Velcro Beach

So far as Kintala is concerned "Velcro Beach" is living up to its name. Original plans had us leaving here this morning, heading down to Ft. Pierce, meeting some friends, then heading off shore for Ft. Lauderdale some time later in the week. The friends are going to meet us here. When we go and where we go after that is still under consideration. Like everyone else in the US right now, Kintala is looking at the weather with a wary and skeptical eye.

That may spark a touch of sarcasm from those looking at way-sub-zero temperatures as opposed to a Vero Beach low of 41 on Monday, but we are looking at forecasts for ocean seas of 8 to 11 feet (wave periods of 7 seconds) with warnings of it being rough on the intracoastal waters. Between the Velcro properties of Vero Beach, (more on that in a moment) and the questionable weather along our route of sail, Kintala may be here for a few more days.

"Here" is not a bad place to be. The mooring rates are reasonable, the facility is good, and the waters are as protected as anywhere we have been parked lately. Our friend Rey has a long history with this town and clearly loves it. After graciously providing us lift capabilities for our provisioning run the other day (we filled the back of his little SUV with bags of stuff) we went for ice cream and then a short walking tour. (Short because the wind was howling and it was raining yet again.) Highlight of the tour was the Driftwood Resort. (Funky coolness fills this place sitting right on the beach.) That was two days ago. Yesterday, it rained pretty much all day as well, which wasn't enough to keep us from heading off for a nice dinner with cruising friends first met way back in Oriental. 

Group Selfie Deb, me, Mary, Rey

Cruising compresses years of friendship into days and weeks. From Oriental to Vero Beach in a small boat at this time this year has meant howling cold fronts, tornado watches and warnings, nights riding out wind gusts past 40 knots, unrelenting cold and rain, and the usual suspects of broken systems, zombie fishermen, and picking one's way through shallow water. It is a level of intensity rarely matched by land living's routines of work, shopping, and TV, and it forges a kind of tribal recognition among those who are sharing the experience. (Particularly, I think, among those of us who are out here for the first time.) These folks are as crazy as we are, they are automatically friends.

After another long night of rain we woke this morning to clearing skies and the promise of an amazingly nice day. (Sorry friends and family back in the Midwest-winter-storm-hurt-locker; I really hate to rub it in ... really ... I do.) Priority today is to change the air in the boat, try to dry everything out, and figure out what to do with this stuff called "sunshine".