Bahamas - Not This Time

Port Everglades 2/4-8/00

Ever since I first got my drivers license, I’ve enjoyed spending time on the road. At that time I lived in Chicago. I’d drive 800+ miles to New York to see the Statue of Liberty on a 3 day weekend. I’d never even get out of the car, just wave at the majestic lady, do a 180, and head back. On several occasions I did the West Coast using only 5 vacation days – leaving Friday after work, returning late Sunday night. I’d volunteer to take a couple months off during slow times for a Florida vacation, with the agreement that I’d return and work the weekends if they needed me; and they usually did.

My wife and I lived aboard a sailboat for 3 years in the 70’s. Traveling on the water was just as satisfying as being on the road, maybe more so. We sold the sailboat in the early 80’s shortly after the birth of our daughter and a commitment to land based living. Spoiled by the comforts of a home, our next boat was a 35’ trawler. The trawler indeed offered all the comforts of home but it didn’t provide much traveling satisfaction; it was moored 350 miles from home and couldn’t be used for weekend cruising, not to mention a relatively limited cruising range for even a week aboard. The trawler experience lasted a little over a year. We went boatless for 3 years after we sold her. There were many road trips by car during those 3 years, but the void of not having a boat grew and grew.

I had time to contemplate the perfect boat after selling the trawler. I dreamed of something the family could spend a week at a time aboard. The wish list included a place for two (and occasionally 3) to sleep aboard, a toilet, a fresh water tank, a stove, a provision to be out of inclimate weather while steering, and it had to be easily managed. I ended up with a 15’11” outboard powered cuddy. It will allow all of my 6’ to sleep horizontally, in a straight line, with enough room for my wife beside me. The boat is equipped with a porta-potty, 14 gallon water tank, a single burner propane camping stove and canvas to totally enclose the helm. I also opted for the camper back, which encloses the entire cockpit, allowing a 3^rd crewmember to stay comfortable and dry while sleeping outside the cuddy. We call the boat “QT”.

My goal is to spend at least one night a month aboard with a couple weeklong trips a year. The last time out was when my wife and I spent a night on the water in early December to watch the Charleston SC boat parade and fireworks show. The rest of December and all of January slipped by without an outing; things were just too busy at work. QT sat patiently on her trailer, next to the house, waiting for her next adventure.

Finally, in early February, there was an opportunity to get away. I told my family that I would be heading south on February 4^th, and if they wanted to accompany me, they were welcome. My daughter had school and my wife had to work, so I planned to go alone – I’d be gone a week.

Nick’s Rule of Overnighting states that if the temperature will get below 40 degrees, head farther south to launch. I decided to play the best odds and head for Fort Lauderdale/Miami. I slept aboard in the parking lot of the Florida Welcome Center on Friday night. Saturday night was spent aboard, in the water, in Manatee Pocket near Stuart. The Pocket is a neat place. There’s an excellent ramp, the surrounding area is varied and interesting, and there was a chance that some fellow boaters might still be hanging out there. A circumnavigation of the Pocket, several attempts on the VHF and a cursory check of the area by car didn’t turn them up, but I did have a very pleasant time in the area. I cruised around to Stuart, as far as the Roosevelt Bridge anchorage, (I can clear the RR Bridge even when it is down), on the return I poked my bow out the St Lucie inlet, then meandered south down the ICW. It was so peaceful in the No Wake Manatee Zone that I dropped the hook for an afternoon nap. I was awakened by a passing Sea Tow rescue boat who hailed me to see if I needed assistance – I didn’t mind being disturbed, but maybe what I need is a flag I can hoist that alerts passers by of “Crew Napping”.

I eventually returned to the area near the ramp, put the boat in about 5 feet of water and dropped the hook for the night. It was cold, so I put up the top, side curtains and back curtain. This canvas closes off the cockpit from the windscreen to just behind the seats. The camper back would have been nice, but it’s larger and hard to repack so I don’t usually mess with it unless there’s 3 of us aboard for the night.

