This is not us, rather, it is a shot of the Sans Chibli as we pulled into Apalachicola yesterday. Actually, they pulled in while Calypso and crew blew through town in a hurry to get the anchor down off the eastern end of St George Island in a place marked as "Pilot Harbor" before sunset in order to properly enjoy adult beverages.
As we dropped the hook, there was a light breeze off the Gulf which died away to dead calm later in the evening, and that bodes well for a calmed Gulf after yesterdays fairly brisk winds off the water. Air temperature was such that we were able to sleep without the generator-powered air conditioners running. With the flat calm waters we enjoyed near utter silence broken only by the faint whisper of the muffin fans in the propane-powered refrigerator cabinet. While out on deck giving our emergency locator's GPS receiver a test, I could faintly hear the surf on the other side of the island.
March 10th:
Heavy fog again this morning. Checked over a nice 78-degree engine room this AM, and find conditions as good or better after yesterdays hard-run 90 nautical miles than a little run around our own bay. We are ready for some serious cruisin' now.
We will turn on the marine VHF ship-to-ship radio later on today to listen for call of the Sans Chibli as she steams by after noon to pick us up as their buddy boat for crossing the next 130 nautical (150 statute) miles of open Gulf.
I have been this way a number of times, the first of which was in 1992 with my dearest friends Hank and Ruth Skinner and son Stanford. Their Vendredi was a boat powered, as is Calypso, by a pair of the honest and dependable Ford-Lehman 120 HP diesels. On that trip, we had little to no contact with the outside world in nearly this same spot where I sit typing away on the internet and perusing weather websites. Back then, we got maybe a scratchy voice on the marine VHF weather channel for Tallahassee giving vague information about sea states. We ended up leaving in 3-4 foot head seas and a brisk east wind. Rather than run that rolly boat to Tarpon Springs with a beam sea, we headed eastward 80 miles to Steinhatchee and went to Tarpon the next day in better conditions. I think fondly of Hank and Ruth, my surrogate parents, who fed both my body and soul during some tough times, often is I planned this trip for my own boat.
For those of you lubbers (NOT a pejorative term, just an acknowledgemant of your unfortunate lack of sea experience) out there, I leave you with this bit of verse from John Masefield. This is the way sailors feel about it WELL after experiencing some of the worst the sea can throw at you:
Sea-Fever
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
and the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's faceand a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the sea again,
for the call of the running tide is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the sea again to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trek's over.
With our small vessel, we certainly hope for no such wild but will certainly sleep well tomorrow, but you get the idea.
Well, lunch is finished and here comes the Sans Chibli down the channel, and it's time to go.
Will write more from the "other side."
