pensacola – Have Wind Will Travel

BV 7 (VIDEO): Christmas Kiting at Pensacola Cay

February 22, 2018anniedike

I mean, with the name “Pensacola,” we had to at least stop and see. And then we decided December 25th it shall be! Merry Christmas in blog time followers! I hope you all are enjoying our Bahamas Voyage vicariously. Fun video and blog post for you below from our “holiday on the hook” at Pensacola Cay!

It is always so fun to go back through our photos and footage and share these stories with you. Pensacola Cay. We were destined for it, right? And boy what a beautiful little stop it was. Each island in the Abacos offered something unique and memorable. Pensacola afforded us the first stretch of clear beach and enough wind for kiting. So, it was the first time we kited on the Atlantic ocean. That is not something I’m likely to forget for a long, long time. This was our first kite spot!

For us, kiting is not just a hobby, it is a sort of freedom. As with the sailboat, you are moving, propelling forward actually, by the sheer virtue of the wind. You steer by skillfully working the kite and board together just as the boat does with the wind, keel, and rudder. It’s a powerful, sometimes frightening, but more often freeing, exciting feeling to know you are harnessing the wind. There’s no rumbling motor. No stinking fumes going into the air. Nothing but nature is moving you along.

Time for a jump-off! Annie …

Man, did you see that mega-hop?! I cleared like a foot and a half! Okay, now Phillip …

I think we have a clear winner! Man, Phillip can really fly. I’m still working on jumping. It’s just not something that is coming naturally to me. So far I can either launch and land a mega-hop (yeehaw!) or launch a huge leap and yard sale it at the end. I hate to say that kiting, just tacking back and forth and maneuvering the board without jumping, is so fun to me that I often don’t practice jumping as much as I should because it might mean I’ll lose my board, crash my kite, potentially end my session. “Over a silly jump?” my mind screams. “Nuh-uh, not this kiter!” But, I love that I can push myself to that goal anytime I want to and it’s always there: a fun, challenging reward if I attain it. This—the challenge, thrill, peacefulness, and simplicity, i.e., harnessing the wind to maneuver—along with, of course, the high-flying jumps and flips, is what draws us to kiting. And to look out the opening of that beautiful little cove at Pensacola Cay to see the Atlantic ocean! An enormous body of water that we crossed in a boat not much bigger than ours only one year ago, was a really cool feeling. Like everything is connected together—time, places, and people—by water. This was us on that same body of water, not so long ago!

The water in the Bahamas, however, while warmer than Pensacola’s mid- to low-sixties winter waters, was still a little chilly. Likely seventy degrees if I had to guess, along with air temps in the high sixties and low seventies. Definitely nice and cool for a day on the boat, but a little chilly to get wet and windy in just a bikini alone. Oh, you’re right, Phillip doesn’t always wear the bikini – ha! But we had brought all of our wet gear for this reason, so we donned what I call our “platypus suits” and didn’t let it stop us!

High fashion.

It was so “cold” there, Frosty came to join us!

I was kind of surprised by the landscape as well. Many of the cays in the Abacos are formed solely on limestone, so in some areas the only walkable shore is a jutty, jagged patch of very unforgiving limestone. Didn’t stop us from traversing it, but you definitely wanted to tread carefully!

We also often stumbled upon what we began to call “conch graveyards.” I, a very naive and silly Bahamian cruiser to begin with, thought all those conchs must have decided it was “their time,” so they huddled together and crawled to shore, a heaving pile of shell and slimy innards drying under the sun. I mean, how else would they all end up piled together in a collective, crumbling heap?

Yes, I know now (after the patient and kindly Phillip told me) they’re there because that is likely where a local fisherman harvested and cracked them. Ahhh … that makes more sense. A concher left them there. Yes, “conchers” are real in Annie Land. So is the blonde hair! Phillip is rather nice to put up with me. But, my very silly questions about all the intriguing things I always seem to find when we’re exploring definitely keep him entertained. As do these beautiful views. Just walking around the islands, making footprints in the sand, and picking up shells is one of our favorite pastimes.

