Boating Forums

When I was just getting started with power boats I hung out on a couple trawler forums. I was later severely chastised on one for including a non-boating comment in a reply. I dropped that group in a hurry -- waaaay too serious about their expensive jewelry boats, and more interested in theory or elaborate equipment than actual on the water experience.

Another forum had a 'world knowledgeable genius' that answered every post from his vast and important experiences. He babbled on and on. One of his big brags was he didn't like to talk to other boaters at the dock - he just wasn't interested in hearing their drivel and life history -- and that's exactly what he was doing on the board, telling his life's story in replies to every question. I called him on it (as well as mentioning many, many times when he contradicted himself), 'cause I like messing with a know it all. He finally got irritated enough to remark, "Why don't you just hit the ignore button for my posts instead of harassing me?" when this is exactly what he should have done to me. These guys were much like folks on other boards in that they were always getting ready but never actually going. These boards had been a help to me in defining my direction and I had gone back to them in case there were others evolving as I did, wishing to just somehow get out on the water.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with exchanges and ideas on those boards. Boating in any form is a great hobby whether it's restoring, modifying, outfitting, wishing, dreaming or just BSing. What I am saying is I'd rather associate with folks who enjoy water time in the same manner I do. I like simple and cheap -- my stuff isn't ‘the latest’ and doesn't shine; if it's practical and dependable I'm in  even if the equipment or technique isn't rated by the masses as 'approved'. I am also responsible; not only for my successes but also what others may brand 'failures'. To me it's all just another adventure…it’s my fun or it’s my fault.

Big Duck Ventures to Lake Strom Thurmond

It’s been a hot, wet spring and summer. I can’t get Big Duck out of the back yard if the ground is moist…no traction pulling the 12,000-pound trailer across the grass. But I had committed to a week long Lake Kerr outing in late September with other houseboaters and with only one time on the water in ’13 I needed to make sure the boat and equipment were in condition for that major outing. This meant I’d need to spend at least one overnight on the water before then. I’d been toying with the idea of a trip to Lake Strom Thurmond on the SC/GA boarder all summer and this was a good excuse to actually do it. It was only about 100 miles to a ramp that showed promise on Google Earth. It hadn’t rained for three whole days and the lawn was relatively dry…we’d decided to give it a shot on Aug 28, 2013 – we’d head out with Big Duck for an overnight on Thurmond.

Let's get this show on the road.

The adventure started at the gas station near home on our departure for the lake. I use Pri-G in my gas and put enough of it in my ¼ full 85-gallon tank for 36 gallons of gas. That would be plenty of gas for this outing. The pump cut off at 25 gallons as gas gurgled out the fill hole onto the deck – she was slam full. I guess my gas gauge doesn't read correctly?

This normally wouldn’t have been a problem but the tank was new and although I had installed the fill fitting in the tank with the recommended “Aviation Permatex” I guess I didn't tighten the fittings enough because gas started seeping out of the threads. OK, so I’d deal with all that later...the garboard drain plug was out and the gas wouldn't get too deep in the bilge while I was on the road.

The first part of the trip is Interstate and all went well, although there was a lot of shifting going on up the hills. Then the 4 lane turned into 2 lane and we went thru a couple towns with stop lights. It's not really a problem getting going after a stop, but after many red lights it gets a little trying. 

About 20 miles from the ramp, the van started pulling to the left. Not wanting to believe that I had a tire going flat, I played with the wheel for a while hoping it was road conditions. It was a narrow 2-lane road, so there was no place to pull over as I tested the pull. While trying to figure out what to do I guessed I missed a turn. The GPS never warned me to ‘bear left to stay on 221” so I followed the yellow line onto Hwy 10. I never realized I'd missed that turn.

Not more than a half mile later there was a sign that said, “11’6” Clearance Ahead”. I told Suzy that we couldn’t make that bridge with our 12’ tall boat, but was delighted when the GPS told us to turn left in ¼ mile. This would happily keep us from having to deal with the low bridge and it would be less than 1/2  mile back to 221. It was a comfort knowing I wouldn't have to deal with that bridge on a 2 lane road with no shoulders or places to turn around.

I anxiously kept an eye on the GPS to be sure I didn’t miss the turn and was relieved when it was finally in sight, but it wasn’t a major road. As I turned onto the road I quickly came to the end of the asphalt and now all that was visible ahead was a narrowing gravel alley. By now it was impossible to turn around and besides we were about half way through. 

The road then deteriorated into red clay. We slowed and pushed on with shrubs and branches rubbing the sides and top of the boat. The ‘road’ continued to narrow and turned into ruts. 

With about 150 yards to go we had to cross a trickle of a stream at a low point. I kept up the speed to keep from getting mired, the trailer rocking and bumping as we headed thru the water then up. Now we could make out traffic on 221 through small openings in the trees and brush – we’re almost there. 

Then, as we rounded a curve we came to a gully and at the bottom there was a ‘lake’ across the road. We stopped and I got out to check out the ‘lake’. It wasn’t really a lake, but at about 20 feet wide and 15 feet across it was every bit of a lake to our passage. I stuck a stick into the muddy water. It was about 18” deep in the middle not counting the soft mud. There was a small area to the left of the ‘lake’ with very deep ruts from where others had ventured an escape around the lake. There were cushions or pillows of some kind in this shallower side that appeared to have been used as an aid for traction (or floatation ). 

I went back to the van and just sat there. What the hell was I doing in 4-wheel drive country pulling a 12,000 lb 28’ boat? It didn’t seem real. When was I going to wake up from this nightmare?

We’re going to need to get towed out of here – somehow. But if we were going to get towed we might as well give the lake a shot. Worst case we’d get muddy getting out of the van when the tow truck came, unless of course we rolled. So if we were going to try to get through the mud should we get a good start and head straight through hoping the momentum would carry us or would we nose dive in the mud and end up in an abrupt stop with the front of the boat coming off the trailer into the van? We could try the side ruts and hope that we could turn in time to keep from sliding down the embankment or getting a tree trunk in the grill, or we could just creep along until we were stuck in the greasy red clay?

Suzy and I discussed the merits of each option…slow ahead, momentum ahead, off to the side or wait for the tow truck. We sat quietly for quite a spell hoping a solution would become evident. Something made me put the V10 into gear and get a good run toward the lake. I thought I was going to hit it straight on, but at the last moment I jerked the wheel to the left in kind of a compromise between the two options. I could feel the trailer pushing the van sideways as I entered the mud because the trailer was still going down hill as the van leveled off. I nudged the wheel to the right and as the trailer tongue came down hard on the hitch the front wheels of the van jumped up out of the mud and turned us back onto the main ruts. I gunned her and the trailer followed with a violent jerk. The van was now clear but the tires were wet and slippery trying to pull the trailer out and up the other side of the gully. We slowed almost to a standstill with the rear tires spinning. What to do now…stop, lighten up on the pedal, or spin them harder? 

I kept a light foot on the gas hoping the spinning tires would throw enough mud to grab on the uphill slope. As our momentum slowed I gave her just a little more and we inched up ever so slowly. At this point both Suzy and I were both shouting, GO! GO! GO! And she finally grabbed well enough to get us to the top…at which time we saw a downed tree across the ruts, blocking our freedom 150 feet from 221.

A closer inspection showed the tree had been cut away on the right side, enough for us to get through. We were finally on our way again.

But she was still pulling, and pulling and pulling. I put on the flashers and limped to a wide spot where we could get 2 wheels off the highway. All of the tires looked good. I got back on the road and slowly looked for a place where it would be safe to get a better look. Finally finding a place to pull over, I gingerly tested the brakes and she pulled violently to the right. By the time I got stopped the left front wheel was smoking so bad we both expected it would break into flames. I inched slowly ahead so as not to let anything fuse the wheel solid while it was cooling. Looks like we’ll need that tow truck after all. 

But now I had more information on the pulling. I surmised that the left front brake heated up because it was dragging, that’s why it was pulling to the left. When I finally stopped, the left brake was so hot it wasn’t working so she pulled to the right. Why was that brake dragging? 

Then it dawned on me…maybe the anti lock brake computer was sending a braking signal to that left front brake even though the ABS light wasn’t on inside the van. While things were cooling, I scoured the manual to find where the anti lock relay was under the hood. When the smoke cleared I pulled the relay.

 We hit the road again after a period of cooling, but the pulling to the left continued despite the ABS being now offline. I put on the flashers and kept the speed down hoping things would normalize as the brake cooled. By the time we got to the boat ramp turnoff, the pulling had pretty much subsided.

The Dorn Fishing Facility was nothing short of astounding. There are a couple hundred parking places for trailers and six lanes of launch ramps all with floating docks.

https://www.dnr.sc.gov/mlands/boatramp_details?p_id=550

The 90+° temps took quite a bit out of this 70 year old as I worked to get the boat off the trailer. I’d work for 10 or so minutes, then head inside the boat to the comfort of the air conditioner. When I was refreshed, I’d return to the task at hand. The fuel in the bilge was attenuated by a leak from the fasteners for the boarding stairs that let water into the bilge. Only when the stern is low due to the boat not yet floating level is this a problem. Because we were in this orientation for 20 minutes or more, the bilge pump sent out the fuel with the bilge water. There really wasn’t much gas…a few ounces at the most and with the Joy I put in the bilge to keep it clean, there was only a slight hint of sheen on the water.  The bilge blower was on for the whole 20 minutes so it was no surprise that a sniff revealed no fumes in the engine compartment, especially after I dried out the tank top with paper towels.

The launching operation took about 45 minutes because it was completely solo in the heat, but there were no complications. We had the ramp and lot totally to ourselves; there was no sense of urgency, and the ramp was at a perfect angle with plenty of traction. The lake itself was like many other reservoirs in our boating area, with nothing worth noting except the outstanding Dorn Boating Event Facility.

This was a DNR guy coming out.

Totally empty parking lots

More totally empty parking lots.

First Class Ramp

 Once on the water, Big Duck was cooperative in every respect…well except for getting on plane. I’m still working on the proper propping. We could do 15mph but at only 4k RPM…she wouldn’t hit the rated 4,600 RPM, but I know I can do better with less pitch. Actually this would never be a problem for us anyway - we never go over 6 or 8 mph and don't plan to pull skiers or water toys at her rated 30mph

Merlin had a ball. We nudge the boat onto a steep bank so he can jump off and on the bow at will. He’ll roam the island, often venturing into the water, and then come back aboard when he’s ready.

The weather was so calm we stayed there all night with just an unset anchor in the weeds ashore.

The time on the lake was a total success, and loading and the trip home was the same…

Merlin wasn't ready to go home.

except for failing to get Big Duck into the boat port once we got back home. Even though there had been no rain while we were away, the slight moisture in the grass prevented traction in the mild  upgrade into the shelter of the boat port. Screw it, that’s good enough for now – at least I know the limited-slip is working.

A few hours/beers later, I removed the equalizer bars, redirecting all the tongue weight to the rear, and was able to get The Duck back into her home at home.

I think I'm getting too old for this...gimme another beer and clear the way to the rocking chair.

Nicky - Seaswirl 1850

Thunder Over Louisville

In July of ’97, a buddy and I towed my 16’ cuddy from Spartanburg SC to Pensacola for a Blue Angels Air Show. We had such a good time at the show that I did a search on the Internet to see what other air shows we might attend – especially those associated with water. The most prominent find was Thunder Over Louisville, an all day air show followed by North America’s biggest fireworks extravaganza. The festivities are the kick-off for the Kentucky Derby.

It was 5 years later, in 2003 that I finally firmed up plans to attend Thunder. I would take place on 4/12. In late 2002, I’d posted on 3 boards, for local knowledge on dealing with the Ohio River at Louisville; where to launch… anchor for the show…spend the night aboard. My wife is handicapped and needs a dock that facilitates easy boarding. Alas, I received zero replies.  OK, so I’d just have to get there early and scope the place out.

My wife backed out at the last minute – something about a wedding shower for our only daughter. I’d go alone…leave Thursday morning for the 425 mile run up there. I’d be there in plenty of time to get the boat in the water for a night on the hook. I’d get up early Friday morning, check out the river for 20 miles or so in each direction, find a good spot to anchor for the show and pick a spot to hook out Saturday night. Boy I didn’t realize then how far off base my planning would be.

I checked the weather Wednesday night. It would be cold in the mountains on the way up, but no talk of precip. Things would improve once I got through the mountains. I got on the road at 6:30am Thursday morning. Light rain started falling about the time I got into NC (20 miles). The rain got worse, and worse as I made my way up I26, until at about 2,000 feet, the hiss of the rain on the windshield ceased…the rain was now snow. If I could just get past Asheville I knew the road conditions would improve, but the snow got so bad I had to pull of the road because I couldn’t see. I waited in a Hardees parking lot for the storm to let up, during which time I experienced a thunder and lightning snowstorm that dropped 4 – 6 inches of snow.

When the snow finally let up, I skidded my way out of the parking lot and over the interstate…to get a look at the conditions before I got back on I26 to continue my trip. The interstate looked passable from the bridge and the traffic was thin, but the snow was so deep on the side roads that I didn’t dare pull off the highway to turn around. And before I found a place to do a 180°, traffic came to a standstill. Luckily, a snowplow entered the highway right behind me and I was able to back the trailer into the plowed side road, pull out in the other direction and get back on the interstate.

But by now the interstate was stop and go, and I had trouble ‘going’ because from a dead stop, the uphill start on the slippery surface was a challenge for my aging pickup tires. I’d turn around and head home as soon as I got to the next exit…if I could get that far. When I finally came on the exit, I could see a police car blocking the entrance ramp on the other side of the interstate. Even if I could get off, I couldn’t get back on, but I had no choice, the snow had started falling again. As I inched my way down the off ramp, debating which way to turn, I saw the police car letting the backed up ‘on ramp’ traffic onto the interstate. It took about 10 minutes due to the congestion at the interchange, but I finally got back on I26 and was heading home. I worried about the steep Saluda grade that was ahead. Could I maintain control on the slick pavement with the trailer pushing me downhill? I knew that even if the side roads were open, I couldn’t get enough traction to negotiate the mountain roads, so the Interstate was my only choice. My worries were eased somewhat as the traffic slowed to less than 10 mph, nothing to complain about since the lanes in the other direction were dead stop and backed up for 20 miles. The traffic eventually thinned and the roads cleared up somewhat by the time I approached Saluda’s several miles of 6% down grade. I made the run down in 2^nd gear, keeping the speed at about 30 mph, never feeling like things were getting out of control. I made it home about 5pm.

The next morning I was at it again. The weatherman said the storm had passed and the Internet said I26 was open again. There were several inches of white stuff along side the road from Saluda to almost Knoxville, but the roads were wet at worst.  I rolled into Louisville well before dark to scout for a ramp.

The only ramp in Louisville is at Cox Park. Cox Park is a very nice area, just up river from the Louisville city center. Trouble is, the storm had brought the river level up 8 feet or more and the ramp was covered with debris, the dock was totally under water, the river was running at better than 8 mph and there was trash in the river from telephone poles to the sides of buildings. I wasn’t about to put my boat in the water at this place. I drove 50 miles up to Madison IN, staying near the river as much as I could, to see if there was a place that would provide a somewhat more protected launch. I at least wanted a place where I didn’t have to beach the boat or tie it to a tree while I moved my truck/trailer.  I found a few ramps on the Kentucky side but they were all private and closed. There is also a very nice waterfront area on the Indiana side at Madison, but the high water, current and debris discouraged a launch there as well. Continuing down the Indiana side, I found several closed private ramps before I came on Duffy’s Landing, a public ramp in Jeffersonville. However, Duffy’s ramp was in worse shape than the one at Cox Park. It was getting dark by now, so I went back across the Ohio to Cox, where I was the only rig in the lot, and crawled into the cuddy for the night.

I hung around the ramp on Saturday morning. There was bound to be some boaters more determined than I, to see the show from the water. And you know entertaining the boat ramp can be. The first fellow to arrive was about a 30 footer with a squeaky trailer wheel bearing. He messed around for about ½ hr at the prep ramp, then backed her in, his wife taking his place behind the wheel of the old suburban. It took several minutes before the big mill in the boat would continue to run without coaxing, but he finally got it in reverse without it dying. He goosed it but there was no backward movement and there was no churning of water from the prop. He did a few forward/reverse shifts, gunning each try…but nothing. Up goes the engine compartment hatch and he disappears below. His wife gets out of the car and moves back to the waters edge to see what gives. After about 15 minutes, he’s ready to try again. Nope, it’s like she never quite gets into gear. He walks back to look over the transom – what he expected to see is beyond me, but as he moves aft, the balance changes and his boat starts sliding off the trailer into the 8 mph current, only he’s not aware of this until he turns around to look forward. “Grab the bow! Grab the bow!” He barks to his wife. The current is no match for the grip she has on the bow rail from the trailer tongue, but he is able to get forward and off the bow in time to halt the rearward motion. They struggle for 5 minutes or so, trying to pull the boat back up on the trailer, finally deciding their odds are much better if they connect the bow strap and use the winch.

Safely back up in the staging area, he lights her up dry and shifts from neutral to forward to reverse revving it high at each position. This cycle happens 5 or 6 times at which point he’s ready to put her back in the water…which he does. I’m thinking he’s very fortunate that he still can’t get a bite on the water to back the boat off the trailer, because by now his impeller has got to be toast. If he does end up in the river, he’s going to overheat, maybe seize the engine and have the current carry him down to the dam.

During this ordeal, I got to know a father/son team who was seriously entrenched at the ramp. Lawn chairs, cooler, binocs, scanning radio, extra clothing and a copious supply of food. These guys were Thunder Veterans, planning to watch the airshow and fireworks from down at the city waterfront, but they had learned that the entertainment actually starts at daybreak at the boat ramp. While watching the antics of several more launches I learn valuable info about my situation from them and others launching their boats; many of these boats were heading out for the first time after their winter lay-up. First and foremost, I learned that most of these folks putting boats in the raging debris ridden river do not have much water savvy. They couldn’t talk intelligently about basic boating safety, navigation, anchoring or boat/trailer mechanics. I could picture myself anchored for the show with not only pieces of dock and tree limbs floating down on me, but also some of these boats drifting by with their anchors skating along just waiting to grab my anchor rode and others, making a tangled mess of boats ricocheting off bridge abutments on their way down river. It’s no wonder lives had been lost on the water a few years back, as a bevy of boats made their way back upstream after the show, creating massive wakes and slicing anchor lines in the dark. It didn’t take long for me to decide that I’d be watching the airshow and fireworks from the bank. I also learned where I could park my truck/trailer for the shortest walk to a prime spot for the show.

Assured by the veterans that I would find parking for my truck/boat several miles closer to the action, I drove my rig toward downtown. The lot was about 2/3 full as I made my way in to the parking area at 11am. There were cars and tents and motor homes and travel trailers and motorcycles scattered everywhere. Many folks had staked out their territory with that yellow ‘warning’ tape you see around crime scenes. Families were filing out of the parking area pulling large coolers and wagons full of kids and gear, others were charcoaling or frisbeeing or sunning to pass the time until the 3pm show. As soon as I got out of my truck I was met by a partying group parked next to me. They complimented me on my boat and invited me to their party. I declined, but stayed and talked a while in the spirit of the occasion. I then walked the 1¼ miles to the riverfront park where I would take in the show. I had been advised that “anywhere between the bridges” would be a good place to be. After wandering here and there, I mentally picked a strategic spot, then headed back to the truck/boat.

Once back at the lot, I threaded my way through the maze of people and parked vehicles, climbed aboard the boat and dug out the single burner propane camp stove. In no time I was roasting cheese dogs on the open fire. The smell brought the neighbors over with an offer of a cold beer. I smiled and showed them my Dudweiser (O’doul’s). They snickered, but didn’t give me a rough time over my preference for NA. Then a nap in the cuddy was in order – to rest up for the return to the waterfront park for the main events.

