It's Always Something

Just like Rosanne Rosannadanna said.

With our clean boat bottom and new fuel filters on the two diesel engines, we traveled over 60 miles on Monday. All day long, Phil kept saying, "Something's going to break." But nothing broke on Monday. We found a nice anchorage Monday evening near a bridge at Daytona Beach and enjoyed another beautiful sunset and a quiet night.

Tuesday morning, we were up and ready for an early start, planning on another 60 miles. Phil started the engines. Both started, but a warning light came on at the port engine ignition, followed by an ear-piercing squeal, designed to make sure you didn't ignore the warning light.

The problem appeared to be a worn-out fan belt on the internal cooling system. My husband, who used to be a lawyer but is quickly becoming a diesel mechanic, had a replacement belt on hand and within a couple of hours had fixed the problem.

As Rosanne said, it's always something. So much for the early start.

We raised the anchor and decided on the spur of the moment to top off the fuel tanks at a marina across the channel. I'm proud to say I steered the boat gently along side the dock (Phil gave me a grade of eight out of 10 points). We pumped 24 gallons of diesel into the tank and filled our water tank as well.

My exit from the dock wasn't so successful. I made a sharp right turn to leave the dock and return to the channel, but about 50 feet into my turn, there was a dull thud and the boat came to a halt. We were aground.

I called the dockmaster, who had gone back to his office. He said, "Oh, did you hit that oyster bar?" I thought oyster bars were places you went for appetizers and drinks.

No amount of gunning the engines would move the boat, so the dockmaster and two burley helpers came down to assist. Phil got in the dinghy and took them a line. The three men pulled and pulled and finally we were free.

Our early start became a noon start. We headed south and began checking our charts and listening to the VHF. The Coast Guard was issuing a warning that a bridge a few miles south would be closed for repairs until 5:00 p.m.

It's always something.

We found an anchorage a couple of miles from the bridge and settled in for the wait. It was quiet and peaceful, with lots of dolphin and bird activity. Phil explored a nearby beach in the dinghy, while I updated our log and took a shower.

We got to the bridge for the 5:00 p.m. opening, along with three other sail boats, a large commercial fishing boat and a huge barge. We all lined up and, when the bridge opened, we went through one by one. We were fortunate to find an anchorage about a mile south of the bridge, just as the sun went down.

Another quiet night. We kept reminding ourselves that we're not on any schedule. That makes it so much easier when we are faced with delays. Our only goal is to get to where the butter melts. We are getting closer each day.

Today has been interesting scenery and beautiful weather. The morning was a bit windy, but it was a warm wind. The afternoon was perfect. We anchored about 3:00 p.m. at Titusville.

The Intracoastal Waterway has changed over the last few days from marshland to mangrove islands. We travel for miles through densely populated areas with beautiful homes, then we have a few miles of wilderness, then more homes, each with a jetty jutting far out into the waterway.

Waterfowl, dolphins and manatees are everywhere. As we motored this afternoon, we came upon a gathering of thousands of ducks, cormorants, pelicans, egrets and gulls. They were floating, flying and diving into the water, directly in the path of our boat. As we approached, I worried that they couldn't all get out of the way, but one by one they scattered as we approached, gathering again behind the boat. It reminded me of a scene from Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds."

We are having the time of our lives. We are learning things each day. Even the problems turn out to be learning experiences.

As Rosanne says, "It's always something." That's not really so bad.

*Note to my brother Allen: Yes, those red and white things hanging behind Phil in the picture might look like bikinis to you, but they are the lines (ropes) that raise the sails. Sorry.

**Note to Terry B. and Mike (who work with our son, Matt): If we can do this, you can do this. Glad you are reading our blog.

***The picture above is one of the bascule (draw) bridges, opening to let us through. When you approach a bascule bridge, you hail the bridge tender on the VHF and request an opening. The tender stops the traffic and raises the bridge, trying to time it so traffic is interrupted for the shortest amount of time. We heard a story of a bridge tender lowering the bridge before a sailboat made it all the way through, coming down on the mast and driving it through the bottom of the boat.

It's always something.

