Foggy morning on Tampa Bay when we left St. Pete.

[Hilde’s log]

As I write this, we are sitting quietly in our slip in Burnt Store Marina, about 10 miles south of Punta Gorda and about 1/3 the way up Charlotte Harbor. We’ve pretty much recovered from our trip down from Pensacola, the laundry is done, we have managed to reprovision, and we’ve found the sailor’s library in the laundry room. All in all, not bad. Although I must tell you, winter in Florida is not the kind of warmth I was expecting. The temperature climbs to the low 80s in the afternoon, but the breeze is downright cold. I find myself wearing long sleeves and sweaters in 78-80 degree weather and scratching my head. No one else has commented on it, which leads me to believe they are all from Buffalo, NY.

Our trip from St. Petersburg took us down the InterCoastal Waterway (ICW) in the hopes of beating the huge winter storm that stretched from Pennsylvania to Cuba at one point. We didn’t quite make it, due to our decision to come in at St. Petersburg, which lost us two days. However, we did manage to tuck into a wonderfully protected anchorage between Lido and Otter Keys, and that is where we waited out the high winds. 

Our anchorage at Otter Key, with the cold front looming behind us. The first day we were there, it was 80 and I luxuriated in the cockpit. The second day...eeep. Cold.

 

A 360 view of our anchorage at Otter Key 

You have to bump over a sand bar at high water to get into this anchorage, which meant we had to time our exit to the tide. We actually used this Google Earth app to navigate the bar (to the bottom right of Otter Key above you can see the bar and the narrow channel). The blue dot moved as we did and we could see where the sand was. Now, that was novel!

When we left the anchorage, the winds were down, but so was the temperature (40). We were really, really cold in our open cockpit, bundled up in multiple layers of clothing, and grateful for the relatively calm air. Every detail of the scenery was in sharp relief as the cold front swept all traces of moisture from the atmosphere.

Me peering over the dodger as we chug down the ICW. I'm too short by about 4".

 

The ICW is a protected “trail” for boats, with barrier islands between you and the open sea. That cuts way down on chop and wind. In some places the waterway is very wide, but you have to navigate by instruments to stay on the “path” - that part of the waterway that is deep enough for passage. Otherwise, you risk going aground. In other places, the waterway is very narrow, like a canal. You have to hand steer, as well, because of the twists and turns. It’s not particularly difficult, just a lot of motoring which jiggles my insides and makes me tired.

In Florida the ICW is littered with bridges, all of which we have to pass under. Having a 49 foot mast, that means we have to call most of the bridges to request passage. The bridge operators are almost all quick to respond to a hail and very helpful, but the sheer number of bridges can really slow you down. One day we passed under nine of them!

Approaching a bridge on the ICW.

 Passing under a bridge on the ICW

I truly enjoy passage on the ICW because there is so much to see. I particularly like looking at all the birds. We saw brown pelicans, white pelicans, gulls, terns, little shore birds, ospreys, buzzards, ibis, herons, etc. Some of the birds were roosting in the mangroves, which made the mangroves look like decorated Christmas trees. Some stood on the sand bars, sunning themselves and stretching their wings. Some stood or waded on sand bars in the shallow, glittering water, enjoying the returning warmth as the sun rose.

A large flock of ibis gathered in the mud flats at the base of the mangroves, goozling in the mud for their breakfast. So glad I don’t have to dig my breakfast out of the mud. The gray-white branches of a dead tree on the bank were draped in huge, black roosting buzzards. Below the tree, another 20 or so were shambling around, flapping their wings and nudging each other out of the way. Above, in the clear sky, another group of buzzards rode the thermals, gliding up and around in the air enjoying the day. I have no idea why there were so many.

Ospreys are everywhere, roosting on the ICW channel markers and here at the marina on sailboat masts. They fly by with the unfortunate fish they have caught for their dinner. Ospreys make the prettiest calls, not screaming as so many raptors do, but instead making a flute-like call that is almost a song.

I apologize for no photos of the birds, but I was freezing and wearing thick gloves I was not interested in removing to take pictures!

