Adventures of Green Eyes, The Last Anchorage in Florida, Three Times is a Charm.

 

I was going to write about a milestone recently achieved by the three-being crew of Green Eyes; fifty-five hundred miles on The Great Loop so far. I guess the universe thought I was bragging or big-dealing something, which considering all that is happening in the world while we while away on a little tug boat, isn't a big deal at all. Still, I was going to memorialize the mileage with a pat-on-the-back post. Then we had our last anchorage in Florida, which was a big deal in the Chinese saying sense, May you live in interesting times.

Anchoring in a secluded cove within dingy distance of a white-sand beach, or up a fresh water creek, one so narrow the leaves at the tops of the trees on opposite banks touch in the center to create a lush, living ceiling, or anywhere on a clear, windless night when the moon is full and the stars light up the sky; these are the anchorages we seek. And when we anchor in such places, it always reminds us why our favorite healing thing/relaxing thing/rejuvenating thing is being in nature.

But even in 5500 miles, the majority of anchorages were more practical than pretty. The best anchorages (adequate depth, good anchor holding, plenty of room to swing in wind or current without hitting the shore or other craft) are often crowded with other boats, or they're located near a noisy bridge, or only exist as an icon on navigation charts because a previous boater running out of daylight or needing emergency shelter from a storm saw a marginally okay place to drop the hook. And believe me, those icons are much appreciated as reliable safe havens in a pinch. But they aren't worth writing home about for their beauty. So, even though anchoring makes us feel young and adventurous, most nights find us docked at a marina. The showers and laundry are convenient and there is usually a cafe or pub nearby, which is much appreciated by the ship's cook, me. 

We wanted to be at the final destination of this leg of the Loop, Pensacola, Florida, and we were focused on getting there because bad weather was coming. And well, hurricane season begins June 1st so we wanted to be out of Florida as soon as possible. 

Up to now we'd been lucky with our multi-day crossings of the Gulf of Mexico. Other boaters had warned us of how rough the Gulf could get in high winds, but our crossing days were mostly smooth as silk. Long, eight to ten hour days, but smooth, and porpoise-full.

 Our first intended marina stop after crossing the Gulf was at Carabelle, Florida, which is up a river and in the more protected inland waterway off the Gulf of Mexico. But what a shit show that was. The transient dock at the marina in Carabelle was under repair so, in high winds and a very strong tidal current, a lady on the dock tried to guide Scott to a tight spot, in between six pilings, three on each side, spaced around twelve feet apart. The idea is with this type of dockage is that you loop a line over the top of a piling, then secure the line to your boat. As you move forward in the “slip” the first mate runs around the boat looping lines and securing to the boat. Once the boat is tied to four or six pilings, it sits secure, but it is impossible to get off the boat. You are basically stuck until you cast off in the morning. The job of attempting to lasso the pilings fell to me.  Ha! As Scott tried to navigate between the rows of pilings, the lady on the dock, who I'm pretty sure runs the country store adjacent to the marina, offered unhelpful advice, over and over and over, "You're gonna have to throw a stern line over that piling on your port side." 

"You mean this piling that is twelve feet above me? The one I cannot possibly reach in a 26' Nordic Tug?"

"Yes ma'am. You're gonna have to get that stern line over that piling." Then, as the current and wind pushed the boat sideways, and our dingy that hangs from a davit at the stern of the boat bounced off one piling, then another, she shook her head and said, "Nope. Uh-uh." (pause) "You gotta first get that stern line over that rear piling. Then you gotta get that starboard line over the piling on the other side." 

"Tris," Scott said when we were completely broadside and drifting into a massive trawler, "this isn't going to work. Come take the helm. Maybe I can push the boat off the pilings while you steer us either forward into the slip or outta here completely."

"Aye, aye, Cap." We quickly changed positions. The country store lady turned her attention to Scott. "You're gonna have to get that stern line over that rear piling first. And with two tide changes in eight hours, you're gonna have to reset the lines at least once before morning."  

"Aye aye aye..." I muttered.  

"You're gonna have to..." she started again. Scott interrupted the dock lady. "Uh, this isn't going to work for our boat. Is there another marina nearby?'

Shrug.

