Foreword. The plan is to take the
boat south in the fall and lay it up for the ski season. In the spring, we'll put the boat back in
commission and spend May and June touring the Florida Keys
and the Bahamas. Then we'll travel north
so as to miss most of the hurricane season.
This is the log of the trip from New Jersey to Florida.
Tuesday, October 6,
1998. We awaken early to some strong gusts of wind
out of the northeast. This does not
sound good for an offshore passage, but perhaps it won't be too bad. We do the last minute chores that precede a
big trip and get underway. When we get
out in Barnegat Bay, it's clear that the offshore run is in question. The wind is stronger, and the seas have
already built to a couple of feet in the bay.
By the time we've bumped our way down to the BI light, I've found that
Ambrose is reporting 5‑foot seas.
So it will be inland to at least Little Egg Inlet.
From
inside Little Egg Inlet, I can have a firsthand look at the ocean. It doesn't look good. A center console fisherman is taking quite a
beating in the seas. So we stay inland
and make our way down the intracoastal to Atlantic City. At Atlantic City, we take a run at Absecon Inlet. We don't even clear the breakwater when the
seas are hitting us. It is rough and
uncomfortable. We turn around and get
out of the maelstrom. In years past, the
small cove opposite the Coast Guard station has provided a snug anchorage. But not this time. When we head into the cove, we find a narrow
channel marked by numerous daybeacons.
The further into the cove we go, the shallower it gets. Soon we're clearing the bottom by
inches. I find a spot just a bit wider
than the boat is long and we turn around.
Back in deep water, we eye the flats just north of the Coast Guard
Station. This is a fair anchorage in
good weather, and there is a boat anchored there now, but the strong wind and
the strong current make us nervous. So
there's nothing left but to take a slip at Farley State Marina. I object to this on the grounds that they
charge $1.50 per foot, but today we'll do it.
So here we are, tied up and washed down by 3:00 PM. We go in to the casino and lose a little
money, and have dinner at the buffet, which is the best deal in town. Snow crab legs, roast beef, seafood, etc., is
all available for $10.50 per person.
Wednesday, October 7,
1998. Atlantic City to C&D Canal. The
wind blew all night, but it has shifted from the northeast to the southeast and
has diminished a lot. We get an early
start in the hopes that we can make up some time today. We're not sure what the seas will be like,
but if they're as bad as yesterday, we'll just drop the hook and wait another
day. Outside the inlet, the rollers are
still rolling in from the northeast, but they've lost a lot of their
punch. With the wind now at right angles
to them, they should continue to dissipate.
We start south toward Cape May, but the rolling is not comfortable. The Amberjack has much better lateral
stability when on plane, so this is an ideal excuse to get up and go. We average 20 knots with a relatively good
ride down the coast.
When
we're through the Cape May Canal, a strange sight greets us. Delaware Bay is quiet. It's quiet because the current is flooding
upriver and the wind is blowing in the same direction. I know this happy situation is likely to last
only a couple of hours 'til the tide changes.
So we go back on plane and by 2:00 PM we're rounding the bend into the C&D
Canal. The interesting thing on this leg
is the large number of large yachts traveling the same route. In fact, there are boats from a 24‑foot
sailboat to a 100 foot Oceanfast headed up the Delaware to the C&D. We tie up at the bulkhead in Chesapeake City
and watch the parade of boats into the cove.
Thursday,
October 8, 19". Chesapeake City to Saint
Michaels. Yesterday's fast running has
taken its toll on our fuel supply, so we stop at Sheaffers to refuel. As we're preparing to leave, it begins to
rain. A rather large system is
accompanying a cold front across the region and we'll have rain all day
today. The trip down the Elk River is
uneventful, but when we near the mouth of the Sassafras, the wind picks up out
of the southeast and I fear we are in for some rough seas. This fear is borne out when we round Worton
Point. The seas are building to four
feet and it is a rough ride. I divert to
the east and try to get in the lee of the eastern shore. This strategy helps and the ride is bearable
down to Tolchester. Just below Tolchester, we have to angle back out
into the bay to avoid the shoals off Swan Point north of Rock Hall. The peak wind gusts are hitting 30 mph, and the current is running 2
knots exactly opposite to the
wind. Every so often, we get three or
four seas that are about eight feet high and 16 feet apart. The bow of the boat is tossing gear up and
down like a bucking bronco. It's too
much to keep pounding into this! I start tacking back and forth across the
channel to ease the impact of the seas.