A New Lesson Learned

We ended up staying at Palm Cove Marina for three nights. That was more than we planned, but the weather was nasty and cold and, as we've said before, we're not on any schedule.

We watched IU get whipped by Connecticut on Saturday, walked to WalMart, West Marine (the boaters' favorite store) and the grocery, and took more wonderful hot showers while we waited out the bad weather.

This morning (Sunday) dawned clear, sunny and perfect for motoring. We made our preparations to leave, topping off the water tank, stowing items that might fall, unhooking the electrical connection, and checking and re-checking the tide tables to make sure we wouldn't go aground again as we left the marina and returned to the Intracoastal Waterway.

We also called the bridge located immediately south of the marina, a bridge that we had to pass through on our way south. The McCormick Bridge is a "bascule" bridge (drawbridge) that stops traffic to open and allow yachts with tall masts (ours is 56 feet) to pass through. A new, high-rise bridge is under construction next to the old bascule bridge, and the contractors are behind schedule and are working on weekends to make up time.

When we checked on Saturday, the contractors had moved two old, rusty barges into the passage under the bridge to hold their cranes. The bridge was closed to traffic on Saturday and might be impassable on Sunday also.

As we prepared to leave on Sunday morning, this was the conversation with the bridge tender on the VHF radio:

Us: "McCormick Bridge, this is Catamaran Sunshine, requesting information on bridge openings this morning."

Bridge Tender: "Catamaran Sunshine, this is McCormick Bridge. Our bridge will open upon request, but there are construction barges in the channel and you only have 30-foot horizontal clearance."

Unidentified Voice: "Doesn't look like 30 feet to me."

Bridge Tender: "It may only be 25 feet. What is your beam (width), Sunshine?"

Us: "Our beam is about 20 feet."

Bridge Tender: "You should be fine."

Unidentified Sailboat: "McCormick Bridge, we're approaching from the south. Our beam is 16 feet. Can we make it?"

Bridge Tender: "Sure, we have had tugboats wider than you go through this morning."

Unidentified Sailboat: "I'm approaching the bridge. It looks a lot narrower than 25 feet. I don't think I can make it. We are turning around."

Phil and I wonder what we should do. I call the bridge tender and ask if the situation will improve tomorrow. He says no. Phil and I talk it over. We try to figure the worst that can happen. We can put fenders (rubber cushions) on each side of the boat so we don't scrape. But the worst that can happen is that we'll become wedged in the passage as we go under the bridge. If that happens, we will have to call TowBoatUS to come and extract our boat. That could take a long time and our boat could be damaged in the process.

After much discussion, we decide to try it. We motor out of the marina channel and enter the IntraCoastal. The bridge looms immediately to our right. I call the bridge tender to announce our arrival and request that he raise the drawbridge. The opening looks plenty wide to me.

Us: "McCormick Bridge, this is Catamaran Sunshine requesting an opening."

Tender: "Catamaran Sunshine, since we last talked, the barges have been removed and you have wide open clearance."

We'll never know why the contractors moved the barges. All we know is that an anticipated dangerous situation had not materialized. The worst that could happen didn't happen.

We chugged under the bridge at 6.5 knots and never looked back. It was a beautiful afternoon of motoring. Our clean bottom made a huge difference in our speed and we traveled farther in three hours than we had in an entire day before the bottom cleaning.

Lesson learned: Prepare as best you can, make an informed decision, then go for it.

We are anchored for the night at Mile Marker 769.5 on the Tolomato River, about six miles north of St. Augustine. Latitude 20*59.988'N Longitude 081*20.127'W. We enjoyed a beautiful sunset and a phone call from our son, Andy, in Seattle.

Nothing broke today. Life is good.

Definition of a Good Day

Our definition of a good cruising day is that we didn't hit anything and we didn't run aground. According to that standard, Thursday was not a good cruising day.

It started out well enough. Before we left our Fenandina Harbor anchorage, Phil spent an hour or so changing the fuel filters on the diesel engines. Diesel engines thrive on clean fuel and new filters make the engines purr. We raised the anchor and, with the current on our side, we were soon doing six knots.

The weather was reasonable, but couldn't be considered warm. With an open cockpit and a strong breeze, we donned our "foulies" for part of the trip.

