gulf crossing – Page 2 – Have Wind Will Travel

Chapter Four – Tanglefoot

October 20, 2015December 11, 2015anniedike

“Tanglefoot,” she said over the loud speaker. Phillip and I kind of eyed each other curiously. “Tangle-FOOT!” she said again, this time with more emphasis on the “foot.” That’s when we really found out how serendipitous this whole boat-shopping venture had been for Mitch.

It was June 19, 2015 and Mitch, Phillip and I were heading down in a Beverly-Hillbilly style packed-out rental to Ft. Myers to help Mitch sail his recently-acquired 1985 Nonsuch back home to Pensacola.

Didn’t bode too well that I suffered my first “boat bite” (or I guess this would be a “rental car bite”) the very minute I stepped into the car.

Don’t ask me how. There were flip flops and a floor mat involved. That’s all I remember. But it was a bit of a bloody mess we had to deal not our very first mile into the trip. Leave it to me … But the boys got me doctored up and we continued our trek south.

We stopped in for some lunch at Panera in Tallahassee and that’s when we first heard the name: Tanglefoot. The third time the little Panera chick said it over the intercom Phillip and I started to look around to see who was going to respond to that calling. Then we saw him─Mitch─bouncing up to the table with our food trays in hand. “What do you think?” he asked, looking at us as if his question made sense. Phillip and I kind of sat there dumbly: What do we think about what?

“Tanglefoot,” Mitch said again. “That’s the name of the boat.”

You see what I mean? 6’4” Mitch Roberts finds a damn-near perfect boat, in great condition for a great price and it’s named the only single thing in the world I could imagine to be more fitting for his vessel name than “While You’re Down There.”

“Tanglefoot,” Phillip and I repeated him chuckling. It was almost too perfect. Plus, Mitch has no poker face. He holds nothing back. If he’s thinking it, you’re going to hear it. He kind of tumbles over his words sometimes they come out so fast, so Tanglefoot-in-Mouth works just as well. And it wouldn’t be long before we would actually be setting foot on the infamous s/v Tanglefoot ourselves. It was a long haul (approximately nine hours) to make in one day but we got to the docks in Ft. Myers around 10:00 p.m.─just in time for our first Tanglefoot adventure!

Stopped at the Barrel in Ft. Myers for dinner. Annie loves “Country Fresh Flavor.”

The boat was docked in a gated community with water access and slips. Mitch said the owner’s broker was supposed to have called the security gate to let them know he would be coming that day to the boat. Of course that didn’t happen and here it was─10:00 p.m.─and we find ourselves being held hostage by the little gated-booth police because we don’t have clearance for admission. Mitch tried calling the broker several times while the gate guards watched us. Mitch’s impatience was visible. “I can’t believe these knuckleheads are serious,” he told Phillip and I, thankfully behind a rolled-up window so the guards didn’t hear. After three failed attempts to reach the broker, he then tried the owner, which I thought was a long shot because it was so late and─I mean─the man is, according to Mitch, “older than molasses,” which we took for mid-eighties. But, I guess I have to admit I’m ignorant to the night life of eighty-year-olds because the owner picked right up, sounding cheery as a nun on Sunday and was able to get us clearance through the booth. For whatever reason, though─even after the phone call─there was still some very important paperwork shuffling and “processing” to be done in the almighty gate booth. You should have seen these three rent-a-goobers, wheeling around on their whirly chairs, shuffling papers back and forth, writing things down like they were solving the mystery of global warming. Mitch kept trying to roll down the window to say something to them─something Phillip and I were sure would get us banned from the place forever─and Phillip kept rolling his window back up to contain him.

Then─in an apparent effort to entertain us while the all-important “gated booth processing” procedure was completed─one of the uniformed security blokes comes out to chat with us. He pulled his pants up a few times, Barney Fife style, and leaned into the driver side window.

“Evening all,” he said tipping his hat to us.

“Evening,” we all mumbled back kind of awkwardly, keeping our thoughts to ourselves: What in the bloody name of gated booths was taking so long?

“You come here to stay on the boat tonight, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” Mitch said back, trying to be patient. I was proud he’d changed the “knucklehead” to “sir.”

“What slip are you in?” Fife asked. It seemed like he was trying to be cordial.

“I don’t know,” Mitch said, a little embarrassed, but more irritated than anything. Who gives a crap? Let us in!

“Well, what dock?” Fife followed up, now a little suspect.

“I don’t know,” Mitch barked back, now noticeably irritated. “I just know how to get to the boat. I don’t know which dock it is.”

“Well, there are only five docks,” Fife snapped, giving us a stupid, how-can-you-not-know frown.

“I told you … ” Mitch started to fire back and reach for the door handle. I thought he was about to step out of the vehicle and blow our chances of ever getting to the boat that night but, thankfully, he was cut off. Fife No. 2 stuck his head out of the booth, waved some papers in the air and said, “You all have a safe night, now,” as the gate buzzed and the arm finally started to lift, allowing us through. Fife No. 1 hiked his pants up again, because I’m sure there had been some slippage in the “which dock?” exchange and gave us a scowl as we drove by. The three of us were laughing about it─now that we had gotten in─but those rent-a-Fifes were unbelievable. How important is the maintenance of the gate log and documentation of thru traffic in a quiet gated community in Ft. Myers, Florida? I mean really?

Mitch held true to his word too. He had no idea what dock the boat was on but he knew exactly how to guide us to it. Here it was─our first time to see Tanglefoot.

Man, did Mitch get lucky. She was a sound, solid, well-built boat. Dirty as all get out but with just a few swipes of a Clorox wipe I could tell she was going to clean up incredibly well.

And, it was shocking how big the boat felt. At thirty feet, Mitch’s boat is a good five feet shorter than ours but it feels five feet bigger in every direction down below. It looked like you could line up three ballerinas in the saloon and have them each do pirrouettes and they wouldn’t hit each other. It was like a floating condo.

And, the companionway blew my mind. The entry-way is like four feet fall, with two measly steps down to the cabin floor and Mitch could stand tall and straight most everywhere in the cabin below.

No wonder Mitch said he felt comfortable on this boat. It’s like it was built for him. The cockpit is massive too. I think the fact that beam of the boat is carried so far forward and so far aft is what makes it feel so much bigger than ours. The Nonsuch is probably a little squattier in that regard (I like to call those “fat bottom girls”) which can make them a little less comfortable to sail in heavy weather, but it certainly makes them super comfortable to cruise around coastal waters and spend the weekends in. Phillip and I were both really impressed with the layout, look, feel, build and quality of Mitch’s boat. You done good, Buddy. You done good. We started poking around and tidying things up a bit and discovered some interesting eighty-year-old man finds. There was a complete drawer of canned Buds in the vberth. Think like eighteen cans in one drawer and a mounted can crusher by the companionway stairs.

It was gross─all grungy and moldy with years of dirt caked on. That was going to be one of the first things to go. But, modifications and thorough clean-up would come later. For now it was time to settle in─get all of our provisions on-board and stowed away and the boat put in a somewhat functioning condition for sleeping that evening so we could rise early and make sure she was ready to head out tomorrow morning for the passage.

Mitch was so excited showing us around the boat he kept dropping things and losing his flashlight. I can’t tell you how many times he had to ask Phillip to borrow his. We decided we were soon going to have to put a head lamp on him permanently. Or maybe a chest-mounted push light that you could just click on whenever he came near. That would have been helpful.

