Let’s Talk About This Captain’s Paperwork

My, my, the paperwork for this thing!  It was almost as hard to complete as the Captain’s License exam.  Okay, not really.  That exam was no freaking joke.  But the paperwork was a bit of a hurdle to overcome too.

Applicant Annie, mailing off her paperwork September 13, 2017.

Ahoy followers!  Hello from … now I can officially say it … Captain Annie!  If you haven’t seen on Facebook yesterday, I GOT MY CAPTAIN’S LICENSE!!

Man, I take a lot of selfies!  But, I’m not ashamed; I’m mighty proud of mySELF! : )

That is super duper cool.  But, just like the exam, it was no small feat.  For any of you out there thinking about going for your USCG Captain’s License, too, we wanted to share with you all the process and what all was required for me to obtain my license.  I wrote previously about my experience studying independently for and passing the Captain’s Exam (whew!), article here.  Now that I’ve received the official license, I thought I would share with you all the process of compiling all of the necessary paperwork for my application and my experience with the Coast Guard submitting and supplementing my application.

So, what all is required to apply to become an Operator of an Uninspected Private Vessel (OUPV)?  The checklist published by the National Maritime Center (“NMC”) was, in my opinion, the most organized, easy-to-follow list I found that sets out the OUPV License Application Requirements.  So, let’s start there.  Here’s the link.

Looks pretty straightforward, but I did have some hang-ups.  Perhaps there were blonde moments on my part (likely), but just in case some of you run into similar issues, here’s how the process played out for me:

     1.  Transportation Worker’s Identification Card (TWIC)

No more bank robberies!  You’re in the system now, ha!  A TWIC card is basically an identification credential issued to Merchant Mariners to allow them unescorted access to secure areas of port facilities, outer continental shelf facilities, etc.  To get a TWIC card, you simply visit this website and fill in an application online or schedule an appointment and complete the entire process at one of their processing centers.  You can find an application center here by inputting your zip code.  The center closest to Pensacola was in Mobile, so not a bad 45-minute drive for me.  And, it was a quick 15-minute in-and-out process.  They took my photo and fingerprints and filled out my application.  I was then issued a TWIC card that came to me in the mail about two weeks later.  You will have to include a scanned photocopy of this card, front and back, in your OUPV application packet.

One rub.  I hate my picture!  The TWIC guy (we’ll call him that), told me specifically to not smile.  “Hold a slack face,” he told me.  And, look at me!

There, I do look like a bank robber.   Why couldn’t they have used one of my typical, open-mouth selfies?

At least that way people wouldn’t question as often whether the woman on the TWIC card is me.  But, c’est la vie.  Moving on.

       2.  Evaluation User Fee

This should be paid online, your receipt printed and included with your Captain’s License Application.  Initially, I did not know this and was planning to pay by check.  But, first I checked with my contact at the Mariner’s Learning System (recall this is the company I used to buy an independent study packet for the exam so I could study at my own pace).  I wasn’t sure whether, having purchased their Captain’s License Package, the Mariner’s folks would help me compile my application to make sure it was correct and complete, so I sent an email inquiring.  Lisa over at Mariner’s (who was phenomenal and very patient with my many, many questions) confirmed they do not offer a document check, but advised she was available to answer any specific questions I might have (which were many).  The first of which was this payment issue.  You’ll see here, Lisa sent me the link to pay online and advised me it would cost $145.

You can also access the Pay.Gov payment center through the National Maritime Center here; it just takes a little more navigating to get to the Captain’s License page.

I got confused, however (who me? nooooo …), when I got to the actual payment page as to whether I was paying for an “officer endorsement” or “rating endorsement” and whether I needed to pay my “exam fee” or if that was waived because I had purchased the Mariner’s system.  So, again, I reached out to Lisa and, again, she steered me in the right direction.  Here is what she advised (you’ll see the drop-down menus filled in appropriately below):

Once the payment was processed, the NMC emailed me a receipt, which I printed and included in my final Captain’s License Application packet.  You’ll also notice I had to select a USCG Regional Exam Center during my check-out process.  You have to be sure to send your Application to the same REC you select during the check-out process to make sure all of your license requirements and fee are processed at the same facility.  Here is a list of the centers.  I just chose the one closest to me, in New Orleans.  And, I love NOLA, so I was hoping it would make for a little good luck boost on my application.  : )

P-Dub and I biking the beautiful oak-lined streets of NOLA April, 2017.

    3.  CG 719B Application

 You’ll notice it says “CG 719B” application.  That means it is an official Coast Guard form.  Before I found this detailed NMC checklist, I didn’t know some requirements had to be completed on an official CG form and, as a result, almost made a big mistake on my medical certificate, see #6 below.  Here is a link to the CG 719B Application.  You can fill it out online or print and fill it out by hand.  It’s pretty straightforward, just be sure to read each section carefully and make sure it is a section they want you to fill out or one that is for USCG use.

OATH

You’ll note in this paragraph on the NMC checklist that the Coast Guard requires an oath, stating the oath “may be administered by a designated Coast Guard individual or any person legally permitted to administer oaths in the jurisdiction where the person taking the oath resides.”  Hmmpfh.  Again, I haled Lisa as I wasn’t even sure what the oath should say.  Again, Lisa saved me by directing me to this form in the “Resources” section of the Mariner’s Learning System website, which I was able to print and sign.

Also, lucky for me, Phillip is a registered notary in Pensacola, so I had a readily available notary to notarize my oath.  Done.  What’s next?

    4.  Form I-551 Alien Registration Card

Applies only to foreign nationals, so this was not a requirement for me.

    5.  Signed Conviction Statement

 Thankfully, this “statement” is included in the CG 719B application, Section III, page 5, so completing and signing this section of the application satisfies this requirement.

    6.  CG 719K Physical Examination Report

Here’s where I almost goofed.  As I mentioned, this NMC checklist was the most useful to me because it was detailed and explicit in the types of forms required by the Coast Guard.  Many other “license requirements” checklists I had found on other websites (example here) merely stated a “physical examination” was required, not a CG 719K report.  I made an appointment with a doctor here in Pensacola before I knew anything about this specific CG 719K form.  Thankfully, my doctor (Dr. Tim Tuel with Baptist Medical – “Thank You Dr. Tuel!”) was much wiser than me.  It’s a good thing I told him what the examination was for, just for fun.  As you can imagine, Applicant Annie was excited about this whole process and willing to share with anyone willing to listen.  “I’m going for my Captain’s License!” I told Dr. Tuel, which made him chuckle at my energetic burst.  This tan little toned-up blonde trying to be a Coast Guard Captain.  It is kind of funny when you think about it.  But, Dr. Tuel just smiled and asked, “Where’s your form?”  [Insert Annie’s look of bewilderment here.  Form?  What form?]  I asked, “How do you know it has to be on a certain form?”  To which Dr. Tuel replied, “This ain’t my first rodeo.”  Ha!  Love that guy.  He was a lot of fun.   Dr. Tuel Googled and pulled up the correct form himself right there in the examination room, took the time to fill it out and even printed it for me.  Nice guy, that Tuel.

