Keep going

Eagle Too anchored at Rodriguez

In the last 5 days Kintala has covered 230 nm and is now anchored off Eau Gallie, tucked in behind a bridge causeway and riding out a storm. There are wind gusts reported to 60+ and large hail but it looks like we are going to miss the worst of it. After leaving Marathon, friends Robert and Rhonda were waiting for us at Rodriguez Key. It has been two years since the last time we shared space with Eagle Two and it was fun to meet up like that. They are headed back to the Florida Panhandle area for the summer but maybe we will cross wakes again next fall.

The last of the pretty Keys water

After Rodriguez, the hook dropped into the bottom of Biscayne Bay just outside of No Name Harbor. We thought about going in, but decided it would be impossible to leave after just a night’s stay, and we wanted to keep going. We should have gone inside anyway. Though Biscayne Bay is a favored place for us, the weekend power boat shenanigans were a little too much. They kept blasting between the anchored boats like we made up the board of some deranged pin ball game. Even the local Sheriff slashed his way past at full song waving as he launched a sizable wake our way. I would have taken a video of him but that seemed like an excellent way to provoke a boarding. Never provoke anyone who has a gun and a badge, no matter what silly thing they might be doing.

Note to self: weekend time at No Name needs to be spent inside No Name. Inside is fun. Outside is just ugly.





From there it was an overnight run to Vero Beech. It didn’t start out as a run to Vero Beech, but we caught a ride from the Gulf Stream and it was just too good to get off. In the wee hours of the morning just off the inlet to Lake Worth (the original destination) Kintala was blasting along at better than 10 knots on a near idling WesterBeast and a jib working with a 10 - 15 knot wind. That is nose bleed territory for an old sailboat.

Sunset underway

Sunrise after a pretty decent overnight sail

Le Capitan deep in thought

The Ft. Pierce Inlet

Vero is another favored place, but not so much this time of the year. It was brutal hot, with the no-see-em’s flowing though our screens with every little wind gust. The first night’s sleep was lost to the watches of a short handed crew doing a night run close to shore and in busy waters. The second night’s sleep went to bug bites and burning skin. There was no hesitation about bailing out of Vero, sleep or no.

The WesterBeast has been puking a little bit of oil here and there and Deb has been keeping a close watch on it. We have cleaned off this place and that, trying to decide exactly where the breach was, but such discoveries are no easy task on a tired, dirty old engine. After the 25 hour run, the level amount of oil making a mess was getting on the border of being alarming, slowing her engine check this morning as she looked for hints of the source. The worst drip on the engine blankets finally gave a solid clue and she directed my gaze toward the adapter plate for our remote engine oil filter. It didn’t really look wet, but it is hard to see…and even harder to reach. I managed to get a wrench on the thing with a wrist twisted into angles slightly unnatural and more than slightly painful. A bit of pressure and it moved far easier than it should have. YES!

More twisting and unnaturalness got some torque applied, enough for nearly 3/4s of a turn. With the plate now snug, safety wire was twisted into place to make sure it stays that way. Minutes later Vero was happily abandoned.

A seven hour motor / sail run got us here. The Beast is as clean and dry as it has ever been, the storms are almost over, and we are closing in on Blowin' in the Wind.

Tomorrow we keep on going.

Storm rolling in to the Eau Gallie Southwest anchorage

Go south old man...

Though we were set to leave Vero Beach on Saturday, word of a free concert kept us on the mooring ball for an extra night. I am a sucker for live music, and we have caught some pretty good bands in these last couple of years. Alas, the one in Vero was not one of them. It may have been that they were just having an off night. It may have been that is was just too cold for anyone to get in the mood. (The keyboard player took every chance he had to rub his hands in front of the heat lamp set up near his spot on the stage.) Maybe a drummer with wooden hands, a back-up singer who didn't really have the voice for it, and the aforementioned key board player were just doing the best they could, though the lead singer / guitar player was better than average. I think I'll stick with them just having an off night. Come to think of it, I was having an off night of my own; distracted, pensive, and feeling the bruises of these last couple of days. Maybe it wasn't the band at all?

