It ain't a crossing without a puking!

And I surely hope this doesn't become a tradition!

Back in March when we crossed over to the Bahamas in choppy seas, we were about seven miles from Bimini's shore when I finally gave in to the nausea I'd been fighting for a couple of hours and puked. I'm just thankful I got that little issue out of the way before very scary 52 knot winds hit us and I had to concentrate on other minor things like surviving.

So on our way back from West End, Bahamas to Florida I wasn't too terribly surprised when after rolling along for hours in three to five foot seas (at least they were following seas and we weren't pounding into them), I lost my lunch. Hans hadn't realized that I wasn't feeling well (I thought if I didn't say anything it would go away) and was more than a bit startled when he came up into the cockpit after a visit to the head, to find me manning the helm with my head thrust into my puke bucket, which was firmly wedged between me and the wheel. I'm just glad that this whole puking thing wasn't a portent for 52 knot winds which I'm glad to say did not happen during this crossing.

Why were we crossing in 'seas' and not waiting for a more reasonable weather window?

Because we were once again on a dreaded schedule (youngest daughter's college graduation) and Mother Nature loves to play games, that's why.

Hans shows Wilbur his 'crossing' plan.

Wilbur begs to disagree and shows Hans his 'crossing' plan.

I think Hans should listen to Wilbur more often.

We arrived at West End (our starting point for the trip home) in the Bahamas but with heavy east winds we couldn't anchor and were at the mercy of the only and very expensive marina there, so needless to say we really needed some good weather news.

What we were getting were forecasts of continuing and unrelenting East winds at 20+ knots which were resulting in 6 foot seas, and I don't do 6 foot seas! But after two days of expensive dockage we finally decided to head on back to the states with a forecast of East winds of 15 to 20 knots and three to five foot seas.

So the next morning we were up bright and early and along with a couple of other cruisers we headed back to the states. We had really hoped to sail most of the way and with the wind firmly on our stern we attempted to sail wing and wing (jib all the way out on one side, and the main all the way out on the other), but the winds actually started dying down and the damned seas kept knocking the wind out of our sails and we had to constantly regroup. Finally a little over half way across we gave up on the whole sail idea and started motoring.

And motoring.

We'd hoped to make the trip to Lake Worth, FL in eight hours, ten max, but the strong Gulf Stream Current, which according to NOAA (aka: Never On At All in my book) was supposed to cease and desist four miles off the U.S. coast (which would then allow us to actually move along at faster than two and a half knots), stubbornly clung to within one mile of the shore line like a cheap date.

It was at the ten hour mark that I puked and started wondering if we were caught in our own Twilight Zone because the cute little red boat icon on my computer was not moving at all, and then Hans informed me that perhaps we wouldn't be arriving during day light hours after all.

Just go ahead and tell me there isn't a Santa Claus why don't you!






The sun went down, our running lights went on, and Wilbur (the smart one) said, "The hell with you two, I'm going down below." And there he stayed for the duration of the trip, resting his tender pitty body on his comfy Steeler pillow.





For the next three hours the seas picked up even more, the skies grew dark, and I didn't care one bit that I'd wiped my pukey mouth all over a shirt of Hans' that I was wearing. Moving about the cockpit was very difficult and couldn't be accomplished in a normal manner and involved scuttling sideways on bended knees.

I felt just like a crab.

Since Hans is not the most graceful person in the world; when he expressed a desire to visit the head I wouldn't let him go (if you think Mother Nature is scary, you don't want to mess with me in rolling seas!) as I was not about to have him take a tumble on his way down below.

It was close to 9 PM (note: 14 hours at sea and not the 8 to 10 I'd been promised) when we finally entered the Lake Worth channel and made our way into calmer waters where we found our way to the closest anchorage. We proceeded to weave our way around the many anchored boats while I tried to find a vacant spot. And for some strange reason while I can hear Hans perfectly while I'm at the bow, he can't hear me at all.

Me (up at the bow with the search light): OVER THERE!

Hans (not going over there): I think I'll go over here.

Me (gesturing wildly): THAT'S TOO CLOSE TO A DOCK!! OVER THERE!!

Hans (still not going over there): I can't hear you, can you read what's on that white marker? How about back there?

Me (waving like an hysterical cockroach): I SAID OVER THERE!!! OVER THERE!!

Hans finally motored OVER THERE and we blessedly dropped anchor.

Due to the heavy seas we weren't able to do any fishing at all on the way back but I have to tell you I don't think fresh Mahi could have tasted any better than the wonderfully hot Tuna Helper I dished up an hour later.

I kid you not.

Guests!!

We anchored in Little Tea Kettle Creek on Thursday night and even though we spun around many times due to the tides everything held good and tight.



