Desperate Measures

The birds have been horrible of late. The Grackles, or at least what I believe to be Grackles, have been getting bolder and louder. They make a terrible mess everywhere they sit, particularly when purple berries are in season, and seem to delight in tracking their feces all over Alana's decks, hatches and rails. I'd start shooting them, but I think I'd be arrested before I could make a noticeable dent in their population. Rather than scrub the boat every day, I have adapted a neighboring boat's method of discouraging the birds. Instead of the tin plates and aluminum foil they use, I have suspended 49 CDs above Alana's decks and boom. The discs twirl and flash in the sun, creating quite a disco effect which I hope the birds will find annoying. Of course their will be no strobe effect at night or on cloudy days, but if the birds only stay away on sunny days, I'll be satisfied. If the experiment continues to produce encouraging results, I'll work on a way to get some CDs up above the spreaders, a favorite Grackle hangout. A plastic owl might also help, particularly at night and on those cloudy days. As you can see by the malignant look in his eye, I have a determined enemy, one not likely to be deterred forever by some harmless twirling CDs.

Still Freakin' Cold!

Cabin Boy here, filling in for Cap'n Dave. I've been offered the chance to blog rather than do dishes, and have jumped at it.

Today (Saturday) began much like the day before, and the day before that: biting winds, a hurried nature call over the downwind rail, then back to the warmth of my sleeping coccoon while water heated for a shower (thanks to Cap'n Dave, who had been up for a bit) and coffee brewed (ditto). What was different this morning was the presence of the lovely Jessica, who arrived last evening to supply us with cheese, chocolate-covered pretzels, and other essentials. Haystacks for dinner was another of the day's highlights, but the real event was our Coast Guard helicopter fly-by, organized by Jessica. While the helicopter circled overhead, we did our best to not give the appearance of being in distress. Fortunately, Barry had his flare gun taken away just as he was about to either signal for help that we didn't need or blow the helo out of the sky.

After breakfast, Jessica headed back to Savannah, and Alana headed south past Tybee Island and out on the big detour that would take us around the extensive shallows between here and Savannah. Until we had to turn northward into the Wassaw Sound, it was fine sailing, making 5-6 knots on just the genoa over quite flat water, and the sun shone most of the day. If only it had been warmer. Cap'n D saw a porpoise jump well clear of the water, and I saw a sea gull defecate.

Tonight we're anchored in the Wilmington River about 45 minutes from home. We'll time our arrival at Isle of Hope to arrive with favorable tides tomorrow morning, and spend the rest of the day warming up and doing a bit of sightseeing in Savannah.

Cold, Wet, Windy & Fun

Yesterday, my brother Mike, who now lives in Boulder, joined me for a few days of local sailing. It dawned cold and rainy, but since we were locked into a schedule we left Isle of Hope as planned and made our way out to sea via Wassaw Sound. We cleared the sound and headed up the coast to Port Royal Sound, dropping the hook just east of Parris Island before sunset. We encountered 25-26 knots of wind, plenty of rain and unexpectedly cool temperatures en route, so were pretty beat. Rather than some sort of gourmet feast, we enjoyed a couple of cans of Steak & Potato soup sprinkled liberally with cheese, then headed almost immediately to bed. It was too cold for lounging about and we both appreciated the warmth of our sleeping bags.

After a good night's rest (about 11 hours worth) we woke to clear, sunny skies. The wind was still fresh and forecast to strengthen, so we opted to transit to Calibogue Sound via the ICW rather than the usual ocean route. The northwesterly wind direction allowed us to sail most of the way, so we didn't feel too wimpy for having taken the "old person" route, and we were anchored in time for a latish lunch (turkey subs again).

Following lunch we took the dingy out to test some recent repairs to the outboard. Happily, it ran fine so Jessica will be able to join us for dinner tonight. She's driving up from Savannah and we'll be picking her up at Harbor Town Marina via dingy.

For some reason I'm unable to upload pictures, but will do so at a later date when we have a stronger internet connection.