I had thought about keeping this guy, but after holding him five minutes (which left a hand that stunk for five hours!), I decided he was never coming near our boat. Do you see that little brown dribble coming out of the bottom?

Yeah, he seemed empty when I picked him up. I mean there definitely was not a live squirmy conch in there when I peeked inside. But every time I sloshed water in and swished it out, more of this brown goo would come out and I’m sure it was his poor decaying body, but my God that stuff was potent. Sorry little man, but you’re staying with the other stinkies! We do not bring stench aboard Plaintiff’s Rest!

With “dollars” everywhere, we felt mighty rich! : )

It was also great to see our boat anchored out in the Sea of Abaco. After all the planning and prepping and work it took to get her there, it was like you could feel how happy she was to finally be floating in these beautiful green waters!

And, just our luck, a few billowing, beautiful clouds rolled in and brought us a refreshing rain storm. That’s right, for Christmas, we gave Plaintiff’s Rest a much-needed, well-deserved, indulgent freshwater rinse. I listened closely and could hear her singing during the storm. Do you know what she sang?

“Siiiiinging in the rain. I’m just siiiiinging in the rain! What a gloooorious feeling, I’m haaaaaapy again!” (That’s what she always sings when it rains ; ).

It was a well-timed, rather-welcomed rinse for the boat and all of our kite gear stacked up on the deck. And, the storm left behind a crystal clear sky for the sunset. It’s happy hour on our boat. Cheers!

And you know you’re living right when you watch the sun both set and rise every day:

I know, I know. Sunrises. Sunsets. Cocktails and bikinis. Yes, it really is just like that many days. When we’re not changing the oil on the boat, or cleaning the dinghy, or on a gas and provision run. It is paradise. Dozens of times over with each little cay you stop at in the Abacos. But, as I mentioned, each cay seemed to offer something unique that made it stand out in our memories and distinguish each cay from the other. Do you know what our favorite thing about Pensacola Cay was?

That’s right! The SIGNING TREE!! It was something Phillip had read about before we even got to the Abacos, some big tree on the back side of Pensacola Cay where boaters leave old buoys, or life rings, or pieces of driftwood (all kinds of creative nautical trinkets) often with their vessel name, the crew and the date written or painted on it.

It reminded me a lot of the sea wall at Azores which is covered with colorful paintings left behind by cruisers who have been there.

Some of the items hanging from the Signing Tree were very creative. One had a message in a bottle. Another, a carved silhouette of their boat. One, a toilet seat! I’m not kidding. And, from s/v Plaintiff’s Rest? Your very own signed copy of Salt of a Sailor, another one of my “traveling books.”

Phillip and I like to occasionally leave a book behind in a port or place where we hope one cruiser will read it then pass it along to another and another and another, so that the book gets to meet a lot of different people and see many different parts of the world. ”Go little book, go!” we often cry as we leave her behind.

“All you have to do is be a little brave and really resourceful. Happy cruising!” I wrote inside.

Then we triple-bagged her and hung her from the Signing Tree. I hope someone, somewhere, someday tells me they found the traveling Salt of a Sailor that we left at Pensacola Cay. What if the little books is still there when we go back? That would be fine too, but I’ll have to open it to see if folks are taking it to read, then putting it back! I put a little log in the front where people can leave a note with their vessel name and crew. So, it’s kind of like a “signing book” too.

We’re making some fantastic memories along the way. Hope you all enjoyed Pensacola Cay!

Next time, we’ll take you underwater on our very first colorful snorkel in the Bahamas! Stay tuned! glug, glug, glug … : )

Article in SAIL Magazine: Conquistadors and Cruisers!

