2000 Trip Up From Mobile
May
12, 2000
It is almost midnight
on Friday the 12th of May, and I am sitting under the stars
as we motor due south toward Key West.
Jon and I left Sanibel Island around nine this morning and have
covered a good 70 miles so far. With about 40 miles to go I suspect we will arrive around 8am
tomorrow morning. As we are
headed into what little wind there is we have not been able to sail, but
are motoring instead which is a bit noisy and not as much fun as sailing,
but it is getting us where we want to go.
It is nice just to
have a functioning engine, for last week and part of the week before Jon
and I were stuck in St. Petersburg, Florida trying to get the diesel working.
First it was waiting for parts to be shipped, then it was trouble-shooting
the fuel system. And while
St. Pete’s is not a bad place to be stuck, we were getting very frustrated
that we were being waylaid by engine trouble we couldn’t figure out. But, fixing the broken bits is one of the main past times while
cruising, so one might as well get used to it.
We’re not working too hard, for we did get in some sight seeing
in St. Petes, seeing a local production of 12th Night in the
park (awful), and catching the great sounds of a band called Ozomatli
at a local pub on Cinco de Mayo (awesome).
Being on
the move again is a good feeling, and while we haven’t gotten any sailing
in during the past week, we have seen a lot of interesting things while
motoring down the Intracoastal Waterway.
The ICW, as it is known, is a rout that snakes along the shore of
the gulf coast down the West coast of Florida and back up the Atlantic coastline,
staying close to shore or actually inside barrier islands the entire way.
At some points it passes through large bays, such as in Tampa, in
some spots it is only a few feet wide.
As we left St Pete’s and headed south we motored a section of the
ICW that is all mangrove islands.
Every few miles there are signs warning boaters to watch out for
manatees, dolphins flash by on occasion, and the bird life is prolific with
herons and pelicans roosting everywhere you look.
Every five miles or so we would come to a draw bridge, and go through
the set routine of calling the bridge master on the VHF, requesting an opening
of the bridge, and then waiting for him or her to stop traffic and open
the bridge so we could pass on to the next one down the line.
After three days of
motoring we arrived in Sanibel, where 9 years ago I had spent a summer
studying marine biology. Since
I hadn’t been back since that time I was anxious to go ashore and see
what had and hadn’t changed. Jon
and I paddled ashore (as the dinghy engine is not working) and rented
bikes. We spent the day riding
around the island, visited the Ding Darling wildlife refuge (where we
saw some Alligators), and did some beachcombing since Sanibel beaches
are renowned for their numerous shells.
The
lure of clear water, and good snorkeling is calling us southward so we
upped anchor this morning from Sanibel and are again on our way.
We arrived in Key
West Saturday morning, just as planned, and found our way into the harbor
amongst the many other boats that are constantly running about.
It is quite a lively place, and we found that our fears of having
to row a long way into shore to get to town were misplaces, because every
time we start to head in a fellow sailor comes along in a dingy (with
a working outboard) and offers us a tow.
In fact Monday morning when we were rowing in to take our own engine
in to be fixed we were passed by a guy who happened to be heading out
to the outboard shop himself. So
not only did he give us a tow, but he took us in his car to the shop saving
us the hassle and money of getting a cab out there.
On the way over we chatted, and discovered that he knew the dock
master in St. Pete’s who had been so kind to us only last week, where
we were waylaid there. This is what cruising is about, and it is good to be back into
it again.
It
seems we move from spot to spot waiting for this engine or that to be repaired,
and that’s not far from the truth.
We are going to spend the next few days here in Key West, which is
fun, but the touristy atmosphere quickly gets tedious.
After doing the mandatory rounds, Hemingsway’s house, the local bars,
the Southern most point in the continental US, we have decided that the
coral reef 7 miles south of the island is a lot more interesting.
We sailed out to the reef Sunday, and we were so happy to be back
snorkeling, enjoying that environment, that we spent all day doing it, taking
breaks here and there to eat and nap.
Every few hours a big catamaran would moor next to us, drop their
boat load of tourists in the water, wait a half hour, then collect them
all up and head on back to Key West.
