Photo #1: early morning in Pensacola Bay
Photo #2: Bridge over the entrance to Tampa Bay
We spent a delightful three days in St. Petersburg. What a lovely, cosmopolitan city! The city marina is right downtown, and downtown St. Petersburg has something for everyone. There are a number of museums (all accessible by 25 cent trolley ride), an aquarium out on a long pier where you can feed the pelicans, beautiful parks, shops, café’s and restaurants, and even a Publix, all within walking distance of the marina. My cousin Jan lives there and she was a wonderful host, taking us to local landmarks and sharing the pool at her beautiful condominium complex. I don’t think I exaggerate when I say St. Petersburg is like a tiny Paris on Florida’s west coast and a great destination for any cruiser.
The 300 mile passage from St. Petersburg to Pensacola took three nights and 30 gallons of diesel. We motored most of the way, as the winds were light when we had them at all, and mostly dead astern. We struggle to find something to do on passage. It’s far too hot to cook anything, and we lose our appetites about two days out anyway. No one wants to be out in the sun on deck, regardless of how benign the water and wind are. Again, it’s far too hot. So we end up in the cockpit either reading or watching the weather.
Gulf clouds are endlessly fascinating, even on shore. Offshore they are simply mesmerizing, enormous, ever-changing, and guaranteed to develop into thunderstorms every afternoon. I can spend hours finding shapes in the puffy clouds; one afternoon we were surrounded by “bears”, either swimming, chasing butterflies, or floating on their backs. The clouds vary in shape, color, thickness, from wisps to scattered sheep, to high, icy veils of lace, to towering arctic mountains. In the dawn or at sunset, they seem to be illuminated from within, filled with incandescent light.
The storms are beautiful as well. Naturally, we much prefer that the storms stay well away from us. It’s hard to figure out which way a storm is moving and how fast. Sometimes they light up the sky on the distant horizon and stay there; other times they chase us. Being chased by a huge Gulf thunderstorm is absolutely no fun at all. We had a close call with a mammoth storm that developed over Tampa Bay the day we left St. Petersburg for Pensacola. By the time the storm developed it was about 5 p.m. and we were about 15 miles off shore. It started as they all do, with a large, white cauliflower cloud sailing in a clear blue sky. Ever so gently, this cloud grows, drawing to it and absorbing nearby smaller clouds. Then the mass begins to swell, upward and outward. As it grows, it absorbs heat. From time to time, all afternoon, jets of steam spurt from the cloud, it collapses, and then rebuilds. By late afternoon, it has climbed upward for thousands of feet and spread out laterally for miles. Then it drifts offshore and at some point dumps its rain on land or into the Gulf and then the clouds thin out and dissipate.
The thunderstorm that pursued us from Tampa Bay pretty much followed this pattern. The towering mountain of cloud began to collapse over the bay in the early evening, which occasioned a rare National Weather Service Alert due to high winds and torrential rain. We could see it easily from the cockpit. As the cloud collapsed, it metamorphosed into a dense, dark mushroom (like the photos you see of an atomic bomb blast) that flattened out in a circle about ten miles in diameter, dragging heavy curtains of rain in its wake, spiking lightening and high winds in all directions, and rushing toward us like a freight train at 20 knots. The procedure here is to get the hell out of Dodge at an angle perpendicular to the storm. It was daylight, so we could see, and the National Weather Service confirmed, the direction the storm was headed. Mr. P chugged hard to port and the storm swept by to starboard, thinning, finally, about 20 miles out from shore.
That night on watch I was entertained by a huge lightening storm behind us that lit up small sections of the sky in violent bursts that reminded me of films I’ve seen of night time sea battles. Huge prongs of lightening stabbed the water from the boiling clouds that were illuminated briefly with each burst. Thankfully, the storm was so far behind us I couldn’t hear the thunder. We took down the canvas anyway, so David could sleep undisturbed. Other storms popped up around us in the early hours of the morning, but most had cloud to cloud lightening which was of much less concern to me.
Although we were surrounded by scattered storms, the sky above Raven was crystal clear. I leaned back out of the cockpit, away from the bimini, and watched the Milky Way streaming above the swaying mast. I could keep track of the storm clouds by noting those sections of the horizon that blotted out the stars. The Big Dipper hung in the sky off to starboard, handle raised into the sky and dipper poised over the water. Sometime around 4 a.m. the dipper finally brushed the surface of the sea. The sky was so bright with stars; it was easy to see all sorts of constellations. I don’t know any of the classic constellations and so had fun naming my own. The brightest were a couple of crawfish clawing their way up to midheaven.