 

After one more day at anchor we chugged up Charlotte Harbor to the marina. The harbor is a perfect place to sail if you have the wind at the right angle, but it was right on our nose and we were too tired to tack back and forth. Arriving about 1 p.m., we tucked into our slip, sighed over yet another short finger pier, and hooked up the heat! Oh, luxury!

Entrance to Burnt Store Marina

View from our slip. More of the dreaded finger piers.

Always something new

[Hilde’s log, March 11, 2008]

One of the things I really love about the boating life is that I never know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. For the last week, mostly what has happened is a big nothing. We left our sloppy anchorage at Hillsboro Inlet in 20 knot winds Friday morning and came south about four miles to Lake Santa Barbara, a small lake off the ICW ringed with homes and private docks. The water is blessedly calm and the boats that come in and out are very polite, cruising at idle speed and making no wake for the most part. We’re waiting for the elusive weather window (moderate winds blowing from the south) so we can cross the Gulf Stream in relative comfort and safety, and are hoping to cross Friday. I’ve been to this altar before, so I’m not holding my breath. The forecast has held for a couple of days now and I’m allowing myself to feel hopeful. We will have to move tomorrow, as this place, like so many in Florida, has a 24 hour anchoring limit. We’ve been here three nights, but the sheriff just found us. So we will move across the ICW tomorrow morning and anchor at Lettuce Lake (I am not making up the name), and then Thursday head back to Hillsboro Inlet in the hopes of going offshore on Friday.

As we’ve waited at anchor, we’ve done some long neglected chores. I holy-stoned the galley, the stove, and the head, David repaired a faulty valve on the stove and polished the isenglas on the dodger. He installed a lock on the head to keep the Coast Guard happy. I knit, and then un-knit, about 15 rows on my current project. We read. I found computer chess on the computer and wrestled my way to a couple of draws. I made pineapple upside down cake again and we ate most of it. We read some more. David cleaned out the oil sump. I thought about attempting laundry on deck. You get the picture.

Then, as it so often does, up popped the unexpected. I was sitting on deck growling at my un-knitting late in the morning, when a small power boat came up close to us. We’ve been passed by umpteen boats while anchored here, so I didn’t pay it any attention. The skipper yelled across “Where are you from?” I replied “Texas.” “We’re from California,” he called and pulled the boat closer. The boat held two couples, out for an afternoon on the water. They invited us to join them for lunch, and although we declined, we suggested they drop by on their way home for a chat. Off they went and I went back to my un-knitting. They returned in an hour or so and rafted up alongside. Bill and Astrid, newlyweds, are from California. Kermit and Jeanie are from Minnesota. Both come to Florida in the winter and all were taking advantage of a perfect day to take a spin in Bill’s boat. They came aboard to see Raven and the next thing we knew, they had invited us to go with them down the ICW a few miles, just to see the sights and enjoy the day. We didn’t hesitate long!

The trip was such fun. We alternated between a sedate pace in the “idle speed only” zones and then zoomed along like a big jet ski in the open zones. Bill’s boat makes next to no wake at high speed, so it was guilt free flying. The wind whipped our faces and we whooshed over calm water and thudded into wake at what seemed like 100 miles an hour. We dipped under the umpteen bridges David and I have negotiated coming south and covered in a couple of hours the same ground it takes us all day to accomplish. I admit, I had engine lust. Kermit and I took turns at the helm while Bill and Astrid waltzed around the deck to loud music from the cd player. We even saw wildlife – huge, torpid iguanas sunning themselves on the lumber of a bridge fender and an exotic fish-like fellow that Bill thinks may be a black angel. This creature, about the size of a man’s shoe, swam a bit like a manta ray, by raising and lowering two flowing “wings”. It looked like a black silk handkerchief as it languidly moved through the water.

