red fish point – Have Wind Will Travel

Bon Buffett Voyage – Day One: A Shoddy Shifter

June 3, 2015June 10, 2015anniedike

April 21, 2015:

Last year, we spent the Captain’s birthday pillaging the shops of Duval Street, searching for “zee best key lime pie on zee island!” We were smack-dab, mid-way through our 2014 trip to the Florida Keys and celebrating both the journey and Phillip’s momentous event on the colorful streets of Key West.

This year, when we learned Buffett was putting on a concert in Orange Beach, fortuitously on the very day of our dear Captain’s birth (April 24, 2015), we knew exactly how we would be spending it — on a Bon Buffett Voyage baby!

Oh yeah. Our sentiments as well Mr. Buffett.

As soon as the tickets went up for sale, we had three laptops open refreshing, clicking and ready to buy. Thankfully, we were able to snag two tickets without much trouble in this general vicinity:

(Yes, I do wear my hair in a high pony with a blue bow … sometimes.)

We planned to head out a couple of days before the 24th and stop at some of our favorite local anchorages along the way — Red Fish Point right outside of Ft. McRae, where we drop the hook often, and Ingram’s Bayou, where we holed up last winter during our Thanksgiving Voyage — before we made our way over to The Wharf for the Buffett concert.

Very un-fortuitously, though, when we called The Wharf on the day we bought the tickets to reserve a slip the night of the concert, the lady on the phone just laughed at me, actually, it was more of a guffaw. “You’re funny,” she said. Apparently, the day the concert was simply announced, their slips filled up and a waiting list was started for us Johnny Come-Latelies. But, we signed up, figuring we had nothing to lose. As Number 93 on the Wharf Waiting List, though, it didn’t look like we had much to gain, either. So, we made a back-up reservation at the Homeport Marina with a plan to either dinghy to the concert (which would be quite a dinghy haul) or just cab it. That would also let us check out Jimmy’s sister, Lucy Buffett’s, place, Lulu’s at Homeport Marina. Either way, we were sailing our boat west for the Captain’s b’day, and we were going to that concert. “You’re Funny” Fran wasn’t going to stop us!

We also planned to finally install and sport our shiny new shifter arms for the trip! We’ve had these flaking-away old rubber-coated ones for a while,

And, it just so happened, the shiny new engraved set Phillip had ordered arrived in the mail day before we were set to head off on our voyage!

We couldn’t wait. We slapped those puppies on while we were provisioning and readying the boat for shove-off the next morning. They slipped right on perfectly and sure spruced up the helm. We were pimping now!

Unfortunately, we weren’t pimping for very long. The next morning we shoved off from the dock, smooth as silk, the Captain executing a perfect exit, but when the bow swung out and he tried to go forward, there was nothing perfect about it. I was tying up the docklines at the bow, but I could tell something was definitely wrong when the boat started to loop around to do another circle. I looked back at Phillip, and saw he was shifting and fidgeting with the new shifter arm for the transmission.

“I can’t … it’s … it won’t engage!” he shouted as I scrambled back to the cockpit. The problem was clear. Because of the unique location of the poles on our helm, we couldn’t push the shifter arm forward enough to actually engage the transmission into forward.

I won’t share the expletives we did in that moment. We tried to take the shifter arm off quickly, hoping we could adjust it but there was no adjusting to be done. It fit in only one position only–the no-forward-for-you position. There we were, out there, moving, with only neutral and reverse as options. Thankfully, the wind was on our side and she was pushing the boat forward enough to allow Phillip to steer and slow us down as needed with reverse. And, thankfully again (trust me, I realize how incredibly lucky we were that this worked out the way that it did), there was an open dock available just up the way. Phillip said he could pull up next to it so we could dock and he could run back up to our apartment to grab the old shifter arms which he had also thankfully (yes, a third) saved in case we needed them as spares.

