

I like to just ask it that way. See what people say. Most kind of look at you funny, scrunch up their brow (Yes, scrunch – how do you think a “scrunchy” gets that way?)

Rockin’ it!

and either ask “What exactly do you mean by that?” or start thinking on the possibilities. But, ask several cruisers that question, and I’ll bet you get several different answers:

A fire perhaps?

Just tragic …

Lightning?

That would also fall into the category of ‘Suck’

Phillip tried several of these when I first asked him, and then – to my pleasant surprise – threw out a wild guess of:

“A nagging woman?”

Nice try, but …

It is a fun question because it can spark so many different answers (as well as interesting follow-up questions – Do you mean to happen TO the boat? Or be ON the boat?, etc.) – and it usually leads to some really interesting tales at sea. I believe I would have answered that question the same way before we ventured off to the Keys, but I certainly did not expect to experience my particular brand of “worst thing” on this trip! But, that’s the thing about sailing you have to constantly expect the unexpected. So, where were we?

Ahhh … yes. The busted First Mate. Perhaps not the worst thing to have on a boat, but it’s definitely up there in the list of not-so-good things. So, we were heading across the Gulf from Key West to Ft. Myers, and I was icing the knee and arm, hoping for immaculate recovery.

Pretty. The swelling really makes my bi’s and tri’s look huge, though, doesn’t it? Like a body-builder. Think I’ll sign up for it next year!

Hell yeah!

Thankfully, once we took the ice off, the swelling had gone down some and, while the arm hurt, it was mostly numb and mostly purple, but seemingly fully-functional, so that gave me some relief. The knee, however, was the real cause for concern. It was king of popping and clicking when I bent and straightened it and causing some pain when lowering and raising while weight-bearing. Knees are just such complicated joints. One little strain or tear and it just doesn’t function correctly. I figured there was some soft-tissue injury for sure, but I just decided to really baby it and see how things went. Thankfully, it was a gorgeous sailing day.

We were on a perfect broad reach with 10-12 knots of wind most of the day. Otto was holding, so we kicked back, cracked open a few books (and the Kindle) and spent a leisurely afternoon sailing and reading. I was digging into the second of what I called the “Dragon Lady” books. I had read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on the way down to the Keys, and now I was tearing through the second in the series – The Girl Who Played with Fire. Both very good reads – elaborate, intriguing plots and characters that keep you invested to the very end. We polished off the blue cheese gnocchi that we saved from 7 Fish the night before,

and also dug into Phillip’s ham salad that we had made before leaving Key West.

Yum!

Other than the potentially-permanent limp, we enjoyed an exquisite afternoon/evening of sailing.

There is just nothing like watching the sun set on the edge of a vast, blue horizon. There are no buildings or signs or structures to block it. You can watch every single pink inch as it drops out of the sky. Just proof that – more often than not – real life is better than the movies. But we love movies too …

Uh-oh, guess what day it is?? Guess!!

Mmmhhh-hmmm, that’s right. It’s MOVIE DAY! Or movie time, I guess. Since we had such a steady sail going, such great weather and a perfect heading holding, we decided to crank up the laptop and put on a movie. (And, yes, much to Phillip’s chagrin, I do the whole “Movie Day” camel bit EVERY time we put on a movie on the boat. Every … time … ) By the way, if you think about it – a camel. Also another strong contender for “worst thing you can have on a boat.” Can you just imagine …

We decided to put on Leonardo DiCaprio’s J. Edgar Hoover that night.

Trailer HERE.

Another captivating performance by DiCaprio (that man is such a chameleon), and a riveting look at the development of the FBI’s internal database. It was a little slow, though, and after the morning scare, my body’s attempts at recovery, gnocchi, salad and a soothing day of sailing, I hate to say it, but this crew was starting to nod off. That changed, though, about half-way through the movie, when we started to hear the beginning rumblings of a massive thunder-storm behind us. We had just been joking, too, when we began the movie that “movie night” on the old Plaintiff’s Rest seems just a bit cursed. You may recall the last time we tried to kick back and watch a movie in the cockpit and Armageddon struck – the winds jumped from 9 to 15 to 25 in all of 10 minutes, we battled another flailing halyard, broke out the Frankenstein-assembled butterfly net on a stick (a.k.a. a gaff) and eventually lost the halyard up the mast altogether.