They came and went so fast they were hardly a nuisance and we watched
their antics as if they were just more strange creatures on the reef.
Love,
Ben and Jon
Thursday, June 1 2000
We are headed up the
Intracoastal Waterway again, motoring along for an average of 8 hours
a day, sometimes more sometimes less.
Like on a highway, there are interesting spots, but also long stretches
of nothing much. Yesterday we motored into Lake Worth, adjacent to West Palm
Beach Florida. We will spend
a few days here while Jon finishes up his Med School Applications. He is nearly finished, which is a relief to both of us, as
we can stop our daily hunts for payphones and Internet access, for the
needed contact to his editor (mom).
Last I wrote
we were in Key West, waiting for repairs on the dinghy engine, that never
did happen. We had lovely southerly
breezes on our departure from Key West, which meant we were able to sail
North East along the long chain of Keys on a broad reach to run.
The Keys sit on a shelf of shallow water that extends about five
miles south of the islands themselves, a geological formation that is actually
a very southern, very old, extension of the Appalachian Mountains.
Where this shelf meets the Caribbean Ocean and drops off from depths
of 15 feet to 50 there are scattered many coral reefs.
As we sailed along from key to key we would head off shore to find
these reefs for the occasional snorkel.
I was impressed by the distinctiveness of each reef.
One was notable for the wonderful terrain full of nooks and crannies
that one could dive into and through, one sported a great variety of soft
corals and sponges, one was hiding a good quantity of strange looking fish
(puffers, filefish, cowfish), while yet another yielded the multitude of
colorful parrot, angel, and butterfly fish that become familiar friends
after a few tropical dives.
We then
headed up to the tiny Pigeon Key.
Originally the base for construction of the Seven Mile Railroad Bridge
that once spanned this part of the keys, the tiny island has had numerous
incarnations. And for a few
weeks in 1991 it served as home to me and the other members of the Sanibel
marine biology program. Having
spent most of those weeks snorkeling I became quite familiar with the underwater
terrain of the grounds surrounding the small island.
Snorkeling around it again I was surprised at how much I remembered.
Like walking through woods or streets from the past, each corner I turned
revealed a geographical feature, or landmark (watermark in this case I suppose)
that had been forgotten until that very instant.
At the north
end of the Keys sits Miami, a city in which neither Jon or I had ever spent
much time. Memorial Day weekend
was upon us, and we were snuggly berthed in a municipal marina right downtown,
with warm showers and laundry – We weren’t going anywhere!
So, between bouts with his application essay Jon and I explored Miami
– Little Havana where we overheard many conversations about Elian Gonzales,
and saw signs urging him to stay in the US – South Beach where you go to
see and be seen (unfortunately Jon and I forgot to put on our bikinis and
oil up before strutting our stuff up and down the boardwalk) – and Miami
Beach where there was still some evidence that it had been the place where
my great grandparents and so many other New York Jews had spent each winter.
Every so often among the pierced navels and tiny bikini we would see a little
blue haired woman looking a little confused, but getting along with her
shopping just fine.
The international
feel of Miami was really fantastic.
I watched a Soca band play in the outdoor amphitheater while people
from all over the Caribbean danced and sang along.
The singer called out for girls from Aruba to grace the stage,
then girls from Jamaica, then Nicaragua, Cuba, Haiti, Colombia, Puerto
Rico…. all the islands, all the countries were well represented.
This was a real example of why, despite its geographical location,
Miami is often considered the center of the Caribbean.
But there
is a tension in Miami that stems from this diversity, and it is not always
hidden. For on the very first
night I arrived I sat at a bar enjoying my beer and the Gypsy Kings on the
stereo, when the jerk next to me yelled at the bar tender that “he couldn’t
take any more of ‘this’ music, he needed some good American Rock ‘n Roll.”
Up from Miami we motored,
the gigantic mansions slipping by one by one.
They were mostly hideous. Both Jon and I agreed that these people
had plenty of money and they certainly could have afforded buying some
taste! As we ducked through
one draw bridge after another (14 in just one day) the mansions thinned
out, and were eventually overtaken by more modest houses and even some
park land. Ft Lauderdale offered a good opportunity to use the dingy engine
that I had fixed in Miami, for there are miles and miles of canals to
explore. And we did just
this until the thunder clouds rolled in and we were forced back to the
boat. The cooling rain was welcome to us and the rest of Florida
which has been experiencing a record dry spell.
