motoring the ditch – Have Wind Will Travel

Chapter Eleven: Some Much-Needed Shore Leave!

December 21, 2015anniedike

CRACK! There went another. I’m telling you, I like to watch lightning. I think it’s beautiful. I’m not sure I ever need to see it again from the cockpit of a boat, though.

Big thunderheads seemed to loom over us every time we sailed away from the shore. We had the handheld electronics piled in the oven and Mitch, Phillip and I were curled up, tethered in in the cockpit and we watched as the storm in Apalachicola Bay thankfully (knock on teak!) skirted around us. Once the storm eased off a bit, so did we, and it was all smiles and “whews!” as we motored our way in to take some much-needed shore leave in Apalachicola.

We called ahead to see if we could get a slip at the Water Street Hotel. When Phillip and I sail to Apalachicola we usually try to snag a spot at the City Docks. You may recall the lone sign there that says “Call Chief Bobby Varnes for dockage.” But, the house batteries on Mitch’s boat appeared to be running low (although the eMeter was a little confusing). We just weren’t 100% confident in their capabilities, so we figured a nice, air-conditioned, rejuvenating night in a slip would be a welcomed reprieve for this tired crew. Also, Mitch has much less draft than we do (4’11”) so he can creep further up the river than we can in our Niagara (5’7″).

We made Mitch handle the docking strategy and tell us what lines to tie off in what order (again so he could practice coming in single-handed) and he did a pretty good job. He had everything planned out right, he’ll just have to work on which side is starboard and which side is port (but I goober those up all the time too, so … “No, the other starboard.”). In all, it was nice to see the boat tied up and secure with the longest offshore passage behind her.

Now it was off to the showers for this crew! See ya!

It seemed our marina shower luck had run, though. Back in Clearwater, we’d had hot water but no AC in the shower rooms. What did I call it? “It wasn’t a shower, I’d say it was more of a steam spray.” The minute you stepped out of the water stream you started sweating. Well, this time, in Apalachicola, we had nice, chilly AC in the shower rooms, but no hot water. I’d call this one an Arctic rinse. My lips were turning blue and my teeth were chattering by the time I got out of there. I’ve never been so thankful to step into the humid Florida air and feel beads of sweat start to form on my skin again. Ahhhh … nice and muggy. Once we were spruced up, it was time to hit the town.

Phillip and I love the old sleepy Florida feel of Apalachicola. It’s like it’s been frozen back in time. Everyone moves a little slower. They talk a little slower, too, and I kind of like it. We decided to go Up the Creek for dinner (literally).

[WARNING: Foodie pics coming. I hope you’re not already hungry.]

The grilled conch cakes we’d had there when Phillip and I were making our way back from the Florida Keys last year was, we decided (and it was very hard to make this decision but we finally settled on it) one of the best meals of our entire Keys trip. They are incredibly rich and drizzled with a honey lime sauce made from local Tupelo honey. Words simply cannot describe …

The boys got some fish dishes with fries that were good but not good enough that I can even recall them next to my conch cakes (oh, and a side of brussel sprouts – love me some greens!)

We had a good chat during dinner about the trip. Mitch confessed that his worries were finally starting to ease now that we had brought the boat on the other side of the Big Bend. This was definitely the home stretch of the trip and the Nonsuch was still intact and performing well. We decided to take our time motoring “the ditch” the next day over to Port St. Joe so Mitch could experience it. Phillip and I had often described it to him as a jaunt down the ole’ Mississip’, as if Huck Finn would pull up right next to you on his rickety raft. The Westerbeke was chugging along really well and departure from Port St. Joe on the other side of the ditch would give us a nice jumping off point to make the last overnight run to Pensacola. We came back down the creek after dinner to find Tanglefoot plugged in and chilled for the evening, and we all got a much-needed solid night of sleep on the boat.

The next morning, though, I found myself facing a kind of peril I have never encountered in all of my cruising: Killer Bees! I kid you not. Around 6:00 a.m., I stepped out of the boat to stretch my legs and make a little trip to the ladies room (so as not to wake the boys on the boat) and as I was walking along the sidewalk along the dock behind Water Street Hotel, about every five or so feet on my path there was a bee sitting on the sidewalk. At first it didn’t bother me, there was just one. As I walked by he started to buzz around so I walked a little quicker, but then I encountered another and another and another. By the time I got to the restrooms I was flailing and swatting and batting them away. I jiggled on the handle but it was locked and I felt like I already had a swarm on me. Screw the bathroom! I decided to run. I was jumping and sprinting and yelping all the way back to the boat and (seriously) hitting a bee with every arm stroke. Those things were on me! The boys got a big laugh about it but I saw them swatting and yelping a little too when they made their own trek to the men’s room. The bees in Apalachicola are no joke.