I ran back up to the bow as we trudged forward with only neutral and reverse and re-tied the bow lines so we could use them to re-dock. And, I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but docking is just not my favorite thing, particularly when it’s somewhere we’ve never docked before and the winds are pushing us unfavorably (not to mention when we’re in a bit of a panic because our freaking shifter arm won’t work and we, you know, can’t go forward). I know the Captain is doing a lot (okay, pretty much everything) back there at the helm, but I can’t help but feel like a lone soldier up there on the deck, lines in hand, jumping off, scrambling to a cleat, strategically tying at just the right length and in just the right order, making sure our 15,000 pound boat neither touches the dock where there is no fender nor blows off out of line-tossing distance. It’s just stressful, that’s all I can say. My heart beats a thousand times a minute and I jump around like leprechaun on LSD. Thankfully, though (for the fourth and final time) we were able to ease up to the dock and secure her safely while we swapped the shifter arms out. Now — lesson of this little story? Always jump around like a lit-up leprechaun when docking? No (but good guess). To the extent possible, always check newly-installed equipment to make sure it does what it’s supposed to do before you leave the dock. You probably already knew that, but I’m happy to share our minor follies in case it helps some other poor sailor out there one day.

So, with our old very un-pimp shifter arms back in place and our first heart-pumping adventure of the trip under our belts (although it would be nowhere close to the last), we finally headed out into the bay to begin our Bon Buffett Voyage. It was a pretty sporty sail that day, but our boat romped and played in the waves like it was just good elementary school fun. “Tag, you’re it!” she’ll shout at the waves and romp away. She loves the salty spray!

Now, this might have been with a little help from the tide going out, but I don’t care. At one point, we were making 8.3!!

We made it to Red Fish Point in record time and prepared to drop the hook.

Those gloves help me grip both the anchor chain AND my rum drink! Both equally important.

The sun started to dip down just as we got her nice and secure for our first night of the voyage.

We cheers-ed to the first night of the voyage and let some soft Buffett play in the background while we kept a look-out for a green flash on the horizon.

Thanks as always, to the many patrons who help make these posts just a little more possible through PATREON.

November 29, 2013: Last Day – The Places You’ll Go

January 16, 2014anniedike

With that succulent bird basking before us, it didn’t take long before plates started clanging, corks were popping and knives were pulled from their sheaths. Yes, we keep them in sheaths. We’re sailors, remember?

See? She is totally a sailor. … Totally.

I whipped my sea-gull carver out of its holster and went to town on that turkey.

I severed every single morsel I could off of her while the crew hauled the patio table in from the balcony (very classy) and set us a royal feast.

We snapped a few fun shots on the deck and toasted the sunset while the last of the Thanksgiving goodies were baking.

And, I can assure you none of us was donning anything that could be remotely considered a “skinny jean” for this meal. Calories don’t count on Thanksgiving – or so I’ve been told. Only stretchy pants and elastic waistlines would do for this crew. And, if what they say about turkey is true, it certainly worked on Phillip and I:

ZZZZzzzzzzzz

Within fifteen minutes of dinner, we were out. (Although, it seems the turkey myth has been busted! Apparently, they now believe it’s actually a combination of booze, bad conversation and boatloads of carbs. Well, we had all of that too, so … who’s to say). We were sleeping soundly, with little wishbones and sweet potatoes dancing in our heads. And, John Besh. He was definitely dancing through mine. It was a great meal, spent with a great group and was a nice change of pace from the quiet little dinners Phillip and I had been cooking up on the boat during the voyage. But, we were – as always – ready to get back on her. We spent one more night on the pull-out at the condo, ran eight more loads of laundry (including the curtains) and started readying the boat the next morning for the last leg of our Thanksgiving Voyage.

We waved goodbye to our sail groupies, tossed the lines and headed back out toward Wolf Bay.

Dinghy in tow.

The wind was blowing about 25 knots that day, though, and it was some tight maneuvering through the ICW, so we couldn’t raise the sails for the day’s jaunt. We had to motor, but I shot some Pulitzer-worthy footage of us braving the wind and weather that day.

Video here. A Chilly Happy Holidays!!