The last night out we dodged two storms, both of which started on shore near Pensacola and Mobile and headed our way. Both were “sea battle” lightening storms that produced jagged lightening and grumbling bursts of thunder. We managed to avoid both of them, although the second storm, moving almost as slowly as we were, wandered into Pensacola Bay in front of us as the sun rose behind us. Yet another storm cooked itself into being as we approached and we snapped photos of it as it built and finally burst into steam. Both these storms produced water spouts (tornadoes) that snaked their way toward the water from the distended bellies of the storms and smoked across the water for a number of minutes before being reabsorbed. Water spouts are really scary and we were grateful that they showed up in daylight where we could see them and move off in another direction!
Our approach continued across the milky calm water of the bay. We turned off the motor for awhile so David could check the oil and were joined by about 15 dolphins. They swam right up to the boat, and the early morning silence was broken only by their huffing breaths and the slight disturbance of the water as they dove and circled, hunting their breakfast. Some of them looked quite small; I am guessing it was a family group with some youngsters in tow.
Yet again, we have been amazingly lucky. The only affect on Raven’s crew from all these thunderheads was a wash of cooler air left by the rain and the chance to take some amazing photos.
Photo #2: Bridge over the entrance to Tampa Bay
[Hilde’s log]
We’ve been at the dock in Pensacola for a couple of days now, time enough to do a lot of sleeping, a lot of visiting with old friends Paul, John, and Cookie, and some grocery shopping. We’ll be here a week for R&R and then head on toward Texas. We go back and forth about whether to brave the barges, tankers, freighters, mosquitoes, and unfriendly rivers on the GIWW (Gulf Inland Waterway) or to head back out in the Gulf and do battle with weather, oil wells, and lots of inbound heavy traffic. The big draws for the Gulf crossing are cooler weather and a quicker transit. The big draws for the GIWW are more sleep and… well, that’s it, more sleep.
We’ve been at the dock in Pensacola for a couple of days now, time enough to do a lot of sleeping, a lot of visiting with old friends Paul, John, and Cookie, and some grocery shopping. We’ll be here a week for R&R and then head on toward Texas. We go back and forth about whether to brave the barges, tankers, freighters, mosquitoes, and unfriendly rivers on the GIWW (Gulf Inland Waterway) or to head back out in the Gulf and do battle with weather, oil wells, and lots of inbound heavy traffic. The big draws for the Gulf crossing are cooler weather and a quicker transit. The big draws for the GIWW are more sleep and… well, that’s it, more sleep.
Photo #3: docked in downtown St. Petersburg
We spent a delightful three days in St. Petersburg. What a lovely, cosmopolitan city! The city marina is right downtown, and downtown St. Petersburg has something for everyone. There are a number of museums (all accessible by 25 cent trolley ride), an aquarium out on a long pier where you can feed the pelicans, beautiful parks, shops, café’s and restaurants, and even a Publix, all within walking distance of the marina. My cousin Jan lives there and she was a wonderful host, taking us to local landmarks and sharing the pool at her beautiful condominium complex. I don’t think I exaggerate when I say St. Petersburg is like a tiny Paris on Florida’s west coast and a great destination for any cruiser.
The 300 mile passage from St. Petersburg to Pensacola took three nights and 30 gallons of diesel. We motored most of the way, as the winds were light when we had them at all, and mostly dead astern. We struggle to find something to do on passage. It’s far too hot to cook anything, and we lose our appetites about two days out anyway. No one wants to be out in the sun on deck, regardless of how benign the water and wind are. Again, it’s far too hot. So we end up in the cockpit either reading or watching the weather.
Gulf clouds are endlessly fascinating, even on shore. Offshore they are simply mesmerizing, enormous, ever-changing, and guaranteed to develop into thunderstorms every afternoon. I can spend hours finding shapes in the puffy clouds; one afternoon we were surrounded by “bears”, either swimming, chasing butterflies, or floating on their backs. The clouds vary in shape, color, thickness, from wisps to scattered sheep, to high, icy veils of lace, to towering arctic mountains. In the dawn or at sunset, they seem to be illuminated from within, filled with incandescent light.