January 17, 2018anniedike

“Nice piece in SAIL! Made my lunch!” Ha! This is so cool! I had several friends and followers send me messages in the Bahamas letting me know I had an article that came out in the February issue of SAIL Magazine. You see? Even when I’m over here in the tropics, I left seeds of sunshine back there for you guys at home! Definitely get out (even in the snow – ha!) and pick up a copy of the February issue of SAIL Magazine to read my Conquistadors and Cruisers article. It was a write-up Peter Nielsen at SAIL (thank you for trusting me again, Peter, with another piece!) requested from me about what makes Pensacola such great cruising grounds for sailors. Phillip (my absolute Idea Guy) had the idea to compare the benefits that cruisers appreciate while sailing in Pensacola’s beautiful waters to what Tristan DeLuna recognized when he sailed to Pensacola from Mexico and established the FIRST European settlement in the states in Pensacola in 1559. Some very cool history for you here. ENJOY!! And, pop quiz, for 500 points: If any of you know what the word “Panzacola” (an Indian tribe that Pensacola was named after) means, throw it in a comment below. Everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. Give it a go!

May 27, 2013 – Home Again, Home Again

October 14, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Tired as dogs! We sat there on the dock for about a half hour, re-living the “best sail of our lives” and re-enacting some of the more ‘harrowing’ and hilarious moments from the initial crossing, in awe, really, that we had finally brought the boat all the way from Charlotte Harbor to Pensacola. It was almost surreal to see her there, glistening in the sun, at the dock in Pensacola. The dockmaster came around 8:00 a.m. and put us in a transient slip for the night. Once she was secure, we started unpacking the boat and looking for a hot shower and a warm meal. And, of course, what every sailor wants after a big hearty trip?

You’re darn right! We were in desperate need of a big hearty drink. It seems we had adapted quite well to the salt life. Rum now ran in our blood, calling us the minute we set foot on shore. Okay, while that’s not entirely true (that gives me the image of a grimy sailor busting into a run-down old wash house, snatching a bottle off the shelf and ripping the cork out with his teeth before he chugs it down), we probably would have done that, had there only been an old run-down driftwood bar at the dock.

That’s right, pass it this way Sparrow.

Honestly, though. We just couldn’t stay away from her. We didn’t quite get that “Ahhh … we’re finally home!” feeling. It was more like, “Hurry, get cleaned up quick so we can go back and check on the boat!” We invited some friends over to meet us in the cockpit for drinks and to check out the boat as a ridiculous disguise, but Phillip and I both know we would have spent the evening on the boat friends or not. We just couldn’t stay away. So, we headed back down to her, rum drinks in hand.

Can I get that to go please?

Rum Runner recipe

1 oz Dark or spiced rum
0.5 oz creme de bananes
2 oz orange juice

We like to add a little splash of juice from the maraschino cherry jar to give it that red cherry color, then add a toothpick with cherry and orange slice on top for garnish. And, the umbrellas are certainly fun. I got like 500 of them on a buy-one-get-one-free special at Party City months ago so we now find any excuse to stick an umbrella in our drink. I sometimes stick one in my morning coffee and tell myself I’m sure that’s how they do it in the Islands. But, I wouldn’t recommend you try it. Few can really pull that off.

Finally back to tell our story, and now with friends nestled in the cockpit, captivated, begging for tall tales at sea, Phillip and I re-lived our docking in 20 mph winds in Clearwater, our hacking off the dingy in the middle of the Gulf, our 16-hour tack from Panama City to Pensacola, the heroism, the hangovers, the hooker, everything! And, our tales probably got a little taller on round two (and were probably not recognizable as the truth on round three), but we had a great time telling them. And, it may have been the nostalgia of home or the rum or a little bit of both, but I honestly think the sun called in a special setting to welcome us back to Pensacola that evening because it was absolutely stunning:

We all toasted the sunset and enjoyed a wonderful evening on the boat, and Phillip and I knew home was never going to be “home” again if our boat wasn’t there.

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 25, 2013 – Oh, Go Fly a Kite!

July 23, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

So, we left the boat in Carrabelle and made the last leg of the trip back to Pensacola in some non-descript Ford Festiva-like rental car. And, poor car, if my best recollection of it was some model that could only aspire to the level of a Ford Festiva. I mean, perhaps they’re not that bad.