We headed back to the boat after the first set, with a stop at the marina for a long, hot shower. We also took a few minutes to chat with friends staying in Vero until spring, and muse over the news. It isn't every day that a Supreme Court judge as controversial as Antonin Scalia departs this life unexpectedly, and in the midst of a Presidential Campaign as weird as the current circus. Me thinks the land dwellers are going to add another ring. Barnum & Bailey would be proud.

The plan was to stop at the fuel dock in Vero for diesel, water, and a pump-out before leaving this morning. But the dock has been mostly blocked since yesterday by a big sport fishing boat. A call to the marina office right at 0800 revealed that he was a seriously malfunctioning big sport fishing boat and would not be going anywhere soon. Hmm, happens to them too?

Instead of testing the wind and current (and my boating skills) trying to shoehorn Kintala into the bit of space that was left, we elected to head south and stop at the Harbortown Marina in Ft. Pierce. It turned out to be a good choice with easy access. With barely a half hour lost, Kintala was back on the ICW, sailing (yes sailing) south once again. We haven't found the Ditch to be very accommodating when it comes to moving under canvas, but east winds had Kintala romping along at 7 knots under just the jib for much of the day. Her crew is still wearing multiple layers with hats, hoods, and gloves, but there is a forecast of near 80 degrees in the not too distant distance.

But not yet. Rain fell upon the deck monkey as the hook was prepped to go into the mud along the east side of the St. Lucie river. Though we have been sitting secure for nearly two and a half hours, with dinner done and the dishes washed and put away, my fingers and toes are still tingling a bit as they warm up.

South. Must go south.

A couple interesting power boats seen on the ICW this afternoon

 

Cold winds

The crew of Kintala is still reeling from losing Greg. The world is muffled, and there is a general feeling of being distracted and distant. A day was lost hiding behind Chicken Island. The run to Titusville was a good sail on a cold day, but all good thoughts about the day got washed away with the news from PA.

A second day was lost in Titusville. We bounced and shivered at anchor while the winds blew and the temperatures dropped. Nights were near unbearable with the snubber line groaning under the strain of the moaning winds. Just about the worst noises that can be imagined for a pair of heavy hearts lying in a dark v-berth. Finally, in the wee hours of this morning the winds faded, the boat quieted down, and the dark became a place of refuge rather than a background for grief. Sleep finally crept in just before the dawn.

Deb was up first, checking the weather. There were all kinds of warnings out for more wind coming to stir up the water. There was even a small craft advisory for the ICW. But, for all that, the morning was quiet and cold. She rousted me out of the berth with the smell of fresh coffee and the idea that we should get while the getting was good. A run to an anchorage about half way to Vero could be finished before the worst of the weather moved in. It sounded like a good plan to me. Titusville, through no fault of its own, was a place I dearly wanted to put behind us.

We dressed with all the layers we could find, shook the WesterBeast to life, dragged the hook out of the mud, and motored off in flat water. For the first couple of hours it seemed like the forecast was likely wrong. Around 1200 there was enough wind to spin the little head sail out to help the Beast along. The GPS speed jumped to 7. A bit later we stowed the staysail and let fly the working jib. GPS speed jumped to 8+ and we literally blew past a nice looking ketch rig that had taken to the ICW ahead of us. A bit after that and it seemed wise to give in to the still building winds, stow the jib and put the staysail back to work. The little sail and a loafing Beast still had us moving along at a steady 7 plus. 

(The only speed reference we have is the GPS. Boat speed is a guess as that thing stopped working after we left Stuart. It has been way too cold to jump in the water to fix it. Wind speed is also a guess as that thing apparently got tweaked by a bird in Stuart as well. We haven't seen the kind of weather needed to go up the mast. The tachometer is toast too so, right now, we are “old school” sailors. We set the RPM based on tone and feel. Sail choice comes from looking at the water, facing the wind, and feeling the boat. If it “feels” wrong we do something different. I guess we have learned a little bit about doing this. One of these days though, Deb really should do something about getting the deck monkey into gear to get some of this stuff working.)

