Woah ... What The Heck Happened?

My Girl, sv Ruth Ann

Somewhere between stubborn and stupid, I’ve never been afraid to push the limits of my own financial health to pursue something that was important to me. Nevertheless, I turned sixty this year and while I don’t know what the heck happened, I may have just made the most mature financial decision that I’ve made in twenty or thirty years. I’ll share that after some humblebrags as an introduction.

It may have started when I was recruited for a job in Florida. It was another sales job but one that paid about four thousand less in base salary compared to what I had been getting in Detroit, but twice the commission rate. I was confident in my sales abilities, but my fiance at the time didn’t think it was a good deal. I took the job anyway and we broke up.

We started talking again and that poor woman ended up following me to Florida, where we were wed. Then I had the chance to start a business. Of course, I discussed it first with my new wife and had her initial blessing but when it got tough – really tough – we split again. I actually got sued for $600,000, but was working at the shop when a sheriff arrived to hand her the paperwork. The hell of it was that she was probably right all along about my business partner and our business.

About the same time as the divorce, my business partner and I had to split with our original financial partner. We were then just scraping by, getting paid for what we could build. Soon later, my partner’s wife, a nurse, was in rehab as a part of a plea deal after getting busted for writing her own prescriptions. Their two kids were in high school and it was a lot for their dad to keep home and hearth and family together. There wasn’t much business, so I was often manning the shop on my own and doing whatever I could to earn a few bucks on the side. I actually once lasted a week on pound of brown rice and whatever spices and odd bits I had. I lived on a little twenty four foot sailboat for a time and then in a twenty two foot camper. I had a number of odd jobs to stick with the business; delivered flowers, set up retail displays, cleaned offices and apartments, sold my plasma, and drove a taxi.

I finally left Florida and the business to return to Michigan. Not long after, I fell in love again, married and divorced again, and then cashed out an incipient 401(k) to buy an old sailboat and escape the rat race. In sixteen years I’ve had a variety of odd jobs to support my boat habit. I’ve been through four boats of varying degrees of readiness. I’ve worked outside and in the comfort of an office; even in the pharmacy of a hospital all while working on my boats. I’ve also crewed on boats, once quitting a job just so I could spend an unlimited amount of time helping prep a boat for launch and then sailing down the coast from New York to Florida.

I finally made it to sea on my own boat in December 2022. I had just finished installing a diesel engine in my fourth “escape boat.” We launched near Wilmington, NC and I was finally free. I was starting to live the life I had dreamed of, but had only made it about 250 miles when I was caught in Savannah, Georgia by a horrific winter storm. I was nearly broke and had been racing to Florida so that I could find some work during the winter months. With my plans sifting through my fingers, I swallowed my pride and asked for help. Several friends and family helped me stay at a marina for nearly a week of nights in the twenties. A friend or two, who really believed in my project, have also helped me at random times just when I needed it most.

I was pushing the limits of logic and propriety but I was doing it. I had started to figure out how to make it work. It also felt as if I was inspiring a few individuals who had been flirting with the idea of escaping in a similar way. Those around me really had no idea how close to “the edge” I was playing. I spent some time in Stuart, Florida the first winter and had made it back there again for my second winter in December 2023. It is a beautiful spot that is very friendly to cruisers in a state that is often not that friendly. I made some dear friends there too, but in 2024 I had gotten into a rut. I wasn’t wandering, I was staying there and working three nights a week in a laundromat; just getting by. I wasn’t saving any money ahead.

In late spring 2024, I faced a three pronged dilemma. It was forecast to be a busier than normal hurricane season. I needed to head north to get out of the worst of the hurricane zone and needed to find a place relatively safe from storms but also where I could find some work. I was going to need some kind of job to maintain myself and to replenish my “cruising kitty.” Thirdly, I realized that I could offer some help if I was near the family too. I decided to haul the boat and go back to Michigan for a while.

Initially, I was going to stay up north just for the hurricane season which is June to November. There are a couple boat projects that I want to work on before I relaunch sv Ruth Ann. From my previous experience, however, I knew that if I went back to the boatyard in November or December, I wasn’t going to be able to do much work with important supplies like paint or resin because of the winter temperatures; even in Florida. The plan to return slipped to late February or March.

When I came back to Michigan, I wasn’t going to get a driving job again, but because that was what I had done most and most recently, it was easier and faster to find gainful employment driving again. The company I am driving for is a good little company with lots of work. I’m putting in tons of hours and making pretty good money. Down south I had been much more active and was living like I had taken an oath of poverty. Back in Michigan, with a little money and lots of temptations within an arm’s reach, sitting on my ass in a truck all day has not been a healthy existence. I let it get out of hand and got out of shape, but I am now working hard to get back to a better lifestyle.

I had to buy a car. I’ve spent some money at the doctor and the dentist. Now the reality is that if I went back to the boatyard in March, after some boat projects and other expenses, I’d be back in the water but back in survival mode as well. A whole different plan started to soak into my brain. I’ve decided to keeping working (and helping) in Michigan until about September. After squirreling away as many “boat bucks” as I can this year, I’ll be able to properly prep sv Ruth Ann, finish the projects, launch her, and have some money left over to wander a bit. Then …. drum roll …. I can get on Social Security (assuming it’s still available) in May 2026. My goal all along was to have the freedom to just wander around, to sail around. In the last year or so, I had been thinking a lot more about money and spending more time working than I had anticipated. I have a couple side businesses going but I’m never sure that my lifestyle is conducive to more entrepreneurial activities. The projects are stumbling along and not even feeding me yet. I’ve never planned much for retirement but my humble social security income would be enough to freely wander on the boat for as long as I am able. I will be as free as I have ever been and living the life I’ve always dreamed of. This new plan, the life, would not be possible if I hadn’t started planning for it - and fighting for it - sixteen years ago. If I had stayed comfortable or stayed normal, I wouldn’t be able to be doing this now. Cheers to the vagabonds, the hobos, the artists, and the wanderers! Cheers to not fitting in!


Epilogue: Since I started writing this, I have had to spend some more money on doctors. Nothing serious, but tedious and expensive. The new plan is still the plan, but in addition to keeping an eye on what might happen to Social Security in the next months, I am also constrained slightly by medical expenses. I will be back to Ruth Ann one way or another. I have always done all my own work on her, but I am having the boatyard do a couple projects for me while I am away in order to keep her ship shape and, when the time comes, to make getting her back in the water a little easier and faster. Cheers and stay tuned.

It Doesn't Have To Be Easy, But ....

It’s an odd thing to be startled awake by silence. Or it might have been the light. In the wee hours of a random Saturday last May, my phone had lit up and everything had gotten quiet. The fans had stopped. It had been the hottest week of the Spring in Florida; already surpassing 90 degrees several times. All week, I had fallen asleep to the gentle “white noise” of my boat’s interior fans. As I laid there in bed absorbing the quiet, it gradually dawned on me that my house batteries must have shut down. I crawled out of the bunk and lurched over to the electrical panel; the switches were all on but everything was off. I knew right away that the Battery Management System (BMS) had shut down. The BMS is designed to protect the battery bank from running too low, getting too hot, or being over-charged. 

Standing there in the dark, I could also hear the faint whine of the inverter wishing it had some power. There it was: mystery solved. It had been my fault, of course. 

I hadn’t meant to leave the inverter on all night. The inverter was likely going bad – probably some corrosion inside it somewhere. I had discovered that if it was left on for too long, like overnight, the inverter had enough draw to drag my house bank down. I have a small AGM battery that starts Ruth Ann’s diesel engine, but everything else relies on the lithium battery bank. Not only was I going to need power to beat the early season heat, I needed to get things done. In four days, I was supposed to haul the boat out of the water and travel back to Michigan. Plus, it was going to be blazing hot that day and quite warm for the days up until my departure. I didn’t know if I had killed my batteries, but I was going to need some juice - somehow. 

