panama city – Have Wind Will Travel

Carnage and Courage in Post-Michael Panama City

October 25, 2018anniedike

While this is tough to share, it is also humbling and inspiring. Hurricane Michael was the strongest hurricane to hit US shores since Andrew. Practically speaking, it was pretty much a Cat 5 when it hit the shore the Florida panhandle on October 10, 2018. With sustained winds of 155 mph, it was just a shade under the 156 mph rank for a Cat 5. We heard reports, however, of gusts up to 178. One hundred and seventy-eight miles an hour. Can you even imagine? I think it might peel the skin off of your face. I honestly don’t know and don’t want to. Although Phillip and I are incredibly grateful for how lucky we were that Michael did make that anticipated hook to the east and missed us entirely here in Pensacola, it is a stark reminder of how close we came to having our downtown, our homes, and our marinas and boats here in Pensacola look like this.

Phillip and I recently had the opportunity to travel to Panama City to deliver hurricane relief supplies to a local church that had put together a drive. We wanted to go to offer our help, of course, but I have to be honest when I say I also wanted to go to see, to document, and to share. Hurricanes are horrific. They’re terrifying and infinitely stronger than you can imagine. Those who have the means to evacuate if a cyclone anywhere close to a Cat 5 is coming, but don’t simply because they feel they can somehow save their house, business, or boat if they stay behind, I hope footage like this can help educate.

The damage in Panama City (the only location we went to) was primarily from wind. While the damage from a hurricane is typically some combination of wind and water via a storm surge, it did not appear in the areas we went to that Panama City experienced a large storm surge. There were no signs of mud slathered across the streets or water lines on the buildings to suggest that. Rather, it seemed in Panama City wind was the deadliest force. It shocked Phillip and I to see entire fields of trees, hundreds of them, all snapped clean in half. Just from the wind. Seeing them all cracked over, my mind instantly tried to re-create the scene mentally watching full-blown, thick-trunked trees breaking from the sheer force of the wind. I could almost hear their horrific cries. I don’t want to visualize these scenes. My mind forces me to when I see damage like this. It is a humbling reminder of who is in charge on this earth, and why we should make a much greater, collective effort to treat her better, to help heal her so we do not feel her wrath as frequently.

While I share this footage to educate, I also want to shine a spotlight on the many, many volunteers we saw out, gathering and giving away supplies. There were people on the side of the road at intersections with signs that read: “Free Lunch” or “Free Supplies.” There were many donation stations. Free food, water, and ice locations. We saw dozens of freshly-mounted new powerline poles along the roads where power company employees had worked feverishly to restore power for those affected.

To the extent we saw devastating damage in Panama City, we also saw courage in the face of disaster. People can sometimes be awful, selfish, terrible things, but it’s nice to be reminded that other times they can be generous, brave, and kind. Here is a link to the American Red Cross’s Hurricane Michael Relief Page if you, too, would like to help the Hurricane Michael relief efforts. To those affected in Panama City, Mexico Beach, Tallahassee, and the surrounding areas, our hearts and thoughts are with you as you regroup and rebuild.

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

December 10, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

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

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

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

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

I’ll see what I can come up with.

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

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

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

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

Phillip and I decided to head East to Carrabelle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 26, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Best Sail of Our Lives

September 30, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

The sun peeked up above the horizon around 6:00 a.m. the next morning, finding us stretching and blinking in the cockpit, ready for a big cup of coffee and a crisp morning sail. We readied the boat, taped up a new catch bin under the transmission and tossed the lines. The sea that morning was calm and the waves were dancing and playing around the boat, literally pulling us home. We headed out of the pass at Panama City and set our sights west towards Pensacola.

To this day, Phillip and I still talk about that sail, with a dreamy look in our eyes, a blissful, breathy sigh and, sometimes, a small salty tear in one eye. Okay, no tear – those are just allergies – but we always refer to that sail as the “best sail of our life.” Because it was. The sea state was calm, 2 to 3 foot waves lulled and pushed our boat, and the water was a soft, denim blue.