But, you couldn’t blame him. He was just excited. This was his boat! His very first sailboat! Tanglefoot! And this was his first time to have friends aboard and get to show her off. And (and!)─even better─we would soon be shoving her out of the slip and sailing her out into blue waters. That’s some pretty good stuff. Definitely worth a couple dropped nuts and bolts and forever-missing flashlight. I’ve never seen Mitch so giddy. Since he was all smiles and giggles we decided to give him his little Captain’s gift then─a log book and a waterproof accordion folder for all of his manuals. Pulling from experience, we know how important it is to keep those handy and organized.

After a couple of hours unpacking, cleaning and stowing, though, this crew was beat. It was well after midnight by then and we were planning to make one more provision run in the morning for perishables and then toss the lines around noon and start making our way north, toward either Venice or Clearwater. Venice was going to be a shorter trip, more paralleled to the shore. We were keeping it open as an option in case we suffered some equipment or engine failure or other likely catastrophe on the first leg of the trip. If things were going well, though, we were hoping to make it all the way to Clearwater right out of the gate. Talk didn’t last long, though, as the crew’s lids started to droop. It had been a long day. Phillip and I folded down the table in the saloon to set up the double bed on the starboard side for us, while Mitch prepared the vberth for him. The amount of room in the cabin of the Nonsuch is astounding. Phillip and I felt like we were sprawled out in a five-star suite!

Then Mitch cranked up the AC. Yes, a boat with AC. This would be a new luxury for Phillip and me. Whether it was the chill or the new sleeping digs or just the excitement of spending our first night on Mitch’s boat knowing we were going to sail it out into the Gulf tomorrow, none of us got much sleep that night.

Personally, I blame Mitch and the AC. He has got to cool it─no pun intended─with the AC because that about the coldest I’ve ever been in my damn life. I was tugging and grunting and trying to get every body part covered with Phillip and I’s shared sheet but it still wasn’t enough. I was barely groggy and froze-toed when the alarm went off at 5:45 a.m. the next morning. The first thing I did was step out into the cockpit to the much-welcomed muggy warmth. My feet prickled back to life as I walked the dewy deck with a smile. We were sailing today!

Thanks to my Patrons who help me share the journey. Get inspired. Get on board.

Chapter Three – Amateur Kretschmers

October 12, 2015December 11, 2015anniedike

“Now what is this ‘none’ stuff?”

“Naan.”

“Okay, fine. Naan. What is that? A snack?”

He was big on the snacks.

So, no surprise here I’m sure: Mitch got the boat. At 6’4″, if you’re in the market for a boat and you find one you’re, in his words─”comfortable on”─you get it. Not to mention this boat was well-made, by a dependable builder, in fantastic condition, had passed the survey/sea trial with flying colors needing only minimal repairs and was going for half the asking price. Half?! Pssshhh … There’s really no way Mitch could say no. He let the time lapse on rescinding the offer and on June 14, 2015 Mitch became the proud new owner of a 1985 Nonsuch. All he needed to do was sail it home from Ft. Myers, FL.

All that required was willing crew.

It’s probably no surprise here, either: he asked Phillip and me.

I don’t know, though. Would you trust these two?

Seems Mitch was keen on cashing in the favor chips he had racked up when he helped us sail our Niagara 35 from Punta Gorda, FL to its new home port in Pensacola back in 2013. But, the irony of it was almost comical. Not only were the three of us about to make just about the same trek again on a sailboat, but (BUT!) we were going to do it again on another 1985 model boat and (AND!) another Hinterhoeller. Shut up. I’m serious. The symmetry of it was kind of wild. Can you say: Salt of a Sailor the sequel! We hoped this time, though, we wouldn’t have to hack off any critical parts of the boat, string a puke bucket around one of the crew member’s necks, suffer a man down to (allegedly) non-drowsy Dramamine or endure any other significant equipment failures like last time. (If you haven’t read Salt yet, I hope you’re intrigued now.)

We all hoped for a safe and prosperous delivery of Mitch’s new boat from Ft. Myers to its new home port in Pensacola, FL. But─maybe it was just Phillip and I although something tells me Mitch maybe a little too─we were also hoping for a bit of an adventure. You don’t ever want anything to go wrong during a passage across blue waters, but you know it can always happen. No matter how hard you prepare, plan or tread cautiously, a lot of it’s just luck. Sometimes it’s just your time for shit to go wrong. We didn’t want that to happen to Mitch, but if it was going to, we wanted to be there to help─and experience and learn from it.

Now this time thankfully I was a bit more sail savvy than last time. I didn’t ask at least─with big, blinking doe eyes: “When are they going to deliver your boat, Mitch?” I knew we were going to have to sail her home, and Phillip and I were excited to head out on another blue water passage. We’re always up for a blue water passage─Phillip especially. That man loves nothing more than to stand behind a helm and look out on a blue horizon.

Okay, lay. He likes to lay behind the helm too.

Mitch really didn’t even have to ask. It all seemed a given from the moment he started looking for a boat in south Florida. He had been there for us and he knew we would do the same for him. Hell, we were happy to. We set a date that worked around everyone’s schedule─June 19, 2015─and started planning and provisioning. If everything went well, we were expecting the entire trip to take seven days but we cleared ten just in case. My only concern was the Bahamas. I was set to fly out of Pensacola to Ft. Lauderdale on July 2nd. Honor of a lifetime: I had been asked by a friend’s parents to crew with them on their boat in the Abacos Regatta. After reading Salt, seems they thought I would be helpful to have on board─or entertaining at least. The Bahamas saga will be coming up next on the blog. Be excited!

So, June 19th to July 1st was the time slot. The Mitch trip was going to be a tight fit, but it did fit. And we figured if something happened and we had to leave the Nonsuch somewhere─like, say, I don’t know … Carrabelle─we could leave her and drive the rest of the way home. We hoped that wouldn’t happen (again this time). We wanted to sail her right into the Pensacola Pass our first time out but there was always the possibility the wind, weather and whatever sailing karma is out there would see otherwise. Whatever the case, we were up for it.

What cracked me up, though, was Mitch. He always does. I love that guy. It’s fun to watch a new friend sort of walk up to the boating ledge, look over, kick a little pebble off then just fall, head-over-heels and tumble all the way down. No matter how many times you tell said friend it’s going to cost a lot, things are going to break often, and then it will cost a lot to repair them, it’s like they just can’t hear you. You continually try to warn them: You’re going to have to buy a lot of boat crap. Then you’ll start using all of that crap and discover what other boat crap you really want and then you’ll have to buy all of that too. It’s just a process. But when you finally get your boat dialed in─just the way you like it─it’s totally worth it. And, after having endured that entire process, you’ll really have fun watching friends go through it after you. I have to admit. I was having a hell of a time watching Mitch.

The naan was the least of his worries. After going through the list Mitch made when he was on the boat for the survey/sea trial of equipment already on board, we made another list of items he would need to purchase for the three of us to safely make the passage on the boat. The amount of stuff baffled him.

“Towels? What kind of towels?” Mitch asked, bewildered.

All kinds dude. Dish towels, bath towels, work towels. The three of us are essentially about to move onto your floating home and live there for a week, while we’re sailing and working on it. We might need to─I don’t know─bathe on occasion. Wash our dishes. Wipe our hands. I mean, maybe. If you don’t think so, though, nix the towels. He was funny. And some of the costs really put a thorn in his side, like the EPIRB.

