Ten Days on the Road, er, Creek

[Hilde’s log]

Never underestimate the value of dry, clean sheets! After ten days "on the road" we pulled into Harborwalk Marina in Georgetown, SC, plugged into the AC, and stripped every bit of cloth from the boat. Five loads of laundry and four hours later, we sank gratefully onto the settees and gloried in cool, dry air, clean bodies, and dry bedding. Ahhhh. We sure enjoy being plugged in when it happens.

Since Beaufort, we've traveled ten days straight without coming in to land, with the exception of a brief stop at Isle of Palms for diesel and water. Raven chugged right by Charleston without any desire to stop. We were there two weeks ten years ago, and although we have fond memories of the old city, weren't tempted to stop this time.

Instead, we kept going and pulled out to anchor in Whiteside Creek, north of the city. Another on our list of beautiful places, we ended up staying two nights.

Glamor shot of me filling the water tank. We stopped at the fuel dock at Isle of Palms, just north of Charleston, for diesel and water and potato chips. The essentials.

Sunrise, Whiteside Creek, our first anchorage north of Charleston.

On lazy mornings, when the tide doesn't rise until noon, David gets a much better breakfast!

We spent the whole day at anchor, again seduced by the still beauty all around us, broken by the occasional deer fly, bent on a quick snack. SWAT. The next morning we motored another 15 miles to Awendaw Creek.

Anchorage at Whiteside Creek

Our next stop found Raven floating at anchor about as close to the Atlantic as you can get, without being actually out in the Atlantic, in Awendaw Creek. Just across the marsh and nestled in among the trees, I could see a few houses, but if I looked in the other direction, all I could see was the slim outline of some barrier marshes and the sparkle of light on the water. If you have followed the “breadcrumb trail”, you will have seen this place, where it looks as though we were anchored in the ocean.

Both days of travel north from Charleston were marked by a parade of Hatteras fishing boats. These are high dollar fishing vessels, and we were passed by at least ten of them, coming in clumps down the ICW, throwing high wake to either side of the canal. All were well-captained and obligingly slowed down as they went past. We just scratched our heads at the sheer numbers. Headed south for a boat show? Fishing tournament? Breeding season? Who knows.

One of the Hatteras boats that passed us. These bad boys cost about $1 million per boat... Also, what is the plural of Hatteras? Hatteri?

Awendaw Creek stuck in our minds as one of the memorable anchorages from our trip south a decade ago. We anchored here in December, and I remembered the oyster reefs where we tentatively went ashore to pee our schnauzer, Schnitzel, me keeping a wary eye out for alligators even in that cold air. The water was looking-glass still at night, and I remember the carpet of stars above us, shards of twinkling glass in that clear, cold sky, all of which were reflected in every detail in the black, still water around us. It was like floating free in a star field.

Awendaw Creek is a wide-open anchorage.

The view was totally different this time. We were surrounded by green marsh grass and trees in full leaf. The wind kicked up, and Raven danced at anchor the whole time we were there.

Looking across the marshes from Awendaw Creek, you can see houses peeking through the trees.

An egret looks for lunch amid the oyster beds. This is what we waded through to take the dog ashore all those years ago.

With high winds forecast, I did not feel at ease with so much open space around us, so after only one night we moved on to Minim Creek, motoring by the Francis Marion National Forest and the Santee Coastal Reserve, wilderness on both sides of the canal. (see below)

The rain that had been dogging us for a week finally caught us at Minim Creek. David did manage to rig the sail kit on our dinghy and puttered around the creek, but later in the afternoon the clouds closed in and we sat through about 24 hours of heavy showers. The mosquitoes were out in force, and somehow found ways in through our screens. We carried several of the big, black, toothy insects with us all the way up Winyah Bay to Georgetown.

Coming out into Winyah Bay

If you turn right, you head out into the Atlantic

Technology has changed so much about cruising in the last ten years. We've had cell phone access in almost every anchorage (not Minim Creek, where we really wanted to know when the rain would clear out). Internet access has taken much of the mystery of traveling with the tides and gives us instant access to weather and wind strength along the way. Instead of consulting a battered tide book to determine when to travel up or down a river, or over shallow spots in the ICW, we have instruments on board that show us exactly where we are in the tide cycle at our present position.

