Trailerboat Launch

The shuttle was scheduled to lift off Thursday 5/16/96 at 6:30.  I had promised myself that I'd see one go up from the back of my boat so I planned a vacation from Wednesday 5/15 through Sunday 5/20.  My wife and daughter had a more pressing agenda, so I asked a friend if he'd like to go; we'd leave Tuesday after work.

The Sunday before the launch, I called 407/867-2525 (the NASA flight update line) and was disappointed to learn that the flight had been rescheduled for Sunday. I called my buddy and broke the news.  We mulled over the options and eventually decided to head south as planned, but we'd go to North Ft. Myers first, to check out trawlers for charter there, do some boating in the area, then head back to Titusville for the Sunday launch.

We did leave Tuesday after work, and spent the night in a Daytona motel.  At about noon the next day we were walking the docks at the North Ft. Myers charter agency.  We checked out the trawlers that were in and made a Saturday am appointment to see the others.  We then headed to Ft. Myers Beach for charts and then on to the ramp at Punta Rassa.  By 2pm we were out in the Gulf of Mexico marveling at the sights of FMB and Sanibel.

The boat is a 15' 11" cuddy with a 60 HP Outboard.  When my wife and I go out overnight, we both sleep in the cuddy.  The boat came with a 14 gallon water tank, porta potty and a back curtain that completes the enclosure of the helm when the dodger and side curtains are in place.  I also took the camper back option which encloses the entire cockpit.  The weather was so pleasant during the entire Florida experience that we never even put up the dodger.  I slept in the cabin and my buddy, being the amateur astronomer that he is, went to sleep with the stars in his face, athwartship in the cockpit on an inflatable air mattress. 

The nights were clear as a bell.  We spent the first one at anchor in the Caloosahatchie about 1/2 mile down river from the HWY 41 bridges in 4' of water.  The breeze was blowing our stern to the beach and it was a little lumpier that if we'd snugged to the other shore,  but given the choice, I'll take an onshore breeze every time, even if the fetch creates a chop.  An onshore breeze comes in bug free across the water.  We witnessed the sunset and had fresh coffee via the Magma at sunrise without experiencing bug #1. 

That night, even though we had a cellular phone aboard, we called home via the VHF.  This was a first for me, and it's pretty slick.  You turn to the marine operator channel and key the mike for 3 to 5 seconds.  You get an automated welcome message and then hear the phone ringing.  A person answers and asks you the name of your boat, and who you want to call.  The phone rings again and someone at your house answers.  "Hi Suzy, this is Jeff.  We're swinging on the hook in the Caloosahatchee, over?"   The calls are billed collect, unless you have an account.  Anyone with a VHF can make a call -- it's not private, but it gets the job done.

We noted all the 'Slow -- Manatee' signs on our early morning cruise up the river toward Lake Okeechobee, but evidently the Manatee only hang out in the Caloosahatchee during certain months, so the good news was we didn't have to slow down, the bad news was we didn't get to see any manatee.

I'd done my share of locking on the NY Barge Canal, Dismal Swamp and a previous trip across the Okeechobee Waterway, but I thought it would be good experience for my buddy to participate in a lock through.  The Franklin Lock is at about MM 122 on the Okeechobee Waterway, just a short run from the Ft. Myers area.  We gave the lockmaster a shout on VHF 13, but noted on arrival that there was a line at the end of the lock fenders that one could pull to activate a horn that requests lock passage.  The lock is only a couple feet higher on the up river side and the lines are already dangling from the lock walls.  Boaters put the starboard side to the lock wall, grab a line and wait until it's over.  It's a very simple, uncomplicated pleasant process taking about 15 minutes.  After locking through, we couldn't resist the urge to keep going east on the waterway.