Secure inside, but a little cold, I fired up the single burner camping stove for a cup of hot chocolate. Mmmmmm, did it ever hit the spot. I left the fire going for awhile as I sat there taking in the surroundings. Occasionally, boats would pass by going up into the pocket and without exception, they would slow to a real no wake. I watched as a few boats were launched, and as several returned to be brought landside. Pelicans, expecting handouts, welcomed every boat that approached the ramp. A couple of fellows executed several throws of a cast net off the dock…I could see them bending over to examine their catch by the light at the end of the ramp. I finally turned in, climbing into the cuddy and my cozy sleeping bag. A chilly shoulder alerted me a couple times in the night that the sleeping bag was not keeping me completely covered.

I was up before sunrise, had the boat on the trailer, and was making my way to I95 well before dawn. There was a Cracker Barrel at the I95 interchange that wouldn’t let me past without having breakfast; I succumbed to a delicious omelet and a bottomless cup of coffee before getting on I95 south.

The next stop was the ramp at Lauderdale. I had been to John U Lloyd State Park, just south of Port Everglades Inlet, on a previous trip. It’s a couple bucks to get into the park, but there’s a very nice ramp, plenty of parking and the location is ideal. I put everything aboard I’d need for the next couple days, put the boat in the water, parked the truck/trailer out of the way, called the wife to check in/out and was on my way north up the ICW by about 9:30 am.

While living aboard the sailboat those 3 years, my wife and I spent the first winter in the Keys, the second in the Bahamas and the third winter we were in the Caribbean. We liked the Bahamas best, often dreaming about spending more time there without having to worry about draft, or the need to plan so far ahead because the boat could only make 5 knots. It would be great to be able to poke around the Bahamas in QT. However, crossing the Gulf Stream in a 16’ boat requires much consideration, caution, and preparation. But here I was, in Florida, at the Port Everglades Inlet knowing that if the opportunity presented itself, I would make a day trip to Bimini, or Cat Cay. With that in mind, I headed out into the Big Puddle.

The plan this time, as before, was to head east out the inlet, following a Bimini “goto” on the GPS. After an hour and a half, I would make for the nearest land. On a good day, in a well mannered Gulf Stream, 90 minutes at a very comfortable 22 mph would put me 33 miles off shore, substantially closer to Bimini than Ft Lauderdale.

My wife Suzy asked me before I left, “What circumstances I would have to experience in order to make the commitment to cross the Gulf Stream?”

I told her I’d just know if it was right, but she wanted something more concrete. I offered that the forecast would have to call for improving weather for at least 36 hours, and the current conditions would have to be conducive enough to favor Bimini using my hour and a half rule. Suzy knows the boat has positive floatation, I always wear my life jacket when heading offshore, and that in addition to the cell phone and fixed GPS and VHF, I carry a handheld GPS, and a handheld VHF. I also keep my Coast Guard safety equipment current and I have a sea anchor aboard. She also took comfort knowing that I had contacted Tow Boat/US in Ft Lauderdale and would file a Float Plan with them before committing. 

I can listen to the VHF weather for 15 minutes and if I don’t write down what is said, I won’t have a clue what the weather will be when I turn it off -- kind of like listening to the admiral 8-). I do remember trends though, and having listened to the forecast many times as I was driving from The Pocket and again as I made my way out the inlet, I knew the forecast was for improving weather…I guess I ought to note the forecast in the log book (next time I will make a point of it). Looking back I think the wind was 10-15 mph and fading out of the NE, with the forecast for it to eventually swing to the West at 5, before calming all together. The Gulf Stream was 8 feet, but would be diminishing over the next two days. I know the Gulf Stream can sometimes get calmer at night, and I would have considered coming back in the dark if necessary.

In spending over 1,000 days/nights aboard the sailboat, I grew to have a sense about venturing offshore. I had a feeling by the time I entered the jetties that I wouldn’t see Bimini on this run, but continued out anyway. If nothing else, it would be an excellent opportunity to ‘play’ some in the Gulf Stream…to learn a little more about my Arima without putting myself in appreciable danger.

