THE END IS NEAR

Day 33

I'm headed home and that's a good thing…I miss my family.

I leave Fort Lauderdale headed north through the Bridges of Sighs. With time on my hands, I check the waterway guide and find that over the next 65 miles I will pass through 37 bridges. Oh happy day! After 5 weeks of "right on red" it's hard to process the green markers on my right heading north. 

I can't even remember where I spent Thursday night…I think it was just south of Jupiter.

Day 34 - I make it to Jensen Beach. It was raining last time I stopped here and it's doing the same tonight. I arrive late and it's pitch dark, but throw in some ambient distortion from the town lights and my night vision is suspect, at best. As close as depth will allow me, I inch over toward the base of the bridge so that I can get into calmer water. I lean outside the windshield to get a clearer view and my heart stops. 

I came within 2 seconds of T-boning a moored sailboat. I was so close that I when I veered I almost snagged his anchor line. WTF!!! 

It's what's commonly referred to as a "vagabond"…a tattered boat someone lives on but seldom, if ever, moves. Tax-free and off the grid aquatic housing, if you will. The problem is, sometimes these boats are left unattended for months and in the case of this one…it's unlit. Moored or anchored boats are supposed to maintain an anchor light from dusk to dawn…or risk being T-boned in the night. 

Day 35 - It's a slog up to the town of Sebastian. The wind is coming from the north at 25 kts+…this kicks up the chop … and I make lousy headway the entire day. I need some provisions so I pick a marina within close proximity to a grocery store. I call ahead for a slip and the guy says he has one. I ask how late he's open and he laughs…"What's your speed, Captain?" I skirt the question and tell him I can be there by 6 p.m. When I get there he puts me in the basin that they drop boats into…it's the walled off area the forklift accesses. Not really a slip…but in some ways better. The manager greets me and he couldn't be nicer. He offers to run me to Winn Dixie…I feign reluctance and we're off. I ask him where I can watch the UNC/Clemson football game and he says there's a pub right across from the marina, but that I can't go there. He repeats it: "Do not go there." Apparently they don't take too kindly to strangers…I get that. He offers to drop me off a couple of miles up the road where there are lots of restaurants…he even gives me the card of the taxi service that works the marina. I decline the offer, but what a nice guy. 

Day 36 - I should make Titusville (Where their slogan is: "Let's close the bridge all day for a triathlon and not give anyone advance notice."), but I don't even get close. The wind is frickin' howling…25 with gust to 30 and the open bay is rough as hell. I call it a day behind a bluff near Merritt Island (Cape Canaveral area). 

NASA fired a rocket this afternoon... I could've seen it if I'd been looking, but I didn't find out about it until I saw it on the news. 

Day 37 -  The wind didn't let up all night and today is yet another slog. I refuel in Titusville (Steve's happy) and I make yet another slog to New Smyrna Beach. We anchor for the night in New Smyrna. Short days and slow-going have got me second-guessing whether or not I'll get home in time for Christmas. 

Day 38 - We're up and running by 5:30 a.m. I slide over to the marina and tie up long enough to let Steve do his business….distracted by another dog, he only whizzes. The wind stays out of the north but it lies down quite a bit. Around 3pm Steve starts to get antsy. "I told you to go, but NOoo, you had to run play with that dog. Now you're just gonna have to hold it." He doesn't reply, but 20 minutes later he poops on the foredeck…all over the foredeck. I praise him for 5 minutes. I spent two weeks trying to get him to "go" on the boat when all I really had to do was wait him out. The sun shines again and I cover almost 75 miles, arriving in St. Augustine at 6pm. I take a slip and the guy only charges me $30. There are showers, crappy wifi and a restaurant on premises. Nice people here…but I won't be here very long. 

Day 39 - We're up and running by 5 today….It's warm and there's very little breeze. I run aground twice near Matanza Beach…both times I was in the channel.  Aside from that, I somehow manage to catch the favorable tide of every single tributary. We were book'n it all day long. (New moon tides are more pronounced than full moon tides.) I get to Fernandina Beach just before sunset. I refuel…take a mooring ball..dinghy ashore and eat a decent meal. This place is nice.