Seven knots is roughly twice as fast as what we saw going north a couple of weeks ago. Eight knots is flat galloping. We blew past our intended stopping point at 1400 and pressed on for Vero Beach. With nearly an hour to spare before the sun went down we picked up a mooring ball, having covered just over 64 nm in just under 10 hours. On the ICW, with sails flying.

The world is never going to be the same as it was when we set out south after this last summer's boat work in Oak Harbor. Death has visited our family twice since then. We have struggled with bitter winds and endless rains. The Island are out of reach. But the cold run on this day got us to Vero. There was a long hot shower waiting on shore. It will still be cold tonight, but not as cold. The boat sits quiet, secure, and still. There are friends nearby, and words of encouragement over the internet. Pictures from the week in Daytona with Daughter Middle and Family bring smiles and warm hearts that have been touched by cold winds.

It will be good to sail in short sleeves and bare feet again, but that is still some distance away. Right now Vero feels like a good port in a storm, being here again is a relief.

Better than the glossies

Kintala is in Daytona and on the  dock for a week, waiting the arrival of Daughter Middle and family. They have only seen the boat once, and that was several years ago. I am sure the visit is going to count as among the best of times, but I fear they are not going to find our Tartan to be too impressive. For, you see, lying parallel to our 42 foot sailboat, just across the dock, is a boat so big that Kintala looks like its tender. Sitting here at the salon table, looking up through the hatch in the overhead, and I am looking up, way up, at her flying bridge. It sits about two thirds of the way up our 60 foot mast. It looks, for all the world, like we are parked in the middle of a major city looking up at a building.

Not only is this as close as we have ever been tied to a mega yacht, this is the most protected dock we have ever been on. Fifty knots worth of wind could blow through this place and we would barely feel it. Total fetch is about 60 feet, with mega boats blocking one side and the Florida peninsula blocking the other. And you can believe that I crept into here with all of the skill I could muster, not wanting to even imagine how embarrassing it would be to bounce off of something like that thing.

Even though we had a reservation, we were a little unsure of the reception as we turned down the channel. Once upon a time in my other life I flew a corporate jet for a living. It was a little corporate jet, and when we pulled into a place full of big corporate jets they would often park us out in the back 40, maybe send a golf cart out to pick up the luggage. After all, we were only going to buy a couple of thousand bucks worth of fuel. Peanuts compared to that flowing into the G-Vs, Falcons, and Challengers. I'll bet there were times when the catering bill on one of those things was bigger than the fuel bill on the Citation. So really, what are the chances that my tired old sailboat is going to garner much attention in a place like this?

Well, it turns out when the “place like this” is the Daytona Marina and Boat Yard, the chances are pretty good. Dock Master Dave met us at the pump out dock, where we pulled up right behind another mega yacht. He was laughing and friendly, catching our lines and handing the poop hose over the life line. Then he walked us down the dock to show us where we would be spending the week. It is pretty much the Number One spot to be, just steps away from the facilities, and the facilities are some of the nicest we have seen. In fact we are parked bow on to the boat that he lives in. The Dock Master is our next door neighbor, and he even had some nice things to say about our Tartan. (I think he really meant them!) And before you ask, the price isn't even scary.

The kids are not even here yet, and it is already a visit worth remembering. Even better, the motor sail from Titusville was about as nice a motor sail as one can have. After three days of relentless rain the sun came out. By mid afternoon I was down to wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, the first time that has happened in weeks.

The Haulover Canal. Deb's least favorite place. An opening bridge and dozens of fishing boats parked in the
middle of the channel. Pin ball anyone???

So here we are, as far north as Kintala is likely to be for the next year or more, waiting for family, in an interesting place, and being treated a bit like boating royalty. Sometimes living this way is even better than it looks in the glossies.

