A travel day after all

A look at the weather this morning had me thinking that, even though we had paid for tonight on the dock, we should be on our way. Making miles was more valuable to me than a lost dock fee. Deb was of the same mind but wanted to wait until the marina opened for business to be sure a refund wasn't an option. We waited. She checked. And the good folks at the marina were glad to offer a refund. At 0830 I backed out of the slip with a bit of a crowd watching. Not sure why, since there was zero wind or current. The biggest challenge was making the turn around the end of the dock with a full sized Cruise Ship tied up at the pier adjacent to the marina, its beam filling about half of the waterway. I also managed not to run over any of the dozens of geese that had gathered. Apparently Cruise ship passengers have a habit of feeding geese. And the geese remember.

According to the marina folks, it was a good day to leave. Apparently Mackinac Island gets even more crazy when a Cruise Ship dumps its passenger load ashore for the day. I would much rather be where we are than where we were.

It took just shy of six hours and we were anchored in a nice little bay located at the northeast end of Beaver Island. We are roughly 38 nm due west of Mackinac Island. West isn't really the direction I want to be going. But one needs to go at least 30nm in that direction, through the Mackinac Straights, to get from Lake Huron to Lake Michigan. There is a lot of commercial traffic using those straights. We saw two large freighters and two large barges along the way. Fortunately, there is a lot of room for professional Captains doing what they do. Unfortunately, there isn't a lot of room for a less professional Captain in a go-fast Yacht. This clown blazed by our starboard side at something like 40 knots and throwing a huge wake. He came up so fast and so close that I didn't have enough time to turn until he was just ahead of us. Full rudder deflection got me just enough into the wake that the hit, though splashing water onto our foredeck, didn't roll the boat too hard. I might have uttered a harsh word or two. But Marcus Aurelius, a stoic writer and Emperor, once taught; “When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: the people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly.” He could have added, “And if traveling over water, there will certainly be some stupid boater tricks from people with more boat than brains.”

I try to remember the same before driving as well. Being prepared for stupid makes it easier to just shrug and remember this is exactly what was expected. 

In any case we didn't go far out of our way to be here. And it is a really nice little anchorage pretty much well protected no matter which way the wind blows. The only trick is to find a sandy spot on which to drop the hook as much of the bottom is covered with seagrass. Which actually turned out to be pretty easy even though we are in twenty plus feet of water. Standing on the bow, Deb could see the bottom well enough to guide me directly over a sand spot. The hook grabbed on the first try. We haven't seen water this clear since the last time we were in the Bahamas.

What happens next is still an open question. It may be that we will have just enough of a weather window tomorrow to actually put some miles in to the south tomorrow. But it is big open water. The window will have to be a pretty sure thing before we venture out there. On the other hand, if tomorrow isn't a go we may well be here for the better part of five days. There are thunderstorms and winds up to 30 knots mentioned on some forecasts. Though not likely, maximum wave hight in that kind of wind with the a fetch of more than 60 nm could be as high as 8 feet. And it would be directly on our beam. No thank you. I would rather sit here for five days than risk that for one minute.

There are several boats anchored around us. It will interesting to see if any if any of us leave in the morning. And if it threatens to get really ugly, there is a dock just a couple of hundred yards away.

Bye bye Mackinac Island

We passed a couple really large ships - over 600' long for a couple of them.

Approaching the Mackinac Island Bridge

You wouldn't want to rent this one. It definitely belonged to the cormorants.

Some interesting boats in the anchorage at St. James

Logfishing

I don't think you need a special license to go logfishing in Canada. But if someone wants to catch logfish they need a really big hook with really, really, stout line. An anchor and chain will do in a pinch.

At first, the chain came aboard as normal as we took up the 90 feet or so we had in the water. But then the winch motor started to struggle even as the chain kept coming aboard and the boat drifted a little. Clearly we were not stuck to the bottom.  This was something new. As more chain came aboard, the mystery was solved. The chain had somehow gotten itself warped completely around a good sized log including throwing a pretty good excuse for a cinch knot. The weight of the anchor was holding the cinch tight and the logfish wasn't going anywhere.