Unfortunately, he missed one section of the Report (I’m telling you, these things are tedious).  The first response I received from the Coast Guard after sending in my application was this:

That’s right, “Notice of Incomplete Application.”  Uggh.  Not the best feeling in the world.  But, when I read through the email, it seemed it was just a simple mistake of Dr. Tuel failing to state on my CG 719K form which methodology he used to test my vision.  So, I went back to Dr. Tuel with my previous 719K form and asked if he would complete the section and initial it and then re-sign the certificate at the end.  Thankfully, I caught him on a slow day and it was just a 15-minute wait while he finalized my report.

Also, after speaking with Beverly at the USCG, I was advised the completed medical form could be emailed in for processing (as opposed to snail mail) and that was helpful.  So, one glitch there.  Fixed and re-submitted.  Moving on.

    7.  CG 719P Chemical Testing Report

 Ahhh … the drug test.  I knew I was totally clean there.  While I will readily admit that I love my wine and liquor, Captain Annie does not do drugs.  No judgment on folks who do.  It’s just not my thing.  But, mean ole’ Brandon had me really freaked out about it when I stopped by the shipyard to pick up some parts we had ordered right after I had already taken the test, and he told me they were going to analyze my urine for alcohol.  “If you still have alcohol in your system, they’ll pick it up.  Did you drink last night?” Brandon asked.  “Did I drink last night …. Is it a Wednesday?” I thought.  Of course I did!  I think most sailors operate on a pretty base-line low-alcohol level, am I right?  But, what was done, was done.  I had already pissed in the cup, and sent it up the chain, so I just had to be a little freaked out about it for a few weeks before it came back COMPLETELY NEGATIVE.

Take that Brandon!  Ha!  My piss is primo!  (Love that guy.)

But, how did I go about getting a test conducted that would be sure to meet the USCG requirements?  Again, like the medical certificate, the drug screen must be completed on the Coast Guard’s specified form, here, the CG 719P.  The gal at Mariner’s Learning System recommended I contact Quest Diagnostics to handle everything.  It was a breeze.  I called to request a drug screening specifically for my Coast Guard’s License application, paid over the phone (I believe it was $65.00), and set up an appointment online at a local facility.  Luckily, there are two facilities in Pensacola, so this was an easy 30-minute appointment to make and the results were emailed to me by Quest a couple of weeks later on the appropriate CG 719P form, which I printed and included in my Captain’s License Application packet.  Voila!  Next up?

    8.  Front and Back Copy of Driver’s License

Piece of cake!

    9.  3rd Party Release

This is needed if you want the NMC to be able to discuss, release or receive information or documents from a third party (i.e., spouse, employer, etc.).  This didn’t apply to me.

    10.  Evidence of Appropriate Sea Service

This is the real meat of your application (or at least it was for me).  In order to apply for an OPUV 6-Pack license, the applicant:

  • Must be able to document 360 days of experience on a vessel
  • Must have 90 of these days within the last 3 years
  • 90 of the 360 days must be on the ocean or near coastal waters, or the license will be limited to inland waters only.

The license will be limited to uninspected vessels of less than 100 gross tons.  When calculating qualifying sea time, you must have been underway on the water for a minimum of four (4) hours to count as one (1) sea day. (Only one day’s credit is allowed per date.)  And you must document the time on the Coast Guard’s specified Sea Service form, the CG 719S.

I had not been keeping up with my sea time since I started sailing in 2013, but I would recommend anyone who is thinking about going for a mariner credential at some point in the future to do this along the way.  Bring along a few blank Sea Service forms when you know you’re going to make a passage or be on the water for several days and get the Captain or Owner of the vessel to sign off for you once your sea time is complete.  Because I had not been doing this, I had to sit down with a calendar and re-construct my time over the last four years and obtain signed Sea Service forms from the various Captains and Owners I had sailed under.  It was actually a very fun escapade down memory lane and I did a brief write-up and tribute to each of those captains here.  Thankfully, with mine and Phillip’s many offshore passages on our own boat, our Atlantic-crossing in 2016 and the handful of passages and sails I have done on friends’ boats, all within the last four years, it was fairly easy for me to meet the “90 days within the last three years” and “90 days offshore” requirements.  It was really cool, too, to tally these up and see how much awesome sailing I’ve done in such a short time.  I’m quite proud of these days!

Total days experience:  368

Number of days offshore: 112

Wow.  I hope I double those numbers over the next three years.  Sail on Captain Annie!

    11.  Photocopies of all applicable Training Course Certificates

This is why Phillip and I went to STCW school back in June!

While the firefighting was wicked cool, and I got an awesome burn, the first aid, CPR, fire-fighting and water survival training included in this certification sufficed for my Captain’s License “training course” requirements, which is the primary reason Phillip and I took the course.  We went through the Sea School because they had a facility relatively close to us in Bayou la Batre, AL.  After completing the course (there were some moderately difficult tests involved, but the instructors worked hard to make sure you passed), the Sea School sent Phillip and I a packet of certificates for the courses we completed, copies of which I included in my Captain’s License application.

    12.  Course Certificate

Proof that you passed the MPT Captain’s Exam within the last year.  I took my Captain’s Exam on June 26, 2017 at a USCG testing facility (a.k.a. a conference room at a Holiday Inn here in Pensacola) and thankfully passed!  After Mariner’s Learning System was notified of my score, they emailed me a certificate documenting my accomplishment which I printed and included in my application packet to prove I had passed the exam.  That was a biggie.  Whew! 

    13.  Three (3) Letters of Recommendation

This was one requirement that was a little hidden in my opinion.  At least not every Captain’s License requirement checklist I found on the web included this.  For example the NMC checklist I cited primarily above did not mention this.  But, if there was anything I learned from studying for the Captain’s Exam, it was to consult a lot of different sources.  Several other sites I found mentioned this “letters of recommendation” requirement for original license applicants, meaning, those who were seeking issuance of a license for the first time.  ‘Tis me!” I said, and promptly Googled around to see what an acceptable “letter of recommendation” looked like and found this website, with a sample letter of recommendation.

I typed up three of these for three of the captains I had sailed under to sign and complete and that sufficed for this requirement.  But, I have talked to several other applicants during this process who did not know about this “letters of recommendation” requirement.  So, there are many potholes to fall into, so to speak.