I can upload photos and post the blog almost anywhere, instead of having to wait to hook up to a marina’s questionable wi-fi, or having to lug the computer to the local library for internet access. In most areas we can make and receive telephone calls with ease, even video-calls.

We can watch TV on our phones almost every night, if we want to, not to mention calling ahead to make reservations at upcoming marinas or to alert fuel docks that we are approaching. It’s a lot less like traveling by covered wagon, and a whole lot more like driving an RV along a highway through a national park, although the views on the water remain unsurpassed.

Nice improvements! Now, if I could just figure out how to keep the sheets from getting soggy.

Sunshine and Cold, Good Anchorages and Bad

[Hilde’s log]

We left St. Augustine after two nights, headed for the Georgia border, and suddenly the people, the buildings, most of the boats, and the cold weather all receded into the distance, and the world unfolded in all its beauty.

No houses!

From being hemmed in on all sides by development, suddenly we were in the marsh land or wetlands, with a horizon that stretched out and gave us room to breathe. The air turned balmy, the water flattened out, and I could enjoy steering from the helm chair instead of standing. A bit later on, the waterway narrowed again. On one side were modest homes, on the other a wilderness of pines, oaks, sawgrass, and palm trees, all in a jungle-jumble (see above). That pleasant state of affairs took us toward Jacksonville, although as we got closer, the houses turned into McMansions. The view was easy to fix – just sit on the side of the cockpit that shows the wilderness.

Just on the other side of the St. John’s River, we pulled up in a small anchorage at Sister’s Creek early in the afternoon. On one side of the waterway was a public park and some public docks, but on our side was flat water and marshes lined with a rim of trees. The next morning, the anchorage was absolutely still and quiet, except for squawking seagulls. I felt as though I weighed 300 pounds less.

Sister's Creek anchorage, from Google Earth.

Cap'n Dave comes back from inspecting the anchor at Sister's Creek. Note the bare feet!

The stillness was like nectar. Event the water was quiet (the fishing boats fixed that, about 15minutes after I took these photos).

First this...

...then this

Passing up the sand and brightly colored buildings at Fernandina Beach, we chose to press on to St. Mary’s, Georgia, a traditional cruisers’ hangout we hadn’t ever seen. It’s a fairly long trip up the St. Mary’s River to get there, with lots of winding u-turns. When we arrived, we could see from the damage that the waterfront had been dealt quite a blow by Hurricane Irma. Then we found out that all the stores and the laundry were 3-4 miles from the waterfront, which is way too far if you have no transportation. Yet another cold front was looming, so we cut our visit short and left early the next morning.

Our trail took us by the nuclear submarine base. Fortunately, no one was home, so we had clear passage. We did see the cage that houses the submarine (a degaussing facility, which means that’s where the magnetism is removed from the submarine...that bit of information from David, who understands these things), but it was empty. We admired the coastline of Cumberland Island, Jekyll Island, and St. Simon’s Island, but didn’t stop as we were on another trek through a small weather window and needed to get to a protected anchorage.

Another blessedly warm day saw us traveling with a few other sailboats through the winding track of the Georgia ICW. Cruisers will either throw up their hands in horror at this stretch of the inland waterway, or will just smile and go for it. The scenery is splendid and as boats drop away for the ocean inlets to go around Georgia by sea, pretty soon you have the place to yourself, which is extremely refreshing. Waterways branch off from the main channel in all directions and then the main channel opens into a number of large bays along the route, all beautiful sailing bays if you have built sailing into your travel schedule. Next time, I tell myself.

Raven chugged along, sometimes with the staysail out if the wind was in the right direction. We stopped twice in smaller creeks off the main route to spend the night, anchored in complete silence. Out on deck in the night, before the moon rose, the glories of the Milky Way are spread out over the heavens. In the morning, all we could hear was the chitter of blackbirds in the marsh, and the occasional plop of a pelican diving for breakfast. There are other people out there (we saw their lights in the distance at night) but during the day we felt like pioneers sailing along a watery prairie.

