NORMA DESMOND RIDES AGAIN

Day 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 ...

Stuck here on Great Harbor Cay, I thought I'd rent a golf cart and check out the island. Not much to look at, really. The beach side is post-card beautiful, with high cliffs overlooking aqua seas for as far as you can see. Conversely, the inland scenery is depressing, at best ...nothing lush, nothing in order, nothing kept...nothing cared for. There's no "town" to speak of, just a small centralized area where the market, school and church are planted. The grocery store is dark, quiet and sparse in relation to its square footage. One step inside and I'm compelled to immediately backtrack. Instead, I purchase some cheese and boxed milk....out of pity, I suppose. Across the street, the wine store is a stark and surprising contrast...It's bright and clean and stocked with a good selection of liquors, beer and vino. I buy a few Guinness...sans the pity.

The marina where I'm lashed is okay. It looks like it was a jewel "back in the day" and the new owner is making incremental strides to rejuvenate the premises. My boat neighbors are comprised of fellow stranded sailors, the aforementioned lobster fishermen and a few power-yachties who seem content to call this place home....for the time being, at least. There's a large, yet antiquated, 75' Hatteras yacht parked directly perpendicular to my boat. There was no one aboard up until the day before Thanksgiving. Their absence afforded me the opportunity to secretly hate them for their huge boat blocking my WIFI reception. The owner, who flew in from West Palm, is a 60-year-old woman who never crossed a speech impediment. She's sweet and friendly, but she'd be more aptly structured if she had two mouths and one ear.  So now I can hardly enter or exit my boat without hearing "Captain Ron?! ... (insert loud, intrusive and meaningless conversation here)."

She's sweet tho. Her name is Robin and she's fairly recently divorced. I think she likes me...as she's inclined to introduce me to everyone she converses with and is apparently hell-bent on making Steve and her little dog "Lola" best friends. 

She invites him over to play...walks them together... feeds him treats on a regular basis and talks to the both of them at what should be an unlawful volume. She disembarks her yacht each morning wearing a sheer pajama pant-suit with her erect tits slinging independently of one another down around her waist. It's not a matter of trying not to notice them...it's a matter of trying not to see them. She's sweet tho. She knows everything about everyone on the island. As we strolled one night, she sang the praises of Great Harbor Cay and went on about how Brooke Shield's dad once owned a house here...and how several Hollywood types would frequent the island...and how Jack Nicklaus still flies over here to bonefish. She told of the famed drug lord (now dead) that once lived on the island...the DC-9 aircrafts that used to land at the airport (now small planes only), the championship golf course (now mown monthly) and the parties held by the pool (now half empty).  For a moment I felt like I was in an aquatic version of Sunset Boulevard and it struck me as sad that this island, now a shadow of its former self, was still so dear to this woman's memory bank. Never one to shy away from an opportunity to offend, I asked her: "What's the appeal of this place now?" She didn't take offense and quickly replied: "Have you seen the beach?!" I tacitly concurred and she went on to explain how the fishing was world-class...and what a great job the new marina owner was doing to revitalize the place. I wasn't convinced, but somehow I kept that to myself.

"Miko" is the marina dockhand. He's a short, rotund, coal-black, flat-footed Bahamian that's about as cheerful a person as you'll ever meet. He loves Steve and brings him bacon so that he can show and tell anyone who'll listen, all of Steve's tricks. Like Robin, Miko is proud of this place. On Thanksgiving morning he made his way to each of our boat slips to hand out 1/4 sheets of paper with black and white printed invitations to a Thanksgiving pot-luck dinner. You would have thought he was handing out winning lottery tickets...and in a way, he was. 

Thanksgiving was originally going to be held under the Marina gazebo...it's a terrific spot...large enough for 4 picnic tables with plenty of space in between. But the same winds that brought us together, pushed us to the largest boat in the harbor....an 85' motor yacht that was sunken in Katrina...revived, restored and up-fitted with the latest technology money can buy. I thought name-tags might be in order, but even this feeble mind could register everyone and their corresponding spouses. Somewhat surprisingly, the boat owner had the wherewithal to offer a moment of silence in lieu of a "blessing." How refreshing to witness the seeds of human evolution being sewn in such a remote locale. The food was as good as any Thanksgiving...abundance being the key. And like most get-togethers, the men soon found themselves among men....and the women and children eventually infiltrated. It was nice in that it wasn't awkward or forced...we're all here for one reason or another, and somehow we knew not to delve too deeply into each other's previous lives. We're here now...and we're thankful.

"Captain Ron!!!" (It's Robin.) "Clark's taking a bunch of people to the Blue Hole, but that's too rough for me so I'm taking you and Steve and Lola on my boat over to Little Stirrup Cay where we can let the dogs swim....leaving in about an hour." I smile and say "Cool!"...because that's all I can say. I have no excuse to reject the offer...and I'm pretty sure she know this. She invites another couple and together we set out with her Bahamian boat-boy at the helm of the antiquated 25' center console she keeps tied up to her Hatteras. It's a nice boat ride, albeit choppy....and I get the first water-view of the island since I groggily approached it last Sunday. We fish a bit and catch 8 "Jacks"... the boat-boy jumps in and snares a few conch...the dogs swim...we drink a few beers and return to the docks just before sundown. It wasn't something I really wanted to do and I wouldn't put it in the "Fun!" category....but it did get me out of the harbor for a few hours, and I needed that. 

It's Friday night and the winds are buffeting my laptop as I sit under the gazebo. They've been relentless for almost a week now. At some points, they let up and I can only imagine how stagnant this protected harbor must be when the normal trades blow. The locals say Bahamian winters are unpredictable...to which I respond: "But every cruising guide I read talks about people spending winters in the Bahamas?" And to a man, they say: "Yeah, but those are Canadians! Would you rather be a wind-blown buoy or a popsicle?" Duly noted.

Still, this front is unique, even by unpredictable Bahama standards....in that it has lasted a week. Tomorrow is going to max out at around 25 kts and I'm tempted to shove off. I'm to the point where I'd prefer discomfort on the sea to the calm refuge of this harbor. I knew I was becoming restless when I felt the urge to play some tunes while I washed dishes the other morning. (The first self-induced music exposure in 25 days.) But while the winds may be throttling back, the seas are still pissed...and so I'll sit another day. 

Where to from here? 

Undecided.

LAUNDRY DAY

Day 21

I'm in Bimini and it's nice. The people are friendly. Everyone I pass makes a point to make eye contact and say "Good Morning" …. even when I'm at my laptop, sitting in the breezeway of the marina, I'll hear a voice from across the way say "Hello!"  It's just a passerby…making sure she didn't pass me by without a warm greeting. I'm in Bimini and it's nice.  

The weather is nice too. The U.S. fishermen have left the docks early to catch whatever it is they've spent a fortune on trying to catch. My boat is airing out from yesterday's rinse…and I'm off to do laundry. Luckily, there's "drop off" service and I'll gladly pay the $15 for 2 small loads because I don't have coins or soap…and if I do it myself I'll have to wait in line for a machine to open….and this being Saturday, (apparently laundry day for the entire island) that could take awhile. 