The good news?  I found the Coast Guard folks were very forgiving and easy to work with.  They were responsive and notified me immediately of any deficiencies in my application, noting I had 60 or 90 days to fix each one.  So, that was comforting.  After my incomplete Medical Certificate issue was fixed, the next errors the Coast Guard caught were a few places I forgot to sign my own Sea Service forms (doh!) and areas on my Sea Service forms where I had filled in the vessel owner’s name, when I should have put my own.  However, the Coast Guard folks advised I could cross-through the wrong name, fill in my own and initial it and that would remedy things.  And, I was notified of all of these issues and errors via email from the Coast Guard and offered the ability to send in supplemental portions via email.  So, that made things a lot easier for me as I do most of my work remotely via email and digital documents.

In all, the OUPV documentation process took me about four months to complete (although, granted, I wasn’t focused on it every day, but there are many moving parts and you have to rely on the cooperation of other people, so it does take time).  I was advised by the Mariner’s Learning System folks that I had to complete and submit my application within one (1) year of successfully passing my Captain’s Exam (for me, that would be June 2018), so I was well within the time limit.  But, it is definitely a project you want to get started on early as there are a lot of hoops to jump through.

Many thanks to all of the Captains I have sailed under who were generous enough to review and sign my Sea Service forms and provide letters of recommendation and the very patient folks at Mariner’s Learning System and the Coast Guard who helped walk me through the process and answer my many questions.  I hope this post will help shed some light for those of you out there who are also thinking about pursuing a Captain’s License to get a better understanding of the paperwork and requirements involved.

I honestly can’t believe I have obtained this credential.  While Phillip and I decided this would be a good endeavor for me to help shape me into a far more capable and knowledgeable mate (and now sometimes Captain!) on our future travels, it still shocks me a little that I, who only started sailing four short years ago, was able to accomplish this so soon in my sailing career.  The training and education I have acquired have already started to show in mine and Phillip’s passages and cruising, and I am so proud that I am able to offer him, now, so much more insight, input as well as a sounding board for some of our very difficult decisions when navigating, weather routing, deciding on destinations, passages and – oh yeah – docking!  I’m getting better at that, too.  Primarily the goal was to grow my skills so that I can contribute more to help share the “stress of cruising” so that the entire experience is more comfortable for us both.  It’s also a very good benefit to know this license will help decrease our annual insurance premiums (yay!) and will allow Phillip and I to earn money on the occasional offshore delivery that works with our schedule and plans.  In all, it was an educational and enlightening process that I am proud and glad I completed.  If any of you out there are thinking about going for your Captain’s License and have questions this post and my previous “Let’s Talk About This Captain’s Exam” post did not answer, please feel free to email me and reach out.  I’m happy to share.

Now, when Phillip and I head off on our next adventure, it will be Yours Truly more often at the helm, scanning the charts, checking the weather, and shouting to Phillip, “Hey Swab, while you’re down there, tighten that hose clamp.”  Ha!

Thanks to my followers, as well, for your support and encouragement.

Captain Annie, signing off.

My First Delivery (Attempt): Carrabelle to Pensacola on a Catalina

With Wild Phil Hickok at the helm, ominous rumblings in the distance, and magic wires and mysterious wildlife awaiting us in the midnight river, me and these adventurous three are about to get underway.  Buckle up!  Strap in!  And let the tale of my first delivery (attempt) begin!

(Annie’s First) Captain’s Log

 Saturday, 8:34 a.m.: Wild Phil successfully de-docks at the Carabelle Marina, docks at the fuel dock, fills up and leaves the fuel dock unscathed.  Motoring through Apalachicola Bay at 4.8 knots with thunderheads building and rumbling on the horizon.  The crew discovers the auto-pilot is not working.

By now, I’m a little irritated this man has now docked three times right out of the gate without issue but—hindsight being 20/20—I now know he’s got plenty of issues coming, so I’m cool with it.  It did show me perhaps I freak out a little too much about docking as this man, a brand new boat owner, didn’t even flinch at it.  I later learned Wild Phil is cocky as hell.  Granted, it usually became a handy, self-fulfilling prophecy, but even when his confidence outgrew his abilities, it didn’t seem to get him into as much trouble as I imagined. Lesson Learned: Confidence, justified or not, is an asset.   

No answer for you on the auto-pilot.  Bob noted in the survey that it was working fine but we just could not get the darn thing to come on.  It may be a wiring issue, but with all of the tight navigating we knew we would have to be doing in the ICW, we knew a good bit of this trip would require hand-steering, so we didn’t investigate the failed auto-pilot any further.  Grab the wheel.  C’est la vie.

Saturday, 10:27 a.m.: Typical Florida pop-up storm creeps up on us.  The crew decides to let Captain Phil handle it solo, which he does like a champ.

Aren’t we nice?  I mean, the man did say he wanted to gain as much experience as possible.  Knowing what it feels like to hold the helm in driving rain is definitely high on the list.

 

Saturday, 11:02 a.m.: Storm passes within 15 minutes.  Engine dies inexplicably.  Crew throws out the head sail for propulsion.  Captain Annie sails the boat around shoaling while Phillip and Phil inspect the engine and investigate.  Phillip determines the engine overheated, adds coolant, allows to cool.  Engine re-cranks and we continue under motor-sail at 4 knots.

When I “sails the boat around shoaling,” I mean puckered my ass and sailed the snot out of that thing!  Eeking out what little navigation I could, with winds of 6-8 knots and 3 foot depths around the narrow ICW, was some of the most pinched sailing I’ve ever done.  Definitely a great experience for me to be forced to sail in a narrow channel with light winds. 

So, what happened to the engine?  At first, we thought it had overheated because Phil noticed it was over 180 on the temp when it cut out and he recalled the previous owner told him the engine would automatically shut down if she overheats, which apparently she did.  We had some trouble locating the overflow coolant bin (the hoses from the engine seemed to go into the bulkhead into nowhere), but we eventually located it in the port-side lazarette.  Why is this a big deal?  Because while we’re scratching our heads and chasing silly hoses, Annie is tacking and turning and trying to keep our keel off the ground.  Lesson here: Phillip and I should have located all of the fluid fills sooner so we could have handled this problem more efficiently.  But, we did still have to have to wait for the engine to cool before it would re-crank.  A quick turn of the key showed the temp was over 200 and the level in the overflow bin was below the low mark, so we definitely thought she had overheated.  A few more minutes of creative sailing by Annie while the engine cooled and she then re-cranked and we were back on our way toward the Apalachicola bridge under motor sail.