Florida has replaced several "bascule" bridges, sometimes called draw bridges, with new high-rise bridges with 65 foot clearance, meaning that our 56-foot mast can safely glide under them. With a receding tide, these bridges can be difficult to navigate. Strong currents under the bridges tend to play havoc with steering and you hold your breath as you cross under, trying to maintain a straight path and not hit the sides. What would a cruise be without a little suspense?

We also crossed the St. John's River, which leads to Jacksonville, and fought some very rough tides that tended to move our boat sideways as we were trying to move forward. Fortunately for us, there were no container ships or cruise vessels entering the St. Johns while we crossed it.

After several of these exciting episodes, we were looking forward to a safe haven at Palm Harbor Marina, a few miles south of Jacksonville. I called ahead to reserve a spot and the harbormaster said they would expect us. He failed to mention that we would be arriving at low tide and they had not dredged their channel into the marina for several years.

There were channel markers as we entered the creek leading to the marina. Although we tried to stay in the middle of the markers, our depth sounder alarm went off immediately, marking five feet, then four feet, then three feet. Our "draw" (the portion of the boat below the water line) is about three feet. When the depth meter hit 2.7 feet, we thudded to a complete stop. The current pushed us farther ashore and we were totally and completely stuck in the mud.

I was incensed that the harbormaster had not warned us about the shallow channel, but Phil was much more philosophical and noted that it was another "adventure." A small boat was dispatched to assist us, and we were soon floating again, only to go aground a second time. Once more, the small boat pulled us free and we were guided into a deeper channel and a safe docking

Palm Harbor Marina has turned out to be a wonderful stop for us. After we were securely tied to the dock, we discovered that a world of commerce awaited us a short walk away, including WalMart, West Marine, Walgreens, Publix Food Market, and all the fast food restaurants you could want. The Marina itself had wonderful hot showers and a laundry, along with a lounge that provided cable TV, loaner books and DVD's, telephone and wi-fi.

In addition to dockage for many boats in the water, this marine has several huge warehouses that provide "dry storage" for boats. Huge mechanical fork lifts can raise boats out of the water and deposit them in multi-level compartments inside the warehouses.

When we inquired about getting our bottom cleaned, we were immediately put in touch with a local bottom cleaner who showed up this morning and spent a good two hours underwater, breathing through a scuba tank, scraping several months worth of barnacles and "stuff" that had attached itself to the bottom of our boat.

Our one-night stop has turned into two or three nights. The weather is chilly and windy, the marina is safe and comfortable, the showers are hot, the washer and dryer work, and IU plays basketball at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow afternoon. We will wait for warmer weather to move on south.

Arrival in Florida!

We crossed into Florida at 3:45 this afternoon. Funny, there was no "Welcome to Florida" sign on the Intracoastal Waterway. We simply crossed the St. Mary's River and there we were.

But let's back up a little. When we last talked, I was getting ready to put a couple of loads through the Maytags at Two Way Fish Camp Marina. Luck would have it, the first load went through the wash cycle, but the Maytag Dryer had evidently dried its last load. No amount of cajoling would make that dryer work.

We hauled two loads of dirty laundry, and one load of clean, wet, clothes back to the boat. Fortunately, I had lots of clothes pins and the sun was shining. We pulled out of Two Way Fish Camp Marina with sheets and underwear hanging from the life lines, flapping in the breeze. Wish I had taken a picture. Suffice it to way, we looked like the Beverly (or Greenwood) Hillbillies floating down the ICW.

Tuesday was a fine day for motoring. Temperatures were moderate and we even enjoyed some sunshine. We haven't been moving very fast, because our bottom needs cleaning (the boat's bottom, not the crew's). When a boat sits for a while, lots of flotsam and jetsam grows on the bottom and needs to be scraped off. But even with a dirty bottom, we managed about 30 miles. We ended the day anchored off Jekyll Island.

Jekyll Island, Georgia, is famous as the winter home of the Rockefellers, Astors, Goodyears, Morgans, Pulitzers and Vanderbilts. In the 1880's, the ultra-rich and famous built what they called "cottages" where they could ride out the northern winters.