I made some breakfast after the sun came up and developed a plan. It was Saturday and no buses were running. After cleaning my dishes, I rowed to shore and requested a ride to Walmart on Uber. As a former cab driver, I still kind of hate the “ride-share” business but it was necessary. After buying a deep cycle battery, I carried it in a couple canvas grocery bags, doubled up to carry the weight, and got an Uber back to the dinghy. 

After rowing back out and heaving the battery up onto the Ruth Ann’s deck, I checked the house bank and it seemed to be recovering. I might survive this ordeal after all. The new battery was a flooded lead acid battery. My charging system was programmed for lithium batteries. I wondered if I could last a few days on the amp hours I could just pull out of the new battery.  My solar panels couldn’t charge the lead acid battery without killing it. Reprogramming my charging system just for a couple days would be tedious and fraught with unexpected consequences. 

I made sure to use very little power Saturday night. Late morning Sunday, the battery bank was doing even better. It was going to rain that night, so I covered the new battery where it sat in the cockpit. There was no reason to go back to town as the buses didn’t running on Sunday either. I hung out on the boat all day and organized my stuff. I would be taking some clothes and a few essentials ‘home’ to Michigan. I had sent a couple boxes north with a friend and had put together another box to ship. I threw out a bunch of spices and some pantry staples that would just go bad while the boat was in storage. All else that was to remain on the boat had to be properly stowed.

By the end of the day Sunday, I could tell that the battery bank was going to be fine. 

Monday morning I rowed to shore with the new battery back in the shopping bags and the receipt in my pocket. I jumped on the bus and headed back to Walmart. After returning the battery, I bought mouse traps, poison, and a half dozen plastic storage bins. All that was more than I could carry on the bus, so I ended up in an Uber again. Back at home aboard Ruth Ann, I checked in with the boatyard to confirm that we were all set for a haul out on Wednesday. 

Tuesday morning after a hearty breakfast, I hauled the anchor and started my trip north to Fort Pierce. It was sunny and mild but the wind was gusty and nearly straight out of the north, exactly the direction we were headed. We had to motor the whole way. I got past the North Fort Pierce bridge and dropped anchor just a couple hundred meters from Riverside Marina. It was to be my third time at Riverside. Back in 2015, I ended up at their dock after crewing down from the Hudson River on Eleanor, a Westsail 42. A year or so later, I had brought my Westsail 32 there from Miami. When I gave my name for the reservation this time, Sally in the office asked “Do I know you?” 

Wednesday morning, I removed the dodger canvas and disconnected the solar panels to remove them. Late morning, I checked in with Riverside and then hauled anchor to head over to their slipway. Ruth Ann was hauled out and set down next to a gigantic Hatteras motor yacht. She would be well protected by this neighbor from wind out of the east. I worked a couple hours stowing things in the plastic bins, setting up the interior for long term storage, putting out the traps and poison, and promising Ruth Ann that I’d be back as soon as I could. 

I had a computer backpack, two duffel bags, and a ukulele; hoping the airline would let me get away with all that stuff. First, however, I needed to get to the bus stop. The closest bus stop is about a mile hike from the boatyard. It was reasonably early, so my timing wasn’t critical. I hefted the bags and tested how I would carry all the stuff. 

After scrambling a block up the hill and schlepping down Federal Highway, I checked the time on my phone as I approached the bus stop. There was just enough time to get something cool to drink at the CVS that was about fifty meters further. I dumped my bags outside their door to step inside. I had lathered up a good sweat on the hike and a Vitamin Water never tasted so good. The bus arrived and after switching buses at the central station, I only had to carry all my stuff across a parking lot where I could check into the room I had reserved for the night. All my boat chores were done and I could relax for the evening – I thought. 

I took a shower and made plans to walk around the corner to my favorite Peruvian fast food place for supper, but one thought nagged at me. My brain had processed all kinds of plans and information in the last week or so, but a final detail was bugging me. It had still been fairly warm as I prepped the boat for storage, so all the hatches were open while I worked. When I left, I had buttoned everything up and locked the companionway, but for some reason I could not specifically remember closing the port side portlight in the main cabin. In my sweat addled brain, I thought that I could remember closing the forward hatch and all the portlights; except that one. How could I leave the boat for some months if I thought one of the ports was open? I simply couldn’t. I was so tired after all the planning and the work, but I had to go back. I checked the time again.

I had spent three years in Fort Pierce on another boat project and had even lived at the yard without a car for a couple years. I was quite familiar with the local bus schedule as it was five or six years ago. I jumped online to refresh my memory and to plan my return to the boatyard. I was headed home to make some money, to help the family where I could, and I didn’t have a lot of money to spend. Once I flew back to Michigan I was going to have to survive until I found a job. There were a lot of unknowns, but I didn’t want to “pony up” for a ride on Uber if I didn’t have to. The Fort Pierce bus system was free and if I hurried I could check on Ruth Ann’s portlights – for no money.

I put some clothes on and rushed to the elevator. The westside bus came back around and then the north bus took me back out to the lonely last stop near the CVS on Federal Highway. I had to hike a mile, check on the boat, and hike back in less than an hour to make it back for the second to the last bus on the schedule. That bus would get me back to the central station in time to catch the very last bus back out to the motel near the highway. 

I can’t count how many times I had done this very hike when I lived here before. Just beyond the CVS was a Publix grocery, so even when I wasn’t catching a bus I walked the same route for provisions. From the bus stop, I walked passed the Grandview Motel; which was neither grand, nor had much of a view. A bit further was a coffee shop that had once been a popular neighborhood family restaurant. There was a stretch of wilderness that hid a homeless camp from the road, followed by a trailer park that had seen better days. Just before the road down the hill to the boatyard was a strange two story plaza that could never decide if it was retail or professional. The result being that neither retailers nor professionals could succeed there. Down the hill, I walked another twenty meters to the gate at Riverside Marina and past a half dozen boats before I turned into the forest of masts and got to where Ruth Ann sat. The rolling stairs were still parked next to her, so I climbed aboard again. She must have been surprised that I had already returned. Alas, I was only there to check on one portlight. 

After unlocking the companionway, I climbed down into the already stuffy cabin. The portlight on the port side of the main cabin was, in fact, securely dogged shut. I checked the two ports in the head and then doubled checked the other three in the main cabin. All were shut. All was well. I had known as soon as I felt the closeness of the humidity inside her that she had been locked up tight, but I had to check. I climbed back out into the cockpit, locked her up, and climbed down the stairs again. My damp clothes fluttered in the breeze as I walked back to the gate, up the hill, and down Federal Highway.

I made it back to the motel, took a deep breath, and did some writing just for my own enjoyment. After an hour or so, I walked over to La Granja for my usual order. La Granja is a chain of Peruvian restaurants in South Florida. The one in Fort Pierce is on Okeechobee Road right between I-95 and the Turnpike. When I lived in Ft. Pierce, it was a special treat to take the bus all the way to the edge of town and have lunch there. Whenever I was back to truckdriving for boat money, there were two truckstops on either side of Kings Highway where I could park my big rig and just walk over to get some Peruvian food. That evening, I hiked over from the motel and got their Black Beans and Rice with a side of Fried Yuca and a mango drink. They had a small buffet with different toppings where I always got the garlicky onion and jalapeno relish to top my beans and some Aji Verde and Rocoto to slather on the yuca. It was a deliciously appropriate last meal on the Treasure Coast. Then I waddled back to the motel and slept the sleep of stones. 

In the morning, I had to heft my duffel bags and walk over to the Love’s Truckstop where the Greyhound bus stops. Unfortunately, the Greyhound Station in Orlando is on the opposite side of town from the airport, so I had to get an Uber to take me there to get on my plane. My Uber driver was a pleasant guy with a nice Escalade who does Uber in between offering specialized “executive” transportation in and around Central Florida. I made it through the airport and American Airlines let me hang on to my precious Ukulele. And then I made it all the way back to Michigan where I hadn’t actually been for about five years. I'm still here for a while, but stay tuned I'll have more adventures soon.

