Floating Through Florida

Our nemesis over the past week or so finally got a name ­– Tropical Storm Sean.  This slow developing low has been hanging out between Bermuda and the Bahamas with a weather system in the States blocking it from moving on.  We are being battered with strong northerly winds that preclude venturing anywhere out on the Atlantic.  Many boats have decided to just hunker down until things improve, but we feel protected from the worst weather on the ICW and keep moving on.

Northeast Florida starts out much like Georgia.  We are still winding through a labyrinth of creeks, man made canals, and marshes (or if you’re getting a little bored, they would become swamps).  We continue to be challenged by water depths, requiring that we plan to be in certain known shoaling areas at high tide.  And, the high tides are currently before sunrise and closing in on dusk, limiting the time you can be safely underway.  We just aren’t making much progress south, but even at this slow pace we begin to see a change in our surroundings.  At the St. Johns River, which leads to Jacksonville, we pass a boat yard filled with Azmut Super Yachts being serviced or refitted.  These mammoths are in the 150 – 200 foot range and it challenges our imagination to think who might own them or be aboard. We pass by St. Augustine, stopping for an hour to await a bridge opening.  The fort on the waterfront beckons but we will continue on, hoping to see it on another trip.  The waterway begins to straighten out; homes look less “deep south” and more like south Florida architecture with tile roofs and stucco exteriors.  

Rainbow over Palm Bay

 The high condos of Daytona Beach can be seen a few miles in the distance. There are more palm trees and less live oaks.  And, finally, the sun comes out and it gets warm.  Yes, we’ve made it to Florida.

We spend a night anchored at Cocoa Beach and see two manatees off the dinghy dock.  

Just the tip of a shy manatee

A walk takes us to the old town populated by trendy restaurants, art galleries, boutiques, and the largest hardware store on the east coast.  Guess where we spend all of our time!  Burt asks why would you want to be anywhere else when you can browse the maze of aisles to find 5 foot crescent wrenches, pith helmets, polypropylene line at least 4 inches in diameter, and an amazing assortment of stainless steel hardware, all covered in years’ worth of dust.  What can I say???

Burt in Nirvana

    

Our surroundings change again as we enter the Indian River.  If you would look out at this river you would see a wide expanse of water, but don’t be fooled.  Except for the dredged channel of the ICW, everything else is only 1 – 5 feet deep.  Again, there’s no opportunity for daydreaming when you are on the helm.  

Indian River vista

The Indian River takes you past Cape Canaveral where you can still see the shuttle infrastructure that is now obsolete.  But, most of our path is through the Merritt Island National Wildlife refuge.  On one small island we see a large flock of white pelicans spotted with the bright pink of a number of roseate spoonbills which I initially thought were flamingos. Ibis, brown pelicans, egrets, herons, and osprey are a dime a dozen and dolphins are everywhere.   

Community of Brown Pelicans

At one point we are adopted by a dolphin which stays within a foot or two of our boat, next to where we are sitting.  It certainly is trying to make some sort of contact and leaves us only when we have to slow down for a shallow area.

Getting a picture of a dolphin is always a challenge - here's our friend

Our next destination is Melbourne where we will attend another Seven Seas Cruising Association Gam.  

The Goodyear Blimp flies over our anchorage welcoming us to Melbourne

 The anchorage is windblown so our nights are fairly bouncy.  Days are spent attending seminars on cruising topics and socializing with others who share similar interests.  It seems to be an entirely new group of people as we see few familiar faces from our previous gam in Annapolis. That isn’t an issue though as, once again, we meet many friendly people. It’s a diverse group with new cruisers like us, people who have done multiple circumnavigations, and everything in between. We gather much information that will make our upcoming trip to the Bahamas easier, and being newbies to the cruising life, people are very willing to offer their assistance and encouragement.

Our pace is slowing now.  We travel one day south from Melbourne to the mooring field in Vero Beach where we will stay until after Thanksgiving.  Along the way, we marvel at the huge estates on John Island – it’s getting pretty ritzy around here. 