Our sunrise this morning in Titusville

 

One of the joys of sailing Kintala. The staysail sheeted inside the stays with the lazy
sheet used as a barber hauler. You can sail this configuration 25° off the wind.

 

Some Vero Beach Catch-up pictures

The live oak trees in Vero are amazing. They are like something out of The Lord of The Rings movies. This is a
single branch dipping down from the main tree. I took this picture because my grandkids would love to sit on this
one and even the littlest could reach it!

Deceiving picture. Looks like a warm sunny day but it was actually pretty chilly. Still wearing foulie jackets
and sweatshirts at this point.

This guy was supposed to be in the picture above, but he departed early. When I
finally got him perched on the railing he let me know in no uncertain terms what
he felt about being in a picture. I think it was the same bird that tried to steal
Tim's ice cream right out of his hand the day before.

 

This is a terrible quality picture, but it was the first pink flamingos I've ever seen live outside of a zoo.
The picture was taken from 1/4 mile away with my camera zoomed all the way out and then cropped
so that's the reason for the lousy quality.

 

View out my galley window as we got ready to leave Titusville this morning

 

Another interesting water flow picture. The patterns in the water as it rolls away from the boat are amazing to watch.

Zombie-fied

I am not a big fan of zombies, finding the whole idea a bit grim. I don't care for zombie movies, wouldn't want to meet one in person. Well, not the movie version of a zombie anyway. I suspect there are a lot of zombies in the world, only they wear normal clothes, don't have body parts rotting and falling off all over the place, and don't bite people. A couple might be running for President and, come to think of it, I wouldn't want to meet any of them either. But I am feeling a bit like a zombie today.

A cold front went though Vero last Friday morning. Before it came, we added a couple of mooring lines to the two already holding the boats, and were glad we did. (We are rafted two to a ball here in Vero.) The wind honked, the boats danced, and it rained hard enough to fill the Dink like a kiddie pool. Even as that front headed out to sea the gurus on the Deep Weather app started talking about the next one, due very early Sunday morning. All of this in the middle of January, in Florida.

Yesterday was Saturday, a break between the storms. The crew of Kintala took advantage of the nice weather, taking a long walk into town to find some ice cream. Back at the boat in the afternoon we started watching the weather as it got organized for its assault on Florida. At Deep Weather, the conversation grew animated. That was a pretty good trick since Deep Weather is a text discussion between science types, people who generally talk of lifted indexes, instability, pops, and percentages. In spite of the tech speak, the underlying tone was clear. Florida was in for a serious bit of weather.

As the evening wore on, Deb started getting restless. Deb doesn't get restless. To most people even a restless Deb would appear to be moving quietly through the world. But we have been together for a long time, and I noticed.

“I think we should check the mooring lines.”

Mind you, I am all for checking mooring lines. But it was now dark, quiet, and I was comfortable on the settee. We had added two lines barely a day before, and I had checked them after the first front had gone through. All was well with our world.

“I really think we should check the mooring lines.”

Okay then. Up off the settee, on with the jacket, flick on the deck light and, what was this? The mooring ball lay between the two bows. Two lines, though still attached, lay limp and sagging in the water. One line was taunt, holding both boats from running even further over the ball, pushed by the current. And the fourth line was looped under the mooring ball, a tangled mess with the other three. We had to launch the Dink to get it all straight. There were half dozen razor cuts on my right hand after working the jammed line out from under the mooring, courtesy of the little critters living on the ball. Under a wind load and getting worked, the line would have been shredded in minutes. Sure, there were three other lines, but the thought was disquieting.

The wind was forecast to reach 40 knots. Vero is well protected, but 40 knots is 40 knots. With the lines reset it seemed a good idea to take a look around the deck. What was this? The staysail was wrapped in but a single loop of sheet. The jib had a nice bit of canvas hanging out, just waiting to catch wind. Sheets still ran back to winches. Both sails got rolled up tight in several wraps of line, and the sheets were tied forward. When big winds are in the offering we normally add a few ties to the main sail and cover. Big winds were in the offering, and we were already out on deck.