Marshland in the afternoon light. You can see the tide line. At high tide, no soil is visible.

Georgia ICW marshlands.

Cane Patch Creek - no more bare feet! COLD.

The weather continued to be unpredictable. We anchored for the two nights in Cane Patch Creek waiting on another cold front to blow by before the last leg of our trip through a very shallow section of the ICW called Hell’s Gate. It sounds worse than it is; the trick is to cross on a rising tide so you have enough depth. We got through with no trouble and arrived early at Isle of Hope (we didn’t know the tide table when we made the reservation), but the description of Turner’s Creek sounded nice. There was a grocery store in walking distance and the little marina there had facilities for use for a fee.

The first problem we encountered was the creek itself, which was narrow and had several boats already in residence, all taking the best spots to anchor. The second problem was the weather which went from chilly to cold and rainy and dark (no heat on the boat, remember?). The straw that broke the camel’s back was when I called the local marina and asked about showers only to be told that we could tie up our dinghy for $10, but that the facilities were no longer on offer to cruisers. Folks, we’d been out for a week with no bath. I could have stood the crummy anchorage and the cold weather with a nice hot shower and clean hair, but to be cold AND be stuck below for two days because of the non-stop rain AND to be grubby and stinky...we called Isle of Hope Marina and begged them for an early slot. Wonderfully, they had one that came available four days before our reservation! Another miracle was that the rain stopped and the sun came out and the wind died to nothing.

Isle of Hope Marina is located on the river that is the ICW here and docking is a bit of a trick. There are isles of boats and you maneuver your boat down a narrow lane to your spot, where, for want of a better term, you parallel park your boat. Fortunately the marina crew knew exactly what they were doing, and David is a fabulous skipper, so we got tied up with no problem and headed straight for the hot showers.

The river, seen from our morning walk. Isle of Hope Marina is in the background.

That's Raven on the right with the yellow diesel cans. David drove her right down that middle lane, with boats about 2 feet on either side of us. Needless to say, we went slowly and carefully. The marina crew were amazing.

You can't miss us - just look for the Texas flag!

Short Trip; Back on the Ball at Boot Key Harbor

[Hilde’s log]

Those of you who follow our progress on the In Reach breadcrumb trail probably noticed our abortive attempt to go north on Saturday. We slid off the ball at 6:45 a.m. and motored out of Boot Key Harbor under clear skies and chilly winds. Dodging the inevitable crab pots, we motored out into the bay and turned east on our way to Hawk Channel. To our dismay, the wind did not cooperate in direction as had been forecast.

What it was supposed to look like when we went out...

Raven is a great boat, and she handles all seas well. The same cannot be said for the crew. We bumped and jounced along at an uncomfortable angle of heel and took turns manhandling the boat to maintain our course. Our speed was laughable. Our night’s anchorage was 50 miles north, and with the engine running and all sails out, we were making about 4.5 knots. The thought of the physical exertion needed to handle these condition applied over 10 or more hours convinced us to give up and try again another day when conditions were more conducive. About two hours out we turned around, and about 30 minutes later we were back to Boot Key Harbor. That’s the difference having the waves and wind go with you makes!

It was a good decision. Both of us were exhausted and sore as we slunk back to our mooring ball. Our neighbors dropped by to see what was going on, and agreed to go with us to the Overseas Pub across from the marina to help us drown our sorrows later in the evening. We fell into bed about 10 p.m. and conked out for 10 hours of sleep.

Today has been much better. We sat around in our pjs all morning, listening to the cruisers’ net (very entertaining) and catching up on the news (bad idea) on our phones. After lunch, we dinghied in to go to the annual Seafood Festival taking place in the nearby city park. Vendors of all kinds set up their tents and we wandered around for about an hour, buying only three items (and one was a gift, so it doesn’t count).

Our favorite tent was set up by the local aquarium. They had several kiddie pools with various samples of marine life that we were allowed to pet. I touched a small manta ray (soft, like wet silk) and took a good look at horseshoe crabs, sea urchins, sea stars, and water turtles. My favorite was the big land tortoise, a big cream-colored beauty with that ancient stare that turtles all seem to share. For a minute I was 10 years old, plotting to kidnap her and take her on board. I love tortoises.