Deb and I traded places for a couple of minutes. Me on the deck and her at the helm while I tried to unravel the dilemma of how to unravel the chain. My first thought was to just dead lift the anchor to take the load off the cinch. That should let the log just slide out of the loop. I reached down to grab the chain but Deb had already mention that I needed to watch my fingers. That warning triggered something I had learned a long, long time ago. When things heavy get tangled up and loaded this way they tend to unload with enthusiasm. Various heavy things tend to fly off in unanticipated directions at speeds that will do much damage to any fingers, arms, and even legs, that happen to be in the way. I poked at the mess a bit more with a boat hook but it was no match for the weight of the anchor. Whatever it was that needed done would require more than two hands. Fortunately the wind wasn't blowing nor was there any current. With the anchor at the surface and the logfish still hanging in front of the bow, First Light was content to just sit right were she was. Which made the whole thing a lot easier.

Deb came down from the helm. With the two of us working together we got one of the bow dock lines looped around the anchor hoop. That way I could lift without being in the line of flying heavy things.

It worked. The chain slapped around as the logfish spun a bit and then slipped free. The anchor dropped, snapping the chain tight in a way that would surely mangle any body parts in the way. I got back up on the helm. We got the anchor aboard and I backed away from the scene of the crime. The logfish might have been lurking right under the bow, waiting to munch on a passing propeller or thump a rudder a good one. Maybe it sank back to the bottom to await another anchor. All I know is that we cleared the area with no more ado.

Other than a few fishermen, we were the only boat in the shipping channel to Sault St. Marie. Kind of a surprise as I was under the impression that this is a rather busy port. There is a one way channel north and and different one way channel south. There are places on the chart where the two are separated by a few hundred feet of water that is just 3 feet deep. Don't get out of the channel. No wonder they are one way.

Once in the harbor itself, we went hunting for the Roberta Bondar Marina. It is on the small side with less than 30 slips and an interesting approach, one that is kind of hard to spot for a first timer until you are almost past it. Follow the route line on the chart and “Oh, there it is!” Helping hands got us tied too and it isn't even 1400 yet.

After getting situated, we took a walk along a pretty nice boardwalk that they have here along the waterfront. The boardwalk is the beginning of a 25km trail that's supposed to be only for bikes, feet, etc. but we did see some motorized scooters along the way. The trail goes quite a ways and passes by a ton of historically important places with educational placards along it. We only walked as far as the locks and back, but we were pretty impressed with their waterfront improvement project. I wish St. Louis would be able to complete something like this for the waterfront by the Arch.

When we finish up here, we will be heading back into the US. In fact, I can see it off the stern of the boat. But first we are going to take a train ride. (More on that tomorrow.)

The day started out with a lot of fog

Fog and a log...sounds like a Dr. Seuss book.

The International Bridge

Plan to make a plan

This was our fourth day, third full day, in the anchorage at Shawanaga Island. Though relatively quiet here for most of the day, there were some thick clouds and heavy rain out over the inlet earlier. The waterspout warning is still in effect and the heavy cloud out past the inlet had some ominous looking trail clouds hanging out. The radar suggested that we would be getting some pretty heavy rain falling on us before the day was out. It never really showed. First Light is still swinging back and forth like a giant wind vane on a stormy day. Come to think of it that is exactly what she is and, if I am honest, the motion is getting a bit tiresome. Still, it was a good day to be riding to a well-set anchor in a protected inlet.

Tomorrow was looking like the day to be on the move again. But the latest weather reports are looking less promising with the winds not fading as much as first thought. Right now, as the sun is setting, the wind is still blowing and cold enough to make it feel much closer to winter than it actually is. So at the moment our plan to deviate from is to not have a plan. We will see what we see in the morning.

Go or not go, this has been a good, if forced, stop. When living as close to the weather as all full-time boaters do, the weather makes the plans.

A little contentment is a lot of good...

This will be our second night in a row on the anchor. Something that hasn't happened very often on this trip. In fact this may be the first time. Since we didn't have a lock or swing bridge to wait on (something else that hasn't happened very often on this trip) we got moving well before 0900. It was less than a two hour jaunt from Midland to Chimney Bay so we beat the expected weekend crowd. When we got here there were three or four boats already hooked to the bottom. Now, including First Light, there are fourteen. There is room for a few more. Beausoleil Island appears to be a popular spot. We are planning to spend at least one more full day and a second night here, maybe more. It seems like it has been a while since we just relaxed and enjoyed being on the boat and this looks like a good place to practice that skill again. Hanging out for a whole weekend might be just what we need.