I got back to ‘my spot’ between the bridges at about 2pm, napping away the hour before the airshow started. Shortly after the show began, a group of about 10 people settled in next to me. They were youngsters, flight instructors from the local airport. They knew all the planes in the show and their characteristics…my own personal commentators. They asked me if I wanted a drink or something, but the only thing non-alcoholic they could scare up was water. These folks offered to help me in any way possible and even said they’d take me up for a view of Louisville from the air if I was ever in the area again.

The air show was good. Not outstanding but good. Several of the star attractions were not available due to being pressed into war service, but the show was good. There were water demos too, and helicopter ‘rescues’. Toward sundown, the planes acrobated across the sky with roman candles spewing stars from their wing tips.

Then the fireworks. I expected an average fireworks display, just longer than others I’ve seen. But when the opening barrage went off, across the whole ½ mile of bridge and the sky lit up brighter than the noon sun, my jaw dropped to my ankles. HOLY SH**! We’re all used to a vertical fireworks display. The massive horizontalness of this show added a new dimension, not to mention the overwhelming persistence of body pounding concussions from the explosions. Totally awesome!

In the walk back to the truck/boat after the show I was one tiny component of a humongous mass of people. The flow was orderly and swift, maybe 40 or so across, filling the entire 4 lane highway. I was in the relative front of the massive exodus, soon being able to take in the pilgrimage from the helm chair of my boat. After about ½ hr in the chair the ‘neighbors’ showed up and we swapped impressions of the show. Then I turned in to the comfort of my cuddy, finding sleep almost immediately despite the noise/celebration of the parting multitude. When I woke up at 6am, I was absolutely alone in the immense parking area amidst the debris of celebration. There were papers, bottles and cans everywhere, with scattered abandoned barbecue grills, unwanted lawn chairs, discarded camping paraphernalia and forsaken coolers. 

I pulled out onto the now totally deserted highway and made my way back to the waterfront park. What had hours before been thousands of people amidst the roar of jet planes or thunderous fireworks was now only the eerie rustle of papers drifting about the empty park. In fact, it was so quiet I was drawn to explore the downtown streets of Louisville with my boat in tow.

As I worked my way out of town, back onto the highway, a pang emerged -- I had towed my boat over 500 miles and she had not yet been in the water. No worries. Before leaving Spartanburg on my Thunder expedition I had noted the proximity of Louisville to Land Between the Lakes…only a couple hundred miles down the Western Kentucky Parkway. I headed out of Louisville in the early morning sun toward Paducah and the waters of Land Between The Lakes.

There was a Visitors Center at Exit 40 off of I24. It was closed, but a map on the wall showed several nearby boat ramps, the closest of which was less than 3 miles. I was in the waters of Lake Barkley via the Kuttawa Access Area in 20 minutes. I meandered southwest toward the Barkley Canal, stopping at a cove for a sandwich and a nap, then proceeded through the canal into Kentucky Lake. I explored a couple coves on the LBtL side as I made my way south, then cruised up toward the dam at the 62 bridge. Then it was back through the canal and up to the Barkley Dam, with a side trip through the marina to port on my way back around toward the ramp. I passed the channel to the ramp and continued southeast down Barkley to about Buena Vista Estates before deciding to put her back on the trailer.

I thought about splashing again somewhere in the vicinity of Nashville on my way back home, but was never inspired. I kept on trucking along I40 until well into the night. I slept for a spell in the cuddy in a rest area near the junction of I75, getting up before 6am to avoid the morning traffic in Knoxville. The trip down the mountain was very pleasant. I even stopped at a Home Depot and WalMart to do a little window shopping on the way.

So the trip really hadn’t produced too much boating. This isn’t a problem with me. My bliss begins the minute I hook the boat trailer to the back of the pickup. It’s the beginning of my getaway; a time when there’s no garbage to take out, no grass to cut, no barking dogs or ringing telephones. I decide what to do at every turn…total freedom. If I find pleasant boating during the adventure, so be it. If I don’t, well, I just need to get out again, soon.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Truck Miles = 1,379

Boat Miles = 44.5

Engine hours = 3.7

Boat fuel = 8.9

A Little Miss

11/30-12/5/02

We’ve covered the East Coast from Connecticut to Key West, in hops aboard small boats; even been to the Bahamas. Also put water under the keel from Peoria to Chicago to Calumet Harbor, on a couple chunks of the Tennessee River and in much of the Gulf of Mexico from Ft Myers Beach to Mobile Bay, but we’ve never been on the Mississippi. I’d have a chance to do a little boating early in December – Baton Rouge and New Orleans seemed like a good place for our introduction to the Big River. I might have picked Cairo IL as a place to splash – then head south on the water, but it was December so the farther south the better, and I’m not fond of locks…we’d target the Mississippi between Baton Rouge and New Orleans.

When I’m by myself, I’ll sleep aboard whether I’m on the water or in the WalMart parking lot, but when my wife Suzy is along we do motels while on the road and one night out of three in a motel while on the water. The first night, we stayed just south of Mobile at Tillmans Corner after covering 525 miles in about 12 hours.

The next morning after crossing into Mississippi, we diverted off I-10 onto I-110 to pick up 90 so we could see Mississippi Sound. The beach along this stretch is, well, raw beach. The waterfront basically has zero personality. There was no lure to get the boat off the trailer. I did however stop at a marina to talk with a fellow fairing his sailboat hull, getting ready for Wednesday’s Beer Can race. Boaters are always friendly and ready to share their experiences --  it’s one of the reasons I enjoy boating so much. We swung back up to I-10 after clearing St Louis Bay Bridge. From there it was on to Gonzales LA. We’d originally planned on staying in Baton Rouge, but Ron, a fellow I met on the Internet, suggested Gonzales – a quiet area away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. We still had plenty of daylight, so we opted to stay on I-10 to get a peek at New Orleans before heading into Gonzales.

Gethunk gethunk…..gethunk gethunk…..gethunk gethunk – those Louisiana concrete highways are miserable in the city too, and the traffic was even worse. We never saw accidents or emergency vehicles, just bumper to bumper traffic at 10 miles an hour for miles and miles. Maybe the congestion was leftover from the Thanksgiving travelers. We finally made it to the motel at Gonzales. Day 2, at 200 miles, 6 hours was exhausting, due mostly to the New Orleans traffic and the condition of the Louisiana highways. We checked in and immediately took a nap.

Rested, and with a little daylight left, we thought we’d toodle up to Baton Rouge for our first real view of the Mississippi – maybe even go for an evening cruise. But, it was not to be. Baton Rouge traffic was snarled worse than a string of Christmas Tree lights. We grunted our way toward a boat ramp that was prominent on the Army Corp Chartbook at Wilkerson Point, just north of the 190 bridge at MM 234. Realizing that the traffic induced darkness would prevent us from launching in unfamiliar waters, we decided we’d try to get a look at the River from the Baton Rouge side before crossing the I-10 bridge, but the levies, traffic, and industrial aroma effectively discouraged us. We’d still scope out that ramp though, in preparation for an early launch tomorrow. We peered out the windows as we crossed the I-10 bridge to get a look at the River. We could see lumbering pushers with barges on both sides of the bridge up into the darkness on both sides of the bridge.

Even though we had the GPS displaying our street by street position on a colored laptop screen, we still somehow managed to miss a turn and ended up crossing the River back toward Baton Rouge on 190. The traffic had thinned, but the refinery smell grew to be overwhelming. We did a “U” turn and recrossed the River on 190, then found the right road, but alas there was a big sign at the turnoff to the ramp that threatened anyone who entered. We weren’t used to this. Everywhere else we’ve ever boated, there are easy access public ramps, all up and down the coast and on every creek and river. One stinkin’ ramp on the chart in Baton Rouge and you aren’t allowed to use it. A little discouraged, we high tailed it back to the motel.

Pondering the traffic, smell and levies, we decided we needed a sure thing for boating tomorrow. Ron had mentioned that he’d be in Venice on Monday, and he knew first hand about the boat ramp at the marina there. Ron also said Mississippi boating from Venice south was interesting and enjoyable. Tomorrow, we’d head to Venice LA.

Venice is at the end of the road down the Mississippi delta (Hwy 23). It’s 146 miles from Gonzales the way we went. The drive was pleasant with sparse traffic. We arrived about noon, spent 45 minutes with Ron looking over the houseboat he’s building there, and getting local knowledge. We then splashed Nicky for $5.

Although there were many boats in slips, and 20 or so empty trailers in the parking lot, there was little activity in the water…just a few unfamiliar types of small fishing boats. On the way out of the marina channel we noticed a cluster of pipes sticking high above an industrial operation. Some of these pipes had plumes of orange fire at their tops. The canal to the River off the marina channel was lined with large commercial boats, many of which were coming and going. One more turn and we were in The River.

Finally, the river...big river…wide river. We entered it just above MM 10. Upstream the sky was tainted with the yellowish gray haze of diesel exhaust from the huge ships. Downstream however was very promising. Clear blue skies and comfortable temperatures promised a pleasant run to the Gulf. We weren’t disappointed.

On our way to Head of Passes, MM 0, there was some commercial traffic, and man did these babies churn up the wake. Even at near zero mph we’d scoop water on deck with the bow no matter what angle we crossed them. However, once we got to MM 0, the traffic ceased and we had the South Pass all to ourselves. We meandered all the way to South Pass Lbb2 FL R 2.5S, serenely taking in the sights along the way. Once well into the Gulf, we swung to starboard and dropped the hook up behind the mud mounds for lunch and a peaceful nap. Suzy and I entertained spending the night on the hook somewhere in the area, but the weather wasn’t supposed to hold so we decided to head back while we still had daylight to appreciate the surroundings. This was the kind of boating we were use to.

We thought we’d give New Orleans a drive by on our way back – we took 90 Business across the River to pick up I-10. The bridge traffic was heavy, and slow enough to give us a look as we crossed. It was at that point that we came to realize that the Mississippi River is all business.  Unlike the charm of Charleston harbor or the dazzle of the Chicago skyline from the lake or the many touristy Florida waterfront cities, the Mississippi waters of New Orleans and Baton Rouge are business – big business. The gethunk gethunk…..gethunk gethunk…..gethunk gethunk of  I-10 punctuated this reality as we headed back to Gonzales. In some places the highway was so bad the bumps would lift your butt right off the seat!

Cold tonight, below freezing, then rainy all day tomorrow. Wednesday the rain would intensify as the front moved through. We decided that we’d just do a little sightseeing on Tuesday, see what the area was like. We took I-10 into Baton Rouge, then I-110 to 190 and across the bridge. When we got to Hwy 1 we turned right to get a look at False River – we’d just take a drive around the lake. And we did, going clockwise. As we were completing the circle, a little past Jarreau, we noticed a public boat ramp. Even though it was raining, we couldn’t resist. I launched in oilskins, put up the bimini and got Suzy aboard. We didn’t get Nicky above 5 mph on our way up the lake, we weren’t in any hurry, we were aboard on the water – it was where we wanted to be. A little above Oscar, we noticed large and fancy houses on the outside bank; we swerved in to get a closer look. Some mighty fine homes there…then as we headed back to the middle of the lake we noticed something very ironic. There were trailers on the waterfront on the other side of the lake. The folks in the trailers have a view of those magnificent homes from their back porches – the folks in the mansions get to sit on their verandas and look out across the lake at the trailers.

We cut the motor and just drifted while we assembled sandwiches for lunch, continuing to drift while eating them. We got her on a plane for a little while on the way back to the ramp, but were really in no hurry to get her back on the trailer.

We decided to take the I-10 bridge back, and I guess we weren’t surprised when traffic came to a snails pace, then stop and go. As we began our ascent up the bridge in the rain, we noticed the traffic coming back at us was pretty thin. I also noticed that as we passed over the metal expansion strips in the pavement on the bridge, that the rear tires made substantially more noise than the front tires. It soon dawned on me that the rear tires were briefly breaking loose on that slippery smooth wet metal due to the trailer being pulled up the step incline. I made it a point to not accelerate over the metal and had no further problems. As we were crawling our way along about ½ way up the bridge, we noticed police cars with emergency lights blaring lined up one after the other along the shoulder in the opposite lanes.  Then crowds of uniformed people milling about the parked cars. Then there was a clean break of about 50 yards where there were no people or parked vehicles. The proceedings were a mystery until we spotted a man on the outside side of the guardrail at the very middle of the bridge, facing the river. We didn’t mind the 90 minutes it took to get the remaining 30 miles back to the motel – our day certainly couldn’t be as bad as his.

The weatherman was still promising increasing rain for Wednesday, and colder temps to follow. Not wanting to call it quits, we thought we might head north, then east and maybe spend a day or two on the Tombigbee River or one of the lakes over that way. We’d head toward Tuscaloosa in the morning.

Wednesday morning we headed south on I-10 to pick up I-55. We didn’t want to even think about getting near Baton Rouge again. We had an uneventful trip to Tuscaloosa, arriving after dark, the constant all day rain taking no more toll than frazzled nerves from the constant hiss it made against the windshield. We called home to check in. We learned that our daughter, Sara Jane, was packing up the bird and heading to the future in-laws in the town next to us because an ice storm had knocked out power to almost the entire city of Spartanburg. She said that there were trees down in our yard but as far as she could tell, there wasn’t any damage to buildings.

Thursday morning we took back roads to the interstate, to check out a boat ramp on the Black Warrier River. It was still raining, bleak and cold – we decided not to launch, we’d spend the time on the road. We never travel at speeds greater than 55mph, even on the interstate. It’s the law in some states that trailers not exceed 55, but we do it because it’s easier on us, the rig and we get much better mpg. We were passed by several caravans of utility trucks heading east from Birmingham. The radio said Alabama was sending all kinds of help east to help restore power to the ice storm zone.

As we came into Spartanburg, we noticed trees down along the interstate. The sun had long since set when we pulled into the drive, but the lights were on in the house, even though Sara Jane was in Greenville. It was nice that the power was back up – we learned later that our power grid supported several nursing homes and had restoration priority. We’d have been OK anyway because our home is heated by natural gas which requires no power to function. We also have a small Honda generator on the boat which could have been used to power lights or small appliances if necessary.

The morning light on Friday revealed ice covered branches littering the back yard. A small maple toward the middle of the yard had had taken a hit from falling branches, but ½ of it was still standing. Of the 8 or 10 branches and treetops in the yard, only one was actually from one of our trees. The rest of the mess was from neighbor’s trees that ended up in pieces in our yard.

As luck would have it, one of those neighbors does tree work as a sideline. He came by with a couple chain saws and an old pickup; I buzzed and loaded limbs for 2 days.

It’s day 4 after the storm. Even though we have power, the cable is still out. No TV and no internet. We’re fortunate, the neighbors down the street are still in the dark with cold houses. We had 2 ‘guests’ last night who are still waiting for power/heat. The word is it could be 3 or 4 more days before things are back to normal; at least temps should be above freezing tonight.

All told, we did have a great cruise from Venice to the Gulf, and we did spend considerable time on the Mississippi between New Orleans and Baton Rouge albeit in slow traffic on bridges.  The trailer was very well behaved. The boating we did do was carefree. I think though, that next time I head out on a trailerboat trip after Thanksgiving, it will be to someplace in south Florida.

Car miles – 1,975

Boat miles – 72

Engine hours – 5.1

Boat fuel – 15.4

Suzy is really a little bit of a thing, but the velocity enhancer turns her into the Michelin Man.
Damn, I Love Those Mornings Aboard

7/26/02

Trailer lights checked. Safety gear aboard. A change of clothes and standard bill of fare for sustenance: soft drinks, pastry swirls, fully cooked hotdogs w/ cheese inside, assorted cold cuts in a zip lock package, freeze dried salted Planters peanuts, coffee singles, wheat(ish) bread, a few beers, ice, and I was on my way, boat in tow, the 200 miles from Spartanburg to Charleston.

I stop at almost every rest area, to keep a watchful eye on the hubs – I’ve blown 2. The forecast was for the high to be in the upper 90’s so I knew the hotter than normal temp of the hubs at the first rest area was probably due to the sweltering heat. I connected the remote reading thermometer I’d previously rigged to the problem spindle so I could track the temp of the hub from the drivers seat.

As I approached Charleston, I gave a buddy a shout on the cell to see if he was aboard his boat. My decision on where to splash could be influenced by his whereabouts if he were aboard. Turned out he and his family were in Charleston, but doing land based activities because of the heat. I did spend a little time aboard their boat with them; they drove back from the beach to cool off in the boat. They didn’t want to move the boat from the slip because they can’t run the air conditioning under way.

I don’t usually have firm plans when I head toward water, but on this occasion I’d been thinking of putting in at Wild Dunes (now called Isle of Palms Marina) and heading up the Cooper River to the Pinopolis Lock. There didn’t appear to be any reason not to follow the plan, so at about 1500 I was cruising down to the harbor from Wild Dunes. The ICW was very well behaved, but unbelievably hot. I took her out of gear, then toted the tiny Honda generator out of the cuddy and strapped it on the stern. I plugged in the 5000 btu a/c I have mounted behind the helm seat, cranked up the generator, put the home made manifold on the a/c and stuffed the 3" hose up under my shirt. Mmmmmm, cold air!

The harbor wasn’t as friendly as the ICW, but it only took about 20 minutes to get up into the protection of the Cooper -- I took the Shem Creek channel into the harbor, then cut across the shoal into Patriots Point. The lower Cooper is busy and industrial, often with associated aroma. There are nautical sights to be enjoyed, a marina, naval yards (home of the Hunley), and even a submarine base before the River becomes ‘natural’.

As I approached the sub base, a gunboat intercepted me. A fatigue clad GI was gesturing, but I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to convey, so I throttled back and idled toward him. The closer I got the more emphatic his gestures became. Woah, I finally realized he was telling me to keep away…give the subs a wide berth. I swung to the far outside edge of the channel, continuing at a no wake pace. A ways up river I noticed the back side of a large sign. I had to pass it and do a 180 to read it, it said something to the effect that boats transiting past the sub base were to stay to the outside of the channel, maintain speed and no pictures allowed. OK, so I’d missed the sign on my way into the area, probably because I’d been gawking at the huge gray ships that were moored along the bank.

As much as I enjoy looking at any kind of boats, I’m also prone to be absorbed by the natural part of the river. It’s a hard choice, to plane or not to plane, when the scenery is natural and the river is as smooth as a baby’s skin…I slowed off the step to take it all in, but was regularly overcome by the urge to get her on plane for short glassy straight stretches.

The upper river is well marked, even through the rice paddies. However, the serpentine channel occasionally tempts one to make for the next closest nav aid, when in fact there is often a shoal that must be circumnavigated to get to that tempting marker. But the channel is deep from the harbor all the way up to Pinopolis Lock, and except for one small stretch of residential No Wake, a boat could make the entire trip at cruising speed. It took me about 3 hours to go the 60 miles from Wild Dunes to the lock.

I did a little gunkholing before dinner. There’s a sign advertising a marina just upstream of the highway 17A bridge at Monks Corner. I meandered on in to get a look-see. The narrow channel is about ¼ mile long then there’s a sharp right to get to the marina. As I slowly approached the ‘turn’ I noticed a cruiser (about 40’long) at a strange bow up angle – he had the stern light burning and it looked like a spotlight on the bow illuminating aft. It was still almost an hour until sundown, so it seemed strange that his lights were on. As I came up on the cruiser it was apparent he was aground, or a better word might be abeach. The transom was under water and the bow was up in the woods. It looked as if this fellow had been running up the channel at a good clip and for some reason didn’t make the turn. There was no one aboard, but there was an oil/gas spill emanating from the boat, so I did a 180 and hightailed it back to the river. I did get a peek at the ‘transient slips’…nothing to write home about, but I did not get close enough to evaluate their boat ramp.