Back to the Swamp

We sailed from our harbor Town anchorage at high tide this morning and enjoyed a smooth sail south to Tybee, then southwest to Wassaw Sound and north into the Wilmington River. We were pleased to find a horseshoe crab clinging to the anchor chain when we weighed anchor. It clung tenaciously to the chain and did not seem particularly shy. We are presently anchored in 21 feet of water about 300 feet from a muddy marsh. I understand that the morass of muck and grass I see is a "wetland," something to be cherished and protected, but it looks like a dismal swamp to me. So far we have not been molested by bugs and there is a gently breeze to keep things comfortable. I'm going to stay up until the current switches from flood to ebb, just to watch the fathometer and ensure we don't swing into a shallow spot.

Barry has been keeping a low profile for most of this trip, but this morning Jess awoke to find him reaching under her covers. Luckily for Barry she did not tell me until much later, or Barry might have received the beating he deserves.

Tomorrow morning we'll again weigh anchor and motor the last 4.5 miles to Isle of Hope Marina where we'll give Alana a quick washdown. Jess has a lot of studying to do, so the bulk of the cleanup will have to wait until Monday. We've both enjoyed this trip, at times anyway, and I at least, am looking forward to doing it again soon.

Chillin' and Repairin'

Today involved a couple of repairs as well as some relaxation (if you consider Jessica studying emergency procedures to be relaxing). After breakfast we planned to head out in the dingy, just to explore a little and to give the motor some exercise - we all know that motors do not like to sit idle. Alas we discovered that the motor (6hp, 4-stroke Mercury) wouldn't come above idle before it would cough and die. We traced the problem to gum in the carburetor, doubtless the result of sitting for months in the sun without having had the bowl drained (I discovered the convenient drain plug too late). We cleaned out what we could and put everything back together, then tested the motor. It seemed OK, revving effortlessly to red line, but once we cast off and really put a load on the motor we found that it was still afflicted. We puttered, and I DO mean puttered, the mile or so to Harbor Town Marina, figuring that they would surely carry the carburetor cleaner we needed to make a proper repair, but found that they did not. Leaving the marina for the trip back, the motor became weaker and weaker, eventually stalling as we left the channel. We managed to row back to ALana, a feat which was a little trickier than it sounds due to the 2-3 knots of current that threatened to push us past the boat. We managed to grab onto Alana as we swished past and resolved to spend the rest of the day aboard.

Once aboard, we turned our attention toward discovering the source of the stench that had periodically been filling the boat. It turned out that some wasps had built a nest in the through-hull fitting for the sewage tank vent. As the vent was clogged with mud, the gasses were forced to vent through the toilet, burping noxious odors into the interior. We managed to blow the wasp nests out of the vent line with a garden hose and are now back to relaxing, free from the funky odors which have plagued us. Barring the need for an unforeseen fix, we plan to spend the rest of our day enjoying what can be enoyed aboard a 37-foot boat at anchor. Hopefully the band will be playing again in Harbor Town. We'll be treated to some live tunes while supping on chicken, rice and bean "stoup," bathed in the light of a full moon.

Shaking the Wasps Out

This afternoon, my fiance Jessica and I sailed from Isle of Hope (where Alana has languished for the past 100+ days) to Hilton Head. We are now anchored off Harbor Town, listening to the musical stylings of a nameless musician drift across the water. His Bob Dylan is spot-on; the Journey can use some work. We are also being treated to the huffing and puffing of porpoises as they patrol the anchorage.

Today's sail was largely uneventful. We did discover that a family of wasps had built mud nests in the masthead as well as in a fold of the sail. These nests fell to out freshly scrubbed decks as soon as we hoisted the main. For much of the way we were shadowed by flocks of pelicans which apparently mistook Alana for a fishing vessel. Jessica squealed and hid her face whenever they passed close and up wind, however, there were no direct hits, just a couple of close calls.

Diver Down

Alana's bottom got a good cleaning and inspection this morning. Scott Boyd, a former Coastie that now works for the fire department and dives part time, cleaned and inspected Alana's underwater body, cleaned off a small amount of growth, removed accumulated gunk from the through-hulls and replaced the propeller zinc. "Replaced" may not be the right word as there was no zinc to replace. "Installed" would be a better verb. I have apparently waited too long to get the divers into action and the zinc which mounts to the aft side of the propeller hub has completely dissolved. I hope no real damage to the propeller has resulted. I was happy to learn that the Micron Extra bottom paint is still holding up well after a year and a half. We have been hoping that new bottom paint can wait until Spring, and it looks like that is the case.