The wind was still holding us sideways to the pilings, not anywhere near being straight in. Using the thruster, I tried to push the bow around, but the wind and current were too strong and the boat held fast to the pilings. Standing up on the gunnel, and using all his might, Scott pushed the boat off the nearest piling, trying to keep subsequent pilings from getting stuck between the boat and the dingy. The current was unbelievably strong. With Scott's calm and excellent direction, "Okay, now forward. Okay, now port thruster. A little starboard. Okay now reverse HARD..." I managed to back us out by going at an angle between rows of pilings. 

"Let's just go back and anchor near that nice beach we saw," I said once we were back in the  channel. An hour earlier, we had passed a beautiful anchorage, which at the time we passed looked protected and peaceful. I suggested we drop the hook there and then, but Scott checked the weather and was worried about strong winds in the forecast, so we continued on to Carabelle.

We headed back the way we came. After thirty minutes, with the winds gaining in strength, Scott suggested a closer anchorage and we headed to that one. But when we arrived, the most secure spots were taken by other boats and, after testing a few insufficient depths nearby, we turned east and went all the way back to the pretty anchorage we had passed earlier. It took us an hour to get there. 

Boy, the wind had really come up. With Scott out at the bow wrangling the anchor, I turned Green Eyes into the wind and Scott dropped the anchor. We dragged a bit at first, then the anchor set firm. 

The anchorage was very pretty. We both had that "ahhhh" feeling. Day is done, we're safe and sound, let's have a beer. 

Scott pulled two beers out of the ice chest and I made a quick batch of veggie nachos with black beans, tomatoes, cheese, salsa, and sour creme. I popped it in microwave to melt the cheese and brought the plate out to the back porch where Scott was already enjoying a beer. Yum, the nachos were good. But the wind and current caused the boat to roll violently from side to side. We had to set the plate on the deck and use the ice chest to block the wind. A third of the nachos went overboard. Beers were finished quickly before they spilled too much. 

We noticed that the current, and the boat, were perpendicular to the wind. Normally, the bow of a boat points directly into the wind at anchor. But not that day, not at Dog Island West anchorage. "It's the strangest thing," Scott said, leaning out to look at the bow of the boat and the direction of the anchor line. "We can't roll like this all night." He checked our Windy app again. "Plus, the wind is forecast to increase through the night." He paused and shifted from sundowner mode to captain mode. "I don't feel good about this. Let's move the boat around that spit for a little more protection." 

I started the engine and took the helm. Scott pulled up the anchor and thirty minutes later we set the anchor just fifty feet off a white sand beach at Dog Island East. The tide was going out again and just as the sun was setting, an overturned, wrecked boat was exposed near the shore. The onshore wind howled and the boat rolled. "But it's our last anchorage in Florida, and it is pretty," I said, taking in the beach, the wreck, the nacho crumbs, the spilled beer, and the setting sun. 

There were notes about the anchorage from previous boaters in our navigation app that mentioned dragging potential in strong winds so we set the anchor alarm and went to bed. Our bed is super comfy, but it is one of those climb-over beds and Scott is on the inside, which is not a good place to be if you need to move quickly because the anchor is dragging and the boat is heading towards shore. Scott stretched out on the seven foot couch in the salon, Pika took up position midships on the floor of the helm in the middle where the wind and wave action would be least felt (she's such a smart ship's kitty), and I took the bed (because I'm smart too.) The crew of Green Eyes was ready to spring into action should the anchor drag in the night. We rocked and we rolled until the wind died down around midnight. We woke to a spectacular sunrise. The anchor came up clean. Our Garmin tracked the boat movement through the night and told an accurate story (see photo above. All those squiggles are movement.) Oh, and we hit the 5500 mile mark on our Great Loop, so there's that too.

Scott and Tris and Pika too.

June 3, 2022, Pensacola, Florida

The Adventures of Green Eyes-- No Wonder We Bought a Nordic Tug

 

We bought a Nordic Tug for this Great Loop adventure because it is sturdy and reliable, not for it's genealogy. But the other day I got to thinking about how much the boat and Scott, who is also of Scandinavian descent, share the same characteristics; quiet, resilient, happy to spend hours or days at the dock or at anchor, more interested in functionality than ostentation, and more. 