“Do we really need that?” I remember him asking Phillip.

“Only if you want the Coast Guard to come if we’re sinking,” Phillip said.

But, I get it. I mean, those things are like $400. It’s not an easy pill to swallow. I had to laugh, though, when we started talking about a hurricane haul-out plan for his boat. And, again I agree. If $400 for the EPIRB gives you heartburn, you’re really going to take it on the chin with the $1,500 price tag on the haul-out. Mitch was understandably trying to stop the bleed:

“So, it’s $1,500 to haul out, if need be, for a hurricane?” he was trying to get Phillip to confirm.

“Well, it’s $1,500 for the year,” Phillip replied.

“Oh, okay, so if they don’t haul out, then that carries over next time, right?”

“No, it’s $1,500 a year.”

“Even if they don’t haul you out?!”

Sorry buddy. Boats are just expensive. But, like I said, Mitch had got the Nonsuch for an exceptional price so he, thankfully, had a little wiggle room left in his budget. Still doesn’t make it any easier to write those checks. He was a good sport about it, though. Better than I ever expected. Mitch really stepped up. Phillip and I gave him a pretty extensive list of things we would need for the trip─stuff for him to buy, stuff for us to bring and stuff for him to bring. It was good practice for Phillip and I to go back through that thought process of readying a boat for passage, except this time we kind of felt like yacht delivery people, like very amateur Kretschmers. But, some of the tips and tricks Kretschmer had mentioned when we attended his seminar at the Miami Boat Show back in February did seem to trickle through.

The whole idea of sitting down to make a list of items and equipment we would need to bring a boat across blue waters just gave Phillip and I a little tingle. It was exciting to think we would soon be back out there, in the Gulf of Mexico, looking out on a vast body of water with nothing on the horizon but a sun sinking into blue denim.

Thankfully, we had kept a digital copy of the list we had made when we were preparing to bring our Niagara 35 back home across the Gulf. We dusted that off and modified it a bit to suit Mitch’s boat and needs. In case any of you find it helpful in preparing for a passage, or a Kretschmer like yacht-delivery (yeah!), here ‘tis: our Provisions List.

We went through it with Mitch, item by item, making sure he had each one. And he did. He had bought it all, even some extra goodies for the two of us─little treats for us for agreeing to make the passage with him. Like I said, he was big on the snacks.

We were set to leave the following week and the only thing Mitch got stuck on was the naan.

“It’s not a snack. It’s bread, like a soft fluffy pita. We’ll eat it with the tiki masala.”

“The what?”

“Masala. Tiki masala.”

“Malasalla?”

Yeah that. We’ll get that one buddy. See you in a few days.

Thanks to my Patrons who help me share the journey. Get inspired. Get on board.

“Where Are You Sailing to Next?”

September 21, 2015anniedike

Friends, I have another adventure-on-the-high-seas tale to tell you. We’ve been busy over here. While I’ve had a lot of fun cranking out the videos for you─sharing our cruising adventures, our struggles, repairs, outings, friends and fun on the water─I still seem to face the same question from many followers: “Where are you sailing to next?” Well, while we’ve got long-term plans percolating, sometimes unforeseen opportunities arise and you find yourself jumping on board for an unexpected sailing trip or three. For those of you who have been reading the blog since the beginning or have read my first sailing book─Salt of a Sailor─you know the tale of our seasick saga in crossing the Gulf the first time to bring our Niagara 35 from Punta Gorda to her home port in Pensacola. You may recall the 4-6 foot seas, the clanging of the davits, the hacking off of the dinghy and the “non-drowsy, my ass” Dramamine. Such tall tales! Well, we’ve yet another.

You may not have thought the three of us─Phillip, myself and Mitch While-You’re-Down-There Roberts─would have ever set foot on a boat again together to traverse the boisterous waters of the Gulf. Mitch himself─when we had to leave our boat sad and busted in Carrabelle─said he would never get on a boat with us again to go … well, anywhere. But I’m here to tell you friends it happened. We got back on a boat. We crossed the Gulf again. And I’m going to take you along for the adventure. You want to know where we’re going? Well, let me tell you a little tale of where we’ve been. You know me … warts and all. I’m going to share every detail─really build it up, keep you guessing, let you savor every harrowing and hilarious moment, right here on the blog. We tend to encounter adventures, big and small, every day. We seize them and savor them and I try─with every bit of my storytelling might─to share them with you. Here’s yet another. You want to get back on a boat with us and set sail? Come aboard!

Thanks to my Patrons who help me share the journey. Get inspired. Get on board.

Sometimes You Need a Hacksaw – Article in SAIL Magazine

August 26, 2015May 9, 2018anniedike

“I was just reading along and I started to think, hey, that sounds like what happened to us. Then I looked at the cover photo and thought, ‘That looks just like me!’”

Followers, this was Mitch speaking, and I couldn’t not share this with you. Many of you may already know Mitch─either personally or you feel a sort of close kinship to him from reading my book, Salt of a Sailor. He was “Neal Armstrong stepping on the moon” every time he stepped on the deck of our boat. Ka-boom! He was the “elephant going through a carwash” as he bumbled and climbed up and down the companionway stairs─an uncomfortable display which eventually caused his evolution into Mitch “While-You’re-Down-There” Roberts because every time Phillip or I would hint─even slightly─that we might─just possibly─could be in some way headed down below, he would start in with: “While you’re down there.” But, Mitch was also the man with the “heart of gold” who made a huge commitment in helping Phillip and I bring our Niagara 35 home across the Gulf of Mexico in some pretty rough seas. Thank you Mitch. However, he also─like me apparently─suffers from the occasional blonde moment. This one, in particular, was quite entertaining.

So, Mitch is hanging around the airport last week, waiting for his son’s plane to come in and he’s looking for something to read. He meanders into one of the many book and magazine corner stores in the airport and, being a bit of an avid sailor and water-sports kind of guy, picks up the September issue of SAIL Magazine. Mitch starts thumbing through, skimming the table of contents and eventually finds his way to this page, where he thinks an article about the occasional need for a hacksaw on a sailboat might be entertaining.

So, here’s what he tells Phillip and I about the incident:

“So, I─you know─look at the picture and I’m checking out the dinghy back there all crashed out in the water with the davits and all, I see the crew trying to cut it off, and I think, hey, that sounds like what happened to us.”

It IS what happened to us, Mitch. That’s us. But this thought hasn’t yet struck him.

“So, I start reading and, sure enough, it sounds exactly like us, so I start thinking who wrote this? I see Annie’s name up there and know, once again, I’m going to have to correct this story.”

You have to know this is a long-standing (friendly) disagreement between Mitch and I. He likes to think he didn’t get as sea-sick as he actually did on our inaugural passage, and he likes to pretend the whole incident with the “broccoli crappola” didn’t happen (if you’re not familiar with the event, I highly recommend the book), or at least that it wasn’t his fault because we shouldn’t have fed him broccoli. Yeah, we should have known better. Who eats that crap anyway?

But, here’s the real kicker. Once everything finally clicks into place and Mitch realizes this is not just a similar incident, but the actual incident, he then finally takes in the illustration for what it really is─a depiction of us cutting off the dinghy. (Which, awesome illustration accompanying the article by the way. Thank you SAIL Magazine and Jan Adkins!) And, you know what Mitch says about the drawing?

“Now that’s an accurate representation. That looks just like me.”

