August 3, 2007
Apalachicola, FL
Our Track Across the Gulf
Monday, I picked up my Westsail buddy, Pat Tilson, at the Tampa International Airport. He flew in from New Hampshire to check on his own Westsail, Shaboom, and to help me voyage Nereus over to the “final resting place” in Alabama. I spent the afternoon helping him replace the batteries on his boat and returned home to Vanessa, as she wanted to help me do some last minute provisioning. Nereus is stocked with more than any sailor could imagine eating or drinking. After we loaded the provisions aboard, I stood on the dock and wept. What has become of our boating lives? I feel as if we have not been faithful to ourselves, our boat, or our past adventure.
Realization has set in that this is a very difficult thing I am doing; it is emotionally, mentally, and physically draining me. My pride and joy has become a red-headed step child. I just want to put it in a safe place, where it is out-of-sight, out-of-mind, and out-of-danger, so I can concentrate on what I need to do to put us in a position where I can take it back and give it and our cruising lifestyle the attention it deserves – whenever that will be.
So, off I go. What makes this trip even harder is that my crew is not coming with me. I am completely devastated that Vanessa and Binga are staying behind. On the bright side, I am honored Pat volunteered to go. There is comfort knowing I am taking a fellow Westsailor and experienced voyager with me. With Nereus ready to go, we drove to Tampa to retrieve Pat. Then, Vanessa dropped us off at the boat – the moment of final decision. After that moment, we were committed and there was no turning back.
I said my fair-wells to Vanessa, wept again at the thought of traveling with out my family; feeling alone and dejected. Vanessa was fine, but worried about the weather. Thunderstorms were in the air and the weather predictions were not good, but the die was cast and motions set in place that solidified our purpose.
Entering the Gulf at Egmont Key (Tampa Bay)
Tuesday night was my last night at Twin Dolphin Marina, quite possibly the finest marina establishment I have ever had the pleasure of making berth. Pat and I spent the night aboard like two gentlemen waiting for morn. It came, delivering a fine Thunderstorm to our doorstep. We woke early, but left Twin Dolphin late, to let the storm pass by. Then, at 6:53 a.m. on Wednesday, August 1, 2007, we departed Twin Dolphin and headed west down the Manatee River for the Gulf of Mexico. It rained the whole way.
The rain let up as we entered lower Tampa Bay. We sailed out the channel passed Egmont Key and entered the sunny Gulf on weak winds and rolling seas. But it wasn’t all fun and sun as we continued to watch storm systems grow all around us and one-by-one unfold as the moisture condensed into rain and the clouds fell apart from inside out. And that became our day as we continued to dodged storms at sea.
Clouds falling apart into rain
Then, it happened. With as many squalls as we saw, we knew it was only a matter of time before we would have our turn. With a giant line of grey squall ahead, there was no way we could possibly miss it. As a preventative measure, we decided we should reef (shorten) our main sail in anticipation. I was already not feeling well. I came to this trip with some sort of sinus disturbance that was leaving me a few cards short of a full deck. I knew ahead of time that my equilibrium was off and took Dramamine to compensate. It didn’t work and after getting swung around tucking the reef into main sail, I walked to the cockpit, leaned over the side, and at 6:11 p.m., puked my guts out! This would be the beginning of the end for me.
We continued sailing into the night. I went below to take my place on the cabin floor – the lowest place in the boat with the least movement. There I would stay, trying to sleep, trying to maintain, until my watch started at 10:00 p.m. Funny thing was the storm front broke up and we only received a few sprinkles from it. All that misery for nothing.
Trying to maintain
Back on deck, I tried to maintain best I could on my watch. With the sinus thing, ensuing headache, sea-sick stomach, and general pitiful feeling, I spent my watch laying down on deck and steering by compass. I’d pop my head up every few minutes to look around, but with all the bad weather in the Gulf of Mexico, no one else was out there. We were completely alone – hitting something was highly unlikely. Maintaining my well-being was top priority.
My night watch was from 10:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. In my state, I had no sense of time and just kept sailing. Pat awoke at 2:30 a.m. just as I managed to sail straight into a squall. I am sure you have heard about sideways rain, where the wind blows hard enough the rain doesn’t fall, it blows sideways. Well in this squall, there wasn’t much wind, but it rained so hard, I have now coined the phrase “Upside-down Rain.” There was so much water, the rain drops seemed to fall up. I only had on a light foul weather jacket and the rain managed to find its way all the way up under neath it, soaking my clothes to my shoulders. I have never seen anything like it. It felt as if Nereus was temporarily a submarine and we were sailing underwater! The noise was enough to wake Pat, who came on deck and took the helm as I returned to my place on the cabin floor – on my back, wedged in so I wouldn’t roll around any more than necessary.
Yesterday, all I could do was lay down, either down in the cabin, or up on deck. Around 7:45 p.m. I awoke on the cabin floor in a cold sweat, feeling clammy, delirious, and feverish. At that point, I knew I was suffering from more than sea sickness with my sinuses winning the “sicker” sickness game over my mal-de-mer. I knew I had to get off the Gulf. I charted a course for Government Cut on St. George’s Island, in the elbow of the Florida panhandle near Apalachicola. At 33 nautical miles, it was the closest place where we would find refuge. It would take us seven and a half hours to get there.