And, now – we put on a movie and what? Thunder?? Cursed, I tell ya. Cursed!! It’s funny how on the boat, though, when either of us hears that first guttural rumble in the distance, you kind of ignore it at first. I mean, you heard it, you’re sure the other crew members heard it, but it’s like you don’t want to be the first to acknowledge it – as if you’ll bring thunder to life by mentioning it? You usually kind of wait until you hear one more, and then you exchange that “look” with your fellow crew of — you heard that, right? We both heard it. We both knew what it was. After a few rumblings, we paused the movie to look around the boat and – sure enough – a big, billowy cumulus thunderhead lurked behind us off the starboard stern and we watched as a vicious streak of lightning blazed through it. It was pretty far off in the distance, so it didn’t worry us too much, but just as we were looking out past our stern, a huge bolt raced through a cloud that was just off our mid-ship, maybe a mile or so out. That concerned us.

Okay, that image is *ahem* … borrowed, but I did try to capture a bolt or two while we were out there. It’s just so hard to click fast enough to capture the light. Here’s Phillip looking out, though, on the the only-intermittent darkness.

We kept watching the movie a bit longer, but the periodic rumbles and bolts were far too distracting. We decided to turn the movie off for a bit and sit up on the deck to watch the lightning. It was still a good ways off, but it was hard to tell which way the storm was moving – particularly the stack of clouds on our midship. While the storm was kind of frightening, it was also invigorating. The adrenaline woke us both up, and the sight was just breathtaking. To get to watch lightning streak through the sky like that, time and again, really is stunning. Thankfully, though, the mid-ship storm rolled past us at a safe distance. While it’s not at the top of my list, lightning is definitely something I never want to see on the boat.

We finished the movie and transitioned into our now pretty-routine pattern of “night shifts.” Aside from the occasional tricky ladder shuffle with my bum knee, the night went smoothly. We cruised right along on our same broad reach under a thick blanket of stars and sailed right through to sunrise.

Looks about like sunset, huh? But, that’s one of the great things about life on the boat – you start to rise and set with the sun. It was a rare day on the trip that we didn’t see both the sunrise and sunset, which is a really reassuring sign that you are truly enjoying every minute of every day. We boiled up a nice pot of coffee and enjoyed the cruise toward Ft. Myers.

A visual inspection proved not much had changed since the day before … my arm and leg were still looking … ummm … pretty.

We had made such great time during the night, though, that we decided – instead of stopping at Ft. Myers Beach again, where spent an incredible few days before making the jump to Key West, to go ahead and motor on up into the ICW by Sanibel Island to check out the area around Cayo Costa Key that our buddy Johnny Walker had told us about.

And, THAT’S when we experienced the worst thing I think you can have on a boat. Phillip headed down below to re-fill his coffee mug and re-up on the sunscreen (a regular routine on the boat) and fiddle around with a few things. I was a bit of a slow-mover that day, so I didn’t get off my keister to investigate, but I heard him pull the cover back on the engine. Not too abnormal of a thing to do when we find ourselves motoring for a while. It’s always good to pull the cover back every couple of hours and make sure you don’t have any drips or fluids or water leaking out of the engine. So, that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. But, with the engine hatch still back, Phillip took a few steps up the companionway ladder and started looking around intently, as if he was trying to figure out exactly where we were, just how far we were from land. That’s when my brow scrunched.

“What? What, is it?” I asked him. And, after a few solid seconds of silence, he finally let out a rough breath and responded.

“Well, we’ve got somewhat of a leak.”

SOMEWHAT?!? You either have a leak or you don’t. He confirmed what I feared was true. We had sea water coming into the boat. Now, THAT, my friends is the worst thing I think you can have on a boat. A LEAK.