I don’t expect it to be easy, but why does it have to seem so hard sometimes. There are plenty of people who wonder why I am determined to do what I’m doing; to live the life that I want to live. Nevertheless, even when it gets stupid hard – it’s always worth it.   

sv Ruth Ann

Homeward Epilogue

sv Ruth Ann in Beaufort, SC, 12/23

Ruth Ann is the last in a series of boats on which I was attempting to escape. I found her when I found an older gentleman who loved and appreciated his sailboat, but didn't have the time to sail her or to take care of her properly. Three years later, she was launched again after an extensive refit ‘on the hard’ in a North Carolina boatyard. I had repaired blisters on the hull, rewired the entire boat, re-rigged her mast, replaced the plumbing, repaired the bowsprit, changed all the lights to LEDs, and even replaced the seized diesel engine doing all the work myself; fuel lines, electrical connections, and shaft alignment. 

In the last year and a half, I have sailed Ruth Ann up and down the U.S. East Coast. We have done a lot of sailing and put more than 400 hours on that ‘new’ engine. It's been an adventure; along the IntraCoastal Waterway and offshore in the Atlantic too. In well over 500 days, I have only spent about 30 nights at a dock or on a mooring ball. In fact, twelve of those nights were at a friend's dock. Every other night, I was swinging on my own anchor; sometimes up a lonely creek, other times near a town.  I have been living the life I had always wanted to live. I have been self contained and self-actualized; a happy man.

Nevertheless, I had gotten into a rut lately. For several months, I’ve just been a working stiff who’s had to row to shore to get to work. I haven't been wandering, or even sailing much lately. By an accident of circumstance, I was stuck in one place to keep a part time job and hold myself together.

Because this summer is forecast to be an active hurricane season, I was planning to head north and get out of the hurricane zone. Wherever I headed, however, I was going to need to find another job again. So, I had to plan for potential storms and the availability of work. The calculations were getting complex.   

Then it became clear that I could be of some help to the family back in Michigan. It was a good time for a reset, so I revised my plan. I am going to spend some time up north where I will find some work and help out where I can. Ruth Ann will be tucked away at a nearby Florida boatyard where I had previously worked on another boat and I know the family who owns the place. She’ll be hauled, cleaned, blocked, and strapped down for the season. When I get back to her there will a few projects to accomplish. That might mean a few weeks in Fort Pierce before she is relaunched. I’ll have a full plan by the time I head back. Ruth Ann will get polished up, treated to some new equipment, and – better than ever - we'll get back to living the vagabond life. I am grateful for the flexibility to take care of myself and to help out where I can.

Temporarily Closed

The last few months, I’ve been in limbo and just getting by. I’ve been working three evenings a week and trying to hold myself together. The universe didn’t ask if I was prepared or not, but I’ve had to spend a bunch of money at the dentist recently. So, when it also seemed like I could help the family up in Michigan, I decided to do just that. I’m going to spend some time up north helping out and making some money. 

I’ve been lucky enough to be doing exactly what I’ve always wanted to do for the last couple years. Nevertheless, I’ve been bogged down for several months, not really traveling but hanging out in one spot or another for a length of time so that I could work. For a variety of reasons, it’s a good time for a reset. I have no regrets. I’ll be right back.  #BRB

 

Hints of the Season

I have a community; the community of sailors. And more specifically, the community of vagabond cruisers, but I can almost miss a neighborhood community. I’ve been hanging around Stuart, Florida for  about three months. Last year, this same spot was my “neighborhood” too. The City is unusually friendly to vagabonds at anchor. There is a fairly large anchorage just into the South Fork of the St. Lucie River. Shepard Park is easily accessible by dinghy where there is water, trashcans, and a couple hundred of feet of cement wall with cleats to tie to and a few ladders to climb at low tide. Further, I picked up a part time job here and have a small gang of good friends from work. Nevertheless, besides that Hurricane Season is approaching, I am feeling the need to be moving again. Then again, we’ve had a couple storm systems roll through that have made the seasonal ramifications more stark. 

A couple weeks ago, a strong storm was forecast a few days in advance. I normally work Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoons, but that Wednesday was going to be wild. It might not have been possible for me to get to shore and back that day. Luckily, one of my coworkers was happy to take a few extra hours and I could prepare for the storm. The winds were forecast to gust into the mid-thirties by late morning. 

Tuesday night I had worked until 8:30 pm. As I walked back to the park from the laundromat, the proverbial calm-before-the-storm had settled on the city. It was a pleasant evening as I passed the funky Cleveland Avenue neighborhood and crossed the creek by the boat dealership. On the other side of the creek was Shepard Park where my dinghy awaited. I loaded up the groceries I had bought before work and then filled a jerry jug with water at the fish cleaning station. After unlocking my oars, I shoved off and rowed the half mile across the river to Ruth Ann. 

After climbing aboard and putting things away, I changed my clothes and began my engine checks. The little Yanmar coughed and spit and then came to life. As it idled, I went forward to haul the anchor. The quarter moon struggled to shine through wispy clouds as Ruth Ann gurgled into the channel and toward the flashing green marker.  

There was a sand bar that I needed to avoid near the Sunset Bay Marina, but it is only marked by an unlit red nun buoy. I poked into the darkness with my flashlight as I passed the well lit marina. I steered close to the many boats in the mooring field where I knew the water was safe and finally located the red buoy after I was well past it. We were safe by then and I turned into the North Fork. 

A narrow “cove” is the first feature where we had to pass two unlit green markers nearby, but the area is wide with plenty of water. I have been able to cut the corner in the past, so I was more worried about bumping into one of the markers than running aground. It’s curious how well you can spot the pylon of a marker in the moonlight. Even before I could see the channel marker, the straight line of the pylon stood out against the rippling water. Once I was past the two greens, there was a red lighted marker just ahead.

Past that red marker, the North Fork opens up into a large lake-like area. I have gone up there to sail several times. That night, the porch lights and dock lights of homes along the shore made my boundaries distinct. It was a carefree sail up toward Kitching Cove. Well, not sail exactly, it was dark and I just wanted to beat the storm, so I was motoring. At the top of the “lake,” the entrance into Kitching Cove is quite narrow. If it was too dark, I had planned to anchor nearby and move into the cove in the morning. 

When Ruth Ann and I did arrive, there was the looming light of the city of Port St. Lucie, the moon, and more waterfront lights. We ghosted into the cove, past the Sandpiper Resort and its marina. I could see my friends’ boat, the Mollynogger, in the moonlight and anchored Ruth Ann just beyond them. 

Ironically, the Mollynogger crew were having a drink with friends back at the marina. As I had gone by someone exclaimed “a guy is coming up the creek in the dark!”  

“Yeah, that’s our friend Todd,” the crew said wryly. 

In the morning, I asked if they were comfortable with where I had anchored and offered to move otherwise. It was heartening when a cruiser who I respect affirmed my anchoring and simply replied “that’s exactly where I would have anchored.”  

The storm arrived by mid morning, right on schedule. We had winds gusting up toward forty knots but were well protected in the tiny cove. The anchorage back where I had been was completely exposed to the forecast winds, so it was nice to hear the wind howling and feel it a bit, but to be tucked into a completely safe spot. In fact, it was so peaceful up there that I ended up staying until Monday morning. Even then I only went back because of my Monday evening shift.  

Then a couple days ago, a milder storm front surprised me a bit even though I usually have an eye on the weather. Several times in the weeks I’ve been working at the laundromat, I’ve gone ashore a few hours early just to beat some weather that might have made the trip difficult. This week, however, I had some errands to run. Arriving ashore early was to accommodate running down to the south side of town on the bus and back before my shift. The midday weather was supposed to be gusty but it was forecast to calm down before I was off work. 