The generator sat on the helm seat, its normal location when being used. But it would be hard to steer the boat with the gen in the way and, who knows? If everything turns to manure we might have to steer the boat. The little Honda was moved and the shore cable stowed. All in all nearly an hour passed before I got back to the settee.

At 0130 I did a final check of the radar and climbed into the v-berth. At 0530 lightning woke me up and I climbed back out. The radar was ugly. A thick, deep maroon python snaked across Florida, heading our way at a reported 60 knots. There were hook echos in there as well. Somewhere people were getting hurt, property destroyed, and lives upended.

I got dressed to go on deck, prepared to do whatever might need to be done. I was thinking of the things that could go bad, what to do in response and, should the night fall completely apart, how to get off the boat in one piece. It is a mental thing, like getting ready for race...or a fight. There is a certain grimness about it.

I used to teach high altitude flying and weather at a university. At the beginning of the class we would talk about what it takes to have a long life in the sky. I told them, when things go to hell, sharing the cockpit with the person who got 100% on the tests or made the softest landings, would not matter. No, the person you wanted in the cockpit was the mean bastard who simply wouldn't accept dying that day, the one who would be working the controls and power levers even as the wings bent and Mother earth filled the windshield.

By 0630 radar showed us on the back edge of the rain. It had been a non-event in Vero. The storms had spent their energy to our west. I went back to the berth for a couple more hours.

Living on a boat is safe, or so they keep telling me.“They”, in this case, mostly being the boating industry whose main job is to sell more boats. But we live very close to the weather out here, and the weather seems to be copping an attitude. Sometimes, particularly in the dark with maroon pythons heading my way, I wonder if the day will come when choosing to live near the weather will mean choosing to live with an unacceptable level of risk. Four reinforced walls and a stout roof, all sitting on a stone foundation, will not protect one from everything. But it is a damn sight more secure than a plastic hull tied to a ball with a few ropes.

Such thoughts fade as the day dawns and the sky clears. It is sunny now, the air dry and cooling. By evening the winds should fade. It will be a nice night for sleeping. Good that. The last 18 hours have left me tired, sore, and sleep deprived. The older I get the longer it takes to shake off the “grim” of an uncertain night.

And though we didn't need them much, I am really glad we checked the mooring lines.  

Ports, Inlets and the Deep Blue Sea

Roughly three in the AM; slightly more than 15 hours into the jump from Vero Beech to Port Everglades (Ft. Lauderdale). There are no other boats around. Deb and I had agreed that there was a good enough weather window opening Sunday that should last until Tuesday late afternoon. That meant a 48 hour stretch to get rough 25 hours worth of "going" done. We were the only ones of the Vero Beech cruiser tribe who thought so, then again, they are all headed for the Islands while the Keys wait for us.

The roughly 22 nm from Vero to the Fort Pierce inlet gave some promise that this, our second outside jump, would be at least as good as the first. If nothing else it was warm, with another full moon and clear skies thrown in as parting gifts. As promised, the gusting wind was out of the north, and we fully expected it to fade as the cold front moved further out to sea. (As did the weather guessers.) When we turned the corner and headed out through the inlet a few hours later, the promise sort of faded. Outside the breakwater waves were 3 to 5 feet with some larger ones wanting to play as well, smacking Kintala hard on the beam and sending sheets of spray over the deck. Leaving the last buoy and turning south put the wind and waves behind her. With the Wester-Beast silent and the headsail carrying the load, Kintala settled into an easier gait.We were back on the open ocean and under sail, happy with the choice to do so. A little later the wind faded and we added a reefed mainsail to hold as much SOG as we could.