I did a slow run up to the base of the 80’ lock, then headed back down to drop the hook across from the dockside restaurant in the no wake zone. There’s a ramp at the restaurant and another public ramp across the river; there is no dock at public ramp.

Hook down, I fired up the single burner stove to toast up a couple of those cheese dogs over the flame. No mustard, but what the heck, they tasted great with a Southpaw Light. I never drink and drive, but I will have ONE beer when I’m anchored for a meal. The moon was trying to come out as the sky gave up its last bit of daylight. Shortly after I stuck the stern light in the transom I was chased below by a mosquito.

I just couldn’t stay put. I sprayed my ankles with deet, cranked up the a/c, stuffed the cooling hose under my shirt, brought the anchor aboard and headed down the river at 6 mph in the moonlight. The river is pretty well defined up at the tailrace, so there wasn’t really a concern about navigation. Even so, I kept a sharp eye on the GPS breadcrumbs that I’d dropped on the way up. There were stretches where I got her on a plane – deep wide water. It’s funny how all those clumps of floating vegetation I’d dutifully navigated around on the way up, somehow now didn’t seem daunting in the dark (maybe they find a nice place along the beach at night?).

At about 11pm, I realized that I could be coming up on the sub base, and had visions of those gun totin’ GIs stopping/questioning me. I was sensitive about the beer that I’d had for dinner, so I put the bow up into the weeds, dropped the hook and figured I’d take a short nap – after I had a sandwich.

The temperature had come down by now, so I turned off the a/c and switched on the little “D” battery fan in the cuddy. Not long after I dozed off, the DS complained. The stern had swung around into shallow water…I silenced the alarm on the DS and went back to sleep.

At least I thought I had silenced the alarm…it woke me up again as it beeped a couple more times. It wasn’t persistent, so I went back to sleep without getting up. Darn, another interruption…the little fan started clicking – it does that sometimes when it’s jostled. At that point I decided, ‘screw the nap’; I set the alarm for 6:15 to beat the sun up and turned in for the duration. Shortly after a wake brought me to semi consciousness, I decided that even though the alarm hadn’t gone off, I’d get up and continue my trip down the river.

It was dark as I emerged from the cuddy, but the river was friendly and the air cool. I scanned the horizon to get my bearings, then scanned the horizon to get my bearings, then scanned the horizon to get my bearings. Where was I? I couldn’t make sense of the lights I could see on the shore, or the lay of the land. While directing my focus to the GPS I had the sensation of drifting. The illuminated DS caught my eye – 45’. Heck, I’d only put out 20’ of scope…yup, the anchor was just hanging down off the boat and I WAS drifting, and at a good clip too.

This time I did make it to the GPS for some answers. I could see a triple track on the display. Two of those tracks came to the point where I’d dropped the hook…over 1-1/2 miles down river. Sheesh, I’d been pushed back up stream over a mile and a half. The signs were there, I just ignored them. The second series of beeps from the DS occurred as the range changed at least twice going into the deeper water. The fan was jostled as the boat oriented itself to the current. I should have set the deep alarm on the DS. I should have set the anchor watch on the GPS. Hey, I should have set the hook. But, no harm done – there’s no commercial traffic that far up the river and in fact I had drifted along a track that was only a couple feet from the path I’d navigated in the daylight.

If I hurried, I could have hot coffee before the sun broke. The stove boiled the water in only a few minutes (I would have used the 120volt immersion heater, but I wanted to hold off starting the generator until it was needed for a/c.). I poured the boiling water over the coffee singles in a styrofoam cup, immediately covering the cup with a Pastry Swirl. I couldn’t decide whether to drop the hook while I enjoyed my coffee and toasty warm pastry swirl, or meander downstream. I decided to meander.

A fresh sun, birds proclaiming the new day, cool morning air, calm river waters; I’m going to drop the hook and savor the moment. As I kill the motor and drift to the bank, I see one of those crops of floating vegetation in my path. Oops, no, it’s an alligator. Easy fella. I’m not your breakfast. I wondered if an alligator could get into my boat when he/she did a slight detour my way, but I never really felt threatened.

I must have lolligaged in that area for an hour before I got the urge to head downstream again. This time when I came on the subs, there were two gunboats. I hugged the outside of the channel as I passed them on step. One of the gunboats swung away to parallel me for a ¼ mile or so, then headed back.

I kept her at speed until the Cooper River Marina was abeam. By now I had the a/c running, so slowing to take in the boats there did not pose a comfort problem. I spent about ½ hour checking out those lonely boats, gently tugging at their dock lines. Then on to the battery, slowly making my way from the Maritime Center up to the Coast Guard Station. Those majestic homes on the waterfront, standing tall and proud are the essence of Charleston. After giving the Coast Guard station the mandatory wide berth, I crossed to the other side of the Ashley to the anchorage across from the city marina. A nap was in order…I know the holding is excellent there.

The harbor waters were a little feisty on my way back to Sullivans Island, but not to the point of encouraging spray to come aboard. Slow to idle for the boat ramp just after the range into the protected ICW. Then a detour off the ICW just shy of the Ben Sawyer bridge to take in the boats at Tolers Cove. And I couldn’t resist a little exploring in the shallows off the inside of Breach Inlet before heading back up to Wild Dunes.

I waited one boat at the Isle of Palms ramp. Great ramp! It was sweltering ashore, so I left the a/c running to cool the cuddy as I got things together ‘below’. Grabbed a big slushie at the Marina store on my way out. The ride/tow home was uneventful – the dry roasted peanuts made good company.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Car miles – 471

Boat miles – 128

Engine hours – 9.4

Boat fuel – 25.8 gals

Boating Mentor

My wife said I should be ashamed. I’d brought 4 boats together for this outing, one of the fellows was on his first salt water cruise with his wife and daughter. There he was, 20 feet up on the beach; he and his family spent the night there, high and dry. With a few words of wisdom, I could have prevented the ‘grounding’…why hadn’t I spoken up?

The previous afternoon, at about ½ way down on a falling tide, our four boats had bumped their bows on the beach at in a cove off the old Folly Light house so we all could wiggle our toes in the clean, warm sand. As I jumped off the bow onto the beach I was asked what would happen as the tide waned. I said, “Worst case, you’ll go dry when the tide runs out from under you, and you’ll have to wait 4 hrs or so for the water to come back up.” No bigee, they decided and headed off to explore the beach and lighthouse.

After the expedition on the beach, one of the boats went back to the Folly ramp to spend the night ashore. The rest of us decided to stay the night where we were. I backed off the beach a hundred feet or so and dropped the hook. Each of the remaining two boats had 4 year olds aboard and decided to stay beached to facilitate activities.

The boat that went back to the ramp is a Seaswirl 1851, like mine, only a year younger. Tris, her captain and co-worker of mine, had been rejuvenating an old Renken when he got a glimpse of my rig.  I offered Tris a chance to go out on the water with me -- I needed to make a return trip to the dealer who sold me my Seaswirl, Nicky; I was having a factory fresh 16’ Arima Sea Explorer delivered to East Columbia Sport Shop. I’d take Nicky with me when I went down to pick up the new Arima, Tris would drive too, and he could pull the Arima back after we spent some time on Nicky cruising nearby Lake Murray. It wasn’t long after our cruise that Tris was talking with ECSS, eventually buying his boat there.

Why was I picking up a brand new boat when I’d just bought one? Arima (in Seattle WA) was building me a brand new boat due to a hull problem, but the replacement would not be available until late summer. Rather than lose a season on the water, I bought a new boat – 2000 Seaswirl 1850 W/A (Striper) pushed by a 115 Evinrude Ficht . I’d sell the new Arima after it arrived, in the meantime I wouldn’t lose any time on the water.

That new Arima was now up on the beach. I’d sold it to my boss Carl, an avid canoe/kayaker who was looking for something a little more accommodating so he could get out on the water with his family. Carl, his wife Susan and their 4 year old daughter Nikki seemed none the worse for wear considering having spent the night on the hard, and the boat showed no adverse signs from the beaching. Our activities that day were dictated by the need to wait for the high tide, but instead of complaining about the inconvenience, we used that time for beach/swimming activities and socializing.

Sadler, Beth and 4 year old Charlotte on the fourth boat, Wild Things, had stayed at the beach until the wee hours of the morning when the rising tide would every once in a while, pick WT up and set her down with a thud. Sadler decided rather than endure the discomfort, he’d push off and drop a hook.

Sadler and I have been compadres for many years, having the common bond of being home schooling dads of the Carolina Superschoolers group . We got together regularly for/at Home Schooling functions. I’d re-introduced Sad to boating early in our relationship when we spent a winter morning shoveling snow off the deck of my (old) 35’ trawler in preparation for a winter weekend aboard.  He taught me a trick that morning – snow soaked boat shoes can be warmed up in the microwave! We’d gone out several times since then together too, on the old Arima; to see a shuttle go up at Titusville, take in an airshow at Pensacola and on a cruise from Beaufort NC to Ocracoke. Sad finally got the fever and bought a 29’ Searay Sundancer he’d found on the internet. I helped him bring his ‘new to him’ boat home from St Mary’s FL to Charleston SC.

The Home Schooling generation that brought Sadler and me together has or is about to graduate college, but a new generation of home schoolers including Nikki and

Charlotte has created a bond between those two families. So it wasn’t surprising that while I was on vacation I received an email from Sadler (on my cell phone). It seems that he and Carl and Tris were at it again in Charleston. This time Carl lost an anchor because the end of the rode slipped thru his fingers while he was jockeying for position, and Carl’s battery didn’t have enough life to get his motor started after spending an anchorless night rafted to WT.  When my wife Suzy heard this, she said, “Pooor Carl!”

It might have been an experience on my vacation that inspired the insight into my attitude as mentor to less experienced boaters. We were at Hall’s Harbor in Nova Scotia. The tide there has to be over 30 feet. All the boats in the harbor spend many hours a day sitting on the bottom. Are we concerned for the boaters there? Not in the least. The boaters of Hall’s Harbor are fortunate to have a place to keep their boats, and consider this just another aspect of boating. It got me thinking…

A boat is an emotional amplifier. It makes the good times better – it makes the bad times worse. The boat is a vehicle of heightened experience. When I’m in a position to be a boating mentor, my place is not to decide which experiences should be ‘allowed’, or to inhibit or limit any experiences of new boaters. Experiences are WHY we go boating. My chosen directive is to prevent physical harm. Watching the end of the anchor rode disappear into the depths, or having to deal with a dead battery, or spending the night aboard with no water under your keel are not to be avoided, they’re to be savored  -each of these situations can and will provide an unexpected opportunity to enjoy a new aspect of boating. Running an inlet with a loose anchor and rode on the bow, or lighting up an inboard without ventilating the bilge are a different story.

“But a word of caution could have spared the expense of a tow, or the cost of buying a new anchor…?” If the avoidance of spending is a valid argument, the best advice I could give anyone interested in boating is “Don’t!” If you can’t enjoy spending money for/on the boat, don’t have one, because you’re going to spend money, more than you know.”

But a work of caution could have kept a fellow boater from feeling like a idiot? A person is only as much of an idiot as he allows himself to be. Do you think I never experienced a hard grounding – yes the first time as uncomfortable, the second was intentional, the third and forth and fifth and sixth I can’t remember, but I do remember the last time…I hit a shallow spot at 20 mph and came to a stop in 4” of water. When it became apparent I was stranded, I decide it was a good time for a nap. Did I ever find myself out in the middle of the lake with water rising in the cockpit because I’d forgotten the plug? Did I ever get tangled up at the ramp because I forgot to take the tiedown straps off the transom and backed the car so far into the water that the boat and trailer floated up and over into the guy next to me? I’d be happy to admit I’d lost an anchor, if I had…the thing is I’ve lost several. Have I ever been ashore watching my 35’ trawler merrily making it’s way downstream through a crowded anchorage after a tide change? Do I avoid boating because I’m afraid you’ll think I’m an odiot? Know what? I’m out there boating because I want to be out there boating, and I don’t care what you think. And going one step farther, I think you’ll find that anytime you find yourself in an uncomfortable boating situation, the first thing another boater will do is to explain how the same thing has happened to him. The water somehow breeds compassion. The real idiots are those who don’t get out on the water.

I would offer a little unsolicited advice about boating with family. Unless your boat is air conditioned, has a refrigerator, stove and toilet, do not use it as a destination for family outings. Without these conveniences aboard, a land based destination is a must; the boat can be a part of family activities without these amenities, but even then, only if conditions permit, and then only if there is an accompanying land base.

Another bit of unsolicited advice – it’s never, never, never a good idea to bring children aboard when any new boating experiences are apt to be encountered. You need to know everything about your boat and the area you are cruising before you bring a child aboard a recreational boat – if this means you’ve got to take your boat out alone, or with a buddy, time and time again until you have eliminated all potential surprises, well, so be it.

Bottom line…if your life is one bad day after another, stay away from boating. On the other hand, if you love life, a boat is the best way I know to hear yourself say things like,

“It doesn’t get any better than this.”

“It was the first time I ever…” or “Never before have I…”

“What a glorious sunset!”

“Food never tasted so good.”

“Ahhh, Fresh Clean Air!”

“That gentle motion is so soothing.”

“The water is such a deeeeeep blue.”

“I’ve never seen so many birds.”

And if we’re boating together, expect me to allow you to experience all that is there, and to show you why all of it is good, because that’s why I’m on the water.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC  6/5/02

KEY WEST FEBRUARY 2002

I got a late start on Saturday 1/26/2002. My boss had some last minute stuff for me to do before I took off on vacation. The second Florida Rest area on I95 was my motel that night…

My next stop was Boca Raton. We’d lived on Lake Boca for a spell aboard our sailboat in the 70’s; I just wanted to have a look. I didn’t recognize the place. The ramp at the Palmetto Park Bridge was packed to the gills and there must have been 50 or more boats anchored in the lake. The ranger at the ramp said this kind of activity was normal for a weekend and that there was some kind of game happening in a couple hours. Oh well, on to Key Biscayne.

I’d called Crandon Park Marina at Key Biscayne before I left home – to make sure there was a ramp and a place to park overnight. The ramp was great – there were at least 5 double wide ramps and unlike Boca, there was plenty of parking. I paid my $8 (at least I think it was $8, the ticket doesn’t show the price) and waited about an hour to get a place at the ramp – everyone else was coming out. There were 30 footers being retrieved with Freightliners (semi-tractor) ahead of me.

Once in the water, I explored the eastern shore of Key Biscayne, including the little harbors, all the way to the Light House in Bill Baggs State Park. By then I was ready to drop the hook for the night, so I meandered back to Hurricane Harbor at Southwest Point. This harbor is all residential, and very protected. I made a sandwich for dinner then got out my cell/PDA to check my internet eMail, after which I set an alarm for 6:30am to be sure I’d be up before the sun.

I beat the alarm by about an hour. I took the opportunity to do some night cruising, making a wide sweep of Biscayne Bay toward Miami before heading out to Fowey Rocks for a taste of open water. I watched the sunrise on my way back in, then headed back across the bay to Dinner Key for a cruise through the anchorage and to check out the expensive boats at the marina. From there, I went back to the ramp at Crandon to pick up a chart that I’d left in the car. The ramp was totally empty, just me and the birds. I was the only car in the lot – a far cry from the mayhem that goes on there on the weekends.

Chart in hand, I plotted a course under the bridge between Key Biscayne and Virginia Key. It was slow going in the 3’ depths, but I enjoy going slow. When the water got comfortably deep, I put her on a plane and swung out, then into the Miami Channel. After checking out the back side of Miami Beach, I tried to run in on the Main Channel along MacArthur Causeway, but I was intercepted by a Ranger of some kind. He directed me to take the channel south of Dodge Island – which I of course did. I poked my bow into the Miami River before heading back to the ramp. I was on the trailer about 10am.

Key West was to be my next splash point, but before continuing south, er…west, I drove to the far end of Key Biscayne. It’s a very clean and proper community. The road ‘ends’ at the entrance to Bill Baggs Park; they wouldn’t let me in for a look around, so I picked up a brochure and was on my way. I did stop at a couple marinas on my way back out, and for a stroll on the causeway beach.

I took US1 south for a few miles, until I realized that there were no sights to be seen, only traffic lights and congestion, so I got on the Toll Road somewhere past Coral Gables. I have a double axle trailer, so my tolls were $2.25 a crack, but I didn’t mind. The going is much nicer.

The Toll road ends at a WalMart in Homestead FL. I like to stop there, for a walk around, even if I don’t need anything. This time I did pick up a couple bags of ice there, and bought gas on my way out.

I’d planned on launching at marina on Stock Island, just a few miles east of Key West. They said they had a nice ramp and secure parking when I called. When I got there I learned the fee for launch and overnight parking would be $22, except there was no parking (I’d have to unhook the trailer) and the ramp was basically a cliff – my motor well filled up before the stern floated off the trailer. After deciding the ramp was useless I couldn’t pull the trailer/boat back up the ramp because the trailer was at about a 50-degree angle from the truck. I eventually did get the boat/trailer back up on the level, after throwing handfuls of sand under tires for traction – the ensuing blue smoke reminding me of the miles that were being removed from my tires during the exercise. If I hurried, I could go back east to Bahia Honda and launch there.

I arrived at Bahia Honda State Park just before sundown. This park is first class – outstanding marina (very quiet and protected) and excellent boat ramp. The trouble was, the marina had closed for the night, and I couldn’t get in as a ‘camper’ because all the camping spots are booked about 11 months in advance. I was advised to return tomorrow morning at 8, when the park opened. Damn, I’d just have to go back up to Marathon and spend the night in the Kmart parking lot.

As I crossed the bridge from Bahia Honda to Ohio Key, I noticed a cluster of empty trailers off to the left. I cut across 2 lanes of highway and made the turn into a campground/marina. Eight bucks to launch, but I had to unhook the empty trailer and park the truck elsewhere to avoid blocking others. There was a channel out of the marina into Florida Bay – I dropped the hook just after dark.

I was up before sunrise, but the water in the Bay is so shallow I was not comfortable navigating in the dark. I resigned myself to relocating to a more strategic place to watch the sunrise, and wait. Just after sunup, a fisherman blasted out of the marina channel and under US 1 out towards Hawk Channel. Hmmm, so a fellow can get under that bridge – but then I remembered the precarious situation I’d left the truck and trailer in and decided to try Bahia Honda again.

I arrived at the Bahia Honda gate just before 8am. I was the second person in line to enter the park. Four-fifty admitted me to the park and gave me clearance to launch. The brochure says there are 19 slips in the marina, but there were only 6 boats in sight. The going rate is $1/foot with a $22 minimum.  I didn’t take a slip, but I did file a Float Plan because I had every intention of staying the night in Key West, and I didn’t want the Ranger to worry about my truck/trailer being in the lot overnight.

My original plan considered Key West a must, with consideration to spend some time in Florida Bay between Key West and Marathon, and maybe a cruise to the Dry Torguas if things worked out. The non-ramp at the marina at Stock Island had put a crimp in my plans, and after spending the night off Ohio Key, I realized I hadn’t done enough homework to feel comfortable covering any distance in the shallows of Florida Bay. The revised plan was now to head down Hawk Channel to Key West, explore, take in the sunset, spend the night in an anchorage there, then return to Bahia Honda again via Hawk Channel. If things were ideal, I might be able to do a day trip to the Dry Tortugas before heading back to BH, but I knew those odds were very slim.