There's weather coming in…a fricken' cold front dropping down and bringing high winds. The weather services have seen this coming for awhile now, so there's no debate among the forecasters. I don't mind a weather system blowing through…it happens. But this one's a bummer because it's not gonna skip on down the way. No, this one's gonna take 5 - 7 days to clear out of here. I do like Bimini, but I can't hang here for a solid week waiting on favorable winds. I'm going to prep the boat for departure. When my laundry's done I'll check the forecast again and if it's decent I'll shove off and head for Chub Cay… I have 3 reasons for this: (1) I need a change of venue (2) It'll put me 75+ miles further south for when the weather does clear (3) It's go now or wait a week.

THE SEA CALLED ME

It's damn gorgeous this afternoon. I wish I'd shoved off earlier to take advantage of the sun, calm seas and civil breeze….but alas my chicken wrap "to go" took a solid hour to prepare. Shit you not… an hour…at 3 in the afternoon when the place is deserted….my one sandwich took an hour.  For you mathemagicians that makes it 4 pm now and I'm headed to Chub Cay. Of course the wind is coming from the direction (ESE) that I want to go, but it's okay….I'll make what I can tonight and anchor on the "bank"…get up early and continue on tomorrow.  

That last  sentiment didn't last very long as plowing into the chop is proving to be a slow grind. Additionally, I've got a long way (75+ miles) to go and I don't want to motor the entire way…It's a sailboat, after all.  Capt. Bruce texts me and I tell him my dilemma. He pulls out his old chart book and says…"Head for Coco Cay instead of Chub." I modify this a tad and head for Great Harbor Cay…it's just enough off the wind to fill my head sail, and while I can't kill the engine, I am making much better time motor-sailing. 

It's a nice night…2/3 moon, clear skies and steady breeze. After awhile the wind turns just a tad and I can shut the engine down, set the mainsail and clip along nicely…really nicely. It's so nice I can think of no reason to stop and anchor for the night…We'll just continue along like this and make harbor by 9 a.m.  The lights of Bimini have faded now and I can see nothing for miles in any direction….No channel markers (there are none)…no boat traffic…nuttin' but clear sailing into the night. I double check the chart plotter out to 20 miles to make sure there are no coral heads or shallows to reconcile…and then Steve and I go down below and get in bed. I set my alarm for 30 minutes, but I don't doze…I just lie back and think to myself: "This is nice."

After a couple of hours of sailing bliss, the winds stiffen a bit and the chop becomes more defined. Around 10pm the shit starts to hit the proverbial fan. When I started out we had 10-15kt winds…it's now blowing a steady 17 with gusts to 20. Okay…I'll ease the sails to take some bite out of the gusts. Okay, I'll ease them some more….rolling in 1/3rd of the head sail for good measure. It's getting worse. By midnight the moonlit sky has turned to ink. The seas have gone from 2- 4 feet  to 4-4 feet. These aren't  swells…swells I can take. These are cresting waves in no particular rhythm. We're being lurched around because the wind and waves are now hitting us broadside and quarter-aft. I consider taking down the mainsail, but I'm not thrilled with the idea of going up on top of the cabin in rolling conditions. The autopilot is struggling to maintain a heading. I lie down on the cockpit bench and hold Steve. I'm awakened in mid-flight as Steve and I are literally tossed onto the console table. We're hurt, but not injured. It's gusting to 25 now and thinking it could get worse, I decide to lower the mainsail. To get it lowered I need to start the engine and point the boat into the wind…this means I have to trust the autopilot to hold a course into the gusts and the waves, something it can do, just not something it likes to do. I plan my attack, put on my headlamp and make my way onto the deck. It goes much better than planned, but now I need to lash the sail to the boom so that it doesn't get blown out. This part is dangerous, as there's nothing to hold on to but a swinging boom. Done. Now we're motor-sailing in crazy-ass seas and 25kts wind. This doesn't solve the pitch and roll problem…we're still getting broadsided and the worst part is the darkness. I can't tell when a big roller is coming because I can't see 3' over the rail. I cannot stand up without using two hands to hold on. I need to piss (usually a two hand proposition in and of itself!) and I can't even stand up. I relieve myself in the cockpit. It's not raining, but it feels like it because we're getting drenched by the sea….so there's my flush. It's 1 a.m. and I have a single overriding thought: "I'm in trouble." 

I'm in trouble because there is no one out here but me...No one for 35 miles in any direction. I'm in trouble because we're in water too deep to anchor. I'm in trouble because my dinghy is up on deck (where "they" said it should be) and I couldn't get around it to release the anchor if I wanted to. I'm in trouble because the autopilot is cutting out due to stress-load. But mostly, I'm in trouble because it's jet black dark and I can't anticipate the wave induced lurches. This means my body is in a constant state of alert…never relaxing for a second for fear of losing grip. That's a tough state of being to maintain for hours on end. I decide to head for shallow water…20 ft …preferably 15. There's only so much wave height you can build out of 15ft of water, and an anchor should hold there, even in these conditions. It's not that I'm up against deadly wave heights, but the combination of gusts and erratic seas and darkness amounts to: harm's way. According to the plotter, shallow water is off my starboard, almost directly into the wind. I roll in the last of the headsail and motor into the waves. Now instead of a broadside lurch, we have a stem to stern hobby-horse affect….add to this, it's really slow going. When the larger sets come in we get kicked back to 2 knots of boat speed. The little boat symbol on my chart plotter doesn't seem that far from shallow water…maybe 6 miles, but at this speed that'll take me 2 hours. The longer we plod in this direction the more I question this decision. Shallow water or not, it's gonna be a bitch getting that anchor down, and once it's down we're still going to get the shit kicked out of us by the constant battering of the waves. Yes, the sea calls me…and tonight she called to say two words: "Bend over." 

After an hour, I turn back on course for Great Harbor. This is just too slow-going…at least if I get back on the wind I'll be making some progress….and if I'm not able to anchor, I might as well get there as quickly as possible. So there's another hour I've wasted. The track pattern on my chart plotter shows my course since departing Bimini….after repeated autopilot failures and my decision to head for the shallows, my track looks like a child's rendering of a lightening bolt. However, my going south for a couple of miles put me in position to have the waves on my rear quarter. This means continued lurching, but with a tad of surfing thrown in. It's okay…anything that adds speed is okay…let's just get there. My body is fried and my mind is not far behind. Steve is cowering on the cockpit floor…where I've yelled at him to "Stay" for the last few hours. At 5 a.m. I'm cursing the sun…just give me some light so I can see what it is I'm working with here. My plotter says my port arrival will be 10:58 a.m. and I can't believe I have 6 more hours of this. Then it occurs to me that I'd have closer to 5 hours left were it not for that fucking one-hour chicken wrap! I  have to take over for the autopilot…after 45 minute or so, it just gives up…it's been working hard all night and it's weary. Again, that would be okay if I could see where I was going…it would also be okay if I were in a seat with a seatbelt. As is, I have to hold onto the wheel…and when we're hit by rollers, I roll with them…turning the wheel the wrong way. It's a bitch and I'm fried..and the clock ain't moving. This isn't fun….I wanna go home now. 