And once again because of the tides I think yesterday was one of our most tedious days in the intracoastal. We had three stretches of canal that Skipper Bob warned would be very shallow at low tide.



When did we hit them?



At low tide of course!



Actually, we hit the first one at low tide due to the fact that we got a faster boost than we expected to and it's just not fun to see your depth finder telling you you're in 3 feet of water. We eked through that one and then managed to catch the other two as the tide was coming in. The wind was cold and gusting to 25 knots and didn't help things either.



After a full day of this we were thrilled to see the Golden Isles Marina in St. Simons Island, GA up ahead and just as we crossed under the bridge we were boarded by the Coast Guard (after they radioed and asked us if we had any weapons on board and was our dog friendly?). Of course we had to keep moving and it was very windy and choppy but they jumped aboard anyway. Actually, one of them nearly fell in between our boats and had to let go and leap backwards into his. They pulled up yet once again and this time he was successful.


They were greeted by many wiggles and kisses from Wilbur, and one of them had to try to write on his clip board with Wilbur sitting in his lap and after verifying that we had registration, life jackets, fire extinguishers, and peeking at the holding tank lever, they were off and running. Wilbur was sorry to see them go.


So anyway, believe it or not we had guests arrive at the Knotty Cat last night for a weekend of fun, good times, and hopefully a little bit of sailing. And even after reading our blog they still wanted to come along.










Hans is leading the way as Craig (a long time friend of Hans) and Craig's friend Drew (a fellow sailor).



























Wilbur taking a rest after setting the table. He's such a good boy.













Wilbur makes a fine antenna as Drew tries to talk on the phone.





















Exhausted from his day of boating, entertaining the Coast Guard and Hans' friends, Wilbur is finally able to relax.















Today we left the marina and headed out to sea. So far it's very smooth and we don't have much in the line of wind but it's still better than being stuck in the ditch that is the Intracoastal.

I Only Wish That I Made These Things Up!

I didn't have my camera with me today when the Rescue Squad, Fire Chief, Fire Truck, and paramedics showed up to take care of Hans.


I didn't take pictures of the blood all over our spring line, cockpit cushions, and helm pod cover.

And I think I'm kind of glad I didn't as I really don't want any visual reminders of what I consider to be one of the worst days of my life.


At the end of the day Hans received just 7 stitches in the palm of his left hand, has a very bruised and swollen knee, but he's alive and that's all that really matters.


Before I go any further though, I have to tell you the Rescue Squad was purely overkill (as was the stretcher they rolled up to us) and we were shocked and embarrassed (although Wilbur was thrilled) when they all showed up this morning after Hans informed a marina employee that he might need some stitches in his hand.


And to think that yesterday started out as a very uneventful day at sea.


Once again good old NOAA was completely wrong and the 15 knots of north wind that he promised were really 10-15 knots of south wind. I will never quite understand how these forecasts can be so wrong. The ocean was as smooth as glass so I went ahead and took advantage of this situation and made a pan of chocolate chip brownies.


We had hoped to sail as far as St. Catherines but since the winds didn't cooperate and it was getting late, we headed into Ossabaw Sound inlet. We decided that after days of cold nasty nights a marina might be a welcome relief, and with shore power Hans could watch the Steelers.


Here's a bit of trivia; water depths in the Ossabaw inlet can vary by 9 or more feet with the tides, and the currents just rip. We discovered that low tide is very low and at 6 PM we found ourselves aground at the entrance to the marina creek. And we draw two and a half to three feet!


Hans immediately shut down the engines so as not to suck a bunch of sludge and sand into the engines and we thought, 'Now what?' Just then a small motor boat came down the creek and the owner, a former tow boat captain who was on his way home managed to pull us off. By now it was dark and he led us up to the marina, helped us tie up, and absolutely refused payment. "We've all been there," he laughed.


After anchoring in three nights of bitter cold temps, we were so happy to finally be able to relax and use our space heater, I made Tuna Tettrazini (Tuna Helper!), and we watched the Steelers beat the Jets. All was well.


And then at 4 AM everything went wrong.


What happened next is exactly what boaters should never do.


Hans woke up at close to four o'clock and realized that our space heater wasn't working. A glance at the navigation station revealed that our shore power was no longer connected and our inverter had shut down our batteries.

That's when Hans broke our iron clad rule. Never go above at night unless someone else knows about it. I was apprised of this situation when a huge bang woke me up. Hans wasn't in bed, he wasn't in the head or salon, and then I found the cockpit door open.


"I'm in the water," Hans shouted when I emerged from the cabin, and there he was, pinned between our boat and the dock in at least four knots of bitter cold, outgoing current.