“I’m Okay!” … sort of (Viewer Discretion Advised)

September 18, 2014September 18, 2014anniedike

April 28, 2014:

The first thing I remember seeing after the fall was the big, white meat of my arm. Between the time I hit, opened my eyes and blinked several times at it, it had grown twice the size. I knew it had hit, something, and I knew it hurt, but to see it so swollen, so suddenly, just mesmerized me. I really thought it might be broken. In all of the wild antics of my youth – gymnastics, barrel racing, cheerleading, jello wrestling and other numerous, countless stupid decisions in college – I had yet to break a bone (knock on wood) and I was thinking this might be the end of that lucky streak. I clenched my first a time or two and rolled my wrist and, while my entire forearm was numb and throbbing, everything seemed to be working fine, so I decided the bones were at least intact.

“I’m okay … I think,” I said. “I, … I think I’m okay.”

I heard Phillip set the auto-pilot so he could come on deck to check on me and I noticed the main halyard (that bleepin’ thing) was now dangling at about his waist-level on the deck. Before thinking about how it got there, I grabbed it (that bleepin’ thing) and began to surmise that I must have pulled it down, at least in part, during my fall because it was now so much lower. But, I couldn’t recall exactly, grabbing it or letting it go. But that got me thinking about the fall. Why had I fallen? What had snapped?

As if hearing my thoughts, Phillip said “the lazy jack snapped,” as he stepped up on deck. I didn’t even look up (assuming I even could turn around to see it), I knew exactly what he meant. We had busted the lazy jack line for the stack pack on the starboard side during our passage to Port St. Joe.

That time it was because of rough wind and weather that had caused the sail to put too much force on the starboard lazy jack line, causing the rivet on the spreader to rip clean off.

And, what we gathered from that incident was that the lazy jack lines are not intended to hold extensive weight. We have since learned (from our trusty rigger, Rick Zern) that this design is intentional so that the rivet for the lazy jack line will fail before excessive strain is placed on the spreader. Makes sense. But, clearly this riveting (no pun intended) fact somehow escaped me as I was doing my circus act up on the boom, reaching with all my might, one strained, out-stretched hand to the halyard, the other with a mighty death-grip on the port-side lazy jack line.

And, then SNAP! I’d done ripped the one on the port-side off, too, and suffered a mighty fall as a result.

Dad-burnit!

It all made sense–now–as I lay in a crumpled heap on the deck. But, what’s done is done. At least I hadn’t broken anything, or so I thought. As I started to stand, though, to re-secure the halyard, I discovered a new pain–my knee. It seems it, too, had hit something and it, too, was already swollen. Phillip frowned at me and laid a sturdy hand on my shoulder, which told me to sit tight for a minute. He secured the halyard then helped me to my feet so I could hobble back to the cockpit. Like my arm, my knee was numb and throbbing, but it appeared to be working. Phillip seemed to be comforted, slightly, by the fact that I was somewhat satisfactorily mobile, but I hated to see such a look of worry and anger on his face. While I had managed to get that bleepin’ halyard down, it was at a serious cost, and it was clear the Captain was not impressed with my … heroism.

We set me down in the cockpit for a good once-over (I warn you, this is not pretty):

The arm had developed some gnarly purple streaks where (I can only assume) it sheared down the lifelines on the way to the deck.

It was fat and painful, but, like I said–working.

The knee had developed this very strange ping-pong ball-shaped lump on the left side of my kneecap:

I wasn’t sure what to even make of that. Why the perfect round lump? Why swelling in such an isolated spot? I had injured my knee before–well, this knee (the left) actually, years and years ago. I tore my ACL while tumbling in high school and had it surgically repaired back in 2000. But, just last year, I sprained the MCL in my right knee during my first attempt at skiing. It had swollen then, too, almost instantly, but it was a global swelling of the whole knee–not just a perfectly segregated ping-pong ball lump–and it required a massive needle and surgical suction for that swelling to eventually dissipate. (You may recall the removal of the spawn of Satan from my knee!). This lump was strange … We did all we knew to do at the time–ice everything and see what developed.