Typical home on John Island

Vero Beach has been nicknamed Velcro Beach as the marina and mooring ball facility are so nice and accommodating that people have a hard time leaving.  After weeks of struggling to find water, fuel, groceries, and laundromats, tying up here will be a pleasant change.  We see many of the boats we have met or heard on the radio along the way and happy hours with other boaters become an almost daily ritual.  Many are also staying for Thanksgiving as this is a major event here.  The cruisers put on a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, via the pot-luck method, at a nearby pavilion. We have been told that typically the mooring field will be jammed and several hundred people will attend.

We have a lot to accomplish while in Vero.  Routine maintenance and housekeeping get done. Our repaired radar is awaiting us when we arrive, and Burt gets to take a trip up the mast to install it. He is also finally able to resolve the battery charger issue with a trip via rental car to Fort Lauderdale.  We will have to fight to get them to honor the warranty on our defective unit, but at least we now have a new one to install and can feel a little more relaxed about our electrical usage.  With Burt gone for the day to Lauderdale, I do my first solo operating the dinghy.  Winds are gusting in the upper 20’s, and the anxiety must be apparent on my face.  Others on the dinghy dock shout words of encouragement and jump to help me tie up. I am busy provisioning for the Bahamas, and it is a little easier as I can use the rental car for a few hours. Also, the city has an excellent free bus service for when we are without a car.  Word is that you need to pack the boat to the gills as foods that we are accustomed to are hard to find or very expensive in the Bahamas.  My shopping spree for provisions for 5 – 6 months just about breaks the bank, to say nothing of our backs, and we will be finding supplies stored in some very strange places in the boat.  A spreadsheet of the inventory is a necessity to avoid the “lost onboard” syndrome.

We also take some time to enjoy Vero.  The marina/mooring field is adjacent to a very nice, established neighborhood, and it’s less than a mile by bike to the ocean beaches.  After so many days inland from the ocean we enjoy the opportunity to wiggle our toes in the sand and wade along the miles of beaches with breaking Atlantic waves. It’s warm or perhaps even downright hot, and we have reason to finally break out the sunscreen. 

A windy day at Vero Beach

Across the street from the ocean are the trendy shops and restaurants of Vero Beach.  You know it’s a pretty upscale place when the majority of cars in the grocery store parking lot are Mercedes or better. 

We have traveled over 1200 miles since leaving Annapolis.  Staying put for a while is a nice sensation. We better take care as we’re starting to sense the presence of velcro.

At sunset a heron stands watch over the dinghy dock at Vero Marina

Cumberland Island

Some places are so special they deserve a post of their own.  Cumberland Island is one of those places.  Georgia has five major sea islands; some are quite developed, one is very exclusive (Jekyll Island), and one is almost totally undeveloped.  That island is Cumberland Island, and it is now under the auspices of the National Park Service.  We approach Cumberland Island from the north on a very clear but blustery day.  Crossing St. Andrew’s Inlet we have high wind, big waves, and confusing currents, not to mention some challenging navigation around the always shifting shoals.  We are about to round the northern point of ten mile long Cumberland Island.  In the distance we see a now defunct lighthouse atop tall bluffs of sand dune headlands rising from a wide, flat beach.  And galloping along the beach are four black horses.  Hollywood could not have had a better visual, but the sailing conditions preclude taking any pictures. However, we know we are in for a treat.

We motor through marsh lands several miles west of Cumberland.  It is windy and shoaling in many places.  We get to an intersection with a side stream, and the charts and written instructions do not match.  Burt starts inching slowly forward but comes to the conclusion we are making a mistake.  The boat goes into reverse but not before we go aground.  Our trusty diesel manages to power us off the shoal, and we then call a boat ahead for their interpretation of this area.  Apparently, one should completely ignore the charts here and just use the markers which really don’t always make sense.  Second time around we make it.

The next unusual sight is the King’s Bay Submarine Base.  This is one of two major sub bases on the Atlantic.  Needless to say, we will not have any problems with depth here.  The base is to our right, and it is obvious by the number of patrol boats we pass that security is tight.  This isn’t a place you’d stop in to see if you could borrow a cup of sugar – there would probably be some shots across the bow for that.  The base is a bit eerie with huge buildings over the water, one of which has this large black sausage sticking out of it. And there is a giant floating degausser , a device large enough to fit over an entire submarine that will demagnetize it.  It’s getting weirder by the minute, and we are happy our electronics still seem to be working.

