I'm With Stupid.

 

Poor Wilbur lies atop my foul weather gear. It was used far too often during this trip.

When we reached the end of our voyage and reversed our route to head home from the Bahamas, we suffered a disastrous re-crossing of the Exumas Banks from Nassau to Cat Cay, and 'I'm With Stupid' is what I truly feel our boat should be named. I'm not kidding when I say we experienced a text book Sail Magazine 'what we did wrong' with very little of 'what we did right' kind of experience.

We departed Palm Cay Marina (where we performed a successful surgery on Windy), anchored in West Bay for a night, and then crossed the Northwest Channel (with a touch of the Tongue of the Ocean) the next day. Along with a cruising couple who'd left us in Blackpoint in order to reach Georgetown and then actually caught back up with us, we dropped the hook together at the Northwest Shoal anchorage for the night. We were feeling pretty darn good about everything and early the next morning we both hoisted our mains at anchor and beat it for the long trek to Cat Cay just south of Bimini.

The wind was perfect, we put out the jib, shut the engines down and exalted in a beautiful day at full sail, until the wind died at noon. So we furled the jib and let the main do its thing.

At one point we noticed a line dangling in front of our dodger and were shocked to find it was the topping lift from our boom. Hans had tied it with a bowline knot and a couple of half-hitches several years ago and I guess after all the slamming and banging we endured over the last couple of months it finally gave way. The fully raised mast is what kept the boom from swinging around like a billy club (or smashing down on our on bimini). So while under sail Hans was able to tie it back to the boom.

Not long after that I remarked that I didn't like the look of the clouds way off to our port side and shouldn't we drop the main? Since we now had next to no wind and about seven hours to go (we'd already been underway for five) Hans agreed. Why I didn't say something, I don't know, but when we started furling the main into the boom I thought it sounded strange. Damn! The topping lift Hans had tied off earlier had too much slack in it and was now caught in the boom furling mechanism tight as a drum. And there was no releasing it. We had no choice but to drop the main onto the boom and try to secure it. Our main is new and crackly and stiff, so dropping it was a chore. We ended up with each of us standing on either side of the boat while we tossed a long dock line back and forth over and under the boom and cinched it tight. In that short amount of time we got pretty soaked because those pesky clouds I'd spotted earlier had moved in and it had started raining.

Our main lashed to the boom.

Whew! we said, aren't we glad that's out of the way and cranked up the engines just as the shit hit the fan. The non-existent wind kicked up and we were suddenly seeing 20 plus knots on the beam and it kept getting worse. Poseidon then pulled a filthy shower curtain around the Knotty Cat and let loose with all kinds of mayhem. The wind continued to build, and our boom, thanks to our lashed down yet billowing main sail, started swinging back and forth with a vengeance. We ended up utilizing yet one more dock line and this time we tied it around our main sheet and yanked it tight to a rail. I leaned out and ventured a peek at the main, shuddered, and staggered back to helm where I stood for the next five hours in the wind and rain. Wilbur, who normally stays with us in the cockpit, hustled his little pitty butt down below when the rain started slashing through the cockpit.

That black line tied to the main sheet kept the boom in place

We slalomed and slid up and down the waves that had built quickly and they were pretty sizable considering we were only in 12 feet of water. I'd hate to think what we would have experienced if we'd still been in the Tongue of the Ocean which is thousands of feet deep. The wind settled in at a steady 30+knots, the gray clouds continued to empty buckets of water on top of us, and while Hans sat in the captain's seat, I found I was most comfortable standing and grasping the handles of the helm and companion way with each hand (the next day I wondered why all my knuckles ached). I ventured down below in an attempt to use the head and even though I did my usual crab walk I still managed to get body slammed into a couple of walls.

Every time I slid the companion way door open to check on Wilbur, I was apprised of yet one more horror taking place down below. Stuff was falling all over the place, and when Wilbur expressed interest in coming up top, he immediately lost his footing and fell heavily on his side. He turned tail and shot back down below where he panted heavily even though he had plenty of water. At one point he stood with his front legs on the companion way steps and it wasn't until later that I figured out why. The settee where he would usually lie now contained along with various miscellany, our heavy road rocker, and our berth (I didn't get down there until we anchored) where he likes to nap, was covered with tons of books. These books reside on a shelf in the center-most part of the boat and I'm still amazed that they fell. I finally quit looking down below when I saw the garbage can had tipped over and my 'First Mate' Tervis Tumbler was in pieces on the floor.

And once again we forgot to roll up our portable solar panels but I'd tied them down pretty securely on top of our upside down dinghy stowed on the bow. Except; Dear God! I'd forgotten to secure the dinghy itself to the deck and a couple of hours into our little adventure I was horrified, when we fell hard to starboard, to see the dinghy slide in an alarming fashion across the deck and come to rest on the lifelines. Hans forbade me to go up front and try to fix the situation I'd put us into but I was afraid the dinghy would become airborne and take out our fore stay. This also put a huge strain on the solar panel connectors because they were now stretched to the limit and we'd already ripped those connections apart in Ft. Myers.

I guess there's something to be said for wishful thinking because for the next few hours (and I mean hours!) I stood there clutching the helm and willed that damn dinghy to stay in place. It did. Finally, the wind and rain started to ebb and at around 7PM we finally motored into Cat Cay and dropped the hook in surprisingly calm water. We stripped off our foul weather gear and after comparing our pruny fingers and toes we set about straightening up the boat. I was totally beat and after our friends expressed their intention to cross the Gulf Stream to the USA the next morning I told Hans no way was I up for that. We didn't have enough weather information and I also felt that after such a long strenuous day we shouldn't push ourselves.