This was the first morning NOAA had suggested anything but a stalled high for the lower keys. We should now expect increasing wind for the next few days. Well, it wasn’t blowing yet, I could still get down to Key West, mess around some, see a sunset and come back up before the wind built the seas too much. Off I went, at about 22 mph enjoying every minute. A small chop began building about 10 miles into the 36-mile run, but the wind was directly behind me so I hardly noticed the change. In fact, I was so jubilant on the approach to Key West that I pushed the throttle forward and danced into the harbor at 35 mph.

Once in the harbor proper, I slowed her off the step and meandered to the far end, weaving through the anchored boats off Fleming Key before dropping the hook. I then just sat there in the cockpit taking it all in…a cruisers tropical paradise…a decent breeze, oh-so-blue skies and several anchorages teaming with cruisers of all kinds. My stomach wasn’t as overwhelmed as my senses – it growled reminding me it was time to eat, so I threw together a sandwich and grabbed some chips and poured a Pepsi into an ice filled cup – my wife had supplied me well, bless her heart.

A short nap followed the food, then I was on my way to explore. I followed the channel to the north end of Fleming Key, then back down it’s east side, then over to Garrison Bight. After the sights in the bight, I returned to the harbor via the narrow channel under a bridge between Key West and Fleming Key; man was the current running through there.

Then on to Key West Bight, checking out all the marinas and shoreside businesses. There was a dinghy dock in front of a bar where boaters were double stacking their dinks to partake of the music and drinks. There were all kinds of people ashore walking, biking, roller-skating from one place to another. Everyone seemed seriously happy. A favorite place of mine was Schooner Wharf, home to several large wooden schooners. And was that a big black submarine tied up on the other side of the harbor?

I then wanted to get settled in a strategic place on the west side of Frankfort Bank in plenty of time to watch the sunset. I tried to get through via Man of War Harbor, but couldn’t find water deep enough so I went all the way out of the main harbor and back to the west side of Frankfort via Middle Ground. I found a great vantagepoint just off Wisteria Island, dropped the hook and settled in.

I watched boats come and go through the anchorage. There were boaters taking their dogs ashore, and others working on their boats. I turned on NOAA for a spell to see what the weather was cooking up…what would it be like that night on the hook, or making my way back to Bahia Honda in the dark? The wind was supposed to strengthen out of the East to 20+ mph, the seas would build 3 to 6’ and things would generally continue to deteriorate. I began to get a little uneasy. It wouldn’t be any fun going back that night in the dark, and it might be even worse tomorrow.  This would bear some consideration.

About 2:30pm I hauled in the anchor. I’d head back in the daylight…

As I cleared Tank Island I became aware of the strength of the east wind, and the chop, but it wasn’t until I rounded Whitehead Spit that I felt the full brunt of the seas. Heading east into an east wind with 4’ seas in an 18 ½’ boat isn’t something to look forward to. At 6 mph, I could stay dry and avoid any pounding, but the rolling was excessive – I wasn’t in any real hurry, so I maintained this speed for about an hour before I began to experiment. At 12 mph the rolling subsided somewhat, but the stern would dig in and she’d slap and groan into the oncoming seas. I couldn’t maintain any speed between 12 and 22 mph – that’s the range where she’s trying to plane…more throttle at 12 only makes her dig in until one applies enough power to get her on plane at about 20 mph, but the seas would just knock her back in the hole for the cycle to start over, and over, and over. I put her on 22 mph with the bow down – the pounding was aggravating and the hull would knock seas loose, which would come aboard. At 22 with the bow up, it was worse. At 30 mph, the pounding became hammering and facefulls of sea were a regular occurrence. This is when the math syndrome emerges.

36 at 6 = 6, 36 at 12 = 3, 36 at 22 = 1.6, 36 at 30 = 1.2 in your dreams. I’m not sure what it is about the sea. One understands that it’s nothing personal, the ocean is the ocean, and it’s going to do what it wants to do whether you’re in/on it or not.   I could have just left her on 6 mph, and accepted the 6 hours it would take to get back to protected waters. I could have opted for a closer destination… but when I’m out there, there’s something that wills me to not be too submissive. It’s not defiance, it’s not macho, it’s not foolishness, it’s kind of a focus – hard to explain. It’s always been there, even when boating in the 12’ sailboat on a windy lake, or when we were sailing up the Gulf Stream in 20’ seas w/ 40-mph winds.

I’d rationalize each option. While going 6 mph I was thinking, “Six hours?”

At 12 mph things were probably the sanest overall aboard, but that occasional roll and slapping made me think, “If I’m going to endure this, why not get it over with sooner?”

So, after 12 mph for a while, I’d push her up on a plane to about 22 mph. This was when I began wondering if the boat could take it. “The pounding…the incessant pounding. Maybe if I took the seas at 45 degrees instead of straight on?” Nope, no better. After 10 or 15 minutes I had to know if it would get better or worse at 30 mph, and always found it in fact did get worse! “But wasn’t the boat built to take this?” Whether or not it was, I wasn’t, and I’d drop her back to 6 mph to collect myself.

The 6, 12, 22, 30 cycle was repeated many times, more often than not without the 30. “What am I doing out here? Why am I doing this? Is this fun?” were just a few of the questions that ran through my mind.

I kept an eye out behind me. The sun would be setting soon, and I wanted to make sure I got some pictures. Just before the sun kissed the horizon, I shut down the motor and got out the camera. Did you ever try to take pictures from a rolling boat? Nice thing about the digital camera, you can snap away to your hearts content – maybe one of the 25 pictures will actually have the sun in the shot with the horizon relatively horizontal. I guess I spent close to 45 minutes just drifting during this sunset – it was magnificent!

As I’m getting underway again, I note there’s only 7 miles left until I’m in protected water. I’m wet, and getting cold because the sun has deserted me, but I realize I don’t want it to be over…so it’s 6 mph the rest of the way in, during which time I’m planning my next passage.

The park is closed when I finally get into the harbor. I debate whether to anchor out or ‘steal’ a spot on the harbor wall. My thoughts turn to my wonderful wife who has encouraged me to do this adventure without her (she manages a tax preparation office and can’t get away; I must take my final week’s vacation before the end of Feb). I decide I’m ready to head home, but can’t get out of the park until 8am tomorrow. I tie up in the marina and begin to get the boat trailer ready.

I’m up well before dawn the next morning, tidying up, getting ready to put Nicky back on her trailer, all the while keeping an eye on the horizon – I don’t want to miss sunrise. I decide I’ve got time to make coffee, so I assemble the single burner propane camp stove, boil some water and pour it into the styrofoam cup, over the coffee single ‘teabag’.  I take the coffee across the street to the Loggerhead Beach Overlook. As I sit on the top step of the beach access with the firm east wind blowing directly in my face, the sun makes a spectacular appearance. As the sun clears the horizon, my eye catches movement up the beach. I turn to see 5 pelicans in formation drifting my way. They glide down the beach in the warm breeze without ever flapping a wing. The morning was so magical I felt that if I had spread my arms I might have joined them as they passed overhead.

At Key Largo, I opted for the Card sound route on the way back. I suppose it’s worth doing once, but I prefer US1. From there onto the toll road, and after $15.85 in tolls, I pick up I95. At this point, I’m totally playing it by ear…if I get tired, I’ll stop at a rest area and nap in the boat…when I get hungry, I’ll either snack in the truck or stop somewhere.

I did a Cracker Barrel for dinner -- vegetable plate and coffee, then later tried to nap in the SC Welcome Center, but there was no room to park. I ended up spending the night in a rest area about 200 miles from home on I26. Before completing my trip home, I stopped at the dealer who sold me the boat over 2 years ago (I hadn’t seen him since) and took Nicky for a 2 hr spin/cleaning in a fresh water lake near home.

As I was unloading gear from Nicky in my driveway, a neighbor asked about the trip. I gave him a quick rundown on where I’d been and what I’d done. He suggested, “Isn’t it just like us Americans to spend 5 days on the road to take a 3 day vacation?”

I told him that I wasn’t a typical American. “My vacation starts the minute I leave the driveway and doesn’t stop until I’m back home.”

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Truck Miles – 1853

Truck Fuel – 134.3

Boat Miles – 153.5

Boat Fuel – 29.6

Engine Hours – 16.5

 

 

 

 

 

Florida Keys - February 3-9 2001

It was cold even for early February in Spartanburg. I moved the temperature control to full heat before I started the car engine. As the day wore on, I adjusted the temperature away from hot; by the time I hit Daytona I was running the A/C. At that point, I was about ½ way into the +/- 900 miles from my home in Spartanburg to Key West. I kept on truckin’, reaching Manitee Pocket near Stuart, at about 11:00pm. I didn’t launch the boat at the Pocket, I just climbed into the cuddy in a parking spot at the ramp for the night.

I was up and on the road before dawn, but it was light by the time I finished breakfast at the Cracker Barrel just before getting on I95. I wasn’t sure where I’d end up that night - somewhere in the Keys…I’d know when it was right to splash NICKY, a 2000 Seaswirl 1850 W/A, pushed by a 115 Evinrude Ficht Ram.

When I saw the exit sign that said, “Jupiter”, I remembered the last time I had been down this way, I swore I would stay off I95 between Lauderdale and Coral Gables, so I picked up the Florida Turnpike. A few bucks in tolls would surely be worth the aggravation of the ‘not long on manners’ Florida drivers. OK, I admit I probably antagonize those Florida folks who are in a hurry to be somewhere else, because I only go 55 mph. Fifty-five is only made possible by a recent purchase of a used 1998 Ford F150; previously in my 1972 F100, the max speed was 49 mph.

At the end of the Florida Turnpike there was a big as you please Wal Mart - right at the traffic light. I love Wal Mart so I parked and sauntered around the store…big store. Big, but none of the shoppers were speaking English. No matter, a trip through the boating section -- not because I needed anything, just out of habit, grabbed a couple bags of ice and I was on my way. Hey, it looked like what appeared to be cheap gas on the way out – fill up! Head down to the Florida City “Keys Welcome Center” a few blocks down US 1 to check out possible Keys boat ramps and pick up a Florida Keys booklet to supplement my 1993 vintage Florida State map. I would have picked up a new Florida map at the I95 Florida Welcome Center when I left Georgia, but they were closed when I got there.

I’d done a little research on where to launch in the Keys. I’d even swapped eMail with a marina north of Marathon, but I normally just ‘get close’ before making any decisions on the exact location. Turns out, I didn’t see/find the marina and was getting itchy feet to get the boat in the water, so I turned right off of US 1 into Bahia Honda State Park. The brown sign announcing the park entrance had a picture of a boat ramp.

The Florida parks close at night -- no one in or out sundown to sunrise, and there is a charge to get in. It makes me feel a little better about leaving the truck/trailer in the lot when I’m out on the water over night. The Bahia Honda State Park Marina is on a little pocket facing the bay side, but still east of US 1. It’s a very protected area, the 3 ½’ controlling channel depth obviously no problem for my outboard. I launched, ran the channel, cut through an open section of the old highway bridge and headed north toward Marathon.

I used up every bit of sunlight exploring the harbor at Marathon. What a pleasant plethora of moored/anchored boats of all persuasions. Resolute, Daisy, Sabo, Quality Time, Joyden, Honga and Papillion, all Krogens were within ¼ mile of each other amidst the sport fishermen, cruisers and sailboats.

There were several sunken boats and many others that were floating only out of habit. I saw live-aboard folks on deck of at least ½ of the boats. Deep inside the harbor, there are extravagant homes but also casual and very popular shore side night spots. One of the bars even had two dinghy areas…one for inflatables, and one for hard dinks. There was a constant barrage of dinghies coming and going throughout the harbor, their focus being mostly on the area from whence wafted Jimmy Buffet via a live band.

A gorgeous sunset presented itself as I was departing the Marathon harbor. I probably could have eyeballed my way back to the anchorage in front of the Bahia Honda marina if the sunset hadn’t mesmerized me into not sliding the throttle forward as I left the no wake zone. Oh well, I’d just follow the GPS track back. The trouble was, I thought I had the GPS track resolution set to max zoom, and in fact it was two steps out. It appeared I was only off the original (safe) track a smidgeon when the full moon warned me of an island in the middle of my intended course. It didn’t take long to realize the GPS needed to be zoomed in, and when it was, it showed me off course by several hundred feet - enough to make a surprise landfall before getting to the bridge. I like to think the depth sounder probably would have warned me in plenty of time at my 12 mph rate of speed, but none the less, it was a good lesson.

Despite the fact that several sailboats seemed to be well anchored in the windy chop of the anchorage, my hook wouldn’t get a bite into the hard bottom even after many attempts at various locations in the area. I finally decided to run the little channel back into the Marina in the moonlight and tie up to an empty spot on the harbor wall..

Up before the sun the next morning, hot coffee in hand, I made my way back to Hawk Channel for the run to Key West. The boat did very well in the short chop, but after making about ½ the distance to Key West I decided to do a 180 and trailer the rig down. If the sun had been out and the sea a little flatter, it would have been a different story…this was to be a pleasure cruise, not an endurance contest. As I approached the spot where I had almost run aground the night before, the sun made an appearance and the wind died a little. I swung into the lee of the tiny island and dropped the hook for a respite and a cup of breakfast granola. Getting the boat back on the trailer was uneventful as usual; about 15 minutes after running the channel into the harbor, we were trailering our way to Key West.

The closer I got to Key West, the more congested things became. The traffic got thicker, the streets got narrower and everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get to the end of US 1. I drove from the top to the bottom of Key West, from one side to the other, ultimately deciding that the pace and the crowds were more than I cared to deal with. I headed back north without putting the boat in the water. I knew I’d be return one day - to make the run to the Dry Tortugas, so I wasn’t at all disappointed.

Once out of Key West, I used every opportunity I could to stay below the speed limit. I wanted to take in as much countryside as possible. It’s a pleasant drive up and down US 1 if you’re not in a hurry. When Marathon was ‘abeam’, I began seriously looking for a ramp. I hadn’t been concerned about splashing before then, because from Marathon south, the primary cruising area is outside in Hawk Channel. I at least wanted the option to cruise the more protected waters bayside. Then I remembered that the fellow at the Welcome Center in Florida City had given me a brochure for John Pennekamp State Park in Key Largo; there was a ramp there. OK, so if I didn’t find something sooner, I’d put in at Pennekamp.

As I headed north, I pondered how many miles of single lane traffic there must be - this was the only way out of the Keys. Normally I don’t go the speed limit, I’m in no hurry, but I kept right at the speed limit on this stretch so I didn’t have a million cars backed up behind me. I was going a little slower than the masses, but every now and then they would slow for one reason or another and I would catch up to the same fellow in front of me. All of a sudden, Swoosh – some jerk dashes around me in a no passing zone. I wondered how much time he could actually gain, passing 200 or so cars, one at a time; was there really any sense in it? I then tried to keep close to the fellow in front of me so as not to entice any more passing by offering open road ahead of my front bumper. Whoosh, another idiot pulls along side of me in a no passing zone. I slowed to let him in, suggesting to myself it would be so satisfying to see one of these maniacs get pulled over. YES! A short punctuated  werrrrrrp, brought my attention to a blue light on the police car right behind the idiot. Gratification! And did I mention that I found gas cheaper, just south of the Pennekamp entrance than at the Wal Mart in Florida City?

The more I thought about Pennekamp, the better I liked it. The park is billed as a Coral Reef State Park “America’s First Undersea Park”. It was Tuesday evening, the lady ranger said it was really too late to check in to go boating. I told her I wanted to stay out/aboard overnight. She said OK, then began to fill out a ‘Float Plan’ for me. Boat make, model year, engine make etc. were all easy enough questions. Then she asked? “Where will you anchor for the night?”

 I told her I wasn’t familiar with the park, I’d just motor beyond the marina and drop the hook. She said I would need to get out of the park proper before anchoring.

 I said, “How about No Name Harbor at Key Biscayne? I stayed there back in the 70’s when we were waiting for weather to go to Bimini.”

She shook her head, “Too far.”

“OK, how about say, Angelfish Creek - another departure point for the Bahamas? How far is that?” I inquired.

The lady ranger wrote Anglefish Creek on the float plan, took $7.22 and said, “It’s about 15 miles. I envy you. You’ll have a great time.”

By the time I was in the water it was getting dark. The channel is a shallow snaking maze through mangroves. I made a wrong turn on the way out, ending up in what I later learned was Largo Sound. There were mooring balls in the sound – the sign said to call the ranger on VHF 16. There were other signs saying, “Area Closed to Watercraft with Combustable Engines.” I didn’t want to be on a mooring, but was afraid I’d end up in trouble with the authorities if I dropped the hook. I backtracked to take the other option at the “T”. This time, after at least 15 minutes at idle speed, I did find my way out into Hawk Channel, most of the way delineated by many more “Area Closed…” signs at the edges of the channel.

When I got to the channel ‘sea bouy’, beyond the “Area Closed…” signs, I did drop the hook in some pretty sloppy chop. By now it was well after sundown and even though there was a full moon I hesitated to take potluck in finding calmer waters for the night. I went below to study the chart.

Angelfish Creek was too far in the dark. There appeared to be a protected cove called Whitmore Bight less than 5 miles north. There was a daymark off the bight. Not having the forsight to bring my dividers, I tore off a strip of paper that was the length of the distance between 80 25 and 80 30 and folded it into 5ths so I could get an accurate read on the coordinates for a GPS waypoint. Even this was somewhat of a longshot, the chart was from 1975; the marker could have been long gone. I never did see the marker, but when I ‘arrived’ at the waypoint I swung due west until I ran into 4’ of water, then north toward the beach enough to get out of the fetch. I stayed up for an hour or so after dropping the hook, serenading the full moon. What a pleasant, peaceful evening!

I kept the speed way down the next morning so as not to jostle the coffee water off the single burner camp stove as I made my way north. By the time the sun was up, I had hot coffee, and by the by, I did spot the elusive daymarker off Whitmore Bight on my way out.

Angelfish Creek is another maze of watery ribbons through the mangroves. After exploring several of the creeks, I hooked out for about an hour to watch the fish and birds while enjoying a breakfast of Pop Tarts. Once into Card Sound, I circumnavigated Pumpkin Key, then got on the magenta line of the ICW south.

I love the waterway. The trip from MM1125 to MM1150 was no exception, including a nap just south of the US 1 bridge. I cut back across the keys and US 1 to Hawk Channel at Tavernier. I thought maybe I’d have lunch in the ‘anchorage’ between Pt Lowe and  (little)  Tanvrnier Key, but it was too rough to enjoy myself, so I just continued on up to the channel back into Pennekamp. At the junction in the Pennekamp channel that splits to the marina or the Largo sound, I opted for the sound. I’d thought I’d like to get to know the sound a little better in the daylight.

Well, the sound itself wasn’t much, but there were those water ribbons through mangroves at the north end… I couldn’t resist. At a couple junctions, I was glad I had the GPS, because it could have been challenging to find my way back. I kept on meandering at a no wake pace for over an hour, (not including the ½ hour I was tied to a mangrove toasting hotdogs on my stove) eventually emerging into a bay with day markers defining a route out into Hawk Channel. I cautiously ran the shallow channel out to the ‘sea bouy’. At the ‘sea bouy’ (which was in 5 feet of water) I turned around to read a sign warning those approaching from offshore “Shallow Channel - Local Knowledge Required” or some such verbage. The sign was warranted, there were some places squarely between the markers that were sounding at less than 3 feet. When I checked to see where I was on the chart, I discovered that Whitmore Bight, where I’d spent last night, was only a little bit south down Hawk channel. I could have run back ‘outside’, but I enjoy poking through the mangroves, so I returned the way I’d come.

The lady ranger had told me that if I wanted to spend a second night aboard, that I should report personally back to the guard shack at the entrance to the park. I might have stayed another night -- I suppose I could have left the boat at the seawall and taken the truck/trailer up to the entrance to report in, but I decided that I might just as well trailer up the boat and re-launch somewhere else.