When we're far enough south, I put the Amberjack up on the shoals. Water depth here is 9 to 10 feet, and I
figure that really steep and nasty seas cannot be sustained in such shoal
water. My theory works, and we're able
to get on toward Kent Narrows with just moderate seas. By the time we have to go back into deep
water, we're in the lee of Kent Island, and the worst is over.
We
take the new channel into the Narrows and, after a few minutes wait for the
bridge, we head down Prospect Bay. The
seas in Eastern Bay are nothing like what we've just been through, and they get
progressively smaller until we pull into Saint Michaels in calm waters. We find a spot on the bulkhead of the
Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum that is precisely 2 feet longer than the
Amberjack. It's a good thing the waters
are quiet! We walk over to the Crab Claw restaurant and ease the pains of the
day with a crab and lobster feast.
Friday,
October 9, 1998. Layover at St. Michaels.
Yesterday, during the rainstorm, the forecasters promised a bright and
sunny day today. This morning, they're
calling for heavy overcast, drizzle and showers. We decide to take a lay day and get some
laundry and chores done. This, combined
with a walking tour of the museum takes up a good part of the day.
Saturday, October 10,
1998. Saint Michaels to Solomons. It's gray again this morning. The wind is out of the northwest. The low from two days ago is gone, but the
back end lingers. Will it ever get warm
and sunny again? As soon as we leave the
harbor at Saint Michaels and head out into Miles River, the wind driven seas
hit us. They're out of the northwest,
which is common for the autumn. We
bounce our way up into the Eastern Bay.
There, it gets a little easier as we get in the lee of Kent Island. Once we get into the Bay proper, the seas are
rough, but not impassable. We angle
across the bay, kind of heading up toward Annapolis, and get into the lee of
the western shore. From there, we head
down bay. The following seas vary from
very large to almost calm. We round Cove
Point and Drum Point and are soon anchored in the harbor at Solomons.
Sunday,
October 11, 1998. Solomons to Norfolk. There is a sunrise this morning! It's the
first we've seen the sun since we left Forked River. We get an early start, for this is going to
be a long day. It's 80 nautical miles
from Solomons to Norfolk and we intend to do it today. As soon as we get out of the Patuxent and
into the Bay, the ever present following seas are with us. We rock 'n roll, and yaw 'n veer all
day. The passage is worst across the
mouth of the Potomac, where the seas from the river are meeting the seas from
the bay.
Fortunately,
as the day grows long, the wind gradually dies.
By the time we pass Thimble Shoals and enter the harbor at Norfolk, the
seas are docile. We find the anchorage
at Mile Zero, in the heart of Norfolk, and drop the hook.
Monday, October 12,
1998. Norfolk to Coinjock. We don't have a destination in mind, but I
have a goal to make 60 to 80 nautical miles per day. This will get us down to Fort Myers a few
days before the end of the month. I can
use those few days to get the boat ready for lay‑up. There are a half dozen bridges in the Norfolk
area, and they all have a rule that they don't open between the hours of 7:00
and 9:00 on weekday mornings. So we
decide to fuel the boat in the morning, and hit the bridges as soon after 9:00
as we can. The fueling goes well, and we
approach the first bridge, a railroad bridge, which is usually open. As we approach, the bridge goes down. 0h, well, we'll wait for the train. There is no train. A call to the bridge informs us that there is
a problem with the lift mechanism, and it will be at least 20 minutes until
they can raise the bridge. We wait patiently, and the bridge finally
goes up. The bridge just south of it, an auto
bridge, tells us to group together. By
now there are five of us, three power boats and two sailboats. The bridge tender wants us all together so
that it will minimize the time the bridge is up. As soon as we're all through, he radios the
next bridge with the quantity and type of boats. Sailboats, of course, travel at slower speeds
than a power boat. So all the power
boats get to the next bridge only to find that they have to wait for the
sailboats. Somewhere along the way,
these bridge folk have forgotten that the deal was to give river traffic the
right of way. If the road traffic was to
have right of way, they should have built the bridge higher so it didn't have
to be lifted.