The sun was out, though, which meant the temp was decidedly tolerable, and we weren’t suffering from frozen phalanges and snotsicles. This time. We motored from The Wharf back to Fort McRae and decided to drop anchor at one of our typical haunts, Red Fish Point (just west of Fort McRae), to enjoy one more peaceful night on the hook.

We curled up with some books and a few choice cocktails and took in our last sunset of the trip.

Great view of the pink horizon from inside the boat:

Although we had been out there ten days, it seemed to fly by. I couldn’t believe the trip was coming to an end. Getting a bit sentimental, I even made Phillip suffer through a shamefully embarrassing “selfie” to memorialize the event.

And, for those of you unfamiliar with the term:

Selfie:

A picture taken of yourself that is planned to be uploaded to Facebook, Myspace or any other sort of social media networking website. You can usually see the person’s arm holding out the camera, [or a shadow of the camera itself] in which case you can clearly tell that this person does not have any friends to take pictures of them so they resort to find internet friends on whose pages they can post pictures of themselves, taken by themselves.

Ouch. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that doesn’t apply to us. All evidence to the contrary (i.e., me, posting a selfie on the blog), we do have a few real friends. But, the term was apparently awarded the high honor of word of the year in 2013, with the best selfie shot going to this chick:

Who totally earned it with that heroic display. Click!

It even appears our esteemed president finds himself in the ‘selfie’ mood on occasion.

Perhaps Nelson Mandela’s memorial service was not the right occasion (even Jon Stewart says tssk, tssk), but if the president does it, then I don’t feel so bad about it.

After our selfie shoot wrapped and the sun set, I got creative and baked us up one last Thanksgiving treat – some fresh homemade pumpkin bread.

A box mix is still considered homemade, right??

It was delicious regardless and we savored the setting, the silence of the evening and the sanctuary of our last night on the boat. And, as it usually happens, the best is somehow inexplicably saved for last. The very last day of our 10-day ‘voyage’ turned out to be the best sail we’d had since the last leg of the Gulf Crossing. And, I’ll bet when I start to say “another great day of sailing on the Plaintiff’s Rest … ” many of you glaze over and check out, and while I get it. I do. At the same time, I hate it for you. I know it’s just because you don’t know how freeing sailing really is. I hope, with this blog, and my meager words, over time, I can change that. I can give you a glimpse of what sailing means to us. At the very least, I can try to take you along with us, transport you, plant you right there in the cockpit beside us, one hand gripped tight around the Jenny sheet, the other wiping a splash of salt water from your face, as you watch the sails pull taut and get that roller coaster feeling in your gut when the boat heels over. Hold on to your drinks kids, we’ve got plenty in store.

November 20, 2013 – Day One: The Rode Out West

December 18, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

With Big Mom tended to and Alabama in our rear-view, Phillip and I set to planning our Thanksgiving voyage. Due to the rush trip to North Alabama for the funeral and the lost time from work, we both needed to put in a few days at the office to make up for it before we took off again, so we settled on a departure date of Wednesday, November 20th, which would still leave us 10 whole days at sea. Now, while a trip east to Carrabelle, Apalachicola and the like was still do-able, it would be a stretch as Carrabelle, alone, is a two-day passage, assuming good weather, and I can tell you what we did not have that week was good weather. A front was set to pass through, leaving us with 25-30 mph winds and a predicted 6-9 foot sea-state. Not something you want to jaunt out in just for fun. There were plenty of anchorages we had heard about on the western route, so we decided to stay protected along the ICW inshore and head west in search of (what else?) — women, whiskey and gold!

Here is an overview of our planned voyage:

We planned to head over to Fort McRae first for a couple of days on the hook, then ease in to Pirate’s Cove to dock up and hang out with the local riff raff for a day or two. From there, we would jump over to Ingram’s Bayou (a place many of our sailing buddies kept telling us was one of the most beautiful, pristine anchorages over that way) to drop anchor for a couple of quiet nights, before we made our way over to The Wharf in Orange Beach where we had reserved a slip for Thanksgiving. Phillip’s clan was also planning to rent a condo there for the holiday and we – as true cruisers tend to do – were planning to make full use of their facilities! There is nothing like a hot shower and a washer and dryer after seven days at sea!