Yeah, okay buddy. It looks just like you.

If you guys haven’t seen the article yet, be sure to pick up a copy of the September issue of SAIL Magazine and enjoy!

Thanks to my Patrons who help me share the journey. Get inspired. Get on board.

The Car Won’t Start

June 24, 2014June 24, 2014anniedike

April 17-18, 2014 (Keys Log – Day 16):

I’m happy to say we survived the epic flooding in Ft. Myers. I’ve never seen rain come so fast and so hard. But, as fast as it came, it went.

The sun came back out and we found ourselves high and dry, safe and secure. Which meant it was time to do what we normally do right when drop anchor (or snag a mooring ball). That’s right … make a cocktail! Or three.

Now, typically I would have snapped a few shots of us mixing our drinks, toasting the sunset, smiling like happy sailors, but if you recall, after our horrendous night in the Gulf, the harrowing entry into Charlotte Harbor under nightfall and the approximate one hour nap we had that morning, we … were … beat. That silly little selfie above is all the photo-taking I could muster for the evening. It was the last shot of the day.

And, I believe it was somewhere in the middle of his second rum drink that the Captain started to nod off and dip his head into his glass. I can’t blame him. The man had held the helm of our beloved boat for about 12 hours straight. And, then motored us all the way over to Ft. Myers in the same day. It was around 6:00 p.m. and we were both fading fast. Phillip kicked back on the settee to “close his eyes for just a minute” while I threw some dinner together – one of our go-to’s on the boat – chicken tiki masala with naan. The funny thing was, though, I was banging around, clanging pots, opening cabinets, shutting doors, doing a great number of things any one of which would usually have the Captain sitting upright, looking around, but none of it phased him. He was OUT. Gone, done for. Knee deep in REMs. I roused him for supper and watched with a wicked grin as his head bobbed and wobbled above his plate and he shoved clumsy mouthfuls in, barely taking the time to chew before swallowing. His entire plate was gone in under six minutes, and he was back in a deep sleep within the seventh. I have to admit it was pretty entertaining. I have never seen him that tired. We both fell asleep around 6:45 p.m. and slept till about 8 the next morning. It was glorious. Now, did we wake to a sticky, caked-up tiki masala mess? Sure! But it was totally worth it.

We woke slowly, took our time sipping coffee and reading and just absorbing the morning. One thing we had noticed intermittently during the night – although it didn’t really phase us, was that our mooring ball kept going underneath the boat and scraping loudly from one side of the hull to the other.

The balls at the Ft. Myers mooring field were rather large and ours made a raucous sound every time it trudged its way from one side of the boat to the other. Now, usually the boat pulls away from the mooring ball because of the wind, so the ball going under the boat is normally not an issue, but the current in the mooring field was strong and it kept pushing our boat up over the ball. The Plaintiff’s Rest was literally on the ball. But, as we started to look around at the other boats in the field, we noticed that unlike us, they had connected the line on the ball directly to their bow cleat. We had used our dock line to make a bridal which we connected to the ball, but that certainly gave the mooring ball a lot more room to play with. So, we decided to take a cue from our fellow moorers, nix the dock line and just tie the ball directly up to our boat.

Then the ball was too close to the the bow to make its way up under the hull. Problem solved. On to the next!

While we didn’t anticipate one, as it seems is always the case in boating, we certainly got one. We had big plans that morning to dinghy to shore, go exploring, get some lunch, check out the facilities. You know – get the lay of our new “land.” But, unfortunately, when we decided to leave the “house” that morning, the “car” wouldn’t start.

I mean, that’s pretty much what your dinghy is when you’re living on a boat. It’s your car. Your means to shore. While we probably could have rowed to the dinghy dock, it was about 200 yards away, against the current. And, we were planning to stay there in the mooring field for a few days. Sure would be nice to have a car …

So, Phillip set to it. He cranked and pulled and yanked and cursed that thing – for half an hour at least. I laughed and took pictures.

He hee hee.

Then we decided to really troubleshoot it. When Phillip looked in the oil window, he could see the oil in the outboard was murky, which meant it had probably taken on water, somehow, during our horrendous night. To this day we are still not sure exactly how that happened. But, c’est la vie. So, he changed the oil in it.

And, boy was he right. It was murky. The oil almost looked like chocolate milk.

He ended up changing it three times before it began to look like oil again.

Then he tried to crank her again. She would sputter and fire and run for a bit and then die. So, he would crank her again. She would sputter and fire and run for a bit and then die. So, he would crank her again, and so on. What was I doing, you ask? Laughing and taking video of course!

I mean, it wasn’t really comical, but what else are you going to do? The great thing was, all of our boat neighbors started to get in on the action. They had been watching Phillip jack around with that engine for about two hours now, listening to her crank and die, crank and die, crank and die. Several of them would throw their arms up and cheer when she cranked and heckle her when she died. “Booo!!” It was better than football. And, when the outboard would crank and Phillip would get going a bit, other boaters would circle the wagons and check on him to make sure he didn’t get stranded.

Boater: “You got her running there, partner?”

Phillip: “I believe so, but don’t go too far. Thanks.”

We even had some folks swing by and drop off what they called their “magic juice” – some special lube they always spray on their outboard when she gives them fits. Because everyone’s outboard gives them fits. It should just say in the manual: SOMETIMES SHE WILL CRANK, SOMETIMES SHE WILL NOT, AND THERE’S NO REASON WHY. That would at least squander the hope that she’s going to run like she’s supposed to.

But, the Captain was persistent. He stuck with it and finally got her purring. Then he started zipping around all over the field, lavishing in the cheers and hollers building around him – the roar of the crowd! Haaahhhahaaa. It was hilarious.

We packed that puppy up while she was running and made our way to shore! We stuck a little thank-you note to the “magic juice” can and dropped it off on our neighbors’ boat.

Finally the car had cranked and we were on our way. To Ft. Myers Beach baby! It’s time for a margarita!

April 12, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 10 (Part One) – Rain On Our Parade

May 14, 2014May 14, 2014anniedike

I woke to find a friend on our stern line the next morning.

He didn’t even move as we rustled around in the cockpit and readied the boat for another passage. He just watched us inquisitively and minded his own business. I almost hated to shoo him away when we were ready to leave. But, we were ready to leave! We were heading back out into the Gulf that morning to make the approximate 100 mile (24 hour) run to Charlotte Harbor to meet up with our friend Johnny and his son, who were anchored out in Cayo Costa. That was the plan anyway.

We waved at the rising sun and made our way back out into the Gulf.

Now, when we came in the previous day, we unfortunately ran aground on the shoaling around the little island just after the bridge.

Right around here we believe:

After talking with the dockmaster at the marina, we decided to take the longer route this time, around the little island, where the channel is deeper.

There will be no running aground today, thank you!

We had one of the best sails yet of the trip that morning.

“Hoist them sails there, Mate!”

“You got it, Cap’n!”

The water around Clearwater really is the most brilliant green. Like torqouise but not so blue. This is the closest replica I could find:

They call it #00ff83. It’s 0% red, 100% green and 51.4% blue. But, I’ll tell you, it’s heaven. The most beautiful sight to see under the hull of your boat.

It was just gorgeous. And, we had a great east wind, right on our port bow, around 10 knots. As the Captain would say, “We were cooking!” It was a great sailing day.

And, for my fellow sailing blogger on the Sundowner – this one’s for you Dani!

Rockin’ the selfie!