Day 40 - Another early start…6am. Couple more good, long travel days and I may get home yet. 

VHF is yapping continuously… it's the Coast Guard. Apparently I'm not the only one to find skinny water around Matanza Beach…the repeated announcements warn of a drifting channel marker in that area. Ya think?

I pass Jeckyll Island and happen upon CG maneuvers (a helicopter plucking men from a moving boat)….they pass right by me. Very cool. 

The tide sucks me out of Jeckyll but I'm going to be in for a tuff plow turning back up stream. I call Capt. Bruce and ask for some friendly port info if I should elect to go "outside" for an ocean run. The twisty ICW of Georgia was a blast coming down, but going up could be misery. I'm eyeing the inlet and the tide, sun and nonexistent waves are begging me to turn and run. Bruce gives me my options for ports and anchorages and I check the NOAA weather report: Not much wind, but not much swell either. As I turn away from St. Simon and make a run for the ocean, everything is in my favor… but time.  It's 1pm and it'll take me an hour to get out of the inlet. That leaves me 3 hours of daylight. I'm not crazy about night cruising, but on a still night I can handle it…even if there's no moon. So where to? Bruce gave me a couple of short haul options…but, hell…if I'm out here I might as well head home. I look at Charleston, then Little River…then Southport. It's almost 240 miles to Southport…at 5kts that would take me 2 days and 2 nights…nonstop! 

Aside from traffic, there are markers out here in the middle of nowhere….and unfortunately I can't start my sleep intervals until I've cleared those. It's cold…I light the alcohol heater and warm the cabin. Steve and I are in bed by 8. There is some freighter traffic coming and going through Savannah, but not nearly as much as I anticipated. Pre-dawn I had a fortuitous awakening…I went to the cockpit and something wasn't right. I was groggy but pretty sure it was getting light in the west. Took me a few, but I figured it out once I looked at the chart plotter. The autopilot had stopped working and we were headed in the exact opposite direction. What should've been day-break to my starboard was now on my port. We hadn't gone far…luckily. 

Day 41 - Friday and the weather is fantastic…dolphins have been following us all night and this morning they're still here. Around 8 a.m. I can't see land and there's not a single shrimp trawler or freighter or sports fisherman to be seen. I go back to bed and sleep solidly for 2 hours. 

I packed winter clothes. Doesn't sound like a chore, but for someone sworn to never live where the weather dictates his posture, it was not only difficult but also depressing to consider the cold while packing for the Caribbean. I would rather sweat than shiver. I despise the cold and I'm convinced that there are only 2 possible reasons for living north of the Mason/Dixon and subjecting yourself to the withering discomfort of winter: (1) Your livelihood depends on it. (2) You've lost your fucking mind. People say: "I like the change of seasons and you can always put on more layers of clothes, but you can only take off so much." Really? Ever been so hot you couldn't feel your toes? Here's winter's suckatude in a nutshell: When I pull out my summer clothes for the first time each year and reach my hands into my pockets I find a lighter, a beer-bottle cap and a golf tee. When I put on my winter coat for the first time each year and reach my hands into my pockets I find wadded up tissue, chapstick and a bottle of nose-spray. Here endeth the lesson.

I'm a tad worried about the engine…it's been running for 30 hours straight. The wind died this afternoon so I take the opportunity to drift for an hour while I kill the engine…change the oil, clean the water intake strainer and replace the fuel filter. I dispense the last of the spare fuel (10 gal) and now we're topped off…the engine got a reprieve and some revitalized innards, so now I won't feel so badly about pushing her for the remaining 24 hours to Southport.

I'm running low on provisions…Grilled ham and cheese sandwich is tonight's featured fare. 

Steve is driving me nuts…his intermittent high-pitched howling at dolphins has gone on for 14 hours now. I'm tempted to kick him overboard, but instead I lock him down below…otherwise I'm sure he would continue into the night. It's been a good day. And now comes the darkness. 