As I sat there, looking back on it, I can’t promise I wouldn’t jump back up on that boom to try and retrieve a swinging halyard–it is such a monstrous chore to retrieve it once it inches its way out of your reach–but I guess the best I can say is I hope to never let go of the halyard again. We already knew this lesson, we’d learned it several times, but it just happens, sometimes as a result of rocking waves or other hazards, but other times just as a result of a senseless human error (it’s entirely possible to just accidentally let go of something). I mean, you have hands to hold things, but they’re human hands, so they err. I am hopeful, at least, that we have now sufficiently modified our halyard-shackling procedure to eliminate the frequency of the latter.

We always secure our halyard away from the mast while at anchorage or the marina so as not to be “that guy” at the party.

Yes, that one. If the sun’s just starting to set at the anchorage, folks are just starting in on their second cocktail or dinner, kicked back in the cockpit for a quiet evening on the hook and you’re the one whose halyard is banging, trust me, you are that guy.

And, to make sure my internet scouring for the perfect “that guy” images does not go to waste, do know that there are various websites on the web devoted entirely to helping you NOT be “that guy”:

1) “Avoid Being that Guy (or Girl) at a Party” (you gotta love Wikihow’s gender equality – no one wants to be “that girl” either); and

2) “Office Holiday Party – Making a Good Impression”

Rather, we like to come to the party real quiet-like, nice and smooth and subtle. The svelte gentlemen in the black attire, if you will, the guy that everybody likes.

Yeah, that guy. So, when we drop our main sail before dropping the hook, we have made a habit of securing the main halyard to one of the lazy jacks that holds up the stack pack. Here:

After this incident, we decided to snap the shackle back to the sail before leaving the dock or anchorage, but we found this occasionally allows the sail to start bouncing up a bit, particularly in rough seas, putting slack in the main halyard line which may cause it, if the wind is on your stern, to get wrapped around one of the arms of the spreader. Recall, this is exactly the incident that caused me to climb up on the boom in the first place. And, this is true even with the stack pack zipped closed as the rocking and bouncing of the boat can cause the sail to inch the zipper open and try to climb. This does not happen often, however, so we chose the lesser of two evils–that is, securing the main halyard to the sail before leaving the dock/anchorage so that we are not doing it up on the deck, while underway, potentially in rough seas.

But, we have since learned an even better trick from a trusted boating friend and the knowledgeable fellow that did our bottom job back in May of last year (thank you Bottom-Job Brandon with Perdido Sailor). We still remove the shackle from the stack-pack line and attach it to the main sail prior to leaving the dock/anchorage, but we now bring the line down and wrap it around the winch on the port-side of the mast so that the tension is pulling the sail down (not up) to prohibit any slack from forming in the line.

See? In sailing, you learn something new every day. And, trust me, you will find a way–every day–to do something you’ve been doing for years in just a little better way. It’s all about getting out there and doing it, making mistakes and learning, but continuing to do it. A fine example is our stack-pack lazy-jack fix! If you recall, when the lazy-jack line on the starboard side busted, the Captain came up with an ingenuous way to raise it back up using a somewhat-of-a spare line (the staysail halyard), so that we still had a functioning stack pack for the remainder of our trip to the Keys:

He’s kind of smart like that sometimes!

But, since we had had to improvise and rig up a busted lazy-jack line before, we now knew how to do it again. With another somewhat-of-a spare line on the port-side–this time, the topping lift for the spinnaker. But, as it seemed we were running out of “spare” lines to hoist broken things, we vowed – “no more lazy-jack snaps!” – for the rest of the trip and hoped it would stick. For the time being, I was numb but not broken. We decided to hold the ice on for the first hour or so to attack the swelling, then we would remove it and have me move about a bit later in the day to assess the real damage. I was sure there was going to be some (potentially severe) soft-tissue injury to my knee–and what an annoyance on a boat!–when it’s always up and down the companionway, kneel down here, squat there. I couldn’t imagine losing the full function of such a crucial joint. I was nervous and anxious about my limbs and my ability to fulfill my duties as First Mate for the remainder of the trip. I mean, we had just left the Keys. We still had 500 nautical miles to sail …

But, what’s done is done. I had fallen, and I couldn’t change that. And, we were still on the best sailing voyage of our lives. I laid back on the ice, the Captain handled the sails and we set out for a beautiful day of sailing across the Gulf.