Each "cottage" was huge, what we would call mansions, but none of the homes included kitchens. The families took their meals at the "club," a main building where a staff from Delmonico's in New York prepared the meals.

By World War II, the membership of the Jekyll Island Club controlled one-sixth of the world's wealth. However, in 1942, a German U-boat torpedoed a tanker in nearby St. Simons Sound, and the US government decided the island was too temping a target. The island was evacuated and, in 1947 the state of Georgia purchased the island. Today, the mansions have been restored and are open to the public and Jekyll Island is a tourist destination. (Thanks to "Managing the Waterway" by Mark and Diana Doyle for the historical information.)

Early Wednesday morning, we pulled the anchor around 7:45, headed for a dilemma. On our trip north last June, we had endured high, turbulent seas as we crossed the St. Andrews Sound, just south of Jekyll Island. (A sound is an entrance from, or exit to, the ocean.) A bad combination of high winds from the north and strong current from the south had tossed us around like a toy boat in a bathtub with a three-year-old. The boat held up well. The crew took the brunt of the punishment. We'll never forget that experience.

So, here we were, staring at the mouth of the dragon once again. Our choice was to brave the crossing of St. Andrews Sound, which forced us out into the Atlantic and back to escape shoaling at the mouth of the sound, or take the "chicken route," which would avoid St. Andrews Sound but would add five miles to our trip.

We called TowBoatUS, the towing insurance that we carry, to ask about local conditions. The young man who answered assured us that we wouldn't have a problem. We forged ahead. Phil called it a "confidence builder." I hoped he was right.

As we motored into the sound, a thick fog enveloped everything. We switched on our strobe light, hoping that would make us visible to other boats, especially the large freighters that might be entering from the ocean.

We encountered some significant swells (the rising and falling of the seas), but no breaking, pounding waves like before . It took about an hour to navigate the sound and return to the more protected area of the ICW. We had indeed built our confidence.

It's now Wednesday evening and we are securely anchored in Fernandina Beach, Florida. We can see the lights of the old city across the bay in the nighttime sky and we are glad to be here and to have made it to Florida. We've cooked dinner on the grill and are enjoying the peace and quiet of this anchorage. The weather is getting warmer and for now, everything on the boat is in working order.

That won't last.

Two Way Fish Camp and Mudcat Charlie's

I was foolish to think that a little sunshine was going to make Sunday an easy day of cruising. It was definitely sunny, but it was so cold that three layers of shirts under the "foulies" and three pairs of socks masquerading as mittens still didn't keep us warm. I don't think the temperature got above 40 degrees and there was a 25-knot wind in our faces much of the day.

Now, I know that doesn't sound very cold to all you Hoosiers who are enduring sub-zero weather right now, but we traveled straight through from 7:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. We took turns at the helm so one of us could go inside the cabin to warm up.

In spite of the chill, we managed to log 31 miles. Our day of motoring ended at Two Way Fish Camp Marina, four and a half miles up the Little Altahama River from the ICW.

The difference between staying at a marina and anchoring out for the night is like the difference between camping out and staying at a motel. Camping out can be lots of fun, but after a few days, a motel has a lot to offer. Two Way Fish Camp Marina has friendly folks, hot showers, Maytag washers at 75 cents to wash and 75 cents to dry, and best of all, Mudcat Charlie's Restaurant.

Mudcat Charlie's and the Two Way Fish Camp Marina are about two miles from Darien, Georgia, a small fishing village, population 1,800. We are reliably informed that "Two Way Fish Camp" got its name because there are two ways to fish from there -- to the west is fresh water or go east and you're in saltwater. After we docked, checked in at the marina and straightened up the boat, we made our way across the docks to Mudcat Charlie's.

Mudcat Charlie's looks like a lodge, with knotty pine paneling and floors. The walls are decorated with stuffed deer heads, huge fish, and one nasty-looking wild boar. There is a bar in the middle and about 50 tables, which filled rapidly after we arrived, leading us to believe that Mudcat Charlie's might be the cultural center of Darien.