We
creep along, from bridge to bridge. The
next railroad bridge is down so they can inspect the rails. It is a long and slow transit. We finally arrive at Great Bridge, where
there is not only a bridge, but also a lock.
And these guys only open once on the hour. This doesn't bother us, as we're stopping to
do some shopping. We leave the lock at
noon and tie to the bulkhead between lock and bridge. So far, we've made 10 nautical miles in three
hours.
We
catch the 2:00 PM opening of the bridge and get underway. There are still 3 bridges between us and the
relative freedom of the sounds and rivers of North Carolina. Each of these bridges has an opening on the
hour and the half hour. Somehow, we get
through them, racing here and sitting there.
We start down the intracoastal at our own preferred pace, which is 8.5
knots. We work out of the Virginia Cut
into the Landing River, and from there into Currituck Sound.
There
is a certain etiquette to traveling the ICW.
When you overtake a slower boat, it is good form to pass them with
minimum wake, which of course means you must slow down. The overtaken boat can make things a lot
easier if they also slow to minimum speed, permitting the operation to take place
much more swiftly. Another aspect, which
many slower boats don't understand, is that the slower boat should hustle over
behind the passing boat. Once the slower
boat is inside the wake of the passing boat, that boat can go back to making a
big wake. So many times, I would pass a
slow boat, only to have the slow boat hold their position at the edge of the
channel, making me run slow for what seems to be forever. If they are throwing a considerable wake,
meeting boats should also reduce their wake.
I also try to reduce the wake for any anchored boats, although this is
sometimes hard to do when they're hiding behind a bank or tree.
I'm
looking for a place to drop the hook for the night, but finding a good
anchorage with a place to take a dog ashore is nigh impossible. We take a slip at Coinjock on the ICW
canal. The marina here is nice, with a
courtesy van, a swimming pool, and a well stocked ship's store. It is in the middle of nowhere, however.
Tuesday, October 13,
1998. Coinjock to Oriental. We get an early start from Coinjock and
continue down the canal to Albemarle Sound.
The crossing of Albemarle is very calm and soon we're in the Alligator
River. There is a long canal (28 miles)
connecting to the Pungo River at Belhaven.
The Pungo connects with Pamlico Sound.
Then it's back into tight waters to the Neuse River. A short run up the Neuse brings us to
Oriental, NC.
Oriental
provides two free slips at the head of the harbor and we're fortunate to get
one of these. No water or electric, but
it is convenient for walking Duchess.
Oriental turns out to be a nice little town to visit. There are a couple of restaurants, a small
grocery, and a small marine supply store within two blocks. Other facilities are strung out along the
highway, about a mile away. There are
also several marinas in town. This has
been our longest run of the trip. 130
statute miles in one day. Obviously,
much of this was done at planing speed.
Wednesday, October 14,
1998. Oriental to Topsail Island. We leave Oriental with just a gentle breeze
from the northwest. By the time we're in
the middle of the Neuse River, the seas are rolling us in a way to remind us of
the stories we've heard about how nasty this river can be. When we leave the Neuse, we leave the last
big water on the trip. From here on,
it's all canal and river. We stop at Morehead City and fill up. The price of 66 cents per gallon makes me
happy, but when all the taxes
and other stuff are added in, it comes to more like 74 cents per gallon. This is still a lot better than the $1.50 in
Vermont or even the dollar a gallon in New Jersey.
We
continue through Bogue Sound, which is several miles wide and 20 miles long,
but which is only a foot or two in depth.
The only deep part is the dredged channel of the ICW. At this point, we pass within a few miles of
Ellis Simon Lake. This lake is on all
the maps. When we passed through the
area in May, I tried to get to the lake.
It was impossible with a car that you value. I went to the library to find out what the
reason was for the name. The library was
a branch of the county system and that branch didn't have the resources to
answer the question. I'll have to go to
the main library and see if they can find the answer.