Someone asked me once, “How do you know when the seas are too big, or the weather is too bad?” I suppose everyone has his or her own answer to that question, but to me, you are in trouble when your boat does not act predictably. This means that if you know how she will act under given conditions and can compensate if necessary, in a predictable manner, you are not in over your head (so to speak). Of course there will come a point where you can no longer predictably compensate, but hopefully by intelligently testing the waters, you will know where/when that point is and avoid it, at least until you have an opportunity to find a way to manage it.

After about an hour, I was 10+ miles offshore…I drifted with the engine off for about 20 minutes. I started the engine and let it idle in gear while I took the seas on the bow, stern and all points between. I did it again at 5 mph, again at 10 mph, again 15 mph, again at 20 mph = WOT in those conditions. This was the first time I had ever experienced the motor race from the prop being out of the water but the boat never gave me cause for concern. In fact, she reminded me of a porpoise moving playfully through the swells. I learned that while I wouldn’t normally expect to do any boating in this type of sea, there was certainly no reason to believe there would be any concern if I had to be out in it. I was convinced that I could have made Bimini, it just would have taken a whole lot longer.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting that next time the forecast is for 8’ that I will just allow more time. I’ve been in the Stream often enough to know it doesn’t listen to the forecasts…you can’t really know what it’s going to be like out there, and that what the Gulf Stream is dishing up today at 8’ could be quite different from the next 8’ encounter. No ‘etched in stone’ judgements could be made from this experience, it was simply an observation/experiment that was to be incorporated in my big picture of boating.

On the trip back in, I started a run north up the shore when I got close enough to make out people on the Ft Lauderdale Beach, but decided I’d rather spend the time in more protected waters on the Dania Cutoff or the New River. I might even venture north up the ICW for a spell. And who knows, maybe tomorrow the Gulf Stream would quiet down some and I could give it another shot.

The 17^th Street Bridge had just opened so the waters on both sides were a maelstrom of floating real estate of all shapes and sizes. I hung back and waited for the mess to clear. My boat felt very sluggish as I slogged through the current under the bridge. The steep rollers funneling between the bridge fenders kept the bow up and the stern dug in, even at full throttle. The boat behaved as if there were more current than seemed apparent.

I cut across the ICW and tied up at the small boat dock of the marina. A bag of ice and maybe I’d pick up a beer to have with dinner on the hook. As I stepped out of the boat onto the dock, I noticed the bilge pump discharge. This was uncharacteristic. Maybe a cooler had overturned. I got back aboard and checked - nope, both coolers were in good shape. The discharge quit but it bothered me because it’s very rare for enough water to make its way aboard to activate the bilge pump. The only time I’d known that to happen was during a heavy rain.

As I stepped on the dock a second time, the pump came on again. The water tank…a line must have come off the water tank and it’s draining into the bilge. I tasted the discharge water - it was salty. What the heck could the problem be?

There’s a lagoon behind the ramp at John U Lloyd. I made my way to the lagoon and beached the boat. As much of the hull as I could see looked great while I was standing in the water, but the pump came on again. I took QT over to the ramp. As I waited in line for my turn to get out of the water, the pump came on several times. Finally I got QT back on her trailer.

There was no doubt the boating part of my vacation was over as I got a good look at the hull once out of the water. There was a 4” fracture at the starboard bow, just below the waterline. Several months back, a repair had been made by a boatyard to an impact point at that spot, and the repair had let loose. I considered patching the area with underwater epoxy that I carry aboard, but decided it best to contact the folks at Arima to see what they recommended to keep this from happening again.

I headed home via Savannah and Beaufort NC - even if I couldn’t spend any more time IN the water, at least I could spend some time NEAR the water.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Car miles = 2040

Boat miles = 63.7

Boat fuel = 10.1 gallons

Engine hours = 7.0