It was a beautiful, sunny May day (not “May Day!” — just a day in May) and we spent most of the morning basking up on the foredeck and watching horizon.

And please do note here the fancy schmancy trash bag tied to the shroud. Just so happens we lost the flag with the dinghy (http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/06/24/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-five-a-harrowing-debacle/)and this was our rigged-up wind indicator in the interim: a good old Glad trash bag tied to a pole. We do get creative on the boat!

At one point we were sitting in the cockpit and Phillip saw a patch of light brown ahead on the water. He started checking the map and the depth gage to make sure it wasn’t a shoal sticking out that would cause us to run aground (we’re always worried about that damn depth!). He asked me to go up to the bow and look to see what it was. As I went forward, I could see the big, brown patch he was talking about but as we neared it, I could tell it was just some dirty, frothy blob of something floating out to sea. For my environmentally conscious followers out there, I’m sure it wasn’t pollutants, or radio-active at least. It was just sea junk. But it was shallow there, about 8 feet and the water was a crystal green, so clear I could see straight through to the bottom. Just as I was looking down admiring the water, five, six, seven dolphins came swimming up and around the bow of our boat, rolling around on each other, playing, jumping and diving.

Like a tweenager at a Justin Bieber concert, I started giggling and screaming at the sight of them. (And know that I had to Google Bieber to make sure I spelled it right – apparently it’s “i” before “e” – that’s just how big a fan I am). I scared Phillip half to death back in the cockpit, him thinking we were about to run up on a shoal and wreck the whole boat. But, I quickly assured him, it was just the most amazing sight I’d ever seen – no big deal. Those dolphins really were something. I’ve never seen so many swimming around and playing together like that. As a fun little aside, I now know what I think they were doing, click here if you’re interested: http://scienceline.ucsb.edu/getkey.php?key=1132.

While the dolphins were certainly “pleasurable,” the rest of that sail is what Phillip and I are really talking about when we mention the “best sail of our life.” It was around noon that day, and we’d just had a great lunch, a refreshing drink and were kicked back enjoying the sail when the wind came on us south, southwest at about 10-12 knots. The sails filled and never moved. We stayed on that tack for 16 hours. Six-teen. We barely had to hold the wheel, the sails were so balanced.

We set the auto pilot so it could make the centimeter adjustment that was needed every hour,

All set here Cap’n. Turn on the “Otto!”

then we moved up to the foredeck picnic style, with snacks, chairs, a book, and just enjoyed life. Phillip said he had never been a tack that long. It was incredible. The sea state started to pick up into the evening,

but it stayed on the same angle, south southwest, which only meant we went faster, still perfectly balanced, still gliding right along on our path with the helm needing only intermittent supervision.

Around ten, we saw fireworks on the horizon. Just tiny little dots exploding above the water.

We thought it might have been Destin, although we weren’t sure, we were so far from shore. But it didn’t matter where they were coming from, in our minds, they were for us. Our own little private fireworks show in the middle of the Gulf.

And, the moon that night was exceptional. It was bigger and brighter than I had ever seen it before, with defined crevices and craters crawling all over it.

Just amazing. It felt like we had a beacon spotlight pouring into the cockpit all night long. We kept turning around out of habit to see what big ass barge was coming up on us with that blinding light. We felt like those teenagers who got caught fooling around in the backseat in the parking lot when the cop comes up and shines a blinding light through the window. But, turns out, it was just the moon. It was shocking how clearly we could see everything. I could hold up my hand and see every wrinkle (yes, my hands have wrinkles – they work hard) in the middle of the night. And, it was a little cool so we were wearing our fleeces. We huddled up with some mugs of hot tea and just sat, letting the sound of the wind blowing through the sails entertain us. No incessant chatter, no small talk, and especially no freaking Delilah.