Aftemoon
overtakes us and we're not near any convenient anchoring area. There is a convenient marina, however, so we
take a slip for the night. The area is
called Topsail Island, because in the 1700s merchant ships kept a lookout for
the topsails of pirates waiting behind dunes to ambush them. The marina is vast and isolated. They provide a courtesy van for people to use
to get to the marina office. The van can
also be used for transport to nearby stores, etc., but we don't need to do
this.
Shortly
after we tie up, another Mainship 40 pulls into the marina. After dinner, we get together and compare
notes. Judy and Jerry are having trouble
with one of their Perkins diesels. It is
leaking water into the crankcase. They
decide to continue on one engine to their home in Marathon, Florida.
Thursday, October 15,
1998. Topsail Island to Myrtle Beach. While I'm walking Duchess, A Coast Guard
announcement comes over a distant radio.
A bridge on the intracoastal is malfunctioning and will be closed for 24
hours. This produces a minor panic. I don't know what bridge it is, and whether
we are stuck. I turn on the radio, but
the airways are full of others asking the same question. What bridge was that? Several anxious minutes
go by until the message is repeated.
It's the bridge into Surf City, NC.
The last bridge we went under before quitting yesterday. We're good to go. Later in the day, the Coast Guard announces
that repairs will take longer and the bridge will be closed for 48 hours.
We
cruise past Wilmington and Wrightsville Beach and continue past Cape Fear. Later we cross into South Carolina. This is cause for minor celebration. We've been in North Carolina for four days. Just north of Myrtle Beach, there is a
factory outlet center called Barefoot Landing.
This center provides more than a 1000 feet of floating dock for the
convenience of visiting boaters. There
is no charge for tie‑up. There is
no water or electric either, but the price is right. Jerry and Judy arrive in their Mainship 40
and we all get together with John and Sandy from the "Wandering Star" and go out to dinner.
Friday, October 16,
1998. Myrtle Beach to Georgetown. This stretch of the ICW is called the
rockpile because it is narrow, overgrown, and edged with rock. Great care is exercised and no incidents
occur. Afternoon finds us in Georgetown,
SC. We join other boats at anchor in the
harbor and I explore the town a little.
This is another waterfront town that is recreating itself. The waterfront is a mass of decaying pilings
and buildings. They have very cleverly
built a boardwalk above the messy area, giving access to the waterfront where
it was formerly impossible. This
boardwalk connects with the main street by a number of small parks. It's a nice town to visit, but the basics,
grocery, liquor, hardware, marine, are not nearby.
Saturday, October 17,
1998. Georgetown to Charleston. We leave Georgetown and head for
Charleston. Charleston is one of our
more favored stops, and there are several marinas which are close to downtown,
so we get a slip. The marina provides
transportation to the grocery store and I get to do the shopping. There is a large produce market right next to
the grocery, but I find that I can't visit two stores. Without a car, there is no way to secure the
groceries while entering a second store.
So I call the marina and have them pick me up. Later, Marilyn went to "Marketplace," an open air roofed over area. She
was interested in purchasing a sweet grass basket. These are woven baskets produced by local
residents of the Charleston area. She
came back empty‑handed. They were
far too pricey.
Sunday, October 18, 1998. Charleston to Isle of Hope. The weather looks pretty good today, and the
exit to the ocean is not too long, so we decide to make the run to Savannah
River outside. Charleston harbor has two
long jetties that extend well out to sea.
When we get between the jetties, we find seas opposing the outflowing
current. The harbor has a large volume
of water, and the current is running 2 knots.
The incoming waves are chopping up into short high seas. Soon we're pitching wildly. I can look over the jetty and see relatively
calm seas, but there is nothing I can do until we run the gauntlet.
We exit the maelstrom and turn to the
southwest. The seas are quieter, but
they're still rough. 3 to 4 foot
following and quartering seas make the Amberjack wallow and roll. Nothing to do but get up on plane again. A couple of hours later, we're off the
entrance to the Savannah River. The
transition from ocean to river is an easy one, and soon we've rejoined the
ICW. Since we're early, we continue
on. I want to refuel in Thunderbolt, ten
miles south of Savannah River, but when I get there, none of the marinas give
me a warm feeling. Terminally rusted
fuel pumps tend to make me think the tanks may not be that good either. I decide to wait and refuel a little further
along.
