Adventures are Better Told Than Lived

[Hilde's log]

Our first day out gave us calm seas and light winds under a bright sun and blue sky. That night the full moon rose, coating the sea with liquid silver. The light of the full moon illuminated the haze on the water, giving us a diffused glow like predawn light. David and I sat in the cockpit, listened to the radio, sang Christmas carols and thought, this is great! We love cruising!

The moon rises in the east on one side of the boat...

....while the sun goes down in the west on the other side of the boat.

Then about 1 a.m. (why is it always in the early hours?), it got cold, the wind piped up and the ride got interesting. We did all right that night although it was more work than we liked. The next day the wind laid down and the seas remained moderate, but both of us were feeling a little punk. I discounted that – after all, we’d already done the seasick thing leaving Galveston, so that was behind us. I thought.

For my watches, I sit here, cuddled up next to the companionway and the dodger, mostly protected from the wind.

The green canvas you see with the metal bar across the top is the dodger, which keeps most of the wind and water off of us. The tan is the bimini, which is our "porch cover" and keeps off the sun and some of the rain. We got sloshed so much, the isenglas "window" got completely fogged up with salt spray and you couldn't see a thing.

The third day the seas started piling up and we both started yawning and turning light green. Then darker green. Long story short, we were seasick for three days, ate practically nothing, drank just enough water to remain alive, and felt despondent that we were sick for the second time in a month.

That third night the wind came up in the low teens early on, the seas started roiling, and we were up and down every hour to two hours to change watch. We were on port tack (where the wind comes over the boat from the left hand side, as you are facing the bow) which I loathe because it makes going up and down the companionway ladder really hard for me.

Late that night the wind came up to about 22 apparent and Raven pitched like a bronc. Sailing didn’t help – we didn’t have enough speed in these steep and confused 5’ waves to make much forward progress. We turned on the motor to motor sail and that helped the speed but not the bucking motion of the boat. At one point we had to hand steer – David for several hours and me for only 30 minutes. I have no idea how he did it for hours. Holding the wheel was like wrestling with a bear, dragging the wheel back and forth against the surging water. Those 30 minutes almost killed me. While I held the wheel and prayed to God to keep him safe, David inched forward on the pitching deck to retrieve cans of diesel to keep the motor going and then filled the tank. The wind dipped down to 15 (in answer to fervent prayers from me) and David stabilized the self steering so that we could finally let go of the wheel. After that, it was a case of standing watch to monitor the self steering and our course, which for me meant creeping toward the wheel with my butt firmly attached to the cockpit sides and peering up at the instruments. The helm chair is way too far above the cockpit floor for me to feel safe sitting in it in bad seas!

When the sun came up, the wind moderated a bit, but the seas stayed high and choppy and the two of us were toast, literally limp with exhaustion. The floor of the boat was covered in stuff that flew off the shelves as we bucked our way along – papers, cans of sardines, pillows, settee backs...disaster. I suggested we make for St. Petersburg, as there was no way in the universe I was going to last two more nights in those conditions (that’s the right angle turn we made, for those of you who were following our track). I wasn’t sure David would last, either. He was simply exhausted after his heroic efforts the night before, and because we were still seasick, he hadn’t eaten a thing but a few bites of a Power Bar. We took turns sleeping for an hour or two below and then stood watch, napping on the deck (not good, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open).

Basically we had another 12 hours of sailing semi-hell, and then it calmed down as we got closer to shore and the last 12 hours were lovely. The approach to St. Petersburg was gorgeous, with milder seas, bright sun, and moderate wind. We sat in the cockpit, glassy-eyed with relief, and snagged a T-head at the city marina for two days (that’s all that was available – we’d have taken a month if they had let us stay).

St. Petersburg is a gorgeous city (although from the construction going on it looks as though it is on its way to being a second Miami) with lots of greenery and a vibrant downtown. The marina is right there in the downtown area so you can walk to everything. I washed all the fabric on the boat, which stunk (no other word does it justice) and we both revelled in a hot shower. I caught a peek of a green heron on a boat’s mooring line through the laundry window. He balanced on the line, leaned far forward (how he didn’t pitch in headfirst is a mystery) and snagged two fish, one after the other! I have never seen one catch a fish. 

View of downtown St. Petersburg from the fuel dock at the City Marina. That's Raven tied up at the pier.

They found us a spot for two days on a T-head (think end cap of a retail isle). They literally have room for no more boats. It's high season here.

While I was doing laundry, David cleaned up the mess in the galley, rearranged the cabin to get the stuff off the floor, and put the settees back in place. Then we sat in the cockpit and had the first tea we’d drunk in three days, in 78 degrees, with the lights of downtown St. Petersburg shining on the water all around us.

Downtown St. Pete, from the cockpit of the boat. Christmas lights abound.

What a wonderful night we had, first in the gentle breeze in the cockpit with our tea, and then supper in the cool and dry comfort of the A/C, not moving, sitting down to eat together...aaaah. (A/C sounds weird, especially since we suffered being cold for 3 days straight, but St. Pete was 81 when we came in, and humid as a jungle.)

My cousin lives there and we had a great reunion at a fabulous coffee shop (Kahwa, if you ever come to town). We walked through part of downtown to get to the shop and admired everything. Lots of people, lots of young people (!), lots of energy. We like St. Pete a lot, and talked about coming back here to spend the winter next year. You have to make your reservations really early (like now), so I will look into that after I post this.

A tree in one of the parks downtown. Such a beautiful city!

Meanwhile, David is washing the outside of the boat, which was coated in salt, and is otherwise making us ready for tomorrow’s departure. We are “going down the ditch” (traveling the ICW) from here to Punta Gorda, where we have a month’s reservation at the Burnt Store Marina (I have no idea about the name). The ICW should be a lot calmer and we’ll be able to drop the hook every night and sleep. Good plan! I’m a lot older than I wish I were, and sleep every night makes all the difference to me.

Now this is more like it!