We neared Pensacola Pass around 4:00 a.m. and I tell you (aside from the time I jumped off without a line) I’ve never seen Phillip’s eyes light up like that. He looked like a little boy about to get a big cotton candy at the fair, sticky little fingers outstretched, hopping on one toe. He was finally home. Finally in waters he recognized. I’ll never forget his face when he saw the Pensacola Lighthouse. And, it really was neat to think this was the same lighthouse that had been bringing sailors into the Pensacola Pass for centuries.

http://www.pensacolalighthouse.org/index/history/early-history. That’s right. That life-saving beacon was built in 1824 (for a smooth $5,000 too!) and has been spinning ever since. Phillip and I took the tour a while back and really enjoyed it. The history and building are breath-taking.

With the lighthouse guiding us, we came into the Pass and started making our way home, having agreed that would forever be the best sail of our lives. Everything had been so perfect. Apparently too perfect. We finally had to pull off of our tack, that beautiful, glorious 16-hour tack, and crank the engine. Yes, the engine. The root of all evil! But it was the first time we’d had to crank it in about a 20-hour passage so all-told, it was worth it for that perfect sail. But, we had to have the engine to maneuver our way toward the pier. I went down to check on our catch bin and unfortunately she was filling up quickly. I know, the damn transmission again – could it BE anything else?? If you recall, in order to dump the “caught” fluid back into the transmission, we had to kill the engine and let her cool for about 10 minutes before I could touch the bolt to the transmission chamber to pour the fluid back in. Unfortunately, though, we really didn’t have ten minutes of sea to be a-floating through aimlessly. The wind was not working in our favor in the Bay and we needed the engine to keep us on track toward the entrance to the pier. We had to have a motor running, but our bin was filling fast. I was watching it rise to the top, clocking the speed of the drops, and trying to guess how much time we had left.

I hollered up to Phillip, “I think we’ve got about five minutes left on this bottle.”

Phillip hollered back, “We’ve got about ten minutes left to go.”

May 25, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Not Very PC

September 23, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

Like Phillip told me, apparently watching others dock is highly entertaining, particularly couples and particularly mouthy ones. It’s now a favorite past-time for Phillip and I. If Phillip and I are kicked back in the cockpit at the marina and we see some big troller coming in and hear the Captain shout “Now Linda, I need you to tie the springer line first this time!” (emphasis on first) our ears perk and we elbow each other and silently nod toward the troller because we know we’re about to get a show.

First off, trollers are huge. They need lines running from every direction to hold them in place.

Second, we know we’ve got a couple, a highly vocal Captain and a poor ‘Linda’ somewhere who’s scrambling for lines. We also know this is not the first time they’ve docked together because apparently old Linda didn’t tie the right line first last time and the Captain was displeased. He then shouted “And make sure to do a cleat hitch, remember!” (emphasis on MEM). Poor, poor Linda. A cleat hitch isn’t hard. It’s just around a couple of times, some swoop loops on each end and pull tight (or that’s how I’ve programmed it into my mind anyway – real technical Annie speak for you), but here ‘tis:

Sadly, though, it seems our dear friend Linda had been struggling with it. Poor, poor Linda. Phillip and I smiled slyly at each other. Oh yeah, this scenario is fraught with potential. We are definitely watching and standing ready to hop up and grab a line if Linda botches it.

It seems the good folks of Panama City felt the same about Phillip and I that day, and they, too, were definitely watching. Thankfully, they were also ready and willing to lend a hand. As the boat lurched into the slip, an old salt came running down the other side of the dock (apparently the side I should have jumped off on) and had Phillip throw him the stern line. He told me to jump back on the boat and toss him the bow line, which I did. I then jumped off, this time with a springer line in hand, and got us nice and secure. Whew! No crashed boat, no dock wreckage, and Phillip’s eyes finally returned to normal after an hour or so. Well, technically after a drink or three.

Having played the role of Let-Down Linda for the day and justifiably displeasing the Captain, as soon as we were showered up and back on the boat, I promptly threw him together a stiff drink. That always helps!