We go another ten miles or so and it is getting
late. The Isle of Hope Marina in the
town of the same name comes up, and we pull in for the night.
Monday, October
19, 1998. Isle of Hope to St. Simons Island. The origin of the name of this town has been
lost to history. In a brief run around
town I discover a lovely old southern town.
There is absolutely no commercial activity. The homes near the waterway are complex and
meticulously maintained. They look to be
a hundred years old, but they've been added to and expanded over the years so
that they take up most of the property.
Another area is intriguing with old southern bungalows set far back from
the road under a canopy of cypress trees with the ever present Spanish moss.
Today's travel takes us through the Georgia
marshes. Great sweeping turns around
miles and miles of marsh grass. The
tides are large, and the currents swift.
Most of the time, the currents are with us and we make good time. This is some relief to the captain. I've made an error in judgment in not
refueling at Thunderbolt. I'm sure we
have adequate fuel to reach our next stop at St. Simons Island, but there is
something disconcerting about watching the fuel gauge point to empty. We have about 60 miles of marshland to
traverse with nary a fuel dock in sight.
We put in to the Golden Isles Marina and go straight
to the fuel dock and take on 220 gallons of fuel. The tank capacity is 300 gallons with perhaps
280 gallons useable, so there was little need to worry.
Tuesday,
October 20, 1998. St. Simons Island to St. Augustine. The time has come to change engine oil, so it
will be a late departure today. The
marina has a courtesy car, so Marilyn takes a drive to do some food shopping
while I change oil and filters. This job
goes with a minimum of spills and mess and we're ready to travel again by late
morning.
We depart at noon, bound for St. Augustine. This leg of the trip will be outside, as the
exit and entry are both relatively short and easy. Just as with Charleston, the current out of
the sound is running against the seas and there is considerable chop. Once we clear the sound, the ride is
relatively comfortable. I put the
Amberjack up on plane and we travel past Fernandina Beach and
Jacksonville. The weather people are
calling for a cold front to pass through.
They don't expect much in the form of precipitation, but they do expect
strong winds right into the weekend. As
the afternoon wears on, the steady northeast wind builds a following sea that
is not much fun.
The inlet at St. Augustine
is short and straight, but as is the case with so many inlets, it is
uncharted. A large yacht is feeling its
way in, and fortunately, two sportfishermen come toward the inlet
at great speed. I assume these are
locals and elect to follow them in. The
seas are now six feet with occasional higher crests. The Amberjack is doing 19 knots and the seas
are moving right along with us. The boat
is not easy to control in these conditions.
I glance at the depth indicator and it says 6 feet! This is not good!
Not good at all. Fortunately, it drops
back down to 10 feet and stays there. I
push the throttles wide open and we go to 22 knots, which makes the boat more
manageable. The overheat alarms go off
when the engines are run wide open, but they'll just have to sound. Within a very long minute, we're into quiet water
and it's all over. At the fuel dock, I
find that the two "locals" are from New Jersey. I ask one skipper what he read for depth
coming over the bar. "I was too
busy running the boat to look." he replied.
St.
Augustine is a very good port of call.
We've taken a slip in the city marina, right at the edge of the downtown
area. A short walk puts you in the
middle of all the shops and museums. The
statue of Ponce DeLeon is right at the center of town, as is the old slave
market. A short walk to the north is the
old Spanish castle, which dates back to the fifteen hundreds. It started with a moat and drawbridges. Later, as the technology of war improved, the
moat was filled in and used as cannon emplacements. One peculiarity of this installation is a
shot furnace. The cannon balls were
heated to red hot in inclined racks above the fire. They were then carried to the guns and fired
at the enemy ships. A direct hit not
only inflicted impact damage, it started fires as well.