As I started closing up the store that evening, I was watching the weather, of course. The palm trees in the plaza parking lot were swaying but it didn’t look bad. I hadn’t really considered that rowing back out to Ruth Ann would be anything out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, when I locked up and left, I stepped out of the wind shadow of the plaza and could feel more wind than I had expected. All the way back to the park, I was walking straight into the wind coming right down Federal Highway. It was still fairly strong despite the morning’s forecast.

At the park, I unlocked the dinghy and set out. The creek was well protected from the wind with the nearby condos and the whole of downtown upwind, blocking for us. When I rowed out of the creek, however, I left that protection. All the moored boats had swung and I knew that the wind was going to be blowing strongly across my path during my river crossing. My usual route through the mooring field takes me past several now familiar boats. That time, however, I rowed much further north to compensate for the wind. The dinghy was aimed almost ninety degrees away from Ruth Ann, but the wind was pushing us sideways and we crab-walked through the mooring field. 

Out into the river itself, the windblown choppy waves increased in the open water. I kept rowing against the wind as Ruth Ann’s anchor light beckoned me on. At a certain point, I had made plenty of way into the wind and turned to aim the dinghy home. However, that had me rowing across the waves and as the dinghy wallowed from side to side, it was hard to keep the oars in the water. I kept splashing myself as the windward oar dipped into the water out of sync. Eventually, I turned further to put the stern into the wind and we surfed toward home. 

I had anticipated just enough weather that I hadn’t bothered to carry a jerry jug for water with me. It was just me and my canvas “boat bag” rocking and rolling in the dinghy. It was a pleasant relief when I finally brought the dinghy alongside and grabbed Ruth Ann’s gunwale. It had been a good struggle and though I probably only rowed a bit farther than my normal route, I had worked a hell of a lot harder. And the fun wasn’t quite over as then I had to get from the little boat into the big boat as they rocked up and down and against each other. When a wave crept along and got pinched between the two boats it splashed at me vigorously. I think the river was having fun. The “boat bag” went aboard between the lifelines and into the cockpit. Then I pulled the dinghy back toward Ruth Ann’s chainplates. I shipped the oars and, with one foot on the dinghy thwart and a good grip on the cap shroud, I stepped up onto the side deck. I was finally home. The winds gusted for a couple more hours, but by the time my brain had wound down and I was ready to sleep, the chop on the river was also down. I slept very well that night. 

Stumbling Into An Odd Job

Squint Close for Egrets

It was going to be one of those wonderful Florida winter days; just barely overcast, but with enough sun to make you reconsider not using sunscreen on your face. I was well up the North Fork of the St Lucie River at a place called Kitching Cove. After a few days reuniting at anchor with some dear friends, I was going to make my way back to civilization. Groceries and laundry were looming chores.  Four or five other boats were in the cove but we were the only cruisers living aboard. The cove is separated from the St. Lucie River and the boat traffic by a long strip of mangroves with just enough solid ground to support several palm trees and the occasional oak. Along the opposite shore were some condos, a yacht club, and a resort, but it was a quiet, peaceful spot. The plaintive cry of an osprey regularly echoed across the flat water, and at evening, a flock of egrets would fly across the face of the mangroves, their bright white feathers a stark contrast as shades of black oozed across the green of the mangroves in the dissolving light of the day.

Kitching Cove Sunset

While I had looming chores to take care of, I had also picked that day because it appeared the wind was just right for sailing all the way back to the anchorage in town. Ruth Ann was upwind from Mollynogger, my friends’ boat, but there seemed to be plenty of room to drift back in the gentle wind once I had hauled the anchor. I prepped to first raise the main, then haul the anchor, and to be able to raise the jib after I had started. The last choice was whether to have the engine idling just in case I needed … or not.   

I left the engine off and went forward to raise the anchor as the main sail lolled from side to side in the breeze. Twice I paused to check my bearings on Mollynogger and another nearby boat. All was well, so I kept hauling. Once we were free, Ruth Ann fell away to the south as I walked back to the helm. It wasn’t that early, but I quietly whistled a bird call as goodbye to my friends as I ghosted by. 

I had my chartplotter on, but the charts were purportedly not accurate in that area. My inward track was only in my head but I attempted to follow it out. Ruth Ann crept along but I had all day and we were already doing two and a half knots in the enclosed area. We glided through the cove’s narrow entrance and passed a sailboat languishing nearby. After the cove, there is an open spot just upstream of the resort’s marina. A couple boats were anchored there, including the catamaran where a party was hosted the previous Friday night. I recalled that I was told to pass near the end of the marina docks, so I aimed Ruth Ann there. The river began to open up but was still shallow in spots. I watched the water and eyed my chartplotter. At one point, the depth sounder was showing that I had gotten into some skinny water, so I steered hard to starboard toward deeper water indicated by the potentially less-than-accurate chart. We passed near the Red 10 marker and the lower part of the North Fork opened up. We had lots of water before us and all the way down to Stuart. 

Sailboats don’t go in a straight line, so I had a basic plan to crisscross my way down the river. By the time we were approaching the western shore, we were regularly sailing along at three or three and a half knots. It was wonderfully pleasant sailing on a broad reach and Ruth Ann was as ecstatic as I was. We got close to some docks and tacked back out into the river. 

Sailing!

The longest leg was another nice broad reach the other direction as we made good progress down the length of the river. We were hitting four and a half knots and more. I don’t race and I’m not (knot?) really concerned with my speed, but it was satisfying anyway to know that we were going nearly as fast as we would have if we’d been motoring!

After a jaunt down past the Red 6A marker, we were pointed right at a small group of docks just past Britt Creek. There was lots of depth up to the shore, so I kept us speeding right at the docks for a good long time. Once we got within a couple feet of rubbing the keel across the bottom, I tacked us back to the south. I had been eyeing my windvane and expected to run downwind from there. The wind had been a little fluky all morning, but after we came around in a gybe and traveled several yards, we were still reaching. Ruth Ann just loves a good beam reach and she danced across the waves toward the neck where the river makes a bit of an ‘S’ curve just before the North and South branches join and go under the Old Roosevelt Bridge as one. 

Sketch of Ruth Ann's Track

The channel is marked for bigger, deeper boats than Ruth Ann and after taking a look at the chart for the waters ahead, we gybed again and cut both corners of the curve to head straight at the South Fork. At the confluence of the river’s forks, we sailed right at the boats tugging at their moorings at the Sunset Bay Marina. There is another curve to get into the South Fork where the Pendarvis Cove Anchorage is. I had to get Ruth Ann far enough south to make it inside a buoy marking a shallow area. We got as close to the moored boats as I could stand and tacked to the west. There was a little traffic around but it was a weekday, so no obnoxious weekend warriors with their wakes and their misappropriated glares. 

Just ahead of us was a large sailboat, they turned into the anchorage ahead of us and, of course, they turned toward the area I was aiming for. We sailed past the anchorage to let them decide what they were doing and I doused the jib, started the engine, and dropped the main. I set Ruth Ann to wallow in a slow circle as I went forward to tie up the sails and prepare for anchoring again. When we turned around, the bigger boat had picked a spot and they were already backing down on their anchor. I entered the anchorage and slid through the many boats and up near that bigger boat. Just past them was a Canadian boat that I suspected might be staging to cross to the Bahamas, so I anchored just past them. I row to shore, so I wanted to sneak into a spot as close to the dinghy dock at Shepard Park as possible. 

With that, I was in; I was back ‘home.’ Nevertheless, I prepared to go ashore. I had found a new upscale market, a good hike further than the nearby Publix. Publix is getting pretty pricey these days and I don’t like how their produce guy minds his department. Sprouts Farmers Market is another bougie grocery market, but it seemed less expensive and less cult-like than Trader Joes or Whole Foods. To their credit, and the reason I hiked a six mile round trip to get there, was that they have a great bulk foods section, including raw cashews and nutritional yeast (look who’s bougie now). I needed some freshies and some galley staples that are not available at the little downtown Publix. In addition to my bulk stuff, I found some tahini, a purple yam, some zucchini, onions, a head of cabbage, and some good raisins. 