Prior to becoming a mini-stink owner, my cruising was done an a 27 foot sailboat and a 35 foot trawler.  I call it rags to riches.  My wife and I lived (really camped) on the sailboat for over 2 years.  No running water, no electricity, no refrigeration...  The trawler on the other hand, had air conditioning, large refrigerator w/ freezer, gas range w/ oven, microwave, 2 heads, 3 showers, queen bed, you name it.  Both were heavy and slow, each with it's advantages.  The sailboat took us on extended cruises from Rhode Island to the Caribbean.  The trawler didn't take us to many far away places, but it took us in style and comfort.  (It's funny how as we get older, our sense of adventure takes a back seat to our desire for comfort).  Both boats produced a fear in me of docks and bottoms.  I never got near shore unless it was absolutely necessary.  Kedging off either of those 2 boats was an all day harrowing experience, and approaching the dock or slip was equally nerve wracking.  The little 16 foot stink (we call her 'QT' because she's such a cutie) provides all the boating opportunity of the previous boats with of course compromises in range and comfort, but she does bring us several new dimensions.  She's a shallow water magnet when it comes to exploring, she's small enough to handle and tie up like a dingy at the anchorages where the real cruisers hang out, and she is capable of 30 mph.  When the need for comfort exceeds that which is afforded by QT, we put her back on the trailer or tie up at a marina and check into a motel.

But continuing our cruise up the Caloosahatchie...

After locking through, we slowly made our way inland to LaBelle.  If we had been cruising aboard the sail boat or trawler, LaBelle probably would have been an overnight stop, but with the ability to exceed 10 mph along with not having to wait for bridges, LaBelle was a midday stopover.  The town dock had 2 boats along side and I would have felt perfectly comfortable squeezing into the 20' that was still available, but we opted for the shallow dock at the public ramp across the river.  Again, had we been in the sailboat or trawler we would have had to make some heavy decisions...

After getting ice from the bait shop near the ramp, we leisurely headed back downstream.  We hooked out at a bend where visibility was good in all directions and went for a refreshing fresh water swim.  We didn't see any alligators, and I guess they didn't see us.  We had a leisurely sandwich lunch and were on our way.

We didn't call the lockmaster at the Franklin Lock on our way back through, we used the boat hook to pull the line which activated the horn.  I prefer this to using the VHF -- mine is a handheld and it's stowed unless I plan to use it.

We continued down the river and back out into the Gulf.  We tracked local boats rounding Pt. Ybel at the tip of Sanibel, and kept a sharp eye on our depth sounder as we followed in their wake.  We headed up the coast in about 5' of water, watching the sunbathers and swimmers on the Gulf side of Sanibel.  When trees replaced condos on the beach, we anchored.  I drop an 8S Danforth from the stern and usually tie it off to the quarter, that way the breeze blows in over the transom.  If we need a different attitude because of the seas, I will move the rode forward to ease the motion.  In this case, the wind and seas were mild out of the southeast and we let the anchor lie from the quarter.  Things were so peaceful, we decided to stay there for the night.

With QT, I have become almost lackadaisical about anchoring, especially compared to the procedure we used in the Bahamas and Caribbean.  With the other boats, we would always set 2 anchors, back down to ensure a good bite and then dive on them to be sure they were set cleanly.  In addition, we made it a point to be aboard for at least the first tide change (after which it was permissible to open the rum).  With QT, I kill the engine, throw out the hook, pay out about 5 to 1 scope, cleat her off  and let her fetch up on her own as she drifts.  I know the Gulf can get rough quickly, so for insurance I checked the GPS to make sure the track from the causeway bridge to the anchorage was in tact.  I had experimented successfully on a clam night in Charleston, following the GPS track from Wild Dunes to Charleston Harbor in the dead of night.  I knew if the weather got lousy in the Gulf that night, we could follow the GPS track back to the inside of Sanibel without needing much visibility.

The stars were so bright they reflected off the water.  The seas built a little and I moved the rode to the forward cleat and finally to the bow.  The boat would lie to the wind, then shift to the seas, then back again.  It was somewhat lumpy and a bit loud below, but we both slept comfortably.

There's nothing like fresh coffee at sunup.  Ok, coffee in tea bags, but there's still nothing like it.  Those were the only two times we fired up the stove -- to make coffee at sunup.  My wife had great difficulty provisioning.  This was because I insisted she follow my shopping list:  Lets see, Cheetos, dry roast peanuts, milk, sandwich meat, coffee, cereal, soft drinks, chips and bread.  I had to threaten her to prevent her from buying/packing the fruit, vegetables, condiments and other healthy stuff that must be taken on family cruises.  She should have taken comfort in that we supplemented our meals aboard with Hot Wings and the like, but every time I called home I was reminded: "Now you find some salad ashore."  Right, like a couple guys are going out cruising with salad on their minds...