Then the other day, Norm, a boat restorer in Titusville, Florida saw our ship's cat Pika (Pee-ka) for the first time and exclaimed, "She's so pretty! And big. Is she a Maine Coon?"  

"No," I answered. "She does have the tufts of fur between her toes characteristic of Maine Coons, but she's more fluffy than big. So while she's Maine Coon-ish, she's something else." 

 

But what is she? Since fostering and adopting Pika more than ten years ago, I've wondered about Pika's lineage. With time to kill on Green Eyes due to weather delays, I resolved to discover Pika's tribe. I began with a Google image search for "furry gray cat with tufted paws and ears and white bib with white blaze on nose" and up popped a photo of Pika! Well, not my Pika, but a definite match. I dug deeper into ear size (rounder than Maine Coon), face shape (triangular), profile (slight upturn of the nose), vocalization (Pika talks softly, and a lot), loyalty (so very loyal, she thinks she's a dog), and low and behold, it turns out Pika is of the breed Norwegian Forest Cat. Of course she is. It all makes sense now.  The Captain, the craft, the cat. They are all Scandinavian. 

 

Scott and the cat share many Scandinavian mannerisms. One is the blank stare. It is a stereotype that Scandinavians can be often caught staring at something or someone. But they may not even see what their eyes are fixated on. They are thinking about something else entirely. This make me nervous when we are underway.

Scott does 99% of the time at the helm. And he certainly appears to be watching the channel markers or oncoming traffic. But sometimes, he's really just staring into a void while thinking about skiing, or flying, or tracking wild animals in Africa, or any number of other interests. 

 

                                   Pika does the exact same thing. 

 

She has a routine each night where she sits on my lap for tummy rubs; contented, relaxed, and purring. Then at some random moment she suddenly rolls over and climbs off my lap as if she just remembered she is urgently needed elsewhere. She walks to the end of the couch, and either stands on her hind legs or sits on her haunches, and stares deeply into the corner for at least five minutes. She does this every night. Is she thinking about Fancy Feast? Playtime? Maybe she's thinking about tracking wild animals with Scott. 

 

Pika and Scott share other Scandinavian traits. Take dancing. As rare an activity in my Scott as it is in cats.

I once asked our Danish friend Lars if he had ever danced. "Oh yes," he said. "Every year I walk around the Christmas tree with my family." 

"Lars, that's not dancing."

"For a Dane it is," he asserted. 

Here is a video of Scandinavian dancing where the instructor actually says at one point, "Walking is not just walking. Walking is dancing."

 

Click to watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHih1aG44yM

 

Or click on this more exciting version:

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqc1_08iq34

 

Scott may be a Scandinavian anomaly. At parties, he routinely seeks me out for all the slow dances, and he also does a fun cross between the jitterbug and the swing, only it's like a slow dance.

One of the fun things I like to do on the boat to pass the time during long crossings is Dance Off. I love to dance. If there is music playing, I can't stop myself. Scott has a terrific music mix on his phone, mostly the hits of the 70's. Most of it makes one get up off their chair and DANCE. Unless you're Scandinavian. 

Picture Scott at the helm, Pika across from me in her bed. I press play on Scott's Amazon Tunes. It's James Brown, Get Up Offa That Thing. Yow! "Dance off!" I exclaim while turning up the volume. I'm off my seat, shakin' my groove thing in the wheelhouse next to Scott. After a time, I strike a dance off pose, you know, like how Chris Pratt did in Guardians of the Galaxy. 

 

click on the link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaaJyAjvajo 

 

I point at Scott, "Take it down!" He stares ahead. I take it back but I'm still hopeful.  I point at Pika, "Hit it Peeks!" She yawns and stretches, then closes her eyes again. "Okay," I say, "then I'll go" and I'm the dancing queen, alone again, naturally. Suddenly I stare into the corner and think about Chris Pratt. A little drool falls onto my air mic. Then Thelma Houston sings Don't Leave Me This Way. Yow! I take up the Dance Off baton again. I sing directly to Pika and Scott. Then Barry White sings, You Are The First, The Last, My  Everything. I dedicate this Dance Off to the Crew of Green Eyes. I am singing and dancing to them. I give it my all. They stare. Scott reaches over to his iPhone. He selects Donna Summer's Last Dance.