Halfway back to the boat, I realized that all that fresh air I’d been consuming all day long was going to make me mighty sleepy. I had stopped at the liquor store to renew my tequila stock and ended up with a bag of Voodoo potato chips as well. I stumbled into the very Publix that I had meant to avoid and bought a Cuban Sandwich and some tabouleh for supper. Their tabouleh is actually quite good and I’ve had homemade Lebanese Grandma tabouleh in my life. The Cuban on the other hand, hit the spot but was only adequate. And I was just bragging online about being a Cubano connoisseur. The Publix Cuban is a decent attempt and they probably had the capacity to ‘hot press’ the sandwich for me, but I didn’t bother. Without being pressed the bread seems like too much. The cheese, pickle, and sauce are good; not great but good. Also, the pork is sliced deli meat. A proper Cuban has deli sliced ham, but small chunks of roast pork. By the time I had rowed back out to Ruth Ann, after sailing all morning, and hiking all afternoon, the Publix Cuban was just fine. I enjoyed it along with some Voodoo chips, but I saved the tabouleh for the next day.  

The following day, I could feel the big hike to the bougie market in my legs, but I mustered the gumption to go back into town to do laundry. While I was folding my clothes, I struck up a conversation with the guy who had introduced himself as the new owner and I ended up with a part time job. This is actually just what I needed. So far, I have really enjoyed his approach to people and business as I have witnessed it. I think he is going to be a great guy to work for and the job is pretty casual; some work but a lot of time. I’m sure I’ll have laundromat stories for you in the future. 

Now I’ve got to go add ‘Laundry Clerk’ to my encyclopedic list of odd jobs, which is here.  

South To Stuart

Pendarvis Cove

I was bombing my way south to get out from under the cold weather that often reaches into North Florida in January. And I was watching my diesel consumption and wondering if I had enough to get far enough. Then a friend ‘sponsored’ a jerry jug of fuel and I had a few more options. As I sailed down toward Melbourne, I was also watching the weather. Stiff winds were in the forecast again, this time out of the northeast. Ruth Ann and I ended up going all the way down to the Melbourne Causeway, the southernmost bridge in town, because it offered the best protection from the wind. 

Melbourne Causeway

Passing through Melbourne, I determined that it was not a place to find work either. The Indian River is also fairly wide open through there and all the anchorages were similarly exposed to lots of fetch. Fetch being the distance that wind can travel unimpeded over the water. Lots of fetch means lots of choppy waves when the wind comes from that direction. I scratched Melbourne off my list. It was also easy just then, because I had realized that Stuart was now less than two days away. I spent a couple months in Stuart last winter and I knew that the access to shore was excellent; groceries, water, and trash all readily available. 

Shepard Park Dinghy Access, Stuart

Ruth Ann and I stayed where we had tucked in behind the causeway for the next day as well. The second day’s forecast was iffy, but I decided to make a run for it anyway. After we got down past Sebastion and under the Wabasso Bridge, the mainland and the beach islands drew together and the wind would not affect us so much. It was blustery, but not bad; not the worst we’ve seen by far. 

After Wabasso, was Vero Beach and then Fort Pierce. The tidal current is quite strong through Fort Pierce, so my next hurdle was to try and time the tide. Further, Vero Beach was as far as we could likely get that day, but it is also a popular spot with cruisers and I was concerned that the anchorage there might be crowded. I decided to stop a bit early at the Pine Island Anchorage; another of my favorite stops. 

Once again, I left a favorite spot with the first light. We had to get moving to be able to time the tide at Fort Pierce and get beyond there that day. Down past Vero Beach, the anchorage didn’t look too crowded but we had had a peaceful night where we’d been at Pine Island. Vero is nice, but I don’t understand why so many cruisers, especially those with sailboats, stay there. They even call it “Velcro Beach” because it is so hard to leave. But Vero is far away from waters that are open enough to sail in. Of course, that only highlights how few sailors are actually sailors, but whatever. 

Ruth Ann carried me down to the North Fort Pierce Bridge, where we had to wait a couple minutes for the top-of-the-hour opening. After getting under the south bridge, we entered the last “lagoon” of the Indian River on the way down toward Jensen Beach and Stuart. My next challenge was the weather again. The wind was on our nose and was going to be out of the southeast through the next day. It was forecast to stiffen overnight and I was concerned about the anchorage I was aiming for. Last year my friend Nancy and I had sailed all the way in off the ocean, around a corner to the ICW, and into the Marriott Resort Anchorage without using the engine!  However, the anchorage was wide open to the southeast and would likely be very rolly that night. 

I got to Jensen Beach and decided to take a look at the Marriott Anchorage anyway. Ruth Ann and I passed under the Jensen Beach Bridge as I watched the wind, the waves, and the boats bobbing in the municipal anchorage. The Marriott Resort is just under the next bridge and about halfway there I decided that I didn’t want to anchor there in that weather. The Jensen Beach mooring field is on the southside of the bridge’s causeway, as exposed as the Marriott anchorage, but on the northside of the causeway there is an anchorage with some protection from south and southeast winds. The boats anchored there looked more peaceful than the boats in the mooring field. So I turned around. 

After anchoring on the northside and having a comfortable night, I arose again and finished the trip up the St. Lucie River to the Pendarvis Cove Anchorage where I stayed last year. Earlier, my wonderful friend had actually given me a  bit more than I needed just to get five gallons of diesel; I could have bought fifteen or twenty gallons perhaps, but I had held out. The morning after arriving, I rowed to shore to get a few basic provisions to tide me over. I was very grateful. 

And then the most wonderful, funniest thing happened: my sister called. 

In order to tell this story, I need to start in about 1975. When our family moved into Charlotte, the woman who had been in the house before us, left us kids three stuffed characters on the mantle of the fireplace. They were more than dolls, literally two feet tall and almost like muppets. There was a hippie, an indian, and a witch. I got the hippie and it might have affected my whole life; at least my outlook. 

The Hippie Abides

Fast forward to 2019, I was still driving a truck for boat money when Trump sent out a last check for $400. I don’t even remember the rationale behind that odd amount. Regardless, my check went to my parent’s address where I had last filed my taxes. My sister had called to tell me that it had arrived and suggested that she cash it and save the money for some time in the future when I might really need it. I was making good money on the road and didn’t have any reason to argue. Sure, sounds good, do it, I had said. She cashed the check and stuck four one hundred dollar bills in the pocket of the tie-dyed shirt of my hippie which she is “keeping for me” in her basement guest room. A hippie has never had so good actually. 

In the meantime, we both completely forgot about the four bills.  

Hilariously, after I had gone to shore with the last money I had to my name, my sister called that evening to tell me the story of remembering the hippie’s money. She had told me that she had just deposited it for me. Now, I had been living on cabbage, onions, lentils, and rice for a couple weeks. About all I could afford when I went ashore was some more onions, some garlic, and a cabbage; along with some grapefruit and a couple zucchini that were very special treats. I was a bit overwhelmed and exceedingly grateful after the phone call. I could live for several weeks on $400 and just that had taken a lot of pressure off my situation. I no longer had to take any job right away. I had some time; the most precious commodity. 

Shortly after that call, some dear friends invited me to a party the next night, up the river. In the morning, I bought some more diesel and got some water at a nearby marina, but didn’t manage to get ashore again for any provisions. You can take the boy out of East Lansing, but you can’t get East Lansing out of the boy. There were friends to hang with and a party to be had. I went running. 

sv Mollynogger next door

I’ve been hanging out with my friends, the Sail Bums, aboard Mollynogger, ever since. They are great people, fantastic musicians, and good to me. (Thanks again!) 