We haven't been on the island yet. First Light was showing the miles and battle scars of the last few weeks. After grinding up and down in more locks then I ever care to see again, the dirt from the fenders was ground into her flanks both port and starboard. The locks also meant constant traffic up and down the side decks, making for more ground in dirt. But the thing that was irking me the most was the spider poop spots peppering every surface of the exterior cabin. That stuff must be little blotches of near pure acid. It eats its way down into the paint making for some serious scrubbing. Even then it often leaves a mark. I appreciate that the little buggers prey on the flying/biting insect population which has been a constant irritation (literally) for much of this trip. But their deposits offset that contribution. Nor am I a fan of running into one of their webs first thing in the morning when I am up and about but not really with it yet. 

Then there was the port side aft cockpit scupper that came out a little the worse when I bounced it off the dock during the aborted wind gusting attempt to tie up in the Big Chute Marina. Some sanding, fiberglass putty, a bit more sanding, and a little paint made for an okay-it-will-keep-until-St. Louis repair. 

While I scrubbed the upper surface, Deb donned flippers, mask, and snorkel and brushed away some of the fuzz below the water line. One thing about fresh water boating, the bottom doesn't get fouled near as quickly and the zincs last a lot longer as compared to playing in salt water. At some point in there, I slipped into the water myself. I've heard lots of raves about the clear water in Canada but we must not be there yet. The vis here is maybe 10 feet of really green water. Still, this is a pretty place that is somewhat protected and, now that the day boaters have gone home, pretty calm. Add in a low key approach, enough room for a bunch of boats, nothing to stress over (for now anyway), and a boat that looks like someone actually cares for it? We are pretty content this evening. 

 

Last Night on First Light

This is this year's last night at anchor on First Light. In celebration of getting this far, (and regardless of it being some 85 nm as the goose flies to big water) we broke out our conch horn to herald the setting sun. Though a bit warm (actually over 90 degrees according to the thermometer) the water is still, the boat unmoving, and the surroundings are filled with boats and trees...exactly what a sailor looks for when the journey is over. Few people in the world have had the opportunity to find such a place and sit contentedly, regardless of the chaos, regardless of the unrest, and unconcerned over what the future might hold because it is outside any individual's control anyway. The horn echoed over the water, wound its way around the boats and the trees, one simple note sent off and held as long as breath allowed in the hopes the universe would understand that we understand, and are thankful. 

We are still miles from St. Louis. Many months by boat, a couple of days by rental van. The van trip will start as soon as the boat is blocked secure on land and prepped for the winter. That effort will start in the morning with a short motor to the pump out and then to the lift pit. After that will come months on land. But they will be good months filled with some of the people we love most in the world and have missed every day of our journey. Word has it there is a job waiting for me that will help fill the coffers that took a bit of a beating this summer. There might even be enough left over to add a Uke or two to the collection.

Odd how that works, being just as happy to be in either of two places and just as sad at being away from the other, all at the same time. Then again there are a lot of people who, due to no fault of their own, never find even a single place in which to be happy. If I believed in a life after this one I would consider it an honor to contribute in any way to the balancing of the scales...wash their dishes, fix their boats, or fly them off to wherever they might want to go. But that too is outside of my control. So with the sun gone for the night and the stars just starting to shine, I will let this last day go with a smile. Tomorrow will bring what it will.

The view from my chair in the cockpit.

Hooked...

One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three. That is how many days it has been since Deb and I slept a night on a boat at anchor. But that string will end in a few hours. First Light rides to her hook roughly 600 feet off the free dock at Washington, NC. It is really good to be back. After day one here we decided to spend one more day in Washington, erring on the side of caution because of the weather. Then we would leave this morning riding a near perfect forecast. But last night I woke up feeling really odd, with a sore throat and an occasional, but very brief, feeling of choking. Seriously annoying and a bit concerning given my recent history. Moving up to the salon and lying reclined rather than flat helped. But, for the first time since we started this trip I really wished I was back in St. Louis and feeling far less vulnerable. That is not a feeling I am used to. Deb has also been bothered with a sore throat as her arm slowly improves. Given her recent visit to an OR that was a bit concerning as well. So first thing this morning, instead of heading off on the next leg, it was off to visit the local Urgent Care. The good folks there had us on the mend before the morning was spent. It seems Deb picked up an infection during her hospital stay which I then picked up from her. We are both on meds, feeling much better, and cleared to be on our way whenever. 