Wednesday, October 21, 1998. St. Augustine to New Smyrna
Beach. The advertised cold front has passed through,
and the wind is doing 20 to 30 mph out of the northeast. This is not a day to travel outside. I have heard all sorts of stories about no
wake zones in Florida, so I'm expecting a slow ride south. It's a pleasant surprise to find that the
intracoastal is not restricted very much at all. To protect the manatees, there is a nearly
global 30‑mph speed limit, but we can't go that fast anyway. Most boats that are docked along the waterway
are kept on lifts above the water. This
protects the vessel from passing wakes and keeps nasties from growing on the
bottom. So, for the most part, we're
able to run at any speed we choose, up to 20 knots.
Along
the waterway, we encounter boats that are new to me. At a distance, I see a person standing and
moving across the water at a good speed.
It would look like the original jet ski, but binoculars show that the
vessel is behind the person. As we draw
closer, we can see that the boats are normal 14 to 20 foot outboards. The difference is that the control console is
right up in the very bow. The operator
is cast net fishing. What they're
fishing for, I don't know. They throw a
circular net which is about 15 feet in diameter. Whatever their quarry is, they stand in the
bow of the boat so they can see the fish and so that they can throw the
net. Then they gather in the net and
churn off to throw it again. At one
point, there were dozens of these boats flitting around.
I'd expected to get to the Daytona area, but we're making such good time, we continue to New Smyrna Beach. Here, there is a side channel that is a good anchorage. We drop the hook and settle for the night.
Thursday, October
22,1998. New Smyrna Beach to Vero Beach. The
anchorage has a small beach on a deserted island. Last night, I took Duchess into this beach
twice. There is a strong current through
the channel, but it is good holding in sand.
In the morning, the wind has picked up again. When I try to take the dog ashore, the
combination of strong wind and current requires some considerable power from
the outboard. At this power level, the
machine falters and nearly dies. I'm
barely able to get upwind of the Amberjack when the engine quits altogether. I grab the rail of the Amberjack as we drift
down on her and call Marilyn to help me get the dink back to the swim platform.
I
had filled the tank on the outboard last night and the gas looked milky. I suspect that it has been contaminated with
rainwater. We decide not to mess with it
in these circumstances and we take the big boat in to a fuel dock to walk the
dog. When we haul anchor, it comes up
clean, but the chain drops dozens of
crabs the size of apple seeds on the deck.
Marilyn spends ten minutes picking them up and returning them to the
water.
The
wind is back to full force as we make our way south past Cape Canaveral. The vehicle assembly building and the two
shuttle launch pads stand out against the eastern horizon. I can't tell which is the one that will take
John Glenn into orbit next week. There
is a railroad bridge that crosses the intracoastal west of the launch
complex. As we approach, the bridge goes
down. A train crosses to the cape. The train is made up of five or six yellow
cars separated by empty flat cars. The
yellow cars do not bear any markings that identify the contents, but you can
bet they don't want a lot of the contents in a small area. The space shuttle is due to lift off with
John Glenn next Thursday, so this may be liquid hydrogen for the rockets. This is one of the new train bridges that we've
seen. There is no operator. The bridge is lowered by the train crew and
it automatically opens when the train gets through.
The
Indian River and other bays in this area are large and open, and the seas that
build with strong winds are 3 to 4 feet, with some larger. We're running on plane and the ride isn't too
bad. Still, it's nice to round a
projection and get in the lee for a while.
Despite the seas, we're again making good time, so we continue to Vero
Beach.
The
municipal marina at Vero Beach is not close to anything. It is about a mile to the nearest convenience
store. They offer moorings at $4.00 per
night, but that won't work very well with a sick outboard. We tie up for the night and in the morning I
get some fresh fuel into the outboard.
This seems to cure its problems.
Friday, October 23,
1998. Vero Beach to Indiantown. Our good progress of the last two days has
made it possible to get onto the Okeechobee Waterway today. We leave Vero Beach and push on. The wind pushes on too, and the number of
fifty and sixty foot sportfishing boats roaring down the waterway makes it
evident we don't want to be offshore.
Finally, we reach mile marker 987 (statute miles from Norfolk), and turn
west into the Okeechobee waterway.
When
we arrive at the first lock, he's lowering the water for us, and soon we're in
fresh water. The locks here function a
little differently from the ones in the New York State system. These locks are filled and emptied by opening
the gates a foot or so, and letting the water pour in or out. Clear of the lock, it's back up on plane
again and we're soon at the Indiantown marina.