The storms are beautiful as well. Naturally, we much prefer that the storms stay well away from us. It’s hard to figure out which way a storm is moving and how fast. Sometimes they light up the sky on the distant horizon and stay there; other times they chase us. Being chased by a huge Gulf thunderstorm is absolutely no fun at all. We had a close call with a mammoth storm that developed over Tampa Bay the day we left St. Petersburg for Pensacola. By the time the storm developed it was about 5 p.m. and we were about 15 miles off shore. It started as they all do, with a large, white cauliflower cloud sailing in a clear blue sky. Ever so gently, this cloud grows, drawing to it and absorbing nearby smaller clouds. Then the mass begins to swell, upward and outward. As it grows, it absorbs heat. From time to time, all afternoon, jets of steam spurt from the cloud, it collapses, and then rebuilds. By late afternoon, it has climbed upward for thousands of feet and spread out laterally for miles. Then it drifts offshore and at some point dumps its rain on land or into the Gulf and then the clouds thin out and dissipate.
Photos below: a storm cloud cycle, captured over Pensacola Bay (same cloud, photographed over about an hour or so)
The thunderstorm that pursued us from Tampa Bay pretty much followed this pattern. The towering mountain of cloud began to collapse over the bay in the early evening, which occasioned a rare National Weather Service Alert due to high winds and torrential rain. We could see it easily from the cockpit. As the cloud collapsed, it metamorphosed into a dense, dark mushroom (like the photos you see of an atomic bomb blast) that flattened out in a circle about ten miles in diameter, dragging heavy curtains of rain in its wake, spiking lightening and high winds in all directions, and rushing toward us like a freight train at 20 knots. The procedure here is to get the hell out of Dodge at an angle perpendicular to the storm. It was daylight, so we could see, and the National Weather Service confirmed, the direction the storm was headed. Mr. P chugged hard to port and the storm swept by to starboard, thinning, finally, about 20 miles out from shore.
That night on watch I was entertained by a huge lightening storm behind us that lit up small sections of the sky in violent bursts that reminded me of films I’ve seen of night time sea battles. Huge prongs of lightening stabbed the water from the boiling clouds that were illuminated briefly with each burst. Thankfully, the storm was so far behind us I couldn’t hear the thunder. We took down the canvas anyway, so David could sleep undisturbed. Other storms popped up around us in the early hours of the morning, but most had cloud to cloud lightening which was of much less concern to me.
Although we were surrounded by scattered storms, the sky above Raven was crystal clear. I leaned back out of the cockpit, away from the bimini, and watched the Milky Way streaming above the swaying mast. I could keep track of the storm clouds by noting those sections of the horizon that blotted out the stars. The Big Dipper hung in the sky off to starboard, handle raised into the sky and dipper poised over the water. Sometime around 4 a.m. the dipper finally brushed the surface of the sea. The sky was so bright with stars; it was easy to see all sorts of constellations. I don’t know any of the classic constellations and so had fun naming my own. The brightest were a couple of crawfish clawing their way up to midheaven.
The last night out we dodged two storms, both of which started on shore near Pensacola and Mobile and headed our way. Both were “sea battle” lightening storms that produced jagged lightening and grumbling bursts of thunder. We managed to avoid both of them, although the second storm, moving almost as slowly as we were, wandered into Pensacola Bay in front of us as the sun rose behind us. Yet another storm cooked itself into being as we approached and we snapped photos of it as it built and finally burst into steam. Both these storms produced water spouts (tornadoes) that snaked their way toward the water from the distended bellies of the storms and smoked across the water for a number of minutes before being reabsorbed. Water spouts are really scary and we were grateful that they showed up in daylight where we could see them and move off in another direction!
Our approach continued across the milky calm water of the bay. We turned off the motor for awhile so David could check the oil and were joined by about 15 dolphins. They swam right up to the boat, and the early morning silence was broken only by their huffing breaths and the slight disturbance of the water as they dove and circled, hunting their breakfast. Some of them looked quite small; I am guessing it was a family group with some youngsters in tow.
Yet again, we have been amazingly lucky. The only affect on Raven’s crew from all these thunderheads was a wash of cooler air left by the rain and the chance to take some amazing photos.
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