Offshore to Florida

Thanks to the efficient folks at Westerbeke, we received our engine parts early enough on Tuesday to begin putting things back in order. Suffice it to say that the whole business was not cheap, shipping costs alone amounting to $60. After repairing portions of the wiring harness and replacing the heat exchanger, the restart was successful. Except that now, our raw water pump decided that it wanted some attention as well. A steady drip indicated that the seals had gone bad and that it would have to be repaired as well. Fortunately, the shop at the marina happened to have both the replacement pump and a rebuild kit.

A side note: as you leave Charleston Harbor, you round the historic Fort Sumter to starboard, site of the beginning of Civil War; or as they call it in the south, the War Between the States." The reality of the victors writing the history is summarily contained in the subtle differences even in what one calls the conflict. We had made a visit out to the fort via tour boat. While not much to look at in its present state, the five story structure being virtually reduced to rubble by the constant bombardment during the siege at the end of war, we enjoyed the lectures and story boards scattered throughout the grounds.

So with the work done and the wind fair, it was time to go. I had somehow convinced Joyce that the engine was now fine and the weather would be good for an overnight offshore passage down the coast to Florida, a distance of about 160 nautical miles. The ICW route along this stretch, while holding the allure of places like Beaufort (say Bewfort"), Savannah, and Hilton Head, it is also one plagued by strong currents as a result of a whopping 9 foot tidal difference. And the path is generally windy such that you travel about one and a half miles for every 1 mile made good. This combined with the fact that we hadn't really sailed the boat in over 400 miles convinced us that it was time to test our sea legs.

And boy what a test. We motored the first half hour away from our slip into Charleston Harbor, SC and then didn't need the engine again until we reached Fernandina Beach, FL some 160 miles later. We averaged over 6 knots under mainsail alone the entire passage. But we paid for the experience, or at least some of us did. Atlas became the first victim as we discovered his breakfast in several places around the cabin. Apollo would later follow suit. Both cats seemed fine about lunch time and even demanded some food. We gave them half rations which was rejected into their bowls even before they were finished. That would be the last they ate until we reached port the next morning. They seemed generally fine otherwise, being affectionate and lovable whenever either one of us came down into the cabin, not crying or appearing to be upset. When the off-watch person was below, at least one of the cats was always right there to keep us company.

Joyce followed their lead later on that evening as she showed me what she thought of my turkey and grilled cheese sandwich that I had made her for lunch. But much to her credit, she stood her watches without complaint. So why was everyone seasick? Probably because the 20 knots out of the northeast with higher gusts had build up some pretty good seas. This along with a secondary easterly swell made Watermark roll heavily at times. So was going offshore worth it? I suppose it depends on who you ask.

The trip wasn't all bad. As we left Charleston Harbor we overhead our friends Rick and Sandy of Changing Channels on the VHF. Since we haven't seen them since Annapolis, we quickly we hailed them to find our where they were. With such a strong signal, we knew they couldn't be far. "We're coming in to Charleston Harbor," they said. "Funny, we're just going out," we replied. Moments later, they were abeam with shouts, smiles and waves as they raced into the calm of the harbor. Our reunion was cut short by necessity as it's a bit dicey getting out of the harbor. A side exit through the breakwater shaves off about 5 miles when going southbound, but the breakers on either side of the narrow channel had us thinking twice about this plan. But through it we went and out into the Atlantic. As soon as we cleared the breakers, we kept the bow pointed east to gain the safety of deeper water. Ever so slowly, the depth sounder showed we were gaining ground, until we reached the forty-foot contour about 5 miles offshore. From then on, we were out of sight of land until we closed on Fernandina Beach the next morning. Not only out of sight of land, we saw few other boats or ships the entire time.

Around 4:00 p.m. that afternoon, we did hear someone calling us on the VHF. "This is strange. Who knows we're out here?," we thought. Turns out it was fellow boaters who Joyce had met at the docks aboard their trawler, Crystal Turtle. When finding out our plans for going offshore, he admitted to Joyce that he wanted to do the same, but his wife would have no parts of it. They were in the ICW near Hilton Head and were just within radio range. They wanted to know what the conditions were on the outside. I painted a rather rosy picture of things. But they had made the right decision staying inside. Trawlers roll much worse than sailboats and at the rate we were rolling, they would have had a miserable time of it. If he had gone out, it would probably have been the last, at least with this wife!

Just after dark however, we did sight two vessels, one well lighted vessel, coming up from astern and a second ship a little farther offshore heading north. Eventually recognizing the well lighted vessel as a cruise ship, we were able to contact her on the radio. I asked Joyce if she wanted to be on the cruise ship with all the banquet halls and buffet tables. All she could say was "Please don't talk to me about food." The cruise ship very graciously agreed to alter course to avoid running down our little sailboat and all the messy paperwork that would go with it. After these two ships passed, I began to wonder if the traffic would be busy all night. But that was it. We saw nor heard nothing else that night except the glory of a magnificent milky way and several dozen falling stars to boot.

Early the next morning and I do mean early, we were sailing the final few miles to the sea buoy off the St. Marys River. As we wanted to insure that we timed our approach to enter the harbor in daylight, I wondered how to slow us down. The sun seemed to be taking forever to chase away the darkness. At 7:00 am we finally jibed over on starboard tack and began closing the coast. By 8:15 we had cleared the breakwater into the calm inshore waters. By nine, our anchor was down and we were seriously thinking of making up for the lost sleep. But what a mess the boat was. We left Charleston with a spanking clean, orderly boat. Now strewn clothes, foul weather gear, charts, lights, pillows, blankets, harnesses, tethers, towels and rags, seemed to be everywhere and in chaos. And things smelled funny as well. For in addition to the known cat messes, one of the cats had thrown up on the settee that we had been using as our seaberth. (Are you ready to hear something really sickening?) Unbeknownst to us, we were probably laying in cat vomit when we were trying to sleep off-watch!

But while things were relatively calm at our anchorage, things were less calm ashore. Turns out that we had arrived just in time for the biggest college football game of the season in these parts. The rivalry between Georgia and Florida goes back some 70 years. And these folks are serious about their college football. One car after another paraded up and down the streets of Fernandina Beach, dual school flags flapping in the breeze. The radio, TV, and newspapers were full of game day coverage.

The following day, we made a short trip to an anchorage just north of the St. Johns River in preparation for a trip up the river to Jacksonville with the tide the next day. Like Baltimore, Jacksonville has a waterfront harborside shopping and dining center similar to Harbor Place to which we pulled up for a few hours. The cats took the opportunity to bask in the sunny cockpit, much to the amusement of many people passing by the docks. Just beyond Jacksonville Landing is a bridge over the St. Johns River carrying Interstate 95. As the bridge is only 40 feet vertical clearance and we require 50 feet, the bridge must open to allow us to pass and continue upstream to our anchorage for the night. So can you believe it, we stopped traffic on Interstate 95, just for our little boat! From here, we'll slow down for awhile, visit with Joyce's brother Mike and family in Jacksonville and prepare the boat for our trip to the Bahamas.

The kitties trying to figure out what a pumpkin is and whether they can eat it!