Port Everglades
2/4-8/00
Ever since I first got
my drivers license, I’ve enjoyed spending time on the road. At that time I
lived in Chicago. I’d drive 800+ miles to New York to see the Statue of Liberty
on a 3 day weekend. I’d never even get out of the car, just wave at the
majestic lady, do a 180, and head back. On several occasions I did the West
Coast using only 5 vacation days – leaving Friday after work, returning late
Sunday night. I’d volunteer to take a couple months off during slow times for a
Florida vacation, with the agreement that I’d return and work the weekends if
they needed me; and they usually did.
My wife and I lived
aboard a sailboat for 3 years in the 70’s. Traveling on the water was just as
satisfying as being on the road, maybe more so. We sold the sailboat in the
early 80’s shortly after the birth of our daughter and a commitment to land
based living. Spoiled by the comforts of a home, our next boat was a 35’
trawler. The trawler indeed offered all the comforts of home but it didn’t provide
much traveling satisfaction; it was moored 350 miles from home and couldn’t be
used for weekend cruising, not to mention a relatively limited cruising range
for even a week aboard. The trawler experience lasted a little over a year. We
went boatless for 3 years after we sold her. There were many road trips by car
during those 3 years, but the void of not having a boat grew and grew.
I had time to
contemplate the perfect boat after selling the trawler. I dreamed of something
the family could spend a week at a time aboard. The wish list included a place
for two (and occasionally 3) to sleep aboard, a toilet, a fresh water tank, a
stove, a provision to be out of inclimate weather while steering, and it had to
be easily managed. I ended up with a 15’11” outboard powered cuddy. It will
allow all of my 6’ to sleep horizontally, in a straight line, with enough room
for my wife beside me. The boat is equipped with a porta-potty, 14 gallon water
tank, a single burner propane camping stove and canvas to totally enclose the
helm. I also opted for the camper back, which encloses the entire cockpit,
allowing a 3rd crewmember to stay comfortable and dry while sleeping
outside the cuddy. We call the boat “QT”.
My goal is to spend at
least one night a month aboard with a couple weeklong trips a year. The last
time out was when my wife and I spent a night on the water in early December to
watch the Charleston SC boat parade and fireworks show. The rest of December
and all of January slipped by without an outing; things were just too busy at
work. QT sat patiently on her trailer, next to the house, waiting for her next
adventure.
Finally, in early
February, there was an opportunity to get away. I told my family that I would
be heading south on February 4th, and if they wanted to accompany
me, they were welcome. My daughter had school and my wife had to work, so I
planned to go alone – I’d be gone a week.
Nick’s Rule of
Overnighting states that if the temperature will get below 40 degrees, head
farther south to launch. I decided to play the best odds and head for Fort
Lauderdale/Miami. I slept aboard in the parking lot of the Florida Welcome
Center on Friday night. Saturday night was spent aboard, in the water, in
Manatee Pocket near Stuart. The Pocket is a neat place. There’s an excellent
ramp, the surrounding area is varied and interesting, and there was a chance
that some fellow boaters might still be hanging out there. A circumnavigation
of the Pocket, several attempts on the VHF and a cursory check of the area by car
didn’t turn them up, but I did have a very pleasant time in the area. I cruised
around to Stuart, as far as the Roosevelt Bridge anchorage, (I can clear the RR
Bridge even when it is down), on the return I poked my bow out the St Lucie
inlet, then meandered south down the ICW. It was so peaceful in the No Wake
Manatee Zone that I dropped the hook for an afternoon nap. I was awakened by a
passing Sea Tow rescue boat who hailed me to see if I needed assistance – I
didn’t mind being disturbed, but maybe what I need is a flag I can hoist that
alerts passers by of “Crew Napping”.
I eventually returned to the area near the ramp, put the boat in
about 5 feet of water and dropped the hook for the night. It was cold, so I put
up the top, side curtains and back curtain. This canvas closes off the cockpit
from the windscreen to just behind the seats. The camper back would have been
nice, but it’s larger and hard to repack so I don’t usually mess with it unless
there’s 3 of us aboard for the night.