Jessica and I have been planning a short sailing trip next week, assuming that her job and looming hurricanes don't intervene, so it will be nice to know that a dirty bottom will not slow us down.

Georgia Caviar

I recently made the mistake of leaving Alana's dingy in the water for about two weeks as I traveled around a bit. It had been fine in the water down in Pensacola all winter, so I assumed that a couple weeks in the warm waters of Georgia's Skidaway River couldn't hurt too much. Boy, was I wrong! I returned to find about 2inches worth of various plants and critters covering the bottom of the boat (click on the pictures for maximum revulsion). They were so heavy that I could barley lift the dingy out of the water up onto the pier to clean the gunk off. Most of the growth consisted of what I later found out are called "sea grapes" by the locals, littler round, muddy looking spheres. I at first took these to be some sort of marine plant life and didn't stress a whole lot when they would pop and spray me in the face with salty liquid as I scraped away. Closer examination however, revealed that they were actually fish eggs and that I was showering myself with fish egg whites. Mmmmmmmmmm, fish egg whites! I manged to scrape away all the eggs and other soft growth, but have so far had no luck with the round, calcified footprints left by each of the several thousand crustaceans I scraped away. Alana's bottom paint seems to be doing its job, so I'm not too worried about her, but it is clear that my dingy needs to reside above water some place.

Hold the Flowers

The condolences are appreciated, but premature. Barry lives! Not 10 minutes ago he was lying in state atop Alana's cabintop when, miraculously he sprang back to life, scaring the heck out of a couple of mourners. I'm not a believer in reincarnation, so I can only assume that this morning's shock was merely a stunner not the fatal jolt I had suspected. He's now topside climbing up and down the shrouds, seemingly without a care in the world. I have to admit that I'm happy to have him back; he's a constant trial, but he's MY trial. Welcome home Barry!

Cancel the Shelter

I'm sorry to report that Barry's unhealthy fixation with electricity has finally done him in. His opposable thumbs enabled him to get the breaker panel open this morning. He apparently amused himself licking and probing the 12-volt side, but he either deliberately or accidental strayed into the 110-volt section and now the whole boat smells of burnt monkey fur. RIP Barry.

Shock the Monkey

I took advantage of the early hour and overcast skies to do a little cleaning and polishing on deck this morning. I am finding Savannah to be oppressively hot and humid, something I'll no doubt get used to after a while. While I worked, Barry amused himself by repeatedly thrusting his tongue into an electrical socket. I wouldn't have minded particularly, but he kept tripping the breaker, causing the crucial air conditioner to shut off. I'm thinking seriously about dropping him off at a local shelter.

Fin

1,124 miles after leaving Pensacola, Alana is safely moored at Isle of Hope Marina, Savannah, GA. It is about 16 miles from here to the sea via swamps and ditches with a 10-foot tidal range and some significant currents, so I don't think we'll be doing too many spur-of-the-moment little day trips. It feels good to be here at last. I should be giving Alana a thorough washdown, but given the heat, the humidity and the fact I was up all night, she might have to be content with a quick rinse. Early mornings and late evenings look like they'll be the productive hours around here.

On the Road Again

You know it's going to be a good day when it starts out with a particularly good breakfast. I just enjoyed one of my favorites, an avocado, tomato and Marmite, open-faced sandwich on sourdough toast - mmmmmmmmmmmmm! Once this update is posted I'll start getting ready to weigh anchor around 11 o'clock. I'm eager to get going, but as there will not be much in the way of wind until this afternoon, there's no reason to rush. Once the winds do develop, all forecasts agree that the next 48 hours or so should be perfect. There should be 9-12 knots out of the east and southeast, ideal for my planned north-northeast track to Wassaw Sound.

I'm Alive!

I awoke this morning, so I can only assume that the jhadi cabbie did not behead me in my sleep. I did spend some uneasy moments before falling asleep, staring up at the open hatch above my bunk and waiting for a jambiya-wielding arm to reach down for my throat. Alana is again back in her favorite Jacksonville anchorage waiting for the weather to improve. There is virtually no wind at the moment, making things pretty hot and bug-friendly at the moment. Jacksonville is supposed to see 90 degrees today, but as we're anchored in a 77-degree river, we'll not see 90. It is now looking like Friday afternoon will produce the necessary steady winds. I'm more than ready to get going.