Here you go Cap’n.

Whew. He smiles. All better.

And yes, people, I was wearing a dress. You can see a little white fluffy sliver of it in the first pic. I mean, I only jumped off the boat without a line – no damage was done – it warranted a remorseful drink only, not a full-frontal apology, okay?

After drinks on the boat, we set off and and started foraging for drinks on the street.

Downtown PC was quaint and lively with fun little quirky bars scattered about. We decided on a place , that being The Place (http://www.theplacerestaurant.net/4543.html), and popped in for a swig.

The old-timey bar was great (and well-stocked!). Our bellies full of fine liquor and our “spirits” high, we stumbled on back to the marina to stock up on transmission fluid and hunker down for the night. Phillip played the domestic role this time and whipped us up an amazing batch of shrimp feta pasta.

Don’t crowd the onions!

This dish has definitely become a favorite for us on the boat. The ingredients are fresh and easy:

Onion, parsley, garlic and shrimp.

Oh, and butter of course. That salty, yellow bounty of the gods. Butter just makes everything better.

Tossed with fresh tomatoes and pasta. Super simple and easy to throw together at sea. (Recipe here: http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/06/04/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-two-sailors-delight/).

And, as it always seems is the case at marinas, we had some front-row seating to some real entertainment while we were making dinner. While we definitely prefer to anchor out as opposed to docking at a marina (for one, it’s cheaper – the nightly rate on the boat is … ummm … FREE) it is fun sometimes to stay at the marina and watch all the “crazies.” They’re everywhere. And, marinas seem to attract a very unique breed of them. Drifters, so to speak.

While Phillip and I were putting the finishing touches on dinner and setting the table up in the cockpit, we noticed the guy next to us was working on a real project boat. It was dusty and chalky with tools and buckets and hammers lying everywhere. A real mess of a boat. It looked something like this:

And he was coated with dirt and paint splatters, sweating and sanding away on the deck. Then, out of nowhere, we see this woman walking toward his boat. Well, I take that back we heard her first, very distinct heel clicks coming all the way down the dock. And, these were some serious heels, wedges I guess you would call them, about yay high:

Yeah, the crazy kind, that crazy people wear.

And when she finally came into view and we could take her in, she looked something like this:

Yeah … a real fox. And, paint-splatter guy looked something like this:

I know, right? This scenario was fraught with potential. We were definitely watching. Phillip and I slouched down a bit in our cockpit and eyed them furiously over the rims of our rum drinks. Miss Fox walked right up to his boat, gave him a knowing nod and held her hand out for assistance. Dirty Dude helped her into the cockpit, no words having been exchanged yet that we could tell, and she turned around and made her way backwards down the steps in the companionway. Granted, I think that’s the only way you can take steps like that

in heels like those.

Once she was down below, Dude put his hand in his pocket, pulled out something that I can only describe as “folding money,” fondled it for a minute, then shoved it back in his pocket and followed her down. Phillip and I shared an excited “inquiring minds want to know” look and kept our eyes on them. They stayed down for all of 3.5 minutes, give or take, and then she came back up solo (not a smudge of makeup out of place) stepped off his boat and clicked her heels right on down the dock. Dirty Dude came back up about a minute after, big grin on his face, chugging down some Gatorade and then he set back to work on this boat, like nothing ever happened. Phillip and I poured over the possibilities. Was she a hooker, a prostitute? His dealer, his daughter? Who the heck knows. Marinas are so entertaining. Hell, sailors are entertaining. This one, in particular, was not very PC.

Phillip and I could not stop chuckling about it as we plated up dinner.

Table for two please?

This place was super fancy. We had to make reservations well in advance. I mean, it was dinner

AND a foxy show.

We were ready for a relaxing evening after the passage from Carrabelle and we knew we needed a good night’s sleep before we made the last 24-hour run to Pensacola. We settled into the cockpit, devoured the shrimp pasta and toasted the sunset before calling it a night.