We did get backwinded at one point, though, when we were messing with the sails and it turned us around. No problem, really, to turn a circle and get back on track, but we did have the trolling line out when it happened, and it got caught on the rudder. But, that wasn’t a problem either. The Captain jumped right in for a nice swim in the Gulf and got her untangled.

AOK!

Ahhh! Nice and refreshing!

It was like nothing could get us down. I couldn’t help but keep singing, “Ain’t nothing gonna break-a-my stride. Nobody gonna hold me down!”

Whoa-NO …

THEY DID-UHHNT!! Relive this lovely 80’s leotard and sparkly gloves rendition HERE.

But, what we didn’t expect was rain. No, not that kind. The skies were clear, the sun was out, the conditions were ideal. And, yet, it still rained. The winds started to kick up, so we decided to reef the Jenny in a bit. As we were winding her in, we heard a loud POP from above and then it rained … Ball bearings … All over the boat.

April 11, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 9 – For a Good Ride, Call Johnny N

May 11, 2014May 11, 2014anniedike

I will say, it took some time for both of us to come “down” from the epic mid-sea mast climb. That was something else. But, aside from the busted steaming light and lost gaff, we did have one good thing to come out of it. As we were detaching lines from my bosun’s chair and hooking everything back up, Phillip started looking at our busted lazy jack – the one of the starboard side that had snapped during our first night on passage.

And, he hatched the brilliant idea to raise it back up with staysail halyard. That pulled it back up pretty much exactly where it had been previously attached to the eyelet on the spreader.

The Captain’s real smart like that sometimes.

But, that’s one thing I have really learned to love about sailing. It’s all about improvising — learning your systems and, when something doesn’t work quite right or fails, knowing how to accomplish the same result using another system or a different method. Phillip read a story to me a long time ago by Cap’n Frank Papy from Sailing: Impressions, Ideas, Deeds that has always stuck with me. Apparently the guy was sailing a beat-up, broke-down, falling-apart boat from Jamaica to Ft. Lauderdale that was leaking from every orifice (think floating floorboards) and just when he was about to throw up his hands and throw in the towel, he thought about the engine. It’s constantly sucking raw water in to cool the engine, and then pumping it out – virtually a water-sucking machine, when you really think about it. So, Cap’n Papy closed the seacock, detached the raw water hose and ran it straight into his flooded bilge to both cool his engine and pump out the bilge. Blows my mind. And, while I know our lazy jack repair is decidedly “small-time” in comparison to Papy’s heroic hail-mary, it still reminds me that sailing is all about improvising, and it’s an incredibly rewarding and exciting challenge.

So, with our lazy jack back in action, and our sights set on Clearwater, we settled back in the cockpit for a nice morning sail.

And, I’ll tell you – they must call it Clearwater for a reason. That was the most crystal green water we had seen on the trip!

That is, until we handled our business …

But – good to know it’s all working correctly. That all systems are “a go,” am I right?

We even caught our first fish (plural) of the trip. Scared us both to death when the hand line popped fiercely over the rail. Both of us jerked up from our books, looking around wildly, thinking What the hell just happened? I’ll tell you, when something snaps loudly on the boat, it’s hard not to think the worst. What crucial piece of equipment just failed? It had happened to us during our last Gulf Crossing when the bolts on the dinghy davit bracket began to shear and pop off. Typically, a loud, unexpected pop in the cockpit is not a good thing … So, needless to say, we were both relieved when we found it was just the trolling line. Whew! Just a fish on! Reel her in!

It was a decent little king mackerel. We caught two that morning. But, they were pretty small – probably not worth the mess of cleaning – so we threw them back. We made our way into Clearwater Pass around 1:30 p.m. and started to ease our way in. Now, as most of you may be, we (well, Phillip, actually – he’s the primary helmsman) is an avid user of Active Captain, and he had seen on there that there was some shoaling in the channel after you come under the bridge. Knowing that, he made a wide turn to try to avoid it and unfortunately (we think) he found the shoaling on the other side. The boat lurched to a stop and we knew immediately we’d run aground. I hate that feeling! There’s no mistaking it. But, Phillip was quick to act. He threw it in reverse, had me hang way over the portside lifelines to lean the boat over and we were able to ease off pretty quickly. Thank goodness! And, it was a good lesson in how to respond quickly to get the boat moving again. A lesson that would come in mighty handy later.

Needless to say, after that small scare, I was all nerves and eager to get our boat docked up securely and settled in for the night. Now, the last time we pulled into Clearwater when we first bought the boat and were bringing her back from Punta Gorda, FL, we had 20-knot winds on our stern and two corn-fed Larry-the-Cable guys holding our bow off the dock.

Yeah, it gave me heartburn too, Larry.

We were not in any kind of mood to repeat that scene this time. So, I was thrilled to see when we pulled up to the fuel dock that they had courtesy lines, already pre-set at just the right length and ready to toss to you for tying up, which was awesome. No docking debacles today! We eased on in, filled up, docked up and gave that boat a good scrub-down! She was in sure need of it.

As were we. We showered up, dressed up, made a few cocktails to-go, and decided to hit the town!

We ventured out and reminisced on some of the finer establishments and questionable joints we had stumbled upon last time we were here. You may remember this little greasy spoon we ate at last time where I bought my delightfully tacky big-boob t-shirt to memorialize the visit.

Ahhh … the memories!

We decided to try a new place for dinner, though, so we checked the old Trip Advisor to see what the locals were rating “the best.” One of the top hits was this little middle eastern place called Mana Mana. We certainly hadn’t had any good middle eastern food yet on this trip and probably wouldn’t for a while, so Mana Mana was right up our alley. We began walking to town and hailed a taxi on the way. And, it was a good thing, because the restaurant turned out to be about five or six miles away and we were already pretty beat by then. We’d certainly worked up an appetite, though. Phillip and I ate ourselves absolutely sick! Mana Mana turned out to be a little hole-in-the-wall looking place, with a concession stand order board, walk-up counter, and just a handful of tables scattered about.

We were a little skeptical at first, but when we started to smell the food and see what he was dishing up, we knew we were in for a real treat. The guy running the place was really great, too. A true small-business owner. He made all of the food himself, was eager to serve us up some of his own authentic Israeli Middle Eastern specialties and even bring us a few extra treats and sides that we didn’t even order. And, the food was incredible. I got the falafel – perfectly seasoned chick-peas balls smothered in tahini sauce.

Phillip ordered the shawarma beef, which was equally delicious.

Both dishes were amazing. Within ten minutes, Phillip and I had eaten every last morsel on our plates.

The Clean Plate Club strikes again!

We were both satiated. Probably a little too full, but it was totally worth it. And, it turned out, rather than a cab, we had managed to score a personal driver for the evening. We found while we were checking out that our cabbie had decided to eat at Mana Mana as well and he was sitting there waiting on us to finish to drive us back home. And, it’s a darn good thing, too, because I don’t think Phillip and I could have walked more than a few steps. We were stuffed!

“Want a ride back?” says the cabbie.

“Don’t mind if I do!” the Captain replies.

Johnny N they call him.

We decided the “N” was for Nitro! Yeah buddy!