The first weather delay was for a potential for strong storms forecasted across our route. I am still trying to make peace with being a trawler driver, so one of these days I want to drive this thing through some weather from the lower helm—dry, comfortable, and with the windshield wipers thumping away. But that day isn't here yet. We actually tested the wipers while sitting at the dock when the rains came. I think light to moderate rain wouldn't be much of a problem save for a) the big chart plotter with the RADAR overlay is mounted on the fly bridge along with b) the auto pilot control. Still, I'm hoping to give it a try soon. One of the things that always irritated me with Kintala was just how little weather I felt it safe to tackle. So far I am feeling the same way about First Light. Thunderstorms and 20 knot winds? We drive a car through that kind of weather without a second thought. Of course the road under the wheels doesn't routinely rear up and smack one upside the head. So there is that to consider. Still, I would like to think a little rain and a bit of breeze would not be a show stopper with First Light.

Another thing we are re-learning about boat life, now that we are off the dock, is just how dependent we are on electricity. Even equipped with a bunch of solar panels, when the clouds move in the gen-set gets a regular workout. The amp meter suggests that we bring the gen-set online whenever the stove or the microwave needs to be used, sun or no sun. If it has been a cloudy day and we haven't been under way, evening gen-set time is needed to fill the batteries up for night duty. Come morning, particularly if we are up with the sun just joining us? You guessed it, fire up the gen-set as the batteries are near spent after carrying the fans, lights, and refrigerators for a night; even with the fridges turned down as low as we dare. Fans are needed, particularly when it is raining as there is no chance of AC without shore power or the gen-set running. We do not run that thing when everyone is sleeping or no one is on the boat. I suspect we are being overly cautious, but I don't know any other approach to take. One really nice thing about this trawler's gen-set is that starting it means setting some switches and toggling the start button at electrical panel. No digging the thing out from its lashings, plugging it in, filling the gas, and pulling on the rope. It is also much quieter than was the Honda generator we carried on Kintala. So here I sit, up on the flybridge with the windows rolled up, watching the week end party and fishing boats putt-putt by. They must all be locals because every single one of them (minus the jet ski Neanderthals) is being careful about their wake and courteous to those leaving the free dock. Of course the music kind of grates on the nerves, but this is the country & western bit of the eastern US. And the music pouring out from the boats is not near as loud as the rap music bellowing out of the cars in the city—even with the windows up. If you ever have the chance to anchor here for a night or two, don't miss it. With any luck this will be the turning point of our “summer to move the boat” and things will be a little less trying from here on. But if not, well, we will just keep on plucking away: medical issues, boat issues, weather issues...just keep on keeping on. 'Cause it is really good to be back.

Almost made it...

We were supposed to be at anchor tonight. We got up this morning and went to Deb's Doctor's appointment. There we got permission to be on our way. $500 worth of provisioning purchased at four different stores on the way back to the boat got stowed. The boat was topped with water. All ground power lines were pulled in and we left one dock to go to another dock, tied up starboard side to so the diver (and good friend) had easy access to the boat. While he was cleaning the bottom and replacing a couple of zincs Grandson Eldest and I emptied the holding tank. Then the 3 of us went over to the Bean for a final round of iced coffee. After that we climbed aboard and, with the help of some friends, I made a complete botch of getting off the dock in a slight port to starboard cross wind. Embarrassing, but nothing got damaged. During the next several minutes we changed our mind three for four times as to where we were going to anchor, with the final decision being to head out into the Neuse river where we could find a little more depth and swing room to drop the hook. Happy with a place, I called for the anchor pin to be pulled and hit the down switch. A second later the winch locked up. After a few minutes of struggling with it on the bouncing deck I made the decision to head back to the dock for troubleshooting and repair.

Once safely tied back on the dock from which we started this morning, I started working on the winch. I must be getting old because it took me about 2 hours to figure out the 5 minute repair needed to fix the thing. Yes we have the operations manual on board. Yes we got it out and read through it. And no, it didn't help at all. Nothing in the manual reflected the problem I was seeing.

Somehow the clutch locking pin got pulled instead of the anchor pin. The pin I thought was going to get pulled is about ¾ inch in diameter, about 6 inches long, and goes through the anchor and anchor roller mount bracket. The one that got pulled is about ¼ inch in diameter and sticks out of the clutch cover itself maybe half an inch. But pull on that thing when the motor is engaged and bang, a solid steel, spring loaded locking pin pops out and jams hard against a lock block. All of the actions recommended by the operations manual to move the clutch proved useless as the assembly was completely jammed. One must remove the lock block itself, located at the 6 o'clock position below the clutch and held in place with two hard to reach bolts, to release the pin. This allows one to use the motor to spin the clutch so the big locking pin is at 12 o'clock where it can be pushed back down into its hole to be held in place by the little locking pin that should never have been pulled in the first place. 