Back to 3 AM. I am trying to catch a little rest on the starboard side cockpit bench. Just a few inches from my head the ocean hisses by and I can tell from the motion that, instead of fading the winds have ramped back up and clocked to the east. Deb is working hard at the helm and calls me awake. Kintala has way too much canvas aloft and things are getting just a bit too interesting. I clipped in and shuffled out on deck. Getting the main down did the trick but, with the wind now mostly out of East, this new set of waves clashed with those from the passing fronts of the last few days, putting Kintala dead in the ditch. We tried a different angle with the waves but tacking off shore put us in the edge of the Gulf Stream, which was lying close in. That was a truly ugly ride (the Vero Beach tribe made the right call). Tacking west had us on the beach. Neither choice was a good one ... the ditch it was.

One of the many towns we passed Tuesday a.m. They all kind of blend in together along the coast.

We continued through the night, pitching hard, rolling from toe-rail to toe-rail, and fishtailing over the confused seas. I like sailing at night, but that didn't keep the smile off my face as the sunrise started to fill in. At least five hours of lumpy waves still stood between us and Ft. Lauderdale, hours that would pass the same for us as for every sailor in history. Working to get to the next port of call without breaking anything or getting hurt, tired, a bit hungry, we were also aware that this was a special place to be, an experience worth having. Sleep and food would come soon enough.

Freighters anchored offshore on commercial moorings.

The anchor is set in a place called "South Lake", a place with much deeper water than the charts suggest. This is also the prettiest "city scape" we have seen so far. ICW tag-team friends lie to anchor the next lake over, in a place with much less water than was suggested. The plan was to spend the night anchored near them but Kintala grounded hard trying to get where they were. (Notice how I suggest it was the boat's fault, and not that of the bearded, bald headed idiot at the helm?) The good news is a rising tide really does lift all the boats, even those stuck in the mud. Within an hour the winds twisted us off of the mound of mud squashed under our keel, so we moved under the Hollywood Blvd bridge and set in 25 feet of water, where the charts show 4. Local knowledge via Active Captain is a good thing.

For those who care the run took 26 hours and 40 minutes (I had planned on 21 but we couldn't hold the 5 knots in the plan, not bashing about at the edge of the Gulf Stream as we were.) We added 110 nm to the log. A couple of dolphins dropped by to check on us, but nothing like the party last time. Once settled in on the anchor a couple of manatees paddled by as well. As the sun faded a strange grunting sound started bouncing off our hull, joined by a high pitched whistle. Best we can tell, that is the sound of manatees getting ready for bed. Weird creatures. I kind of like them

Weather is headed this way again, there are friends to catch up with, and I really need to get a couple of smaller projects done. We made it to Florida and are far enough south as to not worry about how cold it will get. We still plan to get to the Keys, but there is no rush now. Each place we stop can be a place we spend several days just poking around. So for now, here we are.

NOTE: It is Tuesday. We got here Monday and I had every intention of posting this, but that whole "tired and hungry" thing caught up to me. I fell asleep at the keyboard, nearly dropped the computer on my toe, and decided the manatees had the right idea. Time for bed.
 

Photo ed: We saw this line of demarcation in the water as the tide was at slack water. We've never seen this before. Anyone know what causes it?

Goodbye Ft. Pierce

Hello Ft. Lauderdale

View out my galley window. Hollywood, FL

Go swimming water

We are still in Velcro Beach working on second guessing the weather. A cold front went through a few days ago. With a pretty tight mooring field, my modest boat handling skills, almost empty water tanks, almost full holding tank, and a wind forecast in the 30 knot range, it seemed like a good idea to get to the fuel dock and back before it got here. And it was. By afternoon the winds were ramping up, Kintala was dancing around the mooring ball like a puppy trying to pull out of its collar, and the temperature went into free fall. (It was a modest free fall by the standards being set by this winter, but still a free fall in FL.) Wind chills dipped below freezing and the watch cap and heavy coats were pressed into service once again. This didn't stop us from having a good time during Joel and Emily's visit, but we didn't do much beach walking either.