We decided to head over to Cafe Con Leche for breakfast. It’s a quaint little shop Phillip and I had stumbled upon last time but didn’t have the chance to eat breakfast there. They have books and magazines and local art and fresh homemade arepas (baked corn cakes stuffed with all kind of goodies–peppers, ground beef, cheese, etc.–you pick). Phillip and I split the Picadilly arepa and it was scrumptious.

Mitch turned his nose up at the arepa (mistake) and got a plain old ham croissant. You can get those anywhere, Buddy! Boring!

We walked around Apalachicola poking in all of the quirky little shops and B&Bs.

What are you looking at?

Mitch was huffing and puffing everywhere–hot as a pregnant cow. He was cracking Phillip and I up flinging every door open with an overly-dramatic sigh and a gulp of the AC. That man is not meant to cross deserts. We found some diesel engine oil at the marina by the City Docks so we stocked up on that as well as transmission fluid to replenish our leaking fluids before motoring the ditch over to Port St. Joe that day. Like clockwork, the storms started brewing on the horizon the minute we started to think about tossing the lines. I swear those storms were chasing us!

We hunkered down in the boat to let the rains pass. While they look pretty intimidating, the summer storms were usually intense but very brief. They would rumble and flash and dump some rain and then the skies would clear. We spent the stormy hour battened down in the boat replenishing the fluids.

Yes, that’s my “work suit.”

It didn’t take long for the storms to pass and the clouds to part. We had put over a half-quart of oil in the engine and, while she didn’t emit the monstrous “black blob” that had shot out of her the last time we cranked, there was still a little bit of black discharge that floated behind her this time. It was probably a product of us running her harder than she’s been ran in quite some time, but she really was performing like a champ. Captain Mitch handled the de-docking plan and managed to get all of his ports and starboards straight this time as we tossed the lines and started puttering up the ditch to Port St. Joe.

Cute little house boats docked along the river.

And the not-so-cute …

The storms stayed on our horizon but never did anything more than sputter and sprinkle on us as we enjoyed a nice, easy day motoring the ditch over to Port St. Joe.

Phillip and I (totally exploiting our role as crew) started talking up Joe Mama’s Pizza and the big, lavish Italian dinner we were hoping for once we got to Port St. Joe. They have great wine flights there, incredible sauceless chicken wings, a HUGE family size salad (made table-side) and decadent thin-crust pizza. Aren’t you hungry now? We love Joe Mama’s! Mitch really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

We stopped in first at the fuel dock at Port St. Joe to fuel up for the last leg of the trip and, I have to say, Mitch’s docking skills really were improving. He did the whole thing–docking and de-docking at the fuel dock–on his own. Phillip and I could tell he was really getting a feel for his Nonsuch, which is a fun thing to watch. Now, did he bump a piling or two when slipping up next to his dock for the night? Sure, but who hasn’t? You have to get a feel for that too, because it’s just going to happen.

Once we were docked, our first mission was to make a Piggly Wiggly run to get some provisions for the last passage of the trip.

ARRRGGGHHH!!

Mitch was killing us over this Arizona Green Tea.

Yeah, that stuff.

He had brought two gallons of the stuff for the trip (that and eighteen, give or take, single serviecs of Gatorade–the man cringes at water). Mitch had burned through his two green gallons early on in the trip and now needed more. He meandered the Piggly aisles back and forth with no success and finally enlisted one of the fine red shirt-clad Piggly people to help him on his hunt. When she couldn’t find it in thirty seconds, however, he enlisted yet another. I swear, Mitch had two little red helpers following him all over the store looking for his beloved tea.

I’ll tell you, there is never a shortage of stories when it comes to Mitch. He is walking entertainment. Sadly, the red broads came back empty-handed and Mitch had to make do with just the Gatorade. Sorry Buddy.

After our store run, we spruced up for a night on the St. Joe town!

Aren’t they dashing?

For Phillip and I, that usually kicks off with a pre-dinner drink (or three) at the Haughty Heron.

I think he’s trying to pat his head and rub his stomach there. Not sure.