The sun finally rises and the winds have backed off to 19. Doesn't sound like much but I assure you that there's a helluva difference between 19 and 25 knots of wind.  And now that I can see the waves, I'll gladly give the autopilot a rest because I can compensate in advance of the rollers. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see a wave coming and know how it's going to pitch the boat vs. sitting there in the dark getting pitched. Finally, some stress relief….finally. With the light of dawn I can see how the boat is handling the conditions, and it's pretty impressive. Yes, we were jerked around throughout the night, but we always landed with a thud…not a thump. The boat never shuddered, and her keel tracked beautifully. For all of her "pig-like" qualities and her damned inability to fight a current (or make a bridge schedule), she sure shows her mettle at sea. 

We pull into Great Harbor at 11 a.m. ….It took 19 hours to traverse roughly (pun) 80 miles. Check-in is friendly but typically Bahamian S - L - O - W.  Thank you, kind sir, for the verbal tour of the marina and the map of the island and the store hours and whatever else it is you're so hell-bent on telling me about, but look at me! I'm cross-eyed…and I feel like someone poured salt all over me and stuffed me in the trunk of the winning car at the Demolition Derby. Please…I beg of you…just give me the fucking WIFI password and leave me alone. I'll be nicer tomorrow. 

It's Sunday (Day 22) --- We sleep 'til 4pm.  I take a shower, eat a cracker or two and go back down around 7... and sleep through the night. 

WE'RE ALL IN THE SAME BOAT

Day 23

At the docks I've met about a dozen people who, like me, are stuck here waiting out the weather. We have something else in common…our stories about our respective hellish crossings. I passed a lobster boat as I was coming into port yesterday and I wondered what he was doing out in that crappy weather. He's my boat slip neighbor and now I know what he was doing out there…he was struggling. A line was tossed off his bow and got tangled in his prop. The two of them (brothers) had to dive on the bobbing boat (in the dark!) to unwrap the snarled prop. The damage was done…their transmission was damaged in the process and they limped into harbor a couple of hours after Steve and I. Another couple, sailing on a 38' version of my boat, anchored out in the night….and they said it was horrible. Others came across today and said the gulf stream was smoother. 

Everyone is nice and helpful. My boat got hung up on a piling when the tide dropped this morning and two guys came running to help. A couple stopped by to say they were riding their bikes into town and asked if I needed anything. A nice woman "yoo-hooo'd" into my boat…as I surfaced she said: "So sorry you're stuck here, but since we're all here I thought we'd have a Thanksgiving pot-luck under the gazebo on Thursday." 

It's that kind of thing. I don't want to be here….I'm short on time, as is…but everyone is stuck. Some say it'll be Monday before this weather passes. That seems like an awfully long time to wait. After this week I'll never see these people again, but for now…we're a microcosm of human decency, kindness and community. 

NOT SMARTER THAN A 5TH GRADER

Day 24

The winds are starting to rev up and the forecast has changed for the worse. They're now calling for gusts to 40 on Wednesday and Thursday (That TD pot-luck should be interesting)…and things don't look to die down 'til Monday. Ugh. I guess the good news is that it's not cold and they're not calling for much rain….just wind. 

Needless to say, I didn't really think this thing out very well. Getting down here a week later than planned didn't help, but I should've accounted for that possibility. Having Steve along has been great, but he slows me down too in that he dictates where I can go at sea and on shore. I didn't think I would be able to see and do everything I wanted to in the short amount of time I have before Christmas, but I figured I'd just fly home for the holidays and return early next year to fetch the boat. What I didn't consider was flying with a pet. A lot of airlines don't allow it…and the one's that do have a bunch of restrictions. I've found a great flight out of Nassau for only $200…thing is, Steve's ticket is $200 too..and he has to ride in cargo. Not sure I can do that to the boy. 

So my options are: 

1. Head south and do the Exumas when the weather clears. Fly out of Georgetown (twice the price).

2. Head south and do the Exumas and scoot back up to catch a flight out of Nassau. (gonna be cutting it close and that's without weather delays)

3. Head to Eleuthera …check it out and then scoot over to Nassau.

4. Head to Eleuthera then head back to Miami and fly home from there. 

5. Head to Miami and call it a day. Leave the boat there and either sell it or Kack and I can come back down in the Spring and make the crossing to the Exumas together…with no dog.

I'm teetering between # 4 & 5. 

A BRIDGE TOO FAR

Day 19 and 20

It's been subtly brought to my attention that I really needn't be pissing and moaning about the bridges of South Florida…it's really minutia if you think about it. And what's more, this is a vacation from reality. So I apologize for the rant-like complexion of my last post…that'll be enough about bridges. Except for this... So I'm in South Hollywood and I'm trying to get a jump on the last remaining bridges…a real jump…a "leave the dock at 4:45 a.m" jump. I make the first couple of bridges, no problem…cruising through the city before the city has awakened. It's dark still, but the canals are lined with lights so navigation is easy-peezie. It's now 6 a.m. and the next bridge isn't responding to my call. I get closer and notice the tender's box is dark. Huh? I check the water-way guide and it says it doesn't open until 8 a.m.  Ha ha ha..I'm an idiot for not reading 4 bridges ahead, but "closed"…seriously? No recreational traffic,  no commercial traffic, no water taxi, no barge, no tall guy on a paddle-board… really? Never heard of such, but hey, I'm not one to complain so I tie up to a private dock and change the oil in the engine. This was on my list of "to do's" for today so I might as well get it done now. It takes me about an hour (counting clean up) but it could have taken me twice that long because the bridge opened 15 minutes late!  Oh Lawd … I love bridges.

I meander through Miami bright and early. Some folks hate this city…not me. It's so diverse, and cool…and hot. I love it….only wish I could savor this morning's float-by, but the water-traffic pattern is confusing for a first-timer and the chart plotter isn't clearly defining the ICW….and I need to get to Key Biscayne. 

I make one last fuel stop before getting too far south. I do a really lousy job of docking the boat…Steve jumps off and the owner comes out to yell at me about him not being on a leash…as I'm pulling away my fishing rod gets snagged and plops into the water. The gas attendant graciously offers to get a boat hook to fish it out , but that's enough of this place: "Keep it." I yell, "I wasn't gonna catch anything anyway." 