Then the cold front turned into a warm front. The winds didn't ease much, just switched around after picking up a load of water. When it rains hard for 24 hours an amazing amount will collect in the dink. We finally found a use for that ungainly West Marine pump we have been dragging around for a couple of years. After nearly 36 hours of steady rain, then another 12 of intermittent showers, we woke this morning to sunny skies, warm temperatures, and slowly building winds. Yep, the cold front turned warm front has turned into a cold front again. It is supposed to pass over late this afternoon and early tomorrow. But then there is a rumor of a two day weather window that might see us to Ft. Lauderdale on an outside, 21 hour run. Might. Like I said, second guessing the weather.

There really is no big push to get further south. Velcro Beach earned the title with modest mooring ball fees, good facilities, free pump-out and water, and a free bus into town and to the beach. The beach and the user friendly boardwalk area are within a longish stroll of the dingy dock, which is also included in the mooring fee. (This has been our first experience with a dink dock where the little boats pile up two and three deep ... kind of funky fun in its own way.) Over all cruiser friendly, and with a couple of first rate ice cream stores to boot.

There are only two downsides. The first is that, like virtually every marina we have been in so far, when they say "Free Wi-Fi" don't get too excited. It is free alright, but it is also miserably slow and doesn't span the mooring field out as far as we are. (And we are not that far out this time.) If Internet accessibility is the measure of a First World society the USA is falling way, way behind.

Worse though, at least for me, is there is no good place to swim and snorkel, and I really want to get back into swimming and snorkeling. I would think about doing a little SCUBA again but we stopped in a dive store to pick up some new masks. Damn, when did SCUBA turn into space walking? All this gear and $$ to bob around in water that is, most of the time, less than 50 feet deep, usually less than 20? I mean, it looks like good fun and all, but if I'm going to gear up like Neal Armstrong about to go walking on the moon, I want to go walking on the moon. Beside, put all that stuff on Kintala, and I'd have to sleep on the deck.

Vero is a nice place, but we will still try find some clear, warm, go swimming, water before we stop going south.

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".

Friends new and old

Yesterday we met another old/new friend from the blog world. Bob has been following our story for a while. His cruising plan includes a solo circumnavigation, rather more bold than my plan of just keeping Kintala floating and mobile. Lunch and a tour of the area, including a look at Kintala's next planed anchorage, gave Bob a chance to share some of his knowledge of boating in the this area, working the ICW to advantage, and going off shore. Thanks again Bob!

The rest of the day was spent visiting with long-time friends from our years at Carlyle. Rey and Mary have a home just a few blocks from where we are moored. You can imagine the catching up and story telling that flowed though the afternoon and evening, raging all the way from ICW trials to weird weather to politics. I don't get the chance to talk politics all that often for all the reasons you can imagine. Rey was more than a match for my off-the-reservation world views and, though we agree on a lot of far ranging issues, he left me with some new perspectives and even got in the last word. It has been a while since I've enjoyed such a friendly yet spirited conversation – it was a real treat.

The only thing yesterday lacked was sunshine. It was rainy, misty and grey all day long. Bob claimed Kintala brought it with her from up north. He did admit that he added water to his pool and washed his car, so I think it was him who woke up the rain gods.

This morning we woke to clear skies and water so vibrant with deep color that the word "blue" just isn't enough. I puttered on the foredeck for a while, cleaning up from the last few days of being on the anchor but mostly so I could say I had done something useful today while Deb shared some time with a cruiser friend we met in Oriental a few weeks back. Then the hammock was deployed for the first time since we left Oak Harbor. The sun and warm breeze washed away the last bit of tension left over from months of flogging a reluctant boat down the ICW. For a while this morning my little bit of the world was so close to perfect as to be nothing short of a gift from the muse.

Pics 12-31-13

Think Shoal Draft if you want to do this people!

More wrecks and abandoned boats everywhere.

More McMansions

Before we left, our good friend the fisherman, Ralph, left this bottle of champaigne on our boat one afternoon. We have been saving it for a special day, and this day the 1000th mile and last day of 2013 seemed the one. Thanks Ralph!