Saturday, 12:15 p.m.:  Engine dies again.  Annie takes the helm again while Phillip and Phil investigate.  Crew believes not enough coolant was put in the first time, although the temp had not breached 180 this time.  Bit of a mystery.  Coolant added while engine cooled, re-crank and motor-sailed under St. George Island bridge.

The coolant was just above the “low” mark on the bin.  When Phillip filled it the first time, he filled right up to this mark, thinking it was the “high” mark but further investigation proved the high mark was higher up.  But, no one really had that “Aha, it overheated”-type revelation here because the temp never got over 180.  To be honest, we were now a little stumped as to what was going on with the engine but the crew was glad to be making way and looking forward to stopping for a drink and bite in Apalachicola before heading up “the ditch” to Lake Wimico.

Saturday, 3:45 p.m.:  Engine dies again just before Apalachicola Bridge. Crew is starting to think this is a fuel problem.  Phillip and I note crud in the bottom of the secondary filter globe but the fuel itself looks clean.  Phillip notices the two clamps on the hose leading to the filter are loose and have slacked down the line.  He re-tightens thinking this may have been allowing intermittent air intake in the fuel system, and shutting down the engine.  He tightens the clamps, engine cranks and Phil docks successfully at the Apalachicola City Docks.

Sorry, Mechan-Eric, you can’t get it 100% right every time.  One of his guys must have forgot to tighten the hose clamps back after they changed the fuel filter.  We were all hopeful the engine was just sipping air now and again and this was causing the repeated shut-downs.  Only time would tell.  For now, Phil had navigated his third docking with ease (the bastard!) and I was starting to get a little pissed off by it.  When was he going to finally hit something?  When you’re first learning, you have to bump a few pilings and docks, right?  It’s required.  Apparently not, for this guy.  Proud new owner, Phil, docked safely in Apalachicola:

Saturday, 7:32 p.m.:  Bellies full of Appalachian tacos, fries and beer (just one each, a margarita for me), Phil navigates us off the dock and up the ICW.  Engine running fine for the moment.  Crew plans to motor the ICW overnight.

Yes, another de-docking without incident.  Whatever.  I was over it by then.  Things were just always going to work out for this guy.  He even got duck fat fries that day.  Any day that includes duck fat fries can never be considered a bad day.  If you’re ever in Apalachicola, go to the Owl Tap Room and order these.  That’s not a suggestion. Fries and cheese, smothered in beschamel and topped with bacon. They will change your life!  

 

 Saturday, 9:15 p.m.:  Beautiful sunset on the river, but visibility is very poor in the ICW.  Tight channels and turns and floating debris have to be constantly spotlighted for the helmsman.  Two-man shifts begin with one crew member at the bow spotting, the other at the helm hand-steering.

This was one of those never-experienced-before moments for Phillip and me.  While we had navigated the ditch (the stretch of ICW between Apalachicola and Port St. Joe) many times, it was always during the day.  We had never motored any stretch of that portion of the ICW overnight and we could tell as soon as the sun set and darkness set in that this was going to be a long night.  With cloud cover remaining from the afternoon storms, visibility on the water was almost non-existent.  Also, the markers along the ICW are not lit; they have to “be lit” by shining a light on their reflective tape.  So, each marker had to be located and lit, the borders along the river constantly swept with the floodlight, and floating logs and trees spotted for the helmsman.  It was a bit of a surreal feeling steering solely by the light of your fellow crew-member at the bow.

The spotlight Phil had picked up also proved invaluable.  You see?  The ridiculously-long provision and supply list doesn’t seem like such a joke anymore.  Thankfully, Phil had picked up a 600-lumen floodlight the day before knowing visibility in the river might be an issue.  He also had the foresight to pick up a huge pack of batteries for it, which we burned through in its entirety (18 total) throughout the night, with each battery change affording us a few scary moments of blackness in the murky river. 

While holding these shifts was tiring, what frightened me about it was the engine.  She had been totally untrustworthy during the day, cutting out every couple of hours.  If she did it again in the river, we would have only a minute or two to react, drop an anchor and hope it stuck before the boat would drift out of the ICW and run aground, at night.  For this reason, I made a point during my spotlight shift at the bow to ready the ground tackle for an immediate drop in case the engine cut out anytime during the night.  After several hours running solid, though, we all started to relax a bit and enjoy the cool, crispness of the night.  The clouds started to dissipate around midnight and the stars came out.  While Phillip and I have reveled at the view of the stars from our cockpit many times, it was a new experience for both Phil and Keith to be traveling by sailboat under the stars and was very fun for Phillip and I to be able to share with them.  It was definitely a memorable night on passage. 

Sunday, 4:32 a.m.:  Engine cuts out again while Phil and I are holding watch.  I was at the bow, spotting and Phil was at the helm, thankfully with some room to bob in West Bay, north of Panama City.  After a few minutes, the engine will not turn over.  It also sounds different upon re-crank attempts, like an electrical issue.  I discover disconnected starting wire, re-connect, she cranks and we’re off.

We later called this the “magic wire.”  It was ironically the very same wire that had rattled itself off of our starter right after Phillip and I docked at customs in Cuba in December, 2016.  Here’s a picture from the video we made of it.

When Phil was trying to turn the engine over that morning, it seemed to be making the same sound our Niagara did when we were trying to crank and motor to our slip at Marina Hemingway.  It’s like more of a clicking, electrical sound than a crank.  For some reason, this made me think back on the issue Phillip and I had and I started inspecting the wires to the starter on Phil’s Catalina.  Sure, enough, through a tiny hatch in the head, I found the very same wire that connects to Phil’s starter had rattled off just as it had on our boat.  I popped it back on and “Voila!” the engine cranked and we were back in business.   

This was, I’ll say it, my kind of “shining moment” as a newbie captain because it seemed like such a Kretschmer-style “hand me a piece of duct tape and a coat hanger and I’ll get this engine running” kind of fix.  While the crafty sailing in the ICW to prevent us from running aground earlier on Saturday was definitely much harder and more impressive to me, it was really cool to see the look on Phillip’s face when Phil was mesmerized by my quick fix.  I could tell he was so proud.  That really did feel good.  It’s funny, there’s not a lot of truly really-hard-to-fix problems you face on a boat, usually, it’s determining what’s causing the problem that is the hard part and the fix is really simple.  And, the easiest problems to face are ones you’ve experienced before, just as this one was.

