. . . EVERY LOOPER'S WORRY AND NIGHTMARE
Move over, French Revolution. It was exciting, we’re
sure, but our sail across the Gulf from Carrabelle to Tarpon Springs “was the
best of times. It was the worst of
times.” To rate the trip for enjoyment, it was the worst. To rate it for memories and war stories made,
it was the best.
Everyone who travels by boat from the Panhandle to south Florida waits for a good
weather window. Seas should be fairly calm at 2-3 feet or less, and winds around 10.
Trawlers – the expensive RVs of the seas -- want them even calmer so they don’t
pitch and yawl. Weather Web sites called for good conditions on Wednesday, and experts said
that weather window would be the last chance for a week for a
crossing.
Winds were predicted to be 10-15 mph during the day,
moderating to 10 at night until midnight when they were to pick up to 15 mph
again. The seas were expected to be 2-3 feet until the afternoon when they were
to decrease to 1-2 feet tall. Remember these numbers.
The Fun Begins
We arrived at C-Quarters Marina in Carrabelle on Tuesday and
quickly prepared to leave Wednesday morning. The Portabote dinghy had been
disassembled and strapped to the deck. We filled up with water and diesel. We
provisioned with easy snack foods and cooked an extra pizza so we
wouldn’t have to prepare food while underway.
Carina has everything strapped on board and is ready to go in the morning. Next to her, Truthsayer, a 51-foot boat from Texas -- they make everything bigger in Texas, would leave an hour later than we did after the tide rose higher.
The sun sets at the dock of the C-Quarters Marina in Carrabelle.
At 8 a.m. Wednesday, we untied the lines from the poles at
the dock – no easy feat – and waved goodbye to our dock neighbor, Truthsayer, a
51-foot ketch, which was leaving as well, but was aground until the tides came
in an hour later. The day was gray and overcast. Because most days started off
that way lately, we expected sun and warmth later.
Ladies and gentlemen, the moral of this story is: Stay In The Channel. . . especially
when the tide is going out . . . especially when it's dark. A Texas trawler spent a
rough night almost in a marina at Carrabelle.
From C-Quarters, we motored east of Dog Island and, once in
deep water, set a direct line on the chart plotter for an entrance buoy to
Tarpon Springs 151 miles away. We actually sailed further because of the miles
to reach Dog Island on the front end and the miles to our marina in Tarpon Springs
after we reached the buoy.
After leaving Dog Island, the winds and waves were such that
we felt comfortable raising all the sail we had. We boogied! Carina was sailing
7 to 8 mph. Winds were 15-20 mph, a little higher than expected, and a little gustier.
The seas were every bit 2-3 feet and often higher. The sun never appeared
though. It was heavily overcast all day, never brightening or warming.
We reefed sail at dark to make the ride more comfortable and
because we didn’t know what the night might bring. After the forecasters
underestimated the daytime conditions, who knows what to expect later. After
some hard, fast sailing, we’d traveled 50 miles. . . only 50 miles!
Dark as the Inside of a Cow’s Belly
At 6 p.m., total, absolute darkness fell. No horizon line
was visible for 360 degrees. There were no stars. There was no moon in the sky. There was no phosphorescence in the water. We
sailed in total pitch black darkness for 12-1/2 hours. Later a new trawler friend described it as
“dark as the inside of a cow’s belly.”
During her watch when darkness fell, Jane mentioned how she was
steering totally by the instruments, using the chart plotter, wind gauge and
compass to stay on course. We
remembered that another friend had turned on his autopilot during his crossing
last year because sometimes instruments can keep the boat on course better than
humans. It’s not something we recommend usually. It takes the joy out of
sailing. Trust us, there was no joy in sailing in that darkness.
When your surroundings are that dark, it works on your mind. It's almost sensory deprevation. Although it was lumpy, in the daylight you
could look around and enjoy seeing the Gulf and waves. There’s nothing to do in total blackness but
talk and listen to satellite radio or CDs. Or sit and listen to the swoosh,
swoosh, boom of the waves and winds repeat over and over.
We felt alone in that blackness. Occasionally a voice would
come on the VHF radio, trying to locate another boater friend. If the friend
didn’t respond, we’d talk with the caller to get a sense of where they were and
just to hear another voice. We saw lights of fishing boats twice, the only
lights in the blackness other than our running lights.
The only food we wanted was not pizza, but rather Dr.
Atkins protein drinks.
Kent took a seasickness prevention pill early in the evening
which made him feel puny, not sick, but not normal. He couldn’t sleep with the
motion of the boat. Jane stayed awake, too, to keep him company except when she hit the wall for an hour at 4 a.m. Squirt was on deck with us, too. He was
sick once after dark and not real happy the rest of the time.
He curled up under a warm jacket, hiding from the world. Did we mention that it was cold, too?
We reduced sail several times in the early evening. The more
sail we reefed, the harder the wind blew.
We couldn’t slow the boat down. Several times the anemometer which
measures wind speed (and direction) showed 22-23 mph winds.
By 3 a.m., the waves and wind finally died down to 1-2 feet
and about 12 mph. By 4, we turned on the engine to supplement the sails to keep
our speed up.
Will this night ever end?!
At 6:19 a.m., the sun started rising on the Gulf of Mexico.
We’d traveled 100 miles from the time we left Dog Island near Carrabelle and
had 51 more to go.
You Do What You Got to Do
In the night, a fellow sailor talked about the lumpy ride
and said on the VHF, “Well, you do what you got to do.” That sums up our
crossing adventure. We had to get from Point A to Point B, so we sucked it up
and did it, as fellow travelers did.
A dozen dolphins greeted us after we rounded the entrance buoy,
heading to Tarpon Springs.
The last 50+ miles were sailed uneventfully, dodging crab pots
for the last 15 miles to our entrance buoy. At 12:30, we docked at Turtle Cove
Marina, a big, accommodating marina right next to the old part of Tarpon
Springs, drank a champagne toast for having completed the toughest part of our travels so far, and crashed for a few hours.
Cheers to Carina and a successful crossing!
Over the past two days, we talked with
others who sailed across the Florida bend at the same time. People who had made
the trip several times before said these were the worst conditions they've sailed the crossing in.
We didn’t love the experience, but gained a lot of
confidence in our ability to handle Carina. When the wind briefly changed
during the night and the autopilot couldn't act quickly enough, the sails accidentally hove-to. We were able to
work with the sails and steer her out with little anxiety. (For non-sailors reading
this, hove-to is when the sails are positioned to cause the boat to stop,
instead of go to our destination.)
We learned that Catalina Yachts makes a tough 34-foot boat. We
already knew the company makes a tough 22. Carina can take stronger weather and
water conditions than her crew probably can. She’s teaching us that our limits
may be broader than we thought they were.
NEXT: On to the Keys
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