I didn’t really decide which direction to drive until I was out of the park at US 1. I knew I wanted to spend some time in Miami waters, but it was the traffic that really made up my mind, it was easier to make a right turn, than to go left. OK, so what boat ramp should I target. I had John Lloyd in Lauderdale as a fallback, and I think they had a ramp at the park on Key Biscayne…we’ll just see where we are when we get the urge.

I think I’d just paid the 3^rd toll on the Florida Turnpike when I noticed a brown sign. I’ve grown to like those brown signs designating parks, sometimes they herald a boat ramp, and this one did. Miami-Dade Black Point Marina. What a great place.

It seemed to be a habit, getting out on the water at dusk. The 1 1/2 mile No Wake Manitee channel didn’t help things either. By the time I reached the end of the channel the only light I had was the full moon. I knew the drill…drop the hook, go below, check the chart for a marker with a clear deep track near a good spot to anchor, put the coordinates in the GPS, make the run to the marker, then slowly make my way into the anchorage. The run of about 4 miles to the lighted marker was easy. From the marker into the anchorage was a different story. I bumped the bottom several times well before I got out of the chop. Backtrack into deeper water following the GPS breadcrumbs, drop the hook, go below and put in a new waypoint. This time, knowing the way the wind built the chop, I was able to pick a better spot - on the bayside of Elliot Key at about Coon Point. I went in slow until I was in 3 ½ feet of water, dropped the hook, then sat in the cockpit for an hour or so in the moonlight.

The next morning I was up before dawn, sipping hot coffee as the horizon began to glow with daybreak. I was going to stay awhile, maybe go ashore…when I noticed a line of markers between me and the bay, about ¼ mile off the beach. Worried that in the dark, I’d stumbled into one of those “Area Closed to Watercraft with Combustible Engines” areas I’d seen so many of at Pennekamp, I got her on a plane and high tailed it into deeper water. As I cruised past the row of markers, I saw the writing on them that said, “Slow - No Wake”.

Throttling her down to about 5 mph, I headed back inside the “No Wake” markers and went north in 3’ off Elliot. I swung wide on the approach to Sands Cut. The sun was now high enough to show me where the deep water of the cut was. Deep meaning 20 to 24” in places. The tide was ripping in, so I knew if I did run her up out of the water on a sand bar, it wouldn’t be long before I’d float off, so I kept going. When I exited into Hawk Channel, I thought about heading north to Key Biscayne, but it was a little sloppy out there and with all the fascinations offered by the calmer bay, there was no need to endure the chop. I ran back in the now deeper Sands Cut then decided I would take in Key Biscayne, but approach it from the Bay side.

No Name Harbor at Key Biscayne has been a favorite place for me since 1973 when we anchored there on our 27’ sloop, waiting for weather to go to the Bahamas. It was the only place on this Keys trip that I had designated as a mandatory stop. I wasn’t disappointed, spending a half hour or so anchored amongst the cruising boats while I made myself a sandwich. I remembered the camaraderie we experienced at this spot on the sailboat – there were 7 boats ‘waiting for weather’. We partied until the weather was favorable, then we all sailed across the Gulf Stream together. Those were great times, but interestingly enough, these times are better. My little outboard powered cuddy, NICKY, does not have the room below that the sailboat did but it is dry and comfy. I can’t stand up to put my pants on after using the porta-potty in NICKY, but the space I lost below I gained outside – the sailboat needed 4+ feet of water, NICKY’s cruising grounds include just about anywhere that’s damp. How I enjoy poking about in those little creeks that are so inviting, but were off limits in the bigger boat. But the wind is free, you may ponder, and the outboard motor is always thirsty. On a good day, the single cylinder 10 HP diesel on the sailboat got 16 mpg. At sailboat speeds, my outboard often gets 10 mpg – I know because I have a FloScan fuel flow meter that tracks gallons per hour. My GPS feeds the FloScan the boat speed in miles/hour and the FloScan uses that info to give me a readout in mpg. When I go 25 mph, I get 5 mpg, when I go 40 mph, I get less, but my weather worries are almost nil, because I can either get back on the trailer in a very short time, or find shelter up a creek in inches of water. The sailboat was live-aboard capable, in fact we did live aboard for over 2 years, but today 2 weeks is the longest time I spend aboard, and NICKY is quite comfortably suited for that. When I left No Name, nostalgia made me turn to port. I ran out to Fowey Rocks (on a plane) to relive the excitement we felt on our first trip past “Gp Fl (2) 20 sec 110ft 16M” on the way to Bimini. While looking back at Key Biscayne, I noticed something above one of the Miami skyscrapers. It was an irregular shape, but I was far enough away that I couldn’t see much more than a shadowey mass…it never moved. Maybe it was a kite or something.

After lunch at No Name, it was time for Dinner, Dinner Key that is. I love looking at boats and I knew where to find them. A quick trip across the bay and into the world of live-aboards. The anchorage just outside the harbor is literally packed with boats of all shapes and sizes – it’s kind of like a trailer park for boats…most floating, but some not. Then I went on into the harbor. It’s a totally different atmosphere in there. Even the smaller boats are clean and proper. In putting around the area for over 2 hours I noticed something at the Dinner Key marina that I can’t remember being evident in any other boat watching outing…a large number of these boats had people on them doing maintenance; painting, cleaning, installing. I don’t know whether it was the area or the season, but there was obviously a lot of money being spent on keeping these boats up. I was glad my little eighteen footers’ ‘slip’ is next to the house on the trailer, where I can do all of my own maintenance; which seasonally is only a fraction of the cost of what these big guys are spending for a single day’s worth of professional care. Little excursions like this reinforce my feeling that small boat boating is the way to go.

Satisfied with my Dinner Key experience, I headed north. I thought I’d take a peek at the Miami River. I took the south route around Claughton Island and was getting ready to do a ‘hard to port’ into the river when a sport fisherman came blasting through the water intersection in reverse. I slowed, looking to peek around the bend up river to see what scared him out in reverse, when I noticed a huge black cloud of smoke coming from around the bend, then a good sized tug dragging a freighter backwards down the river toward me. I too found reverse when I saw a tug at the other end of this freighter jockying from side to side to keep the bow of the freighter in the middle of the channel. Each time the tug moved across the bow and tightened the lines, he’d goose the throttle to center his end of the ship in the channel and belch sky darkening billows of smoke from his stack. In open waters, I’ve seen tugs bow to the hull, pushing the freighter sideways, this river is so narrow the only option is to yank the trailing end of the ship (in this case, the bow) side to side using a short bridle. It’s beyond me how they get these freighters up and down the river without banging against the boats along the banks and/or fenders under the narrow bridges.

When the smoke from another of the tug’s corrections disipated, I noticed a helicopter hovering at not to high of an altitude. Then I noticed another, and another. The shape reminded me of something, yes, it was the same shape I saw from Fowey Rocks. So that’s what it was, a helicopter on station. I don’t think the helicopter had anything to do with the freighter, but I’m still at a loss to understand what those whirlybirds were doing up there - sometimes 4 of them, just station keeping. I even saw a fresh helicopter come in and ‘relieve’ a one that had been there for some time.

What the New River in Lauderdale is to pleasure boats, the Miami River is to freighters. After a length of marinas, repair facilities, commercial fishing houses and restaurants, there were wall to wall freighters along wharves on both sides of the river all the way to the flood gate. At some places along the river, the clearance between freighters on opposite sides of the channel was less than 75 feet. These huge ships were literally bumper to bumper for miles. Some were empty, some had decks stacked high with plants, bicycles, cars, mattresses, household entry and closet doors, and cartons of various sizes. What an interesting stretch of waterfront. On the way out, I saw the telltale billow of black smoke and knew what was coming. I found a small feeder with pleasure boats tied to both sides. I had to back in because there was not enough width between them to turn around and I wanted to be bow to the spectacle. I tied off to a 40 footer that was either in the process of decay or being restored, and waited. As the first tug approached the opening to the little feeder, the water became turbulent and the level dropped. I got a little claustrophobic when the freighter towered slowly past at such a close distance, but it was short lived when the turbulence returned, hammering me against the hull of the boat I was tied off to. The Miami River is a not-to-miss experience, but I’d hate to think about doing it in anything bigger than an 18 foot boat. The helicopters were in their same station keeping positions on my way out of the river – they’d been there for at least an hour. I headed back to Black Point, a great downwind run.

NICKY was on her trailer in a heartbeat after the long run down the No Wake Manitee channel to the Black Point ramp. There’s a nice marina on the site, but other than a walk through a ships store, I don’t have much use for marinas. I got back on the Florida Turnpike, thinking that I could make John Lloyd before they closed the park.

I pulled up to the John Lloyd gate at about 6pm. Knowing that they closed at sunset, I told the guard that I planned to be out all night. The guard said, “The park closes at 10:30. You and your boat will be out of the park at that time.”

“OK”, I said. “But what happens if I don’t get back in time?”

“You’ll be trespassing and the Coast guard will be notified,” was the retort.

I paid the 4 bucks and entered, not knowing what I’d do when it got to be 10:30. As I was launching, I talked to what appeared to be a local boater, suggesting that on previous trips I had been out all night, and what did he think about not leaving the park for the night. He said he too had recently been out overnight, but things have changed and he wouldn’t recommend it. After I got my boat in the water, I checked in at home using a public phone at the ramp. I learned that my sister from Honolulu was in Miami at a convention, also visiting her college daughter, and I should call her on her cell phone.

Nat, my sister, was excited that I was so close and insisted that I come by. I accepted, and put NICKY back on the trailer without ever having taken her away from the dock. Nat had given me instructions to drive back to Miami, then west to the Sofitel Hotel.

As mentioned, on a previous trip from Spartanburg to the Keys, I had towed my smaller boat, a 16 footer through Miami on I95 with ‘Old Green’ my 1972 Ford F100. I swore I’d never do it again, that’s why I had taken the Florida Turnpike in both directions past Miami. Keeping with my “No I95” philosophy, I headed down 441 to Miami, but after white knuckling through 5 miles of narrow 1 lane construction, I decided that I95 couldn’t be much worse. The traffic on I95 was as bad as ever, but with my new-to-me 1998 F150 (I call her Mary Kay, because she’s a champagne color) and brakes on this trailer, even though the traffic was a mad house, I had a very tolerable trip through Miami. It’ll be a toss up next time, I may use I95.

I found my sister’s hotel easily, it was right across from the airport, outlined in neon against the dark sky. The parking lot had a security guard. I felt comfortable leaving my rig parked conspicuously in the back row. I met Nat and niece Jesse in the lobby. Jesse had brought Nat down from North Miami and waited to say hi before returning to school.

My sister convinced the folks giving the seminar to invite me to dinner. Great food, open bar, unbelievable dessert, mmmmm. What a contrast to the cold cuts and hot dogs I’d been consuming. Nat convinced me to stay the night, so I did. We parted ways early the next morning… I headed north.

Old green didn’t have a radio, but Mary Kay does; even has a cassette player. I had a Mamma Cass tape with me which I slid into the dash when I was just south of Daytona. I played that tape all the way home. However, I didn’t hear the same songs over and over. Each time the tape repeated, I would put myself into a different musical place. It’s a literal execution of the saying, ‘I really get into that music.’ Try it sometime…listen carefully, then move your mind right in front of the vocalist – then don’t hear anything else, just voice. Now go for the drummer – this was the most fascinating place for me…the different sounds of the different drums, the percussion crescendos and embellishments. Now do the bass, the guitar or the piano. What a trip. No I don’t do drugs; boating makes me high.

There were many places along the way north that I might have picked up a short detour to the ICW, but I didn’t have the urge. I did have the urge however, to stop in Jacksonville for a visit with Bill Scheffield of American Marine. Bill manufactures Shoal Cats - an 18' SHOAL CAT,  17'6" with an 83" beam, max HP of  75 w/50 recommended -- weight capacity 1360 lbs., and a new 20' SHOAL CAT  20' 2" X 8' 4", max HP of 180, w/150 recommended --2500 lb. capacity. These are Bill’s own designs. Bill is also a Honda dealer and a great resource for Honda outboard questions. One day I’m going to talk Bill into taking me out on one of his Shoal Cats. I asked about a place nearby to launch and Bill recommended a boat ramp just a short distance from his shop, on the St Johns River. I drove to the ramp, but found it entirely too congested due to the influx of hungry folks converging on Clark’s Fish Camp next door. Next time through J’ville, I’ll allow time for a meal at Clark’s, even if I don’t plan to put the boat in the water.

As I was leaving the ramp, for some reason, I decided to try I95 through Jacksonville. Like I95 in Maimi, I had ruled out I95 through Jacksonville when, on a previous trip, I was doing fine pulling the trailer through J’ville in the middle of the night in a narrow single lane construction area, when a dump truck paralleling me on the shoulder began clipped cones, knocking them into my path. Anyway, as I was approaching the center of the city I switched off Mamma Cass for a spell to see if I could pick up a traffic report on the radio. Sure enough, there had been a wreck on I295, two cars had caught fire and traffic in both directions was at a standstill. This whole trip had been that way - I just seemed to be in the right place at the right time…

When I cleared J’ville I began thinking about getting NICKY back on the water. Maybe when I got back into SC, I’d go east on I26 and spend some time in Charleston waters before heading home. But when I got to I26, I went West. Then the light went on – Murray. If I could make it to Lake Murray, I could splash and spend the night aboard there. Murray is a few miles above Columbia and Columbia was 50 miles… Piece of cake.

It was after midnight when I got to my favorite Murray ramp. The lake was so low the floating docks were all in the mud. I decided not to launch – there are too many stumps in the shallow water, and it was dark. I backed the trailer into the water so I could rinse off the salt, and run the engine for a freshwater flush. After 10 minutes of running the engine, I pulled the trailer out of the water, then backed it in, then pulled it out, then back in, then out, to get as much salt off as possible. Then for some reason I took off the tiedowns and put in the drain plug. [I always leave the drain plug out when rinsing the trailer, a) so the trailer doesn’t float up with the boat & b) so I can check the automatic operation of the bilge pump float]. I was off the trailer, idling from the ramp out into deeper water by the light of the moon is less than 10 minutes.

When I was in 35 feet of water, heading toward the center of the lake, I opened her up. All systems responded predictably, but it seemed I was barely moving. Not thinking to check the speed on the GPS, I shut her down and raised the motor, maybe I’d picked up a plastic bag or something. But everything was OK. I lit her up again, put her in gear and slid the throttle forward. It still didn’t feel right, but when I looked down at the GPS I saw the speed was over 35mph. There you go. A glassy fresh water lake compared to salt water chop – what a difference. More comfortable now, I realized that if I had the reflection of the full moon in a certain orientation, I could see the tiny ripples zipping by in the calm lake, confirming that I was moving at a good clip. I spent about 45 minutes playing, then returned to the ramp, idling into the cove where I would anchor for the night. I threw out the hook and raised the motor but before going below for the night I again had my traditional time in the cockpit contemplating the aspects of boating that kept me coming back for more.

The next morning, I was up before sunrise and got the coffee water going. While the coffee singles were steeping, I lowered the motor in preparation to get underway, but the back end of the boat rose up out of the water. I went back to see what had happened, and there, plain as you please was one of those stumps. It had to be three feet across with the motor skeg planted firmly in the center. I raised the motor using the button on the cowl and the boat settled just inches above the stump. I boat-hooked my way to clear water, then lit her up and made my way back out into the lake, this time in the daylight.

I spent a couple hours frolicking in the calm fresh water before loading her up to cover the last 100 miles to the house.

Looking back, it was a great trip. I’ve gotta get back to the Keys. A guy could spend a lifetime down that way without doing the same place twice. I’d like to have my wife Suzy along next time too. She’s always invited, but invariable there is something that keeps her from making the trip. But she’s good about letting me go alone. Suzy is the main reason I write up these log entries.

I noticed another interesting thing about this Keys trip. Once NICKY was in the water, the only time I disembarked was to put her back on the trailer. I never tied her up to go ashore. It just goes to show you how much I enjoy being aboard.

Car miles – 1971

Car gas – 137.1

Boat miles – 287.1

Boat gas – 56.7

Engine hours – 27.3

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

THE NOW

My wife and I went to the lake last Sunday; Lake Hartwell on the SC/GA border. The level was so low I had to go to several ramps to find one where the floating dock was actually floating. 'Ended up splashing at Portman Marina, exit 14 off I 85. The facilities were worth the $8 ramp fee.

It wasn’t long after I got into the water that we found a remote cove and dropped the hook for a nap. I usually share my boating experiences with my boss. He says the boat is making an old man out of me. All my cruise reports are punctuated with naps.

Several weeks before, my daughter (Sara Jane) was helping her beau (Trey) work a scouting expedition at the lake. Scouts from several troops spent the weekend camping in tents, learning about water safety, and earning water oriented merit badges. I was on the water that weekend too, and stopped by to take a few pictures of the activities. I took Scouting for granted when I was a kid. I have a lot more respect for Scout leaders now that I'm older; their interest in our younger generation is invaluable. Anyway, my daughter and Trey ended up aboard for a trip out into the lake and a cold soft drink. It wasn’t long before my daughter made her way below…

When she emerged about 20 minutes later, I suggested that the boat was making an old lady out of her…she was always going below for a nap. I told her my boss was the source of this observation.

Sara Jane said, “Little he knows. The boat offers the illusive presence of THE NOW. When I go below, it’s not to sleep, it’s to be enveloped by THE NOW. There’s no past in the cuddy, there’s no future, there’s only THE NOW. THE NOW emanates from the gentle sounds and motion of the water.”

Man, I never thought of boating that way, but the idea does fit now that she mentioned it. THE NOW does presume my affection for boating; I seek a smaller, less complicated world. No telephones, no barking dogs, no grass to cut, Nick’s cuisine for impromptu meals (no cooking…no cleanup), no commitments, no obligations -- total spontaneity. Hmmm, she IS her father’s daughter.

So, is true boating a quest for THE NOW? I used to think so and tried to search out ‘real’ boaters like myself. I discovered that very few boaters are seeking THE NOW. I found people who thought boating was hanging onto a rope, while balancing on floating wooden slats at 25 mph or more – the same folks would get into or on almost anything tied to the back of a boat to be swung about and pounded violently. There’s folks who would assemble unimaginable amounts of expensive gear to cuss the big one that got away, or folks who regularly made it to the dock but often never actually got on the boat, and many of those who do go aboard never untie them. There’s the boaters who get aboard and fire her up to motor 5 miles to the restaurant dock, eat, then head back to the slip. There’s the group who consider boating to be the challenge of bringing everything from home aboard, including the pets and the kitchen sink, in an effort to make life on the water identical in every manner to life on land. There’s the folks who put more horses in their boat than there are in the entire state of Kentucky – gotta go f-a-s-t! And the eeeeerrrrreeeeeerrrrreeeeeerrrrr, splashing, skipping water jockeys looking for the slightest wake or ripple to try and get airborne. And let’s not forget those who buy a fancy expensive boat only for bragging rights, or those who use a boat as an excuse to dabble with all the latest high tech gear. I didn’t used to think any of these guys were real boaters, but they are. Whether you’re a skier/wakeboarder/tuber, or a fisherman, or a person who likes to socialize at or on the water, or a jet skier, live aboard, speed freak or just have so much money you don’t know what to do with it, you are still a boater if you do whatever it is you do within reasonable proximity of the water.

What it boils down to, is that boats are a portal to our own thing, whatever our own thing happens to be. This portal is not only a means, it is also an emotional amplifier. If it’s good, a boat can make it better. If it’s bad, a boat can make it worse. If your life is one bad day after another, you’d better stay away from boats. But as most of us boaters can tell you, “As good as it gets” is frequently associated with boats, whether your thing is THE NOW, the dream or anything in-between.