The rain has passed,
and the high pressure has moved back in for now. But the showers and the
official start of Hurricane Season today are helpful reminders that we
must continue pushing north.
Love,
Ben
Wednesday
June 15, 2000
I am sitting anchored
in the cute little port town of Southport, NC where I arrived last night.
Just behind Cape Fear inlet, it is often a jumping off point to
the Caribbean since it has a large inlet/outlet to the ocean.
I will not be using that inlet, as I am headed North up the Intracoastal
Waterway further.
Jon left
to head off to camp on Monday, but let me go back further than that and
fill you in on our adventures. When I last wrote we were in West Palm Beach, where we had
spent a few days, collected our mail, and rested in the air-conditioned
library where we had free e-mail access.
We decided
that we would make some time, and instead of motoring all the way up the
Intracoastal, we would cut across most of Florida and all of Georgia, and
sail outside all the way North to Charleston, SC.
Before we could get to the cut that would take us outside we needed
to motor north a little more. We
were doing just that when we stopped to top off our fuel and water, and
get another bag of ice for the ice box.
It was supposed to be just a quick stop, but when we went to start
the engine again it wouldn’t turn over….
We had
made it all the way from West Palm Beach to North Palm Beach, probably 10
miles at most! But being stuck
on the gas dock of a marina was much preferable to being stranded somewhere.
So, Jon and I tore into the engine, and the first thing we realized
was that there was salt deposited all over the heat exchanger, the alternator
and the starter. Not, a good
sign. Salt water was obviously getting in somewhere and evaporating
on the hot engine, leaving behind its salt.
A closer look revealed that the heat exchanger (where cool water
from the sea cools the hot fresh water that circulates through the engine
– roughly equivalent to a cars radiator) was corroding and leaking quite
a lot. Jon pulled apart
the starter and tried to rehabilitate that while I worked on stopping the
leaky heat exchanger the best I could.
We then put the engine back together and it started. But our troubles
were not over, for unwittingly I had only made the leak worse.
We spent
the night at the marina, and decided we would still go outside to Charleston,
for we would not need the engine once we were out in the ocean.
So the next day we headed out, and started our 350 mile trip north
to Charleston.
It was
a beautiful sail. The wind
was on our beam most of the way making the ride very pleasant, and we got
Shaft, our windvane self steering unit working, and he was able to steer
for us a great majority of the time.
We could sit back eat lunch, read, or just enjoy the starts while
Baggywrinkle sailed along Northward with the Gulf Stream.
The Gulf Stream flows northward at about 3 or 4 knots, so our 6 knots
was actually 9 or 10 over the ground for about a day.
Because of this we made excellent time our first day out.
The third
night we approached Charleston. The
wind began to pick up and turn onto our nose, making it hard for us to go
where we wanted to go. At this
point we just wanted to get in to port and sleep a while, so we decided
to crank up the engine and motor the last two hours into port.
The engine
started fine, and we were pounding into the waves and wind, going slowly,
but going where we wanted to. Then all of a sudden a little red light accompanied by a buzzing
sound came from the engine panel.
The Battery dummy light had come on, and a quick look at the engine
made it clear that the heat exchanger was spraying salt water everywhere,
and the alternator had been the latest casualty.
We now had no way to charge the batteries, but this did not present
an immediate threat to our sail into Charleston.
I disconnected the alternator, and we continues to slog along.
All this
while we had left the jib up to attempt a little motor sailing, but the
wind had headed us to much now, and the wind was also picking up to over
25 knots, making the sail slap and bang around.
So, we decided to take it down.
Jon got strapped into his harness and made his way forward on the
dark, wet, bouncing deck and let the halyard loose that brought the sail
down to the deck. Mid way through
this exercise the engine stopped…..and not only had the engine stopped but
I suddenly had no steering, the wheel was stuck!