All told, our trek out west was going to be about an 8-9 day trip and we had planned one last anchorage on the way back (likely Red Fish Point – just near Fort McRae) for one last night of solitude before heading back to the real world.

So, we set off on a brisk sunny Wednesday afternoon (Nov. 20th) and headed to our first stop — Fort McRae:

Now, we’ve been to Red Fish Point many times, so the passage across Pensacola Bay and through the little inlet by Sand Island was all too familiar territory. No sweat. We could make that sail with our eyes closed (assuming, of course, no other boats, bouys, or a shore). Stevie Wonder style!

Yeah baby!

But, we had never made the “uey” around the corner and into the inlet between Sand Island and Fort McRae.

And I’ll have you know I had to Google the word “uey” for the proper spelling. Urban Dictionary says:

Uey

To take a U-Turn

I guess this is a New England thing.

Cab driver : “I’ll just bang(make a/take) a uey on the next stoplight”

Although I’m not sure that’s just a “New England” thing. I think ‘to bang is to make’ rings true just about anywhere.

We had a phenomenal sail over. But, I will say, we had not been out on the boat in weeks and I think just about any conditions would have been ‘phenomenal’ to us as we were just thrilled to finally have water moving across the hull. Although many may disagree, runny noses and chilly fingers just aren’t enough to make any sail UN-phenomenal in our book. But, apparently we were a little rusty. I’d love to say we executed the ‘uey’ around Sand Island perfectly and eased right on up into our anchorage by Fort McRae. But that’s just not how it happened. As we were making (banging I guess the New Englanders would say) the bend, the boat lurched forward and let out a slight groan. With my hands on the bimini bar, I could feel the soft, thud of the ground we hit below. And let me just say for the record – although I’m a little reluctant to admit it, we have done it a time or two now (run aground) – but it’s never a feeling you get comfortable with. It’s a sickening, discomforting movement of the boat and instantly identifiable as contact with the treacherous bottom below. Thankfully, for us, it was a soft, sandy bottom and Phillip had the sharp skipper skills to back us out, “bang out” a bigger loop and get us into Fort McRae with our keel in tact.

Now, I’ve heard some people refer to this anchorage as “party alley” because it’s usually chock full of sailboats, power boats, trollers and the like. Hence the “party.” But, we were hoping that on Thanksgiving it would be pretty sparse so we would have plenty of room to spread out. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. There were three other boats in there, a marker for some sunken hazard, a bouy and a tight shoreline that we had to deal with. Enter the infamous Swing Radius. Now, most of you are smart enough to make a pretty good guess as to what that is, but humor me for just a moment for the newbies.

Imagine your anchor as the center of the circle. The radius, then, is the distance from your anchor to the stern of your boat:

Using the radius, you can then plot out a hypothetical ‘circle’ your boat could occupy depending on which way the wind or tide pushes it. Now, with several “obstacles” around us – three other boats, an immovable marker for the sunken hazard, a bouy, and a nearby shore with outstretched shoal, we had to be sure we dropped enough anchor chain (known as “rode”) to hold our boat secure while not creating a swing radius so large it would allow us to strike the surrounding obstacles. We typically like a 7:1 ratio. Meaning, if we were in 7 feet of water, with 4 foot freeboard (distance from the water line to the deck), that’s 11 feet total depth, so 77 feet of rode.

Now, while getting the anchor set right is important, making sure we had a proper cocktail at sunset easily trumps it. So, with the tight parameters, we dropped about 55 feet of anchor chain (an approximate 5:1 ratio with our ten feet of total depth) and set to our evening ritual. A book and cocktail at sunset. Could there be anything better?

But then another boat pulled up nice and tight near us and set us both on edge. We started looking around, running and re-running our calculation of the swing radius and speculating, once again, as to the approximate distance to the shore.

