Patch it up and keep it moving

Kintala is pressing on toward Titusville. Well, trying to anyway. The timing from Dolbow Island, where we spent the night after making a 10+22 / 45.2 nm run from Bulkhead Creek, meant having the anchor on board just as the sun broke the horizon. That was the only way to clear Jekyll Creek before the outgoing tide drained most of the water out of it. I am not a big fan of early mornings, but the anchor was up on time and we headed off down the Mackay River.

Jekyll Creek lies on the other side of St. Simons Sound from where the Mackay River enters. Just as we approached the mouth of the river Deb came up from below with the news that there was oil in the bilge. About that same time the radio came alive with reports that visibilities in the sound and at the approach to Jekyll Creek were less than 1/4 mile in dense fog. There were also reports of boats hitting the ground while trying to bluff their way through. While we debated what we should do next Kintala ran bow-long into that same fog. St. Simon Island and an anchorage we have used before lay just ahead, making the decision to abort an easy one. For the first time since we left to go cruising, the horn was brought into play, one long blast every two minutes, as we gently poked along. Within easy ear shot, a barge was tooting long and two short, underway not making way. Not bumping into someone was high on the list of things needing done at that moment. The anchorage lay just outside of the worst of the fog, making it much easier to park the boat and drop the hook.

Once settled in, we discovered that oil wasn’t the real problem. We have been hunting down and eliminating a few oil leaks for a while now, and there was no evidence of a new one. What was new was water leaking out of the pressure relief valve on our water heater; water than ran through the engine pan, collecting up some oil as it flowed its way past our engine blankets and into the bilge. We cleaned up the mess and, until we can get a new relief valve, used a union and a couple of clamps to bypass the water heater. That joint still leaked, so for now we keep the water pressure pump “off” unless we are actually using water. While doing all that, Deb said  she smelled a touch of diesel as well, but all I smelled was normal hot engine stink. We cleaned up, closed up the engine covers, and took it easy for the rest of the evening.

The next day we pressed on, making it to Cumberland Island. This time the post flight engine check left no doubt, the engine blanket was soaked with diesel and the stink could make eyes water. I was not in a particularly good mood as we dove in to see just how badly hurt we might be. After some frustrating troubleshooting we found a pin hole in the fuel line from the lift pump to the fuel filter. I was sure that the Navy Submarine Base nearby would have the facilities necessary to make us up a new one in about 20 minutes. But even if I could afford the kind of prices the military pays for things, the gun boats prowling the base entrance suggested not trying to bang on the front door to ask. (As it turned out a missile sub pulled in an hour or so after we dropped the hook. That explained the gun boats.)

With no replacement parts within sight, we went into full backyard engineering / repair mode. JB weld, some carefully sculpted rubber pads, and a couple of worm clamps later and the hole was no more. The next day’s run to Sisters Creek in Jacksonville proved the repair water-worthy. And while poking around snugging up this and that while looking for the fuel leak, we also manage to noticeably slow the flow of oil.

Now we are riding to a mooring ball in St. Augustine. The original plan was to spend a few days here, enjoying the visit with the crew of Blowin’ In The Wind. It is a bit depressing to be here without them, so the plan is to head to Daytona in the morning. One day after that should see us in Titusville.

Georgia on my mind...

This evening Kintala is anchored just off the ICW, north of a place called Isle of Hope Marina. We are a day from finishing our first transit of Georgia, and it was a good idea to come this way. There are many cruiser / ICW tales of woe - stories about how hard it can be to navigate these waters. The trick, or so it seems to me after this one try, is to remember that Georgia has plenty of water that is deep enough to get through, it just isn’t available all day every day in every place. Jekyll Creek and Hell Gate are two places famous for being thin, with a few others where shoaling seems to come and go, sometimes ruining someone’s day. By pure happenstance, the days we came through were ones with the tides working completely in our favor. Low tides were in the morning hours, high in the early afternoons. Excellent planning, all Deb’s doing, had us hitting the skinniest spots at or near maximum water, and we spent most of each day riding a rising tide. With a tidal range up to three feet higher than Kintala’s keel is deep, only once did we see less than 3 feet under said keel; that being the first couple of hundred feet after entering Hell Gate northbound.

A good bit of time in Georgia is spent looking at the shallow mud along the channel

This is also a pretty part of the ICW, particularly the part north of Hell Gate. The southern part of the Georgia ICW is salt marsh, pretty in its own way but with a certain aroma, particularly at low tide, that is - how shall I say - “unique”? North of Hell Gate, where we are now, is pine forest. The water is less brown, more green, and there are plenty of dolphins for company.  An altogether pleasant place to pass through.