                                                                                                                                                                                               

Charleston 6/22-6/24

Ripley Light Marina is in Charleston SC, just across the Ashley River from the Ashley Marina. Ripley is nice because there’s no current in the little pocket. Visitor dockage is $1/foot with a 34 foot minimum, but they don’t offer transient slips on weekends due to their dry stack traffic.

We had a room at The Hampton Inn (Riverview) which is a stones throw from Ripley Marina, just a parking lot away from the California Dreaming restaurant and across Ripley Pocket from the Crab House Restaurant. Both restaurants have docks. Rooms at The Hampton are about $100/night, but you have to book two nights minimum on the weekends. We saw a shuttle leaving The Hampton parking lot that was apparently a service offered by the Ashley Marina on the other side of the river.

There is no ramp at Ripley Light, nor is there a ramp at the Ashley Marina, but there is a ramp at the City Marina right next door to the Ashley Marina. I’ve used the City Marina ramp, but it’s often very busy and at a low spring tide the ramp may only offer a trailer boater mud at the water end. We normally launch at the ramp on 171 at the Wapoo bridge. There can be considerable current there, but otherwise it’s a very accommodating ramp.

We launched at the Wapoo ramp on Friday afternoon. The four of us, my wife Suzy, our daughter Sara Jane, Sara Jane’s beau Trey, and I, cruised in Nicky (Seaswirl 1850 W/A w/ 115 Ficht Ram) to the Charleston Battery. If you are ever a part of a tour of the lovely Charleston waterfront, as you stop at the end of the battery your guide will likely explain, "This is where the Cooper River joins the Ashley River to form the Atlantic Ocean.”

 We then motored across the river(s) to Patriots Point. After the awesome view looking up at the bow of the aircraft carrier Yorktown from the water, we headed back to the Charleston side of the Cooper to scope out the South Carolina Aquarium. The SCA doesn’t have a dock, but we didn’t plan on going inside anyway. Then up the Cooper to the old Naval Base with intentions of going all the way to the Submarine docks. We didn’t make it that far though. Hey, did you know that you can get all the way to Lake Marion by going up the Cooper? I’d made that passage on a previous outing. You’ll transit the Pinopolis Lock (+/- 80 feet) -- it’s a great trip.

We swung by Fort Sumpter on our way back to the southbound ICW. After clearing Wapoo Cut we headed south down the Stono to Cappy’s Restaurant (it’s just before the bridge). We tied up at Cappy’s dock and I went inside to make reservations for dinner on Saturday night. We backtracked to anchor just south of Wapoo Cut off the ICW for sandwiches aboard, a little wading and relaxing. It was about 9pm when we eventually put the girls ashore at the Ripley gas dock. They’d spend the night in The Hampton Inn, Trey and I would stay aboard in the anchorage across from the City Marina. Before Trey and I called it a day though, we cruised through the City Marina, tying up there for a spell to check out the ramp.

The night on the hook was very pleasant, enough wind to keep the bugs away, but not enough to make the water rough. I was up about ½ hr before sunup. With coffee in hand, Trey and I made our way through the harbor and out the inlet to meet the rising sun. The water on the way out was choppy; once we cleared the jetties we found ourselves in some pretty steep swells. We turned off the motor to see what the boat would do without power. Nicky settled beam to the seas. The rolling necessitated a pretty good hold on the boat, but we took no water aboard and no spray in the face. After about 15 minutes of ‘being one with the ocean’ we headed back in to get the girls.

The four of us took the ICW south to the Stono River, then down the Stono to the Folly River. We were on a falling tide as we made our way along the Folly River under the 171 bridge.  The next part of the trip, to the back side of the Lighthouse, is a little unnerving. The unmarked channel to the Lighthouse Inlet winds through a myriad of creeks and feeders, some very narrow, some with shoals between the banks – I know, because on a previous trip, I’d spend 4 hours waiting for the tide when I put my boat up on a sandbar smack dab in the middle of the two banks. I had a track in the GPS from that trip, so I knew general direction, but like I said, on that trip, I ran aground and I couldn’t remember where, so I had to be very careful on the way in.

We lunched on the hook within walking distance of the lighthouse.  Sara Jane and Trey spent some time walking the beach, then we all went for a welcome swim. I kept an eye on the boat, nudging her out into deeper water as the tide fell. I was afraid to wait until low tide to try and make our way back, fearing we’d not have enough water in places, so we left a couple hours shy of low tide. It’s almost easier to read the water at low tide, because the channel is more defined. The trip back out at low water was far easier than going in at high water.

We hooked out again, just inside the Stono Inlet at a sandy beach, for hot dogs and a swim. We lounged aboard in the light winds and gentle swells until it was time to head to Cappy’s for dinner. We learned during this spell, that the 5,000 BTU window air conditioner that we’d installed behind the helm seat was hard pressed to keep the canvas enclosure and cuddy cool with 4 people aboard and the bright sun shining through the vinyl windows. We’d had much better success the night before, after the sun had gone down, with only Trey and I aboard; during that time, the A/C would cool the same area well enough to cycle itself off.

The tide had just turned as we approached Cappy’s dock. I knew if I put her in the mud getting tied up that it wouldn’t be long before the incoming tide would float us off, but we made it in without even bumping the bottom. Cappy’s food was great (as always) and the beer was cold (as always), that’s why we keep going back. After leaving Cappy’s we meandered through Buzzard’s Roost and Stono marinas, then spent some more time on the hook before I dropped Trey and the girls off at Ripley. In about 45 minutes, Suzy would meet me at the ramp, we’d put Nicky on the trailer and all of use would spend the night ashore in the motel.

My trip alone from Ripley to the ramp was most pleasant. In the cool of the evening, Nicky was feeling frisky without the burden of extra crew, and her now only ½ full fuel tank. She told me she wanted to get out and run, so I let her. Three grand, four grand, forty five hundred, five, fifty one – give her some bow up -- fifty two, fifty three, fifty four, -- a little more bow up -- fifty five, fifty six, fifty six fifty. She felt so free dancing lightly on the waters surface at almost 40 mph, the Ficht humming happily…but I knew Suzy would be waiting.

The current at the ramp was fierce. I’ve promised myself to teach Suzy how to back the trailer in the water, but there’s never really been a need. If she could have backed down the middle ramp, I could have put Nicky up on the trailer without getting near the dock. As it was, I’d need to tie Nicky up, go ashore and back the trailer in myself. I’d done it before, there was no one else at the ramp, I knew what to do…where to put the fenders. I got her ready and brought her in slowly, but the current between the floating docks was unpredictable. The port quarter hit the dock with a pretty good thud (just behind the fender), but the fenders did do their job as the bow came to rest. I got out and backed the trailer in, keeping it reasonably close to the dock so I could get the boat on the trailer without using the motor. I successfully walked the boat up on the trailer. After attaching the winch strap and pulling her snug, I signaled Suzy to pull the car/trailer up to level ground. We’d gone a foot or so when the port trailer wheel fell off the edge of the ramp. I winced as the trailer frame bounced onto the concrete ramp, wondering if the wheel was hanging in the air. I signaled Suzy to give it another try. The trailer moved up about 8 inches, but the wheel was still off the edge of the ramp, and now, because of the angle of the trailer, the back end of the boat was almost touching the dock. SH@$! And now the mosquitos were out.

I got in the car behind the wheel. I turned the wheels all the way to the left, hoping to be able to back down the ramp a little without putting the port quarter of the boat into the dock. If I could get the boat back in the water, I could take it off the trailer and start over. The car refused to move when I put it in reverse, but then I realized that the trailer brakes were locked because I didn’t have the brake lock-out wired on this car. I do have the lock-out plug on the trailer configured so that if I plug the trailer lock-out wires into the light plug on the tow vehicle, the lock-out will be energized when the car lights are on.

I got out, unplugged the trailer lights and plugged the lock-out in to the trailer light connector. As I pulled forward to release the trailer brakes, I decided to give it a little extra gas. The old Crown Vic complained as I inched the accelerator down, but finally grunted forward. I kept an eye on the rear view mirror as I gave her even more gas…”No, no, no, don’t start gouging the boat on the dock!”, I told myself as I crept forward. “YES!” I exclaimed aloud as the trailer tire gleefully hopped back up on the ramp. “NO!” I exclaimed even louder as I remembered I’d left the outboard motor in the down position.

The skeg had substantially encountered the concrete ramp, as witnessed by the coarse but light mushrooming of the skeg bottom, but the damage was nothing that the caress of a file wouldn’t make right. I was immersed in the final stages of getting the boat road ready when I heard a car on the ramp reving it up, then dying, reving it up, then dying… It was dark, we couldn’t see what was going on at the ramp, but the boisterous conversation suggested that another trailer tire had fallen off the edge of the ramp. We then heard the skreeeeeeeeching of tires, and smelled burning rubber on at least three occasions before they were able to get back up on the ramp. At least I wasn’t the only one who was experiencing this problem…

When we were all reunited in the motel room, we talked about doing more boating in the Charleston area on Sunday morning, but old man sun had taken his toll on the backs of the youngsters, and even I thought it would be nice to sleep in Sunday morning. We unanimously decided not to schedule a Charleston launch for Sunday morning, rather we’d play it by ear after we got up.

On Sunday morning, before breakfast (at 10am) no one was yet anxious to get back out on the water. We decided we’d head home, maybe spending some time on Lake Murray if we were up for it by then. Murray is about the halfway mark of the 200 miles home.

After 85 miles in the car, we still hadn’t recovered enough to get excited about an outing on Murray, so we went past the exit on a straight shot home. I don’t put the boat away without a freshwater rinse for the trailer and motor, Murray would have provided this, but there were other options:

1)       Stop at a do it yourself car wash to give the boat/trailer a good rinsing, then use the ‘earmuffs’ to flush the motor at home

2)       Dunk the boat/trailer in a freshwater lake close to home. The max HP on that lake is 10, way below my 115, but I’m allowed to ‘run & rinse’ if I don’t take the boat off the trailer

We opted for the lake.

It was nice to have an extra hand once we got back home, to unload and hose the salt off the boat. Trey is always an able and welcome crew member.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Car Miles – 434

Boat Miles – 119

Boat Fuel – 26.7

Engine Hours – 12.2

GA/SC 5/12-13/01

My wife Suzy and I went boating last weekend. It rained...Thunderstorm warnings even. There WERE thunderstorms, a couple. They came and went. In-between there was light rain, sometimes some sun. The rain kept the insects, water maggots (jetskies) and ski boats away. During the heavy rain and wind we hooked out, comfy and dry inside the canvas, sometimes in the cuddy. Stayed aboard (Lake Lanier near Atlanta) Saturday night, by then the weather was very peaceful.

We were up for sunrise; instead got clouds and gentle rain...it was a good excuse to keep the speed down. We motored slowly around the lake sipping hot coffee (from the single burner camp stove) and eating pop tarts. A very calm enjoyable morning.

We put her (NICKY, a Seaswirl 1850 W/A pushed by a 115 Ficht Ram) on the trailer around 8am and trailered her to Lake Hartwell on the GA/SC border. Met up with our daughter (Sara Jane) and her beau (Trey). Splashed at a state ramp off I85 SC Exit 2. The forecast was still for rain, and there was a little, very little. We anchored in a cove for lunch and did some exploring beachside, then headed off for the Seneca River - wanted to get a look at Clemson U from the river. Trey goes to Clemson -- he's studying electrical engineering.

After a snack at anchor off Clemson, we got out the Honda EU1000i

generator and strapped it on top of the live well at the back of the boat. This little 1000 watt generator weighs 30 lbs and is so quiet it doesn't interfere with conversation. I've got a $100 Wal-Mart 5,000 BTU window unit A/C on the cockpit sole behind the helm seat. We set up the enclosure, wrapping the aft canvas around the A/C to simulate installation in a window, then plugged the A/C into the little Honda generator. Vaaaroooom! The load of the starting A/C was quickly overcome by the little generator and we had cold air pouring out into the canvas enclosure. It wasn't a REAL test - we didn't have the blazing sun beating down on the canvas bimini (we all know what an oven that can create), but we did get the temp in the enclosure down enough that it was uncomfortably cool.

We ran the gen-A/C all the way back to the ramp...for a couple hours. What a trip. A gasoline powered air conditioner on an 18 foot boat. It's got promise...

Great weekend...peaceful, successful, with family. Hope yours was as enjoyable.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Charleston/Georgetown 11/24-25/00

I got away from work about 1pm Friday. I called Craig (ICW CRUISER) about 4 hrs later, from the car, just as I hit the Charleston city limit in case he was out and about on the water, nearer to one ramp than another. Craig didn't answer, so I left a message. I splashed just before dark at Wapoo Cut on the ICW.

The weather was a little windy, but warm. No one was on the VHF; I called Craig's cell again and left another message - Larry's (W4CSC) line was busy. I cruised to Ashley Marina and tied up at the gas dock. I found Craig's boat MAX 2 SEA, but there was no sign of Craig. I spent the next 3 hours cruising the area looking at boats (and knocking a couple back), then turned in at anchor in front of the City Marina.

The wind picked up at about 3am; the change in motion awakened me and I went out into the cockpit for a look around. Even with the wind, it was still warm. I brought the anchor aboard and toured the 3 nearby marinas - had to keep it slow because it was pitch black - no moon. I'd finished my tour and was venturing into the harbor, rounding the battery when I felt a raindrop. I headed back to the ramp and had the boat on the trailer before the rain finally came, but it was only a light rain.

I drove to the Battery and parked for about 45 mins. - got out of the truck for a spell when the rain let up, to just peer into the windy darkness of the harbor. Whitecaps could be seen, blowing and dancing in the glow from the lights ashore. I then drove to Folly Beach for a look around. It's tough to take time out to do these things if the weather is nice, because the only thing on my mind then is to get out on the water. This was an excellent opportunity to spend some time ashore, visiting the places I usually frequent only from the water. There wasn't a bit of traffic on the roads in these early morning hours; I enjoyed driving at my own pace, sometimes as slow as 5 or 10 mph, smiling everytime I looked in the rear view mirror to see my boat right behind me. It's nice having her along even if we aren't on the water.

Had breakfast at Waffle House on the causeway with 20 or so other

early birds, then parked in front of WalMart and slept aboard until they opened. I had to lengthen the trailer wiring because the new receiver put the trailer back so far that a sharp right turn would pull the plug on the trailer lights. After I fixed the wiring I called Craig, still no answer. I called Larry and told him if he heard from Craig to let him know I was heading out.

I left Charleston about 10am for the 60 mile drive to Georgetown. I had originally planned on splashing at Georgetown, but told Craig I'd meet him in Charleston if he got back that way - he'd eMailed me that we should get together for dinner Friday-- if Craig did get back to Charleston, he was most likely staying somewhere ashore? I'm still not sure what happened to him.

The drive to Georgetown was very pleasant despite the intermittent rain. As I got to G'town proper, the sun came out so I spent some time in town and on the boardwalk before heading to the ramp. The anchorage was full of transients; I love just looking at boats, especially since these boats brought back vivid memories of the many pleasant trips my wife and I had made up and down the ICW when we lived aboard our 27' sloop in the 70's. I

could see US out in that harbor over 20+ years ago, with 600 miles of glorious ICW to go to get to Miami, then another 60 miles to make landfall in the Bahamas. I have to be satisfied retracing that path in small sections these days, because of work, but I look forward to one day being able to again spend as much time as I want on the ICW.

As I got out of the truck at the ramp to launch, the rain returned, so I decided not to splash. I went back to town and dawdled for a spell, poking about the salty shops and wishing the transient boats a final farewell, then leisurely headed back to the interstate for the 175 mile run home, stopping at a few boat stores along the way.

The adventure hadn't been all fair weather and it hadn't been all on the water, but it sure was peaceful and satisfying - I got my 'boating battery' charged enough to last me until next weekend.

I got back home late Saturday -- so I could spend Sunday with my girls.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Extremely happy owner of:

Ficht 115 pushing the Seaswirl 1850 W/A "NICKY"

Bahamas Magic

7/7-9/00

I saw a guy on the stage. He chained a girl in a small box, then pushed swords through the box in several places. Then he hid the box behind a curtain. When he removed the curtain, the girl was sitting on top of the box, unhurt. Another fellow made the Statue of Liberty disappear during a live show. This may be entertaining, but it’s not magic.

Magic is when you enter the Gulf Stream and the water changes to a color that defies description. Magic is when flying fish appear out of nowhere, skitter for 10 to 15 seconds above the wave tops and disappear. Magic is the way porpoise will accompany you for a spell on your journey across the Gulf Stream, and somehow you know they are welcoming you to their world. Magic is the appearance of an island after you’ve been staring into the infinity of the horizon for hours. Magic is being able to see a Bahamian sea shell the size of a quarter, on the bottom in 50 feet of water. Color you can only imagine, fish that fly, porpoise that communicate with humans, islands that appear out of nowhere, crystal clear water…this is magic.

My wife and I had been to the Bahamas often when we lived aboard our 27’ sailboat in the early 70’s. In ’77 we turned our back to the sea to raise a family ashore, but while Neptune relaxed his grip on us during those years, he never turned us completely loose. The call of the water is now stronger than ever. I answer that call with weekends aboard once a month and hopefully a longer adventure a couple times a year.

This adventure of magic began Friday morning, July 7^th 2000, at about 9:30. NICKY, a Seaswirl 1850 WA (cuddy cabin) powered by a 115 Ficht outboard motor, was packed and ready. Trailer wheel bearings had been checked, all lights on the trailer and ‘Old Green’, my ’72 Ford Pick-up, were functional and all tire pressures were brought up to spec.

Old Green has about 200,000 miles on her, but is still quite content pulling the 3,500 lb boat/trailer as long as I feed her premium gas. We get about 11 ½ mpg while towing with the air conditioner on. We made Manatee Pocket near Stuart FL a little after 1 o’clock  Saturday morning. I considered splashing NICKY, but decided against it - I just slept aboard in the parking lot at the ramp. I was up and on my way south a little after 6am on Saturday.

I completed the 723 mile run from home to the ramp at John Lloyd State Park at 8:25 Saturday morning. The ramp is just off the ICW (Intra Coastal Waterway) a mile or so south of the Fort Lauderdale Inlet. I splashed NICKY and meandered up the ICW past the old 17^th Street Bridge. It’s a new high level bridge now; I’ll miss the timers that used to advise boaters how many minutes until the next scheduled opening.

I tied up at the Lauderdale Marina small boat dock. I bought ice and asked the whereabouts of the Offshore Towing headquarters. I learned that the Offshore Towing office was right around back, upstairs. Before committing, I wanted to talk to them about venturing across the Gulf Stream to Bimini in an 18 ½’ boat. You can also file a float plan with them if you like.

The guys in the towing office were knowledgeable and friendly, and even though they said their antenna would pick up a VHF radio call from Bimini, and they occasionally tow boats back from there, they wouldn’t bless my trip. “So you don’t think it’s a good idea for an 18 ½ foot boat to make the run across?”

“Ehhhhhh,” was the reply.

“It’s only 60 miles. I could make it in a couple hours. What do you think?”

“Ehhhhhh,” was again the reply. “If you had a problem, you could get into trouble waiting for help if the weather turned on you.”

They were being cautious and polite. I don’t blame them. If I didn’t know me, I’d think I was crazy too. I told them that the NOAA weather forecast called for calm seas with the weather holding until tomorrow and that I’d run out the inlet and have a look.

“Ehhhhhh.”

The inlet was a pussy cat. The Gulf Stream was inviting. I went out 5 miles, turned off the engine and gave the boat a thorough going over. All systems were A-OK. Another five miles, another ‘boat check’ and another A-OK. I re-confirmed the favorable NOAA forecast.  The cell phone still had a faint signal…I called home at about 11am and left a message, “I’m going for Bimini.”