May 25, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Duct Tape and Dasani

September 10, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

There we were, with fluid dripping out of our brand new transmission like a leaky faucet and we were two hours from Carrabelle, two hours from Apalachicola, at least two hours from any port. It was like a geographical oddity.

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

We were two hours from anywhere!

And with only a half-quart of transmission fluid to go on. Having run her completely out of transmission fluid the last time, did we think to pick up more to have on board in case we needed to add more to the new transmission. Of course not! That would be way too effin smart. Nope, this was the same half-quart the infamous Mitch tried to hand us when we were topping off the fluids the morning she locked up in the Carrabelle River (You remember the Irony! http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/07/29/april-29-2013-oh-the-irony/). I’ll bet his greasy fingerprints were still on it. I can just see Mitch now, leaned back, fingers steepled, his body racked with the bellowing “Muuuu-ha-haaaa” laugh of an evil villain.

Okay, so I couldn’t find a picture of Mitch arched back in “villain mode.” Every picture I have of him he looks so sweet and blue-eyed. Mr. Innocent. But I know better. That Mitch is an evil, dynamite-laying, mustache-twirling villain. Deep down. A real Boris, that man.

And I just have to point out the “irony” of this Boris-comparison because Mitch’s real-life “Natasha” is not nearly as … vertically inclined.

You see. Gorgeous? Yes! Tall? … not so much. But, we love Michelle. You’ll see more of her soon, I can assure you.

But, Mitch and “Natasha” and all other evil transmission villains aside, we had really found ourselves in a bit of a pickle. Every drop of fluid that splashed to the bilge put us one drop further from home, and we had a long way to go. Let me put things in perspective for you. Here’s the trip we had yet to make to get our boat from Carrabelle to Pensacola:

Yeah, that’s right. Quite a ways to go. And, the first leg of the passage, from Carrabelle to Panama City:

is about 90 nautical miles, roughly a 22 to 24-hour trip.

Then the last leg, from Panama City to Pensacola:

is another 24 hours, easy. Like I said. Quite. A ways. To go. Hence, the pickle. The transmission drip was kind of a big dill. (Mmm-hmmmm … that’s right. Pickle jokes. Man I’m on fire today!)

Remember, we had very little wind that morning. It might have been blowing 3 mph. Maybe. But it was blowing out of the southwest, right on our nose, so it certainly wasn’t working with us. We weren’t going to get anywhere sailing even if I jumped up on the deck myself and blew into the sails.

And I’ve got a mighty set of lungs!!

Chill folks … That’s just me blowing up a rockin’ marshmallow number for Halloween last year. You remember ole’ Stay Puft??

Damn that was a great costume!

Okay, back to the tranny. Fortunately we still had cell reception so we called Mechan-Eric to see if he had any brilliant ideas. UN-fortunately, he didn’t answer his phone and we had to leave a message. You can just imagine the agony of the next few minutes while we watched little tiny pink drops fall to an untimely death in the bilge, one after the other, while I constantly checked my phone.

Slide to unlock. Click. No messages.

Tick, tock.

Click. No messages.

Drip, drop.

Then. Finally! My phone shimmied and vibrated on the nav station, like a happy little bee. Such a glorious sound. I clawed and clamored and clicked that thing open faster than I ever have before. It was Eric calling back with what he said was “good news.” If you recall, the guy we bought the new transmission from had bought it brand new for his own project boat, that he, as many men often do, couldn’t seem to find the time for. So, the transmission sat on a shelf for over a year. Eric said he had seen that happen before, when a new engine component sits for a while the little rubber gaskets inside dry-rot and have to be replaced. Eric was sure that was it, just a simple little 97-cent gasket. An easy fix. “Just keep pouring more fluid in and you can replace the gasket when you get home,” he said. “Good news, right?”

Wrong Eric. Very wrong. As you know, we didn’t have that much “more” to pour in. (Cue the evil Mitch laugh again).