Only a couple of miles further and I come to a little "honey-hole" in lower Key Biscayne called "No Name Harbor." It's a really cool little (and really pretty) spot…a narrow entrance opens up to a cove surrounded by mangos on one side and a long continuous bulkhead on the other. You can dock anywhere along the wall or anchor out and dinghy in. There's only one amenity here…an open-air restaurant. It's a good one too…but the one $6 beer I had made me think twice about dining. It's a popular spot tho, with lots of day trippers coming over from Miami…and lots of stream crossers staging their departure from the US. The restaurant has a steady flow of patrons all day and into the night...people spend the night in the harbor for a nominal fee. 

I'm beat. The 4 a.m. wake-ups have sapped me and I still have lots to do to prepare for the crossing…primarily, pull the dinghy up on the deck. I use a winch and spare halyard to lift the 100 lb. dink up and over the lifelines. It's a two-man job, but I get it done eventually…and notice from the slime-coated hull that 3 weeks in the water takes its toll on everything. The dink barely fits on this little boat…but "they" say to never do blue-water runs with your dinghy in tow. "They" say it'll slow you down….you'll risk it filling with water…and then you'll have no choice but to cut it free. It's rare that I care, even rarer that I heed, whatever it is that "they" say…but this is my virgin run, so I'll capitulate….this time. 

My weather window for crossing is "now." The winds and seas are supposed to relax for 24 hours before a front moves south and hangs around long enough to strand everyone stateside. I'm planning on 10 - 12 hours, meaning I should probably leave around 10 pm in order to get to Bimini with good sun. The entrance into Bimini is notorious for shifting sands and you don't want to be navigating it in the dark. Steve and I doze off at 4 pm…my alarm is set for 10 pm but I make the mistake of not muting my phone and a telemarketer wakes me at 6 pm. Now I'm too excited to go back to sleep. Captain Bruce says: Go now!" So I pull up anchor, ease over to shore for Steve's farewell evacuation…and at 7:55 I'm off. 

It's a nice night…1/2 moon…winds 10-15 and seas 2-4 feet. I knock back two unfathomably awful cups of coffee and head south. Bimini is almost directly across from Biscayne, but the Gulf Stream rages northerly and it'll set me 15 miles above my target if I simply take a straight heading. So I hedge south for a couple of hours before turning and riding the Stream back north. I leash Steve so that he'll refrain from walking the decks…it'd be hell seeing or hearing him fall off…and snowball in hell finding him once he's over. 

Coffee be damned, the lack of sleep and constant rolling of the sea are nodding me off. "They" say single-handlers do multiple day voyages by setting an alarm every 20 minutes…getting up and doing a 360 check for shipping traffic….then going back down. At mid-night I double-check my bearing and go out for 20. I remain topside (snuggling with a nervous Steve) so that I can get to the wheel quickly and the first couple of times I wake before the timer goes off. As 2 a.m. rolls around…I'm sleeping the full 20 minutes. 

I only have one freighter to contend with…and several cruise-liners too far off in the distance for concern. The wind and seas die down nicely for about an hour or two…then they return slightly more amped. My GPS says I'll arrive at 7:20 a.m. ….by 5:30 I terminate my naps. The wind is up to 18 Kts and I can make better time, albeit a rougher ride. I'm hoping to find someone exiting the entrance about the time I'm arriving…I could use some local knowledge. No such luck, but I make it through slowly…It's 7:25…Bimini time.

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW...

Bimini isn't much to look at from the inside passage…kinda dumpy, really. I'm a tad disappointed, but in reality, it's just like most Caribbean islands…poverty stricken beyond the property lines of the resorts.

I dock without permission…gather my documents and head for the Customs Office. I'm worried about Steve's documents. I had to jump through some Bahamian hoops to get his permit BEFORE coming here. They also required a health certificate from his Vet…and it's supposed to be less than a week old. I asked my Vet not to date the certificate because I had no idea when I would reach Bimini but I knew it wouldn't be within a week. She was too much of a wuss to post-date it. I said, "Don't post-date it….just leave it blank." She said she could lose her license if she did that. Like that's gonna happen...Wuss.

So I'm not a kind person. Sorry but It just doesn't come easily…get over it.  But oh you should see me when I'm at the mercy of a custom's agent….man, am I a sweetie. So I've got a crew member with outdated papers and I'm stressing. I envision Steve awaiting K-9 trial in a dark, dirt-floored, feces-covered cell with a bunch of his mange-laden brethren taunting him because he has a beard.  So yeah, I'm stressing. The customs docs have no line items specific to pets…so I ever-so-apologetically ask. "I have a dog, but I don't see anything here regarding pets…Does immigration handle that?" Without looking up the agent asks for Steve's papers and before I can shove them completely under the window. B A M !!!!  He stamps Steve's permit and slides me the rest of my paperwork. 

Yeah baby! Am I a charmer or what? 

Wait…it was me, right?

It's too bouncy to prepare meals during an ocean run…so I stuff my pockets with animal crackers (not the real ones, the cardboard  ones sold in  bushel bags at Walmart). I munch at my leisure while at the helm. As a result, this morning I am Jones'n for something substantial. I leave Steve on the boat and go to the Big Game Resort restaurant located right by the docks. God-Dayum that was a good breakfast! Several days back I had thrown away my eggs.. not because they'd gone bad, but because they were taking up too much room in my fridge. So this morning's omelette (with bacon and pepper-jack cheese), and hash browns with onions along with my first real cup of coffee since St. Augustine were savored like freedom to an inmate. While blissfully dining, the rains come. 

All of my boat hatches are open…the companion way door…and no telling what is lying outside in the cockpit. So be it… I ain't leaving this breakfast to go close the boat: (A) It's raining straight down, not sideways (B) It'll probably blow over soon ( C ) I'll get soaked just running out there. Subsequently: (A) It doesn't let up  (B) it blows sideways…and ( C ) I have to borrow the dock master's poncho to stave off the deluge. When I get to the boat it's almost wetter inside than out. Bed sheets are soaked, the seat cushions have become temporary sponges, the rug squishes…everything, including the food, Steve's bed, Steve, the head and most of my clothes. It's bad…and I really don't care. Steve's passport stamp and that breakfast of Champions has me feeling no pain. Besides, I love the rain…Always have. 

Capt. Bruce and my brother-in-law have both texted me today, advising me to go explore the island and be sure and check out the marinaded conch salad at "Stuarts." The rain has passed…and that's exactly what we're going to do.

"AND I THINK IT'S GONNA BE A LONG, LONG TIME 'TIL TOUCHDOWN BRINGS ME 'ROUND AGAIN TO FIND…"

Day 15

There are a few things I suspect may happen on this trip. Steve's probably gonna fall (jump) off. 

Steve's favorite perch

I'm gonna screw up a dockage in front of a gaggle of onlookers. My anchor's gonna drag in the middle of the night. I'm gonna drop my phone in the water. Steve's importation papers are going to be scrutinized. A storm is going to catch me with my sails up. I'm going to run aground. I'm going to have to sit and wait for my weather window before crossing the stream. And I suspect I'm probably going to drink some rum when I get to the islands.