Fortunately we turn the corner and head into the anchorage by the National Park Headquarters on Cumberland Island.  There are several other boats already anchored, but it will be a rough night with the strong winds opposing the tidal currents.  Nevertheless, we will stay two nights to give us the opportunity to explore Cumberland Island.

The next day dawns even more blustery and very overcast.  We have a job ahead of us.  The dinghy is strapped on the foredeck and needs to be launched over the side, a job facilitated by halyards and muscles while the wind gusts in the upper 20’s.  We get launched without a crisis, mount the outboard, and recommission the dinghy with anchors, fuel tank, and safety equipment.  It is a short but wet ride into the park dinghy dock.

We are suddenly in a very quiet place. There are a few campers around that have come over on a park boat from the mainland and one park employee.  It’s a sort of do it yourself place.  We find a hiking map and head out to the Atlantic side.  The interior of the island is composed of dense live oak stands draped with Spanish moss.  It is almost impossible to see any sky through the canopy. Ground shells provide the surface for the few roads that ply the island.   

Live Oaks, Spanish moss, and palmettos

Gnarled Live Oak with intruding sand dune

About a mile down the road, the trees open up and you begin to hear the roar of the ocean. A boardwalk takes you through ridges of dunes to a broad expanse of flat beach.  

Boardwalk through the dunes

 It is low tide and the sand has been packed down by the previous high tide.  We walk along the shore, accompanied by sea birds foraging for low tide treats and blowing spume from the huge breaking waves. We are seeing close to gale force winds here and the walking is difficult.  We find a few shells perched on pillars of sand; all the surrounding sand has been eroded away by the wind.   

Wind and surf on the beach

We walk a mile down the beach and then head back – the going is pretty tough so we chose an interior trail instead to hike further down the beach, stopping again for a view from a gazebo.  There we chat with another couple from Ashland, Oregon who are camping on the island.  They complain about the cold and wind, probably more of a problem in a tent than a boat, and we discover that he had taught school with a woman who had graduated from high school in Mansfield a year prior to our son.  Again, it’s a small world.

The beach would be fantastic on a calm, sunny day but today it is inhospitable so we decide to explore more of the interior.  If the weather had been better we would have carted our bikes to shore on the dinghy as this is an ideal place for bicycling.  Instead, we hoof it down another road to the Greyfield Inn, only to be informed entry into the grounds is for guests only.  We have heard about Greyfield.  It was originally a mansion built by the Carnegie family and is now a very exclusive inn.  We outsiders could dine there if we made reservations at least a week in advance and were willing to shell out well over $100 per person for a gourmet dinner. Looks like we’ll be dining aboard tonight! Meanwhile, as we tramp down the trails we look for the elusive feral horses and armadillos, seeing neither.  We also see very few people.  None of the other anchored boats have dared to launch their dinghies. The remaining people fall into two categories – those dressed in the latest chic country inn clothes and those who definitely have emerged from tents.

After miles of hiking, we decide to use the dinghy to get to another area of the park.  It’s downwind so on this leg we stay pretty comfortable.  We tie up at the Dungeness dock and head in to the ruins of the original Carnegie mansion. The island has had an interesting history.  Originally occupied by indigenous natives, the early explorers claimed the island for their respective countries.  On the boarder between colonial territories of England and Spain, it was an area of controversy until the English finally won out.  It was owned prior to the Civil War by one family and run as a huge plantation, raising the well known sea island cotton among other crops. Hundreds of slaves were part of the enterprise, and the owners built a huge home on the southern part of the island.  All came to an end with the Civil War.  Some of the now freed slaves homesteaded on the northern portion of the island, but all that remains of that settlement is the African Baptist Church, made famous by the marriage of John Kennedy Jr. there some years ago.  In the late 1880’s most of the island was purchased by the Carnegie family, and their estate at Dungeness was built on the foundations of the previous plantation mansion. After completing Dungeness, several other large mansions were built on the island for their children, one of which is Greyfield. At one point the Carnegies employed over 300 workers to maintain the estates.  Death and fires have laid waste to most of these homes and their outbuildings, but the ruins remain and they speak of a very different time in history.   