Large barges pass this way too. This one had a draft of only 2 feet when we checked its side with binoculars

Another interesting part of the Georgia ICW are the inlets. St. Mary’s, St. Andrews, St. Simons, Altamaha, Doboy, Sapelo, St. Catherine's, and Ossabaw are all pretty big bits of water and open to the Atlantic, each capable of administering a serious thrashing to the unwary. Their particular forte is stacking swift tidal flows against the winds, making for steep, often confused seas. Toss in a passing thunderstorm or two and things can get downright exciting. Crossing a couple of them has the wayfaring boat just a few hundred yards inside the sound, sometimes with the bow pointed off shore. Keep going and make landfall in North Africa somewhere.

These two photos are almost the same, but I liked them both so here they are

These are not protected, thin little channels snaking their way though a swamp. Again, we caught a good ride, though the southern branch of the Ossabaw Sound gave us a hint of what it could do during our approach to Hell Gate. A nearby baby rain shower accelerated the onshore breeze into the low 20s. Flying the jib close hauled on that wind gave us a good push onward, making it possible to pass through Hell Gate today instead of anchoring up and waiting for high tide tomorrow. (Seven knots as opposed to four will do that for you.) But that same wind put a sharp edge on waves being stacked close together. They were way too small to be much of an issue for 25,000 pounds worth of sailboat on a full honk, but were just enough to let one know that things could get much, much more interesting in a very short amount of time.

Muted light at the end of the day in Crescent River, GA

One can hardly talk about passing through these parts without mentioning the abundance of deer flies. They can bite right through a light shirt, not surprising since they bite through deer hide. But they do offer a time-filling distraction to the person not standing at the helm. After a couple of hours' practice one will start scoring a kill on 8 out of ten swatter attacks. A perfect hit leaves the corpse on the swatter, making for an easy toss to feed the fish. They are tough little buggers though, sometimes taking a serious smack and still flying away.

Moving south through these waters in the fall might be a touch easier without the regular assault of convective weather. Then again, the days are shorter making the tide v miles v daylight computations a bit trickier. We might give it a go. Though the outside passage around Georgia can be painless and save time, these are waters too pretty to miss. Cooler weather would make passing this way about perfect, and maybe the deer flies will be out of season as well.

"There are none happy in the world but beings who enjoy a freely vast horizon." 
Henry David Thoreau

New Water

It was with a bit of reluctance that we dropped the mooring ball in St. Augustine and headed north. One of the best stops on that first trip South was spending Christmas at St. Augustine, so we like hanging around the place. But hurricane season is already here and Blowin’ In The Wind is still far ahead.

A couple of days later Sister’s Creek also managed to capture us for a few days. When we arrived a swift current was flowing upriver, carrying us past the dock in the narrow channel. The plan was to turn the boat around in a wide spot we knew about from being there before, then approach the dock into the current. The wide spot was completely potted over, tossing that plan into the dust bin. As the dock swept past, Deb asked what I was going to do. I didn’t have a clue. With no other option I started goosing the Beast without mercy while holding the helm hard over, trying to get the bow to swing up into the current without smashing it into the dock. Maybe Deb would be able to lasso a cleat or a piling from the bow, snub us up, and let the current swing the stern to the dock.

But she didn’t need to. The bow kept coming around without the boat going forward much. The angle of approach got better and better. The hull came to rest parallel to, and about six inches from the dock, bow into the current, the now-just-off-idle Beast holding us stationary against the flowing water. Deb took the small step to the pier, cleated lines fore and aft, and there we were. It was a perfect landing the would look good on my new Captain’s license.

It was also pure luck.

The first night we shared the dock with a really nice looking trawler, but we never saw any hint of the crew. Night two had us sharing space with three other boats, and then sharing drinks, stories, and jokes. It was a good time. Two boats left the next morning, the third the morning after with new friends Kelly and Melissa. But later that afternoon we were joined by another nice looking trawler. This one had a friendly crew and some good stories of their own.

Another reason for our stay was less obvious: we simply couldn’t figure out what we wanted to do next. The debate was to go outside, catching up to Blowin’ In The Wind in one big jump. That would also allow us to bypass the shallow bits on this part of the ICW. Shallow bits that are not my favorite part of taking the inside path. But we have never been through Georgia before and it has been two years since Kintala put new water under her keel. A schedule change for Blown’ In The Wind means we have an extra week to catch up. Should we make the outside jump, we would have to find a place to just hang on the hook for more than a week. Why not see some new places? A last consideration was the unrelenting thunderstorms that have flowered every afternoon for weeks. It is comforting to be sitting secure when the winds blow, the lightning flashes, and the rains fall.

That was on our mind because, just two miles short of settling onto the dock at Sister’s Creek we had, for the first time in five years, made a quick stop in the face of an oncoming storm. As the lightning fell and the rain shield slashed its way toward us, Deb pulled the boat a few feet off the channel while I moved to the foredeck to toss the hook. It hit the water just as the rain found us, setting hard as the wind gusts pushed us backward. The snubber went on and stretched out without any help from the Beast. About a quarter mile away a Coast Guard Cutter went to station keeping, stopping dead on their approach to the channel and then using their massive engines and bow thrusters to hold position as the storm crashed over us.

