Shrimp Run

This past weekend LaLeLu and crew headed up to Titusville for ECSA’s annual Dixie Crossroads cruise. Just a week or so earlier, three tropical systems loomed ominously in the Atlantic and threatened our coastline. By week end, the monster storm Ike, who only a week earlier had its eye on Florida, was well to the southwest of us and readying for landfall in Galveston. I was still a little in disbelief that the weather window opened and didn’t completely trust the weatherman’s all clear prediction. NOAA was calling for 5-10 knot winds from the east with slight chance of afternoon thundershowers. That’s as good as it gets here in Florida during the height of hurricane season. As it turned out the NOAA prediction was spot on – that doesn’t happen often.

We arrived at the boat Saturday morning with canvas in hand. LaLeLu looked naked in her slip – stripped down for hurricanes that never came. Most of the other boats in our marina were similarly clad (or rather un-clad). As we readied the boat for our outing, the hot Florida sun baked down on us and it was quite a relief to put the canvas back up. Everything on the boat that could have blown loose was tacked down or taken off. Every breach to the outside of the boat that could have let water in was plugged and / or removed. It took a few hours to re-run the lines, re-install the dorades and solar vent, and re-canvas. This was round two for us this year, so we had the routine down. Once LaLeLu was back in operational shape, we started her up and prepared for departure. I looked around at the tangled web of lines that held her in place. It was a bit like doing macramé as I wove the lines around each other in order to free LaLeLu from her confinement. As we left the slip, I could tell she was happy to be out. We too were happy to be out.

Past the State Road 3 barge canal bridge and up the Indian River to the Mosquito Lagoon – the boat knew the way. The water was coffee brown and looked like the run off from a potted plant that had been overwatered -- courtesy of Fay, no doubt. Once out of the protection of the barge canal we found the light east wind, just as the computer-generated voice of NOAA promised. Sitting on the bow I breathed in the smell of marsh-scented, brackish water picked up by the puffs of wind. The pungent air was moist and felt heavy in my lungs. There is something intoxicating about the smell of a river in the height of summer. We glided along, sails raised and gently filled with the steady easterly breeze over our starboard beam. There was not enough wind to carry our big heavy boat at a respectable speed, so we resigned ourselves to a motor sail. No matter – the girls in the cabin below were enjoying their game cube, and the engine was keeping the power supply charged. Any other day the drone of a running engine would have annoyed me - today it just sounded like background noise. It purred rhythmically in time with the bow as it sliced through the water and sent wakes lapping down either side of the hull.

As we travelled north up the river we heard the familiar voices of our fellow ECSA comrades over the VHF radio, en route ahead and behind us. There was surprisingly sparse boat traffic on the river – especially considering how nice the weather was. Even the power boats were few. Perhaps they were likewise skeptical of the weatherman’s promises. When we arrived at the anchorage, there were only a few other ECSA boats. There was plenty of room to anchor and we dropped the hook in a spot with room to swing; although, it didn’t appear that our anchoring technique would be tested on this trip. Chris lowered the dingy, and we readied the boat and ourselves to go ashore and meet up for dinner with fellow club members. It was sticky hot and our faces glistened. A brisk ride in the dingy would feel good against our sweat-covered skin.

On our approach to the dingy dock, we saw the land yacht operators waiving to the small of procession of dingies. The land yacht operators graciously gathered up the boat people and delivered them/us to the restaurant. Upon opening the doors of Dixie Crossroads I felt a welcome blast of cold air that promptly dried the tendrils of hair that were stuck with sweat around my forehead and back of my neck. We were joined by others who arrived by land yacht – though it was a relatively small group this year. I surmised that those absent were still in hunker-down mode – probably glued to their TV sets watching as Ike made its landfall on Texas.
The broiled rock shrimp dripping in drawn butter were just as decadent as ever and, just like last year, I ate way too much. After dinner back at the marina I wandered up and down the docks looking at the boats as the kids ate ice cream from the marina store. Once the sun went down the temperature dropped to a comfortable shorts/short sleeve range. We hung out with our sailing friends in the marina’s screened porch. Those of us anchored out mused about the potential for a late night bug attack – our fears proved unfounded. The nearly full moon hung heavy on the eastern horizon as the dingy procession headed back to their respective boats. The breeze stayed steady all night, swift enough so as to prevent all manner of flesh eating bugs from making a landing. The boats in the anchorage rocked their inhabitants gently all night long.

Canvas on - Canvas off

It's getting to be like doing the Hokey Pokey here. You take your canvas off, then you put it back on, and repeat as necessary. Right now we have four tropical systems marching across the Atlantic. This picture shows little old Florida sandwiched in between Gustov and Hannah. Ike and the J storm are not far behind. Currently the canvas is on - hmmmm, we watch, we wait, we watch some more - ready at any moment to do the canvas dance.