The ruins of Dungeness

And it is here, among the ruins of Dungeness, we see a herd of the feral horses, busy enjoying a snack of Spanish moss. 

Feral horses among the ruins

The descendents of the Carnegies have given their property and the remaining buildings to the National Park System; the rest of the property on the island is under a conservancy easement so that in about 20 years, there will be no private property on Cumberland, and it will be preserved in perpetuity as a wilderness. That is indeed, fortunate, and we will look forward to exploring this special place again, albeit under better circumstances.

Now it’s time to head back upwind to the boat in what seems like a very small dinghy.  The waves have built.  We put on life jackets and slowly motor back to the boat, getting drenched by the surf. And, if I didn’t already mention it, it’s fairly cool outside.  Hoisting the motor to its mount on deck and the dinghy onto the davits is a trying experience with Burt trying to stay balanced on the bouncing dinghy while attaching all the hoisting mechanism.  It’s a nail – bitter, but we make without damaging the dinghy, motor, or ourselves. And, we dive below for the rest of the night, drying off and trying to warm up. The Florida boarder is just five miles south.  Florida is supposed to be the sunshine state.  Did we make a wrong turn somewhere along the way?

Crusing the Carolinas (and Georgia, too)

Offshore passages, especially during the night, add to the stress level.  To prepare, we raise our dinghy on to the foredeck and tightly strap it down.  We mount the radar reflector, rig jack lines (straps that run along the deck – you hook on to them with a tether whenever you leave the cockpit to avoid accidentally going overboard), and put emergency items such as an EPIRB, bottled water, and an extra GPS and VHF radio, along with personal papers and identification, into our ditch bag.  If we should ever have to abandon ship to the liferaft, the ditch bag would go along with us.   Timing our entrance into the Masonboro Inlet for daylight requires that we pull anchor around 10 pm.  It is a beautiful, calm, starry night so pulling anchor should be easy, but the fishermen have a little surprise for us.  A number of motorized skiffs with tall frameworks that allow the skipper to pilot 8 to 10 feet above the water surface are buzzing around the anchorage with no running lights.  It is some sort of routine we don’t understand – every so often they flash bright lights into the water, generally to our surprise as we find them consistently in our way.  It’s a relief to get into the open water.  A passage that was giving us some stress suddenly becomes a very relaxed motor into flat seas.  Burt and I each take a four hour watch and the entrance into Masonboro comes surprisingly fast.  Also surprising is finding out there are three other boats out there with us – at night on the open ocean small boats just don’t show up that well.

We debate taking a break once we get to the ICW but both of us feel fine so we decide to power on.  The waterway is just inside the barrier beaches, and we enjoy the occasional small inlet that allows us vistas of the ocean. We see our first palm trees along the shore. It is a bright sunny day, and a multitude of small power boats are out enjoying the weather, the fishing, and the many uncovered sandbars for beachcombing.  

Typical shallow inlet from the Atlantic on to the ICW

We decide to continue on to Myrtle Beach where there is a nice marina on the waterway.  All seems to be going according to plan when we hear a broadcast on the VHF radio that a Coast Guard boat is doing some maintenance on the portion of the waterway just this side of our marina.  They will have the area closed for an hour until we can pass through.  It is getting late, the marina dockhand would like to go home rather than wait on us, and we are tired and looking forward to an onshore shower.  After sunset we finally arrive at our destination, dock ourselves where we assume we are to be, find the envelop giving us instructions and gate codes, get a shower, a quick dinner, and collapse into bed. 

Our next destination is Georgetown, SC.  

Home in Myrtle Beach along the waterway

 We get an early start and after passing the many large canal side homes and golf courses of Myrtle Beach, we enter the winding Waccamaw River.  This is an isolated area of dense cyprus swamps, moss hung trees, and very few signs of civilization.  It’s one of those “I hear banjos playing” places. 