Being a visitor without 'local knowledge' I didn't want to head north and chance Redfish Pass (the inlet between Captiva and North Banks) early in the morning from the outside in, so as soon as the sun was above the horizon we lazed back to Pt. Ybel and explored the canals and homes that are accessible via a channel just up inside from the point.  We spent several hours in the canals and ended up having lunch at the marina restaurant in that cozy water community.

After all the slow exploring we wanted to get her up on a plane and have some wind in our faces for awhile, so we motored up the backside of Sanibel past Blind Pass (between Sanibel and Captiva) and on to and past Captiva.  As Redfish Pass came abeam we heard the Gulf calling us.  The weather and seas were perfect so we headed out.  The channel is well marked and plenty deep for a 16 foot outboard.  As we emerged into the Gulf we couldn't resist turning north.  We hugged the beach from South Banks to North Captiva and before we knew it we were approaching Captiva Pass.  We ran the inlet and were headed for the channel back south when we decided to explore the little bay at the inside north end of North Captiva.  The way in was a little confusing when we came to a house that was in the middle of the channel.  We took an outside course and made it fine, but noticed that what appeared to be a local boat behind us, opted for the inside route and they also had no apparent trouble.  Just goes to show you how accommodating the area is.  There were a couple places in the little bay where a thirsty boater could take comfort, but we didn't partake.

We hadn't yet explored Ft. Myers Beach, so we scurried down Pine Island Sound and under the bridge to the beach front.  We drifted in about 5 feet of water for an hour or so watching the swimmers, jetskis and parasailers.  FMB is so diverse.  There are retired folks, sunning, swimming and pushing their metal detectors up and down the beaches.  There are middle aged couples with their families, picnicing/vacationing, and there is the younger group who enjoy jetskiing, parasailing dancing etc.  We didn't actually set foot on it, but there is a very nice fishing pier right in the middle of everything too! FMB is a very comfortable place, with something for everyone.

My stomach began to complain, so we lit up the outboard and made for Matanzas Pass at the end of Estero Island.  We ran the pass with no problems even though there was a dredge working there, and hugged the northern shore of Estero as we made our way east up the backside of FMB.  Just beyond the Estero Island/mainland bridge we came upon a diverse fleet of anchored boats.  I can't resist idling through such an anchorage, wondering about where the boats have been, where they are bound and what their owners are like.  As we put the last of the anchored fleet to stern, my stomach growled again and I remembered that our mission was food.  By this time we had circumnavigated the anchorage and were back at the bridge where there is a waterside restaurant.  We tied up at their dock and had a delightful dinner.

We knew we'd need to get the boat back on the trailer first thing the next morning, so we wanted to find a place to drop the hook that wasn't too far from the Punta Rassa ramp.  We decided to try a little cove SE of Big Shell Island at Marker "96".  We hooked out with plenty of day light left. We were surrounded by trees in 4 feet of water.  There was one other boat in the cove.  Another boat joined us before long and as we watched him settle in, I told my buddy that one of the most potentially entertaining aspects of cruising was watching others anchor, and if it's not entertaining, it will at least be educational.

When you come into an anchorage you want to find 2 maybe 3 other boats.  If there's only one, it might not be a good place to stop.  If there's 5 or 6 boats in a cozy spot, it will probably be tough to find the exact place to drop the hook, all the best spots will have all been taken.  You want to have your hook down and be comfortable before the next boat comes in -- to watch the show.  A couple will come in.  The guy will be on the bow with the ground tackle.  He'll  know exactly where he thinks he wants to plant the hook.  He turns to his wife and points and shouts directions.  She works the helm, inching toward the spot he has in mind.  When the spot is close, he releases the hook and lets it dangle as he holds the rode.  He's going to tell her to take it out of gear, but as he gets right on top of the spot, he thinks maybe a little more to port might be better.  He's holding the rode so he doesn't turn around, but he shouts, "to port, to port!".  She doesn't hear him because he's facing forward, looking down.  She throttles back and he's expecting a move to port.  He hollers, she doesn't hear.  He ties off the rode and goes back to the cockpit.  There is gesturing and conversation.  He may take a turn at the helm before he goes forward again.  Finally the anchor is released.  He instructs, "back her down".  She may not hear him, but she knows to back down.  The boat makes way astern but does not go in the anticipated direction.  The other boats are lying to the wind and this one is backing to port, getting nearer than comfortable to another anchored boat.  He hollers, she doesn't hear...  He may opt to bring the hook back aboard, do some piloting himself and eventually put the hook down 10 or 15' from where it is now, if so, it starts over.  If the anchor is set, then there's the question of more scope, or less?  This challenge could take 6 or 8 more-less adjustments before a solution is apparent.  The time between adjustments could be 2 or 3 minutes or 1/2 hour or more.  When the anchoring adventure is over there will be VHF chatter, then dinghies will begin migrating to other boats.  Sea stories and grog will be shared by people who have the water in common.

