For example, over the last year or so, my Honey was diagnosed and treated for thyroid cancer; my brother's prognosis for his esophageal cancer worsened, and he died; and my mother has had both knees replaced.
Honey's mother's health has deteriorated to the point that family-provided care is no longer feasible, and she has taken numerous falls - the last several while she was in assisted living. Her injuries from her last fall were severe enough that she is now likely to have to move into permanent nursing care.
On the plus side, we hosted two family reunions; we became grandparents for the third time; our remaining single daughter married the guy who has been her sweetheart for several years; and we visited my sister in Michigan for the first time since she left home over 35 years ago.
All of those events made demands on our time and travel funds, including time I might have otherwise used to update this blog, so, instead of trying to do a blow-by-description of the rest of our journey, I'll just try to hit the highlights - or sometimes, lowlights - and over a couple of blogs, bring you up to date.
***So***
We spent our first night away from Daytona at Palm Coast Resort Marina. Nice place. Helpful staff. We were tied up to a bulkead, a little way seaward of the fuel pumps. No real complaints, other than the general ones concerning costs for transient dockage, but they seemed to be in line with most others.
We were out early the next day, heading North again. Along the way we were treated to views of other sailboats at anchor in picturesque locations, interesting architecture and landscaping, and a view of Fort Matanzas that one can only have from a boat.
During the the trip to our next dockage - Camachee Cove Yacht Harbor - one incident stood out from everything else. When we came within hailing distance of the bridge at Crescent Beach, we contacted the bridge tender via VHF, to request an opening. We were acknowledged, and told to maintain course and speed. We did. As we got closer, it became apparent that the bridge was not going to open quickly enough. Repeated calls to the tender resulted in few responses, all of which amounted to "It'll be open when you get here!"
As we got closer, I cut back on the throttle again and again, and ultimately, I threw the transmission into reverse, in order to try and stop. The bridge actually did begin to open, but by then, it was too late. By then, even full power in reverse wasn't enough, because we were caught in a strong forward current.
With no other option, I tried to steer for the small gap that had begun to open in the bridge, and I almost made it. The bridge beams caught my forestay, about a foot down from the top of the mast. The current was strong enough that it tried to bury the transom - no small effort on a boat like ours - but the effect was to lift the bow of the boat and drop it back into the water.
I don't know how high the bow of the boat actually lifted, but in my adrenalin-pumped state, it seemed like about ten feet! We know, of course that it couldn't have been that high, but it sure felt like it at the time.
Anyway, the bridge let go of us after what seemed like half an hour, and finished opening as the bow slammed back down on the water and tons of crap rained down on us - bits of aluminum and plastic that the bridge had scraped off our mast and rigging. As we drifted away from the bridge in shock, the bridge tender shouted gaily over the VHF, "No damage to the bridge! Everything's OK!"
My Honey took exception to that assessment, and told him so in very explicit terms. His flip response was "You shoulda slowed down!" Yeah, right, a**hole! We tried. And you could have warned us that you weren't going to get it up in time! Ever been screwed by somebody who couldn't get it up?
I have to say here that, by and large, the bridge tenders that we encountered were kind and very professional. The incident at Crescent Beach was an aberration, and may or may not be repeated there or elsewhere.
As the fates would have it, there was no place we could land in order to personally deliver our congratulations to the bridge tender, so eventually, sans the jib halyard and all of the masthead gear, we got underway again. For those who may wonder, we did report the incident to our insurer, but we deferred filing a claim until we had a rigger go up the mast.
Getting through St. Augustine was also a major trip (so to speak!). The Bridge of Lions had seemingly been under reconstruction forever, and a temporary bridge had been installed in order to allow automobile traffic to bypass the old bridge. For those unfamiliar with the area, there is a broad, shallow anchorage on the South side of the bridge, and the area between the anchorage and the bridge, for all its small size, seems to be a favorite place for jet skis and small powerboats to play.
It was very crowded near the bridge, and openings were held to a very restricted schedule, which became even tighter during the noon hour. Of course we arrived right at the most-restricted period, and had to circle for roughly a half-hour before the bridge could be opened again. When we finally got an opening, and were pointed in the correct direction, suddenly a swarm of jet skis and power launches decided that it was the perfect time to congregate right in the channel under the bridge!