The waitresses were friendly and informal. Phil ordered the grouper dinner and I had the home-made crab stew, a deep fried soft-shelled crab, and cheese grits. Talk about heavenly..... these coastal Georgia cooks know how to prepare seafood. The Giants/Packers game was on several big-screen televisions and beer was flowing freely at Mudcat Charlie's.

We planned to leave Two Way Fish Camp Marina Monday morning, but once again, the Georgia weather changed our plans. We awoke to a rocking boat fueled by a fierce 35-knot wind that made us feel we were riding out a hurricane. The howling wind continued all day, convincing us that Two Way Fish Camp was the place to stay for now.

We checked in with the marina office about a taxi to town. (Some marinas offer loaner cars, but Two Way Fish Camp is not the loaner-car type of marina.) Darien had no taxi service, but a waitress from Mudcat Charlies came into the office and overheard our conversation. She said, "I have a truck that y'all are welcome to use." She didn't even ask our names, just handed us the keys. We gratefully accepted and drove the two miles (and four bridges) into Darien's only grocery store, a Piggly Wiggly, where we stocked up on what we expected to need for the next week or so. On the way back, we filled up her tank with gas. It was the least we could do for such generosity.

It's Tuesday morning. The hurricane winds have given way to sunny skies, calm water and an expected high today in the lower 60's. After we finish the laundry and fill the diesel tank, we'll continue our journey south.

Margaret

On the road (water) again...

We are headed south! Phil spent Friday morning installing a new motor in the head. He finished about noon and we unhooked the lines after lunch.

Getting out of the marina was not easy. In that area of Georgia, there is a very strong current. The difference between high tide and low tide is nearly six feet. We were tied up between two docks, with a couple of very expensive fishing boats between us and clear water.

We started the two diesel engines and Phil unhooked all but the aft (back) dock line and jumped aboard. I was at the helm and, I admit, it had been a while since I had driven the boat. This is not a gimpy boat. It's 36 feet long and nearly 19 feet wide...picture a floating tank.

With about three knots of current having it's way with my steering, I tried valiantly to clear the fishing boats on the port (left) side, without hitting the dock on the starboard (right) side.

OK...here's the whole story. I missed the first fishing boat. Then, the current caught our boat and began to drive it toward the 2nd fishing boat. I "kissed " the 2nd fishing boat (Phil would say "scraped"). Actually, we traded some paint, but no denting was involved. As I was working to miss the 2nd fishing boat, I over-steered toward the dock on the starboard side and "kissed" the dock (Phil would say "scraped"). Long story short, we exited the marina with no discernible damage to our boat or the expensive fishing boat, and we were on our way south.

The sun was shining for the first time in several days and we felt free at last. Given our late start, we only made a few miles before anchoring, but we were overjoyed at being on our own. We anchored around 4:00 p.m. a few hundred yards up Queen Bess Creek, just off the Intracoastal Waterway. There were dolphins playing around our boat, pelicans dive-bombing for dinner, and geese and ducks everywhere. After we had secured the anchor, we enjoyed a beautiful sunset. We had a simple dinner and slept soundly that night.

The rain began around midnight and continued through Saturday morning. We awoke early and had breakfast, firing up the generator so we could watch the weather on TV. Forecasts were bleak...calling for rain most of the day. We considered staying in our cozy anchorage, or heading south. The wanderlust won out and we pulled up the anchor around 9:00 a.m. We donned our newly-purchased "foulies" (foul-weather jackets), which were supposed to keep us warm and dry in our open cockpit. They did a fairly good job and we traveled six hours in rainy/foggy/chilly weather. About 3:00 p.m., we found a secluded, protected anchorage and called it a day.

It's nearly dinner time. We have provisioned well and I'll come up with something comforting for dinner. The rain continues but is supposed to taper off around midnight. We are looking forward to a sunny but chilly day of travel tomorrow. Sunny/chilly beats rainy/chilly every time.

We hope to reach St. Simons Island, Georgia, by tomorrow afternoon. I've got my eye on a marina there, which could mean long, hot showers and a nice restaurant for dinner. Plus a free loaner car to the grocery for milk and bread.

Thanks for reading this blog. We appreciate all your e-mails and your support.

Margaret
Anchored just south of Wahoo Island, Georgia

We were so close to leaving...

