Exceptionally Lovely Launch from Canaveral

Space has fascinated me, from watching Apollo rockets go up to seeing the first man on the moon on TV to pulling over in a bar in WY to see a space shuttle launch to being in awe at what SpaceX has done with re-useable rocket boosters. And, as I sail south along Cape Canaveral, I love to see the launch structures and rockets standing by the water's edge, lit by floodlights if it is night.

Recently, I went up on deck in Fort Pierce at twilight to see a launch. The skyline in the north lit up with an orange glow like a sodium vapor lamp, then an accelerating orange spark rose in the darkness

until it reached the sunshine. It went out for a few seconds, then smoke blossomed and swirled as the first stage spun around and fired rockets to slow and return, while the second stage lit up and continued on its way (up and left). 

I have never before had the experience of watching this twilight ballet and the beauty and detail was quite lovely. And, amazingly, some of these launches can be seen from the Virgin Islands! What an amazing world we live in!

Anchored at Taylor Creek

 I'm listening to the rattle of rain on the cockpit windows, the hiss of rain striking the peaceful water, here at our favorite Fort Pierce anchorage at the entrance of Taylor Creek. This spot gives us good access to a nice park where I can walk Monty,

a Publix supermarket, and a whole town full of boat related businesses. The downside is road noise, construction noise, and strong currents. What fascinates me at the moment, however, is the interaction of Taylor Creek and the ICW (Intra-Coastal Waterway).

Taylor Creek is fresh water, dark with tannins, and runs into the ICW at nearly a right angle. As the tide changes and current changes direction, the plume of dark water changes direction too. So far, so good.... but I noticed a few days ago that the current was running almost perpendicular to the side of my boat and that sure made me scratch my head. 

You see, my boat has a DEEP keel and always aligns with the current unless there is a STRONG wind. In this case, it was aligning with the ICW, but the current I could see, the Taylor Creek "tea" was running straight into my beam. What's more, on the other side of the boat, nice green salt water showed where an eddy might form in that sort of current. 

Here's what I figure is happening: the fresh, lightweight Taylor Creek water runs out and OVER the salt water.

Probably there is a tongue of salt slowly probing the creek with the changing tides, with the "tea" running perhaps a foot or two deep across the surface of it. When it reaches the ICW it spreads out and runs downhill (whichever way the tide is running is slightly downhill) and eventually spreads out and becomes a thin layer and mixes and conforms to the ICW. 

Sometimes I even see waves break as they strike the "shore" formed by the tea getting shallow and ending: even though the total water is deep, it acts shallow.

What does it matter? Well, understanding the surface currents better has made it far easier to take advantage of them when I row around. And now I comprehend another amazing thing in this wonderful world! 

Merry Christmas!

Today is Christmas... and, while nearly 70degF, is darned cloudy and rainy. That's OK: I will relax, listen to music, nap, eat, and prepare for departure tomorrow or Wednesday. Monty can join in for some of that. 

A few days ago I finally left the mooring field at St Augustine Municipal Marina and the anchorage right in front of the fort and moved a couple miles north, just south of the next bridge. I've been here two days and am delighted. The biggest reason is that, while I'm here with some traffic noise and loads of little boats, at least I don't have cannon fire on the weekends and the incredible amount of light pollution of the city center... AND I have a little beach where Monty can run around without a leash!

A hundred yards away, people are in a stop/start traffic jam on the bridge coming home from Vilano Beach in the late pm while I watch great egrets and listen to bird song and feel hard sand (and sharp oyster shells) under my feet. Pretty nice.

At sunrise, I can row across the river to the Vilano Beach fishing pier, walk a half-mile to the ocean side, and walk the ocean front beach with many other dogs and their leashed people. And there is a Publix supermarket at the 2/3 mark. I'm sure it is all horribly crowded by 10am most days, but early mornings belong to me and a few others....

I hope all is well with all of you on this Christmas day, my friends. May you get all the joy, love, and sunshine you deserve on this day and every one to come...  

Chesapeake to St Augustine, dolphins, light shows, and storms.

Sometimes I feel I'm getting too old for this stuff. After a pleasant week at sea, my final day of wind, waves, noise, anxiety, and little sleep left me with a head stuffed with pain and mental cotton for days. If I had been far offshore and out of the shipping lanes, I could have heaved-to and slept through most of the storm... but I had boats around and fretted about entering St Augustine Inlet.

Why worry about an inlet? WELL.... I've had ones where I could make no headway and the standing waves made it very hard to control the boat. And the current conditions, big waves directly into the entrance, made things even more dangerous unless I rode an ingoing current I could only count on from 3am to 7am.... or 12 hours later: I either needed to do this in pitch darkness or wait hours. On top of THIS, I worried that the wind might not quite allow me to sail in on a single tack...