Of course the next day turned out to be a perfect 'crossing' day and the Atlantic resembled a huge mirror; absolutely calm with zero waves. By the time we realized this, it was too late.

If this were that Sail Magazine article I'd list what we did wrong along with what we did right, but you can already see what we did wrong along with basically nothing done right.

Thank goodness for Lady Luck.

 

At the end of the day; our friends from Island Bound heeling nicely.

 

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Highs and Lows

Another sunset in Marathon

 

I'm talking about the highs and lows of living aboard a boat (although 'highs and lows' could also be a weather reference which as we all know is extremely important when cruising).

I'm beginning to find a strange rhythm to the whole 'I love living on a boat-I hate living on a boat' thing. And it's almost cruel.

It never fails that after we experience a spate of good tidings and begin to relax about our life at sea and exclaim, "Wow, are we lucky or what?", fate turns around and smacks us right upside the head. Every single time.

If you follow our blog at all you'll know what I mean.

 

Just short of two months into our re-entry of the cruising life we've had to have our dinghy's carburetor rebuilt, we've ran aground (but got off on our own) a few times, dragged anchor several times, woke up to and also sailed into pea soup a couple of times, discovered a fresh water leak (our starboard water tank's overflow valve has joined the same troublesome union the rest of our working systems belong to) underneath the mattress in our berth, beat our brains out trying to discern why our batteries couldn't hold a charge, and ended up replacing both engines' alternators.

 

In between these trials, we've had friends join us for a week, met up with friends from years past, actually got to the Dry Tortuga's (Hans can scratch this off his bucket list), enjoyed some beautiful achorages along with beautiful sunsets (sunrises don't come easy to us), unexpectedly ran into friends from our home port of South Pasadena while we were in fabulous Key West, and lastly, after a horribly long day of enduring a 'washing machine' passage (my opinion, while Hans feels it was one of the best sails we've ever experienced) we found ourselves moored in Boot Key Harbor here in Marathon.

When we first went past Boot Key Harbor on our way to the Tortuga's, the mooring field was full with a thirty boat waiting list. This time, on our way back, we were immediately assigned a mooring and we considered ourselves lucky as a weather front was moving in from the north with threats of strong winds and we wanted to be nice and secure. Things were looking up; we were a short distance from the dinghy dock, there is an excellent library exchange here (we had 11 books to trade), and shopping is within walking distance.

A while back I received an email from a blog follower, and she and her husband were going to be in the Marathon/Key West area kinda sorta around the time we were, and perhaps we just might meet up.

Oddly enough, in Marathon, we did.

We made arrangements to meet our new friends on their boat for drinks and appetizers and they even invited Wilbur (honestly, they really did). We normally close down shop on the Knotty Cat by late afternoon, meaning we usually stay put before sundown. I remember the time we were anchored in the Potomac back in 2010 when Hans and I went to a spaghetti dinner at the Capital Yacht Club and we left a young Wilbur on board with all the hatches open. We had barely finished eating when a storm rolled in complete with winds that knocked over a nearby restaurant's umbrella tables, blinding lightning, and slashing rain. Panic set in because we could not see our boat and we were terrified it would drag and our baby was on board. As soon as the rain let up a bit and even though the sky was still alive with lightning we jumped into our dinghy (which was already ankle deep in water) and headed for the Knotty Cat. It was with total relief we found out boat still in place even though the interior was soaked. We were also relieved to find Wilbur none the worse for his experience and as he sat in his crate with water dripping all over him from above, his tail wagged furiously, and we both got big pitty kisses when we let him out. That was the last time we went anywhere in the evening.

This time we weren't worried. We were on a mooring ball and our friends' boat was a short distance away. We had a great time, Wilbur was thoroughly excited to be included and even managed to sneak in a few stinky pitty kisses, and before we knew it it was time to leave. Actually, we should have left sooner because the wind was really kicking up and dark clouds were rolling in. We jumped into the dinghy and as we sped away, all of a sudden it was like someone pulled the shades down and turned out the lights. The wind kicked into full gear and started screaming mournfully through the mooring field. We were so amazed we actually went in the wrong direction (very surprising since I'm pretty sure Hans has a compass built into his brain) and we found ourselves at the wrong end of the mooring field. We got turned around just as lightning began to flash and sharp drops of rain started pelting us. We bounced through the waves and of course most of them washed over the bow and straight into Wilbur's face, and Wilbur, who just lives for dinghy rides, decided this was no fun at all and tried to escape. I forced him down at my feet and then the waves crashed into my face. Normally, this totally pisses me off and Hans kept apologizing over the screaming wind but I told him I didn't care and to please just get us home. He did, and with the stern of our boat blocking some of the wind we managed to get safely aboard.

It didn't end there though. Even with the wind generator working overtime, our batteries didn't look as strong as they should (not a lot of sun earlier so the solar panels hadn't helped) and Hans decided to start up the Honda generator. During a slight lull in the storm he got it up and running and we plugged in all our electronics. But within minutes the oil alarm light on the Honda lit up and it promptly died. Oh my, I wish I'd taken a video of Hans in the cockpit trying to get that big stinker started again. He was already soaked to the skin, and after (over) filling the generator with oil (and please don't get Hans started on how inaccessible the oil filling thingy is) he started ripping the pull cord in a maniacal fashion again and again and again. I bit my tongue (for once) and didn't say anything about how at least he was getting an upper body workout. The generator never did start (although in the bright light of the next day she was quite happy to fire up) but with Windy doing the job she'd been hired to do, the batteries finally leveled off at an acceptable level.