Okay, it seems they are that bad. But, it couldn’t have been a Festiva, because Mitch would have looked like this in it:

But, we did get a rental from the Apalachicola airport/car-rental/coin-operated laundry mat, and the guy who brought it to us turned out to be not only the airplane mechanic but also a pilot, the air traffic controller and a rental car extraordinaire. They really know how to double up in ole’ Apalach. But, the drive back was long and lackluster. We were leaving the boat behind. With no answers. No timeline. No clue as to what was even wrong, how long it was going to take to get her fixed or (worse) how much it was going to cost.

So, Phillip and I did what we do best: found solace in the wind. We got a great kiting session in that week while waiting for word on the boat. And, you might be thinking … kiting?? Awww, in a wispy, wheat field with a rainbow kite?

All father and son-like? How sweet!

No, not Hallmark kiting. Really? We’re talking kite-boarding. Some real bad ass stuff. If you’ve never heard of it, seen it or been introduced to this fine sport, this is what I’m talking about:

Kite-boarding. Here’s a video to give you a real flavor: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3cGHmCslxs.

It’s kind of awesome. Phillip’s been doing it for years and (while I’m completely impartial and unbiased – Phillip who??), he’s pretty freaking amazing at it.

No, that is not photo-shopped. He’s just that good. Neither is this:

That is totally me. Big, long lesbian shorts and all. Okay, it’s not, but I hope it will be, soon (minus the WNBA outfit). Phillip’s been teaching me, and I’ve got about 4-5 lessons under my belt. Kiting is definitely not a hobby for the impatient. The learning curve is steep and it takes a while to get any good at it (if you ever get good at all). Plus, it’s hard to line up the weather, the wind and the opportunity to drop everything and run to the beach for a session. It’s a perfect past-time for total beach bums, and we’re just not quite there … yet.

But, let me tell you a little bit about it because you’re going to hear plenty about it on this blog and I don’t want you conjuring that Hallmark image again. As Phillip explained it to me, kiting is a lot like wake-boarding, except you’re both riding the board behind the boat and driving the boat at the same time. The kite is your power, which means flying the kite is the most important part. Even when you’re getting smacked in the face with waves, you’re being dragged across the ground, you’ve lost your board, your shades, your dignity and all hope, you must still, at all times, fly the kite. And cursing the kite for not doing what you want it to do is also a futile endeavor. It is always operator error. YOU are in control of the kite.

So, harnessing the wind. The kite is flown in what is called the “wind window”:

Think of it as a big bowl over your head, cut in half. The wind is to your back, and the top of the bowl, right above your head is “noon” with the edges of the wind window to your left (9 o’clock) and your right (3 o’clock). These are the areas where the wind essentially blows across the kite and it doesn’t have any real power. But, once you fly the kite down into the bowl the kite’s going to have enough power to pull you to Cuba. This is known as the “power zone”:

Once you’ve mastered the art of flying, you can then hop in the water, strap a board to your feet (while the kite’s at noon) and then fly it into the power zone (preferably around 10:00 or 2:00) to pull yourself up onto a plane and take off. Sounds simple, right? Trust me, it’s not. The “water start” (getting up on the board) is usually the hardest part to learn and takes many lessons to master. But, then that’s just cruising along the water. There’s a whole world of hops, jumps, tricks and flips to master after that. For a preview, here’s the one-and-only Jeremie Tronet showing us all what we will never be able to do on a kite-board:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c03DUkKXJuE. And yes, ladies, he’s a total French hottie – Google him and enjoy.

But, Phillip (in particular) and I are definitely avid kiters and love to get out any time the wind blows. We certainly won’t be getting any kite endorsements soon, but we can hold our own:

Some rudimentary footage of Phillip surfing right into shore: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1bjxHCABD1M&feature=youtu.be

And me – now having mastered the water start (hooray!): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVrKza2r–k&feature=youtu.be

Kiting most definitely rocks. And, it at least gave us a nice distraction from our sailing withdrawals while the boat sat in a watery grave four hours east of us in Carrabelle. The mechanic (Eric, not Bailey) was still in the process of taking the engine apart and diagnosing the failure. We had no idea what he was going to find or how big of a problem it was going to be. We braced ourselves for the possibility of having to replace the whole engine. *gulp* In the meantime, we strapped on some kites and caught some air (while we still had enough money to take the time off from work).