[>>This article has a good deal about entering inlets: https://www.boatus.com/expert-advice/expert-advice-archive/2016/january/the-ins-and-outs-of-inlets]

So, hugging the windward side of the channel, a dozen gulls I roused from sleep swirling in my light just ahead of the boat, I entered the channel around 4am on a close reach, felt the waves flatten as the current stretched them out, and swept peacefully into the protected waters. We sailed in, keeping a sharp eye out for unlit anchored boats, found my favorite spot PACKED with dark boats, dropped anchor out slightly in the main channel, left lights on to prevent anyone from running into us, and fell into bed with great relief around 4:30... getting up a couple hours later at dawn to move the boat, launch the dinghy, and row Monty to shore for a walk. 

Monty loves St Augustine, being an urban extrovert. I am now pretty much back to normal. Cynthia arrived Tuesday and is catching up on her sleep... although my bed seems to hurt her back... and she and Lucy are very much enjoying walking the town with us and seeing all the amazing architecture... well, Lucy mostly just sniffs it the buildings and lamp posts with Monty.

What did I enjoy about the sailing? Amazing phosphorescence with big embers tumbling in my wake rather than sparks or glowing mist. Numerous cannonball jellyfish swirling in my wake near Jacksonville. Shooting stars leaving luminous trails. Warm days and nights, at last! And numerous visits by dolphins: Monty actually stopped trying to drive them off and just wanted to sniff them. A dolphin in the pool of light at my stern on a quiet night, "sniffing" the stern... or maybe eating little fish... or playing? The blue water of the Gulf Stream. And gliding along in light wind and no waves: perfect conditions don't happen often and we enjoy them when they do.

Monty hoping for land at sunrise...

with dolphins at sunrise.. 

or dolphins blowing spray..

Amazing sunrises and sunsets...

Wind and waves...

Another try? And wonderful sunrises and sunsets in Chesapeake Bay.

Well, “Hello from exactly where I was a week ago!”. 

After Alice, a delightful new friend, offered to bring me a load of groceries from the local Walmart on Sunday 10/22, I raised anchor and sailed out at sunset. The winds, as forecast, were rather unpleasant.... but then became worse and worse and the forecast deteriorated as well. Various weather stations were reporting winds speeds of 30 kts and neither Monty nor I were enjoying ourselves at all. Forecasts told me that things would only get a little better in the next 24 hours and I knew that we'd be utterly miserable in the ocean, so I turned into the wind and fought my way upwind, gaining perhaps a hundred yards per hour, heeling over enough that my galley sink filled nearly full of salt water... By sunrise, things were a tiny bit better and by noon we were suffering from LACK of wind. After spending a night heaved-to, the wind picked up enough to sail a bit and we headed toward Tangiers Island, but the forecasts for THAT said we'd have trouble finding a sheltered anchorage, so we changed course BACK to our former spot and dropped anchor there at 1am.... and were fast asleep by 1:15.

In the morning, with Monty eager for land and water glassy and peaceful, I lowered the dinghy and tossed aboard the anchor line and bungee, then snagged my shoes etc.... and glanced around to see the dinghy twenty feet behind me. In my exhausted state, I had tossed ALL lines aboard. DOH!

SO.... swim? How about tossing in a paddleboard? Yes, but how about simply tying the anchor line to a fender and using the sailboat engine to motor over there? Even better: maybe use the slack 100' of anchor line to allow me to back the sailboat to the dinghy! That worked well! 

Anyway, I'm back in a safe anchorage, recovering, repairing my leaking faucet, jib rip, cracked cockpit surround, etc. Monty is VERY happy to be back and I think the second and third nights out probably helped him [and me] with any PTSD we might have had from the rough first night: always important to get right back on the horse. And I've been meeting folks and swimming in the still-warm water. And there a some interesting "red beard" sponges growing here.

Cold strong winds will arrive Monday evening, along with rain and clouds. When it eases up, November 2, it looks like I'll be able to head south again... and it will be pretty cold and sunny... Thank goodness for an enclosure around the cockpit!

So many wonderful sunrises and sunsets...

And a couple nice moonrise moonsets:

If at first you don't succeed... try sailing south again

After the last post, Monty and I set sail... upwind. The noise of the wind and impact of the waves made things pretty unpleasant, not to mention the strength of the wind dipping our lee deck in the water, not to mention the old vinyl window cracking and letting in the abundant salt spray. After six exhausting hours of fighting... and taking another look at the forecast that said my worst conditions would be at midnight... and looking at Monty's unhappy face [seasick?], I reconsidered and turned back to Dutch Harbor. The sail back took only an hour and a half and, with huge relief, we dropped anchor in the fading daylight and hit the hay. 