 

We rinsed out our saturated clothing in the shower (clothes soaked in salt water do.not.dry!) and assured our friends via cell phone that we had arrived home safe and sound and it wouldn't be necessary to send Flipper (the aquatic version of Lassie) out to rescue us.

The day after? It was gorgeous with zero humidity and life was good once again.

Wilbur at sunset

I guess this means the shit's gonna hit the fan again and I'm not looking forward to it.

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From Paradise to a Completely Different Place..

Paradise in Cabbage Key

.....except, hmmmm, I thought hell was hot.

And believe me, it's anything but hot here in sunny Florida; it's bitter cold.

Earlier this week I composed a light hearted post about our interesting experience in Cabbage Key where we enjoyed a Hamburger in Paradise. And then something bad happened. My post disappeared. Just like that.

Well, crap!

I can't bring myself to try and duplicate it so I'll just summarize it here:

We anchored outside Cabbage Key the night before we entered the marina.

You can't get into Cabbage Key Marina as a transient, sooner than 3PM in order for them to accommodate the ferry and lunchtime dinghy traffic. Once you get there, you'll learn you can't fill your water tanks (they rely on a small water tower), there is no garbage disposal, the shower facilities require a $10.00 key fee (I opted to shower on the boat), and dogs are not permitted, although Wilbur got a huge reprieve when the ladies in the gift shop informed us he could let off some steam as long as he was leashed. We never let Wilbur off his leash anyway so that wasn't a problem. They have one washer and dryer so I was able to get a load of laundry done.

And for dinner we finally taped a dollar bill with our boat's name on the wall and ate that damn cheeseburger in paradise.

It was a fun time but if I were to do it again I'd just dinghy in for lunch and save the whole overnight dockage fee. Don't get me wrong, we had a wonderful time there and I'm glad Wilbur got to have his rollies, but the fees just didn't justify the means.

Hans places our Knotty Cat dollar bill on the wall.

We left the marina, spent a night at JN Ding Darling Refuge anchorage and then ended up in Fort Myers Mooring Field for this year's version of the Polar Vortex.

We approached the mooring field with some trepidation (no pendants! can't read the numbers! rude staff! Active Captain reviewers exclaimed), but luckily we picked up our mooring lickety split. And that was pretty much the best thing that happened to us for the next three days. BTW, we approach from the stern where Hans can see the ball and after hooking it I run a line through it (the other end is already cleated to the bow) and then run like hell for the front before my arms get yanked from their sockets. This was one of the longest pendants (or pennant whichever term you prefer) I've ever seen, something like 10 feet. We secured another line to it and now the ball was centered in front of the boat.

The mooring ball.

 

After getting the dinghy in the water we took Wilbur and all of our garbage ashore. Of course Wilbur stomped all over the garbage bags with his big pitty feet and then nearly fell in the water at the dock. We had a nice dinner at Bonita Bill's where we heard people talking about how it was gonna blow like hell the next day.

I was sound asleep when a huge bang woke me up. Bang! I heard it again and it was right near my head. I woke Hans up and he told me it was the waves slapping the boat. Umm, I don't think so, and then Bang! There it went again. Hans got up, I got up, and Wilbur got up which is very unusual because the little man prefers to stay in bed until noon. We all poured out into the cockpit and while Wilbur and I shivered in the freezing wind and rain, Hans went up front where he found that our mooring ball was deep underneath the Knotty Cat and pounding the hull near our berth.

The wind and current were having a huge fight and neither was willing to give up and soon the mooring ball was stretched way out in front of us so we went back to bed. Bang! Bang! It was back again and I was sure it was going to end up in bed with us. The lines on the cleats were groaning in agony, and then we heard an odd squeaking noise. The ball was now wedged under the boat. We both went up to the bow this time and we couldn't budge the lines as the ball had no intention of leaving its new home. I refused to go back to bed since the amplified noise of the groans and squeaks were scaring me to death so I stayed in the salon. Wilbur abandoned me and joined Hans down below.

We were due for a mobile pump out in the morning so we thought we'd ask the dock master if he could see where the ball was actually wedged. It was possible that it had passed under our center pod and if so that would be a huge problem. But it was too windy for a pump out so we were on our own. By leaning way out over the stern Hans was able to see that the ball was stuck up front between the starboard hull and the center pod, so we finally fired up the engines and reversed off it. Just like that the ball popped out. The wind took over and the ball was way in front of us and try as we might we couldn't pull it in so we could tie it off closer to the boat. We finally gave up on that project and went back down below. It was afternoon by now and I was tired and grumpy.

Bang! Bang!

Sonofabitch! It was back.

I raced up front and once again the lines were under the boat. And then we drifted back a bit and the ball was right there beside us on the port side. I asked Hans if we couldn't just grab its line now and tie it off to the cleat.

So he did.

The ball was now bouncing next to us and I just knew it would probably start smacking the hull. "Looks okay to me," Hans said. "Tap,tap,tap," the mooring ball replied. "You bastard!" I yelled. If I could have, I'd've smashed that mooring ball to pieces. I told Hans surely we could work that line over to the center cleat therefore centering it under the bow and rendering it incapable of touching the boat.