We had Johnny N take us to the CVS by the marina so we could stock up on supplies – water, milk, coffee, OJ, paper towels. Just a few basics. We savored the last burning embers of the sunset on the way back to the boat,

and then crashed hard. After a mid-sea mast climb, two fish on the line, an inadvertent run aground and a big, filling middle eastern feast, the Captain and I were beyond exhausted. The plan was to jump out the next morning back into the Gulf and make our way down to Charlotte Harbor. Our buddy who was sailing with his son down to the Keys was anchored around there at Cayo Costa, and we were hoping to catch up with him to make the jump to the Keys together. That was the plan anyway. Almost a meaningless term on a sailboat …

April 10, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 8 – Catching Butterflies

May 8, 2014May 7, 2014anniedike

We were both a little disoriented when we woke on the boat behind Dog Island. Having slept so soundly at anchor and waking to the alarm in pitch black, it was a little hard to tell if we were still dreaming or awake. But, we finally eased on up after a few alarm snoozes to start readying the boat for passage and preparing to pull the anchor. I slipped on my new Gorton’s – some, super trendy clown-pant Frogg Toggs – to try them out for the first time and got into my wader boots and foul weather jacket knowing I’d be doing some serious chain spraying.

We had 150 feet of links lying out there in the mud that needed raising. Before I even got down to 100 feet of chain, big chunks of grey clumpy mud were coming up in the links, and I knew this was not going to be a quick chore. “I’ve got mud at 100 feet,” I hollered back to Phillip to let him know he could settle in. We were going to be there a while! We spent the next 20 minutes raising and rinsing the chain, hoping it was piling up as it should down below so we wouldn’t have such trouble dropping it next time. We finally got her all up, though, and kicked back to enjoy some coffee as we motored out of the East Pass, watching the sun just start to peek up, an electric pink sliver on the horizon. It felt good to be underway.

Unfortunately, the wind was light in the early hours and we had to motor a bit, but we were enjoying watching land disappear on the horizon and seeing nothing but blue ahead. The wind finally came around mid-morning, and we got a nice run, doing 4 knots, toward Clearwater. Phillip and I curled up on the deck with a couple of page-turners and took turns napping in the sun.

We brought the solar shower up onto the deck, too, so she could heat up and give us each a nice shower that afternoon. After two days underway, we would certainly be in need of it. In all, it was a beautiful day out on the water. Our arrival time for Clearwater popped up about mid-day: 11:37 a.m. the next day. It only registers our ETA 24 hours out. Anything over 24 hours is designated only with bars, like a flat-line heart monitor, so it’s kind of exciting to see the arrival time pop up. Only 24 hours now baby! We weren’t in too much of a hurry, though. The water had grown a deep, crystal blue around us and there wasn’t a single blip on the horizon. We were still averaging 4 knots and enjoying the soft, soothing swells that we were rocking over.

We heated up the frozen chicken and sausage gumbo Phillip had made for us before we left.

We tried, again, to heat up the frozen bag in boiling water, but after we started to see a little gumbo leaking out into the water, we were sure some water had to be leaking IN to the gumbo, so I will say we will not be doing that again. It will be a few hours’ thaw in the sink and then we’re plopping it into a pot to heat. No need to risk tainting Phillip’s perfectly seasoned dishes just to spare a messy pot. No sir! But, despite some suspected water intrusion, the gumbo turned out great.

And, it was the perfect, hearty treat while underway. After dinner, we enjoyed a nice solar shower in the cockpit. It was our first time using the solar shower. We had found it on the boat when inventorying and we were excited to try it out.

Other than the finicky spout, which would occasionally pop off, spouting water like a fire hose and causing a slight, soapy mad scramble to get her back on, it was one of the best showers we’ve ever had.

Of course, we can say that after two salty days at sea, while enjoying some free warm water from the sun. Something about the fact that it’s been heated naturally makes it hard to beat. Around dusk, we had some dolphins come by to congratulate us on the excellent passage we were making – naturally –

and to bring us one of the most exquisite sunsets we’ve seen on passage. The water rippled like smooth silk. It felt like you could reach out and touch it and you wouldn’t get wet at all. It was incredible.

It wasn’t long after the sunset, though, that the wind started to die out. We tried to keep her going under sail, but the Jenny kept luffing and our speed kept dropping. The arrival time on the Garmin went blank again which was a sure sign – we were slowing down. So, we decided to crank up the motor and motor-sail for a bit. The batteries needed a little charging anyway. We sat back and quickly decided to declare it … wait, let me let you guess.

Uh-oh … guess what day it is!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCLO9OOMtqE

That’s right. Moooo-vie DAY! Or night, I guess. We booted up the laptop and hooked it in to the cockpit speakers and nestled in for a little something we like to call “Movie Night!” on the ole’ Rest. Black Swan it was, and were in the thick of it when the main started flagging. The wind was right on our stern and kept shifting the boom from one side to the other. We took a brief intermission to drop the main, should be an easy chore, right? Nothing to it in these light winds. Ha. Guess again. All hell broke loose when we let go of the halyard. Now, I’ve mentioned on this blog before how important it is that you never (EVER) let go of the halyard. But, believe me, it happens. It just does. And, I’ll say “we” let go of the halyard because there’s no need to point fingers. This wasn’t the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, and it doesn’t really matter who does it, you both, somehow, have to get it back.

And, ours was swinging wildly back and forth, whipping around the boom, winding around the backstay, unwinding and swinging out freely again. It soon became clear we weren’t going to be able to reach it on tiptoes and with outstretched hands alone. Phillip got the gaff from the lazarette and started batting at it. He was standing on his tiptoes on the coaming, stretching into the sky, and he almost had it several times but it would slip out of his reach every time. For reasons that baffle us to this day, it was snapped shut initially, so that if we could get the hook of the gaff in it, we could conceivably pull it back down easily. But it soon came swinging back around opened and it was clear we weren’t going to be able to get it with the gaff, there was nothing to ‘hook.’ Now, how in the world that thing closed itself initially, on its own, only to open back up again, on its own, baffles us to this day, but I’m here to tell you that’s what happened. That’s when I came up with the brilliant idea of using the fishnet – which is about the equivalent of a big butterfly net – thinking the open end of the shackle would surely snag in the netting. I duct-taped it to the gaff for added reach, which was helpful, but it made it very cumbersome and unwieldly. Phillip was standing on the coaming on his tiptoes with me behind him bracing on the bimini and dodger in case he fell backward as he swatted and poked in the air – trying to snag it. It wasn’t funny in the moment, really, but I’m sure if a nearby vessel had got a look at us, swinging and swatting – trying to catch all those imaginary butterflies, we would have given them a big, hearty laugh. As Phillip gave it one last valiant swing, a wave rocked us, forcing him to leap down into the cockpit to save his footing and causing our Frankenstein butterfly contraption to bounce once on the deck and then slink off overboard.

I stared blankly at Phillip and asked, “Oh gees, is it gone?” “No, we’ll circle back,” Phillip said. “Find it!” First rule on the sailboat, and I knew this, but knowing is different than actually doing. If anything goes overboard (particularly a person), someone on board needs to immediately find the thing-slash-person in the water and shine a light on it if necessary or at least keep a watchful eye on it. Do NOT look away, not even for a second. Because you can lose a thing-slash-person in an instant in the great big sea.