It was fun to chat with the owner there–Wade, I believe it is–because he said he remembered Phillip and I from when we came through on our way down to the Keys last year. Probably because we had spent a couple of days kiting in the cove at Port St. Joe and drew a pretty good gathering of lookie-loos! Kiting tends to do that.

The Heron folks were great, though, and even gave us a drink on the house. Then there was no stopping us. Phillip and I had pretty much forged the deal while we were motoring the ditch that day. We had been craving those succulent chicken wings, that tangy salad dressing and the cheesy, meaty goodness of a perfectly-cooked thin crust pizza all afternoon. We didn’t even let Mitch vote. It was Joe Mama’s or bust.

I know. Yum, right?

We ordered the “La Roma” pizza–pecan pesto sauce, pancetta, tomatoes, basil and two eggs baked on top. It reminded us of John Besh’s restaurant, Domenica, in New Orleans. Just great quality dough cooked in a stone oven. So good.

Our server was quite the character, too … Get this.

She was making small talk with us while dropping some linens and plates down, moving pretty quickly, obviously trying (as a good server should) to get us drinks, then appetizers, then the main course. We weren’t having it, though. This was a highlight of the trip for us. We were going to do it like the Europeans: nice and slow. We told her we were happy for her to take her time with our dinner.

“We want to enjoy the AC in here,” Phillip explained. “Because ours is out.”

“Oh, in the truck or the trailer?” she asked. A good ole’ country girl.

“Neither. The boat!” we all said heartily. I’m not sure what that makes us, but we got a pretty good laugh out of her. Dinner was such a treat. While we don’t want a lavish fine-dining experience every night, the occasional splurge is worth it. Especially after a couple of salty, tiring days at sea. We definitely indulged and it was great of Mitch to treat the crew. Thanks Buddy!

I don’t recall much about the walk back. There were lots of replays of the Arizona tea fiasco and the lack of AC in the truck/trailer, I know that. I know there was some bumping of elbows and backsides as we all brushed our teeth as quickly as we could over the kitchen sink and scrambled to our respective bunks. And I also know the crew slept nice and soundly that night. Maybe a little too soundly …

“No more two bottles of wine for you guys!” Mitch croaked when we woke the next morning. “Phillip snored all night.”

Phillip just smiled and rolled over, which made me smile too. It had been a fun couple of days ashore. But, the Gulf was calling us back. It was time that day to ready the boat and head offshore again to make our last twenty-four hour run from Port St. Joe to Pensacola. We woke to a crisp sunrise and, for the time being, clear skies. The coffee was brewed, the beds were made and the crew of s/v Tanglefoot prepared to make way.

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

I Wouldn’t Use the Word ‘Run’

December 23, 2014December 22, 2014anniedike

I wouldn’t. It just doesn’t quite capture it. Jumped. Landed. Struck. Those are all more appropriate. But, run? No. I wouldn’t say we ‘ran.’

May 10, 2014:

After a wild, peanut-shelling, hatty-hour hollerin’ night at Bowery Station, Phillip and I made our way back Up the Stairs for one final feast in Apalachicola. The braised pork shank appetizer, fresh baked bread and wedge salad were divine.

Not to mention the quaint, cozy view of the town from the upper deck. For dinner, Phillip enjoyed a perfectly cooked filet and I, according to the waitress, “put down some duck” (Caribbean style with roasted red peppers and mango).

She kept warning me when I ordered it how big of a dish it was. “That’s really a lot of food, ma’am.” Good, I thought. Because I didn’t come here for just a little! She seemed shocked when I cleaned the whole plate, so we got real crazy and ordered some dessert just for the hell of it! “Yes, we’ll have the homemade peach ice cream, please.”

In all, we thoroughly enjoyed our last night in that sleepy old Florida town. We woke the next morning, bright and early,

and readied the boat to motor “the ditch” back to Port St. Joe.

I am thrilled to say it was one of our easiest “de-dockings” yet. I am still prone to get a few heart palpitations when we pull up to docks and away from docks and near docks and around docks. The whole process is just fraught with peril, but this time the river pushed us right off. We waved a hearty goodbye to the friendly Blue Dolphin Crew anchored around us and watched Apalachicola shrink away in the distance as we headed up the channel.

And, just as it was last time, the Ditch offered us up another beautiful motor day. We eased along through old swamp-like pines, with Spanish Moss hanging the from the trees and birds swooping elegantly above the water.