So he did.

Let me tell you we had that sucker cinched so tight it could have sang with the Bee Gees.

Down below we went and while the wind roared and the currents ripped we were pretty much at peace.

I was in desperate need of a shower and not knowing how much water we had left (in addition to the fact that it was icy cold) we decided to dinghy into the marina to use their facilities. This time we kept the dog and the garbage far away from each other but the problem this time was the waves. We weren't a foot away from the boat when a wave crashed over the front of the dinghy and my newly washed jeans and I got soaked. It didn't help that our mooring field was the furthest from the office so imagine what we looked like by the time we got there.

Back on the boat we continued our communication with our friends from up north who are flying down to join us today. Trying to plan something like this when you're on the move is not easy. Scheduling flights, weather, and our actual location have made this very interesting. "Bring sweatsuits and warm clothes," is probably not what our guests wanted to hear.

Last night the wind was blowing so hard it actually ripped two out of four of our solar panel connections apart. These connections are (or were) so strong we have a tool to disconnect them when we want to roll them up and put them away. We brought them in for the night and before we left this morning (yes, we actually left!!) I tested one of them and it appears to still work.

These are our solar panel connectors.

So, this morning we got up early, put the dinghy on the deck (impossible to do until today), ditched that damn mooring ball, and headed out into the gulf. Forty degrees is cold to be out here but the sun is shining.

Next stop, Naples.

 

 

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On the move again

A dreary day in Lemon Bay (you can't see it in this picture but it was raining)

Nothing of great importance happening here these days. Although due to very strong winds we did stay at our anchorage in Lemon Bay for a day longer than planned. We arrived on a very pretty day with no wind. The next day was ugly, overcast, and rainy so we stayed put and since the solar panels and the wind generator were getting a break we sat around and read all day. And then, Wow, during the night the wind kicked in and we woke up to waves slamming against the Knotty Cat, the wind generator shrieking with glee (or perhaps agony), and the solar panels straining at their harnesses (thank God we'd tied them down tightly the night before). Several times during the day we turned on the helm pod to gauge the wind strength and compare it to all the weather apps and forecasts we read each day. We were seeing consistant 20 to 25 knot winds. I'm sure they gusted higher at times because poor Windy would groan and shudder and shut down when she started pumping more than 15 amps into our batteries.

But holy cow, with all the power we were getting from the wind and the sun that day we actually turned on our inverter (something we never do unless we have shore power or are running the generator) and watched TV and made ice at the same time. All.day.long. and the batteries never went below 13. We did try a little experiment and attempted heating water but that was a no go. As the afternoon wore on and the wind showed no inclination of dying down we finally rolled up the solar panels. We were getting hit with a north wind and it was so cold we completely shut the boat up and fought over who got to sit beside Wilbur (our heating blanket) in the salon. Needless to say he slept in between us last night.

But what a difference a day can make. We woke up this morning to virtually no wind and a cloudless sky. After our morning coffee (somewhere in the vicinity of noon) we cranked up the engines and even though I was worried the anchor might be buried, it came up very nicely.

Nine miles later we came upon our next anchorage and just like that we were set once again. Those two hours were just enough for our engines to heat our water and we both got the first showers we've had since Sunday (maybe TMI but this is life on a boat). This is a tiny little spot and it's surrounded by homes not dissimilar to the anchorage we tried to enjoy in Miami 4 years ago. Active Captain has given it rave reviews and so far no police or angry citizens have approached. We have no desire to overstay our welcome and hope to dinghy to a state park for poor neglected Wilbur and also dinghy up a channel that's rumored to be within walking distance of a Publix.

A pretty, new anchorage

The only other boat anchored here.

It promises to be an interesting day or two.

Tonight's sunset

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A Good Weekend or a Bad One?

Normally, winter here in Florida equates to really great sailing weather. Last year we enjoyed a great week during Thanksgiving when we sailed to Tarpon Springs and then on New Year's Eve we anchored out with friends for the holiday. Needless to say, none of that happened this year as it's been one of the worst winters on record as if anyone needs me to remind them.

But, since summer will be here before we know it, we're trying to anchor out as often as we can before we become 'marina bound' yet once again. And now that I think about it I realize I've forgotten how lucky we are that the Gulf is easily accessable and that we have many anchorages nearby. We can go out sailing for the day, come in to the bay to anchor for the night, and then spend as much time on the hook as we want the next day as we can motor home within an hour.

Lately we've been anchoring out in an attempt to test our solar panels and wind generator and a couple of weeks ago we finally had success. So this past weekend we headed back out knowing we would have a totally relaxing and peachy keen time.

 

You can't go wrong with breakfast mimosas in the cockpit.

along with sausage, eggs, toast, and french press coffee.

We spent the evening in the cockpit since it was so calm and we also had a full moon. During the night the wind kicked in and by morning Windy our wind generator was hard at work keeping our batteries charged.

Here our gauge reads 15 amps. We saw it hit 18 several times. Wow! Our batteries were charging at over 14 volts, more than we get on shore power.