I met a couple of pretty cool dudes yesterday. They were delivering a 61-foot sport fisherman (down, Conor, down!) named Huntress to Hatteras, NC. They approached the marina as I sat in Alana's cockpit eating chicken wings. I assured them that fuel was available, but that nobody would be around unto 8 o'clock tomorrow, then granted them permission to tie up at the fuel dock overnight. I helped with their lines and was rewarded with a large quantity of Havana iced coffee, a product developed by the boat's owner. It packs a serious caffeine wallop, so it will be important to keep Barry out of it. I'd much rather deal with a drunken Barry than a hopped up Barry. They need to average 20 knots between here and Hatteras to meet their deadline, and given the sea state, I can only assume that Huntress is in for a beating. It must be cool to be able to just beat the crap out of a million-dollar boat.

Fort George

Alana is now moored at the Morningstar Fort George Marina on the west bank of the St. Johns river. I came in this morning to top off water and stock up on groceries so that I can continue waiting out in the anchorage in relative comfort. It is now looking like Saturday may be the day I can finally continue on toward Savannah.

I was originally supposed to be mooring in Mayport, on the other side of the river, but it turned out that there was a butthead in Alana's assigned spot. He was to have moved forward to make room, but refused to do so, saying that it would be "impossible" to get out if Alana were astern of his boat. The other Morningstar facility, located almost directly across the river, had plenty of space so I quickly agreed to tie up there instead. This was a mistake. The marina is brand new, the staff and manager couldn't be friendlier or more accommodating, but there is nothing nearby. It was a $60 cab ride to Publix. This side of the river is little more than swamp.

Today's real adventure was the cab ride. I called Jacksonville Yellow Cab and arranged for a pickup. The dispatcher assured me that someone would be here to pick me up within 20 minutes. This sounded reasonable, considering the remoteness of the location, and I continued puttering about the boat. A few minutes later I received a call from what sounded like a middle-eastern gentleman. He sounded, I assume, like most of the far off voices intercepted by the NSA planning bombings and other nefarious acts. I assured him that I was indeed the infidel that had called for a ride and he told me, I think, that he would be here in 10 minutes. I stationed myself out by the main drag in order to make myself as easy as possible to spot, and waited. After about 10 minutes I saw a cab. I was about to wave it down when I observed that the driver was an older, blond lady bearing no resemblance whatsoever to Osama bin Laden. She had a pink bunny on her dash saying "Jessus Loves Me" with no mention of Allah, so I felt confident in concluding that this was not my cab. After another 5 or 10 minutes the same cab returned, stopped beside me and the driver, who reminded me more than a little of Agnes Skinner (The Simpsons), asked if I had called for a cab. I told her that I had, but that I was expecting a male driver. She told me that since she was there I should just go with her. I demurred initially, feeling that it was only right to wait for they guy that was supposedly on his way. She told me something to the effect of, "He may be coming or he may not be. All you owe him is a call to cancel. That's how it works in this business." As someone that respects my elders and someone without an insider's knowledge of the cabbie code of ethics, I hopped in her cab and immediately called Osama bin Drivin' to cancel. He was understandably angry and told me, I think, that he had driven a long way to get me and was close. I apologized again and hung up the phone. No sooner had I hung up than we spotted another cab, a minivan, coming toward up in the opposite direction. This second cab, also festooned in Yellow Cab livery, screeched to a stop, honked its horn and did a u-turn to give chase. Agnes of God kept driving, monitored her mirrors and shared her opinions on, "that Arab pri*#." It was looking like we might be able to make a clean getaway when we were trapped by a drawbridge. Sensing danger, Agnes of God called her dispatcher to apprise them of the situation. The dispatcher, who had apparently told Osama that he had no beef as long as the customer cancelled before being picked up, was treated to a play by play of the situation. Agnes described how Osama had leaped from his van and was pounding on our windows, yelling and waving his arms wildly. Why neither Agnes nor I thought to lock the doors I don't know, but the next thing I knew Osama had the rear door open and was attempting to extract me from the cab, screaming, "He's my fare, he's my fare." Agnes unleashed a torrent of profanity, several phrases of which almost certainly constituted hate crimes, and punched the gas. Simultaneously, I wrenched my arm from Osama's clammy grasp and he tumbled out the door and the door slammed shut. Agnes expertly locked the doors and braked hard to avoid rear-ending the car in front of us, never for a moment letting up her play by play with the dispatcher. Realizing that his jihad had failed, Osama slunk back to his cab, vowing vengeance. The bridge opened and we went on our not-so-merry way to Publix. We parked in one of the designated handicapped parking spots (Agnes, who showed no sign of any disability beyond chronic racial insensitivity) had a handy placard which she hung from the mirror, then we both went shopping.