 More importantly, this particular failure to re-crank—because it seemed so different (the sound and the cause) and had left us bobbing (thankfully in enough water at the time) for our longest stretch yet, about twenty minutes at night—was a moment Phil was just about ready to call Boat U.S. for a tow.  He was looking up the number when I recalled the “magic wire.”  So, for this reason as well, it was a very timely, fortuitous fix.  I could also tell Phillip had much more trust in me when he rose instantly when the engine died (I swear that man’s body gets immediately in tune with any boat he does a passage on), he also immediately checked out when I re-connected the wire and the engine re-cranked.  I don’t even think Phil and I were done Whoo-Hoo’ing by the time Phillip crashed back out, which is rare for him to check so easily out of a boat problem and leave it all to me.  Phil looked at me and asked if I was ready to go.  I said “Yep,” and manned my post back spotting again, with Phillip sleeping soundly again below and me, to be honest, feeling pretty darn cool at the bow. 

Oh, and Keith slept right through all of that shit.  Opening the engine compartment, bumbling around the cabin, lights shining everywhere, multiple attempts to re-crank and us shouting back and forth from the helm to the engine below—none of that phased him on the starboard settee.  The man was out.

 

Sunday, 6:28 a.m.:  Phil and I are rewarded with a beautiful sunrise.  The engine had run solid for a couple of hours, then died again around 6:30 a.m.  Crew believes it is a constant “crud in the fuel” problem.  We wait a few minutes, re-crank and continue motoring in the ICW toward Destin.

This really was a stunning sunrise.  I could take a thousand pictures.  I love when it’s a glowing pink ball on the horizon.  And, it was neat to see Phil experience this for the first time from the helm of his boat.  Phil and I were also both exhausted, having held shift since 3:00 a.m. that morning, but the sunrise rejuvenated us and reminded us why we were out there.  Tired, dirty, sweaty, and we didn’t even care.  Even the intermittent engine failures didn’t bother us by then, they were so common and the engine always seemed to re-crank after a few minutes, we just shrugged it off.  “Look at that sunrise, would ya?  What bad could possibly await us?”

 

 

Sunday, 10:46 a.m.:  Naked rower.  Nuff said.

The naked rower!  That’s what awaited us.  After handing the helm over to Phillip and getting some much-needed post-sunrise sleep, I was perched up at the bow mid-morning, reading while we were motoring through another beautiful section of the ICW, an untouched river, and we saw a rower ahead off of our starboard bow.  He was on a kayak with long paddles extending out both sides.  Out of habit from the night before (anyone at the bow should be keeping a bit of a watch for things in the water), I looked back at Keith, who was holding the helm at the time with a now very-well-understood “You see that?” inquiry and Keith immediately clocked the boat a bit over to port to give the rower some room. 

As we began to near him, though, I started to notice the highly-visible tan line on the man’s back, followed by a blindingly-white not-so-tan section below and below that, the very beginnings of a crack.  I looked back to the boys in the cockpit to see if they were seeing what I was unfortunately seeing and it seemed they all were as the chatter had stopped and all eyes were on the rower.  As he passed me at the bow, I could see he was probably nearing eighty, but in fantastic shape, with weathered, leathery skin.  Well, everywhere but there, but you couldn’t really see much of his nether regions with his rowing hands in the way.  And he didn’t seem a bit embarrassed or apologetic that he was, well, rowing by us naked.  A bit impressed by his bravado, I gave him a little wave.  He smiled, laid one paddle down and raised his arm to wave back.  Lesson learned: Never wave at a naked rower. 

 I did not get a picture of the rower.  

But, we did have a very fun morning motoring up “the river,” that day.  Chef Phillip also grilled up some fabulous burgers for lunch (and only dropped one patty overboard.)  Phillip called it a sacrifice to Neptune, “or whatever other Sea God inhabits the ICW.” 

   

Sunday, 12:35 p.m.:  Engine dies.  Yes, again.  Thankfully, in the rather large body of water in Choctawatchee Bay just before the Mid-Bay bridge to Destin.  Crew knows the routine by now.  I take the helm to do some “creative sailing” while Phil and Phillip investigate and eventually decide to change the fuel filters.

Thankfully the shoals in this bay weren’t near as tight as those in Apalachicola Bay, so this wasn’t bad sailing at all.  We had light winds between 9 and 11 knots, enough to push around back and forth while Phil and Phillip disassembled the secondary fuel filter.  The furling drum on the forestay was giving us some trouble.  Phillip and looked at it and it seemed like it had dropped about six inches down toward the pulpit and was really chafing the furling line on the opening of the drum when furling.  It didn’t seem like a really big issue at the time—the sail was out and doing its job—so it did not supersede the faulty fuel system on our “stuff we gotta deal with first” list.  Keith read up on Nigel Calder’s diesel engine maintenance book and actually picked up a few good pointers on how to bleed the fuel system of air once we got the new filter on.  Phil learned how to hack up a plastic water gallon, Annie-style, to catch fuel from going into the bilge, and Phillip had fun watching this newbie boat owner get all sweaty and grimy in the cramped aft berth.  Been there.  Done that.  Soiled the t-shirt.

But Wild Phil was a trooper, getting down there elbow-deep in diesel and fumes, holding back sea-sickness while we were bobbing around.  He and Phillip were able to change the filter on the fuel pump, but they were struggling with the secondary filter, so Phil decided to just dismount the entire globe from the bilge wall.  When he pulled it out and sent it topside for cleaning, Keith and I were both surprised at the amount of crud in the bottom.  It was thick and grainy and likely causing all of our engine problems.  In addition to the grime in the bottom of the globe, the filter itself (which we understood had just been recently changed in Carrabelle) was already a deep black and in need of changing again.  Good for Phil for getting spare fuel filters!  Bad for Phil for getting the wrong type.  Granted, it didn’t sound like it was really his fault.  He had ordered them through Mechan-Eric’s Marine Services office gal in Carrabelle, simply asking for fuel filters for his Catalina, assuming, having just changed the fuel filters for him, they would pull the right type but, for whatever reason, they were not the right type. So, Wild Phil was armed with four spare secondary fuel filters that didn’t fit and facing a dismembered fuel system that would need re-assembly and manual bleeding, only to continue sucking dirty fuel and likely shutting down every couple of hours during another night motoring up the narrow ICW.  It was about 4:30 p.m. that afternoon that he made the call.

   

Sunday: 4:38 p.m.:  Phil decides to call Boat U.S. for a tow.  Fuel system is disassembled with no secondary replacement fuel filters onboard and not enough wind to sail safely under the Mid-Way Bridge or to an available marina.  Boat U.S. responds and advises tow boat will arrive in 45 minutes.  Plan is to be towed to Bluewater Bay Marina in Niceville.