With both of us being born fierce litigators and each a few drinks in and, thus, a little more ballsy to boot, Phillip and I embarked on an exhaustive debate about the swing radius. I made a rough calculation and explained to Phillip my educated guess as to the radius, to which he naturally responded:

With no one else on the boat with us, a riveting discussion ensued, in which I had to drop some serious geometry knowledge on Phillip that, if translated to a demonstrative aid, would look something like this:

Length of Boat + [ (Rode )²– (Depth + Freeboard )² ]^1/2

Simple, right? I thought so. Or at least I was sure, in my eloquent, unslurred, precise and persuasive frame of mind, that it was. And, I told Phillip as much. To which he responded:

Fine by me! I had made my peace with it. I offered my best pitch – full of reason and geometry and gin – and my plight had fallen on deaf ears (or ogling eyes – although I consider them to be synonymous). I set about to “banging out” another drink or three and resting my weary mind while Phillip got up about every hour to try and make out the markers and shoreline in the dark of night as the wind began to howl over the boat. I kept a shoulder turned to him, pretending to be sleeping soundly (lah-tee-dah) as he was checking GPS coordinates on his phone, but I was wide awake and just as worried as he. The sounds and motions of the boat from below were incredibly deceiving. What could just as easily have been the wind and a smooth shift of the boat in the water sounded, in the v-berth, like the keel wedging into sand and the boat preparing to tip over. Neither of our weary minds were resting. Phillip made one last trek topside, and I heard him walk up toward the bow, my eyes following the sound of his footsteps in the dark. Then I heard them pound quick on the deck above as he scurried back to the hatch and shouted down to me:

“Annie, I need you up here now. We’re moving.”

September 11, 2013 – The Money Shot!

November 19, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

That’s a great shot, but that’s not it. This shot – the money shot – is stellar. Not only does it capture Phillip doing something totally awesome (but when does he not do things that are totally awesome?) but he did it right in the front of the boat, the glistening Plaintiff’s Rest. This shot is supreme. Trust me – but we’ll get there. First thing’s first.

First we had to get that beautiful boat out there on the hook as often as we could between boat chores. Let me give you some highlights of our summer anchorages (and I would imagine this song is the right backdrop for this rockin’ photo montage):

Just about every Friday at 5:00 p.m. (okay, who am I kidding – NOON!) we tossed the lines and headed out for the weekend. We often went west to Red Fish Point where we stayed for our first anchorage.

We enjoyed some exquisite sunset sails over:

And you know what happens when we start sailing? For those of you who said “clothes come off!” you would be right! But, we also drink! We are sailors you know! Every time the sun would start to dip, we would whip up one of our famous “Oh Shiiiit” cocktails or pour a fine glass of wine.

Nope, that’s not the money shot either. Not yet. Stick with me …

We would often head east too, over to the Pensacola Beach area to anchor out behind Paradise Inn or Big Sabine:

And we did some serious sailing along the way – I’m talking wing-on-wing! That’s where the Jenny and the main are on opposite sides of the boat – one pulled out to starboard and one to port. Looks like this:

It is a technique used to maximize the sail surface in light wind to allow us to sail downwind when the wind is directly on our stern. Here is our Jenny and main, wing-on-wing:

And … we sailed her like that under the Bob Sykes bridge! *gasp*

But the scariest part was, Phillip let me steer her like that!

A look of total concentration. I was in the zone!

Thankfully, we made it under, boat in tact, bridge in rearview and a big smile on my face.

Whew!!

We had some buddies sail along with us on occasion to get some great shots of us sailing:

Awesome shot, too, I must agree – but that’s still not it. Almost!

We cooked up some mean meals on the boat:

Sirloin steaks with chimmichurri? Yes, please! But, the wind often blew so hard it would blow out the flame on our grill. Have wind will NOT cook! So, guess whose job it was to hold up a cover while the meat cooked.

That’s right – you guessed it – the First Mate’s!

But it was totally worth it. I mean … look at that feast! We really don’t eat well on the boat, I’m telling you. Not well at all!