Rusty old bridges, worn-out shrimping boats and driftwood boathouses littering the banks make it feel like you’re trudging up the ole’ Mississipp.

We even got to throw out the Jenny for a bit in Lake Wimico and do a little sailing. Otherwise, it was just a leisurely cruise. We read and wrote and enjoyed an incredibly peaceful five-hour motorsail over to Port St. Joe.

Bringing you the very best, from the cockpit of the Plaintiff’s Rest!

Everything was great and wonderful and perfect, until all of a sudden it was not. While we were protected from the weather in the channel (I’m assuming that’s why they call them “protected waters”), such was not the case when we came out under the bridge at Port St. Joe. We were motoring the narrow channel and it was blowing about 15 mph right over our port bow. With little protection from the South (only the thin sliver of Cape San Blas on the other side of the bay), the wind was picking up a lot of fetch across the bay and beating into us, bringing 2 foot seas along with it. The wind and waves were pushing us around in the narrow channel and just as we were coming under the bridge and preparing to hang a left to come into Port St. Joe Marina, the boat made a wicked “WHAM!” sound and slammed aground. Like I said, the word ‘RUN‘ would be incredibly deceiving in this situation. We didn’t just ease up gently on the bottom and scooch up on the soft sand. No, our boat lifted up on a wave and came crashing down on the ground underneath it. I bolted upright and looked around, thinking we had actually collided with something. We heard glass shatter below and looked down in the cabin to see that the globe from the lantern had popped off with the impact and busted into a hundred pieces on the cabin floor.

Out of instinct, Phillip said, “What was that?” Followed immediately by, “We’ve hit something. We’ve hit the ground. We’ve run aground,” as if his thought process was simply occurring out loud. I looked behind us and in front of us and it looked like we were still between the channel markers. Phillip revved up the engine to try and get us off, but we just kept hitting, over and over again. The depth was reading 5.2 but it was hard to tell from the GPS which side the shoal was coming in from. Meaning, we weren’t 100% sure which way we needed to go to get off of it. Phillip thought it was on the starboard side, but the wind and waves were coming at us right over the port bow, pushing us back each time on the shoal. We tried our boom trick, swinging the boom way over on the port side and having me hang off of it to try and list the boat to port to get off of the shoal, but it wasn’t working. We could see the marina. It was right there! We were less than a half-mile away, but we were stuck. Lodged on the bottom and beating it with every passing wave.

Phillip swapped places with me on the boom and gave me the wheel with instructions to keep trying to motor off the shoal toward port. He had pulled up the number for the marina on his phone in case we needed to call for a tow. I pushed the throttle forward and heard our Westerbeke struggling mightily into the weather while Phillip dangled and bounced his entire body weight from the boom hoping he could free us.

“Now?” he would shout between bounces. “Anything?”

“Not yet,” I would shout back. “We’re still hitting!” Ugh, it was such a sickening feeling.

Just as we were about to call it and make the call to the marina, I started to see depth on the GPS. First 6.2 then 7.0, then a joyous 8.3. Finally double digits and the boat stopped beating. Phillip could feel it and he bounced around a little harder as the boat finally started to ease off. I gunned it, pushed her hard to port, and we finally started moving forward. Once we settled out and got our bearings, we looked back, and it was clear the heavy wind and waves on the port bow had pushed us just enough outside of the channel to hit bottom on the starboard side.

It’s surprising, sometimes, how easily you can run aground when you don’t realize how much the weather is really pushing you. Our takeaway from this experience was to ensure the next time we find ourselves in a narrow channel in rough conditions, we’ll make extra effort to look both forward and backward and make sure we’re staying between the channel markers from both the rear angle and ahead. It’s easy to just look forward and think you’re staying in the channel because your path lines up with the markers ahead. But, we learned to look backward as well to make sure you’re not slipping out. It doesn’t take much of a “slip” to slam aground. We have never felt such an impact in the boat, and we never want to feel that again.

Thankfully, though, our trusty gal got us off and brought us safely into the marina where we gathered our collective breath, thanked and praised her profusely, promised we would do everything in our power to never let that happen to her again and then we hugged her. Or at least I did. A big bear one, right around the mast. Once again, despite our undeniable efforts but inevitable shortcomings, she had brought us safely in to port.

Thanks girl.

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

April 29, 2014May 4, 2014anniedike

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

First suit sighting of the trip! Finally!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our newest kite groupie – Kelli!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve told you our position on freebies …

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

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

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

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

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

We’ll miss you Gorton’s!