The party was fun and the next night was hours of deep thoughts and deep tracks, crowned by Stan Rogers’ rousing “Barrett’s Privateers” about 03:00 am. Later that same morning, we were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by 10:30 for their regularly scheduled “Cockpit Coffee” live on Facebook.

Life is good. Good friends. Good old boats. Rum and conversation. 

Another Little Squall

I had bugged out of Green Cove Springs when I realized that fully half of the 10 Day Forecast called for 30’s at night; mostly high 30s but a couple nights reaching down toward freezing. Ruth Ann is not a cold weather boat and she had become a “neglected terrarium simulator.” The cold weather caused tremendous condensation in the cabin. And without being able to open up the portlights or hatches, the dankness had taken over life aboard Ruth Ann. Water literally dripped from the ceiling and the walls. The edges of the cabinetry started to bloom with mold and mildew. Every day, I was wiping down as many surfaces as I could with a rag and a spray bottle of vinegar and eucalyptus oil. It was more depressing than disgusting and I had to make a change. 

I stopped at the City Pier to plug in and top up my battery bank before we ran down the St. Johns River, through downtown Jacksonville, and south on the ICW to anchor, still in Jacksonville, next to the Atlantic Boulevard Bridge. I had calculated that I had enough diesel aboard to make it down to at least New Smyrna Beach or even to Cocoa, but it might be close. Once I got into some open areas of the ICW, I was planning to sail some and save fuel. If I kept moving, I might only get hit with one night in the 30s on my way south.  

The next day, I had made it down past St. Augustine to the Fort Matanzas anchorage. It’s one of my favorite spots, but I was up and moving with the first light and made it down to Halifax Lake, north of Daytona. One more day and I had made it all the way down to New Smyrna Beach. 

New Smyrna was one of the spots I was considering to stay for a while. I likely needed to find some work to keep feeding myself. Unfortunately, Smyrna is so close to the Ponce Inlet that the tidal current buzzes through town; peaking at about 2 knots in one direction or the other every six hours or so. This was not conducive to rowing ashore in all weather for a job, so I had to move on. A friend had offered to get me a slip in a marina to hide from the cold, and I bargained for them to sponsor a jerry jug of diesel instead. It was a truly sweet offer and well timed boost; a buffer against my dwindling diesel supply.  

I rested in New Smyrna where the weather wasn’t too cold. It was good to have a day off after crashing my way south all day for four days. On my ‘rest day,’ I motored over to the New Smyrna Marina to get that jerry jug of diesel. The next morning, I left early and got back on my way.  

I’m not a New Year’s Resolution kind of person actually, but I had pledged to myself that I was going to sail as much as possible. However, south of New Smyrna, the ICW goes through a narrow patch down past Edgewater, Bethune Beach and Oak Hill. After the usual vacation homes along each shore just south of Smyrna, there are some real Old Florida places along this stretch; some mobile homes and some old-school fish camps populated by RVs and fishing skiffs. Finally, the waters opened into the Mosquito Lagoon, just north of Cape Canaveral. It is deceptive, because the wide water to the east is very shallow. The ICW channel hugs the mainland to the west all the way down to the Haulover Canal. At Haulover, the ICW cuts across an isthmus to enter the Indian River; a huge lagoon of brackish water that stretches 121 miles down Florida’s coast, from Haulover to the St. Lucie River at Stuart. 

I turned into the canal and called the drawbridge that blocks the way in the middle of the canal’s length. The tender opened the bridge perfectly and I passed through without even slowing Ruth Ann. East of the canal is another large open stretch of shallow water. We motored across the expanse and aimed at the NASA Railway Bridge. 

I had seen some vagabonds sailing down the ICW. It is tough work but they appeared to rely solely on their sails. One boat had their dinghy ‘hip-tied’ and ready to use, but must have been rationing their gasoline supply. They were young sailors out here doing the life and I respected their mettle. They also inspired me. I had pledged to sail and even though I could have just continued motoring along after it was no longer necessary, I developed a plan.

South of the NASA Railway Bridge the Indian River remains a large expanse of water but the shallows recede toward the shore and there is a lot of room in deep-enough water. I slowed Ruth Ann as we approached the bridge and then ducked in behind it after we’d passed. I dropped the anchor, killed the engine, and prepared to sail. TO SAIL!  

There was a nice fresh breeze as we lolled at anchor in the protection of the bridge’s causeway. Just to make it interesting, I decided that I might as well sail off the anchor again. With a jib hanked on and ready, I uncovered the mainsail and raised it. The anchor came up as the main rattled around in anticipation. Once we were free, Ruth Ann started to fade away from the bridge and slowly turned her bow to the south. The jib was still tucked in a sail bag to keep it out of the wind until I had secured the anchor chain. Once we were drifting south, I grabbed the sail bag and yanked it off the sail before I walked back to the cockpit. Back at the helm, I steered us onto a broad reach across the westerly wind, sheeted the main, and then raised the jib.  

Glory. Glory.  

We had begun to sail and it was just fantastic; as usual. This is literally what I have lived for most of my life. 

South of the NASA Railway Bridge is the town of Titusville. There were houses scattered along the shore as we approached and we passed a large marina just before another bridge. A fishing boat zoomed by as a handful of sailboats bobbed in the marina’s mooring field. Under the bridge there were a dozen anchored sailboats on each side of the canal. Titusville offers a dinghy dock at a park on the west end of the causeway. The town was also on my list of possible stops but the available anchorages were all wide open to winds with either a southerly or northerly component. Not conducive to rowing a daily commute.

[ Note: if you squint, you might be able to see the 

ghost of a dolphin under the surface as she played

in our wake. The dolphins were very camera shy. ] 

We sailed along on a glorious day, continuing south from Titusville. Camera shy dolphins were swimming all around Ruth Ann. Without the engine on, as Ruth Ann’s belly cut through the water, I think the dolphins considered us some kind of distant cousin and several came by to check us out and say hello.  We passed under the Addison Point Bridge and I was watching two things. There were some dark clouds over my shoulder to the northwest and the wind from that direction was having me reconsider the anchorage I had been aiming for.  

I checked the weather on my phone and even though it belied what I was seeing with my own eyes, I couldn’t leave the frolicking dolphins and the sailing was so good. I kept watching the clouds and hoped that they would stay north of us. We now headed to a closer anchorage; one that had protection from the northwest wind. Another forty five minutes or so of sailing and we could pull into the Power Plant Anchorage, just north of Delespine. 

And then I looked over my shoulder at the clouds again.  

The storm clouds that had been hovering off to the northwest had expanded and were suddenly looming over us. Just as I had started to think of dropping sails and turning on the engine, the first gusts from the advancing squall hit us. The wind shifted toward the north and Ruth Ann leaned heavily to port letting the cleated mainsail shove us around to the west. We were out in the middle of the wide channel but now we were pointing toward the western shore rather than the waters to the south. I struggled to steer but the mainsail was in charge. After I was finally able to let the sail out and regained some control, I pointed us into the wind to depower the situation. 

I always rig a downhaul on my foresails for times just like this. In the chaotic wind and waves, I simply loosened the jib halyard and hauled in on the downhaul to douse the sail. The jib rattled in the strong winds as it collapsed onto the bowsprit. I leaned down and started the engine, then let the main halyard go and went forward with a couple sail ties to secure it. As I gathered the main sail, I was standing atop the cabin, hugging the boom as Ruth Ann rocked side to side. After tying up the main, I paused to look around from my high vantage point. There had been a channel marker nearby and I had to make sure the wind wasn’t pushing us toward it. 

I stepped back to the cockpit, checked the depth gauge, and grabbed a couple more sail ties. All the way forward at the bowsprit, I bunched the jib and tied it to the bow pulpit rail. The sails no longer rattled free in the wind, but the wind was already starting to abate. Back at the helm, I steered us into the channel and toward our anchorage. Soon the squall had passed and I kind of kicked myself for not holding on. After the short chaos of the squall, we could have sailed some more. 