April 17-23, 2013 – The Crossing: Final Chapter – Did He Say Curly Fries?

July 16, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

We all stood helpless, watching the boat inch closer and closer to the Catamaran. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth (the only thing I knew to do at the moment) while my mind conjured horrific images of boat crashes:

Okay, not deadly, fatal crashes, but pricey ones all the same. I was sure the boat was going to come out of it looking something like this:

If not worse:

But, just as I was bracing for the worst, I felt a tug on the anchor line. It had caught. Finally. I gripped hard and shouted to Phillip. We didn’t want to yank it up so he said it was best to let some line out and let it dig in a bit. A dicey proposition when your boat is headed straight for one three times the price, but it wouldn’t help anything if the anchor slipped. I let some more line inch through my hands as the boat slowed. Finally. We eased up to the Catamaran with just enough room for the guy to push us off of his glistening gem. We handed him a line and he helped us walk our boat over to an empty spot at the dock and tie up. The relief of having the boat stopped and secured made us forget momentarily about the engine. At least she was tied up and not going anywhere. (Ted Bundy would be so proud!).

The Catamaran guy was a big help, though, and quite understanding. Turns out he had also had a boat that was broke down on the other side of the river. It seems engine problems are common in the boating community.

Boat humor with a legal spin … man I’m on fire today!

We joked that there must be something in the water, but that was actually a legitimate concern. We checked the fuel pump to see if it was clogged and preventing fuel intake or wasn’t separating the water from the fuel, but it seemed fine. We checked the impeller (where the boat pulls in sea water as a coolant for the engine) to make sure it wasn’t clogged, which could have caused the engine to overheat. But, no dice there either. We simply had no answers. We had checked and filled the oil that morning, checked the coolant, gassed up, and she had cranked fine. She was running fine, up until the moment she wasn’t. We felt like the guys on King of the Hill, just standing around scratching, and drinking, and wiggling a wire here and there, with no real progress.

A lawn mower focus group if you will.

We tried to crank her a couple more times at the dock but she wouldn’t even turn over. It was almost like she had a dead battery, but we knew that wasn’t the case because the house batteries were full and running fine. We were at a loss.

So, Phillip had me get on the phone and try to find a mechanic that could come out and take a look at the engine. The bad news was most of them were located in Apalachicola – a good 30 minutes away – without the resources or time to make a special, emergency trip to the Carrabelle River to check us out. But, thankfully, after a handful of calls and some groveling and pleading, we were lucky enough to find a willing victim. Turns out he worked out of a marina just around the bend in the river from where we had docked, which he had been operating out of for over twenty years, and his family owned a local restaurant on the Carrabelle River. In those parts, he was the diesel engine guy.

Coincidence? I think not!

The mechanic’s name wasn’t Bailey, though, it was Eric. And he looked nothing like Will Ferrell, in case you were wondering. He had a big job on a barge to get to that day so he told us he’d stop by on his way out to see if our problem could be fixed quickly and he could get us back on our way that day. Eric arrived within the hour, and he was super sharp. He immediately began tinkering and turning bolts and troubleshooting and crossing items off of his differential diagnosis. We were glad to see him roll up his sleeves and go to work so quickly, but not pleased with the fact that he, like us, kept coming up empty-handed. We continued our super-helpful practice of standing there, watching, scratching … and drinking, but apparently it wasn’t enough. Eric came up greasy, sweaty and shaking his head in defeat. He was going to have to take the engine apart to figure it out, but he had to get out to that barge. He said he would send his guys back out in a couple of hours to get to work on it.