Now get this: My boat is by no means considered a large sailboat, but it weighs 14,500 lb, empty. It can't stop on a dime. If you are on a jet ski and decide to run under my bow, you had damned well better be able to get out of the way, because I can neither stop nor can I effectively dodge you! All I can do is lay on the air horn and hope that no one is injured.
Apparently some of the geniuses playing under the bridge that day didn't understand the concept of "the least maneuverable vessel has the right of way," and they expected me to stop and allow them to play unmolested, while the bridge tender got tired of waiting for me and closed the bridge. Nobody got rammed, but there were several people in St. Augustine that day who felt their rights of safe passage had been infringed. C'est la vie.
We had our first grounding incident in the inlet just North of St. Augustine. Like good little dobees, we were following the line of channel markers, but somewhere near the middle of the sound, we reached a point where the next marker (which was supposed to be a red can) was nowhere in sight! Using the binoculars, I found a stationary marker in what appeared to be the correct location, and since the markers are sometimes changed, and LNTMs aren't instantaneous, I just assumed that was what happened. It wasn't.
At about the same moment we hit the shoal, some local Good Samaritans realized what we were doing, and tried to warn us off. I have to modify my earlier statement about stopping the boat on a dime. If you try to run a boat with a four foot draught through water that may be only three feet, ten inches deep, you can stop in a very big hurry! Placing a call to TowBoat US, we were told that the nearest tow boat was already assisting another boat,out at sea, and would be at least two hours returning. We had plenty of time to sight-see at that point, so after we looked around some more, we discovered the root cause of the problem.
The channel in the inlet takes a sharp jog to seaward (if you are travelling North) before turning back to a more northerly course, and upon leaving the inlet, it hugs the seaward bank. That bank unfortunately, is a favored recreational beach for local swimmers and jet skis. The can bouy that we had been looking for was indeed sort-of near the location shown on the chart, but it was being used (illegally, I might add!) as a mooring for a jet ski! The bouy wasn't large, in fact, it was small enough to be completely obscured by the body of the jet ski.. Unable to see the bouy, we had cut the corner too early.
Less than fifteen minutes after speaking to the tow service, things began to change. Both wind and current changed direction, and we were suddenly bumping along the shoal, back toward the channel. Elated, I restarted the engine and drove us back into thicker water. We called TowBoat US to cancel the call for assistance, and resumed our journey Northward.
Camachee had very nice facilities, and the staff there were extremely helpful. They had to be! The marina seemed packed to overflowing, and maneuvering room was practically nil. In order to get into and out of our assigned slip, we had to be "tugged" by a staff member in inflatable dinghy. Transient dockage wasn't inexpensive, either, but like I said, the facilities were nice.
The trip from there to Jacksonville was relatively without incident. Lots of marsh scenery interspersed with the occasional back yard of a private dwelling. The next bit of excitement didn't happen until we were actually attempting to enter the approach channel to Beach Marine, at Jacksonville Beach.
The only possible way to describe the situation there is that it was a cluster f**k. There is a public park with a launch ramp directly across from the marina, on the approach channel. I think it was a holiday weekend, and it appeared that each and every idiot in Duval County, who could afford to own or rent a boat, was trying to launch or pull out at exactly the same time we were trying to enter the marina. Folks, I have never seen a display of selfishness, bad manners, agressiveness, and total disregard for the rules of the road, as intense as what I observed that day - not to mention sheer craziness!
Boats in the water at the launch ramp could not leave their trailers, because the boats waiting for an opportunity to pull out were crowded in too close and too thickly. Nobody was giving way to anybody. Worse, they were completely blocking the entry channel to the marina, bank to bank.
At one point, I finally saw an opening through the channel, closer to one of the marina's face docks, and headed for it at low speed. Unfortunately, one of the brain-dead zombies piloting a small boat decided at that moment to park right in my path and I had to use what little steerage I had to avoid a collision. The only open path lay toward the park.
Yup. Aground again, thanks to said zombie. At low tide. Mere yards from my destination. A call to the marina indicated that they would be happy to tow us off the mud, but were very busy, and it would likely be a couple of hours before they could get to us. Well friends, it was low tide. A couple of hours, and I wouldn't be grounded any more.