What I DON'T expect to happen is that I'll get up one morning and bust it out of the Titusville Marina to get a jump on the "Magenta Line," only to find the NASA Causeway bridge is closed 'til 3 pm due to the Rocket Man Triathlon. OMFG! I made large progress the day before and now I have to sit here until there are only 3 hours of daylight left? The USCG made a point to broadcast the closure all day long, but apparently it didn't occur to them that broadcasting it the day before the event might have been the better call. Really bummed. And I'm not the only one…the bridge-tender gets an ear-full from some of the fleet.

When the gates open, it's like the starting line in a regatta. 20+ boats take off in a mad dash to make the most of the time left in the day. They smoke me…but one by one they peel off and I continue on into the night…finding an anchorage in Palm Shores.

Rocket Man Regatta

"YOU SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY..."

Day 16

Early start

Up at 5, running by 6. Quick pit-stop to take Steve ashore and we're rolling with a 15kt wind out of the east. The boat is heeling like crazy but we're not going that fast. She's overpowered…the wind has kicked up a notch…it's now blowing 18 - 23. I pull over to reef the main sail. Much better now…faster and without all of the stress. 

I think Vero Beach may be the locale for all magazine cover shots of waterfront property. Unbelievably nice homes ….not gaudy, not terribly ostentatious…and really tastefully done. 

The water turned teal blue today….right about the time I hit Fort Pierce.  Not a lot of Forts you can brag about (Macon, Worth, Lauderdale, Wayne, Collins), but this place (at least from the ICW) looks pretty inviting. Perhaps the fact that it's a beautiful day had something to do with it. Steve's been doing laps non-stop around the boat looking for dolphins and manatees. He's soaking wet from the sea-spray…and he doesn't care. He's happy…and he doesn't even know it's his birthday. # 5

He's beat by the end of the day, but the wind has increased and I missed my planned anchorage because I misread the ICW guidebook. I think about turning back (1 mile) but those miles are hard earned and I decide to just pull over to a 7-foot deep area and drop the hook. Birthday or no birthday…he's gotta hold it 'til tomorrow. Just as I'm lowering the anchor the rains come. Sheets of driving rain and whistling wind. I hate rain…always have…but this wash down is welcome because the boat is salt-laden from today's 12-hour run. 

We're in St. Lucie.

BRIDGE OF SIGHS

Day 17

Last night was the first night I haven't slept well. The anchor chain was twisting and the boat bounced in the chop all night. I beat my alarm…it's 5. I take my time squaring the boat, checking the oil, securing the dink and fixing a nasty cup of instant coffee. As we set off I notice how quickly it warms up. No waiting 'til 10 or 11 a.m….as soon as the sun's up it warms up. I pass an ideal spot to drop Steve off for his business. Funny... any deceleration of the engine and he looks straight at me as if to say: "We're stopping, right!?!"  I first noticed this when I'd kill the engine while sailing or slow down for a bridge….he's tuned in. But no, we're not stopping…I'll find something better. And in no time flat, I do. Occasionally, developers will build a nice dock on an undeveloped lot so as to entice the potential buyers with the real life image of life on the water. These docks are perfect for nestling up to while Steve jumps and dumps. Happy Birthday, Steve…a day late.

We're off to a great start. South Jupiter Island is mind-boggling gorgeous. The ICW homes are more like small plantations and it seems they all have beaches. Yes, beaches. White sand beach areas with bent palms for shade right at the water's edge. It's something.

West Palm Beach is opulent in its own right…but more along the lines of "big" vs."bigger." Yes, there are some incredible homes with 80' yachts parked out front…but it's as if they have no pulse. They don't emote any sense of joy or memory making, rather they just seem to signify wealth and competition…and even on this sunny day they look lifeless.

Saweeeet!

Channel 9 is the VHF channel for hailing the bridge tender in Florida… I should know. I've been through a bunch of 'em over the last 3 states…mostly "on demand," meaning: You call 'em, they open for you. Well you can kiss that goodbye in West Palm. Get through a bridge that opens on the bottom of the hour….go around the bend and there's another one that opens at the top of the hour….go a little further and it opens at 15 'til and 15 past. Get to one 3 minutes late…tough shit….sail tight circles for 30 minutes and race to catch the next one. Get to one on time…it opens 3 minutes late. Get the name of the bridge wrong and you'll get a curt reply. Get too close and they'll ask you to back up…lag too far behind and they'll ask you to push it. I must have wasted 2-3 hours waiting on bridges today.  I read about this…how the cruisers would go "outside" for an ocean run just to avoid the nerve-racking consternation of these damn bridges around Palm, Lauderdale and Miami….but I'm stuck because it's blowing a gale outside with small-craft advisories in effect. That means more bridges tomorrow. Sigh.

Bridges!!!

Day 18

I take back what I said about the bridges in West Palm…they're nothing compared to Pompano, Lauderdale and Hollywood. There was one span (pun) today that included 4 bridges in 6 miles. My boat can't fight a 4 knot current and make the intervals between the bridges…it's just too slow and the bridge tenders have no mercy. Miss-timed a bridge so badly that I anchored for 30 minutes…missed another where I had time to pull over to a dock and let Steve run…had another where I came 10' from running into the mangroves because I zoned out reading the waterway guide. I get lucky occasionally when a large vessel is oncoming and everyone let's him through (because he has current at his back, which is more difficult to manage in slow maneuvering situations) … this gives me time to catch up. 

Some pretty damn impressive real estate 'round these parts. But I pass some of them and ask "Why?" Here you've built this magnificent home on a canal peninsula …encompassing the entire point with lush landscape, pool, yacht dock, outdoor dining, poolside bar with a quarter-acre flat screen TV….and look at your view. You're staring at a line of high-rise condos less than 100 yards away. I don't get it. 

And boats….well if you're gonna talk boats you're gonna talk Lauderdale. A 200' yacht is impressive…anywhere but here. Gotta be a whole lotta compensation at play to own one of these monsters…and there are hundreds of them.  

I made it to south Hollywood….gonna try to hit Biscayne tomorrow and make the leap from there on Friday if the window is open. The weather service says if you don't go Friday…you're not going 'til after Thanksgiving because there's a front dropping down bringing north winds. We'll see. It's still howling now…in fact, I don't know how I'm gonna get out of this boat slip tomorrow morning with a 15-20 kt wind jamming my stern back into the slip. 

Can't help but think that I'd be in Biscayne right now were it not for that triathlon bridge closure in Titusville.  Bridges….pfffttttt.

HIDING IN JEKYLL

Day 10

I arrive at Jekyll Island, Georgia around noon. It makes for a nice dockage, the staff is welcoming, there are complimentary bikes and the island is pristine… too pristine. It's private and exclusive…which makes it a tad sterile. (Full Disclosure: I only saw a speck of it as I biked to the upscale market and back. )  I'm in a bit of quandary because I need to overnight a new windlass, but I can't really begin disassembling the old one until I have everything I need (wiring, chain, connectors) for the new one. I can't afford to remove my only anchoring source without knowing I have a replacement. So I get little done aside from previewing the installation guide and making my list of required materials.  