Unfortunately, we were approaching high noon, a very hot high noon, and we were tired and drained and just … weary from the passage. Phillip and I sat on the dock, baking in the heat, frustrated with the situation, waiting for the engine boys to come back, both of us thinking of any place we’d rather be than stranded there on a hot dock with a broke-down boat.

Perhaps lounging in soft hammocks on the beach:

Enjoying cocktails at sunset:

Or back at the helm of that beautiful boat, a gentle breeze blowing over us:

Anywhere but there. But we had a tough decision to make. It was already noon, on Tuesday, and we had at least another 48 hour passage ahead of us, assuming the engine could be fixed on the spot. The possibility of even making it back to Pensacola by the end of the week looked grim. We talked it through and decided we had to call it. We were going to have to leave the boat at the marina in Carrabelle and make the four-hour drive home by car. We were truly disheartened. Phillip and I wanted to make this passage, to bring our boat back to its home-port, once and for all. Make the dream a reality. But we just didn’t have the time to spare, especially with the status of the engine currently a complete unknown, and any solution hours, days, maybe even weeks away. We hated the thought of leaving her there, alone, miles away from home, without any answers, and we hated the thought of coming back to Pensacola in some crappy rental car, when we were supposed to sail in on crystal green waters, in our shiny new boat. Phillip and I sat somberly on the dock, one apologetic hand on the boat.

Unfortunately Mitch, however, wasn’t sharing in our mood. He bounded up to us like Tigger at the circus, all giddy and goofy, and said, “You know this restaurant here opens at noon. Do you think they’ll have curly fries? I could really go for some curly fries.”

Phillip and I exchanged a pointed look: Did he really just say curly fries?

I swear, if we didn’t get that rental car soon, I was going to shoot him.

April 17-23, 2013 – The Crossing: Chapter Four – Good, Quality People

June 18, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

I would like to say we woke Saturday morning to the peaceful sounds of birds and water gently lapping the hull, but that’s just not how it happened. Phillip and I had the pleasure of waking to his Dad hovering over us in the V-berth snapping photos at 6:00 a.m. like the paparazzi proclaiming, “Awww … your first night in the little bed. How was it?” Was? … We’re still kind of sleeping in it. So …

He had the best of intentions, but we were really waking up to a photo shoot at the crack of dawn. Thankfully, Phillip knew just how to handle him:

Phillip: Yeah, Dad, it’s great back here. Let me show you. Take that door, there. Yeah, unlatch it.

Paul (with excitement): Oh, neat. Here?

Phillip: Yep, right there. Now pull it toward you.

Paul: Like this?

Phillip (with patience): Mmm-hmmm. Just like that. Now step back behind it.

Paul: Okay.

Phillip: Keep pulling it until it shuts.

Paul (muffled from the other side of the door): Oh, I see what you’re doing …

Phillip: Yep. We’ll see you in a bit Dad.

I swear I could hear Paul’s shoulders slump like he was the last kid picked in P.E. class. (Which by the way – never happened to me – you never get picked last with a name like this):

BOOM!

But, Paul did the right thing waking us up. Whether we were going to head out that day or stay and ready the boat for the passage, we had a lot to do. We got up, made some coffee and enjoyed the sunrise while we checked the weather.

Around that time, we ran into a fellow docked there in Clearwater who, like us, had just bought a boat down in Punta Gorda and was sailing it back to Pensacola. His was a 32-foot Seaward Unlimited. A beautiful boat:

The Bottom Line. And, it just so happened Phillip knew one of his crew. They were former neighbors in Pensacola. So we chatted them up and talked about our plans for crossing the Gulf. They were interested in buddying up and making the passage together. Having another boat make a passage with you (especially one like this) is always a good idea. So, we agreed to stay and wait out the worst of the storm in Clearwater on Saturday and head out with them first thing Sunday morning to cross the Gulf.