He looked stunned and I knew we didn't have much time. I didn't agree with him but Hans felt he should try to get to our swim ladder while I hysterically babbled about throwing him a life preserver which would obviously not get him out of the water. Somehow he managed to pull himself along the dock (against the current) and then lunge over to our stern which was swinging well away from the dock, and partially swim and grab at our boat until he reached the starboard side. I dropped the swim ladder and up he came. His sweat pants were down around his knees and he had to strip them off before he could heave his way into the cockpit.

I managed to get on the dock, reconnect our power, and tighten the stern line. It wasn't until I was back on the boat that we realized that the palm of Hans' left palm was slashed wide open and bleeding everywhere. We bound it shut and after getting the rest of his sopping clothes off I stuffed him into our bunk and made him a mug of hot chocolate. Even with blankets, Wilbur, and me draped all over him he shook for a good long time.


This morning it was obvious that his hand needed medical attention and that's when the cavalry descended upon us. Even after all that the paramedics were not permitted to suture his wound and Hans had to take a cab to an Emergi-Center and get stitched up.


How did this happen?


Upon realizing that our electrical cord had pulled free from its source, Hans decided to simply jump onto the dock and reconnect it. He didn't count on the icy conditions and his feet went out from under him and he dropped straight into the water. It was a very narrow slot and I can't believe he didn't hit his head on the boat or smash his jaw onto the floating dock. We're pretty sure his injured knee is what hit the dock first and saved him from being knocked unconscious.

This one simple act could have killed him. He could have been knocked out, he could have suffered from hypothermia (the water was 46 degrees), and if we hadn't been at a floating dock he could have been swept away with the current.

Don't think I haven't given him hell for this.

Hans has been around boats all his life and this is what happens when you get complacent and careless.

I'm still a bit shaken over all this and as embarrassing as it is to post, if this keeps someone else from pulling the same stunt, it will be worth it.

Another Haul Out.

I took this video on Friday when The Knotty Cat was initially dumped into the water. She was hauled out again today, and Honest to God I don't think there's a boat on earth that's been hauled out more times than our Knotty Cat.

According to the experts today is supposedly the most depressing day of the year and I would imagine the folks at the boat yard might concur with this notion after Hans wandered up to the office at 7:30 this morning. Very soon thereafter the manager arrived at the Knotty Cat, assessed the situation, determined the problem to be on the 'outside' and promised a haul out as soon as the tides lessened. And let me tell you Tide is King in this river. Even the TowBoat US guy told us he hates getting called to this neck of the woods because of them.

When the travel lift finally hoisted our girl out of the water I fully expected to find that she'd shed her propellers but sonofagun they were still very firmly attached. The only problem was; they were on backwards and apparently our girl doesn't like her shoes on the wrong feet.

Hans immediately noticed that the propeller blades weren't lined up properly and couldn't be put into their feathering position, and he's now blaming himself for not noticing this before the Knotty Cat was launched, but I think he's being too hard on himself. The mechanic who originally did the work is off until Wednesday so the manager and another mechanic went to work. They started talking about pitch and angles and diameters, and did we have any specs? Unfortunately these details were left out of all the literature we received when we bought the boat but a call to Island Packet and VariProp (a company that offers some support for the now defunct propeller maker) answered our questions, and let me tell you that the people at VariProp are wonderful!

So in the end what we've learned is that propellers are actually quite sophisticated and not only were ours improperly aligned they had different pitches. This caused our engines to scream in outrage and our boat to race with the mercy of the current because they were of absolutely no use to us whatsoever. Tomorrow (Tuesday) we go back into the water and this time we'll have company (most likely in the form of the manager) for a bit of a sea trial to see if all is well. We're a bit puzzled over this situation and really don't understand how it happened but we also know that sh** happens and as long as everything works out in the end we'll be happy.

However, Wilbur is not at all happy with his situation. I mentioned yesterday that while we were on the hard we had to rappel him on and off the boat. Apparently Wilbur has a very good memory because tonight we had to once again hoist him up via the gennaker halyard and as soon as Hans dropped the line overboard Wilbur went nuts and tried to get away. I jammed him into his life jacket anyway, hooked up the halyard, and when he tried to flatten himself into the ground, Hans started hauling him up. Even though Wilbur was paddling the air like crazy, all was going well, and then Hans' phone rang as I was scrambling up the ladder to finish hauling my baby on board and he dropped us both like a hot potato in order to answer it (I forgave him since it was the man from VeriProp). He didn't actually drop Wilbur but it was now up to me to free a very strong and frightened pit bull from his harness and safely deliver him to the cockpit.

Tomorrow we'll have to drop him overboard when they move the Knotty Cat again and I will try to get a video.

I'll try but if he does a mid-air flip on the way down like he did yesterday, I'm not promising anything!