You idiot, Annie I thought to myself. Look overboard! Find it! Thankfully, Phillip had instructed me quickly – it wasn’t too far from the boat. And, thankfully, it was floating and had some kind of reflective sheen to it so we could spot it easily with the flashlight. Phillip turned us around so we could get it. I got out our secondary gaff – the one for the fish, and headed up to the bow to snag it. “Nothing else is going overboard tonight,” Phillip said. “Hang on and be careful!” He pulled us up right along side it and I made one valiant reach over the lifelines and nabbed it. Whew! With all of our gear, limbs and bodies intact, Phillip and I plopped down in the cockpit for a disheartened rendezvous. It had been a hairy moment, and we were both glad to have survived it, but as we sat in the silence, our halyard wrapped around and banged loudly on the back-stay — as a reminder of failed efforts.

That’s it – wrapped around the back-stay:

I wanted to climb up on the boom and give it another go, but Phillip vetoed that plan. He wasn’t going to let me climb up on the boom … this time. Probably the right call that night, though, since it was dark. We had already taken some substantial risks jumping around on tiptoes swatting at the damn thing and losing some equipment overboard in the process, but something just didn’t feel right about letting it flail about up there. I mean, it is our main halyard. But, the decision had been made. We would deal with it in the daylight tomorrow. We left her banging on the back-stay and motored on through the night toward Clearwater. Having already suffered our own black swan moment, Movie Night was clearly over …

April 9, 2014 – Keys Log: Day 7 – MOTORIN’!

May 5, 2014May 3, 2014anniedike

WHAT’S YOUR PRICE FOR FLIGHT?? At least I think those are the lyrics.

Feel free to test me (and jam to that oldie-but-a-goodie) here. But, know that I don’t care either way, because that’s what I like to belt out. “Finding Mr. Right! Believe you will tonight!” That’s the way I sing it. And, the way I sung it that day. We were “Motorin’!” down the ditch that day. We had waited an extra day due to heavy winds and a kicked-up sea state out in the Gulf and while the winds had made for a good kite day for us yesterday, they made for a terrible night of unrest for us on the ole’ Rest. They were blowing us hard against the dock, all night long, which meant lots of groaning and squeaking on the fenders. It was a bit of a rough night for the boat. While we had planned to leave at dawn, we ended up waiting a couple of hours for the wind to lie down. She finally settled out some around 7:00 a.m., but we couldn’t wait much longer, we had a good 10 hours of motoring ahead of us if we were going to make it to Carabelle that night. We neededst to go!

We sipped some coffee and readied the boat and I sat there contemplating the Gorton’s pants. I just couldn’t bear to leave them hanging there so lonely on that pole,

and I certainly couldn’t wad them up and throw them in the trash. We’d been through so much together! While they made an absolute mess now every time I put them on, Phillip made the excellent point that it would be good to have a back-up set of foul weather gear – albeit a messy one – shoved away in some locker on the boat in case we had a third mate aboard who found himself foul weather gear-less. Good point! (Although I needed no real excuse to keep them on the boat as a good luck charm alone, it feels better to do it under sensible pretenses). Either way, we folded them up and shoved them in a vberth locker,

and I felt much better about it. There, there Gorton’s. You’re still with us!

Just as we were getting ready to shove off, our dock-mate, “Skipper Bob” on the s/v Maverick, came out to lend a hand. The wind was blowing hard off the the starboard bow and we were wedged in fairly tight between our two dock-mates, Maverick and Liza. With Bob’s help, we decided to let the bow off and back out around Liza then turn starboard and move forward. A great plan, in theory, but it was blowing about 18 knots. Phillip started to back out and tried to push his stern out far enough to clear Liza behind him but the wind wasn’t letting him move very far. He went back and forth a couple of times (the beginnings of an 82-point turn) and finally just scooched outside of Liza but when he started to move forward, the wind pushed hard on the boat broadside and sent her stern back toward the pilings. Bob and I looked like a pair of dancing monkeys, me on the boat and him on the dock, running the length of the boat shoving the boat off of pilings. It was a mighty struggle. I stuck a foot out and gave one last mighty push and the stern missed the dock by just inches and Phillip was revving hard to miss Bob and Pat’s boat in front of us. Bob was a huge help, though, and a good sport. As we just squeezed by his dinghy, he hollered out “You should’ve swiped her! We need a new one! Safe travels you guys!” It was a heart-pounding moment and certainly not the way you want to start a leisurely morning. When I finally made it back to the cockpit, heaving and sweating, my heart still thumping mightily in my chest, Phillip scolded me for sacrificing my body for the boat. Rightfully so. It was a good lesson. Unfortunately, it was also one that I would not really learn until later, but that’s well on down the line. For the moment, we were finally off the dock, our adrenaline subsiding and we enjoyed the sunrise as we headed out into the bay.

The view was amazing when we came under the bridge to Port St. Joe. A gorgeous sunrise, the slightest bit of fog on the water and pelicans everywhere, just skimming the water.

Well, most were skimming. One wasn’t so lucky. As we turned in under the bridge to Port St. Joe, we heard a mighty thump up at the bow. I had been staring off the starboard side, watching some pelicans glide above the water, and I was shocked to now see one, ten feet away, flapping and wrestling around on our foredeck. A pelican! Flopping around on the boat!?! For whatever reason, perhaps he’d had one too many Sailor Jerry’s at the old Pelican’s Perch the night before, or he was just the local pelican idiot, he had flown right into our Jenny sheet, and the more he squirmed and flung those big, clumsy wings of his around, the more tangled up he got. The sheet was wrapped around his neck at one point. I thought I might have to go rescue him and actually got a little excited thinking about it. Man-handling a real, live pelican? I mean, could it get any better? Phillip and I watched him a moment or two longer in astonishment, exchanging a few lame guesses as to what in the hell had driven him right into our boat. I remember Phillip saying at one point, “Is he retarded?” Good question. How do you know if a pelican is? He finally flapped himself free of the Jenny line, though, and then waddled and snaggled his way through the lifelines and took off from the starboard bow. I watched him fly for just a bit and then he quickly plopped down in the water, shook his head a hard time or two and just sat there for a bit. Trying to get his bearings I would imagine. Big dumb bird. That was wild.

Once we’d shaken that image out of our mind, we sat back and enjoyed watching the sun come up over the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway (“the ditch”). It was incredible. Big, rusty shrimp boats lining the docks, fog dissipating on the horizon, jagged tree stumps lining the shore. I felt like we were making our way right down the ole’ Mississipp’ and that Huck Finn would pass by on his raft at any moment. It was such a surreal feeling.

We made a pot of piping oatmeal and savored our morning in the ditch.

Lake Wimico was gorgeous too and we made a nice, easy day of it motoring over to Apalachicola. We needed to fuel up for the planned Gulf Crossing tomorrow, so we stopped into the fuel dock just before Apalachicola Bridge and suffered our second docking debacle of the day. I’m starting to think I’ve got some kind of horrendous docking curse. The current was really working against us, pushing us right along the dock, so it was crucial we get a line on –and fast. I called ahead to let them know we were coming (like I said, I’m not afraid to ask for an extra hand to save our boat!), and I threw the guy the bow line as we were coming in. It landed at his feet and before he could get down to it (sadly he did not move at the pace I do when we’re docking – that of a mad jackrabbit), and I watched in horror as it snaked slowly away from his feet and into the water. I’m sure I didn’t hide my distaste very well … But, perhaps I should have taken a lesson from him. Phillip always says “Smooth is fast.” As I scrambled wildly to pull the line back up before it made its way back to the prop, I slipped nicely on the wet foredeck and found the only thing that saved me from going overboard was the fat welp I had just created on my chin when it wedged against the lifeline. Smooth Annie. But, at least we knew the lifelines we had re-tied during our Keys preparations were working.

