Third Time's the Charm - Part 2

Greetings from Florida! That's me near the beach at Destin.

[Hilde’s log]

The whole character of the trip changed the next day. From light winds (8 knots) to no wind, from confused seas to flat calm, suddenly we were adrift on a turquoise and blue sheet of water, relying on the motor for any forward progress. Sunny skies glinted off the ocean and we baked happily in 85 degrees. The only breeze came from our motoring forward; the seas went creamy calm. Other than the fact that the droning of the motor drives me crazy, the trip was ridiculously pleasant. I could warm up food, climb up and down from below, take the wheel, etc., all on a nice flat surface. The calm lasted three days. Had we had only the sails, we’d have drifted along listening to them slap back and forth. Another reason to love Mr. P, our engine – we weren’t stranded.

By day, we were surrounded by a deep blue sea in every direction, a bright blue sky stretching from horizon to horizon. By night, before the moon rose, the carpet of the Milky Way glinted overhead, cut from time to time by passing satellites. The moon rose, its blood red disc cut by a few indigo clouds, climbing high and casting a pale shimmer of light over the water. 

Sunrise on the Gulf - in the distance are some drilling rigs.

From Texas to Mississippi we shared the scenery with all sorts of working boats, barges, supply boats, and oil rigs. The oil rigs are lit up at night like gigantic Christmas ornaments. The most spectacular one I saw was all golden orbs at the base, topped with glowing green towers, and strung with blinking red lights. In the dark of the night, their lights lit up the horizon. Marvels of engineering, these glowing behemoths stand in 700 to 1,000 feet of water, dwarfing the vessels that come to supply them. After Louisiana, we had the Gulf to ourselves. As we passed Mobile Bay, we saw two big ships. By Florida, our only companions were a few fishing vessels.

The Big Blue Circle - David's video

We had a couple of things break (fortunately, during this calm period). David went down to check the engine oil and discovered a leaking water hose. He double-wrapped it in Rescue Tape and it performed just fine for the rest of the trip. The connection from the block to the traveller car (the traveller allows the mainsail to go from one side of the boat to the other) broke and David had to remove the offending part and rely on the blocks for the rest of the journey. I wobbled my way forward (clipped on, of course) to help him by moving one of the blocks to a new position while he held the mainsail lines out of the way. It is pretty intimidating to be looking right down at 700 feet of water from the deck. The cockpit is like a cozy screened-in porch, but climbing out on the deck (which David does all the time) is like being in a yard next to the Big Bad Woods with no fence!! The view is breathtaking but it’s pretty scary scenery to me.

Traveller, blocks, etc. The incomplete "C" in the middle is the broken bit.

We have new instruments this time out. Our panel is B&G, we have radar, and we have AIS. My overwhelming favorite is the AIS (automatic identification system). All the commercial boats transmit on AIS, and by looking at our screen you can see out 15 miles, determining what ships are out there, what kind of ships they are, how fast they are moving, and in what direction. It even tells you the closest distance they will pass and what the name of the vessel is, so that you can hail it to let it know you are out there! The AIS takes most of the terror out of night voyaging. It won’t show random private vessels, but will show you the Big Scary Ships in plenty of time. When I compare it to our last cruising adventure, when I spent hours peering into the darkness, straining to see if lights on the horizon were green or red or white, which way, how fast, etc. and always just guessing, I cannot believe what an improvement this is. Like having a flashlight in a dark room.

Ha! With AIS, you can't sneak up on us anymore!

We arrived at the entrance to Pensacola Bay at about sunset. We intended to go in and anchor in the bay, but decided to wait until moonrise to have a better shot at seeing our surroundings. We don’t like to go in at night – in fact, this was our first time. The lights at night can be very confusing, with different reds and greens marking different channels, and lots of other competing lights from shore, from cars, from buildings, from parking lots – it can be hairy. But we have been to Pensacola before and our alternate was doing donuts outside for eleven hours, waiting for dawn. The AIS helped us again, showing us the barge that passed right in front of us in plenty of time for us to slow down and watch its huge black bulk glide in front of us, about ½ mile away. We dodged a couple more barges as we motored down the GIWW, accompanied by a pod of cheerful dolphins that dove and splashed beside us not realizing it was time for all sentient beings to be fast asleep. We dropped the hook at English Navy Cove in about 12 feet of water at about 11:30 p.m. We sat below, stunned to be floating quietly without a motor deafening us, and finally passed out, sleeping “late” like dead things - a little over five hours.

The morning after we arrived, at our anchorage. Happy, but stupid tired.

The next morning we zombied around, eating breakfast in the cockpit and getting ready to come into a marina. I called the City Marina, where we stayed nine years ago when we were here, and asked if they had a slip and what the rates were. I was told the rate was $15 a foot. That is high, but not awful, for a month. So, to clarify, I said, “A month, right?” “No, ma’am, $15 a foot per week.” $540 a week? Ah...no. What is this guy drinking? He assured me they were right downtown near everything. I assured him that made not a whit of difference, hung up, and called another marina in Bayou Chico. $11 a foot – per month! Sold.

Our marina is sort of picturesque, being across the bayou from the scrap yard, but has a rustic charm. Like fixed wooden docks and a finger peer that comes about 12 feet down the boat, which means some interesting times getting off and getting on. But it has all the essentials, folks are friendly, and we are happy and plugged in.

View down the dock here in Pensacola.

Scary finger pier...

We’ll be here a month, while we rest and David catches up on the stuff that needs to be fixed. He’s done so much already, in less than a week, and is currently rebuilding a winch. He’s a happy man.