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| Silver sky and sea - hard to tell them apart. Unfortunately, we couldn't catch the light that shines on the surface of the sea and the sky alike. |
We have finally
popped the electrical umbilical cord and left Burnt Store. It was the
usual circus leaving the dock – by the time we’d stowed,
unplugged, untied, retied, pumped out, and shoved off it was almost
11 a.m., despite having been at it since 6. I’m pretty sure that
just sitting at the dock kills brain cells that we need to get
organized. At this age, we don’t have a huge surplus!
Our first stop was
only about 22 miles from the marina and we therefore had enough
daylight to get there despite our late start. Raven enjoyed
her first perfect day of sailing since we left Kemah, spreading her
sails in light winds and blue skies all the length of Charlotte
Harbor. A fleet of marina racing sailboats kept us company (they were
racing and we were pretending we were, too) and livened up the
scenery all the way to the ICW. Sitting in the fresh air and watching
the world go by refreshed our spirits as we lumbered along the Ditch,
across wide Pine Island Sound, past Captiva Island. Our only tense moment was the passage under some scary high voltage towers that march across the water from the mainland to Sanibel. The height is easily 65 feet, but it's still scary...what if they measured badly...what if it's an unusually high tide...what if our mast sprouted overnight... Amazing the idiotic thoughts you can conjure to terrify yourself. We passed safely.
Because the wind changed direction from the weather predictions, as usual, we ended up in a somewhat open anchorage across from the Darling Nature Reserve off Sanibel Island about two miles from our planned anchorage. The night was flat calm and we slept the sleep of the fresh air drunkard.
Because the wind changed direction from the weather predictions, as usual, we ended up in a somewhat open anchorage across from the Darling Nature Reserve off Sanibel Island about two miles from our planned anchorage. The night was flat calm and we slept the sleep of the fresh air drunkard.
Dawn saw us up and
at ‘em and on the waterway by 7:30 a.m. We had a long day’s
travel planned and texted back and forth with friends to find a good
anchorage. One choice was up Gordon Pass in the canals that line the
shore there, but we weren’t happy about anchoring among the condos.
The weather forecast let us know we were in for maybe as much as a
week of wind, and Florida condos have little tolerance for anchored
boats that stay more than a day or two (long, ranting blog post
possible, but avoided). Acquaintances had anchored at Old Factory at
Marco Island, so that’s where we headed.
The soft, gray day
spit light rain on Raven as she made her way up the Miserable
Mile, so-called because it’s a very narrow, mile-long path,
sliding along in a two and three knot current down the passage
through scattered mangrove islands. I actually enjoy gray, wet days
as long as the temperature is moderate. The moisture brings all sorts
of “green” scents to my nose and rests my eyes. On land, I enjoy
the gentler sounds that float toward me on the damp air, but when
we’re motoring my ears are filled with the chug of the engine. Gray
weather also puts a damper on boat traffic, which is a relief and feeds my boating fantasy of being all alone in a watery wilderness.
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| Hot lunch!! |
Once out in San
Carlos Bay and then in the Gulf, Raven crawled along the
coast, passing the blanket of high-rises that line the shoreline of
Florida as we passed Ft. Myers, Cape Coral, Naples, etc. The air was
still and the sea flat, so we motored the entire way to Marco Island, enjoying the fact that it was so calm I could make us a hot lunch.
Out on the water, a gray day turns silver in the sunlight and it’s
hard to distinguish the sea from the horizon. Whenever there’s a
break in the clouds the sun sparkles on the water, making a circle of
gold glitter on the gray sea. But just when you think you’ve got it
made….
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| Can't see anything? Me, either! |
Fog. It closed in on
Raven when I was at the wheel and David was trying to nap below.
Visibility was cut to about three boat lengths (90 feet), the
shoreline disappeared and, bad luck, the radar was down. We were
socked in, although above us the sky was a clear, clean blue. I hated
to wake David up, but I needed more eyes and quick! Boats can come
out of nowhere in fog, and lots of boats are doing 15 knots and
assuming other boats can see them on radar. David got our automatic
fog alert to work and so every two minutes we let out a croaking
blast. It gave us little comfort - could anyone actually hear us??. Being blind in fog is
terrifying. Fervent prayers kept me calm and finally lifted the
clouds after about 45 minutes. We are about ready to take the radar
out and choke it to death. This is the second time it’s let us down. Not happy about that.
The AIS worked like
a champ, for the boats that used it. We passed a barge at the
entrance to Marco Island that did not have it – another stressful
moment as we passed in front of the barge, down the channel to Old
Factory anchorage, unable to call the vessel by name, guessing its
speed and direction, etc. As a commercial vessel, the barge is
supposed to have AIS. Oh, well.
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| View from the helm...peering for AIS signatures. |
I think I might
change the name of Old Factory Anchorage to Nightmare Anchorage for
our bad choices and sleepless night. We were really tired by the time
we came in, about an hour before dark, after a long 10 hour day of
travel, and dropped the hook near some other boats. Our chart showed
very shallow depth in the anchorage, even though I kept seeing 9-10
feet beneath us. We should have explored before dropping the hook,
but made the bad decision to stop at the first likely place. Turned
out we played dos-y-dos with another, unoccupied, sailboat when the
wind shifted later that night, and had to leap out of the cabin in
pajamas to reset the anchor. Then we were afraid we’d drag into the
other boat, so ended up on anchor watch all night, me from 10 p.m. to
2 a.m., and David from 2 a.m. onward.
Two crabby sailors
greeted this morning with grunts and glowering looks at our dancing
partner, and we were so tired that it took most of the day to figure
out that we should call Tow Boat US for some local knowledge. Turns
out our chart was completely off and there is plenty of depth here.
So we pulled up the anchor and came much farther down the anchorage
and now have plenty of room to swing. Hopefully, we will both get a
good night’s rest tonight.
I hope we like it
here, because it’s supposed to blow here the next two days (and
maybe more) and blow like stink at Marathon for the next two weeks.
Neither of us wants to leave or show up in stiff winds, especially
since we don’t know if they will have a mooring ball for us. I guess
the Lord is trying to teach us patience…? Or maybe just having
mercy on our bank account. Free is a whole lot better than $800/month
at a marina. Here's our spot, where we have reset the anchor. Now we can relax.
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