It was a good night, too... No traffic and no obstacles. Only incident being, my phone died while set to wake me..and so I slept for 2 hours instead of one. 

Day 42 - The wind came up during the night and so we're making good time. GPS says I'll arrive at Southport by 3 pm. Hard to believe. Soon I'll see the smiling faces of my family. Soon I'll feel the exfoliation of a lengthy, high-pressure, hot shower. Soon I'll walk on a flat surface, without hunching or ducking or climbing or stepping over lines. Soon I'll lie on a mattress and not a cushion. Soon I'll stretch and walk and exercise. Soon this odyssey will be over and I will resume my submission to the parameters of adulthood. 

It's sunny and the wind has died…my new arrival time is 3:45. Katharine is on BHI…I'll stop there for the night and life will be good, once again. 

HINDSIGHTS

The Vessel

"No Ragrets" is a 27' Island Packet and her reputation precedes her. People went out of their way to tell me what a nice (and nice looking) boat she is. At every fuel stop, every dock slip…and even while under way I would get a VHF call from fellow sailors …just to say, "Nice boat." As I pulled into Fernandina just past sunset and meandered through the huge marina to find my slip, a woman sitting on a million dollar ketch called out, "Pretty boat!" And then there's the Island Packet family. There's an online group of IP owners that share info, rendezvous and generally pat each other on the back for their mutual good fortune to be IP owners. I'm part of that family whether I want to be or not. EVERY IP owner makes a point to introduce themselves. One would think that owning the oldest and smallest boat in the fleet would exempt me from favor, but there's been no hint of that. 

She's been a good boat. She can do this trip, no problem…but she's more suited for coastal cruising than long-term live-aboard. For someone looking for the ideal week-ender…this is it. Huge battery bank, Solar Power, Auto-pilot, Electric Windlass, Refrigeration, AC and Bimini/Dodger, Swim platform. I know Oriental, Ocracoke, Beaufort and Cape Lookout and this boat has those destinations written all over it. She'll be on Craig's List by year's end. 

          Good Call                                                          Bad Call

Animal Crackers/ Pudding cups                             Eggs / Soup

Steak/Chix/Chops                                                   Sausage

Box Milk                                                                Instant Coffee

TV                                                                          No Hot-Spot

Power Tools                                                           No vacuum

New Windlass                                                        Old Windlass

Steve                                                                      Steve

Steve was an absolute joy. He was also a pain in the ass. He hindered my progress, dictated my ports and anchorages…and then snuggled like a baby at night. He has the sea legs of a cat…and he's not afraid to take a dose of ocean in the mug. I'm glad he came along, but I probably should've left him at home. 

The journey

People have said…"Awww sorry you didn't get to spend more time in the Bahamas or get down to the Exumas." To clarify, this was never about enjoying a balmy respite on a boat in the Bahamas. Besides, my life's practically one long balmy respite, anyway. No, this was a personal challenge…not to see if I could do this by myself, but to know what it feels like to do this by myself. And to that end, it has been a success. I now know what's entailed…the good, the bad and the uncomfortable. Now the question is: Do I want more, or am I cured? Either way, this journey wins.

Truthfully, I'm a power-boater at heart and if I cruise down the ICW again, it won't be in a sailboat. Between the bridges and the tidal currents, sailboats are just too slow. I would definitely consider a small trawler…a single-screw, even... something to economically cruise at 10kts minimum. 

If I ever sail to the Bahamas again, it will be from NC. I will cross the stream from home and head south…ride the trades to the Abacos and be there in 4-5 days. (Vs. the 3 weeks it took me to get to Bimini) With 4 overnighters in the bag, I'm comfortable in the dark…especially with additional (human) crew.

Whether under power or sail, I will not go it alone. Done that…it was great, but the destinations (also part of the journey) are meant to be shared with someone. I don't want to walk on pristine beaches alone…I'd rather stay home and watch TV with the ones I love. 