This evening as we sat relaxing in the cockpit and enjoying a cool breeze, we were entertained by two boats engaged in hauling a sunken wreck from the mooring field. We saw the “empty” mooring ball when we came in and heard later that the space was occupied by a wreck. Two large boats, one on either side, winched the wreck to the surface (it appeared to be a large power boat). A diver went in the water to unfasten the boat from the mooring ball.

The biggest excitement was when they discovered lobsters in the boat. "This thing is full of lobsters!" came the shout over the water. They threw several presumably small specimens over the side but I suspect the others are going to be dinner tonight. The two boats finally hauled off the wreck, still more than half sunk, motors straining. We sat on deck, David taking photos, and we criticized the operation with the certainty that comes when you know nothing about the subject. That was good for an hour’s viewing – who needs TV?

Weirdly, we never saw any kind of flotation bladder.

Poor mucky boat!

Tonight, for the first time in several days, we are both feeling relaxed and calm. The mooring field is serene, the sun is sinking, the air is fresh and warm. We’ll stay here in hopes that the weather will shift for us at the end of this week. 

My idea of cruising - calm water, beautiful sunset, no bugs.

On the Hook at Marco Island

[Hilde's log]

I mentioned in my last post that the radar had turned up its toes twice when we really needed it. After checking all there is to check on the boat, our last option was to send it off to the manufacturer, a job that required a rigger to get the dome off the mast and a car to take it to UPS to be mailed. After that...5-10 days before we can find out what’s wrong, then mailing time to get it back. As David said, we don’t desperately need it, but drat it, it’s only 10 months old and wasn’t cheap. It needs to get fixed and be worth the effort and the price.

So here we are, in limbo, also known as Old Factory anchorage off Marco Island. It’s a nice, protected anchorage and Rose Marina, where we come ashore, is staffed with really nice folks. For a $5 day use fee, we can tie up at the dinghy dock and avail ourselves of hot showers or a walk on the island. Because we are saving buckets of money by anchoring out (marina slips here are $100/night), we’ve decided that next week we’ll get a car for a couple of days and do some exploring. I’d still like to have lunch at the Rod and Gun Club in Everglades City.

 

All sorts of interesting historical and fictional tales around this place!

Meanwhile...we float. Fisherfolk are always out zooming around, and their wake lops the boat but also provides some entertainment. There are a number of other boats at anchor here, all on their way somewhere else. We met one nice couple who are sailing with two small children and a dog. They are young and beautiful and full of energy and it’s delightful to hear children’s voices across the water.

There’s not much to see on shore except lots of people and traffic and big suburban houses and beige colored storefronts. We rented a car for one day to provision and do laundry, and running those errands here was like running them in 1,000 other cities – if you got dropped on a street here, you’d have no clue you weren’t in Columbus or Dallas except perhaps for the plants.

David beside the biggest mimosa tree I have ever seen in my life.

Me beside a gumbo-limbo tree. They are everywhere down here and get mentioned a lot in the Doc Ford books.

I have no idea what this is, but it's gorgeous!

This area got hit hard by Irma and there are lots of roof and screened porch repairs in progress. I wouldn't like to have this job: 

 Roofers removing tiles from damaged house

We did find one maybe old neighborhood that hints at what may have been like here before the place was developed (photos below) and that one place is quite charming. We had lunch at Petit Soleil and the food was superb – worth the mile walk! 

"Old town" Marco.

The attraction at Marco seems to be the fishing and the beach. The marina stores lots of fishing-type boats and there are also flat bottomed boats for rent from the marina that look perfect for an afternoon on the water with a cooler and a couple of fishing rods. We’ve seen a couple of people venture out on small catamarans as well. There are big cruise-type vessels at the dock, at least one of which makes the trek from here to Key West (see video clip). There’s also a fake pirate ship that goes out a couple of times a day for a tour of the water.

Marco Island Express 

Pirate Ship Excursion 

So what do you do while you wait? David fixes whatever has recently broken (a constant on a boat) and I feed us and do dishes and make half-hearted gestures toward keeping the boat clean. We read a lot – this time out we have access to electronic library loans so we have our pick of books. That’s another reason to choose this anchorage – we have phone access! We watch TV at night, being able to stream via the phones. Every day or two we dinghy in to take the trash, walk the island, and take showers.