I took off the life jacket (always worn when running an inlet) and put it on the seat next to me along with the handheld VHF, cell phone and spare GPS. I was as ready as I’d ever be. I clipped the ignition kill lanyard to my belt loop. I patted NICKY and said, “Let’s do it!”

I set the GPS to ‘highway’ mode with Bimini as the destination waypoint. I could easily see when I was on the GPS defined road, and the arrow pointed in the direction to steer. This is the cat’s pajamas compared to the rigamarole we went through navigating on the sailboat to make the same passage. I put NICKY at 18 mph and settled in for the now 50 miles of open water.

In the next 10 miles I was passed by 2 boats. I fell in behind the second one and goosed the throttle to keep up. I’m not sure why, but being behind another boat was comforting. I questioned the feeling and decided it was a FALSE comfort. If I did have a problem, I would simply fade out of sight in his rear view mirror. I slowed and watched him disappear into the horizon.

A few minutes later, I spotted something in the water up ahead. I diverted to see what it was. As I approached, I saw that although it was painted like a beachball, it was actually a flimsy vinyl balloon. I plucked it out of the water and put it below. I have an informal collection of stuff I’ve picked up while boating that includes fishing bobbers, boat fenders, even a duck decoy from an inland lake.

So I’m just getting her on a plane again after a 5 mile ‘boat check’, thinking about how I’m alone ‘out here’ when I hear a rustle and feel a nudge at my shoulder. I turn and see a girl’s eyes just inches from my face. “Holy S***!”

Then with another rustle, the beach ball balloon - with a women’s face on the other side of it - is whisked off the boat back into the water. I guess she just wanted to say, “Thanks for the lift.”

About 12:30 I spotted something on the horizon. “Well I’ll be damned,” it’s Bimini. It caught me totally off guard. What a rush - discovering an island in the middle of nowhere.

I don’t condone cruising without charts, but I usually do not have them, especially if I have a cruising guide. In this case, I had The Bahamas Cruising Guide by Mathew Wilson. I was using Mathew’s GPS waypoint for the Bimini landfall. I also felt comfortable with Mathew’s instructions for the Bimini approach. When I arrived at the waypoint, I could easily spot the range on the beach that was described in the cruising guide. I got on the range, crossed the bar and made my way slowly into Bimini harbor.

I anchored at the far end of the harbor as suggested in the cruising guide and knocked back an ice cold bottle of Bartles and Jaymes, Bahama Mamma which I had stashed in the cooler in anticipation of celebrating a successful passage. Man did it taste good, and man, did I feel good. Me, my little boat, Bimini, finally…this was the 3^rd attempt.

I have to admit, I don’t know much about the land side of Bimini. I didn’t go ashore. From the water Bimini is a paradox, a potential paradise with little substance. Small dilapidated buildings, no doubt  housing shops and bars if you’re into that. There don’t appear to be any of the lush hotels or resorts one normally associates with an affluent land based paradise. This was of no concern to me, because my paradise encompasses very little land side, but if your paradise is primarily land based, there is hope for you. Nearby Bimini Sands (http://www.bimini.com/) is under construction and already sports a few condos, swimming pool and a large marina. It would be a GREAT base for a Bimini holiday.

After about ½ hr of marveling at the cruising boats and fish in the clear waters of the harbor, I headed south to Gun Cay. There’s a little anchorage there called Honeymoon Harbor. It’s about 10 miles from Bimini to Gun, a journey I wasn’t in any hurry to complete - the Bahamian waters are so pleasant and inviting.

Honeymoon Harbor was crowded, but I had no trouble finding a place to drop the hook in about 18” of water. There were several large Sport Fisherman, many power cruisers and a couple water maggots in the anchorage, but I was undoubtedly the smallest boat there that had made the crossing on it’s own bottom. Sailboats had their own place, they were anchored on the backside of Gun in the more protected waters, but they didn’t have a nice beach. I did go ashore at Gun, I took some pictures from the beach, then went back aboard and made preparations for the return trip across the Gulf Stream. I wanted to get back across The Stream while the weather was so accommodating.

I left Gun about 2:45pm, heading toward Ft Lauderdale at 24 mph. It wasn’t long before I overtook a trawler. As I glanced at him astern, I noticed a Sport Fisherman coming up on me. As the Sport Stink came along side, I slid the throttle forward to match his speed. He was doing 30 mph. I gave it a little more gas, approaching 35 mph. As I pulled away from the Sport Stink, I realized that if someone wanted to feel comfortable by being near another boat, real comfort would be realized by being in front of, not behind, a companion. That way, if you developed a problem you’d have a chance to flag down the other boat as he passed. I slowed back to 30 but the Sport Stink lagged farther and farther behind. Maybe all he wanted was to get a look at me?

 I kept her at 30 mph. I felt like a Ski Do dancing on the tops of the waves, but when I did come down I came down easy and stayed dry. The feeling was pure exubilaration (exuberance/exhilaration), but a guy couldn’t accomplish much more than hanging on at this speed in a boat my size, even taking a sip from a can of pop was impossible. Nonetheless, I kept up the speed until I made the sea buoy at Lauderdale. The return trip across the Gulf Stream had taken a little over 2 hours. I did drop the speed back some to run the inlet. The wind had picked up and I had to negotiate some chop - but at this point a little spray in the face every now and then just added to the excitement. As I rollercoasted my way through the inlet, I was passed by an 80 foot pleasure boat – they were having drinks on the fantail, oblivious to the sea conditions. Size matters when comfort at sea is concerned.

The weather both going and coming had been perfect - I had not tasted sea spray once, or taken even a drop aboard the whole time over and back. There were no systems failures, the motor never missed a beat and nothing broke off, or fell off the boat. It was an ideal experience. Don’t be fooled though, it’s not always like this. There are nightmares out there as well as magic. An open water passage is never to be taken lightly. Also, I’ve got to mention the Bahamian sun, it’s different there. In the US, the sun has many other things to do than just shine. In the Bahamas, the sun’s only job it to find places on human bodies that haven’t been protected by sunblock. All day, every day, the Bahamian sun searches for places that you missed. Maybe it’s the top or inside of your ears, a small spot near your hairline, the bottoms of your feet, the inside of your nose, or your eyelids. If you miss even the tiniest place with the sunblock, the Bahamian sun will find it and toast it - guaranteed.

Once in the harbor, I made my way north up the ICW a short way to the shoal at the junction of the ICW and the New River. It’s a favorite spot of mine, right in the middle of everything including a respected no wake zone. I dropped the hook there, regrouped and knocked back the last ice cold bottle of Bahama Mamma.

You can’t be in Lauderdale without doing the New River. The New River is a boaters wonder. There are boats of all kinds moored along both sides of a 4 or 5 mile stretch. High dollar water front real estate, luxury boat builders and upscale repair facilities abound. There are also do it yourself yards and shacks along the way. It’s truly an amazing area. About 5 miles up, there’s an area void of development. I believe it’s a preserve of some sort. It was 7pm as I approached this quiet area. I dropped the hook and curled up below for a nap.

I woke up at 2am. Not wanting to miss an opportunity for a little night cruise, I brought the anchor aboard and lit up the outboard. I made my way back, at 5 mph in the dark. There was no other boat traffic, I had the river to myself. The glow coming from boat port holes, landscaping illumination and domestic lights add a whole new perspective to the area. And of course there’s the stars. The smells are different too - the fragrance of flowers along the banks, the aroma of steak and ribs from the nightclubs and bars along the way, the smells of sawdust and fresh paint from new construction, and an occasional whiff of perfume from women holding drinks on the big yachts. Boating at night is rewarding, but it does have it’s challenges…the markers can be hard to see, the deep water can be elusive, and it’s hard to see floating obstacles. But if you keep the speed down and stay vigilant a nighttime cruise offers one of the great pleasures of boating.

I finally made my way back to my shoal at the junction of the New River and ICW and hooked out for the remainder of the night. I was up early and had the coffee water boiling before sunrise. I use those ‘coffee singles’, a one serving ‘tea bag’ of coffee that you put in boiling water. I’d been advised by Peggie Hall, Head Mistress of rec.boats, that the flavor is enhanced if you keep the cup covered while the coffee is brewing. I killed two birds with one stone by covering the brewing coffee in my styrofoam cup with a foil package of Pop Tarts. In a few minutes I had tasty steaming coffee and a warm toaster pastry. Believe me, Peggie is right on when she recommends keeping a cover on the brewing coffee. The used bags of coffee can be a nuisance to dispose of, so I just leave them in the cup and drink around them…then throw away the bags with the cup.

Hot coffee in hand, I watched the sunrise while exploring the floating real estate in Bahia Mar. It’s hard to believe anyone has enough money to buy and maintain one of those monster yachts, but there they are, row upon row of them. Bahia Mar is also the home of the Jungle Queen. The Jungle Queen is a tour boat that takes you along the New River. If you’re ever in Lauderdale without a boat, you must take this cruise. Even if you’re not a boater, you can still appreciate the scenery in Fort Lauderdale, “The Venice of America”.

By this time it was nearing 8am. John Lloyd opens at eight, and I knew even if I put NICKY back on the trailer before then, I wouldn’t be able to get out of the park, so I hadn’t been in a hurry to get to the ramp. Even now, I wasn’t ready to take NICKY ashore, but I motored into the little bay anyway, just to get a feel for activity at the ramp. I put NICKY’s bow on the beach across from the ramp, and tied a line to an overhanging branch. I enjoy watching people launching their boats and getting ready for a day on the water. Before I knew it, the cars/trailers were backed up about a quarter mile waiting for their turn at the ramp. I untied NICKY and headed south down the ICW to The Dania Cutoff.

The Dania Cutoff parallels the New River both geographically and scenery wise. The Cutoff is generally a little less upscale, a little shallower and a little narrower, but it has a charm of it’s own. In a small boat, you can follow the Cutoff inland to a point where it intersects with the New River. I’d done that loop on the last trip, but it wasn’t in the cards for today. It was getting time to be hitting the road for home.

Bu the time I got back to the ramp, all the morning boaters were well on their way. I had the place to myself. I had NICKY loaded and road ready in about 15 minutes. I was officially on my way back home at 9:45 am Sunday.

I pulled into my driveway in Spartanburg about 24 hours later - Monday morning at 9:20 am. It had taken a while to get home because I’d drive a while, pull over and crawl into the boat for a nap. Get up, drive a while, another nap…basically the same routine as when I’m on the boat.

It’s been suggested that all those road miles must be tedious and boring, especially since I don’t even have a radio in the truck. But my mind loves the unstimulated  freedom. I contemplate and plan on the way down, and reflect all the way back. This is easily accomplished because I totally ignore all speed limit signs; I also never change lanes to pass - you hate me because I’m going 52 miles/hour, but I’m enjoying the trip.

The magic isn’t over just because I’m back home. On my way home I’ve planned another boating adventure – and the magic begins again in the preparation for that voyage.

Would I cross The Stream alone again in a small boat?

I’ll go if you will.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

Land miles = 1,423

Car gallons = 123.3

Boat miles = 158.1

Engine hours = 12.1

Boat gallons = 30.9

‘Old Green’ at John Lloyd Park in Lauderdale                            NICKY at Honeymoon Harbor - Bahamas

 

Chartering Caroline

I'd sold my trawler and had been between boats for quite some time. I
thought I'd see if I could get a couple guys together to charter a trawler.
 The original crew of 3 soon turned to 4 and then to 6 beside myself. With
the larger than planned crew, 'we' sought a boat more accommodating than a
trawler – 'we' settled on a 47' Holiday Mansion Houseboat for 4 days & 3
nights.
This was turning out to be a far cry from the leisurely trawler cruise I
had in mind, and I agreed to follow through only if the 'crew' agreed to
take turns at the helm. All that would be required of me would be to know
the way to the marina when it was time to head back. "OK…Sure, No
Problem," was the unanimous cry from the enthusiastic 'crew'.
We arrived at the marina well before noon, hoping to begin our adventure
early in the day. The fellow at the marina told us the boat had just been
serviced and pronounced in excellent condition. He gave us a quick tour
and then proceeded to show us how to lite up the twin 454's…except the
batteries were dead. Using jumper cables, there was no configuration of
engine batteries and or the generator battery that would bring any of the
internal combustion engines to life. After 30 minutes on the charger the
stronger battery still wouldn't crank that big 454, and after trying the
charger for 30 minutes on the other battery with no luck, we waited while
they installed a brand new battery on one of the engines. The second
engine was started by jumping it off the new battery, as was the generator
– "Those weak batteries will come right up after you run the engines for
awhile".
The fellow at the marina then brought the boat around to the fuel dock
where we loaded her up. Unfortunately, we turned off the mills while we
were getting our gear aboard and had to jump the second 454 from the new
battery to get both engines running. The generator wouldn't respond to
jumping and the mechanic was called. The generator was brought to life
before we departed, but none of us knew what had been done to get it
running.
"OK, who is taking her away from the dock", I inquired?
"You are!" they all responded.
"I thought you all agreed I wouldn't take a turn at the helm?" I reminded
them.
"We lied!", was the retort.
They each grabbed a beer and I took the wheel (I don't drink). The first
thing I did as helmsman was to fetch the duct tape from my ditty bag, to
secure the windscreen that was flapping in the breeze. We toured the
Beaufort waterfront before heading out the inlet to Cape Lookout. I
insisted that someone else take the wheel as we steered for the bight.
It didn't take my study long to learn to steer the visual course toward
Power Squadron Spit. I went below to check the bilges, then pulled the
hatches to make sure everything was OK in the engine compartment. I nearly
ended up on top of one of the engines as the boat lurched forward, the
engines winding up, up, up. I dashed up to the flybridge to see what had
happened. The fellow at the wheel still had his hand on the throttles,
encouraging them to move beyond their high speed stop. This fellow became
known as Redline; you couldn't trust him to run at any speed less than wide
open.
We dropped the hook in the bight and backed down on the Danforth. She
fetched up with a snap that convinced me we were secure. After a time on
the beach, they settled in for beer, steak and then videos of, well, what
videos would you expect from a bunch of guys. They passed the cell phone
around for everyone to call home, but the phone soon got cantankerous and
had to be smacked before it would call out. Hot showers for all, then it
was time to turn in. But wait, the lights in the head quit working before
the last shower. I found if you hit the bulkhead near the switch, the
lights would go on. I placed the cell phone near the switch – that way you
could hit the bulkhead with the phone and you'd get both light and a dial
tone.
I ended up in the forward berth, in the foc'sl, down a half flight of
stairs just shy of the chain locker – there was room for two of us down
there. There was ankle deep water on the floor; I took off my shoes and
pulled the bilge pump. It worked fine after I removed the glob of hair
from around the intake. We had our own head, and I was awakened at about
3am because it would fill, but it wouldn't empty. My cabin mate had tried
to use it and ended up flooding the cabin sole with the (solid) contents.
I found the intake and closed it, then fiddled with the controls until I
got the head to pump dry.
I never miss coffee at sunup, but there were bodies all over the main
salon, so I waited until the 'crew' came to. After a leisurely breakfast
we decided to haul in the anchor. The windlass slipped so badly it
wouldn't even move the boat up to the anchor. I discovered that the bow
roller assembly had fallen off during the night (into the water) and the
rode was dragging directly over the glass deck. The rode came aboard
through a small opening at the bow – the only option was to grab the rode
and manually haul it in over the rail. I hesitated to use the engines with
5 guys pulling on the line (the 6th taking videos). I could have had them
tie it off to a cleat, but there were no cleats substantial enough to put
up much resistance, so we just manhandled the anchor in. We considered
just cutting the rode to allow us to get under way, but there was only the
single anchor. It took us over an hour to get the anchor aboard.
Gorgeous day, flat seas…the Crew asked if we could take her out to see the
Gulf Stream. "Why not?", they whined. I finally consented to heading
offshore a few miles.
They took turns keeping her on the 'highway' presented by the GPS (which I
extracted from my ditty bag) as we made our way to the waypoint a couple
miles offshore. I turned the helm over to Redline when a crew member came
up requesting my presence below…something about water in the forward berth.
I took off my shoes and socks and rolled up my pants in preparation for
clearing the bilge pump again, only this time there was no clog, and the
water was now approaching shin deep. I checked to see if the head was
overflowing and turned off the intake valve just in case. After checking
the opening ports (one of which was not dogged), I finally discovered the
real source of the water when I opened the hatch to the chain locker and
could see water gushing in at the joint between the lower hull and the
upper (houseboat) hull. No worries mate – just get Redline off the helm
and slow down enough to keep the bow wave out of the joint.
I almost had a mutiny on my hands when I ordered a 180. Besides the leak,
I had shown the crew that while burning 50+ gallons an hour, if we did make
the Gulf Stream, we'd run out of fuel long before we got back to port.
They seemed to be able to live with the leak and the possibility of running
out of fuel... it wasn't until they discovered that the cell phone had
totally given up the ghost AND we were out of water for showers that we had
a unanimous vote to return to port.
Guess who was elected to bring her in to the gas dock? We took on a couple
hundred gallons of gas and filled up the water tank(s). Hey, we were now
set for our second nite. Better check the oil in the engines though, just
to be on the safe side. The port engine took 4 quarts of oil (the stbd
engine only took two). And the generator wouldn't start. We messed with
the generator control panel for about half an hour with no results. I
finally opened up a pair of pliers, putting one handle on the battery cable
and the other directly to the starter on the generator and Wallah!, she lit
up and we had 120VAC. Oops, not quite ready to cast off…a couple guys
still needed to call their honey back home, but in only a matter of hours
we were on our way up the ICW to the Neuse.
We flawlessly negotiated the ICW to the Neuse River Junction off Maw Pt
Shoal, then headed back to Cedar Creek to drop the hook. We anchored
successfully, using a type IV cushion to protect the rode from chafing on
the rail. Dinner was shrimp kabobs marinated in Italian dressing; cooked
outside on the charcoal grill – delicious.  We were the obnoxious guys you all talk about in the anchorage, being loud, boisterous and running the genset all night.
With the previous experience (the morning before), we had the up anchor
routine pretty well under control. In no time we were leisurely making our
way back south down the ICW, ending up at the Beaufort Inlet. We started
out the inlet, to go back to Cape Lookout, but the inlet was rough and we
decided not to test the integrity of the leaky joint, so we turned back.
Redline took us back in, bouncing us over every wake. We decided to have a
nice leisurely look at the Beaufort waterfront – considering perhaps a trip
to Lookout via the inside route past Harkers Island. I insisted on idle
speed in Taylor Creek and took the helm myself to ensure we were courteous
and proper to other boaters in this confined space. As we passed the post
office, the fellow sitting next to me on the flybridge asked me if I
smelled something. I said, "yes, it smelled like macaroni and cheese."
Then the smell got acrid and stronger. I pushed my buddy in front of the
wheel, dashed down and threw open the engine hatch – nothing. As I was
closing the hatch I heard a cry from the cabin, "FIRE!"
I turned around to see a foot of black dense smoke at ceiling level. There
were two guys in front of the stove as I hurriedly approached, one of them
moving a large (trash can type) container up toward the flaming stove top.
I jumped in behind him and grabbed the container to help him pour the
contents on the fire. The container was in fact a trash can, full of
papers and garbage. To this day I don't know what plan he had for that
container… Anyway, another crew member approached from forward, picking up
a fire extinguisher on the way. As he emptied the contents on the blaze I
searched for another extinguisher. There were none in the aft area, but
another guy found a second extinguisher and discharged on the blaze –
extinguishing it.
The stove was a disaster, the curtains were totaled, the coach roof was a
black mess and the floor was covered in extinguisher powder, but no one was
hurt.
"That's it! Cruise over!" I exclaimed. While we waited for the bridge to
open to get back to the marina, they began cleaning up the mess. We needed
a little more clean up time as we approached the fuel dock, so I lazily
circled while they worked below. All of a sudden, one of the crew flew
onto the flybridge and jammed the portable VHF in my face.
"It's for you, it's for you," he said guiltily.
I took the VHF and listened as the caller said, "Caroline, Caroline, this
is the marina, do you need some help?"
The guy next to me said, "They must have seen the smoke."
I told the marina we were just getting ready to bring her back in. He
said, "OK", and was there to take a line as I approached.
It was my card which was used to guarantee the security deposit -
$1,000…and my crew helpfully suggested that I get a lawyer, or take other
similar actions rather than surrendering the security deposit. But they
all did chip in their share when I didn't get anything back.
There are many, many lessons here – I'm sure I don't need to point them all
out. But I will make one suggestion:
Know the location of all the fire extinguishers on your boat, and through
practice fire drills make the fire procedure second nature.
And for extra credit – answer the following:
What did Nick tell the Crew when they asked if they could do it all again
next year?
Fairwinds,
Nick in Spartanburg, SC

The Real Venice

I’ve recently returned from a week on a houseboat/trawler in Venice. One might consider the equipment list interesting. For instance:

·         There was no compass.