A storm too big for a Coast Guard Cutter to dance with is way too much for Kintala. Every afternoon has been the same, the storms then rampaging offshore every night. We are not huge fans of night passages anyway, though we do them when we need to. But night passages and the kinds of storms we have been seeing these last few weeks? No thanks. After a lifetime making a living in the sky I try to avoiding having that kind of excitement in my life.

So we are in new water tonight, anchored between islands just north of the St. Mary’s inlet. The worst of the storms appear to be past. Tomorrow we will start to pick our way through Georgia, figuring it will take five or six days as we balance the tides against the miles and the shallow spots, aiming to be at anchor before the evening light show starts. Sometimes a not-favorite-thing-to-do can still be something worth doing.

Hydrographic Surveys

There's no question that the internet has made sailing, cruising, and boating in general more safe. We have access to a plethora of weather and navigation information, all at easy access unless you happen to be offshore, accessible even then if you have enough money. The sheer volume of safety information is sometimes its demise, though, simply because there's just so much of it that it's hard to keep track of where you want to go for it and how much of it you want to use. One of the most valuable bits of information that a lot of cruisers neglect is the hydrographic survey. If you're traveling anywhere on the East Coast, using the inlets and then the ICW, the surveys are invaluable.

The hydrographic surveys are listed by district. The Wilmington District carries most of the surveys  for the Atlantic ICW, coastal inlets and crossings, harbors, side channels, and river projects. The Jacksonville District carries the Florida ICW and inlet surveys. Before transiting any of the areas it's a good idea to check the applicable survey. If you think you're going to be away from internet service, you can save the pdf files for viewing offline.

Here's a example of the hydrographic survey done for the Lockwoods Folly Inlet, done April 13, 2018. Most of the really notorious inlets are surveyed pretty frequently so the data is usually pretty accurate. It's pretty easy to see where you can go, and that you absolutely can't follow the magenta line in this case. The aids to navigation are moved frequently here and you can see that right now they go almost all the way to shore before they turn back to the channel. A few years ago, while transiting this inlet, we watched as a 40-foot sailboat run so hard aground here that he fell over on his side. He was single handing and was clearly following the magenta line on his autopilot. 

Hydrographic surveys can also be of use when determining the heights to bridges. Here's the survey for the Wilkerson Bridge in the Alligator-Pungo Canal. If you do use the survey for this purpose, just be careful to check the dates of the survey. This survey is from 2016 so it wouldn't be any use at all as a current estimation of water depth and bridge height.



Maybe the most beneficial use of the surveys is for determining what inlets to use when coming in from offshore. There are a lot of inlets along the coast that are extremely useful, but where the bottom changes so frequently that they require local knowledge. Surveys offer a wealth of that knowledge. Here is the Masonboro Inlet at Wrightsville Beach that we use frequently.




It's important to note that not all of the surveys look the same. Here's one from the Jacksonville District for the Saint Augustine Inlet on the Florida east coast. Note that the depths are printed right on the chart and are not color coded with a legend the way that the Wilmington District does it. It's also listed as eight pages in one file. Use the scroll bar on the side of the panel to see all the pages in this example.



It's also important to really pay attention to the details in the printed sidebar. On this example of the Naples to Gordon Pass survey, it says that it's a post Irma examination. Pretty useful for knowing how the storm changed things.




Unfortunately, the formats are not standardized. Each district has its own formatting and not all are as user-friendly. The New England District formatting is probably the most difficult to navigate. After going to the main linked page, you click on the navigation projects drop-down menu and then proceed to each individual state. Then they either offer a zipped pdf file for download, or you can click on each individual harbor or river for that survey.


Hydrographic Survey Districts:

There is a new site where all surveys will eventually be listed together, the main survey listing by state and inlet. It's fairly slow to load and respond to input, so be patient. You choose a state, then an inlet and then if there is a recent survey for that inlet it will be listed so you can click on it. If there is no recent survey it will tell you that. It's a good first effort at standardizing the surveys, but they have a long way to go.

Here are some of the more common districts.

The New England District

Wilmington District

Jacksonville District

Mobile District

Galveston District

San Francisco District

Seattle District (takes you to the main survey page)


There's a ton of information out there available to us as mariners. Navigating that information can be as difficult as navigating the waterways themselves.  I've found the surveys very helpful and if you use them and you have any additional pointers, please leave them in the comments.

I'll take it

Kintala has her anchor set in the waters of Gasparilla Sound, two days of ICW travel south of Tampa Bay. So I think it safe to say that we are on the way without tempting the fates too much. It took a couple of tries but, maybe, anchoring just outside of Snead was too much of a temptation for Mr. Murphy and his law? This time we pushed off the dock, turned the stern to Snead, and proceeded directly out of sight. We decided to stay "inside" for the start since the boat is recently repaired and we are, likely, a bit more rusty than we would like to admit.