About sunset, Bill docked the boat at a canal-side restaurant. That was a bit of an adventure in itself, as the dock was a good six feet above the deck of the boat. The others clambered up, helped by a couple of men who caught our lines. I just stood there looking up, thinking, “Oh, right,” and imagining them passing me a sandwich from the dock, when the two guys told me to come on, they’d lift me up. I’m not exactly a bantam weight, so I had huge reservations about the whole thing, but by golly if they didn’t just take hold of my upper arms (I’m standing on the boat railing at this point) and lift me right up onto the dock, like a two-man human elevator! It turns out these fellows didn’t even work for the restaurant, they were just fellow diners. I guess I will have to re-evaluate my opinion that Floridians aren’t very friendly.

Unfortunately, they left before we did, so I had to trust to Bill, David, and gravity to board again. Clutching the frame of the console awning (David clamping his hand over my arm and Bill ready to catch my hair if I missed the side), I dropped down onto the side and then to the deck of the boat. As usual, not graceful but effective.

On our return, we boarded Raven, windblown, full of fish sandwiches, and warm with good feelings for our newfound friends. You just never know what’s going to happen next. Thanks, guys!

Florida views

Photo #1: Lake Worth (North Palm Beach)

Photo #2: yet another bridge (our record is 12 in one day)

Photo #3: fixer upper

Photo #4: pretty waterway neighborhood - Venice on the ICW

Photo #5: Cap'n Dave blinds 'em with fashion (those are my favorite suspenders!)

Bahamas Bound

Photo #1: David making lists for tomorrow
Photo #2: Hillsboro lighthouse; view from Raven's deck tonight.
Photo #3: We'll be slipping out the right hand side of this inlet into the Atlantic in the wee hours of Wednesday morning if the weather holds


[Hilde’s log]

We’re within 36 hours of crossing the Gulf Stream and heading to West End, in the Abacos (northern Bahamas). At last. Raven is anchored near Lighthouse Point, Florida, just inside the Hillsboro inlet. We spent three nights anchored right off the ICW at a private dock made available by Bob and Angela from Shining Star. They have a co-op apartment that faces the ICW, and the docks belong to people who own other apartments in the same complex. I’ve been swimming twice in the past three days, in the beautiful private pool that the residents keep at a luxurious 85 degrees. The pool is outdoors and not much used, so I flashed back to the days when David and I had a private pool in our backyard. I was ready to hand over the cash necessary to buy one of the apartments – except that we’d have to go back to work to pay the fees and taxes, etc. Not only that, they don’t take pets and we have two. Oh, but it was a fine dream while it lasted! Many thanks to Bob and Angela, who were great company, ferried us to the grocery, to church, and to various marine spots (for propane, last minute West Marine purchases, and the like) and shared good food and good conversation and good advice on cruising the Bahamas, not to mention Bob’s special scotch and Angela’s melt in your mouth yankee pot roast. What a great send off!

Raven is rolling gently and David is making a list of “must dos” for tomorrow. There are all sorts of things to be stowed for the sea (things that sit quietly in their places on the flat waters of the ICW will tumble all over the cabin once we push off into the Atlantic), the dinghy has to be secured to the deck, everything in the cockpit has to find a home and be lashed down, the weather has to be double checked and the waypoints entered for the first leg of our journey.

David and I have both had a severe attack of nerves today, since this is another new adventure. We kept reminding each other that it’s just like every other trip, taking one day at a time, learning as we go, and gradually gaining confidence in different conditions. This is our first venture out of US waters and we are both chomping at the bit, nerves or no nerves. I’m not sure how easy it will be to post on the internet once we are in the Bahamas – I guess it depends on how settled the islands we visit will be. But we will continue to post when we have the opportunity.

Tonight I am adding photos of the views along the southern Florida ICW, a trip I wasn’t really looking forward to, but that I really enjoyed. The big obstacle to this stretch of the waterway is the bridges, which are numerous and most of which have restricted passage – that is, they open only at certain times, usually on the half hour. For a power boat, that presents few problems, but when you’re in a slow poke like Raven, you spend a lot of time holding station and waiting for the opening. But the views are amazing, even for someone like me who usually doesn’t like the Parade of Homes stretches of the waterway.

Next post will be from the Bahamas – see you then.