We started readying the boat for the expected 20 knot winds and 4-6 foot seas. Phillip got Jack, the former owner, on the phone and asked him about the storm sail (a smaller sail that is used in heavy winds) and the dinghy, which was held up by davits on the back of the boat with the outboard engine attached to it. Jack told us how to rig the storm sail and told us he had strapped the outboard securely to the dinghy so we shouldn’t have a problem with it. We decided to spend the afternoon rigging up the storm sail.

Although it was the right thing to do, it was a futile endeavor because just as we were pulling the halyard to connect the storm sail, the line snapped and the sail fell in a loose heap on the deck. The halyard for the storm sail (which is a fancy way of saying, the rope) was so old and dry-rotted that it just broke right in two. So, we decided to forego the storm sail and just secure everything else as best we could for rough seas.

After a day of hard labor, we made our first sit-down gourmet dinner in the galley. Remember the shrimp feta pasta I told you about? (http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/06/04/april-17-23-2013-the-crossing-chapter-two-sailors-delight/). And, when I say “we” made it, I actually mean Phillip,

and I’m just taking full credit because that’s the kind of person I am. But, it was a grand meal, laden with heavy glasses of wine and tall tales at sea.

Full of liquid courage, we decided to hit the town and see what good quality people were roaming the streets of Clearwater. And, let me just tell you, my friends, the streets were littered with performers and peddlers of every kind of “ware” (and “wear”) you could imagine. Words will never do it justice. No, only a cheesy, finely-narrated slideshow will do.

There was a man on stilts making balloon animals (at least I think it was a man):

And please take note of the classy clientele in this photo, because unlike others, these ladies at least dressed for the occasion:

There was a woman getting an ass tattoo right there in the open:

And I normally wouldn’t say anything if Thelma here wanted to ink herself in front of a crowd. More power to you! That is IF she were getting something cool tattooed on. But no. This chick was getting some rainbow kittens permanently impressed on her derriere. Like, fifth grade, Lisa Frank, Trapper-Keeper kittens:

Real classy.

There were just crazy people everywhere. Some were talking to themselves. Some were imitating the statues:

I’d watch out for this one. I’m pretty sure she’s beyond help.

Some were apparently even dropping their panties.

Yep. It was a wild night in Clearwater. But, the finale performance for the night was a really cool one. This guy sets up a couple five-gallon drums and beats the hell out of them.

He wowed us all with his self-proclaimed (although I think it’s worthy) “world-famous” one-handed drum roll. Check it: http://youtu.be/a3IsqXpztnA. Phillip was definitely impressed:

Even Mitch was mesmerized.

Although I’m not sure you can see him in that pic. He looks just like another character we all know and love who likes to blend into the crowd:

Minus the hat I guess. Otherwise … a spittin’ image.

In all, we had a great time checking out the town and watching all the “crazies” that came out FOR the show but who, in actuality, WERE the show. We got back to the boat around 9:30 p.m. and crashed. We woke the next morning all business. The boat was buttoned down and ready. All we needed was a good breakfast before we got under sail. We hit up the local greasy spoon for one last rendezvous with our sail groupies and, unexpectedly, one last crazy! Our waitress. What a sight?!? This woman (again, I presume she was a woman) weighed about 89.4 pounds soaking wet and looked like a pile of toothpicks glued together. There were all kinds of tacky t-shirts and things hanging on the wall and she repeatedly told us:

“Now all of this crap …

is for sale!”

And, for her, “sale” had two syllables, and a “y.” I, naturally, bought a tacky t-shirt to memorialize the occasion. Who wouldn’t? Phillip and I now lovingly call it my “big boobs shirt” because it’s graced with their infamous logo:

Phillip and I checked the sea state one more time,

then it was back to the boat and time to get under way. We checked in with the Bottom Line guys and they were ready to pull out too. We picked a haling channel to go to if we needed to talk via radio, decided our next stop would be Apalachicola, an approximate 28-hour passage (138 nautical miles) from Clearwater, and set off. We had a great morning sail.

The sun was peeking through the clouds, we had some strong, but steady, northeast winds, and we could see Bottom Line in the distance.

That was, until, the squalls began . . .