Cyprus swamps along the Waccamaw River

Hours later we emerge into Winyah Bay and its principal town, Georgetown.  The wind has picked up and the anchorage doesn’t have the world’s best holding, so we decide to take a dock at a small marina in downtown. 

Fishing boats tied up near the marina in Georgetown

It works out well as we have discovered that our brand new radar, which worked when tested after installation in Galesville, now is not functional.  The manufacturer says we will have to remove it, pack it up, and send it in to their repair facility.  That’s not the easiest thing to do when you don’t have a suitable box, packing material, or a car to take it to the UPS Store.  Burt goes up the mast in the boson’s chair, the radar and Burt come back down the mast safely, and using my laundry bag and a bike, Burt somehow makes it several miles to the UPS Store while I go an equal distance via bike to a grocery store.  Sometime cruising is an adventure; sometimes an ordeal. 

The radar fiasco has convinced us to stay an extra day.  We take some time to ride bikes through this interesting town with pretty neighborhoods of century homes and a recently renovated waterfront with a board walk along the harbor backed by various restaurants, bars, art galleries, and gift shops.   

Historical home in Georgetown, SC

We also want to visit with a sorority sister of mine. She and her husband once owned a Hylas similar to ours and now spend their weekends in Georgetown.  As luck would have it, she is back in Ohio visiting family, but her husband joins us for a tour of the boat, glass of wine, and dinner on the town while we reminisce and trade sailing stories.  All in all, Georgetown has been a pleasant and worthwhile stop.

The weather gods must have heard about our radar problem as the next day dawns cold and windy with a heavy fog.  We slowly work ourselves back into the ICW with virtually no visibility.  We can navigate using our chartplotter, and the AIS transmits our location and the location of surrounding boats, but it is still unnerving.  We go slowly as do the few other boats out on the waterway, marveling at the sight of dense clouds of fog blowing by in ethereal forms. We hear there are alligators in this area, but any alligator worth his salt will have found a protected hidey-hole in which to spend this miserable morning. By noon the fog has burned off and, with the passage of the front (which incidentally was also responsible for an unusually early snow storm in the Northeast), we have crystal clear blue skies.  We are passing just inside the barrier beaches of South Carolina, going through paths carved by winding streams in the tidal swamps of tall golden grasses.  Again, as far as one can see, there is no sign of civilization as we gaze over a savannah of swaying grasses with very wet feet. To borrow a term once used to describe a vista in the North Channel, it is achingly beautiful. We pull into a side stream and anchor for the night with several other boats and a number of dolphins for company.  It’s going to be a cold night with temperatures down in the 40’s, so an extra blanket will be required. 

Anchoring out in the low country

We time our departure the next morning to coincide with the earliest bridge opening available for entering Charleston harbor.  We are back in open water with container ships in the background, Fort Sumter to our left, and the new Ravenel suspension bridge, whose support wires looks like two giant sailboats, to our right.

Ravenel Bridge at Charlestown Harbor

Due to the strong tides and currents we get a dock at the Charleston Municipal Marina with it’s oft mentioned “mega-dock”;  mega because it is so long, or mega because there are a number of mega yachts tied up to it – we don’t know which.  With these neighbors, though, we are definitely in the high rent district. 

Mini-Burt surveys the Mega dock

We have time to ride bikes through the beautiful old neighborhoods of Charleston with their pre-Civil War homes and colorful gardens.   

Always charming Charleston

Guess what, y’awwwwl, we’re in the deep south. We take the opportunity to eat at a local restaurant and find low country cooking is a bit different than what we are accustomed to in Ohio.  We sample boiled peanuts and grits; we pass on the collard greens and mustard greens, both cooked with salt pork. We laugh at a comment our friend from Georgetown made – down here macaroni and cheese is considered a vegetable. Yet, Burt finds the fresh seafood to be outstanding.