I yelled to Jon and when he got the jib secured on deck he came back
to see what had happened.
We were
now drifting in moderately rough seas, at night, with the wind building,
about 10 miles off shore. If we had had steering we would have raised the sails and tacked
into port, but this was not an option without the ability to steer.
We thought of trying to steer her with the sails alone, but the rudder
was most likely not stuck in the center, and the wind was getting to strong
to start experimenting with sail adjustments.
Although
it felt a little like we were giving up, we decided the safest thing for
us to do was to get a tow into port.
So, we hailed the Coast Guard on our VHF radio.
They responded and took us through a whole check list making sure
we were not injured, making sure we had life vests on, and getting the positing
and condition of our vessel. After
that they contacted a private tow company for us, who were able to get out
to us in about an hour and three quarters.
The tow
back lasted from about midnight to five in the morning, and Jon and I were
exhausted. The Coast Guard
was calling us every half hour to check in on the status.
Each time I would start out of the half sleep stupor that I had fallen
into, and grab for the microphone, in order to respond in a timely manner.
When we did make it into the Charleston City Marina, Jon and I both
collapsed on our bunks.
When we
woke up a little investigative work revealed that what had stopped the engine
was completely unrelated to our previous engine problems.
While lowering the job one of the sheets had gotten wrapped in the
propeller shaft! We felt very dumb for letting this happen, but the lesson was
learned.
The task
ahead of us of fixing the engine seemed daunting.
But a combination of factors led to our stay in Charleston being
a very pleasant and surprisingly short one.
The first morning we were tied up at the marina two divers were about
to go into the water in order to clean the boat next to us. “I have a line
around my prop,” I said to one of the guys.
“20 bucks under the table and I’ll take it off he said.”
It was a deal. I was able to call the engine manufacturer and have
the parts I needed sent next day UPS, and I also was able to get in touch
with family friends, Ellen and Frank Avenoso, who live in Charleston. They gave us hot showers and real beds to sleep in, not to
mention wonderful food prepared by master chef Frank. This went a long way to alleviate the worry I had about the
engine, and a further distraction in the form of an arts festival was also
a lot of fun. Charleston was
enjoying their annual Spaleto festival, in which hundreds of acts, musical
groups, dance, theater, art, all converge on the city.
Jon and I enjoyed a performance by the Second City comedy troupe,
and a fun pops concert with fireworks and the 1812.
And the
rebuilding of the engine went very smoothly.
In one day we were able to take out the old heat exchanger and alternator
and put in the new ones. We
refilled the engine with coolant, and started her up.
She purred like a kitten.
The Avenoso’s
were heading north for the Summer and Jon decided to catch a lift back home
to Falls Church with them. So this past Monday morning they dropped me at
the boat and we all headed north, they in the car, me in the boat.
I have been motoring
up the Intracoastal Waterway again, making about 40 to 50 miles a day
motoring about 10 hours each day.
The days are long and hot, but I have an auto pilot so that I can
escape the wheel to eat and pee.
It is not hard work, but I have to be attentive the whole day since
the waterway twists and turns, and shoals.
A few minutes of not paying attention or straying away from the
marks can lead to running aground, such as happened to me yesterday. I
have about 300 miles to go to hit Norfolk, VA which if I pushed it hard
I could do in 6 days, but there is no need to push myself that hard.
There are plenty of pretty little towns to visit along the way.
Yesterday as I motored up the Wacamaw river the landscape was beautiful.
Trees lined each side of the brown river, osprays flew overhead
everywhere, frogs and turtles sat upon the fallen trees at the riverbank,
and the occasional dolphin splashed by.
I even saw an Alligator slinking along the riverbank, his head
only half way out of the water,
and the scales on his back breaking the surface in a straight line back
to his tail.
It’s time to go ashore
and explore Southport on this day off from motoring that
I have given myself.
Love,
Ben
July, 1st 2000
Two weeks of single
handing taught me a lot, most of all not to worry so much about the paint
job. Docking the boat alone has left additional racing stripes of various
colors on the white hull. At
least it gives me something to work on now that I am back in port!