I was good and exhausted by the time I dropped the anchor just behind the jetties of the power plant. It was a little rollier than I might have liked but it was going to do that night. Back in the warmth of the cabin, I made some supper and quickly fell into bed. The rolling continued and It was not a real peaceful night. Nevertheless, the next anchorage south, where I had planned to spend the night, was completely open to the winds out of the north. In the morning, I passed a boat in that very anchorage and I knew that I had had a more peaceful night then they had.  

I headed south toward Melbourne to check on another possible stop. Each time I moved on, I started looking at jobs online in the next area. I had already mostly escaped the cold weather, so now the quest was to find a good spot, with decent access for a guy rowing a small dinghy. 

New Year's Revolution

I am a conservative sailor. I like it that way, but I have been leaning into that to rationalize chickening out. My New Year’s Revolution is to correct that. I’ll not be abandoning my cautious seamanship but I will be pushing myself. I am a sailor. I sail. I am so tired of burning diesel and will do my best to default to sailing. I could use the joy in my life. Twice in the last five days, for the challenge of it, I have sailed off the anchor without using the engine and had great days of sailing. I pledge to continue. 

As reported in the last post, I battled my way south through a bunch of fickle weather and three major storm systems. Now I have finally made it into Florida to Green Cove Springs, up the river from Jacksonville. I got here a few days before Christmas to take a break from the windy weather I’d been in but it has been cold! 

The boat has been shut up for over a month between the rain and the cold and condensation has been a huge problem. When the weather gets below 45 degrees, water starts dripping from the portlights, the walls, and the ceiling. When it’s cold enough to light my little propane heater, it just gets worse as burning propane kicks off a lot of water vapor too.

My stowed clothes got damp and moisture was everywhere down below. Mold and mildew started appearing on the edges of the cupboards. My surfer straw hat may never recover from the vegetation in the weave. 

And then it warmed up the week between the holidays and I could open some hatches. Usually by midafternoon the temperature was just high enough that I could stand opening up for a couple hours. What a difference! Just trading the stale moist air for fresh started drying the boat out and making it livable again. 

I set about to clean all of the dank surfaces with a spray bottle of white vinegar, water, and eucalyptus oil. I was also cleaning up because my friend, Nancy, was coming for a visit. Nothing like company to cause a bachelor sailor to clean up.  

Nancy and I have known each other since we were about nine years old. She’s one of my oldest friends and it was great fun to hang out. I cooked up a bunch of dinners and breakfasts that will soon show up on a cooking channel I'm developing. Watch for Two Burner Life on the social platforms.

The first couple days after she arrived were going to have wind out of the east and make the anchorage uncomfortable, so we motored across the river to Hallowes Cove. It is a beautiful little spot with just trees and wildlife; and protection from the coming wind. Nancy had just bought a kayak and tried it out from Ruth Ann.  

Nancy is also a sailor, so it was inevitable that we would watch the weather for a good day to sail. That day came on Friday. It had been a terribly long time since I had actually sailed, so I set about to get Ruth Ann ready. Whenever Nancy is around, I am inspired to challenge myself, the boat, and my crew. After the fore sails were bent on, I told her my plan - we were going to sail off the anchor without using the engine. 

We hoisted the mainsail and I hauled the anchor while Nancy steered us to starboard. If we leaned that way as the anchor came aboard, we would slip easily into the wind once we were free. When the anchor clanged into the bow roller, we were off without a hitch. Ruth Ann trembled with anticipation as we started sailing again. Finally, she sighed. 

We sailed out of the little cove and Nancy steered us south and then west across the shoal to get out into the St. Johns River. On the way, I raised the staysail and Ruth Ann romped toward deeper water. Out in the river, I raised the yankee and we headed north down the river. With a little help from the current, Ruth Ann was galloping along. She seemed as happy as we were. 

It was a glorious broad reach in the wide waters of the St. Johns. After a couple hours of great sailing, I relieved Nancy at the helm; boat and skipper were reunited! My skipper mojo was coming back and it was simply soul-enriching to be sailing again. Ruth Ann danced across the waves as if to thank Nancy for getting me to sail her again. 

It.was.so.good. 

After a time, we chicken-gybed all the way around and headed back toward Green Cove Springs. We didn’t even lose much speed now heading upstream. At one point, Ruth Ann was so excited she let a gust of wind put her rail right down in the water. It was raucous sailing joy!  

We made it most of the way back on a strong close reach. After tacking back toward the east, we tacked again and headed straight down toward the City Pier and the anchorage. Just before arriving, I started the engine and had Nancy steer while I dropped the sails and tied them up. The next day was forecast to be gusty again, so we found a good spot to ride out the squall and dropped the anchor. After a nice pasta dinner, all that fresh air and excitement caught up with us. It was a great day followed by a quiet sleepy evening.        

The day that Nancy left, I motored over to a little cove I had spotted to ride out a storm front that was supposed to pass. It was a bumpy afternoon yesterday, but could have been worse. Ruth Ann and I were well protected from the worst of the wind and I have a lot of faith in my oversized anchor. We didn’t even budge.  

This morning I decided to keep the momentum going and set up to sail after breakfast. I was going to sail off the anchor again too, but this time solo! As I was getting the sails ready the wind gusted strongly a couple times, so I decided to idle the engine just in case things got sideways. There was shallow water and land downwind of me. After waiting for a pause in the wind gusts, I hoisted the mainsail, started the engine, and then raised the anchor. Ruth Ann drifted back and gradually pointed her bow toward the river. I got back to the helm, steered her away from a couple nearby anchored boats, and never put the engine in gear. I raised a jib and we were on our way. With our destination off to the northwest and the apparent wind was just west of north, it was hard work to get there, tacking five times, but it was wonderful!

I was flying a jib I hadn't used before. About 15 months ago, I traded some soft shackles that I had made and some boatwork advice for a sail that I had offered to buy from my boatyard neighbors. It is larger than my yankee jib and seemed to balance the boat quite well. The shifty wind was blowing about Force 4 and we were flying much of the time. I often have Ruth Ann on a broad reach where we both like it but today we were primarily close hauled. She points so well it is easy to start pinching the wind. I had to remind myself to fall off a bit and get our speed up. We sailed pretty hard today; harder than I have previously. I am so happy. What a way to start the New Year. It’s not a resolution, it’s a New Year’s Revolution: sail, don’t motor; in fact, sail your ass off.

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Image of Ruth Ann and I by my friend Kurt.

Image of me at the helm by Nancy. 

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I Have Failed To Sail

[ Note: It has been an embarassingly long time since I posted to the blog. This post may explain some of why I've been distracted. ]

Well, I have failed to sail. My passage south for the winter has been almost exclusively motoring … again. In my last post, back in October, I proclaimed that I was going to sail as much as possible on the way south. Turns out that has not been possible. Mostly, it’s because the weather this time of year is fickle and stormy. I knew that. Nevertheless, I had an opportunity to hang out with my friend, Vic, in Beaufort, NC and make a little money. Besides doing a bunch of boat work, I did bonfires, beach volleyball, and pub crawling with a bunch of new friends, most half my age. It was a blast. I have no regrets. 

I left Beaufort in mid November and made it down to Mile Hammock Bay, a semi-protected cove adjacent to Camp Lejeune. On the way there, a gale warning was posted for the waters just offshore of my position. I dropped the anchor and hunkered down for what ended up being three stormy days. When the storm was over, my house bank batteries were very low. I ended up getting a slip for the next night at Swan Point Marina in Sneads Ferry to plug in. 

Charged up and itching to get back on my way south, I left Swan Point at first light and made good progress on my way south. I was gunning to jump offshore, but every time I was near an inlet to go out, the weather was not cooperating. Most tempting then was the jump from the Cape Fear River to Charleston, but that stretch only has a couple inlets safe to enter if I had to escape from the weather. We managed to make the short jump from the Cape Fear over to the Little River in South Carolina on a windless day, but a change in the weather was looming. 