Phil took this like a champ.  Coming up sweaty and stinky—not to mention a little green from his engine work while bobbing around in diesel fumes in the aft berth—but he was still cracking jokes about it.  “Well, I did say I wanted experience,” he laughed as he punched in the number.  And boy was he getting it.  Phillip and I have never had the pleasure of being pulled by Boat U.S. or Sea Tow in our boat yet (knock on freaking wood!) and I’d never been towed period.  While that experience would be new, in and of itself, to me, what I was not expecting was the “experience” we got when the Boat U.S. Captain almost took off our …  You know what?  I’ll save the experience of my first sea tow for another post. Captain Mo (we’ll call him) deserves a post all his own.  It was a damn rodeo.

  

Sunday, 5:48 p.m.:  Phillip holds the helm while Captain Mo with Boat U.S. tows us into the Bluewater Bay Marina.  We dock the Catalina, wash her down and secure the boat for the night.  Phil and Phillip make plans to return the following day with the right fuel filters, change them out and get the fuel system working properly and Phil would then bring the boat the rest of the way another day with a fellow sailor.

Captain Mo … that man.  I can’t wait to tell you about him.  But, first let’s talk about this tow to the dock.  That, itself, is not an easy thing to do.  I had heard friends who had been towed in by Sea Tow before say “they kind of slingshot you in,” but I had yet to experience the pleasure of “being slingshotted” myself.  It’s a bit of a dance and, I can imagine, not one that always ends up with a perfect entry into the slip.  Thankfully, this time, with Phillip at the helm (his first time holding the helm while being towed to a dock) and me at the bow ready to throw the tow line off and make a five-foot leap when the moment was right, we were able to bring Phil’s Catalina in with just a light smack of the rub rail on a piling.  Nothing to it! 

What was funny, though, were the marina’s instructions on how we were supposed to find our spot on the dock.  We were coming in after the marina closed at 5:00 p.m. so they had told Phil on the phone, “We put up a flag at your spot on the dock.”  While being towed in by the delightful Captain Mo, we thought this sounded like a fool-proof plan.  “Perfect, just look for the flag.”  Do you know how many flags fly at marinas?  I had never really noticed before until I found myself at the bow trying to find whatever was to be considered “our” flag.  Just about every boat has a flag.  Many have them on the stern and on the flag halyard.  Some have them all the way up and down halyards like a used car tent.  It seemed like there were a million flags!  All flapping and snickering at us.  We were looking at any available slips, flag or no, to “be slingshotted into” just so we could secure the boat, then move her or coordinate afterward if need be.  While looking, we did spot one available dock with the tiniest little orange flag you’ve ever seen licking the wind.  Seriously, this was probably a 9” flag compared to the dozens of 4-footers waving behind each stern.  It was laughable, but we deemed it “our flag” and signaled Mo to shoot us that way, which he did.  It did feel good to at least have the boat secure, tied up to the dock—not aground or adrift or heading into a bridge—as we all had imagined often each time that darn engine cut out.  Wild Phil’s Catalina wasn’t home, yet, but she was safe and closer. 

 

The Catalina docked safely (again – whew!) in Niceville.

While I may not technically be able to call that a delivery (seeing as how we didn’t actually deliver the boat to its home port in Pensacola), I’ll still call it a success.  This also marked the end of my time on the boat during this delivery.  Phil and Phillip planned to come back to Niceville in the next couple of days—this time with the right fuel filters—change out the fuel filter and get the fuel system working correctly.  Why didn’t I join?  All evidence to the contrary, I do work, and I had a few design projects that needed my attention and, luckily Phillip had a free day he could offer.  I hate that I missed this experience, though, because Phillip’s re-enactment of it that night over drinks was nothing short of an Oscar-worthy performance.

Phillip was standing in the kitchen, legs spread wide, arms on either side out, pulling imaginary lines.  “I was up on deck, with the furling line in one hand and the sheet in the other,” he told me, “trying to sail with whatever little puffs of wind we had, blowing into the sail myself to try and get her to go.”  And he would then do a mock, pull-and-blow.  It was hilarious.  It took half the day, but the report I got was that Phil and Phillip were able to replace the secondary fuel filter, bleed the system and get the engine running again a little after noon.  Afterward, Wild Phil decided to pop out for a “quick sea trial” and run the boat around in the bay to make sure the engine would continue to run for the last leg of his delivery, which he was planning to make the next day.  That’s when things got wild.

Apparently the engine ran fine for a bit, letting Phil and Phillip navigate safely out of the narrow, shoal-lined inlet to the marina.  They cruised around and did some circles in the bay.  Life was great.  Then the engine died.  Of course!  You were totally expecting that, right?  The boys inspected some things.  Everything looked good, Phillip told me.  They waited a bit and tried to re-crank.  That was Phil’s go-to.  “Just give her a few minutes she’ll be fine.”  Not this time.  They bobbed around some more, knowing they didn’t have much time to decide to either sail her in or call Boat U.S. again.  I don’t think Phil could stomach another embarrassing (and, frankly, a bit dangerous in and of itself) tow from Captain Mo, so he made the command decision.  “Sail her in,” he told Phillip and Phillip manned the sails.

All was going well until they started to near the channel entrance, a challenging little dog-leg to maneuver under sail.  With shadowed wind, they were creeping dangerously close to a marker when Phil decided to re-crank at the last minute.  The engine roared to life, he throttled her up to 2,000 rpm “and slammed that baby into gear!” Phillip told me, imitating Phil’s hot throttle move.  Now Phil is faced with the decision to motor safely out of the channel, back into the bay and call his buddy Mo or keep making way through the narrow channel to the marina.  I’m sure you know what he chose.  We call him “wild” for a reason.

They cruise along another twenty feet or so and … Say it with me.  The engine dies again.  Yes, again, this time with docks and waterfront homes to port and a stiff 6 knots of breeze coming over their starboard beam.  Phillip was now doing the same “pinched sailing” I had been eeking out back in Apalachicola Bay, but he said they weren’t going to make it.  The boat was inching closer and closer to collision when Wild Phil again, cranks on a wing and prayer, throttles her up and slams her into gear for another tiny little “turbo-boost” forward before she sputtered out again.  But, Phillip told me it was just enough to let them coast back toward the dock, where Phillip lunged for a piling and Phil docked his boat under sail.  Not a lot people can say they’ve done that.  Phillip and I have, once, and only because Brandon goaded us into it—and very rightfully so, that’s a skill any sailor should try to hone.

Phil called the mechanic there at the marina and he sent one of his guys out to the boat to help figure out what the heck was going on with the fuel system on the Catalina.  Phillip told me this guy, Scott, was great, and took an hour looking over everything, inspecting the filters the boys had replaced, checking the connections at each juncture, bleeding behind Phillip and Phil but finding they had bled the air at every point.  Except for one.  One Phil and Phillip had not seen and one Scott said is kind of rare, on the injection pump.  Sure enough, Scott opened her up, a little whiff of air sputtered out, then a spray of pink fuel and that was it.  One tiny little bubble of air made the difference between Phil’s boat safely docking and crashing into a pier.  Boats … such fun!