I left Elizabeth
City, “Port Of Hospitality” astern and headed into the Dismal Swamp…. Sounds
Ominous doesn’t it! Far from
that, it was quite beautiful. The
Great Dismal Swamp connects Albemarle Sound to the Chesapeake Bay, and it
has quite a history which I know little of, except for the fact that the
initial survey of the Swamp was done by George Washington.
While motoring through one can almost imagine (if the diesel engine
is ignored) that it is still the late 18th Century, for the canal
is much the same as it was back then, with some of the original retaining
walls still in place.
I anchored
in a beautiful creek-like nook with one other boat (French Canadians) waiting
for the lock at the southern end of the Dismal swamp to open.
The trees were growing up to the edge of the water, drooping their
branches inward, so as I swung in the narrow area the boat occasionally
brushes the oak leaves to stern. There
were a few birds singing half heartedly, but it seemed the only things really
thriving In the heat and humidity other than the plants, were the insects! It really was a swamp….. I keep wondering if George W. had
to tolerate his wig while surveying!
Before heading
through the swamp the Canadians called over and asked if I wanted to tie
up along side them while in the lock, making it easier for me since I am
single handing. I readily took
them up on the offer, as it was my first experience with a lock and I really
had little idea of what was in store.
It turned out to be quite easy, as we were the only two boats locking
through. They tied up to the
port wall of the lock, and I tied up along side them.
The lock master took the information for each vessel and then slowly
opened the flood gates so that we gradually rose about 8 feet in the big
tub of swirling dark brown water.
Once we were up, the gates at the far end opened, the Canadians threw
me my bow and stern lines, and off I went, motoring up the narrow, shallow,
beautiful canal through the swamp.
During
the four hours or so it took to get through the swamp the oppressive humidity
gave way first to showers, and then to one great thunderstorm.
Hail, lightning, and thunder pounded down all around me, making visibility
almost nil, and slowing my progress to 1 or 2 knots.
I figured this was the fastest speed that was safe, for while it
wasn’t hard to tell where to steer since the canal is so narrow and straight
that it is hard to get off track, but there are many fallen logs that sit
just under the surface and make loud klunking sounds when they hit the hull. The rain on the water broke the normally placid surface and
made spotting these partially submerged sticks, trees, and stumps, almost
impossible. When the rain stopped
I was able to speed up once again, and avoid most of the obstacles by keep
a close watch ahead.
I spent
the night just inside the swamp cut, and locked through the next morning,
again tying off the Canadian boat.
Once through the lock it was a short motor to Norfolk, where David
Spevacek was to join me for the three day sail up the Chesapeake Bay.
Sailing through Norfolk was fascinating, and quite a contrast from
the natural beauty I had just left behind.
Huge Navy ships lined the channel, aircraft carriers, battleships,
communication ships, and every other kind of watercraft imaginable.
Cranes loaded cargo onto commercial carriers, and huge drydocks cradled
massive ships giving men, mere specs against the backdrop of the beached
whales, access to hammer, weld, and paint.
The SW
wind was kind to us as we sailed up the Bay, blowing pretty consistently
from our Port stern quarter. A couple of days up the Bay and we were in the familiar waters
of the Patuxant River, where my parents kept their boat. The first warm feelings of being close to home came when I
walked through a parking lot at the north end of the Dismal Swamp and saw
only VA license plates. But,
now sailing in the waters where I had spent so many happy weekends I felt
a real sense of homecoming.
While heading up
the Bay I was able to rendezvous with some cruising friends, Bob and Angelique,
aboard their boat Beach Bum, and they too (with orders from my mother
to act as surrogate parents for the time being) welcomed me home.
We sailed up the Bay in tandem and the company was very welcome.
I arrived here in
Annapolis last Tuesday, and on Wednesday motored around to the Magothy
river just north of Annapolis (a 5 minute drive, a 3 hour sail) to where
I will be staying for the next couple of months.
I have stumbled upon a fabulous situation in which I will be house
sitting for a couple who have an empty house and empty boat slip until
September since they are spending the summer cruising in Maine.
It is back to the
so called 'real' world…. driving in traffic, paying bills, hunting for
a job, and worst of all wearing socks!
Love,
Ben
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