Hurry Up and Wait

We left Dudley's Marina in Swansboro this morning and even though it's a beautiful sunny day, we're not going to get very far. That's because we're back to dealing with bridges and a lack of anywhere to anchor or dock once nightfall approaches. We'd love to get into Wrightsville Beach today and maybe we would have if we'd have gotten out of our slip before 7 AM. But it was dark and it's too easy to keep on sleeping...
By the way, if you ever want to be thoroughly entertained; find your nearest drawbridge, make some popcorn, pull up a chair, and be prepared to enjoy yourself.

Why the big rush to get to a drawbridge that you know won't open for another 15 minutes to half hour, or even an hour (we once missed an hourly bridge by 5 minutes)? Is it a need to be the first in line? Is there a prize waiting for the 'winner'?

All I know is that after being passed by lots of boats (the Knotty Cat likes to take her time or maybe all those cases of beer she's hauling really do weigh her down) we all eventually end up in one big snarled mess in front of a bridge.

Today was a classic.

Two small sailboats who were obviously traveling together and refused to be separated were sucked right up to a swing bridge. Some bigger motor boats also crowded in and even though we hung back the next thing we knew, the bigger boats were revving up in reverse and the little sail boats were bobbing around like ninnies and one nearly ran into the bridge support. The bridge operator kept trying to hail the out of control sailboat and tell it to please start through as soon as the bridge swung open (in the opposite direction thank God) but they never answered.

Then the radio chatter started, "Doesn't he have a radio?" "I know he has a radio." "Why is he sitting there? Does he want us to go first?"

I got out my trusty binoculars and saw that the captain and his 'woman' were standing in the cockpit and apparently weren't taking calls. Just when it seemed like the big boats were going to charge through, the two little sailboats got into the act and like two little old jaywalking women, crippled their way through the opening.

Hans calls this Dancing with the Stars.

As of 3:00 we are now waiting at another bridge that opens on the hour and the sad thing is, we could have been here at 2:00. But clear back at Swansboro we had 2-3 knot currents working against us and were only doing 4 knots across the bottom while motoring at 6 knots through the water. When we realized we wouldn't make the bridge we dropped to one engine and slowed down. Of course the current changed completely and started pushing us like crazy and when we were two miles away from it, the bridge opened. We ended up waiting 45 minutes.

In the end it doesn't really matter because we're going to dock at Harbor Village Marina as there are no more docks until Wrightsville, and I don't see any good anchorage areas. Wrightsville is over 20 miles away with yet one more hourly bridge (they all stop opening at 7 PM) and with the current acting like a woman who can't make up her mind I don't want to get stuck in the middle.

In addition to all that, our GPS is still giving us fits and takes a nap (we call it a union break) every day. Fritz (as we've named him) usually wakes up just as we're anchoring or docking and acts like nothing is wrong what so ever.

Won't Fritz be surprised to find that his replacement antenna is awaiting us in Charleston, SC?

No one sleeps while on watch!

A very quiet docking at Harbor Village.

"It all started with a can of cling peaches...."

I was opening a can of peaches this morning when Hans repeated that Edith Bunker quote to me. Does anyone remember that episode from All in the Family? Possibly the funniest one ever. And that's a little how this whole sailing life feels right now, only with us, 'It all started with a pitcher of beer and some wings....'. That's when we got the brilliant idea to buy a boat and sail away!

But we are making steady progress and that's a good thing.

Last night we ended up anchoring in a tiny bay off of Adams Creek called Back Creek (every body of water in the US has a Back Creek). It was only 4 feet deep and this morning after the horrendous pea soup fog lifted we were able to pull the anchor out of the muck and move on. It's a good thing we have such a shallow draft as by then it was under 4 feet deep because of the tide.

Once we were back in Adams Creek a 2 knot current and a 20 knot south wind slowed us down a lot.

We watched out for the huge piling (it looked like a telephone pole) that we heard about on the radio that was floating along in the channel but were able to easily miss it. When we reached Beaufort the tides coming in and out of various waterways decided to have a huge battle. Turning from Beaufort and heading further south we fought 3 knot currents and a continuing strong south wind.

In order to preserve our salon seats (mostly because of Wilbur) I made covers for them out of a couple of old king size sheets.


Here is a before picture.









And the after. If I ever do this again I will use better fabric but this will do for me now.











I bought these bins at a Dollar Tree and they fit into the refrigerator perfectly!

And what a difference cooler weather makes. We only bought one bag of ice and my handy dandy little ice maker is taking care of the rest!









We saw our first pelicans two days ago. This little guy shivered on top of this piling while his friends chased a crabber's boat.

After motoring 41 miles in ugly gray rainy weather we are staying at Dudley's Marina (there is no anchoring here as the water outside the channel is one foot), and I really hope I get to wash my hair!