They certainly kept my sorry self on the boat that day, and it wouldn’t be the first time we would test them on this trip. We finally got the boat secure at the fuel dock, though, and set about fueling her up. If I haven’t expressed it quite clearly enough – I hate docking! Something always seems to go awry and put our boat in grave danger. It’s like watching your dog cross a busy street alone. It’s just unnerving sometimes.

But, alas, we gassed up and made our way out into Apalachicola Bay. It was a gorgeous day and we had favorable wind. While our morning motoring was fun, we have a sailboat for a reason. We like to sail! I didn’t hesitate to jump up on the deck and ready our sails!

And, we were thrilled to see some guys out oystering in the St. George Sound. When we ordered oysters in Port St. Joe, we had been told they came from Texas, because the local supply was low, so we were glad to see them out there harvesting. They said the oysters were coming back. Good! Cause we like to eat ’em!

The wind picked up that afternoon, a steady northeast around 14 knots, and we actually did some of the best sailing yet on our trip. We were heeled over, averaging 6.5, sometimes 7 knots most of the way. That was the fastest we had gone the entire trip and it felt great! I was curled up and leaning over the coaming on the windward side — pretty much the equivalent of a dog sticking his head out of the car window — watching the hull cut through the water. We were sailing baby!

We made it over to Dog Island around dusk and got ready to drop the hook. We had covered a lot of ground that day!

Log book:

We struggled a bit with the anchor chain. As part of our preparations for the trip to the Keys, we had pulled it all out at the dock to (a) check the length and (b) remark the 25-foot indicators. Regarding the length, 200 feet was our belief, but we wanted to verify that and make sure the end was secured to the boat. I certainly did not want to be the one to send the entire thing out and overboard because we’d never eye-balled the end. “Did you get the anchor out?” calls the Captain from the cockpit. “Yep, just fine. She’s all OUT!” DOH! So, we pulled her out for a look-see:

And do know that the entire time we were hoisting chain along the dock, I couldn’t help but shake the song “Back on the chain gang!” from my head.

All out – 200 feet total.

Yep. Tied in. Whew! Now for the indicators:

25 feet

50 feet

75 feet

100 feet

125 feet

150 feet

175 feet. End of the line!

While the chain gang project was a good thing to do (you want to be sure), we believe, for whatever reason, our having pulled it all out and winched it back in at the dock, without tension, caused it to pile up on itself in some unfavorable way in the anchor locker, which made it a mighty struggle to heave it out, but we finally got 150 feet out and set right to what we do best at anchorage. Making some cocktails to enjoy the sunset!

I have to say – we love our stand-up ice tray on the boat. It makes these huge, Mad Men-esque cubes that look like they were made to be drenched in fine whiskey. Or rum … we usually choose the latter.

Dog Island was a fantastic anchorage. Pristine actually. Beautiful white sand, an exquisite view of both the Gulf on one side and St. George Sound on the other. There were just a few old wooden houses, mansions really, propped up on stilts overlooking both sides. And, the sunset was just stunning.

We savored the moment – and a few more cocktails – made dinner and called it a night. If things went well — and from our past record “well” wasn’t usually how things progressed for us when crossing the Gulf — but, if they did, we were looking at a thirty-hour passage out of the East Pass to Clearwater. Well or otherwise, we were eager to see what the Gulf had in store for us tomorrow.

April 3, 2014 – Shoving Off!

April 14, 2014April 11, 2014anniedike

Well folks, this is it. April 3rd. Shove-off day. Departure day. THE day. And, we were ready. Beyond ready. All the trips to the stores, the packing and inventorying of the boat, the freezer meals, everything was ready. All we needed to do now was fill the water tanks and check the weather. We had been watching the weather for weeks now trying to plan our departure date. Every time Phillip would click his phone to life and start scrolling through the NOAA reports, that song would pop into my head “I can gather all the news I need … “ And, yes, I do sing that every time Phillip checks the weather. And, yes, he still puts up with me. I’m kind of the only first mate he’s got, so …

The weather still looked pretty good on Thursday to make the jump to Clearwater. We were expecting some potential storms on Friday night and Saturday but the highest sea state prediction was 3-5 feet:

Assuming that was more THREE than FIVE, it would make good weather for the trip. So, we made the decision. We were leaving today.

The weekend before we had taken the boat out for a test sail to make sure the Jenny un-furled fine (remember, we had taken it down the week before to have the UV cover on it re-stitched) and, while we were making our way out, we topped off the fuel tank on the boat (it holds 30 gallons, but we tend to sail a LOT so we only had to put in about six gallons this go round – whew!). We filled two 5 gallon jerry cans of diesel to strap down on the deck (just as back-up), filled two 1.5 gallon cans for the outboard on the dinghy, pumped out (very important) and filled the water tanks. So, everything on the boat that needed to emptied was emptied and everything that needed to be filled was, well, you get it.

But, speaking of filling, let me talk a bit about the water on our boat. I get a TON of questions about water: “How much water can you take on the boat?” “Can you make water on the boat?” “Do you have enough water?” The answers, respectively, are plenty, no and yes. We have two forty-gallon water tanks on the boat, on one each side, that we fill from the hose. But, the previous owner of our boat did a great job building a water shelf in one of the large lockers under the vberth:

We have 8 large gallon jugs of water and a flat (24 bottles) of bottled water stored in there as well as another flat of bottles scattered in various cubbies throughout the boat. Phillip also had a great idea to fill the solar shower (which holds 5 gallons) with water just as a back-up for the initial passage. And, that way the first time we used the solar shower, it would already be full. Kudos Cap’n.

So, with plenty of food, fuel, water and WINE, we were fully-stocked and ready to go. We both spent some time the last day calling loved ones to give them a hearty farewell and tell them, re-assure them, and tell them again, our departure date, travel plans and the status of our safety gear and rations. I can’t tell you how many times friends and family asked me about our life-vest situation – hence the reason for my last post. But, this fun, feeble attempt still failed to reassure the masses. So, we provided friends and family with a detailed sail plan and made them all promise that they could only worry, panic or – most importantly – contact the Coast Guard if and ONLY IF they did not hear from us by Sunday evening. We planned to make it to Clearwater early Sunday morning, so if no one had heard from us by Sunday night, it was likely time to fret. But, not a second before!

Despite this harsh mandate and strictly enforced ‘cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die’ NO rescue efforts until Monday, I still received many of the like in the mail from concerned loved ones:

Note the entry at the bottom:

You see? It was Clearwater by Sunday or at least some kind of heroic, satellite phone, mid-Gulf check-in or they would be calling in the dogs! The concern, though, was well-intended and heart-warming. (I heart you Dottie!).

But, we weren’t worried, or afraid. We were cautious, sure, and hopeful that we would be greeted with fair winds and forgiving weather and that nothing bad would happen to the boat or to either of us, but there was always going to be the possibility that it could. That’s a given. Something bad can happen at any time, whether you’re crossing the Gulf on a sailboat or crossing the street. Crossing anyway is the adventure, and that’s what we were after. We were excited to get to the Keys, but the destination was not the real goal; it was the journey. We had both worked really hard to get to this point. To get out there. To cross over.

We tossed the lines and sailed out into the Gulf.

That’s really us! Thanks to our good friend Kevin who was anchored nearby and took the shot! Plaintiff’s Rest is headed south, baby!