With this last point bled, Scott recommended they tie the boat with extra lines on the dock, throttle her up and put her in gear so she could run under load for about an hour to make sure all of the air was out of the system.  The boys did this and Phillip told me the boat ran fine.  Phil made plans to motor the boat the rest of the way (about 12 more hours) from Niceville up to Pensacola the next day with another buddy.  Phillip and I were planning to be on stand-by when Phil came into Bayou Chico to help him get docked up that evening, but Phil called us early, around 5:00 p.m. the following day, to let us know … (can you guess?)

Yep, the engine had died.  Who knew at this point what the heck was going on.  I think we were all so sick of trying to figure out why that darn engine kept puttering out on a consistent basis, we just wanted to get her home.  Phil told Phillip he was out in Pensacola Bay at the time (thankfully with a lot of water around).  We are very lucky in Pensacola to have a large, naturally-deep bay to sail around in.  Apparently, Phil had tried to re-crank so many times, he believed the batteries no longer had the juice to turn the engine over.  Phillip also told Phil if he tried to crank too many times without the engine turning over, raw water could back up in the manifold and get into the engine, causing him way worse problems than the suspected bad fuel.

So, there Phil was again, without an engine and facing the decision to sail in or call for a tow.  “I’m sailing in,” he said.  I told you he was wild.  The right kind, too.  That guy should be the confidence poster-child for new sailors.

Phillip and I ran down to meet Phil at the Palafox Marina, the closest, most easily-navigable marina to him, thinking he could plug in there to recharge the batteries perhaps or stay a couple of days while he got the fuel problem solved.  We didn’t know, but either way, Phil was coming in.  Thankfully, he had a nice, light breeze from the west pushing him downwind toward the marina.  Yet, again, day three in his boat-owning career and here he was about to dock under sail for the second time.

He also told us over the phone as he was coming in that he had run aground that morning trying to get out of the marina in Niceville, but he was able to back the boat up, ease off the shoal and keep going.  He also continued to fight with the furling drum and it eventually chafed through the outer barrier of his furling line and stripped it to the core.  (He learned later from the rigger that the halyard was too loose, which caused the drum to drop and had gotten snagged on the swivel shackle up top, causing the tension and chafe.) So, two more notches in Phil’s “shit happens” belt.

I was amazed at this guy.  Phil really made me feel all of my blubbering and worrying over docking our boat UNDER ENGINE POWER was truly ridiculous.  And, trust me, it was a good feeling.  I’m not saying, plow around in your boat all cocky-like and run into stuff just for fun, but it was a bit of a revelation for me to see a guy so un-phased by it all.  I mean, he probably had the right amount of adrenaline keeping him focused, but there really wasn’t any feat in his boat Phil wasn’t willing to try, accomplishing most of them with impressive skill.  Or luck, either way!

Here Phil comes, sailing into Palafox Marina!

When I asked him how he would rate his second docking under sail, Phil gave me an “eh” hand wiggle, saying he’d do it better next time.  Ha!

But, here’s the kicker.  After Phil docked, under sail, very well I might add at the Palafox Marina, with little help on mine and Phillip’s part, he decided to try one more time to re-crank the engine before plugging in and making a new plan.  And guess what happened?  I’m sure you can.

It’s a boat, right?  I honestly do think they love to f&*k with you.  She cranked right up.  Purred actually.  Phil huffed, laughed, and said “I’m going!”

I was shocked.  This man had some serious sailing cahones.  Surely, that engine was going to die in two minutes, probably right before he could round the concrete seawall and he would now be facing a headwind so light it wouldn’t allow him to navigate under sail.  Also, the Bayou Chico inlet he would be motoring into is super narrow with super shallow shoaling to the south and very-forgiving boats and docks to the north, and Phil was going to trust his very-trustworthy engine to navigate that?  This man was crazy!  I was sure of it.  But before I could tell him that, him and his buddy were off, motoring out of the marina.

Phillip and I were laughing about it while driving over to meet Phil in Bayou Chico.  It’s hard to ever say what the right decision in when cruising.  I just know, now, that Phillip and I definitely fall on the conservative side and Phil, well, he’s a renegade.

About thirty minutes later, though, we saw him rumbling in, just a few slips down from his boat’s new resting place and the engine was still going strong!

For the moment at least.  As Phil neared the slip he hollered to Phillip about whether he should go bow in or try to back the boat in.  I scoffed.

Really dude?!  I’m sure you just spent every last one of your “good luck points” (those are a thing in Annie Land) motoring that tiny little treacherous channel with your funky fuel and now you want to try to back your boat in for the first time ever just … because it would be nice to be able to get on and off easily via the stern?  You do know if something goes awry and we can’t save you, you may no longer HAVE a stern.  You know that right?!

But Phil didn’t seem to pick up all of that, which I was saying with my drop-jaw face.  “I’m backing it in,” he shouted and proceeded to drive past the slip, throw her in reverse and start making his way in, which of course did not go well.  This was probably his first time trying to truly navigate in reverse and we all know sailboats back like a drunken elephant.  Phil started to get the boat cock-eyed and guess what happened?  I swear every bit of this is true.

The damn engine died.

“Son of a!” I heard Phil shout from the cockpit.  I told you luck points were real.  I hopped on the boat his bow was about to hit (a very nice, very new and very much more expensive 45′ Catalina) and fended him off there.  His buddy fended him off a piling mid-ship, and somehow Phillip got a stern line from Phil and was able to wrestle the Catalina into the slip.  It’s a very good thing there was no one right next to him on port or I’m not sure how that would have played out.  But, Phil had done it!  Brought his boat home.  The delivery was done.  And while it does make for a very good tale (and I haven’t even told you the best part yet, just wait for the Captain Mo saga!), what amazed me about this delivery, which didn’t even involve any offshore time, was that it did force new-boat-owner Phil (the wild man) to suffer and overcome many of the things we all fear can and someday  will happen to us on our boats.  Within Phil’s first few days on his boat, he:

  • Had the engine cut out on him in narrow, dangerous channels
  • Had to navigate tight channels under sail alone
  • Had to dock under sail (multiple times)
  • Had to disassemble, diagnose and attempt to repair his engine while underway
  • Had to deal with a faulty furling drum
  • Ran aground, annnddd
  • Had to call for a sea tow

Many of those things I have yet to experience and I’ve been sailing for years.  My best takeaway from this was how experience on your boat, no matter whether it’s good or bad, is really the best thing you can accumulate because the best problem to face on your boat, or any other, is one you’ve faced before.  I know I will never achieve quite the level of bravado of Phil (because frankly, I think a healthy dose of fear helps in making good decisions), I realized many of the things I fear handling are not quite as scary as I had made them out to be.  And for that, Wild Phil, I thank you.