A little sailing on Sarasota Bay

At the end of the first day the anchor dropped in Little Sarasota Bay. We had planned on anchoring off Sarasota but blustery west winds made that look uncomfortable. We will spend many a night in rumbled up anchorages, no use starting out in one if it can be helped. Little Sarasota was an easy reach before night fell.

It was the first night spent out of sight of Snead Island in a little more than a year. It was glorious though, early in the ‘O dark thirty, I had a bit of a scare. The first meal on the hook out of sight of Snead was meatloaf, one of my personal favorites. (Cold meatloaf sandwiches being a close second.) Deb had added some Worchestershire sauce to the recipe for flavoring, gifted by a crew putting their boat up on the hard for the season. It turns out this Worcestershire sauce was made with anchovies. Anchovies are a close relative to shell fish. Shell fish and I are not mates. All is well as it was a subdued reaction, but being anchored out and knowing that something is going wrong isn’t a lot of fun.


I’ll pass on the cold meatloaf sandwiches for now.




We did get some really nice sailing the first day out on Sarasota Bay, (the big one), though we did manage to get tangled up in yet another sailboat race. But, for the most part, ICW sailing is trawler motoring so Kintala has been making like a trawler-with-a-really-tall-antenna. The WesterBeast has been happily thumping along, temps hovering a couple of degrees cooler than they used to while pushing our squeaky clean hull along at better than six knots. ICW travel, true. But really good ICW travel, which isn't half bad at all.


Particularly after slightly more than a year spent at a dock.

Thirteen bridges in two days, but the west coast tenders are awesome and we flew through them.

Finally some pretty water

There were a few butterflies on departure, which I find a bit embarrassing. Back in my old life we could be sitting at the departure end of 28R, 60 some odd people in the back of the jet, snow falling out of a coal black sky being strobed by lightning flashes, wind blowing…and it was just another day in the office. In fact it was better than just another day at the office. Anyone can fly when the sun is shining and the sky is friendly. Based out of Chicago’s O’Hare during the winter? Nervous types need not apply, they will not last long.

But after a year at the dock getting Kintala underway once again didn’t feel like just another day in the office. (Well, shop.) And someday I’m going to figure out why that is. Maybe it’s because we have a history of false starts, getting going only to come limping back in with one kind of wonk or another. We always get it straightened out and, eventually, get on our way. But it never seems to be a smooth departure, and this last one was no exception.

Maybe it’s because the jet didn’t belong to me. Should something break we were well trained to handle the problem and limp back to earth with whatever was still working. At that point it became someone else’s problem. Should it be a slow news day with someone taking a video and loading it up on youtube, one might even be hailed as heroic for doing the job one is supposed to be doing, (and saving one’s own skin in the process). Back when I taught a class in high altitude turbine operations, I used to tell the students that, if they had to have a problem with an airplane, landing gear was the system of choice. Only an absolute klutz could get hurt by failed landing gear. But the videos of sliding one in on its belly will make the crew famous…so long as that didn't happen because they forgot to put the little handle in the “DOWN” position.

In any case, if the jet proved to be a disappointment (a pilot should never be surprised by an airplane) it wasn’t going to cost me any money to get it fixed, nor would it likely be me doing the fixing.

But Kintala? Should (when) something breaks we will likely limp (or be towed) back to shore with nothing more than some minor drama but, once in, she remains my problem. We plan on being at this for a while yet. There will be lots of opportunities for “problems." Depending on a boat as one’s home and primary mode of travel is a bit more problematic than I ever anticipated.

But not today. Today we have been on our way for two whole days. Today the weather has been perfect. Right now there are dolphins playing around our boat and the sailboat anchored nearby answered our conch horn as the sun touched the horizon. Today future has the promise of some very good times.

I’ll take today.

Boot Key to Tampa Bay

Day 1

The plan was to make it to Tampa Bay in one 48-hour jump, but everyone knows how cruiser plans work out. A heavy rain started to fall while we were still at the fuel dock in Boot Key, the first hint that the weather wasn't going to be exactly as forecast. We waited a bit, each of us having an internal argument over it being better to just go back and pick up the mooring, then wait some more for better weather. And I suspect, had either of us said as much to the other, that might have been exactly what we would have done. But we didn't. So we didn't.


Other than the rain, conditions going under the bridge and out into the Moser Channel were pretty much what we expected. So we drove on to exit the Keys and sailed into the Gulf of Mexico. There we found the wind was on the wrong side of the boat (at least according the forecast) and the sea state more confused than expected. At least the waves heights seemed about as forecast. We pressed on, not knowing that the last chance to avoid a thrashing had just been passed by.