The next morning we again time our departure for a bridge opening, finding ourselves lined up with nine other sailboats awaiting the opening.  We proceed in a line through winding waterways bordered by unremarkable landscapes.  It’s a good thing we aren’t distracted by the scenery as this is a section of the ICW that is not being properly maintained.  Many areas need dredging and are shallower than the charts imply.  We have gone online to get updated information and know that we will have to pass through certain sections on high tide.  Fortunately, tides around here average eight feet.  We contend with strong tidal currents that can run over two miles per hour and significantly slow or speed our progress.  Timing is everything, and we breathe a sigh of relief after successfully transiting the questionable areas.  We anchor along the river shore to await the last few miles into Beaufort, SC tomorrow.  Once again, we need to time the passage to maximize depth at one point and to allow us to dock without strong tidal currents once we arrive in Beaufort.

Beaufort is a beautiful southern town.  Its antebellum homes are heavily shaded by century old live oaks dripping with moss, and the downtown streets sport restaurants and art galleries.  

A quiet neighborhood in Beaufort, SC

We take a bike ride through the area.  Our time in Beaufort is busy, though, as Burt does some routine maintenance, we rig our new main sail that was ordered in Annapolis and delivered here, and I get laundry and grocery shopping done with the marina’s courtesy car.  We also help another boat that we’ve been seeing along the way.  His main sail has a torn seam, and I have a sewing machine on board.  We spread his sail out in the park abutting the marina, hook up his portable generator, and try to scrunch the sail though the small opening of the machine.  Three of us struggle to get the bulky material through and finally get one row of stitching in which will suffice until he can get it to a professional. We certainly are the center of attention in this small town, though, even warranting a visit by the local newspaper’s photographer. We celebrate happy hour with two couples in Island Packets that will go outside into the ocean with us tomorrow, giving us an opportunity to make final plans for the next passage.

We leave Beaufort at first light – five boats (the two Island Packets, the man with the torn sail, a trawler, and us) in a line heading out the Port Royal Inlet and into the Atlantic.  The ICW in Georgia has not been maintained well so there is shoaling in many areas, and it also zig-zags so many times that distance south is hard to come by.  We have a small weather window and want to make as much progress as possible.  The wind is light and there are some rolly waves, but it isn’t terribly unpleasant.  By noon the breeze begins to build so we unfurl sails and motor sail along at a pretty good clip. The Island Packets decide to call it a day at St. Catherine Inlet. The trawler and our boat continue on to St. Simon’s Inlet, a Class A Inlet that can accommodate freighters, knowing that we will have to enter the channel after dark.  It’s a beautiful sunset that is enjoyed with a little wine and a simple dinner.  The coast of Georgia is very shallow, and we have to stay at least five miles out to be in 30 feet of water.  Thus when we turn to enter the inlet we can hardly see the shoreline.  What does show up on our electronics, though, is plenty of traffic leaving the inlet and town of Brunswick, GA.  The channel is wide by our criteria, but add the two freighters and one cruise ship that we will need to pass, and it gets pretty darn narrow.  We communicate by radio to discuss the passings.  Both freighters require that we go outside of the buoys marking the channel boundaries. In both cases, there is still some navigatable water to the sides.  We scrunch over to be passed at close range by 700 feet of towering steel.  In the second instance, we encounter the freighter at a bend in the channel, and for what seems like an interminable time, it is pointed directly at us until its sweeping turn has been completed.  We breathe a sigh of relief and enter the wide basin inside the inlet.  We have several choices for anchorages.  The most promising  requires passing by three fishing boat dragging trawls. We finally get across their paths to find that the depths don’t match what is on our charts.  It’s time to abort before running aground. We go for Plan B and enter a channel without lit buoys and find the designated anchorage, drop anchor in building winds and a challenging current, and finally crash into our beds by midnight. We have covered 104 nautical miles and when we rejoin the ICW will have clicked off 142 statute miles of the waterway.  We do wonder, though, how the last boat is doing out on the ocean; he is singlehanding and is determined to go to St. Mary’s Inlet on the Florida boarder.  The wind is building and a front will pass through in early morning. The next day we find out that he, too, came  in the St. Simons Inlet., albeit several hours later after the winds and waves had built.

We are now about 25 miles from the Florida boarder, but we will slow down a bit, as we wind through shallow waters on a high tide towards Cumberland Island. It’s howling outside and the Atlantic is kicking up her heels – we will have to stay inside to avoid the almost gale.