We discover another diesel Mainship 40 at the marina and we spend the
evening and part of the next morning comparing notes and seeing what each has
done differently. They are from Canada,
as are many of the boats at Indiantown.
They summer store their boat here and us it in Florida and the Bahamas
in the winter.
We
note some largish turtles and they seem to be begging for food just like ducks
do. Marilyn comments to a nearby
sailboat owner that she hasn't seen any alligators yet. That lady informs her that a four foot
alligator has been circling their boat, stalking their cat. He's hoping the cat will fall in and become
dinner.
Saturday, October 24,
1998. Indiantown to Fort Myers. We awaken to quiet air for the first time in
almost a week. I take Duchess for a walk
and observe the marina operation. This
marina is one of several along the waterway that specializes in storing boats
for the summer. Far enough inland to be
out of the reach of hurricane waters, they're also far enough inland that
hurricane winds are not very probable. The
Indiantown Marina has approximately 50 slips and they have approximately 250
boats in dry storage. When I walk
Duchess, it's like a spring day in New Jersey.
People are getting their boats ready for the season. Bottom paint is in the air, and sanders are
whining. It seems like half the boats
are from Canada. French is spoken as
much as English. This marina is doing
its part for the balance of trade.
Another yard that we pass later in the day has maybe 400 boats in dry
storage. Their only dock would handle
two boats. You get launched, start up
and go. When you come in, you go out
right away.
We drop the lines at 10:00 and go up on plane right
away. We have 105 statute miles to cover
today, and
not
much time. We also have 4 locks to
transit and several bridges to get opened.
The first lock is a dozen miles to the west and lifts us a couple of
feet to the level of Lake Okeechobee.
This lock exits directly into the lake.
Lake Okeechobee is 25 miles long and about 20 miles wide. The eastern half has a depth of about 10
feet. The western half is about 1 foot
deep. There is a canal along the shore
that connects with the Caloosahatchee Canal.
With
the wind out of the east, the eastern side of the lake is quiet. The further to the west we go, the higher the
seas become. By the time we pass into
protected waters, we're in 4 foot following seas. The canal around the edge is protected and
the water is smooth. We come to a moment
of confusion when we arrive at the western shore. The channel goes through a hurricane gate and
lock to the town of Clewiston. The canal
goes at right angles just before the hurricane gate. There is one not easily read sign and no
buoys to help you. The chart is no help,
for the scale is too large to show this kind of detail. We ask a passing boat and get straightened
out. The next dozen miles is pretty,
with dead cypress trees on the starboard and live pines on the port.
We
arrive at the Moore Haven lock and turn west again. The Caloosahatchee Canal becomes the
Caloosahatchee River and at 5:15 PM we pull into the Fort Myers Yacht
Basin. The trip took 19 days, including
one day off in St. Michaels. Total trip miles were 1483 statute or 1289
nautical. Engine hours were 128. Average speed over the entire trip was 10
knots. Fuel consumption was 1350
gallons, which comes to about a mile per gallon.
My
general reaction to the trip is that it's long and tiresome. There is minimum time for touring and
sightseeing and maximum time spent driving the boat. Most of the intracoastal is canal or narrow
waterway and it requires constant attention at the helm. There were only a few times when we could get
on autopilot, and most of those times were in rough seas.
I
was pleased with the travel in Florida waters.
As mentioned earlier, we were able to travel at good speed along nearly
all of the ICW.
Epilogue. October
25 to November 4, 1998 We spend a couple of nights at the Fort Myers town
dock so that Marilyn can spend some time with her mother, who lives a short
walk away. Then we move the boat over to
the Calusa Isles Manna in North Fort Myers. The next week is spent in doing annual chores
on the engines and generator, and on other parts of the boat. On Tuesday, November 4, the boat is hauled
and placed in their large storage shed.
This building, which is constructed of massive steel I‑beams, is
about 300 feet long and houses over 200 boats in inside rack storage. The Amberjack sits at one end, with an Ocean
sportfisherman and several race boats.
On Thursday, November 6, hurricane Mitch passed through the area with
winds of 60 mph.