So, yes, it was a beautiful evening but if you know Hans and me you know something surely had to go wrong. We towed the dinghy behind us because I wanted to use it at the anchorage so I could scrub the port side of the Knotty Cat. I can't do this in the marina since there's a boat right beside us. About the only thing I managed to accomplish with this little plan was to pull more muscles in my arms than I knew I had. Even though it was a calm day the water was very choppy due to all the weekend/St. Patty's Day traffic (I love power boats that roar through anchorages zipping past boats and totally oblivious to our pesky anchor chains) and I tried very hard to balance in the dinghy in order to scrape some old tape residue left over from last year. One moment I'd be poised above the sticky mess and the next I'd find myself far below it. I slammed up and down, up and down all the while clutching the deck in order to balance myself. I actually felt myself getting sea sick and finally gave up. We then hoisted the dinghy onto our foredeck so we wouldn't have to tow it back to the marina the next day which was probably the smartest thing we did all week end.

Why do propane tanks always seem to kick when you're especially starved and in the middle of cooking dinner (of course you don't realize this until you open the oven door an hour later and dinner is still raw)? I'm happy to report we have a spare tank and I had remembered to buy potato chips. We finally sat down to dinner at our little cockpit table and I was starting to feel really good about being at anchor when WHAM! something hit me square in the face. I was soaked and when I opened my eyes I saw the cockpit covered in purplish/red splashes and my wine glass rolling all over the floor. My hair, shirt, and only pair of good shorts (cream colored and why I wore them to anchor out I have no idea) were soaked. WTF! Hans looked stunned and then said the wrong thing, "That's not a proper holder for that wine glass." because in the process of standing up he'd swept his big German arm over the helm pod which happens to have cup holders which happened to be holding my very full plastic wine glass, and while I know nothing about physics, his hand caught my glass in such a way we had ourselves a perfect storm. It looked like a massacre had taken place. Thank God for Krud Kutter and I mean really, since every time we turned around we were finding dried red wine stains, and one squirt of that stuff took care of it. Later that night I discovered even the back of my head hadn't escaped and my hair was matted with dried wine. I said the hell with it and went to bed.

When I woke up on Sunday morning I found I ached all the way to my armpits thanks to my boat cleaning efforts, but hey, that's what mimosas are for. Shortly after breakfast when it became very apparent that the 25 knot winds ripping through the anchorage had indeed arrived about 8 hours sooner than predicted and were not going to go away, we decided we may as well head back to the marina.

We probably should've gone in as soon as we woke up but I'm the one who resisted and kinda hoped the wind would die down. All I wanted to do was sit in the cockpit, listen to 'Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me' on NPR, and read my latest library book. But there's something about relentless wind (even though the wind generator was doing its thing) that gets on my nerves and I agreed we may as well head back in.

We bounced through the bay that by now had white caps and I sincerely hoped that it wasn't blowing too badly in our marina. But it was and I was really glad the dinghy was out of the way and we wouldn't have to deal with it in the water. Normally as soon as we get to the entrance of our marina and start down the alley (as I call it) the wind seems to disappear as we're very protected here. But even though it wasn't as windy as it was out in the bay it was still blowing something like 16 knots and my heart started to race when I saw a line of boat masts tick-tocking in their slips. Hans warned me we needed to get this right the first time as once he started backing into our slip I would need to snag and hold tight to the line on our starboard side piling or we'd slam into the boat to port. I had the line in hand but I had to work my way around our dinghy's outboard which is secured at the stern of the Knotty Cat. No way could I keep enough tension with just one hand and for the moment it took me to get around the motor we were hard on the port side piling. Not such a bad thing as this kept us off the boat next to us and Hans used it to pivot on while I got both hands back on the piling line. Even with putting everything I had into it while walking the boat back into the slip, Hans had to hit our engines hard to keep her from sliding sideways in the wind. Luckily a couple from down the way showed up just then and while I was still pulling for all I was worth up front Hans was able to toss them a stern line and they helped fend us off. And just like that we were in.

And if I thought my arms hurt earlier... when we were finally all tied up I realized my fingers felt like someone had tried to pull each one out of its socket.

Wilbur loves to go sailing but it seriously wears him out. And please, no more bouncy seas!

Of course there's always the work involved getting things back in order after being out. Reconnecting to shore power, running all the hoses, cables, etc... that we use in the slip, hosing off the anchor (which had more gunk on it than I've ever seen, we were really dug in), rehanging our sun shade, and getting things back out that we store while underway. Finally, and not until all that was done, I got my shower. I walked into the salon feeling very clean and happy that my hair wasn't dyed red from the wine when I saw Wilbur crouched in that all too familiar puking pose. On our tiny piece of carpet. Of course I didn't get to him in time so instead of one huge pile of gross puke to clean up, I now had a huge pile plus the trail he left when I tried to get him off the carpet. Hans had been sitting just a foot or so away from him and never saw this coming and I was just waiting for him to say that carpet is not a proper place for a dog to puke.

But when you think about it, our solar panels soaked up the sun, our wind generator hummed in the wind, our anchor light glowed all night and didn't drain our batteries, the refrigerator never had to be turned off, we enjoyed a beautiful night complete with a full moon, we didn't drag at anchor, the cockpit didn't suffer permanent wine stains (nor my hair), we got back into the slip under pretty crappy circumstances without any damage, and Wilbur got a thorough cleansing.

At the end of the day I guess you could say we did have a peachy keen time!