This Day Too Shall Pass

Sailing is the ultimate teacher of life lessons and I am ever aware of how sailing parallels life. Generally in life, we do our best to avoid problems – we steer around the storms whenever possible. Some storms are unavoidable, and a sailor learns that when you are overtaken by a storm, the best option is to face it head on. Running from the inevitability of a storm is futile (and it gets your cockpit all wet.) That doesn’t mean a sailor gives ground to a storm, nor does it mean in life you would back down from your problems. Some storms are not so easy to ride out. When the adrenaline wears off, you have to dig deeper. Persevere and hold your ground, sailor, and know that it will pass. It will pass.

Good Riddens Fay!

"It's only a tropical storm" I said as we were preparing our boat in advance of Fay's arrival. I guess she showed me. The storm sat just about on top of our marina for three days and rained, rained, rained. The official start day of Fay's impact in our area was Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday came and went with Fay nearly stationary over Brevard county. We watched her on the Channel 6 dopler radar - her rain bands swirled over the gulf stream, filled up, and dumped onshore. It was a vicious cycle and wondered if it would ever end. Saturday and Sunday, with Fay finally moved north west of us, she was still dumping rain over central Florida as her massive bands spun into the Gulf of Mexico. I was ever so relieved that we had "over prepared" our boat for Fay. We stripped LaLeLu's canvas and tied the sails up. We removed the dorades and solar vents and put in the plugs. We took everything off the deck and out of the cockpit. Only thing we miscalculated was leaving the dingy on the davits (with the drain plug out of course). When the water started rising, the dingy was level with the dock and started rubbing on it and the dock box. Our friends kept a watch on it - they lowered it into the water, and kept pumping it out. Before the storm was said and done, a very clever friend had turned the dingy upside down to keep it from over-filling with the massive quantities of rain water. Thanks guys! At the height of the storm the water in our marina was near level with the docks, and covered many of the finger piers. It was so Erie to see the boats sitting level with the docks, more than three feet higher than they normally sit. They all looked so big! LaLeLu was sitting so high that you could not get on or off of her w/o help. I don't know what the exact rain fall was there, but some parts of the county received nearly 3'. I was very pleased and relieved that LaLeLu stayed bone dry in the cabin - if we had any leaks, they definitely would have been brought to light in this monster storm.

Sunrise, Sunset

A picture of a sunset/sunrise is like a post card of a vacation. It looks nice, but you need to be there to really experience it. A sunset or sunrise viewed from land can be a spectacular thing, but from the water the rise and fall of the big orange orb takes on a mystical quality.
The most spectacular sunsets I have witnessed have been viewed out the cockpit of my boat. When you are surrounded by water and there are few distractions, the big round ball takes center stage. A beautiful sunset can stir the soul. Likewise is the sight of a rising sun. This summer we were sailing off the coast of Florida from Port Canaveral to Lake Worth and got caught up in a terrible storm that lasted all night. Chris and I were completely exhausted. The following morning the storm parted and we were treated to a magnificent sunrise. As we limped into Lake Worth inlet, the ten foot seas settled just as the first rays of the day broke through the clouds. With the encouragement of the new day, the night before was well on its way to becoming just another sea story. Photo credit: Most of the photos above were taken by my friend, Donna. I was in the general area when they were taken, but apparently too mesmerized to get my camera :)

Fav Pics of LaLeLu

LaLeLu is a chameleon - she has many differant "looks". Here's a few of my favorite pics of her taken over the years:

Happy Birthday America!

This 4th we went to Cocoa and anchored LaLeLu just south of the 520 along with many other boats including almost everyone we know from Harbor Town. Imagine was anchored up-channel from us and we took turns hanging out in each other's cockpits all afternoon. As darkness settled in, throngs of power boats arrived and the traffic on the bridge was stopped. Chris, Park and I dingied over to Imagine with our Sport Seats and sat on the bow with Kenny and Pam to watch the show. The scattered thundershowers called for by the Weatherman never arrived. The firework display garnered a respectable number of oooohs/aaaaahs. After the grand finale, we watched another light show as green and red nav lights of the power boats paraded back down the river to where ever they came from. The spectacular evening was followed by a very peaceful night on anchor.

And So It Ends

Providing us with a glorious spectrum of reds and oranges, we watched the sun set behind the thunder clouds that were building just off the coast of Florida. LaLeLu's motion was easy and effortless as she glided along, in a groove, motoring with the current, and a slight following sea. Still no wind, but with the push of the stream we were able to throttle back to 1500 rpms and still make 7.3 knots. After running hard the prior day, 1500 rpms felt like a mere purrr. The last drops of daylight finally gave way to darkness at about 9:00 pm. The moon rose slowly from the east and the coastal clouds that were obscuring the sky dissipated and cleared. At about 11:00 pm we had a full moon overhead, a sky full of stars, 10 knots of wind on the aft port side, biolumenecsence lighting our bow wake and a following sea. These are the nights you only read about in sailor's fairy tales. We were able to raise the main and head sail. After unzipping the dodger/bimini connector, Chris and Park used the `star cards' to identify the constellations. Before we knew it, we were an hour outside of Port Canaveral, trying to fight off the urge to sleep. As we feared, we arrived too early and had to wait outside the port for just a bit. At 6:30 am we were hailing the 401 bridge, and at 7:30 am LaLeLu was back in her slip at Harbor Town. Fairwell Abacos - until next year.