Osama has tried to call me since I returned to Alana. I don't know what he wants, and am not really inclined to chat with him, but if he persists, I may just be forced to. I just hope he doesn't return to the marina and slash my throat as I sleep. At least I can take comfort in the fact that his are not a vengeful people.

And Now We Wait

I checked the forecast as soon as I awoke this morning, hoping that the outlook might have changed since yesterday's gloom and doom predictions. Not much has changed. As you can see from the graphic (may need to click on it) the low south of Bermuda is going to continue pumping air from the northeast. This is forecast to continue for at least 3 or 4 days and will then be followed by a couple days of light and variable puffs. As you can imagine, neither condition is any good if one is trying to sail from Jacksonville to Savannah. This is particularly disappointing because it means I will not get to spend Memorial Day weekend in Mobile with Jessica as we had hoped.

I've been passing the time performing small chores around the boat, such as cleaning the shower drain filter, reading and listening to the radio. I'm husbanding food and water, hoping that I don't have to run of the river to resupply.

Barry baked a batch of cookies today - amazing what a gentle waterboarding can do for a miscreant's outlook. He's a slow learner, so I am not yet ready to declare him "rehabilitated," but the signs are positive. I'll eat just one or two initially and remain alert for signs of cannabis or ex-lax. As Ronald Reagan would have suggested, I'll, "trust but, verify."

So Near, But Yet So Far....

I dropped the hook this morning, just north of the main ship channel in the St. Johns River (the entrance to Jacksonville). I was originally planning to stay overnight, then head north on the final leg of this trip tomorrow, but circumstances have changed. The potential storm south of Bermuda is looking like it will, at the very least, create strong northerlies for the next few days, northerlies that would make the Jacksonville - Savannah run a miserable ordeal. For a while I toyed with the idea of leaving tonight (after a nap) and trying to stay ahead of the storm, but a reassessment of the forecast and a nagging feeling that I should stay in safe harbor, have led me to hunker down instead. This isn't the best anchorage for "hunkering," but I think it will do. Alana is in about 25 feet of water between the main channel to the south and a sandy beach to the north. The currents in the river are rather strong and there is not much protection from the wind, but it is another 11 miles up the river to the next viable anchorage. Any strong winds from the north will tend to push us toward the deep channel, not toward the beach, so with two GPS alarms set, I feel reasonably secure. Everything is laid out in readiness to get underway at a moment's notice if necessary.

I'll not be living in luxury while waiting out the weather. There is no convenient way to get supplies from here, so I'll be making do with what I have. I have: more than 50% water, plenty of beans, plenty of rice, 1/2 a gallon of milk, some bread, 1/2 a box of Goldfish, a sleave of bagels, a generator, a number of onions, canned soup, a stereo, a computer, pumpkin seeds, and dozens of shorts and t-shirts. Of greater concern is Barry. He's got enough issues under normal conditions; I shudder to think what he might get up to should he be stricken with cabin fever!

Off Daytona

The GPS reads 1.5 knots and the seas are glassy; there’s an easterly swell left over from when we did have wind and Alana’s creaking and groaning as she wallows along. Things should pick up this afternoon, hopefully enough to get us to Jacksonville between 2 and 5 o’clock Monday morning when the current should be flooding.