 

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Good Intentions

After being dockbound for the past two months, Hans and I decided it was time to do a bit of sailing (and now we don't need to drive 5 hours to get to our boat because sonofagun! we live on it!). So, Saturday morning, even after hearing a pretty questionable weather report and sleeping in way too long we took down the air conditioner, disconnected our power cords and water hose, rearranged the interior of the boat so things wouldn't go flying about and either break or hit Wilbur on his poor pitty head (I'm talking about the objects breaking, not Wilbur's head which is apparently unbreakable and you'd believe me if you ever saw him in action at the dog park. His head is just fine but I'm not sure I can say the same thing for the picnic tables or other pooches he's collided with). And even though we performed this very same song and dance every single day during our nearly two week trip from the east to the west coast of Florida through Lake Okeechobee, it suddenly seemed like a whole lot of work.

We were finally ship shape and then Hans tried to fire up our engines. Only they didn't fire up. They didn't even sputter. Our starting battery, battery number one, was dead. In the end this wasn't such a bad thing because the wind had really picked up and was easily blowing 20-25 within our very protected marina and the current forecast was saying something about eight foot waves and since I don't do much over three foot waves without either puking or complaining, I knew we weren't going anywhere. So, off Hans went to the local hardware store and we now own a new and hopefully strong battery.

Maybe this coming weekend will be better.


Remember my Halloween display? I found out that pumpkins don't last nearly as long here in Florida as they do in Pennsylvania and after two weeks mine were very definitely starting to rot. But before I could get rid of them someone took matters into their own hands.

Hans and I awoke one night when we both heard a lot of splashing around our boat. We agreed it must be the very same fish that have hysterics now and then around the marina and fling themselves about with wild abandon, and we went back to sleep. The next day we woke up to no more pumpkins and both of the beautiful potted plants that I just bought and never had a chance to take a picture of, gone.

I was still puzzling over who the hell would want to steal rotting pumpkins when the mystery was solved. My plants may have been taken but my poor pumpkins had been tossed into the drink and now appeared to be trick or treating as they bobbed their way from boat to boat. They were later fished out and disposed of by a marina employee. Not embarrassing at all!

I'm so loving the cooler temperatures!!! Hans took this picture of me last evening while I was sitting in the cockpit reading.

Yes, I'm wrapped up in a blanket!

I'm still trying to get used to the local creatures. Normally I'm pretty squeamish but I love the lizards that scurry about ever so busily, and I didn't even mind sharing my chaise lounge with one the other day. I wasn't so thrilled though when I spotted a snake sticking its nasty little face out of a hedge (way up at the top no less!) just inches away from where Wilbur was doing his business. And I was horrified the day Wilbur found this crab hiding under our beer cooler. I nearly had a heart attack because I thought it was a spider (and a huge one at that!).

I finally broke down and bought Wilbur a new 'hedgehog'. He'd already performed squeakerectomies on his first two and we actually sailed for months with just the husk of his second one. But I couldn't stand having its slimy little body around any longer and finally disposed of it.

So far Hedgy number 3 has lasted nearly a week and is still fully intact. I'm pretty sure this is a temporary situation.

The weather here has been extremely pleasant and I no longer feel like I'm going to melt every time I leave the boat. As a matter of fact I've actually ridden my bike to the beach the last two days.

And after talking with friends and family back home in Pennsylvania where it's been spitting snow, I asked Hans why the hell he took so long in moving us to Florida!

I love it here!

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.

Anchoring in the Bahamas.

Before we set out on our long, long journey to the Bahamas I did a lot of research. Some times I found out too much, and some times not enough. But the whole anchoring thing is what I think weighed on my mind the most.

Here is the gist of what I discovered.

WHILE IN THE BAHAMAS YOU MUST USE TWO ANCHORS.

YOU MUST ALWAYS ANCHOR BAHAMIAN STYLE.

THE CURRENTS AND WIND ARE SO STRONG YOU WILL DRAG AT ANCHOR. GUARANTEED.

Needless to say, I was worried as we'd never deployed two anchors in our lives!

But I have to tell you now that we found the currents in the Intracoastal to be stronger than anything we've experienced in the Bahamas. And the 2 to 3 foot tides in the Bahamas are nothing compared to say the 9 foot-plus tides we suffered through in Georgia.

The first and only time I saw someone use a double anchor was in Florida. It was a wide open anchorage and after Hans and I were settled in (with one lowly little anchor) I got out my trusty binoculars and immediately had a panic attack when I realized that the only boat there had double anchored and we were obviously doing something wrong!

The captain and mate of this particular boat arrived back to their vessel, via dinghy, shortly thereafter, and I enjoyed a half hour or so watching him unravel a nightmare of twisted anchor lines that will most certainly happen when your boat swings in circles due to the current.

We sat (and swung full circle) on one anchor all night long as we'd done the whole way down the ICW and wondered if this whole unraveling of two anchors was something we could expect to endure ourselves once we reached the Bahamas.

Our first night in the Bahamas was spent in Bimimi and we ended up anchoring in Nixon's Harbor. We used only one anchor and then worried all night long that we'd drag. We didn't, and after that we continued to use one anchor, but any chance he could, Hans would dive down to see if it was secure. We were pretty surprised to find that some times our anchor couldn't dig into the hard bottom but the weight of it, combined with the chain, kept us in one spot all night long.

We held tight in the following waters during some pretty gusty days:

Yankee Carter (don't go there unless you wish to run aground in its very shallow entrance): 25+ knot winds and heavy current in over 20 feet of water in its basin.

Foxtown: 25 knot winds.

Treasure Cay: 20 knot winds gusting to 30 for two days. This was also a very crowded anchorage because everyone knew about the wind forecast. No one used two anchors and some people even had out 80 feet of chain.