Our latest visitor to the anchorage did not afford the usual entertainment.  He was a single hander on what appeared to be a home built ferro ketch.  I explained to my buddy that single handers are the epitome of casual efficient procedures.  This guy was no exception when it came to anchoring.  He was so casual and efficient he was almost boring, but as we watched, we wondered where he'd been, where he was going -- and why.

As the sun disappeared, so did our serenity.  Mosquitoes!  We weren't unprepared, but we were caught by surprise.  After a few weekends aboard in Charleston, I realized that if I was going to make a habit out of spending nights on the boat, I'd better be ready for no-see-ums and mosquitoes.  The camper back I'd bought as an option has a frame, as does the dodger.  I bought some no-see-um netting and sewed up a canopy that attached to the corners of the camper back frame in back and at the dodger frame in front.  The net simply hangs down to the cockpit sole, draping over the dash and companionway.  There are several patches of velcro at the gunnels and stern, to keep the net in place.  But this was the first time it was to be deployed under battle conditions (and in the dark).  We finally got it up and secured, then with the flashlight we systematically eradicated all the bloodsucking vermin that had made their way inside.  I have a similar smaller screen rig for the forward hatch -- it's a commercial job that fits over the open hatch and is held in place by a stainless steel chain sewn into the hem.  Between the two anti-bug systems, we had a pleasant night.

After watching the sun come up the next morning, we lit her up and headed for the ramp.  It took about 1/2 hr to get her out and road ready.  We stopped for donuts and coffee, then hit the charter outfit to see the rest of their power fleet; then on to Titusville.

We were really hyped about seeing the shuttle go up.  So much so, that the minute we spotted a ramp on the Canaveral Barge canal, we backed her in the water and were off.  We didn't realize we'd not only forgotten the food we'd brought for snacks, dinner and breakfast (fortunately we did leave the cooler aboard), we also forgot the camera.  Of course we missed the food right away and easily decided we could have bologna sandwiches without bread, and we could get breakfast landside after the launch, but the camera didn't turn up missing until it was too late, like 5am the next morning.

Between the ramp where we put in and the anchorage, there were at least 2.5 gazillion signs regarding the manatee and their unfortunate situation .  We'd been strongly advised by several local folks to obey the signs to the letter, so we did.  Some were for "No Wake", some were for "Slow Speed Within 25 Feet of Shore" and some were "No Entry With Motors".  We almost missed the "No Entry with Motors" signs on the Banana river about a mile or so north of the Canaveral Barge canal.  I had watched the video, "The Way South, Part II" and the fellow narrating said we could go north on the Banana to the bridge, but evidently the video is out of date.  Anyway, when we came to the signs that wouldn't allow further passage, we wanted to be sure we were in the right place, so we imposed on a nearby anchored trawler with a Titusville hailing port.

"We came to watch the launch.  Will we be able to see it from here and if so, which area is the active pad?"  The trawler had a barking dog, so it was hard to hear, but we understood that we were in the right place and a gesture seemingly pointed in the general direction of 1 of the 2 pads.  The fellow then suggested we anchor about 1/8 mile up river behind that little island (far enough away to keep his dog from barking?) - which we did.

Not long after we were settled, another boat cruised in.  It was a family with 2 kids on a 19 foot IO.  He asked us the same questions we asked the trawler, and we told him what we'd learned.  Then the entertainment started as they anchored.  They were successfully anchored/positioned on the 3rd try.  After they were settled for about an hour, the fellow pulled up the hook and swung by our boat.  "The Coast Guard just came on the VHF saying that all boats must move down below marker 15 -- so we're going."  I told him I would wait until they ran me out.