I had a stalker for a while yesterday. A stupid looking seabird, one with a very round, owl-like head, joined up with us. It was either very tame, very stupid, or both, because it would fly slowly along beside the cockpit, just beyond arm’s reach. It was not in any way deterred by yelling, waving or obscene gestures. Even after I resorted to whacking it with a fishing pole it only left briefly, collected its thoughts on the water, then returned to flap along beside us. I’ve never known a seabird to go 20 seconds without moving its bowels, so it was important to me that this one not do so on either myself or Alana. Completely unconcerned with me, the bird landed atop the bimini, not a foot above my head. I could see the dark shape of its duck-like feet through the canvas and I was just waiting for the wet blob of guano to soak into the canvas. I repeatedly struck the canvas from below, but it wasn’t until the third or fourth blow launched it physically into the air that it gave up. No doubt he returned during the night to exact his revenge; I just haven’t discovered it yet.

There was to have been a Delta IV rocket launch last night and I would have been well positioned to see it as we sailed past Cape Canaveral, but for whatever reason it was postponed 24 hours – bummer.

I’ve sailed 956 miles since leaving Pensacola and will have only about 100 to go upon leaving Jacksonville. Those last 100 have the potential to be some of the trickier and more frustrating of the trip. The winds look like they’ll be a bit too northerly for an easy transit and there appear to be any number of ways to run aground while negotiating the swamps surrounding Savannah. I’ll definitely be calling the marina for some local knowledge before leaving the safety of the deep blue sea.

No keepers so far, Conor. Your patented lure has scored some Bonito, but so far the Mahi Mahi have eluded me. I’m guessing it is just too shallow as I have rarely been in more than 100 feet of water, even 16 miles off as I am now.

Barry underwent an enhanced interrogation this afternoon. Under intense questioning he revealed that he was sent here to make my life miserable, a mission he has so far executed flawlessly. I still believe he has some redeeming qualities; they are just deeply buried.

Next Stop, Jacksonville

We weighed anchor this morning around 7:00 and are slowly sliding north toward Cape Canaveral at a not-so-exciting 2.5-3.0 knots. The winds should be picking up this afternoon and blowing 10-15 for the next three days, so help is on the way.

The outgoing ebb current created some very large standing waves between the Fort Pierce jetties as we motored out this morning. Alana completely buried her bow a few times, grinding almost to a stop as she did so. I suppose that irregularities on the bottom were forcing water up into large, unexpected and steep waves. Anyway, we made it out safely and immediately sought calmer waters by clearing north of the inlet.

Once everything was squared away on deck and all three sails set and drawing, I deployed Conor’s patented fishing lure. His “lure” is more of an “array” consisting of a torpedo-like item with stumpy wings that thrashes the surface. The torpedo is followed by three pink plastic squid and then, bringing up the rear, a green and yellow feathered lure containing the hook. Conor has assured me that this rig cannot fail, though I suspect he forgot to factor in my ineptitude when making that claim – I’ll keep you posted.

It looks like I'll be losing my cell signal before Conor's wonder-lure has a chance to work it's magic. I'll save those trophy shots for tomorrow or the next day.

I don't know why, but for some reason I am unable to upload picture right now. Oh well, no great loss, I'll try again another time.

Fort Pierce

I dropped the hook this morning at about 9 o'clock, just south of Causeway Island in Fort Pierce, in just about the exact same spot we occupied back on December 2. This time however, my time has been spent napping and eating, not running around looking for hydraulic fluid for the autopilot.

Yesterday's sail up from Miami was largely uneventful, just good winds and small seas. The wind dropped off a little during the night, meaning that we missed the flood current and had to enter port on the ebb, but other than that everything went smoothly. I did see one of the largest sport fishing boats I have ever seen off of West Palm Beach. I don't know if it is really even"sport" or "fishing" if you approach it that way. Why not just buy Starkist or Chicken of the Sea?

The anchorage here in Fort Pierce is rather unremarkable, but it is one of only a couple readily accessible anchorages between Miami and Jacksonville. All the others involve considerable transits up or down the ICW, making them unattractive to me.

The plan is to shoot straight from here to Jacksonville. We'll ride the ebb out tomorrow morning then work our way north (hopefully with minimal tacking), arriving in Jax Sunday night or Monday morning. There are some light winds in the forecast, so no one should be unduly alarmed if I don't actually get to Jax on Monday.

North From Miami

Alana slipped out of Miamarina first thing this morning. I stopped briefly at Miami Beach Marina on the way out to top off on diesel, and am now sailing easily north past Fort Lauderdale. The weather is close to perfect and predicted to stay that way for at least a couple days. Today's easterlies are supposed to back to the northeast tomorrow, so I'm angling offshore a little so that I don't get pinched against the coast tomorrow. I'll likely be out of cellular range tonight, but if the winds do back as predicted, should be back within range tomorrow some time.