I explained our half-quart dilemma and Eric must have been on fire that day, too, because he did have a brilliant idea. Catch it. Capture it. Find a way to save those little pink drops of gold and pour them back into the transmission. Reduce, reuse, right? I nodded slowly and gave Eric the old “mmm-huh” as my inner gears started spinning. I relayed the news to Phillip, who responded with a blank, mind-boggling stare. “Do what??”

Thankfully, for Phillip, for the boat and for that damn transmission, I grew up country.

That’s right. Country. As a child, I “summered” on my Grandma (aka “Big Mom’s”) farm. In Alabama.

With cows.

And dogs.

And a four-wheeler!

Man, farming’s exhausting …

But, if there’s one thing I learned on the farm, if you can’t get there in mud boots or fix it with duct tape, it’s probably not worth it.

So, my country instincts kicked in.

“Phillip, I’m going to need that Dasani bottle.”

“And some duct tape.”

I cut the top off of the Dasani bottle and flipped it over to make a funnel into the bottle and taped it on.

Real high-quality engineering. Then I taped her up under the shifter arm of the transmission where the drip was coming from.

The drip was coming from the base of this bolt here and would then fall into the Dasani funnel:

The fluid would then pool in the bottle and voila!

We’ve now successfully “captured” the transmission fluid and can pour it back into the transmission as needed. See? Nothing to it. Just takes a little country ingenuity is all. … And some duct tape.

With the ability to recycle the fluid, we were then able to keep on trucking across the Gulf. We set our sights on Panama City and never looked back.

May 20, 2013 – Play Some Skynyrd!!

August 23, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

So, the last leg of The Crossing. The final push. The last mile. The home stretch. This was it. After a month sitting stagnant in the lonely waters of the Carrabelle River, we finally got word our boat was ready to come home. Mechan-Eric called on Monday to let us know he was expecting the transmission on Tuesday and would be installing it on Wednesday. “That’s great,” we said. “We’re coming Thursday.” And so the feverish planning began. Phillip and I had talked to some friends about helping us make the last leg of the passage back, but it seemed no one could get away for another 5-6 day trip … Except ME!!! I felt like Gladys at the Senior Citizen’s Dance – just dying for Phillip to Pick me! Pick me!

I’d learned a lot on The Crossing and felt like I had really earned my stripes. I was ready. Put me in coach! As true as that may have been, I had certainly proven myself sea-worthy on the first leg of The Crossing (or so Phillip told me while he gave me an “atta girl” pat on the head), the sad truth was I was the only one available. I was his only hope, so I got the position by default:

Fine by me. That meant I was going!

So we started planning. We decided to leave on a Thursday (May 23rd), via a ride from our ever-faithful sail groupies (aka Phillip’s folks), enjoy a final leisurely stroll with them through downtown Apalachicola on Thursday afternoon, crash on the boat that night and get up Friday morning to make the first passage to Panama City, about a 24-hour run. We were going to decide then whether we wanted to stop in PC for the night or just keep trucking across the Gulf to Pensacola.

We started making another provisions list (you remember the beast of a list we put together for the initial Crossing: http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/05/19/april-12-2013-purchase-and-pork-planning-and-provisions/), planning out our meals, checking our inventory of equipment. Making lists and checking them twice, basically. Since we were a little more comfortable with the boat (and figured with just the two of us, minus one mouthy second mate, it would be a bit quieter this time), we planned to bring a few more leisure items this time – books, the Kindle, the ukes, etc.

Wait. Record scratch. Errrhhht. The whats?!?! You heard me. The ukes. Ukeleles.

Little four-stringed guitar wannabe instruments that are great for the beach or the boat or just about anywhere your little uke-ing heart desires to play them. You’ve heard them, I’m sure, in many Jack Johnson numbers, but I think Eddie Vedder really gave them that rock star sizzle.

Oh, and there was also that Hawaiian guy with the rainbow song:

Whatever Iz name is. Ha ha. I kill myself some times.