The bridge on the Mosier channel

Twenty six hours after leaving Boot Key we got ready to drop the anchor behind Sanibel Island having, in the wee hours of the morning, decided to take our bail out option of Big Carlos Pass. The expected seas state of two feet or less on a two second period turned into waves of 3 to 5, occasionally seven, then a bit more than occasionally, eight or more. They hit us on the quarter, both pitching and rolling the boat in an ugly figure "8" motion that trashed my inner ear that set me to feeding the fish. Rough enough that, when we finally made it in, the hook dropped about five feet and hung. After climbing over the v-berth and into the anchor locker I found the spanking we had taken had twisted the 3/8" anchor chain into something that looked like a giant yarn ball formed at the paws of a demented kitten. It actually had knots in it.

Anchor finally set, we set about securing the boat in a bit of a daze. A shower to warm up and wash off the salt, fresh clothes, and a little food to help settle the stomach, were big steps toward feeling human again. Even though I was pretty beat, sleep came slow; a usual reaction for me as I tried to puzzle out just how I had managed to stumble into such a mess. Wind, waves, confused seas, lighting on the horizon, rain, how in the world had we ended up in the middle of all that? Where the forecasts that wrong? Did I miss something? Did the need to get on our way overwhelm the need to be careful?

No good explanations presented themselves. Sleep finally took over to put an end to what had become a very long day. We had managed the conditions we found, not hurt the boat, not gotten hurt ourselves. That is going to have to do.

Day 2




Except for a brief sunset assault of black flies (thankfully we have excellent screens), the anchorage at Sanibel Island was quite and calm, making for a good night's sleep. The plan for the day was simply to get near the inlet of Charlotte Harbor, staging for an outside jump from there to Tampa Bay. Sanibel to Charlotte may be the best piece of the ICW anywhere; no bridges and open enough that, should the winds be right, sailing is a good option. And it was an easy sail in light winds and on flat water.

Along the way, and for the first time in the years we have been out here, a passing Sheriff's boat turned on its flashing blue lights and pulled alongside. One of the three officers jumped aboard to check our papers and safety equipment. Deb took care of those details while I answered the questions of the other two. They insisted on knowing where where we kept the boat, our “St. Louis” home port-of-call catching their attention for some reason. It took several tries to get them to understand that we lived on the boat, full time, and didn't “keep” it anywhere. They then asked about our recent travels. Learning that we had been in the Islands for a while they wanted to know where we had checked in upon our return, (Miami) and, while we were in the Islands, if anyone had asked us to bring anything or anyone across with us (No). We talked about the weather and our recent thrashing being the reason we were in the ICW at all, and not in Tampa already.

Another bit of confusion was with our “check in”. They expected us to produce some piece of paper that showed us having complied, and it took a few minutes to explain that using SVRS doesn't leave a paper trail, at least on our end. Other than that it was completely painless and I'm sorry I didn't ask for the officer's names, for they deserve honest recognition. They were utterly professional and non-threatening (in spite of the big guns on their hips), but they were too far away for me to read their name tags. In any case, and in spite of my normally low opinion of all things “official”, they were excellent examples of what officialdom can be when the people involved have the character and the heart. Blue flashing lights, guns and all...there was nothing negative about the encounter.

The anchorage just south of the Charlotte Harbor Inlet was comfortable and very, very quiet. All the rest we could get would be good. Even though every weather source we could find suggested that the jump to Tampa Bay would be done in pretty good conditions, we were still getting over the first day's beating, and it would be a long day's sail to Tampa Bay.

Day 3

Up before dawn to lift the hook as soon as there was enough light to see. There was little chance we would make the inlet to Tampa Bay before dark, but wasting daylight seemed a poor way to start. Wind and tide were working against each other in the inlet, making for a bumpy ride out. With at least six other boats in the parade it was clear we were not the only ones taking advantage of the forecast.

The main had gone up right with a single reef right after the anchor had come on board. After clearing the inlet and turning north the jib spun out, the Beast went silent, and we headed off at better than 6 knots, hand steering for the time being. One of the quirks of Kintala is the wind vain / tiller pilot set-up. It takes a bit of rigging to change from one to the other. All the forecasts had the wind fading as the day went on, making most of the day a motor. And, about four hours in the winds did, indeed, fade away. We rolled up the jib, centered the main, woke up the Beast, engaged the tiller pilot, and kept going on flattening seas.

Everything according to plan and forecasts.



A little later Deb looked up and asked why, if the forecast had nothing but good weather in it for the next five days, the sky was full of mare's tails? I had noticed the same thing, and the only answer I could come up with was, “Well, someone, some where, missed something”. Usually mare's tails portend weather 12 to 24 hours out, but not always. And, truth to tell, all of the "positive" forecasts for the day had me a bit wary. If there has been a theme for this season's cruise it would be the blown forecasts and unexpected weather. The inlet to Tampa was still some 15 miles away. The hairs on the back of my neck were insisting that was 15 miles too far.