Stuart, Florida

photo #1: Stuart mooring field
photo #2: bridge over the St. Lucie River
photo #3: looking toward the marina office from Raven's stern

[Hilde’s log]

Another beautiful day in Florida. After a dawn of soft grey air and overcast skies the day has opened up to bright blue skies and brilliant sunshine. David has gone ashore to return a widget to West Marine and I am listening to the hum of the generator and trying to talk myself out of cleaning the locker under the sink. It reeks of mildew, but I am sort of hoping it will clean itself while I am writing.

We’ve had a couple of days of upheaval, caused by the untimely demise of the depth meter. The death of any instrument seems to require that all lockers be emptied, all stores unearthed, all closed spaces opened. That’s because you have to dismantle the boat to get to any of its systems, and because all spaces are crammed with what you need to live - everything from extra clothes and food to tools and lubricants. Day before yesterday was the Bad Day, which found me huddled in the stern of the boat surrounded by mounds of stuff from the cockpit lazarettes and David alternately below or crammed like Gumby down in those same lazarettes trying to figure out which part of the depth meter had croaked. When not hiding on the stern, I cleaned mildew off seldom seen bulkheads and longed for the desert.

As implied by its name, a depth meter tells you how deep the water is. That’s really important when you are in shallows and don’t want to get stuck. The waters of the ICW and the rivers, etc. of Florida are shallow and of course the Bahamas waters are also shallow, so we have to have a working depth meter. I now know that a depth meter has three parts, a “head” (the part that you read), a transducer (the part that sticks to the bottom of the boat and takes the measurements), and a wire between the head and the transducer that goes from the cockpit down into the bowels of the boat to be connected to the transducer. I will spare you the details, but after hours of testing and sliding in and out of the lazarette and removing wires and going to West Marine, and more testing, David figured out that the problem was not in the head ($$$) or in the transducer ($$) but in the wire itself, part of which had corroded (no $). So we now have a working depth meter and all it cost was our sanity for about 36 hours. The boat is put back together and life is once again good.

We celebrated by having friends Lindsay and Judy from Anastasia over for dinner. They are from Ft. Worth and know Clyde, Raven’s previous owner (they are the couple that knocked on our hull when we first came in to Stuart). We spent hours over dinner, comparing notes and talking about boats and ports and delivery jobs, and all sorts of things that interest only fellow boaters. They have been very kind to us, taking us to West Marine and the grocery store, and we have thoroughly enjoyed their company.

David and I also managed a walk around Stuart. There is a boardwalk that runs along the St. Lucie River, and when that peters out you find yourself in downtown Stuart (or at least the scenic downtown), on a main street full of galleries, junk shops, clothing stores, etc. Once we found the ice cream store, all was well. I had cappuccino chocolate chunk, which was frozen bliss. We enjoyed window shopping and peering into the river to catch sight of minnows and larger fish in pursuit of the minnows. Now that the repairs are made, we will be leaving tomorrow for Lake Worth, and then from there to Lighthouse Point (I think) where we have been invited to take a mooring by friends we met in 2006 in Maine. After we say goodbye to them, we will head for Port Everglades and (God willin’ and the creek don’t rise) we’ll cross at the next weather window. Finally!!!

I will keep that goal in mind, now, as I empty the shelves under the sink and see what is really there. Not the fun part of boat life, trust me.

Vero Beach, Florida

[Hilde’s log, January 13, 2008, posted 1-15-08 from the public library at Vero Beach, FL]

I have to date this log, because goodness knows when I will get to post it. I was lying in bed, minding my own business (sleeping) about 1 a.m. last Sunday when I heard muffled shrieks and curses from the main cabin. David often gets up really early and putters on the computer, so I thought nothing of his being up, but the distress seemed all out of proportion to the circumstance. “What is it?” I mumbled, trying to readjust and go back to sleep. “Our Verizon bill!” he spat, “It’s $760!!” “WHAT?!” That got me up. It turns out that Verizon has yanked a service we have used for years, connecting to the net through a modem in David’s phone. The calls were billed as regular minutes, meaning we could surf the net, check email, etc. whenever our plan gave us free minutes (after 9 and on weekends) and being on line cost nothing. Provided we could get a cell phone connection, we could access the net. Verizon decided to close that loophole some time ago, and for a number of years you haven’t been able to get a phone with a modem. No problem for us – David just kept his original phone. But heaven forbid those few of us with antiquated phones should have access without paying through the nose – Verizon has discontinued net access through a modem, closing that loophole with a bang and leaving lots of folks with humongous phone bills. Fortunately, we were able to get the excess charges taken off the bill, but we are without access to the net unless we stumble across free wi-fi…which we will have done if this gets posted.