Shout outs

I don't want to crop the kudos to my wife, but if any of you have been fortunate enough to have been graced with her presence…well, you know that words can't paint the picture. She's an incredible human being and I'm indebted to her for not only allowing me to break away, but for encouraging my break away. I love you Katharine.

Whitney, my oldest child (from my starter-marriage)… Thank you for covering the payroll duties for me and thank you for assisting Katharine with the childcare responsibilities. But mostly, thank you for being an especially level-headed young woman. You're undeniably pretty, but I think your true beauty shines through your worldly perception and your refusal to take any shit from anyone. My girl. 

Greta, my teen-aged super-star scholar, musician and artist. Thank you for not taking the time to call, email or text me over the last 6 weeks. If even once you had reached out to me in any way, I would have disowned you for dishonoring the "code." 

 Skeet, my … um…. not really sure what you are, but you're some kind of special. Thank you for texting me one gazillion times and requesting a pic of "Steve." I missed you too, son.

Captain Bruce…Thank you for joining me on this journey. Thank you for sharing your chart-books, your local knowledge and your vast maritime experience…it's been invaluable. Thank you also for being a friend. 

Thanks also to James Thomas Lee, my childhood friend who taught me how to sail…more importantly, he taught me the joy of sailing. You often chided me for motoring when I could sail…you'd been proud of me this trip. 

A Final Assessment

It was a good trip. I covered roughly 3,000 miles in 6 weeks. I saw wonderful landscapes, the top 3 being: SC Low Country, Cumberland Island, GA and Jupiter Island, Florida. I saw iguanas, flying fish, huge tarpon, rays, manatees and scores of dolphin. I ate conch and drank rum…grilled lobster and drank wine. I saw so many terrific sunrises and sets, starry nights and moons that I barely bothered to photograph them, knowing they couldn't be justly captured. I slid on the slippery slope between calm and mayhem. I saw how quickly things could turn to shit and how nothing happened until everything happened at once. I heard nature laughingly call out my age whenever I needed to summon swift agility and strength. And I heard absolutely nothing but the lapping of water against the hull as we rode with the wind. I went 25 days without music…for a music hound, that's something. I'm a news hound, too…and I went without a lot of that also. I did monitor FaceBook, but (for the most part) I refrained from jumping in the fray…knowing it would be there upon my return. And since I'm home now…One note regarding FB and the 2nd Amendment: What the fuck is wrong with you people that can't connect the dots between this country's love of guns and its susceptibility to mass shootings? And don't wrap yourself in the flag because the fact is, putting your individual right before the safety of the nation makes you less of an American and more of a self-centered prick. No one's coming to take your guns and ammo, but it'd be nice if you had the acumen to understand why they would want to.

Lastly, Thank you all for following along. I know this blog made for tedious reading at times, but I appreciate your indulgence.  

Thanks also for supporting Katharine in her support of me. 

Cheers!

Ron & Steve

NO PROBLEM MON

I subscribe to a weather service. There are several, but it's widely considered that Chris Parker's service is the best…most accurate. The service comes with a fee because it's extremely detailed (wind direction, clocking, speed, gusts, fronts, hi/lows, trough, precip, squalls, wave heights, per second, gulf stream crossing windows north and south routes, east and west departures) and he throws in his opinion in favor, or not, with the computer models he references. He's good. You can email him your itinerary and he'll shoot you a personalized report. He could have just cut and pasted the first one he sent me. 

Each morning we walk the docks at Great Harbor and say to one another: "Looks like it may die down (insert day of the week)" ..and yet by the afternoon the forecast has been extended. Some of these folks (expats) are in no hurry to leave. Some (Lobster fishermen) are losing money. Some (Bahamians) are just ready for things to return to normal. And me… I'm just running out of options. 