The whole debacle was entirely the captain's (that would be me) fault. I was simply not careful enough to rehearse what we would be doing to deploy the anchor. A simple process, pull the big pin and push the anchor off the deck to be lowered into the water. But all I said was “pull the pin”. The one that caught the eye of the puller was the little one. Easy mistake that could have been avoided if I had been more careful. So I learned two things. The first was actually a re-learning: there is no such thing as being redundant and annoying when it comes to explaining to someone who is new to a system what needs to be done. The second, I now know the 5 minute fix. 

In any case we are back on the dock for tonight. By the time I pulled my head out of my butt and got the thing fixed, the sun was nearly set. Call it a day. The crew is enjoying one more shore side shower. Deb in particular as she has been cleared to remove her brace as long as she is not walking or the boat is in motion. Me? I'm typing this and sipping a glass of my favorite rum while trying not to be too embarrassed by my poor showing for the day. Tomorrow we will give it another try.

At last...

After way too many days, weeks really…well, to be honest, months, Kintala is riding to her anchor rode once again. We got off the dock a couple of days ago, went out into Tampa Bay flying the jib, tacked up toward the bridge then back to the mouth of the Manatee River. Once there, it was a sail change and an easy, 4 knot deep run on just the staysail up the river and to the anchorage not too far off the boatyard. The kids can wave at us from the shore which is really kind of fun. Setting the hook must be one of those things that you don’t forget since the Mantus went down and dug in with little ado.

Though friends up north will laugh at this, a brisk north wind and temperatures in the low 50’s made it a chilly evening of sitting in the cockpit. Hot buttered rum was the perfect celebration of being out on the water once again. Though it isn’t the usual practice around here, Kintala’s conch horn echoed across the wavelets as the sun touched the horizon.

Though the water was pretty calm, stutter steps and grasping at hand holds was clear evidence that legs can forget what it means to live on open water. I kept bumping into things that were suddenly in my way, door jams, walls, and cabinet bits. And, truth to tell, I think my inner ear might have forgotten some things as well, like how to ignore being in a moving, swinging, bouncing house. Settling into the v-berth came with a slight sigh of relief though, within minutes it was clear that another thing that had been forgotten was the symphony of noises that a boat at anchor makes bow into winds gusting to twenty plus knots.

Which I am going to use as the excuse for doing absolutely nothing since the hook went down. Some stuff gets read, other stuff gets written, music fills the headsets and naps appear out of nowhere.. And yes, that is our new hammock strung between the mast and stay. 

Another delight has been the appearance of wildlife. Even though we live closer to the natural world than most even when in the marina, just a few hundred feet off shore it feels like the cosmos ignores the fact that humans are around. Yesterday evening a gaggle of a dozen or more pelicans went into a feeding frenzy just off the starboard side. It was a parade of the big birds all but hovering 10 to 20 feet off the water, then twisting and bending their wings for a kind of feathered cannon ball crash into the water. Some kind of tern were also in on the action, landing on the heads and backs of the pelicans hoping (apparently) to make off with a meal. I haven’t seen that happen before; it seemed kind of a bold move to me. The pelicans didn't seem to mind, which didn't surprise me. Pelicans are the stoics of the Aves family of animals; unruffled, capable, content, and completely at home in their environment.

In the next day or two we will be heading back to the dock for one more short stint. There is nothing major needing done to the boat, but we are going to help with the little ones as Son-in-Law needs to be away for a couple of days. 

Back to cruising. At last.

0400 on a wind blown anchorage

Kintala motored into Boot Harbor Key two days later than planned which, for a sailboat, is right on time - even a bit early. Winds and waves kept us pinned in Rodriguez Key longer than anticipated, with the third night being a bit of a trial. That afternoon the winds had actually died away, though it was too late to try and make Boot Key. I started looking forward to a good night's sleep and an easy motor / motor sail the next day. But as the sun went down the winds came back, moaning through the rigging, stirring up the bay, setting the v-berth to pitching and rocking once again, and blowing away any chance of sleep for the third night in a row. By 0400 in the morning jumping overboard and swimming to shore started to sound like the best idea I had had in a while.