The next day, I climbed the mast to check on the masthead and found the forestay was failing. I had been putting off the replacement, but since I had at least five days to kill I tackled the job. I have since climbed the mast at least six times and gone through a lot of grumbling, but finally tightened the stays and raised the jib yesterday, just as the wind started to rise for the storm coming through today. 

And I've gotten a lot of compliments on the boat appearance/character while working on it. I DO enjoy having a boat I've done so much on.... although there IS something to say for a boat you don't need to think about much.

SO... this afternoon I should head out through the fading storm, wind across my beam, racing along at six knots or so, straight for the Chesapeake Bay. Waves should build to about five feet by midnight... although I might skirt Long island to avoid them... then diminish steadily. Winds should max out at 20 knots [at midnight: ugh], then drop. It SHOULD be a simple and fast passage, but you never know. When I get to the Chesapeake I can consider whether to haul out and paint the boat bottom or continue on to NC or even FL. I would really like to get the bottom paint crossed off my list.

I feel sorry for Monty on the long sails,although he does fine. He really enjoys being in a place where he can get to shore twice a day, take a nice walk, and sniff things.

Somehow I don't think he enjoys sunsets, shooting stars, and the rush of water nearly as much as I do. But he sure enjoys a comfortable spot beside me.

Waiting on the wind

"There is a tide..." and I seem to have missed it. Now I'm anchored in Dutch Harbor, waiting on another weather window.... and seeing NOTHING in the next week. Let's rewind a bit....

My engine has given me fits this summer, insisting on leaking fuel from the injection pump. I can attribute this to age and, even more, to my unschooled attempts to improve things. A video I watched in which a fellow tried to reseal his pump terminated with his wry observation "it seems to be leaking from, well, everywhere." He then sighed and said "well, I know better how to fix it and taking things apart the second time should be much faster." So, I was in the same boat: took it apart a couple times, and finally got the leaking down to something reasonable, thank goodness. The worst thing is that I need to drain the coolant and move the exhaust manifold and drop the starter in order to work on the pump. UGH!

I delayed heading south for several reasons, mostly storms and hope of getting to Maine or the wide beaches of Provincetown spit this summer, but time ran out. Finally we had a nice weather window: days of wind from the south that would take me to the NJ coast, then a sudden turn to blow from the west and shoot me down to Delaware Bay or even Chesapeake Bay, a nice chance to visit friends and fam in the DC region and paint the boat bottom, then down to FL before it gets too darned cold.

On Oct 4, departure day, the dockmaster in Onset encouraged me to clean the boat bottom and I decided he was right. Working hard in cold water, surrounded by bait fish, felt GREAT!... although a bit numbing and I had to get out and warm up for a couple hours in the 80deg weather. The second time I went in felt so good that I could not resist finishing up by climbing up the fairly high floating dock dock rather than the easy dinghy.... and I overstressed my leg in the effort. 

After one final walk with Monty, I departed at 1:30pm, when the current became favorable, and sailed/drifted out the Cape Cod Canal and across Buzzards Bay.

Over the next day, my hip-femur joint gradually stiffened up until I walked like a pirate with a peg leg and the wind, supposed to be on my beam, came from ahead such that I could not even clear Block Island. Then darkness fell and fog came in.... so I decided to detour into Narragansett Bay and drop anchor off of Jamestown, RI in a little harbor we've used before. Safe and stable at 9pm, Monty and I went below and fell asleep and slept until sunrise and a warm and delightful day...

That was three days ago. I wrote the previous paragraphs yesterday. My leg feels entirely better. After one more unseasonably warm September/October day things went gray; then cold, windy, and clear. Windy and big waves out in the ocean, yes, but maybe I should head out anyway once the worst has passed.... I'll look at the forecasts.... Hmmm.... possibly, I'll depart today: it looks like the weird and fluctuating winds might allow me to make my way south quite effectively.... Final decision after noon today...

It is nice being back on board, although sometimes stressful. I DO like being back in my home, taking Monty for walks, making some progress on improvements, chatting with nice folks ashore and meeting their dogs,

seeing sunrises

 and sunsets,

listening to the sounds of water lapping at my hull. I sure look forward to warm nights down south and hope I can get there in time to enjoy the Geminid meteor shower under warm, dark skies. And I'd love to learn how to catch shrimp the amateur way this year, without the huge environmental damage of trawlers or farms.