Scott and Pika share other characteristics such as being cuddly, fun to be around, adventurous, and reliable. They make wonderful companions. And damn, they're soft on the eyes. 

I wouldn't trade my three Scandinavians for anything in the world.

    

Adventures of Green Eyes: Guns, Germs, and Keels

                                                        GUNS, GERMS, AND KEELS

      GUNS

     What do guns have to do with the Great Loop? Nothing. Except when there is a need to rent a car to run errands, sight see, or visit friends. Depending where you are when you need to rent a car, guns can affect your day. The first time was when we rented a car from Enterprise in Tennessee. 

     The great thing about Enterprise is that they will pick you up at the marina and take you to the office. On this occasion, Steven delivered us to the rental office then offered us a free upgrade from the cheapo economy option we had reserved. Steven was a recent graduate of Bible school who, upon being offered a job with Enterprise, broke up with his hometown girlfriend and moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee. He told us all about it during the drive to the office.

     "How would you like to have a convertible Camaro for the day?" he asked with a good-deed glow in his eyes. 

     Knowing this would probably be my only chance to have a free upgrade to a convertible Camaro in my life, I said, "Would I! Would I!" while doing my Happy Dance. But in Tennessee's humidity, it was more of a Happy Shuffle.

    Steven smiled. "I'll be right back. I just need to run it through the wash." As Steven disappeared through a side door, I whispered to Scott, "See? You always complain that I talk to everyone. But you know I enjoy connecting with people, right?" 

"Uh huh," said Scott. "You connected so much for such a short car ride."

      "Well, I think it made Steven feel good that I, a total stranger, affirmed his decision to break up with Beth and move away from his family, friends, and all he holds dear to begin a career with Enterprise Rent A Car in another state...." Steven returned and Scott rolled his eyes at me. 

     "I'm so sorry. I can't give you that car," Steven said with disappointment. "We found a gun in it so now we have to lock the car and call the police. Let's see... How about a small truck?"

     Had we heard right? "A GUN? Someone forgot to take their GUN out of their rental car?" Scott asked in disbelief.

     Steven chuckled. "I know, right? I would definitely remember if I had my gun with me. You wouldn't believe how much it happens. So, how about that truck?"

     "But, what if you hadn't found it?" I asked. "What if I found it while reclining the seat, or putting a map in the glove box, or wherever it is that people keep guns in a rental car? Or what if I didn't find it and then you found it when we returned the car? Then you'd think it was OUR GUN."

     "We search the cars thoroughly when we clean them. Like I said, it happens a lot."

     We took the truck, which was not one iota as much fun as a convertible Camaro.

     (When I told my Brooklyn comedy-writer niece Clare this story she responded, "Leave the gun, take the Camaro" which really made me wish I'd thought of that.)

     The second time it happened was in Alabama. When we arrived at the Enterprise desk, we told the story about the time that, but for a gun, I would have had a Camaro for a day. 

     "Oh my gosh! Isn't it just the weirdest thing?" Blond-haired, blue-eyed Kelly exclaimed. "I just moved here from San Diego, California and it was one of the first things they taught us in training. About the protocol when a gun is found, I mean.  It's mind boggling how many times we find a gun in the car when it's returned. I mean, I think I would remember if I had a GUN."

    GERMS

Tris with her niece Clare O'Kane

     Germs, of course, refers to Covid. Yes, we are still cruising in the time of Covid. But compared to last summer, since vaccinations have begun, things are a lot different on the Great Loop. We hardly see anyone wearing a mask. In New Jersey however, folks are still in the thick of it and mostly everyone masks up. I even got yelled at by a very grouchy harbormaster when I sat on a lounge chair next to the marina pool waiting for my laundry to finish drying in Cape May. 