Guana Harbor: 20+ knot winds (we were on a mooring).

Fisher Bay (where we did get to watch a boat drag**): 20+ knot winds.

Nixon's Harbor (Bimini): 25 knot winds and strong current.

Little Harbor: 25 knot winds.

We still haven't used two anchors and I'm sure it won't always be that way but for those of you wishing to visit the Abaco's I think you'll find that one anchor is all that's usually needed.

**We were in Fisher Bay on day two of our windy stay when a Sunsail Charter Boat whipped into the anchorage, and I don't think their anchor had even touched bottom before the couple aboard had jumped into their dinghy and headed for shore. This meant they missed watching their boat lift its anchor, brazenly jitter-bug on over to a boat anchored close by and ask it for a dance. It was a couple on another boat, who witnessed this bizarre courting ritual, that immediately radioed for help. Tony from Dive Guana, was on the spot immediately, and he picked up the hailing couple and zipped on over to the Dancing Queen. Luckily the keys were still in the ignition and the captain of the unwary dance partner came up from where he'd been down below, wisely started his engine, and looked on as the rescue crew was able to lift Dancing Queen's anchor and safely move her on to a mooring. After Tony dropped the helping couple off at their boat he sped past us and while laughing, shouted out, "When those people come back be sure to tell them they can't keep my anchor!"

It rained and blew like crazy the rest of the day and you'd think that charter couple might have wondered why no one else was leaving their boat. You'd also think that somewhere on shore they would have heard about their boat's wild gyrations on any one of the VHF radios that all the island bars utilize. But when we went to bed they still hadn't returned and during the night I never heard a call on the radio from them asking if anyone might know where their missing boat may have gotten to. In the morning I spotted their red dinghy bobbing unconcernedly in the water behind their boat, and they left very soon afterward without so much as a thank you very much.

I guess all of us in that anchorage should just be thankful that our hard working, well traveled, and sensible boats were too worn out from the wind and rain to show any desire in joining the 'throw caution to the wind, week long chartered' Dancing Queen in her version of Dancing with the Stars.

Nippers, another storm, and on to Marsh Harbor

I mentioned that we went to Grabber's Bar in Guana and that our next stop was their competition, Nipper's. Here is Hans, bellying up to the bar at Nipper's. Nipper's is on the Atlantic side of Guana and Hans went snorkeling out in those waters on the same day I took this picture. Unfortunately it was very overcast that day and therefor not too exciting.

While in Treasure Cay we endured some weather, and a lightning and thunderstorm during the wee hours of the morning as well.

When we arrived at Guana Harbor, we picked up a mooring ball since we'd heard more weather was coming our way. It hit yesterday when a big thunderstorm moved through. Since it was early afternoon we were able to sit in the salon area and watch it. And I have to tell you, Wilbur is quite a trooper and storms seem to put him to sleep. During the Treasure Cay drama, the more it thundered, the harder he snored. He's such a good dog.

But let me warn you now that if you decide to moor in Guana Harbor (and Dive Guana will be your contact), they will come to collect their $15.00 fee at exactly 8 AM, and you'll know they're there when the huge bang (I guess they've never heard of fenders) as they slam into your boat, awakens you. We decided to stay for two days and Hans paid up front so we wouldn't have to go through this ritual more than once. I was very comfy in our berth this morning and feeling a bit smug about all of this while I listened to Mr. Boat Banger moving about the mooring field during his morning collection run when all of a sudden WHAM he hit us like a torpedo and woke up a very comatose Wilbur. With a shout of, "Son of a Bitch! Why the hell does he have to hit us like that!" Hans was off and running. When all was said and done, Mr. Boat Banger told us, "That was nothing, Mon, I only bumped you like this," and then demonstrated with a very anaemic thump. Hans then told him that his weather forecast had been right on, that he liked his hat, and all was forgiven.

Men!

In order to get to Nipper's you traverse a sandy little trail complete with signs.

Poor Wilbur! We Wascally Wabbits twicked the Pitty and took him for a fake ride. This dog loves nothing more than dinghying ashore for some major zoomies and sniffies. However we've found that some of the dinghy docks are nearly impossible to heave a 50+ pound pit bull up, especially during low tide. We're talking ladders here folks, and add to that bumping waves, wind, and current; it's not a pretty picture.

So we put his life jacket on him, zoomed him around the harbor for a while and then went right back to the boat. He fell for it for just a minute or so and then realized he'd been had. So when we locked him up in our berth I knew we'd have a present waiting for us and we did.

Luckily it was very easily cleaned up and we were all happy!

We left Guana this morning and intended to go to Hope Town, but we heard another cruiser radio ahead about getting a mooring or slip (there are no anchorages) and was told none were available.

So we ended up in a Marsh Harbor Marina. It was already a blustery day with 20+ knots of wind but wouldn't you know, just as we arrived and attempted to get into a slip the wind really kicked up and even though my body was perpendicular to the water as I braced my shoulders on a piling and my feet on the boat, our stern still crunched into a piling and I watched our life ring float support get crushed and fall into the water. I was just thankful it wasn't our dinghy motor and Hans said he'd never liked that support anyway.

Our life ring no longer has a support. I swear something always gets smashed, banged, crushed, or scraped every time we dock! It makes me wonder how much boat we'll have left when we're done with all this madness.

I thought this whole boat thing was supposed to be relaxing.