One day we passed an entertaining hour watching a fisherman clean his catch and throw the leftovers to a gaggle of pelicans that almost launched themselves off their perches each time he moved his hands (video below). The egrets showed up to help, squawking and pecking each other. Some of the guys feed the egrets from their hands at the bait shop early in the morning. The egrets show up and stand on the bait trough and the guys toss them the odd minnow. There’s a big flap whenever a fishing boat comes in, because the fishermen toss the unused bait fish and scraps from the cleaning to the birds.

Pelican bar Marco Island 

After a day's fishing - pelican mob 

Fingers crossed, we will be able to leave in two weeks or less, maybe. I am hoping the weather will stay warm and the sun will come out. So far, we have done a lot more sitting than we have done cruising. Crossed fingers for spring, which I hope shows up here in February, dire groundhog predictions or not.

A month of repairs and upgrades

[Hilde’s log]

I keep hoping that David will do a post detailing the repairs and upgrades he has done since we arrived in Pensacola. The list is long! As I am writing this, he is out in the cockpit braving some very cold breezes putting back together the junction box under the cockpit table and polishing the cockpit walls which end up collecting all sorts of black marks as he works on various projects. It’s really cold here in the morning, but fortunately warms right up in the middle of the day.

I helped him a little with servicing our winches. That’s the part of the boat that you wrap the sail sheets (ropes) around to help you pull them in. Sails are really heavy, so help is needed! Our two winches hadn’t been serviced in a long time and were hard to crank. David pulled off the covers and then unscrewed the five 8” bolts that hold the winch to the teak block on the deck. The bolts go through the foot of the winch, through the teak block, and then through the fiberglass deck. Unscrewing them was difficult; even the power screwdriver balked. After he got them off, David cleaned off any corrosion and greased them and reassembled them on the deck. My job was mostly holding the screwdriver against his wrench, or holding the box wrench against his screwdriver. Each of the winches took most of a day to finish.

Starboard winch with its guts exposed. It also got resealed (see white goo around the base).

Rusty bolts (some leakage over time), looking up at the winch base from the quarter berth. One of them broke! We had to get new ones online, as they are a size no one keeps in stock.

The port winch is reached through the port side lazerette, which meant a lot of unnatural bending and stooping to get at the bolts. The starboard winch is reached through the quarter berth and that meant taking everything out while we worked on that set of bolts. The good news is that I was also able to wipe down stowaway dust and clean it up a bit. 

David tucked into the empty quarter berth.

Me wiping down the dust.

What do we store in the quarter berth? All this that is shown filling up the main cabin. Oi.

David also put in a new jiffy reefing system that eliminated long dangling lines that tried to snag on everything and also let us, for the first time, have three working reef points. Sawing off some of the stuff already on the boom in order to attach the reefing rack took about three hours. Fortunately, I was off shopping and didn’t have to listen to the screech of the saw.

Three reefing points!

Jiffy reefing track installed.

The Walker Bay Hyperlon dinghy tube has taken some wear and tear, and David patched that up nicely. The glue that came in the original repair kit committed suicide at some point, but David looked on line and found that the glue he already had (3M 5200) would work nicely. Am happy to report the tube is fixed and firm once again.

Abraded dinghy tube.

One upgrade that made David very happy was convincing our AIS to display on our chart plotter. He also repaired the red and green bow light that went dark during the crossing and replaced the leaking water hose in the engine. Ditto the broken traveler.

It made me happy to note that he restored the gate wires across the access gates (where you get on and off the boat, either side, when you are not tied up to a stubby little finger pier but to an actual dock). It is scary to walk past them when you're at sea and have them be open to the water, even though no one should count on that slender wire to stop a fall. I guess it's mostly psychological.

The gate wire, which gives me a false sense of security.

David breathed life back into the outboard which came awake with a nice loud roar.

He added a red LED in the compass, which was dark the whole way over. Not a huge thing when you have GPS, but still nice to be able to check the heading without a flashlight.