Secure inside, but a
little cold, I fired up the single burner camping stove for a cup of hot
chocolate. Mmmmmm, did it ever hit the spot. I left the fire going for awhile
as I sat there taking in the surroundings. Occasionally, boats would pass by
going up into the pocket and without exception, they would slow to a real no
wake. I watched as a few boats were launched, and as several returned to be
brought landside. Pelicans, expecting handouts, welcomed every boat that
approached the ramp. A couple of fellows executed several throws of a cast net
off the dock…I could see them bending over to examine their catch by the light
at the end of the ramp. I finally turned in, climbing into the cuddy and my
cozy sleeping bag. A chilly shoulder alerted me a couple times in the night that
the sleeping bag was not keeping me completely covered.
I was up before
sunrise, had the boat on the trailer, and was making my way to I95 well before
dawn. There was a Cracker Barrel at the I95 interchange that wouldn’t let me
past without having breakfast; I succumbed to a delicious omelet and a
bottomless cup of coffee before getting on I95 south.
The next stop was the
ramp at Lauderdale. I had been to John U Lloyd State Park, just south of Port
Everglades Inlet, on a previous trip. It’s a couple bucks to get into the park,
but there’s a very nice ramp, plenty of parking and the location is ideal. I
put everything aboard I’d need for the next couple days, put the boat in the
water, parked the truck/trailer out of the way, called the wife to check in/out
and was on my way north up the ICW by about 9:30 am.
While living aboard the
sailboat those 3 years, my wife and I spent the first winter in the Keys, the
second in the Bahamas and the third winter we were in the Caribbean. We liked
the Bahamas best, often dreaming about spending more time there without having
to worry about draft, or the need to plan so far ahead because the boat could
only make 5 knots. It would be great to be able to poke around the Bahamas in
QT. However, crossing the Gulf Stream in a 16’ boat requires much
consideration, caution, and preparation. But here I was, in Florida, at the
Port Everglades Inlet knowing that if the opportunity presented itself, I would
make a day trip to Bimini, or Cat Cay. With that in mind, I headed out into the
Big Puddle.
The plan this time, as
before, was to head east out the inlet, following a Bimini “goto” on the GPS.
After an hour and a half, I would make for the nearest land. On a good day, in
a well mannered Gulf Stream, 90 minutes at a very comfortable 22 mph would put
me 33 miles off shore, substantially closer to Bimini than Ft Lauderdale.
My wife Suzy asked me
before I left, “What circumstances I would have to experience in order to make
the commitment to cross the Gulf Stream?”
I told her I’d just
know if it was right, but she wanted something more concrete. I offered that
the forecast would have to call for improving weather for at least 36 hours,
and the current conditions would have to be conducive enough to favor Bimini
using my hour and a half rule. Suzy knows the boat has positive floatation, I
always wear my life jacket when heading offshore, and that in addition to the
cell phone and fixed GPS and VHF, I carry a handheld GPS, and a handheld VHF. I
also keep my Coast Guard safety equipment current and I have a sea anchor
aboard. She also took comfort knowing that I had contacted Tow Boat/US in Ft
Lauderdale and would file a Float Plan with them before committing.
I can listen to the VHF
weather for 15 minutes and if I don’t write down what is said, I won’t have a
clue what the weather will be when I turn it off -- kind of like listening to
the admiral 8-). I do remember trends though, and having listened to the
forecast many times as I was driving from The Pocket and again as I made my way
out the inlet, I knew the forecast was for improving weather…I guess I ought to
note the forecast in the log book (next time I will make a point of it).
Looking back I think the wind was 10-15 mph and fading out of the NE, with the
forecast for it to eventually swing to the West at 5, before calming all
together. The Gulf Stream was 8 feet, but would be diminishing over the next
two days. I know the Gulf Stream can sometimes get calmer at night, and I would
have considered coming back in the dark if necessary.
In spending over 1,000
days/nights aboard the sailboat, I grew to have a sense about venturing
offshore. I had a feeling by the time I entered the jetties that I wouldn’t see
Bimini on this run, but continued out anyway. If nothing else, it would be an
excellent opportunity to ‘play’ some in the Gulf Stream…to learn a little more
about my Arima without putting myself in appreciable danger.