We blew up my new inflatable SUP!

That thing was a beast to blow up. Definitely good for the “gun show!” We had a great time paddling around, though, once she was inflated:

Then we deflated her and rolled her right back up.

Great for storing on the boat, not so good for the back. It is a wee bit of a chore but again – totally worth it – because we always finish our chores up with a drink (or four)!

Nope, that is STILL not the money shot – although he is a sexy beast! Don’t you just hate it!

We met up with some buddies and shared a case of PBR:

Then they passed out!

And their little dog too! As did we! Day-drinking is hard.

Our “Sail Groupies” (Phillip’s folks) often came out to hang out with us on the hook:

They eat a lot! But we don’t mind. We feed them so they’ll take us out wakeboarding:

And, they helped us get it. Yes, IT. The Money Shot. Phillip’s dad pulled him right around in front of our boat and Phillip threw up a “hang ten” sign so I could snap this sizzling number. I give you – The Money Shot:

Oh yeeeaaahhh! That is money. Looks like the opening trailer for a bad-ass movie to me. I believe this is the appropriate accompaniment: Big Pimpin’

Life on the hook is hard.

June 28, 2013 – Life on the Hook

November 7, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Yes, that’s what it looks like. Life on the hook. Well, on anchor, that is. The technical definition is “living on a boat and anchored some place not attached to firm land or bottom.” (http://manateefritters.com/2012/07/13/going-to-live-on-the-hook/). Gorgeous, ain’t it? I know now how great it can be, but, I have to tell you – this whole time – I did not. I didn’t know how mind-blowingly blissful the sailing lifestyle could be. It’s like when the doctor asks you what news you want to hear first: the good or the bad? You always say the bad. Get it over with right? Right. I think that’s exactly what I did.

For this entire Gulf Crossing, transmission busting, Dasani-bottle fluid catching, mast-climbing, greasy, sweaty, exhausting ride we’ve been on, I had yet to see the real reward, the true benefit of the sailing lifestyle: LIFE ON THE HOOK. Realize, I had yet to even know what it feels like to drop the anchor (not once) and have the boat stop in the middle of the water. Just STOP. No worrying about depth, or the wind or transmission fluid. No hoisting sails or pulling in lines. No checking the engine, refilling the coolant, watching the oil temp, watching the horizon for wayward ships, buoys or crab traps. Once we dropped the anchor, the boat … just … stopped. And she was safe, and secure, and poised right in the middle of a beautiful cove about 100 feet from the shore. At first, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Without any “work” to be done, I was a little lost. You mean, I can just sit back and have a drink and enjoy the sunset? Phillip said, “You can do whatever your little heart desires.”

Ahhhh … life on the hook. Let me give you a little taste. Here’s where we went:

It was about a 3-hour sail (that, thankfully, ended much better than Gilligan’s tour). Pensacola Bay is huge and catches a lot of fetch. It’s a great sailing bay and seems there’s always enough wind to do something with. We headed over to Red Fish Point, near Fort McRee (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_McRee). It is a barrier island covered with sugary, white sand and a federal park to preserve the remnants of the civil war area fort that remains. The park is accessible primarily only by boat and appears to be lost in time, preserved and serene, like it’s a thousand miles from anywhere. We had a beautiful sail over.

We were just thrilled to have the boat back in the water, the lines tossed and the two of us headed out for anchorage.

As I sit here today, I really can’t think of a better feeling. Oh, wait, sun on our skin!

I told you clothes come off when we sail. And, we were sailing! It felt so incredible. It’s like the stress and toil of the shore you’re leaving behind just seems to stay there. It doesn’t come out there on the boat with you. The most important thing is the wind. That’s the only thing you’re concerned about. Sailing is incredibly freeing.

The minute we dropped anchor and I had the option to “do whatever my little heart desired,” I dove right in the water, first thing.

I know. Looks kind of like a dolphin, but I assure you: ‘Tis me!