Day 11

Jekyll has next to nothing in the way of hardware, so I have to take a 12-mile cab ride (there's no Uber) off the island and over to Brunswick , but I get lucky with the electrical and chain stores being less than a block from one another. By the time I return, the new windlass has arrived and I can begin removing the old one. This takes hours. It's 9pm before I call it a day and a couple of hours of electrical work remains. 

BOUY HOW I'VE MISSED YOU

Day 12

I get an early start on the final phases of the installation (with the help of my boat slip neighbor), but my boat is a wreck. The generator, every power tool, every wrench and all of my wiring supplies are strewn inside and out. It will take me 'til noon to repack, clean up and shove off. That's a 48-hour pit stop I didn't plan on. 

I'm headed for Fernandina Beach. It's a drop-dead gorgeous day (video post on FB) and I have slight but favorable wind. I'm too comfortable. I go down below, which I often do, and when I come back up through the companion way I see a huge green sea-buoy less than 10 feet directly behind the boat. My mind can't do the math…WTF??? How did I not smack that thing? Maybe I snibbed it. I look over the starboard side for a green stripe…nothing. Wow…a wooden day-marker is one thing, a 2-ton steel sea-buoy is the end of this voyage. 

More alert now, I arrive at Fernandina Beach just past sunset. FLORIDA! The marina is huge and 1st class..there are lots of yachts and a few super-yachts, but the town...What a cool little town. Quiet cobble streets with shops and art and restaurants.  I find outdoor dining so that Steve can join me…the waitress offers him a bowl of water. I like this place.

GOUGING THE DINGHY

Day 12

Yes Fernandina is cool…but it's also sleepy. I wait for the coffee shop to open at seven. While there, I strike up a conversation with a fellow cruiser and he tells me it's a great day to go outside (ocean vs. ICW). I hustle back to the marina…within 15 minutes I've shoved off. The incoming tide chews up my jump on the day and it takes me an hour to clear the inlet and begin heading south….Destination: St. Augustine.

85 degrees and calm seas.. I have decent wind…then it picks up and I kill the engine. An hour later the winds die down and I have to motor-sail the rest of the way…. and of course, my desired heading is a degree or two outside of my wind zone. St. Augustine inlet is known for its shoaling and its markers don't show up on my chart plotter (typical when markers are moved in changing inlets). I'd like to get there before the sun impairs my vision, but it's fortuitous that I'm late. The sun has set but I can still make out the markers. No problem…except for the St. Augustine bridge. It's closed, and not just for boat traffic…. a malfunction has it closed off to vehicle traffic, as well. My dock reservation is just on the other side…I wait it out, but after 30 minutes I elect to try the new windlass and drop the hook. It works great and the St. Augustine harbor is exquisite with its dark orange sky and the city lights in the background. I'll save a few bucks and anchor here for the night….gives me a chance to try the dinghy motor for the first time. I've been using the dink, but only to paddle short distances to take Steve ashore. There'll be no paddling here. Capt. Bruce told me to be wary of the current here…and he was right. It runs 6 kts or more as it funnels through the bridge. We putt over to the marina to cancel my dock reservation and ask to use the dinghy dock….it's $10. Pffffttttt.  Ridiculous. Just for that, I'm clogging your toilet.`

St. Augustine, the nation's oldest city, is beautiful. They have a festival of lights and they've already begun stringing the trees for the holidays. Steve and I dine outside at O. C.'s and then scoot back to the boat to see if the anchor has held in the swinging tide. It has.

MY OLD MAN AND THE SEA

Day (Friday the) 13

We're up early, but the city isn't. I have to find a hotel with a coffee shop because the cafes don't open 'til 7. A fellow cruiser on Jekyll told me about a sailor's consignment shop in S. A. that might be interested in my old windlass…it doesn't open 'til 9 so Steve and I go back to the boat and I service the engine (adding oil and tightening the belt). The consignment shop is only a mile away, but I have to carry the windlass and 50lbs of chain…so I call Uber. (My driver is the nicest person to have ever been erroneously issued a driver's license and I struggle not to take the wheel.)  It's a great consignment shop (think candy store for mariners) and they give me $100 for the old windlass... but they're stocked on chain so I only get $.50 a foot.

It's another gorgeous day, only cooler (75), with light but favorable winds again….unfortunately my noon departure means I'm up against the raging tide I was forewarned about. As I pull away from St. Augustine I'm reminded of the book "My old man and the sea" ...about a young solo sailor who went weeks without making a port of call... and as he was about to enter a marina (where he could smell the grills) he encountered stalled wind and counter-current. He fought it for a while…considered it an omen…and sailed on another week before making landfall. I'm not there yet, but as nice as Fernandina and S.A. were…I'm in no hurry to return to civilization for awhile. 

I make a slow, warm trudge against the tide and for the first time in nearly two weeks my autopilot is tracking erratically. This can't be good.

This is looking more and more like Florida now…like where they filmed "Flipper "…and I expect to see Bud and Sandy come skimming around the bend any minute now.  I pass Marineland…manatee warning signs abound…homes are positioned only a few feet above sea level (and they all have screened in pools). Palms in S.C. accent the landscape, here they are the landscape. The sun feels hotter..and the water in my toilet is getting clearer with each southerly flush. (Or is that all in my head? Get it? The Head!!)

I stop in Palm Coast for the night…quietly tied to the fuel dock. 

GRAY, YELLOW, CYAN, MAGENTA, followed by….

Day - 14

I've blown through my share of "No Wake" zones…this morning it's payback time. A local fisherman busts through the zone and pounds my boat up against the pilings. It's 4:45 a.m…..and it's cold. We shove off by 5:15. Sun tan lotion the last two days…a winter coat this morning. Temp 55 …up to 75 this afternoon….winds gusting out of the NE….Time to make some headway.  

On nautical charts (paper and digital), the Intracoastal Waterway is denoted by a magenta colored line. I see it in my sleep now.

When I set out on this trip I calculated 2 weeks max to get to Miami…maybe 10 days if I pushed it. I left a day late, cut three days short, lost a day and a half in Isle of Palms, 2 days on Jekyll….That's about 5 days off schedule. If I make it to Miami in 5 days I'll be happy, but it seems I'm always heading into the tide. This boat is fat and it has a full keel; in sailing circles it's fondly referred to as a "pig." As such, the tide kills its forward momentum. It doesn't help that today is Saturday and everyone is out on the water…or that I'm going through Daytona Beach and there are lots of bridges to open. Today I went through a draw (bascule) bridge and the tender only opened one side…that was a first for me. 

Good wind and (finally!) good tide…I knocked off a good chunk of Florida today. Palm Coast to Titusville in 12 hours….the early start helps during these shortest of days. 

Two weeks and still no musical accompaniment…I think I've found a new vibe.