There's more than one way to catch a fish

Before the winds came through Grand Cay yesterday, two other couples invited us for a drink at a raised pavilion at the end of our dock (and it's always BYOB). Even though the ladies stated that they do not like dogs I took Wilbur anyway and kept him far away from them. He was a very good boy and his feelings were a little hurt when no one told him how cute he was.

"Mama, why don't they like the pitty?" Wilbur wants to know.

This is where we sat and from here you get a bird's eye view of the harbor entrance.

While the sky continued to darken ominously and the winds began to pick up, one of the men said, "Here come the rays." I looked out over the water and immediately felt like I'd been jerked back in time to the Wild West.

Huge (at least 8 feet I'm sure) Manta (or Manta like) Rays could be seen gliding through the water of the harbor as they slowly headed toward the marina. It was like watching desperado's stroll into town complete with guns on their hips, spurs on their heels, and evil on their minds.

I didn't have my camera and probably wouldn't have gotten a decent shot anyway.

Those patches of white are sand, and at low tide stick way out of the water. They are very close to the marina and even though we only draw two and a half to three feet we were sure we were going to run aground.

The winds were still hitting hard this morning and even though we could have gone out I talked Hans into staying another day. But it paid off in the end because I'm grilling dolphin (mahi) tonight.

So how did that happen?

I call it a different kind of trolling (trawling?) and I didn't even need a lure. All I did was visit with the men in the boat next to us, and before I knew it I had a zip lock bag full of fish (Hans says he's glad now that he stayed below and out of the way). It reminded me of how years ago my friend, Michelle, and I would go out to a local bar for the evening and come home with our purses full of drink chips thanks to all the visiting out of town business men who were out for dinner. Oh, the good old days, and who'd have ever thought getting a bag of smelly fish would make me as happy as a free drink?!

Now all I have to do is find a beer boat full of slightly blind men and we'll all be happy!

We're Still Alive...

...after an overnight sail straight from hell.

We left Tilghman Island at 10 AM Wednesday morning and the forecast was so favorable we decided to take advantage of it and an overnight sail only made sense.

The day was bright and sunny and our new solar panels managed to keep the batteries from discharging. Our instruments use about 8 amps and therefor a day of sailing can drain them.

I'm very thankful though that Hans rolled them up and stored them at sundown or they would have blown away during the night.

Hans took a picture of this freighter at sunset when things were looking pretty good.

We had a fantastic 12 knot west wind and smooth seas until midnight. Five minutes later the predicted north wind hit with winds gusting over 30 knots, but we hadn't counted on swelling seas. The rest of the night we slalomed, sluiced, and slammed our way down the Chesapeake, and tried to stay out of the way of freighters that always seem to come out of nowhere. The seas boiled and rolled like a devil's cauldron and by one AM we had a ditch bag ready. It's also the first time I've ever seen Hans wear a tether.

We talked about finding a cove to duck into but the few we could find on the charts looked tricky and would take forever to get to so we just kept moving.

At the beginning of the trip when Hans had suggested we lash our dinghy to the stern (pictured in my last post) I thought it was unnecessary. But if we'd towed it like I wanted to I know it would have ended up at the helm with Hans along with the huge wave that broke over his head and flooded the cockpit at around 3 AM. The wave also blew out our stern light and dislodged the dinghy and it spent the rest of the night fighting it's restraints. Hans finally ended up yanking a piece of its line up over a winch where it held for the rest of the night.

I think this is when our GPS antenna bit the dust and we could no longer keep a fix so we used the navigation CD in my computer until it crashed and I couldn't get it going again. Out came the hand held GPS and it worked fine.

I started puking around 2 AM and by 4 AM I left Hans and lurched my way to the salon where I fell asleep and drooled all over the neck of my jacket. Trying to navigate our bodies around the boat was like being inside a pinball machine, we bounced off everything. At one point when Hans stood up he very nearly got thrown out of the cockpit and had to brace his feet widely apart and hang on tight in order to stay in the captains seat.

We had prayed that daylight would bring calmer seas but when I woke up at eight it was just as bad and now I had dry heaves. Seeing the waves in daylight was even scarier, and as we crossed the final shipping channel in Norfolk, Hans said, "Jesus Christ, we can't catch a break, look at that." Straight ahead of us was a massive submarine and two Coast Guard Cutters and we had to change course once again. Watching a submarine submerge while up close and personal is pretty interesting.

Finally, twenty four hours and 114 miles after leaving Tilghman we motored into Little Creek in Norfolk, Virginia, and docked at Little Creek Marina. It was still gusting and even with help we still ground our anchor into a piling at our very awkward slip. The Knotty Cat took her final revenge by snagging a dock line, that had fallen into the water, and snarled it up in her starboard propeller.

Hans wasn't able to get a nap until after we walked about 2 miles to a West Marine to get a new antenna for the GPS. They didn't have the one we want but a West Marine in South Carolina does. They'll get it to us somewhere along our trip.

We left Little Creek this morning after a tug of war with the Knotty Cat over that tangled dock line. We thought we won but as we left the marina we noticed white smoke coming out of the exhaust. We are currently motoring south into the Norfolk Harbor Reach using the port engine. We hope after a little bit of rest it will clean up its act.

We are now headed toward the Intercoastal and plan on taking the Virginia Cut. We had really hoped to go via The Dismal Swamp but we need to use the quickest route possible this time, as Hans has work and poor Wilbur is in Doggy Day Care while we're away. I have to say though that as much as I miss our little boy I'm very glad he's not on this trip.