Someone asked me once,
“How do you know when the seas are too big, or the weather is too bad?” I
suppose everyone has his or her own answer to that question, but to me, you are
in trouble when your boat does not act predictably. This means that if you know
how she will act under given conditions and can compensate if necessary, in a
predictable manner, you are not in over your head (so to speak). Of course
there will come a point where you can no longer predictably compensate, but
hopefully by intelligently testing the waters, you will know where/when that
point is and avoid it, at least until you have an opportunity to find a way to
manage it.
After about an hour, I
was 10+ miles offshore…I drifted with the engine off for about 20 minutes. I
started the engine and let it idle in gear while I took the seas on the bow,
stern and all points between. I did it again at 5 mph, again at 10 mph, again
15 mph, again at 20 mph = WOT in those conditions. This was the first time I
had ever experienced the motor race from the prop being out of the water but
the boat never gave me cause for concern. In fact, she reminded me of a
porpoise moving playfully through the swells. I learned that while I wouldn’t
normally expect to do any boating in this type of sea, there was certainly no
reason to believe there would be any concern if I had to be out in it. I was
convinced that I could have made Bimini, it just would have taken a whole lot
longer.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m
not suggesting that next time the forecast is for 8’ that I will just allow
more time. I’ve been in the Stream often enough to know it doesn’t listen to
the forecasts…you can’t really know what it’s going to be like out there, and
that what the Gulf Stream is dishing up today at 8’ could be quite different
from the next 8’ encounter. No ‘etched in stone’ judgements could be made from
this experience, it was simply an observation/experiment that was to be
incorporated in my big picture of boating.
On the trip back in, I
started a run north up the shore when I got close enough to make out people on
the Ft Lauderdale Beach, but decided I’d rather spend the time in more
protected waters on the Dania Cutoff or the New River. I might even venture
north up the ICW for a spell. And who knows, maybe tomorrow the Gulf Stream
would quiet down some and I could give it another shot.
The 17th
Street Bridge had just opened so the waters on both sides were a maelstrom of
floating real estate of all shapes and sizes. I hung back and waited for the
mess to clear. My boat felt very sluggish as I slogged through the current
under the bridge. The steep rollers funneling between the bridge fenders kept
the bow up and the stern dug in, even at full throttle. The boat behaved as if
there were more current than seemed apparent.
I cut across the ICW
and tied up at the small boat dock of the marina. A bag of ice and maybe I’d
pick up a beer to have with dinner on the hook. As I stepped out of the boat
onto the dock, I noticed the bilge pump discharge. This was uncharacteristic.
Maybe a cooler had overturned. I got back aboard and checked - nope, both
coolers were in good shape. The discharge quit but it bothered me because it’s
very rare for enough water to make its way aboard to activate the bilge pump.
The only time I’d known that to happen was during a heavy rain.
As I stepped on the
dock a second time, the pump came on again. The water tank…a line must have
come off the water tank and it’s draining into the bilge. I tasted the
discharge water - it was salty. What the heck could the problem be?
There’s a lagoon behind
the ramp at John U Lloyd. I made my way to the lagoon and beached the boat. As
much of the hull as I could see looked great while I was standing in the water,
but the pump came on again. I took QT over to the ramp. As I waited in line for
my turn to get out of the water, the pump came on several times. Finally I got
QT back on her trailer.
There was no doubt the
boating part of my vacation was over as I got a good look at the hull once out
of the water. There was a 4” fracture at the starboard bow, just below the
waterline. Several months back, a repair had been made by a boatyard to an
impact point at that spot, and the repair had let loose. I considered patching
the area with underwater epoxy that I carry aboard, but decided it best to
contact the folks at Arima to see what they recommended to keep this from
happening again.
I headed home via
Savannah and Beaufort NC - even if I couldn’t spend any more time IN the water,
at least I could spend some time NEAR the water.
Nick in Spartanburg, SC
Car miles = 2040
Boat miles = 63.7
Boat fuel = 10.1
gallons
Engine hours = 7.0