It was a long seven and a half hours. At 10:00 p.m. when I came on watch, Pat sat with me awhile to make sure I was going to be alright and not do something stupid, like throw myself overboard. I wasn’t so sure I’d make it, as I began smelling dead fish – an odor not helpful to my situation.
“Are we sailing through red tide, or something?” I asked. I continued to lay on my back on deck, feeling completely out of it. I though I was hearing things along with smelling dead fish. Then, I realized a flying fish was flopping around on deck. I sat up long enough to find it between my feet. I grabbed the slimy bastard by the wing and pitched him back overboard. “Man, I never knew live flying fish smelled so bad. They smell like rotten dead fish. Does that mean even alive, they aren’t fresh?”
At that point Pat nodded, deciding I would manage fine on my own, and went below for some shut eye. I wasn’t so sure of my abilities and my lack of good judgement at the flying fish thing didn’t reassure me. I continued to drive hard toward Government Cut. I needed to get in. I knew I was suffering from more than sea sickness. At one point, the moon came from behind a cloud and shed light on the seas I was sailing in. What I saw were seas so big, I should be doubled over the side with a serious case of vomitosis. But, I wasn’t sea sick anymore, I just felt like crap.
Then, the hallucinations began. I kept hearing things in the water off the starboard beam. In the green glare from the starboard navigation light, I’d see strange manifestations in the water.
“Banshees!” I thought to myself. The water, in that green light had a funny glow. Then, the banshees would shoot through the water and explode in swirling torrent of splashing wave.
“What the hell!” For a moment, I was actually scared. “The banshees are coming for me. I’m going to die! Good by Vanessa. My sweet little Binga. I love you both!” Then, just before my final moment where I was sure The Flying Dutchman would appear out of the waves and Davey Jones himself would step aboard to take me to the underworld, a glowing banshee swooped along side Nereus and shot out of the water in a tremendous display!
“Well, crap!” I exclaimed, realization setting in of what was going on around me. “They aren’t banshees. They’re friggin’ dolphins,” I declared, felling somewhat relieved, chuckling to myself as if I knew it all along.
Apparently, plankton must like the green light on the starboard side. I had noticed the bio-luminescence in the boat wake. These nutrient rich waters and my starboard green light were continuing to attract flying fish (and their smell) and the dolphin came to feed on the flying fish. Once I became comfortable with the banshee-like dolphins in the water, I began to enjoy watching the flying fish skip across the wave tops and the dolphins swooping in to catch them. What a feast! They fished along side for more than an hour. When Pat came on watch, they caught him by surprise.
“What the hell was that?!”
“Oh, it’s just a pod of dolphins feeding the green light,” I answered as if it were no big deal and it was just a normal, everyday thing. I, of course, forgot to mention how I’d thought they were banshees coming to take me to Davey Jones’ Locker.
Feeling much better on the way across Apalachicola Bay
It was late and the weather began to ease. Government Cut lie ahead and, with the aid of good charts, was easy to navigate this late at night (or early in the morning, how ever you look at it). We motored over to Apalachicola’s upper anchorage and dropped the hook at 5:40 a.m. Then, I dropped dead in my bunk.
After spending all of today trying to recover, we moved to town to find a dock to tie to.
“Westsail 32 in the boat basin, this is Lucky Star!” The VHF radio blared.
“This is Westsail Nereus, over.”
Charlie’s Dock in Apalachicola – an old Oyster processing plant.
“There is no place for you there to tie up. But, I know your boat. I’ve been on hull number one. Come around on the river. You can tie up at my dock if you want. I have no services, but it’s free for you to use.”
“Terrific. We are completely self contained, so we don’t need any services. Plus your price is right. After our 46 hours on the Gulf, we are much obliged!”
“Come on ‘round,” the radio belted back. “I’ll meet you there help you tie up.” When we located the dock, a very unassuming man with a dirty tee-shirt, worn jeans, crooked eye, and a ball cap met us. “Name’s Charlie,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“We can’t thank you enough for letting us tie up here after the time we had on the Gulf,” I said, relaying our tales of sickness, bad weather, and up-side-down rain.
The elegant Gibson Inn, Apalachicola, FL
“Well, I am just trying to pay back a little of what this town did for me. I came here twenty-five years ago from Atlanta and these were the nicest people I’ve every met. I just decided to stay,” Charlie stated in a fine southern drawl. “This dock ain’t much, but you can stay here as long as you want. And don’t let anybody give you any problems about it. I own half this town. If you have any trouble, tell ‘em to talk to Charlie. And if you want to join me, I’ll buy you boys a drink over at the Gibson Inn.”
“Thanks for everything, Charlie. I think I’ll pass on the drink, though. I am going to get some more rest.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he replied.
Apalachicola – nice people, nice place. I’m feeling better already. Everything is going to be fine.
– Steve