My blog, my cheesy jokes. I get to laugh if I want to.

Phillip actually got a uke first after several of his friends started bringing them to the beach to pick around on while waiting for the wind to blow. Turns out, picking on a uke is much better than picking gnats and flies off each other while you’re sitting around waiting for the wind to blow. Once he got one, I was destined. We started out with some Mraz:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoHw-hqiJHA&sns=em

Then graduated to some classic rock:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp-F7nWZGmw&sns=em

I mean, who doesn’t like Marshall Tucker Band? Seriously? I can tell you these classy folks right here do.

We hit the town for some post-uke session drinks after the filming of that fine Marshall Tucker number. We were the ones in the back of the bar, PBRs in hand, shouting “Play some Skynyrd!”

Yep, real classy.

Phillip and I are certainly not headed for a record deal anytime soon, but we don’t really care. We just have a good time plucking and a-playing.

Besides my heart’s still set on Broadway. I think my pal Lucy and I got a real shot!

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=4992095483331

Ahh … the things I post on the internet for your sheer entertainment. You can thank me later – or better yet, thank Lucy. She rocked that number!

So, with the ukes and our musical ambitions on board, we set our sights on Apalachicola and getting our boat home. Finally. The big trip was just two days away and we were beyond excited! I mean, could life get any better??

April 17-23, 2013 – The Crossing: Chapter One – Sail Groupies and Sardines

May 27, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

So the boat, while ours, was still down in Punta Gorda, with only one way home: across the Gulf of Mexico. The plan was to drive down on the 17th, a Wednesday, set sail on Thursday morning and, over the course of the next five days, sail her back to her new home port in Pensacola. Our first planned stop was Clearwater. That was an excepted 24 hour run from Punta Gorda (Port Charlotte on the map). Then we planned to make the big crossing from Clearwater to Panama City.

(NOAA chart for all you sailing aficionados: http://www.charts.noaa.gov/OnLineViewer/411.shtml).

As you can see, the crossing from Clearwater to Panama City (218 nautical miles total, the majority of which would be spent 100-150 miles offshore – hence the name: The Crossing) was going to be the real beast of the trip. “The hair on the dog” as my Dad would say. Assuming good weather and good speed, The Crossing was expected to take about 48 hours. Yes, you read that right. 48 hours. That’s a day and a half of sailing or motoring, someone always at the helm and another always on watch, i.e., awake, alert and ready to assist as needed in the cockpit or up on deck). That translates to just a few hours’ sleep for each of us over a 48-hour period. In other words, not much. There were also a lot of firsts involved. Our first time on this boat, our first time using the systems and learning the lines and rigging, our first time together as a crew, our first time crossing the Gulf and, not to mention, my first time, ever, making a passage like this on a sailboat. My primary goal was to learn quickly and perform well so I could become a dependable member of the team. Survival was a close second and enjoyment was never a concern. Adrenaline pumped through me daily, jumping and snapping like a dog on a tight leash, eager to feast on the adventure. I was going to throw lines, raise sails and hold the helm with the best of them. Eat salt for breakfast, lunch a dinner. I imagined myself a real sailor.

Of course, in my mind, I was going to look like this:

while doing ALL of that. . . . Totally do-able.

Finally the departure date came and it was time for us to head down to South Florida. Because we had to drive down and sail back, we needed a one-way ticket to Punta Gorda. Cue Phillip’s folks. They did us a real favor by driving us down, but they also wanted to make the passage with us vicariously by meeting up with us at several ports on the way back. Sort of like sailing groupies if you will. We were thrilled to have them on board.

“Mary, you ready to go?” “Why, yes, Annie, I believe so!”

It took some doing, but we finally got everything (recall the lengthy Provisions List) packed up in the rental and hit the road around 1:30 p.m. on the 17th.