·         There was no depth sounder.

·         There was no VHF.

·         There was no fuel gauge.

·         There was no generator.

·         The refrigerator was 12 volt - the main engine had to be run a minimum of 4 hrs/day to keep the batteries up.

·         There were two, ½” well-worn poly mooring lines (and one spare somewhere we were told).

·         There was one anchor, but we were told not to use it - no windlass.

·         There were 3 massive rubber rub rails around the entire boat, inlaid with stainless, and there were also diagonal ‘bumpers’ (of the same construction) at the bow from the upper rub rail to the waterline, and another at the stem.

·         The boat had a sunroof over the main cabin, which slid back into the top so the main cabin was open to the outside air from above.

·         There was no drive shaft on the end of the 40HP diesel - hydraulic drive.  The boat had been retrofitted with this smaller diesel - we were told it was because a license was required to operate a boat with a motor over 40 HP. She once hit 7 mph according to my GPS.

·         There WAS a bow thruster, probably because it was a necessity. It was also hydraulic.

·         There was a box under a berth at the stern that was open to the sea below and extended up above the waterline; it had a watertight lid fastened on with wing nuts. One could remove the top of the box and reach down through it into the water to clear a tangled prop without leaving the boat. I know because I watched the fellow from the agency pull a 20’ fishing net up through the box that had fouled the prop just after we untied the boat for our ‘instructional’ cruise.

On Wednesday September 6^th, we flew from our local airport in Spartanburg to Washington Dulles. We arrived in time to be waiting at the gate when my sister Natalie and her husband George arrived from Hawaii. From there, the four of us went nonstop to London. From the air, London was a huge expanse of  regularly spaced buildings and it was so much bigger than I expected. We spent Thursday night in town; toured the next day -- Kensington Gardens,  Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Houses of Parliament, museums... Yes there’s a lot of history, architecture and pomp, but has anyone been to Harrods? Took a river cruise: Cleopatra’s Needle, St Pauls, London Bridge (#3), Tower of London, but Greenwich was perhaps the most memorable due to Gypsy Moth, Cutty Sark and the Old Royal Observatory where I watched my GPS go to 000 00.000

On Friday we took the Eurostar from London to Paris. My wife asked me how fast we were going. From the feel of the ride I guessed 70 or 80 mph. I got out the GPS and it was clocking us at over 180 mph. Spent one night in Paris at a hotel within walking distance of the train. The room was very small; couldn’t get my wife’s wheelchair in the tiny lift (elevator) to get to the second floor, but it didn’t matter much as the closest lift stop was on a stairway landing between the first and second floors.

On Saturday, we cabbed to the Charles DeGaul airport and took an Alitalia flight to Venice. Cabbed again from the Venice airport to Chioggia. Chioggia was very festive and colorful - it is the kind of place I expected Venice to be from pictures and reading. There were brightly painted houses and boats, beautiful canals and bridges, street vendors and souvenir stands. The four of us stayed at a first class 2-bedroom suite in hotel in town. We had unforgettable fish soup for dinner. To me it wasn’t soup; it was an aquarium that had been warmed up – there where whole shrimp, squid, mussels and more in that bowl.

We walked less than ½ mile to the Charter Agency the next day. There was no building associated with the dock, only about 8 slips for the charter fleet. We were greeted by Marcelo. It took about 2 hours for him to complete all paperwork and familiarize us with the boat – his final duty was to take us out for a brief demo ride; that’s when we discovered the net wrapped around the propeller. Formalities and demo ride completed, we were on our way with several hours of sun left.

We spent the first night aboard about 15 miles north of Chioggia, in S. Piero in Volta tied to the seawall. The agency had recommended a mooring spot in the vicinity, but I’m not sure we ended up in it. It was very peaceful as the sun set. We sat up on deck sipping exceptionally good local wine, marveling at the landscape and complimenting ourselves on our first successful day in the Venetian lagoon.

Our serenity was terminated in the early morning hours when the fishing fleet began moving offshore. This picturesque little town we had chosen to spend the night in is right next to Porto di Malamocco, an inlet used by fishing boats in the area. The unforgiving seawall punctuated our rocking from the wakes to the point that sleep was impossible. Noone slowed to pass, it seemed as if our boat was ‘invisible’ to local craft. Before first light, I went ashore and meandered the ¼ mile to the Adriatic. The glow of the spectacular sunrise gradually made the 40 or so fishing boats materialize on the water.

The run from S. Piero in Volta to Vignole the next day (about 15 miles) was extremely pleasant. There are briccole (markers) every 50 meters making navigation somewhat less than challenging, but stress free passages were taken advantage of in absorbing local sights and vessels. That afternoon, we moored at a secluded, special agency mooring site in the canal that divides Vignole. We used this spot as a home base while we did Venezeia and Morano by water bus. After getting the boat properly situated at the agency mooring, we hiked to the water bus stop and were ferried to Venezia. 

Venezia is spectacular, but crowded. In addition to the regular water traffic, there are huge cruise ships and yachts to contend with. I did get a kick out of the familiar khaki uniform of the UPS man standing proudly at the helm of his boat, heading up the Grand Canal for his next delivery. St. Marks isn’t to be missed, but the density of tourists in the square was above my tolerance (not to mention the pigeons). Some of us stopped at an Internet café on the way back to the water bus, but I abstained; eMail was one of the things I was on a vacation FROM.

The next day, Wednesday, we again walked the ¼ mile from our boat to the waterbus and lit out for Morano. Morano is the ‘glass’ island. There are glass factories, which produce glass in every shape, color and size from beads and jewelry to knickknacks to tableware to massive decorative sculptures. Murano is smaller, less crowded and there are fewer bridges to negotiate with the wheelchair. We thoroughly enjoyed Murano.

On Thursday, we needed to pick up a couple more crewmembers, Kurt and Richard, at the Venice airport. Two more crewmembers were easily accommodated as the boat had three staterooms, each with it's own head. Kurt and Richard had spent time aboard with Natalie and George last year on the canals of France. We took the boat to get them, there’s water right up to the baggage claim area. The water traffic in the narrow channel to the airport was almost overwhelming. The well marked channel to the airport was about 4 boats wide. We ran at cruising speed, 6 mph, for that run of 5 miles, being overtaken in one direction or the other every 15 seconds or so. Keeping out of the way of commercial traffic and compensating for their wakes, while trying to stay in the channel was a monumental task. A single turn of the wheel would change the attitude of the boat, but it would take a couple hundred yards for boat to realize a new course. The only way to make an immediate course adjustment was two and 1/4 turns (hard over), then it took a series of 6 or 8 corrections to get it normalized. This part of the vacation was more work than pleasure.

With the new crewmembers aboard, we headed back to our hidey-hole at Vignole. There was a dredge in the airport channel on this passage back. The dredge was positioned a little off the center of the channel to my side and if I wanted to leave him to port, I’d have to venture out of the channel. If I left him to starboard, I’d be blind to oncoming traffic in an area wide enough for only a single boat, until I was on his beam (at 6 mph this would have been an eternity). I was still weighing the options at about 100 yards, when a deck hand on the barge signaled me to leave him to starboard, indicating that my course should be under the bucket, which was positioned to plunge for another batch of spoils. I was within 50 feet of being directly under the bucket, when the operator swung the crane over the barge and out of the way. I think he did this when he saw the sweat running off my face in a manner to rival Niagara Falls. The rest of the way back to Vignola was a piece of cake.

I still think those Venetians are pretty casual about the way they leave their boats. In most situations, there are pilings right off the seawall. Where there are no pilings, there are rings at regular intervals built in along the wall. This place in Vignole had the pilings, but they were far enough off the seawall that the fenders were useless. The technique was to tie the mooring line to the cleat, make one loop around the piling, and back to the cleat – one at the bow, one at the stern. The boat just rode against the pilings. The loops would slide up or down as needed to allow for the tide. In the case of rings on the seawall, you did get the benefit of the fenders, but you couldn’t stay snug against the wall because you needed to leave slack in the lines for the tide.

Once we were again securely attached to the pilings in the quiet canal of Vignole, Suzy and I stayed aboard while the others took the water bus to Venice and Murano. It was nice having the boat to ourselves – we took advantage of the opportunity for a nice nap. When the troops returned, they brought armfuls of wines, cheeses, breads and fresh fruits and vegetables. Before it was all stowed, a party went off on foot to bring back desserts from a nearby restaurant. Thanks to my sister Natalie (a gourmet cook) all our meals aboard (including breakfast) rivaled or surpassed the culinary delights we experienced ashore.

The next day, Friday, we all went to Murano. As this was our second trip to this island, we were able to take in details rather than being overwhelmed by new sights. I’m a people watcher and there was no shortage of opportunities to hone my skills. Also, while I seldom have the urge to go inside stores, I do enjoy window shopping. Suzy and I spent the morning watching people and peering into store windows.

Lunch was enjoyed at a first class restaurant on the Grand Canal (main street) of Burano. We sat on a terrace that was built out over the water. The seafood in Venice is unbelievable, probably because it’s fresh daily. Someone ordered lobster, but it wasn’t available because the boat wasn’t due for another ½ hr.

We wanted to experience the Grand Canal of Venetia from the water, and because our houseboat was not allowed there, we decided to do it by water bus. We took a water bus from Burano to Venetia, then got on a ‘local’ to ride around Venetia and through the Grand Canal. We had planned to stop at Lido after our excursion, but this local water bus made so many stops and was so crowded that we all began wishing we were back aboard the houseboat sharing a bottle of wine. We unanimously decided to cut Lido from the schedule and headed back to the solitude of our secluded mooring in Vignole.

Saturday was a day of preparation for the trip to Burano. The first task was to top off the boat’s water tank. We’d done this earlier in the week, so we knew the drill, especially the part about not having the current push us into the low bridge which was only a few feet from the water source. We waited until the tide was against us, then motored to a spot in front of the public fountain. We spun the boat in the narrow channel using the bow thruster and quickly tied the stern to a tree ashore, letting the current swing the bow parallel to the seawall. After the bow was secured via a long loop to a light post we broke out the tank filling paraphernalia.

The public fountain was a short stone column with a gargoyle head on one side which dribbled water out of the mouth. The flow ran 24/7 at about a gallon a minute. To catch the water, one cut the bottom off of a plastic drink bottle, poked a couple holes in opposite sides of the rim and looped a string between the holes. A hole was made in the cap that was just large enough to accept the end of an unterminated length of hose. Then all one has to do is loop the string over the gargoyle’s head so the stream from the gargoyle mouth is directed into the plastic bottle. The bottle then funnels the water into the hose, the other end of which is in the fill hole for the boat water tank.  Wallah! In a matter of only a couple hours old man gravity has put more than a hundred gallons of water in the tank.

The next task was to top off the fuel tank. The boat didn’t have a fuel gauge; Marcelo had told us to calculate fuel usage based on X liters per engine hour. We’d done that, and figured we could probably get by until the end of the charter, but the route to our next destination, Burano, took us reasonable close to a fuel stop. The fuel dock was just off the right of way for water busses, taxies, gondolas, UPS barges etc. so it was not only congested, but wakes were also plentiful. Negotiating the approach through the traffic was a little daunting and there wasn’t much room for error as the fuel dock is just that, only a dock…room for one boat. We bounced through the wakes and I got the bow in close with the help of the bow thruster. We threw a line around a piling on the starboard side, and hurriedly offered a stern line to the attendant. The attendant waved off the stern line, and I truly considered teaching him some four letter docking words in English, but I decided to go with the flow. I cranked her hard to port and put her on about 1,200 rpm. As the short bow line strained, the stern made it’s way to a firm position at the dock. The wooden pilings attenuated the effects of the wakes as our stainless rub rails slid up and down their worn faces. We were all happy to get under way again for the peaceful trip to Burano.

On the way to Burano, we were passed by newly weds in a water taxi. The boat was festively decked out in flowers and ribbons. As they passed us, we had a good view of the happy couple cuddling in the back of the boat, he was in his tux and her veils were being blown about by the breeze.

We moored beam to the fetch in Burano, at the place recommended by the agency. We were rocked regularly by wakes as we were right on the channel, but the motion wasn’t too bad. We split up as we left the boat to explore this rather small island. I call Burano the Lace Island, because that’s the specialty there, lace in all shapes and sizes, similar to how Murano was with glass. Burano was busy but not overly crowded. The tourist shops were concentrated near the town square along with several restaurants. There were residential areas and there were areas of small stores where the residents shopped. The local children played hide-and-seek and soccer in the square. The houses were brightly painted and in good repair, some with unbelievable gardens of fluorescent flowers. The people were friendly. This was my kind of place.

We eventually all got together for a late lunch – this was facilitated by each group carrying a walkie-talkie. Those little 2 way radios are great for this kind of thing. Richard picked out a restaurant right in the midst of the busy tourist area; there would be a 10 minute wait. As we were being led to our table, we realized that the bride and groom that we saw in the water taxi were having their reception at this restaurant. Not only that, but our table was between the wedding cake and the keyboard player. George said he felt like he was part of a scene from The Godfather.

We all smiled and well wished the couple when they came within earshot, and we cheered the dancers and gave them thumbs up when the conga line passed by our table. My sister and her husband had their picture taken with the wedding cake. Even though we couldn’t understand the words, the music was outstanding – we felt like family at the wedding. As we were leaving, George boisterously congratulated the newly weds, and the entire wedding party rose to give him a standing ovation as he exited (maybe they were shouting good riddance?)

We were all back at the boat relaxing on deck, when we were approached by a local. Kurt speaks French and French is evidently closer to Italian then English, so Kurt became our interpreter. We got the idea that the local, now known as Bruno, wanted us to relocate (to a spot across and up the canal) because there was a forecast for severe weather. I wasn’t sure whether Bruno was concerned for our safety, or he just didn’t want our honkus houseboat moored in front of his residence. Ultimately, we decided not to relocate. It was getting dark, we’d all had a few glasses of wine, I didn’t think the couple hundred yards of fetch over 15’ of water would pose much danger even if the weather did get nasty, plus that spot across the canal looked mighty small.

Bruno reluctantly accepted our decision not to move and invited Kurt to his house. Kurt returned, explaining that Bruno had shown him some of his work – Bruno was a painter. It wasn’t long before George and Kurt both went back to Brunos, then returned with a Bruno original. Bruno came by a short time after, presenting us with a bottle of Grappa. I’m not sure what the official description of grappa is, but it tastes like it’s in the gasoline/lighter fluid family.

Not long after we got to the ½ way mark on the grappa, another native came by to warn us about the bad weather – we thought we understood him to say “tornado”. I still wasn’t game to move, but I was outvoted. Of course by this time it was dark.

George took the helm, I untied us and we proceeded around the corner to Bruno’s recommended spot. This spot was just off of a dogleg up in the canal. With the aid of the bow thruster, we were able to get the bow tied off, then realized that no matter how we oriented ourselves from there, the stern would be hanging out in the channel so far that it would be impossible for larger boats get by. We ended up mooring at a spot directly across the canal from where we had been (< 50’ away) except in this spot we were stern to the fetch instead of bow to. I get really nervous when people are jumping on and off the boat in the dark, after a few drinks, but in this case there was no harm done. The ‘tornado scare’ turned out to be little more than a lightening display that kept its distance.

Sunday morning we were fortunate enough to be able to go up on deck and have front row seats for a parade of Venetian racing gondolas, oared boats, scows, power boats and small sailing ships. This parade was the beginning of a Regatta. The town was bristling with associated activities including a seafood festival. They had mounds of little shrimp, squid, octopus and who knows what else that were heaped together in a bucket of batter, shaken, then deep fried. There was no preparation prior to this battering; these little guys were whole and almost kicking. After they cooled a little, you popped a pinchfull into your mouth; Mmmm good! I’d go back to Burano for nothing more than a handful of those little fried critters.

I was the helmsman for the 6 hour trip back to Chioggia that afternoon. We had to have the boat back early Sunday, and it was customary to spend the last night at the dock to avoid a late return because of weather or other unexpected conditions. We did take the houseboat out the last inlet before hitting Chioggia, just to get a little Adriatic Sea spray in the face.

Chioggia was a different town when we returned. It was still charming, but the festive atmosphere we had stumbled on when we arrived was missing. We learned that the weekend of our original arrival was the last weekend before the kids went back to school. The town that had been celebrating the last fling of summer on our first encounter was now void of the locals and local tourists and street vendors that had been out in full force the weekend before.

We ordered a van to take the 6 of us to the airport, but there was nothing big enough available, so we took two cabs. Kurt and Richard were on a different airline, so we split up in Venice and regrouped when we landed at Charles DeGaul in Paris.

We stayed 2 nights in Paris. The hotel room was again small, very small. The room itself was about 12’ X 12’. One almost had to step out of the shower to turn around. I was fascinated with the plumbing, most of which was exposed. The pipes were pretty much out of the way, running floor to ceiling in the corners, but what was strange was that they did not use “T”’s or compression fittings, all the junctions were welded.

On Monday we had a full day in Paris. We took a double decker tour bus ride past such sights as Louvre, Notre-Dame, Arch of Triumph, Eiffel Tower, Opera Square in the morning. This was especially exciting because we had the front row seats on the top deck. This perspective sometimes made us a little nervous due to the closeness of the traffic (sometimes inches from touching) – which seems to be the norm in Paris. Our afternoon excursion was on a different bus to Versailles. Now there’s a palace if I ever saw one.

The last night in Paris, we had dinner at a restaurant owned in part by Richard and Kurt. Great food, and outstanding service.

We were back home on Wednesday, in disbelief that we had for the first time in our lives, experienced Europe. This fairy tale was made possible by the generosity of George and Natalie who not only made all the arrangements and reservations, but also footed the entire bill. The only time I put my hand in my pocket was to pay for souvenirs. Not only that, George led all the tours and did all the organizing, kept things on pace and even made sure I had local currency in my pocket in case of an emergency. Suzy and I had all the responsibility of a 10 year old on vacation with Mom and Dad – the ideal way for us to do Europe.

If I had to describe the trip to London, Paris and a week aboard a boat in Venice, in one word, it would have to be FOOD. Between the first class restaurants that George and Natalie frequent, and the unbelievably scrumptious meals that Natalie fixed aboard we were in culinary heaven. And while I believe that a boat is the ideal way to do Venice, and you can’t beat the Venetian Lagoon for history, culture, architecture, local color, and food, I still think that the BOATING in and around the good old US of A is as good as it gets.

Nick in Spartanburg, SC

The charter boat company is the Blue Line Cruises (France mostly). They currently have one boat in Venice. Their web page is http://www.barginginfrance.com/.