My apologies for this less than exciting post, but thanks to all for following along. 

Steve learns to heel

The ICW (Intracoastal waterway) winds through Georgia, and I mean winds. The cruisers talk about how you can go 10 miles and only make one mile of progress...an exaggeration but it is twisty. With a couple of hours of daylight left, I scooted past a marina ...thought about it for a second, and turned back. They had one space left and I took it. (Steve was happy.) As I checked in the dock-master said, "You might want to go ahead and reserve tomorrow night too. It's supposed to rain all day with 30 knot winds." I thought about it for a second.. and left the dock before sunrise the next morning. 

Day 8  It wasn't raining as forecast, but it was blowing. I shut the engine off and jibed for 10 hours through those twisty wetlands. Miles and miles of marsh, rivers and tidal creeks peppered with the occasional cluster of trees, but mostly just... marsh. The rains did come, and of course they fell hardest when they came from my stern...the most exposed area of my cockpit. And the wind did howl...all day long...gusting so badly the autopilot couldn't hold course. A couple of unplanned jibes nearly busted my block and tackle, and the planned ones weren't much better. A wild ride...with everything unsecured down below lying in a heap on the cabin floor. Steve didn't like it...just when he'd get situated, the boat would heel to the opposite side. After hours of this he sought refuge down below...next to the screaming VHF radio and the clanging assortment of spillage. The wind was relentless, never hinting of letting up. Around 4pm I received a text from my friend on Sullivan's Island: "Time to seek an anchorage" was all it said. I tried two separate locations, both with little protection and lots of current. By the time I'd leave the cockpit and run up to the bow to drop the hook...the wind had whipped the boat into the shallows. The 3rd attempt was successful, for me...not for Steve. He would have to go 24 hours without relieving himself, something he apparently resigned to do, as he dozed off early.

I didn't run the engine all day, except to leave the dock and drop the hook. Pretty cool.

Captain Bruce Martin

Steve's not my co-pilot.... Bruce Martin is. He's a native Chawstonian (the one that helped me fetch fuel lines and supplies while stuck on Isle of Palms) and he knows every inch of the area. He's been with me since the months before my departure...emailing questions, concerns and tips regarding my journey south. He should know...he's done it many times. He knows more about sailing and has been in more shit-storms (lightening strikes), hellish seas than most, but he knows a lot of other stuff too. He practically pioneered farm-raised shrimp in a pond on his family land. He's delivered boats. He built million-dollar homes on Sullivan's Island. And to this day he resides on one of the most beautiful pieces of that entire island. He's an old salt. I met him in the early 80s through a mutual (and mutually dear) friend. About the only thing we had in common was our penchant for using our bodies as recreational drug depositories. We rarely kept in touch, and were it not for FB we probably wouldn't be in touch now. Like me, he's an acquired taste. He drones on and on and on ...digressing in the middle of a digression. You don't really converse with him...you just wait for him to exhaust himself and then try to remember your train of thought a few minutes back. Everything that he rattles on about is interesting, it's just seldom pertinent. However, I've learned that if you'll wait...the man drops nuggets of knowledge at every turn. And not just local knowledge; Bruce has been around the world and can tell you the best spots in the best cities in the best countries. He can tell you the pub owner's son's dog's name (Dozy) and how it used to howl at exactly 12-noon every Tuesday because that's when the people running the laundry mat next door used to cook jerk chicken in the little side alley where the graffiti artists would have competitions drawing the police chief's daughter who got caught getting her stocking stuffed at the pub owner's Christmas party.... but I digress. 

He's sailed the Bahamas and he knows the route like he knows his driveway. He called me the other day and asked me where I anchored for the night. I said I just went under a bridge near... And before I could finish my sentence he said "I know exactly where you are, you're off to the right in that little creek just south of the Limehouse Bridge sitting in about 10 feet of water." And I was.

Bruce and I talk twice a day because like a good co-pilot, I'd be lost without him. 

Day 9 The winds died down to 10mph overnight and this morning Steve gets to pee. He's happy. In fact, he had a really good day. Dolphins were everywhere today and Steve did laps around the boat deck about to jump out of his fur. I think I know why he gets so excited...The same reason I do. Of all of the hundreds of dolphins I've seen over my lifetime, the next one i see will be just as cool as the first one I saw. You can't say that about a lot of things, really. In any event, Steve's enthralled. He can hear them surface now, even when he's down below!

Then more rain came, only this time it brought bolts of lightening with it. For the last two days I've been the only fool on the waterway, but today there is a sailboat about a 1/2 mile behind me...and somehow I feel 50% safer knowing there are two masts pointing up into the electric sky. I skate through and make good time, pulling into Jekyll Island with a mission. I need a new windlass. The boat came with a manual one, but last night's anchoring debacles convinced me of what I suspected all along...a motorized windlass is safer when single-handling a sailboat. I'll spend all day tomorrow installing it. Hate the delays, but I'm pretty sure I'll appreciate them down the road. 

"Are you bored yet?"

That was the text I received from Whitney today. And I hadn't thought about until then, but...no. I'm not bored. I suppose that if I were just along for the ride I would indeed be bored, but as is...in charge of everything...I haven't felt the least bit bored. In fact, it occurred to me today that I've been an entire week without listening to a single note of music. I honestly can't remember that ever happening before...ever.  I have tunes onboard, but for some reason it doesn't seem appropriate. 

I think I'm about half-way to Miami.

I've grown up around boats. I skippered boats in the oil fields of Louisiana, crewed a company yacht and owned a 27' "pocket cruiser." I've had the good fortune to traverse the Caribbean on various bareboat charters over the last decade. Each time, while at the helm, I've been pummeled by the souls of earlier explorers…or more fittingly, pirates. Rolling along at the mercy of the sea…not the coastal sea but the deep, blue, formidable sea.. the islands in the distance look like individual mountains. From miles away you cannot detect a condo, a resort, a radio tower or a marina…they look the way I imagine they looked hundreds of years ago when explorers and pirates roamed. Even under power on a hoity-toity charter boat, this scene riles the daring spirit of a pirate that dwells not so deep within. It's a crazy game between ego and nature. I know nature will win, she's undefeated; but I'd feel oh-so lifeless if I didn't stand up to her…even if it's only to be brought to a trembling death…at least I lived. Blah blah blah…enough drippy prose. This is just a skip down the ICW and a leisurely hop over to the Bahamas, but now you know what I know…the sea calls me. 

This adventure remains a pipe-dream if not for the best of spouses and the most capable of offspring. My wife and eldest daughter agreed to carry the load while I meandered around the Bahamas. It was an easy sell, really. I told them my plan and they pretty much said, "see ya!" (The lone advantage of curmudgeonship.)