Sometimes being right is a major pain in the ass.

The wind started to back and build out of the north west. The forecast following seas of 2 feet or less gave way building seas directly on the bow. The tiller pilot gave up. Though the Beast was doing its best, it didn't have the horsepower needed to drive the boat through the heaving water. The staysail spun back out to help keep us going and, with the Beast, allowed us to point a few degrees tighter on the wind. But it wasn't enough. The inlet to Tampa Bay was directly upwind, and we just could not hold that point of sail.

The moment it became apparent that we simply had to tack back out into the Gulf of Mexico for an hour or more if there would be any chance of making the harbor was, perhaps, the lowest moment of my last few months. Kintala's bow was going completely under every few minutes, water gushing down the decks flowing over the toe rail, having completely overwhelmed the limber holes. A series of such hits would slow the boat to less than three knots, where she would wallow and struggled to get back up to speed before the next series of waves pounded her bow once again. We were now taking our second serious thrashing in just 3 days. Having to add miles to a trip that I really just wanted to end, frayed my last nerve.

But there was simply no choice. No amount of wishing, wanting, or even needing, to get out of the weather would make any difference. The only way out was out into the Gulf. So out we went.

The temptation, when tacking into weather like this, is always to turn to soon; a mistake that makes matters worse by forcing an additional series of tacks. But no one wants to go any further than they have to, adding more miles that will be covered at barely walking speed. The first tack we made got it wrong. The second one got it right and we made the entry not long after the sun went down. Inside Egmont Key the seas settled to nothing but big, rolling swells. A bit later the staysail rolled in clean and the main dropped into the lazy jacks. By the time we made it to an anchorage, got the hook set and the deck minimally prepped for the night, it was after 2300 hours.

Day 4

The plan was to sail up to Tampa and take a dock or mooring ball for a few days. But a morning phone call to the marina uncovered that they are completely full, and will be for the near future. Instead we motored into Snead Island and settled Kintala into the dock that will be “home” for the next six months or so.

Over the next several days we plan to rent a car and take a night in a hotel in Tampa just to do something different. Next week it will be off to St. Louis for a much needed visit with Daughters (3), family, and friends.

It will take a few days, at least, to let the adventures of the last few months take their place in our life's story. For now I am glad to be settled in, safe and secure, not having broken anything major, not having made any major bone-headed moves that ended in disaster. And I will not be the least bit sad to be off the boat for a while.

But I am also sad to be stopping, even if it is only temporary. Mixed emotions that don't really make any sense. So I am going to just set them aside for now. The days will unfold as they will and we are, to a large extent, just along for the ride.

Settling in

This part of the ICW has some remarkable homes.

Kintala settled into her slip at the Snead Island Boat yard Wednesday afternoon. After motoring away from Blackburn Bay and stopping at Marina Jacks in Sarasota for fuel, water, etc., we cleared the bridge into Sarasota Bay, put the Beast to rest, and romped northward at 6 knots in post cold front winds. There are two lifting bridges between Sarasota Bay and Tampa bay. Since all bridges frown on people sailing through them, we tucked away the jib and motored through. Once in Tampa bay we sailed as far as we could, making it into the Manatee River before being too hard on the wind to keep going under canvas. The Beast went to work, pushing us up the river, through the tiny opening into the yard, and between the piers. It was a good effort on the part of the Beast as, by that time, the spray from the raw water pump was getting serious.

Now THAT'S a mooring ball.

Don't tell anyone that the new mechanic came limping in, nursing a failing engine.

There is no way to avoid that fact that we are now, officially, “between cruises." This will be home base for a while. The hope is we will spend as many weekends and holidays as possible exploring the Tampa bay area, anchoring out like we did in little Nomad on Carlyle lake. That will mean parsing out boat jobs in such a way as to keep Kintala mobile, that is, after we get her mobile once again. That may be a few weeks with pump, alternator, tachometer, wind instrument, inner forestay repair, and replacement staysail furling being things to do before we leave the dock even for a weekend.

Deb's new wheels. No, no grandbabies. The trailer is for laundry and groceries.
Kintala rests in her slip in the shady background. Shade is good in FL

With the main focus being proving my worth at working on other people's boats, it is likely that my efforts on Kintala will go a little slow for the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, we are settling in, shore power is on, the Dink is folded up and stored away, sheets are already tied up. We have to get used to dock and boatyard noises. This weekend we will try to get some of Kintala's most pressing projects started, though there is some weather inbound.