Monday morning: Day 9 in Great Harbor. Chris Parker has added yet another day to my delay. I can't sit any longer. "Are you leaving?" they ask. Yeah, I've gotta move, I say…if nothing else I'll get around Stirrup Cay and be ready to bolt first thing tomorrow morning. I don't make the rounds to say goodbye to everyone, which is rude-ish…but goodbyes suck and we all must know we'll never see one another again. Still, a few of my neighbors hear me crank up and they come to help me shove off. I think deep down they know it's time for all of us to resume our respective journeys. 

It's a gorgeous morning…15kt wind and I raise the sails as soon as I leave the harbor. I'm sailing around to the ocean side of the island, and to do so, I have to round the upper cays (Cocoa, Stirrup, Little Stirrup).

They're awesome looking little islands…they should be: The cruise lines own them. They're private (up to the tide line) and only used by Norweigan and Disney to dump off their hoards for a few hours of fabricated bliss. As I round the cays the forecasted winds greet me, and they bring the PO'd seas with them,…and of course, my preferred heading is thwarted by wind, sea…and two huge cruise ships. 

I fall off the wind to gain speed, but I lose time in doing so. It takes me the rest of the day to reach Soldier Cay, my refuge for the night. I arrive about an hour before sundown and it's pristine, desolate and calm. I have gin-clear water and a quarter-mile crescent shaped beach to myself…it's pretty sweet. Steve and I leave our prints in the sand and dinghy back to the boat so that I can grab my mask and snorkel before the sun sets. 

Under water, I'm amazed at the pool-like visibility, but I can't enjoy it because I know sunset is feeding time for creatures of the deep…so I do a quick inspection of the keel/prop and climb out just before my imagination devours me. 

It's lobster night, courtesy of my stranded brethren. They sold me 4 small tails for $17 and I'm grilling 2 of them tonight in this beautiful setting ..life is good. 

The brothers were fishing Great Harbor when they ran into trouble, but they hail from Spanish Wells, Eleuthera. They'll limp on back home when the seas calm tomorrow..or the next day…or the next. Spanish Wells is pretty much due east from here so I've decided to make that my next destination. It's almost 60 miles across the "Tongue of the Ocean," the deep water cut that splits the northern Bahamas, but I'm hoping the winds will still have a NE flavor to them and I'll be able to make it across before dark. Going to Spanish Wells (which is supposed to be fairly Americanized, but nice) seems like a good call for me. I can see some more of the Bahamas without getting too far south…and when (if) the normal easterly trades return I'll have no trouble heading back home. 

Scratch that plan. The NE has dissipated and my preferred bearing has me nosed directly into 3' seas…I'll have to motor the entire way and even at that I won't make it across before dark. The couple with the 38' version of my boat are headed to Rose Island (just east of Nassau) and they invited me to tag along. So, sure… Rose Island it is. If they left today, as they said they would, they'll probably catch me in a few hours…and it's not long before I see a sailboat making its way around Stirrup Cay. Still, my heading for Rose isn't much better than Spanish Wells because I can't grab but a sliver of the wind and the seas are setting me back. After an hour or so I scratch that plan too. On to Plan "C." --> I'll head for Chub Cay. With better wind direction I make my way around the bottom of Little Harbor Cay and into Chub. Barely making my approach, I already feel better about this plan. The sun and water are living up to the Bahamas Dept. of Tourism's marketing campaign and the palm-lined beaches surrounding the entrance into Chub harbor can't help but set you in a good mood. Once in, the marina is 1st Class…huge concrete floating docks (over 200 slips), clubhouse, pool, restaurant and the aforementioned beach. The place is nearly empty but you can tell it's a wealthy sports fisherman's haven just by the size and beauty of the few boats that are here. With one glance at the Tee-shirt rack, you can also tell the size of those fishermen …it's flush with  XL, XXL and XXXLs….and it ain't because that's all they had left; it's because this place was built for the fat and happy.