Sunrise leaving Rodriguez Key

Exhausted, sleep finely won out just as the sun came up. The wind was still hovering around 20 knots but it would be a near beam reach in a following sea. Deb went about doing the engine checks and prepping the inside of the boat, letting me sleep as long as she could. But around 0730 she had to roust me out, not an enviable task. Bleary eyed and fuzzy headed, I stumbled out to the still rocking and pitching deck to get the boat ready to make sail - a task repeated so many times over the last few years that I can, as the saying goes, “Do it in my sleep.” Getting the anchor up was a different song and dance, given we were riding hard against the snubber and pitching just short of putting the bow under water. Still, all fingers and toes were accounted for when the anchor was up, pinned, cabled and tied.



A few minutes later the bow swung to the south west, the point of sail being just forward of a beam reach. The big jib spun out cleanly, the Beast was given a break, and ye ol' Tartan slipped through the waves at better than 5 knots. Staying on board at 0400 started to seem like a good choice after all.

A couple of hours later the speed slipped with the winds finally starting to fade a little. The main sail went up, still with two reefs, enough to bring the speed back up as well. A little later the wind faded some more and we shook the reefs out of the main. A little later still, a little less wind, we added the staysail to the mix. For the first time in a while, Kintala was making way flying everything. It was grand; staying on board at 0400 was definitely the better choice.

Of course it couldn't last. About half way through the 50 mile run the white caps disappeared off the waves, the seas flattened out, the speed fell off, and the sails started to slat. As nice as the sail had been, it was equally as nice when the jib and staysail rolled in smooth and clean, nary a drama or a snag. We left the main up mostly for show, and motored along.

An hour or so before dark we raised the entry to Boot Key Harbor. The main sail dropped into the lazy jacks with a pretty good flake, making it 3 for 3 in sail management for the day. That sounds like a minor thing, but it offers some hope that our recent run of difficulties doing that thing most basic to sailing, i.e. putting up and taking down sails, may be in the past. Some hardware changes and using different techniques have, hopefully, put those things behind us. One of the projects for this summer will be to change some of the running rigging and modify the lazy jacks, with the intent of excising the last of our sail handling gremlins.

The moorings at Boot Key Harbor

Since we were planning to take a bus down to Key West for a day, and the winds are forecast to be in the 30s, we called the marina on the off chance they might have a mooring available. Amazingly enough they did, even one with an easy approach. We motored in and picked up the ball just like we knew what we were doing.

This is the first time we have been on a mooring in Boot Key, and the difference between being anchored out while here and now on a ball has been a bit of a surprise. With easy access to the marina being included in the fee, we head to shore every day. With all the boats around us also on a mooring ball, when the wind blows in the middle of the night we worry less about other boats getting free and running us down. Inside the harbor as we are, even with the winds howling, the ride is calm and sleep easy to find.

The cost isn't insignificant. In addition to the mooring fee itself, easy access to land means easy access to restaurants and ground transportation. We have spent nearly as much money “eating out” in the days we have been here as we did on food the entire time we were in the islands. For budget cruisers that is startling.

We have made some new friends who stopped by the boat because they saw “St. Louis, MO” on our stern. But the fact is, being on shore everyday, makes it so much easier to make connections to the tribe. Casual conversations are normally not so casual between boats that are anchored. There is a kind of perceived aura around an anchored boat, one that – often quite properly – suggests “strangers not welcome." Sitting in the cockpit and waving or nodding at those who pass by helps, but there is no getting around that deep in most cruiser souls is a streak of “loner”. We are different than those who live on land, and outnumbered millions and millions to one. We are loners almost by definition.

Yet, on the other hand, I have softened my inner, puritan voice, the one that whispers that true cruisers anchor out whenever they can. I don't know that I'll ever be of the group that goes from dock to dock, but that may be more an economic necessity than a choice of lifestyle. When I can spare the dollars, a mooring ball or occasional dock visit is a different kind of cruising, with pluses (and minuses) of its own.

One of which might be fewer times of thinking of jumping off the boat at 0400 on a windy morning.

 One of the anchorages in Key West

 A public beach in Key West

 A historical church in Key West on Duval Street

 Florida has some of the most amazing trees. Some of them are really wrinkly like this one.

 The southern most point in the US. The line was 3  blocks long to take

your picture there so we skipped that.

 The Strand theater opened in 1920 and now houses, unfortunately, a Walgreens store.

 Old friends Carolyn and Dave of Boat Galley fame and new friends Diana and John of S/V Joy

enjoying the good eats at Burdines in Boot Key Harbor

A perfect rainbow this morning