My first official day as a boat tech is Monday, but I got my golf cart / mobile tool box today and started to move in. It felt a little weird, hauling tools off of the boat and setting up a new work space. It will take a few weeks to know what tools will be the hardest used. For the time being it looks like I'll be the new spark chaser in the yard with mast wiring, battery installs (including re-configuring battery banks and boxes) and pumps being on the list of the first three or four boats to deal with. Already the “customer stories” have started. My favorite is the new owner who thought his Max Prop needed adjusted since the engine would only turn a max of 2500 RPM instead of the rated 3200; though he did note a boat speed of 7.5 knots. The boat also idled at an indicated 50 RPM, about 700 RPM too low. In fact the engine will not idle at 50 RPM regardless of what the tack might say – something the owner / captain simply didn't know. In any case an electronic (and calibrated) tack showed the engine making the 3200 RPM. No problem with the prop, the tack is 700 RPM off.

Then there is the older Island Packet with its first-time-boat-owner. The boat was delivered with just the starting battery installed, no house bank at all. In fact we are not even sure where the house bank was located as there is a cut-off hot battery cable in the wrong locker, and no other battery cables are in evidence anywhere on the boat. Did the Broker explain to this new owner that he was getting married to a boat whose very DC electrical heart was missing? In any case we will be installing a fresh heart and sending the new couple off to live happily every after.

Another owner had his boat hauled for the hurricane season, went to unhook his batteries, and lit up the inside of his boat by throwing sparks everywhere. He decided that someone from the yard, someone who owns an "insulated wrench", should take care of it. It looks like that someone will be me though, (again, don't tell anyone) I don't have an insulated wrench in my box anywhere. I guess I can come up with some electrical tape if I need to make one.

Though my head is making the transition to being a boat tech / live-a-board / dock dweller, my heart still lies offshore. Just off the boat yard is a popular anchorage. I can look “out there” and see home. I'm hoping the view will help keep me focused, working to keep bosses and customers happy, filling the bank account so we can be on our way … one of theses days … once again.

Post-storm sunset in Blackburn Bay.

Stuart noise

Stuart, FL. Many people have told us good things about Stuart FL. We have been here four nights now, and one thing not mentioned is how loud it is. There is a train track that runs right past the marina off of which Kintala in anchored, a very busy train track. A train track that is as busy at night as it is in the day. There is a lifting bridge that the trains use. Every time the bridge is about to close for the passing of a train, day or night, a loud horn sounds to warn boaters that the bridge is closing. It sounds three times for three times. Then the train comes.

The Stuart anchorage, complete with derelict boat.

There are a couple of roads that cross the train track right around the marina. Roads that require all trains to blast their horns as they approach, day or night. Trains have very loud horns. There is also an airport near by, though the passing aircraft are not nearly as loud as the passing trains.

The anchorage itself is much better protected that it appears upon arrival. There is a long fetch of water off to the WSW, but it doesn't appear to be deep enough to support any serious wave action. Artificial waves are pretty much the only kind that rock Kintala, complements of the large fleet of deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boats that pass through these waters on the way to the ocean.

Living on a boat goes a long way to fostering a live-and-let-live attitude, except when it comes to deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boats. There is something about the way they assault the water that lingers, with short-period, steep-sided wakes rocking our world whenever they pass. Someone suggested there is a turn in the river that is just right for focusing the passing wakes; don't know if that is true. What I do know is that even the bigger boats in the marina where our friends on Kokopelli are getting some rigging work done, dance like mad several times a day. From where I live it appears that deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boat drivers suffer from a genetic disorder that prevents them from either slowing down or looking behind them to see what havoc they wreak.

I was on Kokopelli the other day, helping to install a transmission after a seal leak lead to an overhaul. One of those wakes hit while I was below. Access doors got to banking back and forth, drawers slammed in and out, and round handled tools went rolling. I was glad the tranny was already bolted in place. For a while, during its install, it had hung precariously over fingers and toes as Brian and I worked out the 3-D Chinese puzzle that always seems a part of getting drive train parts in or out of boats. And Kokopelli is tied securely to a dock. My guess is getting fingers bashed by wake-tossed transmissions isn't something they mention in marine mechanic's school.

Speaking of which, I'm just assuming there is such a thing as a marine mechanic's school somewhere in the world. There isn't much evidence of it where marine mechanics have been. Take, for example, Kintala's old oven. It has been around long enough to have experienced the laying on of many pairs of repairman's hands. LPG stoves use brass flare nut fittings to keep the gas from leaking into places no one wants the gas to go. Brass isn't all that stout so a special kind of wrench is best used, appropriately called a “flare nut wrench”. I know about flare nut wrenches. Mechanics who work on cars know about flare nut wrenches. (Often used in brake systems.) Crane mechanics know about flare nut wrenches. The service reps for our brand of stove even know about flare nut wrenches. They specifically asked if we had some on board when they heard we were working on the stove.