We’ve been in Vero Beach for about a week, arriving on the tail end of a cold front and just in time for 82 and sunny. It’s just as nice as we’ve heard, with reasonable rates for mooring balls, a friendly and clean marina, free city bus service, good car rental rates – everything you need when you’re a cruiser. It’s a beautiful anchorage, basically a very large creek lined with mangrove bushes, with the ICW at one end and several small mangrove islands at the other. There’s lots of wildlife to admire, mostly a large assortment of birds. We’ve seen dolphins fishing along the banks, and one acquaintance says she saw sea otters at the island end of the creek. Pelicans regularly fish around us and we had a close up view of a pelican’s lunch about 50 feet from the boat. In case you are wondering, they swallow the fish whole, alive, and wriggling, and their necks ripple for sometime after the unfortunate dinner is swallowed. In fact, the dinner fought its way right back up and partly into the pelican’s beak before being swallowed again with a big gulp of water. Eeew. Right next to us, on shore, is a “free play” dog park that is popular with locals and cruisers alike, where dogs can romp off leash and plunge into the water after balls, sticks, and each other. There is a lot to see from the cockpit while sunning if you can tear yourself away from your book (Eleanor of Aquitaine, Hotel Pastis, and The Widows’ Adventures so far). Venturing on shore, there are pretty, unpretentious houses and luxuriant tropical landscaping in walking distance of the marina. All the upscale houses, and there are zillions of those, require a car. The Atlantic Beach is about a mile away, available by bus or on foot. As a result of all these amenities and the great weather (most of the time), Vero is an extremely popular anchorage, and lots of people spend the winter. It’s so easy to stay here, its nickname is “Velcro Beach.” It does have its downside – the mangroves are full of “no see ums” (flying chiggers) and I am poxed with bites. David, blast him, hasn’t been bitten once.

On the way down from St. Augustine we stopped in Fort Matanzas, Daytona Beach, Titusville and Coco. Fort Matanzas was a quick hop from St. Augustine, an open and sloshing anchorage thanks to the fishing boats and touristy boats headed for a look at the fort. For some reason we were just whacked by that short trip. There was a lot of traffic on the ICW, which makes it about as much fun to travel as a main highway. The anchorage was too open for my taste and we weren’t sure of our holding, and then of course the sloshing we took from each power boat that went by made the afternoon uncomfortable. Daytona Beach was better – good holding and very close to a public park. We pulled in at dusk and admired the view across the water, which was lined with city lights. Unfortunately the anchorage was also very close to a sewage treatment plant, so pulling up the anchor was no fun.

The trip to Titusville was better – we popped out into Mosquito Bay from the canal and got away from the endless fancy homes that crowd the banks along the canal. In some places the waterway is a solid Parade of Homes show, which bores me silly, especially as there are no people outside on those fabulously expensive lawns and porches. Mosquito Bay is shallow and spreads out into an enormous expanse of water full of islands. The ICW canal is a narrow dredge, deepening the Bay from its natural one to five foot depth down to ten and eleven feet. The Bay is a popular fishing area and there are several fishing camps on the shores leading up to the entrance of the Bay. Numerous small boats were anchored in the shallow water with people bent intently over their rods. Just before Titusville we hooked a sharp right from the Bay into a narrow artificial canal and found ourselves sailing between two banks of fisherfolk, lined up with their pickups, picnic supplies, and fishing gear.