My little heart was soaking this “life on the hook” gig up. Loving every minute of it. It was quite a haul, but we swam all the way to shore. The sand was a brilliant white that felt cool and smooth under our feet.

And, it made sort of a crunching, squeaking sound when we walked on it.

Fun little fact for you:

Did You Know?

The stunning sugar white beaches of Gulf Islands National Seashore are composed of fine quartz eroded from granite in the Appalachian Mountains. The sand is carried seaward by rivers and creeks and deposited by currents along the shore.

I mean … was there life before Google? (I’ll credit my brilliant friend Meagan for that revelation!)

We spent the afternoon swimming to/from shore (clothes on), then dried off and poured some wine to sip on while we watched the sunset.

As usual, she did not fail to impress. It was absolutely gorgeous.

But, after all the swimming, we were ready for dinner. We set up the grill for the first time, which was a bit of an event for us. It hooks on the stern rail and connects to the propane supply on the boat.

Phillip hooked her up like a champ and threw some chicken on the grill. I sauteed some spinach and baked a fresh loaf of bread down below and – voila! – we had ourselves a right and proper feast!

I know, right there in the cockpit, a four star dinner? I was amazed. This anchorage stuff was totally tolerable. We did have one mini fiasco, though (as is always the case with us) when we were cleaning up for dinner. There is certainly no garbage disposal on the boat, so you have to be careful not to let any food particles go down the sink drain. You either have to put a strainer in the drain or scrape the dishes over the side of the boat before washing. We chose the latter. Phillip stacked the plates and everything in the pot we used to cook the spinach and went topside to start scraping. I heard him fidgeting and struggling with something and he finally stuck his head down and said “It’s stuck.” Stuck?? What’s stuck? “The plate,” he said. “In the pan. I can’t get it out.” He brought it down to the galley and I had to laugh. It truly was stuck.

One of the dinner plates had slid down nice and snug in the base of the pan and, with a little soapy water underneath it, it was suctioned in there like a leech in the wrong place.

Don’t worry, I “stood by” Phillip and tried to help. I got that pot on the stove and tried to extract the plate with a screw driver and a hammer, using some real technical surgical skills I picked up in Nam.

Phillip even gave it a go, but that thing wasn’t budging.

We had wedged a knife in, but even that wasn’t working.

So, we decide to heat things up. We put that baby on the burner and lit her up, hoping the steam from the water below would free the plate. She started bubbling up, and popping and sputtering. I thought the plate was going to explode. I was skeered.

With one final pop and no free plate, Phillip decided it was time the plate made a sacrifice. He went topside with the screwdriver and hammer and I was sure he was planning to demolish it. I heard some banging and a rousing “Eff you plate!” and he came down with an empty pot and plate shards. I kept a piece to go along with the bolt head that sheared off during the Crossing, costing us the dinghy. I’m going to make a wicked shadow box someday.

With the dinner fiasco finally resolved, we poured some more wine (yes, more) and watched the moon rise and the stars come out. Again, it was perfection.

But, it certainly paled in comparison to the sunrise the next morning. It was my first on anchor and it was magnificent. I think I shed a tear or two, it was so beautiful. Okay, I didn’t, but I certainly took a lot of pictures! This is only 4 of the 59 I snapped that morning so know that I culled it down for you:

We spent the day swimming, reading, napping, eating, drinking, swimming some more, napping some more and enjoying every minute of the day. Life on the hook makes you truly appreciate every moment. We whipped together another gourmet dinner that night. Our go-to shrimp feta pasta (recipe here: http://havewindwilltravel.com/2013/09/23/may-25-2013-no-comment-the-crossing-finale-not-very-pc/), paired with some crisp rosé and enjoyed the sunset and dinner in the cockpit.

Sunset turned into moonrise and

like magic, I was “hooked.” This mate was ready to anchor anywhere! We were right here at “home,” just outside of Pensacola Bay, but, I swear, we could have been anywhere, the Keys, the Islands, half-way around the world. This boat was ready to take us there. It was that night, we started planning our grand adventure.