Marine mechanics, on the other hand, don't seem to know about flare nut wrenches. More than half of the fittings needing undone to replace our defective mercury switch wouldn't take the proper sized flare nut wrench. They had been distorted by the use of common open end wrenches or (more likely) the misuse of adjustable wrenches. (Maladjusted adjustable wrenches will mangle even hardened steal nuts and bolts, and have rightly earned the nick-name “bugger wrench”. Brass fittings don't stand a chance.) Eventually I managed to get all of the fittings off, on, and tight enough to keep the gas from leaking into places no one wants gas to go. But it took three tries. And the next time the fitting on the mercury switch needs undone, I suspect it will be the last. I am a pretty fair hand with a wrench, but that poor little fitting has been bugger-wrenched nigh unto death.

(Yes, I am assuming work done to Kintala's stove was done by marine professionals. Most of the boat owners I know are shy of working on anything having to do with LPG. Deb gets nervous when I work with it. The stuff does have a bad habit of going “boom” if things are not done properly. Getting a “pro” to work on LPG systems isn't, on its face, a bad idea at all.)

For now Kintala sits quietly in Stuart, stove and oven fully functional, some other small items fixed. We are taking a bit of a break from moving nearly every day, and Stuart seems a good place to rest and catch up on some broken boat bits.

Even with the noise.

Broken dreams

The Florida ICW can be beautiful, populated with a much greater number of various types of wildlife than you see farther up north. We've seen dolphins more than we can count, pelicans that let the bow wake push them out of the way while staring haughtily at you like the intruder you are, the hilarious antics of the cormorants with their gigantic fish catches, and the occasional turtle popping up to check us out. Unfortunately, the wildlife is usually perched amidst the remnants of so many broken dreams. All along the Florida ICW there is an endless string of sunken and anchored boats in varying states of disrepair. In the midst of the fierce anchoring law debate in this state, it's hard to remember that each one of these wrecks represents somebody's dream of freedom lost. It's sobering.

The Great Escape

Light through the v-berth hatch looks gray and uninviting. While not as cold as in Wrightsville Beach, it doesn't look to be Florida warm out there either. On the other hand, the v-berth is toasty perfect. The only idea provoking any enthusiasm at all is to snuggle deeper into the fuzzy embrace and ignore the coming of another day. Sadly, such ignoring will not allow for escaping the embrace of Sisters Creek. Deb is already up and about. Crawling out of the berth takes a minor act of will. Not bitching and moaning about it takes a massive act of will. One that is only partly successful.

The day doesn't look any better from the top of the companionway. Misty and dreary, low hanging clouds and reduced visibility rule the just-rising sun. It feels like an early start, but by the time deck and engine checks are complete and the Beast kicked awake, Kintala is the next-to-last boat on the dock. Everyone else having already made good their departure. Being tail-end-Charley isn't all bad though, there is plenty of room for getting off the dock against current and wind, making the turn, clearing the signpost, and entering the channel. Mr. Bridge Tender is as cooperative as can be, even having opened his span several times in the past half hour or so to set the captives free. Turn the corner and we are under way once again.

The stop at Sisters Creek wasn't really that bad. We met new friends Terri and Larry, and Friend Kacey drove down from Savanna to visit for a couple of nights. But the wind, modest facilities, out-back location, and Dudley-do-right the Brain-Locked Ranger, took the shine off the place.

The rest of the day goes by easily enough. It feels cold though, and the sun is slow to push aside the clouds. A Skype visit with Daughter Middle and Grand Kids Five comes and goes in early afternoon. Such visits always brighten a day. The last fixed bridge of the route passes overhead, St. Augustine beckons. A boat we shared the dock with at Sisters Creek has suffered some kind of an engine problem and is on the mooring ball we are supposed to take. It takes a few turns while things get straightened out; we see them clearing the mooring. St. Augustine was the very first place we picked up a mooring. We have done it a few times since then.

Even the birds have their beaks tucked in for the cold.

The day's motor run has driven the batteries into float for the first time since we hit Sisters Creek. There will be no need for the generator tonight. The hot water tank is full of hot water. With the deck set for the evening a dirt-dweller's shower, long and hot, feels like a reward well earned.

Kintala is now on the ball and riding into the current and wind, nodding gently in the waves. It is a big improvement over grinding against a dock. The setting sun is visible, its rays belie the still cool temperature. The clouds have finally given way.

Our escape is complete.

The sun finally poking through. What a difference in the surrounding colors with the sunshine.

Peering out the St. Augustine inlet. Glad we chose the inside route today.

A St. Augustine tour ship

St. Augustine all lit up for Christmas

More pictures

A wordier post will be forthcoming, but for the moment I'm just too tired so here is some eye candy for you to enjoy.

The anchorage at Whiteside Creek, SC

Coming in to Charleston we were second in the procession of boats

The sun setting on our offshore run from Charleston to Sisters Creek near Jacksonville

I never tire of seeing these guys. They make me smile.

Barefoot Marina in North Myrtle Beach, SC

Typical ICW view

Another typical ICW view

Leaving the Charleston Harbor for our offshore run

The second morning of our offshore run. The fog socked in right around Cumberland Island, GA