Headin` Home

We pulled anchor from Great Sale at 7:30 a.m. There was no wind and flat seas. I wasn't complaining, though. Motoring across the bank to the rhythm of the flogging mainsail and clanking rigging was one hundred times better then the seat-of-the-pants adventure we had the day before. We motored alongside Jim, Tammy & gang on Sweet Chariot - over the bank and into the stream. As the morning faded into afternoon, the aqua-velvet water of the bank transformed into the indigo blue water of the gulf stream. Chris and Park conducted a quick ceremony to Neptune to secure favorable passage conditions by making an offering of a can of Budweiser. Chris proclaimed his offering of the King of Beers to the King of the Sea, as Park poured the beer from North to South and East to West. It must have worked because the seas were kind and gentle for the entire crossing. In fact, it was so calm that I was able to boil eggs and make potato salad while underway. When I wasn't boiling eggs, I spent some time fishing off the stern.
Every time I put the lure in the water I got a hit. One was a very large barracuda. When I pulled him up alongside I could see he was about 4' and had many very sharp-looking teeth. Deciding that I did not want to part with any of my ten fingers, I cut him loose - favorite lure and all. We watched on XM weather radar as the thunder cells built off the south east Florida coast, and miraculously we were able to skirt each one of them without hardly a rain drop of water felt on our heads.
We took turns finding tankers and cargo ships in the distance and watched them over a fixed point (such as a thumb held in front of an eye) to confirm they were on a different course than we were. As we hit the Gulf Stream our speed picked up to over 8 knots, even without the assist of wind, and we had to throttle back to keep from arriving too early at Port Canaveral. And so it went, as the afternoon turned into evening, the motor droned on as we skimmed along on our course home.

No Place to Hide

From Hope Town, we started heading north for our return stateside. The weather went from iffy to down right crappy as we picked our way northwest to Great Sale. I wrote the storm story below in the cockpit the day after we experienced a particularly nasty storm that took us by surprise. On Thursday June 19, we pulled anchor from the ferry landing anchorage across from New Plymouth/Green Turtle.
We figured if we could keep a pace of 6.3 knots we could make the anchorage at Great Sale in time for cocktail hour. In hindsight, the plan was a bit ambitious considering that weather was calling for 100%thunderstorm coverage.
When we rounded the "corner" where Great Abaco meets Little Abaco we got hit with 27knot winds. Chris said "I don't want to sail in 40 knot winds and get beat up all day." Accusing him of being dramatic, I rolled my eyes and said "We're not sailing in 40 knot winds!" An hour after my bold proclamation as I was at the helm, I verified that the winds indeed were NOT 40 knots! They were 45 knots! We spent the next 6 hours teetering somewhere between sheer terror and exhaustion. There was no land mass in the area that could give us protection from the direction of the storm so our only option was to push through it. At times our trail on our chart plotter looked like spaghetti as we went in circles keeping the boat pointing into the cyclonic wind. When we were able to make headway, we could only eek out 2-3 knots at near wide open throttle. At one point I thought it had calmed enough for me to crawl up on deck to turn the dorades and snap the bottom of the dodger down (both of which were letting water into the cabin and causing soggy conditions below). At the very moment I got up on the deck, I felt the bottom fall out from under the boat as we screamed down the biggest wave of the day. I watched in slow motion, my fingers braced in death grips on the jackline and dorade sissy bar, as a wall of green water stood up over the top of my head and crashed down on top of me. When it cleared I looked at Chris through the dodger and his eyes, big as basketballs, met mine and neither of us said anything - just exhaled.
We fought this storm for more than two hours, and when we finally got through it, another monster storm chased us and was just at our backs for the next four hours. We limped into Great Sale at sundown - beaten, tired, wet, cold, hungry, but ever so relieved to be anchored.