Buyer's remorse and a light to variable ass-whipping

I know a little about sailboats, very little compared to true sailors. Shopping for a boat, I had a dilemma: Spend more for a newer boat or spend close to the same for an older, yet more seaworthy boat. I chose the latter. I made an offer on a barely used Hunter 306 that sat in Little Washington, NC.  My low-ball offer was promptly accepted. Yikes! (not low enough)…still it was a good deal, even by boat purchasing standards. Then I stumbled upon a 1985 Island Packet 27 (30' really, if you count the pulpit) in Charleston, SC. I low-balled him and my offer was promptly accepted. Yikes! again. 

The analogy I use to compare these two boats is: One is a Kia with lots of bells and whistles…the other is an old Mercedes 300 diesel. They both needed updated electronics and a myriad of other things (batts, solar, refrigeration, chain, windlass, canvas, etc…) that would make them suitable for this journey. The Hunter was more money…the IP was the better boat (in the minds of most). I should've taken the Hunter. Yes, the IP needed much of the same upgrades, but it also needed repairs. 30 years of previous owner's tinkering can be a nightmare to untangle and even more so to remedy. With the Hunter I would have simply added components…with the IP I spent 2 months in the boatyard. A boat broker asked me if I'd ever had a "light to variable ass-whipping?" That day when the forecast calls for light to variable winds but you find yourself in 30 knot winds and 6' seas. In that instance, he said, you'll wish you were in the IP and not the Hunter. There's no doubt the boat I chose is more seaworthy, but I let that cloud my judgement because I have the luxury of waiting out the weather. Sailor's typically screw up when they're trying to adhere to a schedule…they push the weather window and find themselves in precarious, if not regrettable, situations. I have buyer's remorse, but this boat is growing on me.

Less than auspicious beginnings

After prep and packing and stowing and forgetting…I set out on October 31st 2015. I had been struggling to cure a leak in the fuel system for the week prior and I thought I had finally resolved the issue. I let the engine run for a couple of hours before departure and there were no signs of trouble. About 5 minutes from the dock (with family and neighbors still within ear-shot) the engine died and I had to scramble for tools and jump down into the engine room to bleed the air from the system and restart the engine…maybe 45 seconds before drifting into the neighbor's dock. WTF?!!

So I limped away south and decided to moor in the Wrightsville Beach harbor for the night. Not a bad plan as I was able to fuel up, pump out the holding tank, ice down and rendezvous with a friend. I tinkered with the engine some more and the next morning set out with zero engine related problems. As I reached Southport I decided I had seen enough of the Oak Island -> Sunset Beach section of the ICW…I elected to go "outside" for an ocean run to Little River inlet. I had to motor-sail because there wasn't much wind…but it was a beautiful day and the engine ran for 11 hours straight…no problem.  Pulled into the south end of Bird Island and cooked a bad-ass steak for Steve and myself. A good first full-day.

WTF?

The next morning starts out with promise and a sputter. Air in the fuel line again means I have to have (now readily accessible) tools and engine room open to bleed the line each time the engine stalls. This could occur after 2 hours or 20 minutes…depends on how the 20hp diesel feels, I guess. It's happened so often that I can now detect the slightest variation in the rhythm of the cylinders and can anticipate the impending failure….which ALWAYS occurs when a tug is oncoming or I'm going through a swing bridge. I stop at Barefoot landing and spend an hour re-tightening all of the fittings I spent the last week tightening. I limp on another 40 miles to Wachesaw and dock for the night…Steve is happy to make use of the amenities. 

Day 3 we get an early start, but it's a long rainy slog to McClellanville …we stop early (3pm) and anchor in a small cove for the night. Steve's not happy. 

Day 4 we're up at 5 and running by 6….The fuel system is now leaking like a sieve and shutting down every 20 minutes with regularity. I've learned to pre-bleed the system before approaching a bridge or harbor. I call Isle of Palms ahead of time and ask for diesel mechanic recommendations and a slip for the night. The mechanic shows up later that afternoon and we trade out the existing fuel/water separator for the one I should've purchased in the first place. (buyer's remorse) After taking a diesel bath every day for the last week or so, I've come to know my way around the engine…so much so that I have to take the lead when the mechanic starts his assessment. He's glad to leave and I'm glad to have him gone. We have a new part, let's hope the old one was the culprit.  Dinner with an old friend from Sullivan's island makes for a decent delay….I'll be off again tomorrow. 

Day 5  I'm second guessing a connection the mechanic made. My friend runs me to the hardware store and West Marine to get supplies. I change the line, have lunch and shove off…. Made it up the Stono River. It's spectacular at this particular sunset…as calm as a mill pond. We anchor for the night. I dinghy Steve over to a nearby shore for his wiz and dump. He's learning the routine.

Day 6 Early start with favoring current…Spot a Bald Eagle along the way…lots of dolphins along side us and this drives Steve nuts. I have to tie him down for fear he'll jump. I cruise past Beaufort and head for Hilton Head but run out of time and visibility as a fog bank rolls in and there's nothing I can do. I'm crossing a 50' deep river with shipping traffic (can't anchor)…I've got an hour of daylight left but that's been devoured by the fog. There is absolutely no way to navigate without the chart plotter…visibility is maybe 100 feet. I can drive with the chart plotter, no problem….but the plotter only tells me where I'm going, not who I'm about to run into. It's dark…it's foggy…and Steve needs to go. I anchor in the shallows but only long enough to take Steve ashore. Then proceed @ 2 knots into the abyss. I hear shipping chatter on the VHF which doesn't exactly thrill me….finally find a hole deep enough to moor. We drop the hook and it's 7pm. That makes for a 13 hour day.

Day 7 Still fogged in at 9 am. I've driven in fog before…when I was a crew-boat captain in Louisiana..but I had radar then and without it, I'm stuck. As a result, there's time to write. The days are long and slow (think driving a golf cart to California) but the scenery is to die for. The SC low-country is something to behold, and they say GA is going to surpass this. 

NO RAGRETS … Cheesy boat name from a cheesy movie, but it fits. It's easy to communicate on the VHF and I've gotten several compliments already. Other names in consideration were: "Bag of Hammers" (as in dumber than a bag of hammers), "Greta" (for my cool daughter), "Sloop Dog" (for Steve) and "Blamer" (for me). I had a previous sailboat named "Shoal Brother" which was aptly named for my seamanship and was later changed to "Hip Sails" which corresponded with my orthopedic sales job at the time. Katharine and I also had a power boat named "Kathron"…it served us well.

I've packed too much bread, bagels, lunch meat, etc… as I typically eat a bowl of cereal before shoving off and grab some crackers with cheese for lunch. Too early to tell what the dinner routine will be but the one steak I did cook made me wish I'd packed more. For all of the sitting I do all day long, I'm absolutely beat at the end of the day. The auto-pilot does the lion's share of the driving but I remain in constant look out for crab pots, traffic and heading. This bounding about the boat, adjusting lines and getting on and off the dinghy is a young man's game. I think I envisioned the 30-year-old version of myself making this trek, when  in fact, I'm now more suited for the cozy wheelhouse of a small trawler.