Now I want you to note several things in this picture. First, that we had a truck (not an SUV), which means we had to tarp everything down in the back in case it rained and watch it flap and bounce around and generally cause trouble the whole way down. Second, that our trusty second mate, Mitch, whom you see to my left here, is about 6’4” – on a good day. He’s definitely a tall drink of water. Now . . . why is that important? Because that truck Phillip’s dad had rented was about as big as the inside of a sardine can. It was tiny.

Phillip’s dad protested:

But Mitch had to eat his knees (even in the front seat) the entire 9-hour trip. I’d feel sorry for him if he hadn’t been so damn vocal about it. It started the minute we climbed in, and it was enough to drive Phillip to drink!

Me, too, for that matter. Look who’s reaching for a swig. “Save me some!”

But we crammed in there tighter than a van full of illegal aliens crossing the border and started heading south. (Why, here we are getting out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyrugCTk-xk&feature=fvwp&NR=1. Damn border patrol’s always after us!)

We finally made it down to St. Petersburg (an hour shy of Punta Gorda) around 9:00 p.m. and stopped for a feast at Mike’s Café. The chef there made us a special dish when he heard of our sailing endeavors:

That, of course, didn’t last long with this group. We were famished. We finally made it to the hotel around midnight and crashed hard. The plan was to get up around sunrise, get to the boat, get it packed up and get under sail before noon. We probably fell asleep before our heads even hit the pillow. All we could think about was that boat and the open ocean. Our adventure was about to begin.

March 6, 2013 – On the Hunt for a Good ‘Ole Boat

April 8, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

While the Pacific Seacraft was undoubtedly a quality boat, we were still struggling to justify the price. It was going to require some serious penny-pinching for us just to get the boat and another disheartening sum to get it in cruising condition. Instead of “Yes, I’ll have the veal scallopini, please,” we were going to be that embarrassing couple that brings their own PB&Js to the restaurant and then cleans out the table condiments and the mint bowl on the way out. You really don’t get invited back much after a scene like that plays out, trust me. So, after some thought and a smart nudge from our broker (thanks Kevin!), we decided to take a look at some “Toyotas,” i.e., older, more affordable boats that boasted the same cruising capability for half the price.

One of the first boats that fit this bill was a Morgan 382 that had just come in from a circumnavigation. Yes, that means exactly what you think it means. All the way around the world. Not only is that just awesome. Period. But the fact that the boat had been used, really used, and had proven itself, was definitely a confidence-builder, and it was priced well.

But, others had the same idea and were chomping at the bit to see this boat too, so we had to move quick. Luckily, Phillip already had a trip on the books down to Panama City where they were docked so he squeezed in a detour to the marina to check it out. Sadly, though, it had two major downfalls. The cockpit benches were cut out on each side to allow maneuverability around the massive (a.k.a. big, honking) steering wheel.

Meaning, you could not stretch out in the cockpit. This was a deal-breaker for us. As Phillip explained it to me: “The cockpit is like your living room. It’s where you’ll spend most of your time. It’s got to be comfortable.” So, the T-shape cutout in the cockpit was a big downer, but that wasn’t the only thing. Phillip also found, while it was beautiful, the galley and salon felt tight and cramped, even for a 38-foot boat.

Like I said in the beginning, you just know when you step on the boat, and Phillip knew when he stepped on this one that it wasn’t right for us.

So, the Morgan was a no-go. But, to optimize Phillip’s time in PC, our trusty broker had lined up a viewing for him of a Tayana 37 that had already sold but was still in the marina and available for some good poking around. Tayanas are built in Taiwan and are hand-crafted, each one of them, which makes each one unique, and the woodwork is exquisite. Think carvings and shapings worthy of an old Spanish chapel. They’re also sturdy as hell. It’s like a tank … on the water … with sails on it.

Phillip really liked the build of the Tayanas so we decided to add them to the list. In all, we knew we were pleased with the quality and performance of the older boats, not to mention the affordability, so a Toyota it was going to be. We were now squarely on the hunt for a good ‘ole (emphasis on ‘ole) boat!