Beautiful Hopetown

The guidebooks made mention of the quaintness of Hopetown, but "quaint" does not do Hopetown justice. Hopetown is a small island with a lighthouse as its claim to fame. The lighthouse still operates on Kerosene and the weights that spin the lens are hand-cranked up to the top every night. It rises from the shoreline like a peppermint stick and can be seen for quite some distance. If you have read Jimmy Buffett's "A Salty Piece of Land" you are already familiar with this lighthouse. And yes, it really does have a Fresnel lens. The town that surrounds the lighthouse is postcard perfect. There is a thriving population of full-time residents on this island. The pastel colored houses are neatly maintained and most have white wedding-cake-like roofs. There is a slight variation in elevation throughout the island which provides some interest while strolling the streets. The narrow streets are trimmed with lush tropical plants and vines bearing an array of brightly colored flowers. The anchorage is tucked back inside a cut in the land and is only approachable to us at high tide. We opted to anchor on the outside so as not to have to negotiate the shallow cut. The island is slow and laid back - as it is with all the Bahamas - but more so here. It is not a really a place you want to go to party - unless your idea of fun is BINGO (and yes, there is a BINGO hall here). This is a place to soak up the history of the island chain, view the islands from atop the lighthouse, shop in the quaint stores and stop for an ice cream cone. I absolutely loved this island and it was just the right speed for me after spending three days at Guana.

Great Guana

Our passage around the Whale, en route to Great Guana, turned out to be a non-event - we just had a few rolly polly swells at the mouth of the Atlantic. A short jaunt south and we found our way to Fisher's Bay. We elected to grab a mooring - $15 a day is cheap price to pay for a good night's sleep. (Sleeping in two hour increments on anchor watch gets old real quick.)
On our first exploration onto shore we immediately noticed a big contrast between this island and Green Turtle. The latter boasts a thriving population of local residents and businesses. Guana appeared to have few residents and its businesses catered primarily to tourists. It was interesting to finally see Grabbers and Nippers for myself - as I've heard others describe them often in the past. I also had to do my own survey to compare each establishment's slushy rum drink: Believe me I did a full blown study on the Grabber vs. the Nipper.
On our second day in Guana, we snorkeled the reefs in front of Nippers, swam in the Aqua-Velvet colored water and basked on the sugar white sand. After we had our fill of that, we lumbered up the brightly painted wooden stairway and found a poolside chair under a hula-skirted umbrella. As our bar tab will attest, their is some sort of force field poolside at Nippers that won't let you leave. Park drew pictures of tropical scenes as we swam and 'tested' many slushy, fruity rum drinks. One of Park's pictures now hangs above Nippers' bar. At Guana we met up with the other parts that we crossed with, and also connected with others we knew that were already in the islands when we arrived. Even our next-dock neighbors from Harbor Town were here. It was so cool having all our friends in paradise with us. I think there must have been 12 boats in Guana that we knew. We all did the pig roast at Nippers on Sunday and the BBQ at Grabbers on Saturday. When we weren't swimming/snorkeling we partied like rock stars. One night, our boat even got TP'd. Our three day visit to Guana was most excellent but went by in a flash.

Abacos: Mangrove to Green Turtle

Our crossing (on the second try) was very nice and gentle. We crossed with 6 other boats from Lake Worth, leaving at ebb slack at 2:00 am and arrived in Mangrove Cay the afternoon of the following day. On the crossing, Mahi were nearly jumping into every one's boats. I heard at least three calls of "fish on" delivered via VHF. We started the phenomenon by landing a small female on our boat. My gaff job was less than pretty and she bled all over the cockpit. That afternoon we anchored with our crossing comrades at Mangrove. Raising our Q flag that evening was a right of passage that we had waited two years for. Our initial crossing group splintered off into separate groups. We buddied up with Jim and Tammy & crew on Sweet Chariot. Early the next morning we headed out with Sweet Chariot for a long slog to Spanish Cay for clearing customs. Once cleared, we exchanged our yellow Q's for the Bahamian courtesy flag - another sigh of relief, and another badge of honor. At this point I finally allowed myself to say "Phew! We really made it." That evening we anchored with our buddies Jim, Tammy and gang right outside the marina at Spanish Cay and snorkeled around the boats in the morning. It was so cool to be able to see the anchor laying on the sea floor below. After splashing around several hours we pulled anchor and headed to Green Turtle. Our ECSA friend Walt told us in advance of our trip to Bahamas that Wednesday was the night to be in Green Turtle. Well as luck would have it, we arrived on Tuesday and stayed there through Thursday. Wednesday evening found us loaded up in our dingys, headed for the Green Turtle Club for a little dancing under the tree. The Gully Roosters entertained us with their unique blend of island music - something between hillbilly and reggae - and made it impossible to keep our feet still. After a night of dancing like we were on hot coals, we enjoyed a day of snorkeling and beach combing. On our snorkel adventure we saw a Lion fish and many nice-sized lobsters. The spiney creatures taunted us, obviously well aware of the fact they were out of season. After our underwater adventure, we combed the white sugar sand of the nearby beach. Ahhh, I think I am going to like this vacation.
(note: this post is dedicated to Carla - my friend who thinks I am a slacker when it comes to prompt posting on my blog. I still luv you girl!)