About 60 minutes later, I heard the Coast Guard with the same message and decided we'd move while there was still daylight.  Down we went to marker '15A' where there were a cluster of boats.  We were the entertainment as we dropped the hook and swung to a poor vantage point, then reanchored at another place.  About 10 minutes later the VHF was alive with a Coast Guard Auxiliary person asking how to handle the vessels that were anchored too far up river.  The Coast Guard confirmed that if boats were north of the power lines, they would have to move.

'15 A' is north of the power lines, and so were we.  We pulled up the anchor and moved to a prime spot 5 feet south of the power lines.  There were 7 or 8 boats in this area.  After about an hour, when there was no sign of the coast guard shagging out the boats anchored farther north we began to wonder if we'd been had, but decided to keep our select spot in the 'south of the powerlines' anchorage.

Just before the sun hit the horizon, someone turned on the lights at the Challenger pad.  We were over 7 miles away, but the place still looked like a ride at Disney World.  With the glasses, we could see the shuttle perched on the back of the boosters.  The light that spilled past the rocket and gantry light up the sky like searchlights at a grand opening.  Now there was no doubt that we were in the right place and there was no doubt which pad to keep our eye on.  I did remember to put a radio aboard; we searched for a station that would give us a rundown on what was happening.  Was the countdown proceeding?  The radio was music, music, music.  Can you remember the last time you complained about music being on the radio?  Finally a local station gave us the information we wanted to hear.  The launch was still a go for Sunday morning @ 6:30 am.  Just then we heard the rattling of chain.

It was a big boat coming into the anchorage.  There was little sunlight left for navigating.  Spotlights were searching for a place to drop the hook.  We couldn't see too well, or hear above the drone of the engines, but we knew the story.  The rattling of anchor chain confirmed several chapters.  Then another boat came in, then another, and another.  Then it dawned on us -- the Coast Guard was uprooting all boats anchored north of the power lines.  We complimented each other on our excellent choice of location, especially compared to where the others would end up, and patted each other on the back for being such conscientious sailors.

The sky was clear and there was a gentle breeze as we turned in.  It was hard to get any sleep knowing what lay ahead in the morning. I got up several times during the night to feast my eyes on the brightly lit giant.  If there were any bugs that night, they must not have gotten the news from the Coast Guard to be south of the power lines, because there weren't any bugs at all where we were.

I was up at about 5am...couldn't sleep...couldn't keep my eyes off the giant.  I would have made coffee, but the coffee was in the car.  I fiddled with the radio, searching for a station that would give us an update.  The only talking I could find was some religious stuff, and I guess that's OK as it was a Sunday, but it wasn't what I was interested in.  Just as I turned away from the station my buddy said, "Hey, that sounded like the tower."

I switched back and sure enough, there was chatter about the shuttle, but only briefly, then more religious stuff.  Before long it became apparent that the radio station was relaying sporadic shuttle radio traffic.  Just before 6am the radio station became exclusively Shuttle/Command Center/Houston radio transmission relays.  There were long periods of silence and it might have seemed there was no station on the air, but that was because there was nothing to relay at the time.  An announcer came on during one of the silent spells to explain why there was so much silence and to solicit phone comments about the broadcast.  The station is at 91.5FM but we didn't get the call letters or phone number.

Ten, nine, eight, ...  I found myself  holding my breath as the radio counted down ... three, two, one ... we have liftoff.  There's no possible way for me to express the awe and magnificence I experienced as the giant emerged from the snow white billowing cloud at the pad.  Slowly the giant climbed out of the cloud, displaying the fire that pushed him skyward.  Tears came to my eyes as he rose majestically -- then the sound.  Being as far away as we were, the sound wasn't loud, but it was BIG.  It was the biggest sound I've ever heard in my life.  The biggest sound I've ever heard in my life.  The biggest.  I'll bet if  my eyes hadn't been glued to the giant, I could have seen that sound coming toward me across the water.

We watched until the contrail pointed to what looked like a tiny bright star; the sound continued.  Big sound.  We didn't speak.  We just watched and listened and felt.  It's an experience not to be missed.  The watching and listening have passed, but the feeling continues.  The overwhelming feeling continues.

We didn't talk much about the launch on the 10 hour trip home.  We'd both been there and we both knew there weren't any words that would work.  We did promised to go again and take the families.  We also planned the next trailerboat cruise.