We spent yesterday preparing to begin our journey south. We studied navigation charts, plugged in the GPS, chart plotter and other electronic aids, and stowed items that might fall off shelves. The weather reports weren't too promising, but we were ready to go.

When we awoke this morning, we discovered how uncomfortable Georgia's winter weather can be. Brisk winds were stirring up white caps on the Ogeechee River and the boat was straining at the dock lines, rocking back and forth. The sky was gray and the temperature was about 40 degrees, and not expected to go much higher. A low front was moving in from the west and would bring rain by early afternoon.

All of a sudden, a day of motoring down the Intracoastal waterway in an open cockpit didn't have much appeal. We reminded ourselves that we are not on any schedule and decided to spend another day or two at the dock in our warm, comfy boat, waiting until the weather could provide a more comfortable trip.

Delaying our trip turned out to be a good idea. Not long after making the decision to wait, the head (toilet) stopped working. Most systems on this catamaran are electrical, and the head is no exception. You push a button on the wall and the toilet flushes, or at least it's supposed to. Phil took the system apart and discovered that the pump that is supposed to make the flush happen had died from old age (the boat is 13 years old).

A few telephone calls later and a new pump was ordered and would arrive tomorrow. We made arrangements to borrow a car for the trip to the store, since we had turned in our rental car yesterday.

So, if you're picturing us snorkeling in gin-clear water and sunbathing on the front deck, just replace that vision with tools all over the bathroom floor, howling wind and chilly rain. The snorkeling and sunbathing will come soon enough.

For now, we've learned two good lessons. First, when you live on a boat, the weather determines your plans. Second, something will always need to be fixed.

Margaret

Almost Ready

Thanks to all the well-wishers who read the article in the Daily Journal and sent us messages. We appreciated your kind thoughts. And thanks to Annette Jones and the Daily Journal for a fine job.

Who knew it got so cold in Georgia? The days have been spring-like, but last night it dropped into the low 30's, and that's cold on the water. We have a small heater on board that we fired up this morning to take the chill off.

Our trip from Greenwood to Savannah took only three hours. The air travel was uneventful, except for having to horse four big suitcases and some very heavy carry-ons, loaded with lots of books. One thing all cruisers seem to have in common is being voracious readers. We do have a television on board, but we don't seem to watch too much TV. (Except for the Colts and the IU basketball game yesterday. A sad loss for the Colts and another great win for the Hoosiers.)

We have spent the last few days "provisioning." That basically means going to WalMart and Sam's Club to stock up on everything you think you might need on a two-week trip down the IntraCoastal Waterway. We will probably have access to stores from time to time, but you never know for sure. Even when we are docked at a marina (rather than anchoring out), we may not be within walking distance of a grocery. Some marinas have loaner cars, some don't.

We are hoping to leave Ft. McAllister early Wednesday morning. We will turn in the rental car tomorrow (Tuesday) afternoon, then make our final preparations for casting off. There is a lot to do, not the least of which is studying the charts, , testing the engines, topping off the diesel and water supplies, and making sure everything on board is tied down or stowed so it won't come crashing down if we encounter turbulence from a passing speedboat or high winds

If all goes well, we can make about 50 miles a day. I haven't figured out how long it will take to get to Miami averaging 50 miles a day. I don't want to know. We'll get there when we get there. That's the point of this adventure...we're not on a schedule. When we find an interesting place where we want to linger on the way South, that's what we'll do. Cumberland Island is one such place. On the way north, when we were on a schedule, we passed by Cumberland Island and saw wild horses from a distance. This time, I'd like to anchor out nearby and hike through that wilderness, and maybe take some pictures of those horses to post on this website.

Phil and I have been married for 38 years. We have lived in Greenwood most of our lives and have raised two children. As we move into retirement, we have chosen an unusual path. We are embarking on an adventure into the unknown.

We have much to learn. We'll do our best to describe for you what it's like to start from scratch, moving onto a 36' catamaran sailboat with hardly any boating experience, but lots of enthusiasm. We'll share our triumphs and our failures. I promise only that we'll try to be honest and accurate in our descriptions.

Margaret McGovern