     "You can't sit there. It's because of the Covid. We don't have time to disinfect the chairs after someone sits on them, ya know." I could tell he was tired. We're all tired. None of us has the energy to use one more damn Lysol Disinfecting Wipe on one more damn surface. But there is something other than Covid cleaning fatigue going on. The often uttered promises, "Boy, when I'm vaccinated, I'm going to hug EVERYONE. I'm going to see all my friends and family and all my friends' families too! I'm going to look up my old high school teachers and HUG them. I'm going to eat out every night in a RESTAURANT. I'm going to go to a BAR!" are falling a little flat. Gatherings seem subdued. Some people even seem a bit agoraphobic. We are not the social animals we were 18 months ago. Things have changed. We've changed. We've been through this thing, this global collective experience, and we should be changed by it. There's been lockdown. And loss. From my own unscientific observations of marinas and towns within a one mile walking distance of whichever slip Green Eyes is in for the night, people are taking the social hour in ten minute increments. Me too. I used to love nothing better than a party. Now, even the thought of socializing exhausts me. Talking makes me tired. Rearranging my face to affirm, "I am very interested in your story of how you dented your prop (your windy anchorage experience, the good Chinese buffet you found...") after a year of rolling out of bed and onto the couch to pet the cat and having no real need or energy in making my face or hair look polite, well, you try it. It's not that easy to go from lockdown to loquacious. I like staying home, be it ashore or afloat. I most love being with two beings; Scott and Pika. And my family. And friends. And Elephants. And well okay I pretty much love all beings. But quiet crosswords and kitties make me happy.

I've forgotten how to "pace myself." We recently attended a renowned annual three-day Looper Event which is an excuse for other folks doing the Great Loop to get together to drink and share stories. This particular multi day Looper Event was a Pig Roast at Donovan's Shady Harbor Marina in New Baltimore New York.  The pre-parties that led up to the main event -- bottomless mimosas with the Looper Ladies, happy hours, bocce ball competitions, rum and vodka tasting, boat tours, boat blessings-- were so exhausting and fun I couldn't even make it to the main event. No pork for me! I know I'll eventually get back into the swing of things. But it won't be like it was. And that's okay. 

Blessing of the boats.

     KEELS

     Keels. Boat keels. Although, officially, we have a hull, not a keel. Sailboats have keels. But I wanted to keep it alliterative, borrowing the title of this blog post from a book we are listening to as we cruise, Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, which is an excellent book about everything or, "... the theory of geographic determinism, the idea that the differences between societies and societal development arise primarily from geographical causes." And no, we don't fall asleep at the helm while listening. Anyway, about keels. What I most like about keels, or hulls, is what's written on them. Ours says Green Eyes. We did not pick the name. But it suits us and it suits the boat well.

Unfortunately, the home port below the name reads Sabine Pass, Texas, which is where we bought the boat, but which does not suit us. We have our new home port decal, Santa Cruz, California, (chosen because it's the closest harbor to our home and it makes us feel like we are on a surfin' safari.) But getting the old letters off involves a heat gun and patience and last time I looked, neither of these can be found in the tool drawer on board. Did I say drawer? My husband, the Captain, sees our entire boat as a small tool shed. I still see it as a cozy cottage or a HDTV Tiny House. But there's always a screwdriver blocking my view. Back to keels. I like what's written on boats because it says something about the occupants. The word "knot" is used a lot. Knot on Call is owned by a retired doctor. Knot in a Hurry is owned by a couple who just finished the Loop in record time. Others are: Knot Too Late, Knot Working, Knot Bad, Knot Real, Moor Often Than Knot, Knot Shore, Knot For Sail, Why Knot, Knot Guilty... the list goes on. Or knot. Other whimsical names are Sea Senor, Cirrhosis of the River, Water You Lookin' At? and The Codfather. ( See how I fit two Godfather references in one post?)

     Except for that little El Toro sailboat we had for awhile that my niece Briget and I named Emilio, Scott and I have never named, or renamed a boat. We named our Land Rover, which lives in Africa, Ndoto because I am so annoyingly transparent. It's Swahili for Dream.

The first boat we had that we didn't name was a 40' Wharram catamaran. We owned it back in the early '80s when catamarans were considered weird. Her name when we bought her was Different Drummer, which suited us to a T. With Scott's brother Brian, Scott and I sailed her from Santa Cruz to Hawaii in 21-days, in younger and skinnier times. Like Green Eyes and Ndoto, she was simple, yet dependable, just the way we like my surroundings. 

And that's the news from the crew of Green Eyes, the 26' Nordic Tug that suits us three to a T.