We anchored off Titusville for one night and then went into the marina to plug in the heater as a cold front arrived and dropped the night time temperatures into the 30s. Raven was boxed in by huge trawlers to each side and in front, a garage of big boats that kept the wind from tossing us until it clocked around to the stern. Once that happened, we bounced and jounced and slopped with the rest of them. While there, we met the fine folks on a neighboring trawler, Second Chance, who have been to the Bahamas numerous times, and we spent two pleasant days in their company, enjoying their stories and their two friendly and mischievous Portuguese water dogs. They generously let us share the car they had rented, so we were able to make a Wal-Mart run. We were so grateful – thank you, Chris and Vivian! The only grocery store within walking distance of the marina was quite small and quite vile, even for people desperately in need of bread. Our trips to Wal-Mart let us see some of the town, as well. Titusville seems to be waiting for a renaissance or to be swallowed by Daytona Beach. It just looked a bit tired and shopworn. Finally, before we had a chance to completely lose our minds from cabin fever and cold, the winds died down, the temperature crept back up, and we headed for Coco.

Coco's pretty anchorage butts up against a lovely oldish downtown full of small shops. We walked to the bank, found an ice cream parlor, and bumped into our friend Matt from Worth W8N4 in the hardware store. When we walked over to their slip in the marina later in the day, they told tales of their experience with the stiff winds we had weathered in Titusville. The wind blew right up their stern the whole time, with no protection to speak of, and they spent the bad weather slapping up and down about three feet, the boat’s stern spanking the water and threatening to strike the pilings on either side. The “breakwater” behind the transient slips consists of a split rail fence, wholly inadequate to break any of the water or wind rushing against the boats. Not only that, they had company on board at the time!

From Coco it was a long day’s motoring to Vero Beach. A few rain showers found us, but most of them circled the water. The sun shone sporadically, sunlight piercing sheets of gray water falling from patchy black clouds on the horizon. At Vero we rafted up with another boat for the first time. Thankfully our new neighbors were home and they came out on deck and caught our bow and stern lines, securing them to their own cleats. Once rafted, two or three boats just drift together as one. It’s fun having neighbors so close. We found out David is from Dickinson, Texas and Becky is from Jacksonville, Florida. They have a little Pomeranian, Ginger, who negotiated the entire length of their boat fearlessly, stepping daintily from cabin roof to deck before curling up for a nap in the cockpit. She and Schnitzel exchanged obligatory growls and then settled down to the occasional bark. David and Becky buy repossessed boats, fix them up, and sell them, so their boat YoGo was new to them. They move two or three times a year onto another boat and make enough of a profit to maintain their cruising life. They used to run a campground in Mississippi, and had lots of tales to tell of good tenants, crazy tenants, and Hurricane Katrina. They continued their journey after about three days and we’ve surely missed them.

David and I also had the chance to work a power boat show in Stuart Beach for a couple of days. Our friends on Tarwathie, Dick and Libby, told us about the opportunity. We drove down to Stuart with them and another couple, Stefan and Laurie, having no idea what to expect. Everyone was friendly and pleasant and not at all dismayed at our lack of experience. We were given mustard colored t-shirts, name tags, and grunt jobs. I opened and closed an access gate and David directed traffic in a parking lot. I worked 9 hours and David worked about 7. Then he went back the next day and worked another 9 ½ hours doing the same thing. My job was stolen by Boy Scouts, so I stayed home and read and thanked God I wasn’t opening and closing a gate. It was fun and it will pay for our mooring here in Vero, but I’m glad I don’t do it every day. Lots of cruisers work the boat shows to help fatten the kitty, but boy, is it hard work. David and I were both wrecked by the end of the first day. I have no idea how he managed to do it again the next day. We had to get up at 5:30 a.m. to dress and take Schnitzel to shore, take her back to the boat, and turn around and get back to the dock by 7, so we could drive for an hour to get to the show by 8:30, then work 9 hours, then drive back, then dinghy back to the boat, get the dog, back to the shore, back to the boat, eat something and DIE.

For the rest of our stay, we’ll be doing boat jobs and errands and enjoying the warmth. David has already rebuilt the head (I’ll let him tell that tale) and I think that was the worst chore on the list, so the rest should be relatively stress free.