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 macram̩ 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 Рthe 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.