But no more stern-in dude!  That’s just crazy!

Next up, Captain Mo and the rodeo!  Yeehaw!

My First Delivery Request: a 1992 Catalina 28

“You are not writing about this,” was his only caveat, when Phillip and I agreed to do the delivery.  I knew I shouldn’t have given him a copy of None Such Like It when he was boat-shopping.  But, after the entire saga went down, he knew it was well worth telling the tale.  And, after an agreement to change some names to protect the … bold and brave, I was granted a writer’s exclusive.

Friends, followers, I’m excited to tell you about my first delivery!  And, I say mine, because while Phillip and I did help our buddy, Mitch, bring his Nonsuch from Ft. Myers up to her new home port of Pensacola back in June of 2015, I would easily say I was ranking First Mate at the time, nowhere near Captain.  Not that I am an official USCG Captain … yet (I’ve got just a few more documents to wrestle up before I can send my application to the Coasties), but the boys on this trip were kind enough to let me take more of the lead this time and humor me the title, Captain Annie, for this delivery.

And what a doozie!  As it seems they all are.  And, by that I don’t mean we were battling six-foot waves and thirty-knot winds in the Gulf (this time), because that’s not the kind of experience you have to have every time for it to be a good salty sea tale.  Besides, we all know what my biggest fear is anyway and it’s not out there in the big, open blue.  Say it with me … yes, docking!  That’s sh*t is scary for real.  What was important about this passage, and every passage we go on, is that Phillip and I encountered some situations we had never experienced before, learned some good lessons from it and found ourselves, as we often do, inspired by those we sail with.  In this case, we’ll call him Wild Phil Hickok!

Cue the Old Western whistle and cracking whip sound  *Whoo-psssh*

Wild Phil has been a long-time friend of Phillip’s and had been shopping for a few months for a good, reliable boat he could leisurely sail around Pensacola and to take the family (his wife and two boys) out to spend weekends on the hook.  He had focused on Catalinas as his boat of choice because he knew they were a trusted name and he liked the build quality, design and feel of the cockpit.  What he found was truly a gem.  A 1992 Catalina 28, reportedly in complete working order, down in Tampa (for less than $22k, I might add).  The boat was brought up to Carrabelle for the survey/sea-trial and when our very own Bob Kriegel with RK Marine Services here in Pensacola deemed her “above average condition,” we knew Phil would probably pounce on it.  Wouldn’t you?

It wasn’t long before Phil was inking the line and calling himself a proud new Catalina order and Phillip and I were soon enlisted to help deliver the boat from Carrabelle to her new home port of Pensacola.  Just as we did for Mitch when we were preparing to help him with his delivery, Phillip and I put together a pretty extensive provision and supplies list for Phil for the trip:

Yeah, I know.  A little over the top?  Well, there’s no harm in being over-prepared, right?  What did Phil think of mine and Phillip’s impressive  fore-thoughtedness?

Love that guy.  And, I really can’t tell you why booze is highlighted there.  My Mac must know we pretty well …

Following the recommendations of the surveyor, Phil had the marine service guys in Carrabelle do some work on the alternator and change the fuel filters while the boat was going to be there for a couple of weeks before he could come back to make the delivery. It was actually the same “Mechan-Eric” Phillip and I had hired to put in our new transmission after our first famous failure to deliver our own boat all the way home on the first try, and (way more importantly) he was the guy who approved my duct-tape and Dasani-bottle “catchment bin” to capture our leaking transmission fluid and pour it back in.

    

Ironic?  Not really.  There’s only one mechanic in Carabelle.  But it did bring back some very fun memories when we pulled up to Phil’s new boat and found it docked in the very same place ours was, just four short years ago, trying to make her own way home to Pensacola.

Phil’s Catalina, 2017:

Our Niagara, 2013:

It seemed Carrabelle was a rite of passage.  And while mine and Phillip’s adventure getting our Niagara home from Punta Gorda, FL—which included hacking off the flailing dinghy in the Gulf, having the old transmission eat itself alive, enduring a six-week separation while the boat was in Carabelle having the new transmission put in, only to have the new one leak little red tears into a Dasani catchment system that had to be dunked back into the engine every hour—was quite the experience, it honestly seemed like a little bit of nothing when we saw what Wild Phil had to go through before he finally got his boat home to Pensacola.  In just a few short days, Phil had already accomplished more feats and suffered more failures than many boat owners do … well, ever.  Phil was adamant about holding the helm, handling problems and getting as much experience as possible, good or bad, and I can easily say he’s now (just a week into boat ownership) done more than I have at the wheel.  So, kick back, buckle up, and let this tale begin.

The boys and I—Phillip, his buddy Keith, and our fearless owner, Wild Phil—set off for Carrabelle around 2:00 a.m. Friday, August the 11th.  These working stiffs had so much to do on Fri-DAY (and evening), we only had time to rest for a few hours Friday night before waking at 1:00 a.m. to drive straight to the boat and shove off at dawn on Saturday morning in hopes of getting the boat back to Pensacola by Monday mid-day at the latest so they could go back to work if possible.  Work …  At an office … Who does that anymore? ; )  A 5:00 a.m. Wal-Mart run to pack out the car, a nice sunrise drive, then a pack-out of the boat and we were ready to shove off around 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning.

What this did not leave us (and it was something I was little worried about when they told me the plan) was time to assess and scour the boat to really get familiarized with her and go through our spares inventory.  A lesson to myself later: I should have done this on my own right out of the gate.  On my next delivery I will, and I will probably make a “yacht delivery” checklist, so I am confident I, personally, know where all the sea-cocks and thru-hulls are (as well as the plugs), how to locate, check and fill all the engine fluids, whether there is water in the bilge (and note the level), etc.  But this time, I didn’t.  I unpacked the food, oohed and ahhed over the condition of the boat, chatted with the guys and took a selfie.  I’ll get better at this delivery Captain stuff, I promise.  Or hope, at least.  It really was an impressive boat, though, for the age and price.  Definitely Annie-approved!

Phil and his lovely wife, Pam, who was nice enough to shuttle us down to Carrabelle in the middle of the night.  As far as making the delivery with us?  She said: “You guys have fun!  I’ll see you in Pensacola.”

Little did she know, we wouldn’t quite make it that far … On the first try anyway.  Black crud, thick mud, and a sea tow stud are in store for you.  Stay tuned, friends, the tale of my first delivery will soon begin!