I check in and try not to blow a gasket when the receptionist quotes me $3 per foot (boat length) for one night's tie-up to the dock. I rationalize the $0 per foot I paid last night and fork over my credit card…at least I'll get a hot shower and some WIFI out of it. I hit the restaurant next door and ask if I can eat out on the patio with my dog. "Sure, mon…no problem…Whatch you want?" I order a cheeseburger and a beer. "Pay for your food here…get your beer at the bar." (Huh?…uh..ok) I walk over to the bar and grab my $6.13 beer and take it outside to my table. 15 minutes later I hear a tap on the window…I turn and it's the guy who took my order, waving me inside. I go inside and there's my lunch…in a "to-go" box. "There you go, mon…Ketchup and every-ting is in da bag." I shake my head and think to myself; if this guy was an ice-cream flavor he'd be "pralines and dick."

The burger's good. The wifi sucks. I've come to the conclusion that no wifi is better than crappy wifi and as inviting as this place looks, it's not "all that." I figure if I'm not going south, I may as well go home. It's 2pm…I can't make the 75 miles to Bimini, but the burger should hold me well into the night. I go back to the receptionist and tell her I'm leaving. She looks at me sideways but doesn't bother to ask me why…because I'm pretty sure she doesn't care. I shove off and have a great sail easterly. Because I'm leaving from Chub, not Great Harbor, I'll be on the banks (15' depth) almost the entire way. I start my sleep intervals around 10pm. It's sane…not too rough, not too windy but it's blowing from astern. In an attempt to quell my luffing jib, I decide to hook up the whisker pole. (A whisker pole is a pole that holds the jib out of the lee of the mainsail.) My jib sheet is too taut to attach it so I go back to loosen it …when I return my whisker pole is gone. (So if you need one, look about half-way between Chub and Bimini.) I use my GPS to calculate how far I need to go in order to make it into Bimini in time for breakfast. I drop anchor at 4:30 a.m. and wake at 7….we're in port by 9. That makes this crossing 2.5 hours shorter than the hellish one. I make a B-line for that savory breakfast I remember oh-so well…but it's not the same. Different chef, I tell myself. 

I think I'll get some laundry done, but before I do…a quick check in with Chris Parker's weather service and… Holy shit! Another front is falling in behind the last one and he says Wednesday is the last day for crossing the stream. Today IS Wednesday. I just pulled an all-nighter so I'm more than willing to wait a day or two, but he says the next window is more than a few days away. I scramble…No time to stop for fuel so I use one of my 5 gallon spare jugs to bring me up to 3/4 tank and I bust it out of Bimini. It's 10 a.m.  

I've got a strong easterly wind with following seas and a raging gulf stream current…problem is: I don't know where I'm going. I can't head for Miami because the stream will push me north of it. There are lots of online references regarding departure from Florida, but few regarding the return. I aim for Port Everglades Inlet…Fort Lauderdale… It's about 48 miles, so at 6kts I should get there just after sunset. My GPS continuously updates my estimated arrival time. If I slow down or veer off course it adds a few minutes….catch a good breeze and it takes away a few. My GPS also shows me the U.S. boundary line and when I cross it I think, "How cool is that.. I'm back in the States." Then almost immediately I think, O - S H I T!!!  In my rush to leave Bimini, I forgot to clear Customs. Puhleeze don't tell me I have to backtrack…I can't be the only one to have this brain-fart…Surely there are plenty of fishermen that have returned without clearing… O - S H I T !!! I reach for my phone to google it. No signal. The remainder of my trek is tainted with angst.

Port Everglades Inlet is rough…and busy. Cruise ships, Coast Guard operations, Freighters and their pilot ships, Police and idiots like myself. It's dark by the time I enter the congestion and I'm somewhat blinded by all of the lights of the city. Fortunately, my GPS stored my previous pass through Lauderdale so that now all I have to do is follow it in reverse. I follow it a mile or two north and find a spot to anchor for the night. Now…to Google that immigration question. Looks like I'm okay…according to the internetz, you don't have to clear out of the Bahamas if you're heading further south or returning to the States. Whew. I do have to clear back in to the US though. Remind me to do that. 

After 8 solid days at harbor, I sailed roughly 175 miles in 3 days.