I had also been trying to meet up with Kurt, who runs the Sailfar forum. His post in 2019 about a boat for sale had led me to Ruth Ann. I have thanked him, of course, but I wanted to finally meet him and shake his hand. He is in Georgetown and if I had gone outside, the safest route there would have likely been to enter Charleston Harbor and backtrack to Georgetown. In the end, running down the inside put me right near his marina where he had arranged for Ruth Ann and I to stay. We enjoyed four nights plugged in and warm during a cold snap. I had a great time hanging out with Kurt and his watermen friends. 

From Georgetown, I aimed to get down to Beaufort, SC in order to watch the weather and plan a jump from there to Brunswick, GA or Jacksonville, FL. I was back in Factory Creek where I had stopped on my way north. There is a dinghy dock at a town boat ramp and good access to groceries, hardware, and some restaurants. Also on my mind, the consistently overcast weather had taxed my house bank again and I was keen to absorb some sun and bring them back.  

A tight weather window appeared in the forecast, but I didn’t feel I could risk going offshore with such low power in my batteries. I navigate with charts on a tablet and if I was out on the ocean and lost the ability to power or charge my devices, I would have been in trouble. I let the window pass. 

In Factory Creek, I chanced to meet a couple sailors: Gavin on Disconnect, who took the weather window and got to Brunswick with a little excitement near the end. And Doc on Aait Verdan, who I enjoyed hanging out with for a few days. We had dinner aboard his boat, later pizza in town, and several pleasant conversations. 

The next chance to consider sailing offshore was down near Savannah. With no favorable weather in the forecast, I left Factory Creek and headed south again. It took a day and a half to get down to Thunderbolt, outside Savannah, and by the time I had arrived a major storm was brewing and I needed to find a place to hide.  

My original destination was the Herb River, just past the marinas of Thunderbolt, where I had anchored before. However, the forecast called for the winds to swing around during the storm and the narrow river was too small for swinging on anchor. I ended up in a fairly open spot on the Skidaway River.  

The coming gale was going to start with winds out of the south and just before the peak, a shift into the northwest. My storm strategy had to also include that the tides in Georgia are more than 6 ft. Taking this extra depth into account, I ended up with 220 ft of line and chain out in a spot where I could swing all the way around the anchor if need be. 

As the storm approached, I could see lightning over the City of Savannah. Huh, I hadn't had to think about lightning in a while. I am not certain what would happen if Ruth Ann was struck by lightning. Her mast is a 40 ft tall aluminum spar that I re-rigged with Dyneema, a synthetic rope that does not conduct electricity. I started to imagine the possibility that a lightning strike would come straight down the mast and blow a hole in the boat. A sailor has to think a few moves ahead like a good chess player. I decided that if water started to rush into the boat after a lightning strike, I could fairly quickly cut the lines that held my dinghy down on deck and flip it into the water. Of course, I would have to grab the oars for that option to be effective. The oars were hanging from a couple lifeline stanchions on Ruth Ann's starboard rail. In order to keep them from banging around while underway, I had also tied them tightly to the stanchions. The ties would slow me down in an emergency, so I went forward just before the storm and untied them.

I also put my wallet and passport in a dry bag and placed it by the companionway. Just in case.

When the edge of the front rolled through about suppertime, we were slammed with very high winds and torrential rain for about 20 minutes and then it went quiet. Later the wind began to build again and by 10:00 pm we were getting regular gusts into the high 20s. By midnight the gusts were reaching 35 according to the weather app on my phone which was reporting from Savannah about 7 miles up the river. Chances are that I had more wind in my spot nearer to the ocean. At the height of the early storm, I heard one of the oars fall out of the loop that held it on the stanchion. I was afraid I might lose it during the storm, so I climbed out of the companionway and stumbled forward in the wind and rain to pull both the oars back into the cockpit and secure them. Losing even one oar would have been like losing the engine to a car. 

I had managed to sleep a little but by the time the storm reached its peak, I got up again, put on some wind pants and sea boots, and just sat reading and listening to the howling wind. I needed to be ready to go help Ruth Ann if she needed me. The gusts must have been approaching 40 by then. 

The difference between a Squall where the winds are steady but high, and this kind of a storm with massive but intermittent gusts, is that as the boat wallowed around at anchor, a blast of wind would often catch Ruth Ann from the side, beam on. She would lean over, healing as if we were sailing; a somewhat disconcerting feeling at anchor. Ruth Ann probably never got further than 10 degrees off of vertical but when you're sitting inside with all the hatches closed, in the howling wind and rain, any sudden lean feels quite large.

It's amazing what you can sleep through after 3 hours of gusts over 35. By 2:30 or so, the winds had dropped and the gusts were back into the mid 20s and I slept at least 4 hours. When I finally woke and got out of bed again, the gusts were still reaching the high teens, but I made breakfast and knew that we had, and would, survive. At 10:30, I dressed, went forward to haul enough anchor line to undo the bridle, and to collect the kellet that I had deployed. A kellet is a weight on the anchor line about halfway toward the anchor. It helps the anchor hold and dips the anchor line below the keel when the boat is swinging around. Once that was all aboard and the lines coiled, I started the engine, hauled the rest of the anchor line, and began my trip south again. After a rocky night at anchor, I knew the seas offshore were going to be rough for at least another day, so I continued down the ICW on the inside. 

Two days later, I had thought I was running from some more weather in Georgia. I dropped anchor behind Jekyll Island to stop for a couple hours to time the tide going across St. Andrews Sound. When I checked the weather, I suddenly discovered it was now going to be worse in Florida. I spent the night there in the precarious spot where I hadn’t planned to stay, but made a reservation at a nearby marina for Saturday and Sunday, the worst of the coming storm. Another storm system with another windshift, but I had anchored in a spot that wasn’t safe enough to be long term.  

The next day, I moved my arrival at the marina up to Friday.  As Thursday wore on, the weather continued to build, the forecast changed rapidly, and I realized I needed to move. I called the marina to see if they had a spot for me that afternoon. When they did, I set to work. 

With wind in the 20s and gusts pushing toward 30 knots, I went forward to haul the anchor by hand; I have no windlass. After dragging us a few yards, I went back to the helm and put some forward throttle on. With that help, I managed to wrangle the anchor back aboard and started moving toward the marina. The dock attendants were talking to me on the radio. We were headed to a slip on the inside of their facedock. I had hoped for some wind shadow from the trees and buildings around the marina, but I managed to swing Ruth Ann into the slip in the stiff breezes anyway. We bumped the finger pier lightly on the way in, but I wasn’t worried about grace or showing off. With that the marina guys helped tie us up and we were safe.

The next day, the marina requested I move over one slip to make room for a catamaran, also hiding from the storm. After the move, I disconnected my flexible solar panels, lowered the dodger, and tied everything down. The dinghy got an extra strap of line and I tied some extra dock lines. We were as prepared as we could be. 

At one point, the forecast had called for gusts toward 50 knots. In the end, we probably had no more than forty there. The biggest impact was the changing wind direction, again. The wind started out of the east and backed around to the northwest. If I had stayed in that first spot, we’d have surely been blown up onto the gravel beach there. I was stuck at the marina for five days. 

I am done. I have no more patience for this weather and I think January will be similar. My plan now is to run down to Green Cove Springs, upriver from Jacksonville. I’m going to stay a few weeks for the fickle weather of this transition season to pass. Once the weather settles, I’ll plan to get back out and head further south. Hopefully, I’ll finally be able to actually sail. 

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Postscript: I am uploading this from the free dock at Sisters Creek, east of Jacksonville. I was going to sleep in this morning because it was going to be cold. It hovered around forty degrees all night. At 3:30 this morning the wind changed direction and we were getting rocked around. I ended up making breakfast before sun up and as soon as it was light, I started moving. It was too fitting not to include. 

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