In our mania to redo the teak in the cockpit we forgot to replace the caulking and got good and wet as punishment from King Neptune. The caulking is back in place! Gee, I hate a wet boat.

The toilet sprang a small leak on the passage, and David tightened it back up.

He replaced the night light in the engine water temperature gauge.

He also stripped, cleaned, and lubed the jib sheet foot blocks which eliminated a lot of screeching when handling the jib.

And me? I polished the stainless steel life rails. After all, gotta look shiny. I also administer tea, coffee, meals, and the occasional power bar and herd the laundry to the washing machines. I have my uses.

It's not all banging away on the boat, though. We take a walk almost every day. Here is a little park not too far from us where you can sit and watch nothing happen on the bayou.

We've also hooked up with old friends Sherry, John & Cookie, and Paul, and made new friends, Art & Mary Jane. Thanks to them all for their friendship and for providing lovely reasons to leave the boat and for schlepping us around in search of boat parts. The nicest thing about cruising is the people you get to know. We've also made contact with Gary and Linda, a couple we met two years ago when we sailed on a schooner in Maine who live here in Florida and who we will see when we get to Punta Gorda. Somehow, everyone we know eventually washes up near us.

Current plans are to leave for Punta Gorda around December 1st. Until then, stay warm and stay in touch!

Thanksgiving on Raven

[Hilde’s log]

We send our best wishes to all of you for a warm and memorable holiday season! We are pretty low-key here on Raven, but I do try to cook a bit more around the holidays. We had a lovely pre-Thanksgiving meal at our friends’ home here in Pensacola, complete with lovely tablecloth and linen napkins and roasted Cornish hens. Our actual Thanksgiving Day meal was a whole lot less beautiful, but made for leftovers aplenty. No big turkey roasting in the oven – we have a pretty small oven!

Our lovely friends, John & Cookie, who shared their Thanksgiving dinner with us. They've been friends with David for almost 40 years. I am a johnny-come-lately, only meeting them at our wedding 17 years ago.

The thing about using the oven is that first I have to unload it. The oven usually functions as a storage space for baking pans, my cast-iron grill skillet and other less-used items. All that has to come out and perch...somewhere. The counter, of course, is awash in ingredients. I always get everything out of the refrigerator before I start, since the counter is also the top of the refrigerator. And, invariably, I forget one thing and then say a few choice words as I balance everything on the ladder, the nav station, etc., while I go digging.

One of my cooking piles...the stuff from the oven.

The rectangular door under my pot and the red dish is the door to the refrigerator.

This is usually the point at which I realize I have forgotten something in the fridge.

I made three things this year – a sort of green bean casserole (no cream of mushroom soup, but some gluten free panka crumbled on top of the green beans and onions did nicely to distract me from the lack), butternut squash and small Brussels sprouts, and a gluten free stuffing mix. That ended up being lunch. That night I made gravy to go with the turkey breast and remaining stuffing. Sometime later this week I guess I will get around to the mashed potatoes and sweet potato pie. After all, it’s just the two of us. So what if we spread the meal out over a week, right?

Thanksgiving meal #1 - lunch! We ate outside in the cockpit under a bright and almost warm sun. The dishes are the Corelle that got replaced the next day (see below).

Eventually order is restored...

 

I capped off the week with my first-ever Black Friday shopping trip with another of our Pensacola friends, who have been very kind to take us around in their car for various bits and pieces David needs for repairs and grocery stops for me. On Friday, Mary Jane and I made a day of it, stopping at Stein Mart, Sam’s, Kohl’s, Starbucks, etc. At Kohl’s I found lovely melamine plates for 40% off! I have been looking for nice melamine plates for a long time and was so pleased to find these. The fact that I had to wait in the check-out line for 30 minutes didn’t even dim my enthusiasm. I have to say, I haven’t been shopping in a very long time and the sheer volume of stuff and the crowds of women (not a man in sight) nearly overwhelmed my senses. If it hadn’t been for Mary Jane, I think I would have bolted!

Pretty blue dishes! Such a relief. I have been using my old Corelle for decades and am heartily sick of looking at it.

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.