Barry's a bit under the weather today. I returned from my foray to the grocery store to find that he had broken into the liquor locker. We can now add temperance to the list of valuable lessons he's learned during this trip.

I don't yet know what the our next port will be, either Port Canaveral or Jacksonville, I suppose. The sailing is so pleasant at the moment that I'd hate to waste time on an unnecessary port visit.

Relaxing in Miami

Not a whole lot of note happened today. I walked what seemed like 26 miles to the nearest Publix to buy some greens, then spent the rest of the day washing and squaring away the boat. Unfortunately, Captain Brown, one of my Coast Guard heroes, had to cancel his visit, so I'll just have to wait for him to catch up in Savannah.

Tomorrow's winds look light, making it tempting to stay another day, but I'm leaving anyway. I suppose that Fort Pierce or Port Canaveral will be the next stop.

Miami

Alana is enjoying a rare visit to a marina. Normally we anchor out and save money, but every few weeks it doesn't hurt to do it in style. She is at Miamarina (stupid name, but nice enough place) in downtown Miami. She certainly looks more affordable than most of her neighbors, but is also one of the more attractive vessels I can see. After a quick burger, Alana enjoyed a freshwater wash down and some tidying-up.

Last night the wind dropped to nothing, or next to nothing, requiring that we motor-sail the last 60 miles to Miami. Thankfully, it was smooth enough not to require too much engine power, so we just purred along at about 4.5 knots. Due to the proximity of shoals, I never allowed myself to nap for more than 10 minutes at a shot. I found this to be far, far, lest restful than the 22-minute naps I had been taking further off.

Leaving Key West Behind

We slipped out of Key West about 20 minutes before sunrise this morning. There was little other activity in the harbor, Key West fishermen apparently not being adherants of the, "early bird get's the worm" philosophy.

The winds are blowing at 15 to 18 knots out of the southeast, and there is enough south in the wind to let Alana beat along her track to Miami - barely. The forecast is good today and tonight, with a drop in wind speed predicted for tomorrow. I suppose I’ll sail through the night in order to take advantage of the breeze while it lasts. I’m following Hawk Channel, a very convenient natural channel between the Keys and the offshore reef. I had toyed with the idea of sailing outside the reef in order to take advantage of the Gulf Stream, but since safe passages back through the reef are few and far between, I elected to stay inside; it just provides more options, even if I’m giving up a little speed.

Alana enjoyed a brief race with some crazy Germans in a 47-ft catamaran. In the end the cat’s longer waterline proved too much for Alana and de Fuhrer blitzed past on our port side.

Barry’s mischievous nature got the better of him again. I caught him playing Russian roulette (with a single-shot flare pistol) and narrowly avoided tragedy by slapping the pistol out of his hands. I wonder if he has any idea how much a face full of burning phosphorous would hurt, never mind the fact that he could easily have started a hard-to-extinguish fire!

Which One Doesn't Belong?

I took a couple pictures this morning of some of my more colorful Key West neighbors. Most, obviously not all, appear to be full time live-aboards with considerable collections of "stuff" on deck. The "stuff" is typically protected by a mean-looking (not Elena Kagan mean-looking, but pretty mean-looking) dog of questionable pedigree. Many have signs cautioning against coming aboard or taking their "stuff."

There, I Fixed It should send a correspondent to Key West; there are some of the most amazing work-arounds, jury rigs and engineering solutions to be seen and documented. If you click on the 3rd picture you may be able to make out the steering/propulsion arrangement for the vessel. There are a number of 2x4" boards gripping a small, nearly submerged outboard motor like chopsticks. The boards are somehow linked to PVC pipes which serve as a tiller. I assume that this arrangement is to get around Florida law which requires a vessel to be operable in order to be classified as a "cruiser." If your boat can theoretically be navigated you can call yourself a "cruiser" and live aboard. If your boat cannot be operated, you are a bum an may not live aboard. I guess that this is based on the idea that these guys could conceivably get out to the 3-mile line to pump sewage, but it is clear to me that they never do.