It was odd. The depth sounder, with the transponder mounted about a foot starboard of the centerline, showed seventeen feet of water most of the time, dropping to a little less than four feet when the bow drifted back to port, in a horizontal distance of less than five feet, but we were stuck tight.
Yielding to the inevitable, we settled in to wait for high tide, and hopefully a slackening of the traffic at the park. Our immobility and position near the launch ramp drew all sorts of attention and comment, but we just smiled and waved. While we were waiting, we were witness to all manner of stupidity on the part of the boating public.
One boatful of people in their late teens or early twenties got tired of waiting for a turn at the ramp, and tied up to the marina's face dock. It was a coed group, and the boys, in an apparent effort to impress the girls, climbed to the top of the anchor pilings (it was a floating dock) and dove into the channel, while power boats continued to zip about as if they were alone in the water. At low water, shose pilings towered at least twelve feet over the floating concrete dock. Later on, one of the couples swam across the approch channel and back, apparently oblivious to the traffic. Darwin failed us that day - and where was the f**king Florida Marine Patrol????
Eventually, a Good Samaritan with a small inflatable and a huge engine offered help. It turns out, he was a licensed captain with a towing endorsement. Of course we agreed, and after some struggle, we were off the mud bank and in our assigned slip, at the cost of a couple of cold beers.
To add insult to injury, the slip we occupied there was perhaps the most expensive one we had during the entire trip, and this marina was the only one on the entire trip where we had to pay extra for a pump out, after also paying for dockage and buying fuel. Sixteen dollars to pump out an eight gallon holding tank!
Anyway, my brother-in-law met us in Jacksonville Beach, and took us back to Daytona Beach to retrieve our car. We, in turn, used the car to retrieve my friend RT, who had driven to our new home port, near Darien, Georgia, then my Honey left us to visit her mother, who had been moved into assisted living at the time. She would stay with her brother, and would not rejoin me until the Event Horizon reached her new home dock. RT would continue the journey to Georgia with me.
Getting out of the marina was nearly as much of an adventure as getting into it. The channels between the docks were as narrow as those at Camachee, and RT had to stand ready with the boat hook to push us off the other boats. On one of them, after feeling the boat move unexpectedly, a woman came flying up out of the hatch screaming "You're going to just leave after you hit my boat???" RT apologized for disturbing her, and informed her that he'd just pushed us off, but that we hadn't collided. She made it clear that she didn't believe us, though a simple inspection would have been proof enough.
What a dipsh*t. It took all of my strength of character to refrain from leaving her with a well-earned one-finger salute.
Leaving Jacksonville Beach, it was more salt marsh (mostly) until we got to the St. Johns River. We crossed the river without incident, but as we approached the Sister's Creek drawbridge, I began to feel a little apprehensive. I guess I was still gun-shy from the encounter at Crescent Beach. I'm sure that I irritated the bridge tender at Sister's Creek, but she showed great patience with me, and we got through without any trouble.
More marsh and such later, we docked overnight at the Fernandina Harbor Marina, owned by the city of Fernandina Beach. We were tied up to a face dock, fronting onto open water, which left us exposed to waves, wakes and winds. Nothing untenable, but later in the evening a squall blew up that really tested our dock lines. Quite exciting.
Not much to report about in Fernandina. The marina was being remodeled, and the regular showers and restrooms were closed by construction. Management had brought in some temporary trailers with showers and toilets, but they were quite a trek away from the docks. As much time has passed since we were there, perhaps most of this is no longer true.
We crossed Cumberland Sound the next morning, headed for Jekyll Island, which was to be our last dockage before tying up at our home port. As we approached Kings Bay, we were privileged to witness one of our submarines entering port. We weren't close enough to identify the sub by name or number, but even at the distance we stood off, it looked huge. Apparently it was even larger than it looked, because it dwarfed the tugs that accompanied it, and we had occasion to get a better look at one of those as it left port.
Let me tell you, those suckers can put up a very large bow wave! When we slammed down the back side of that, I thought we hadcrossed a tsunami. They were indeed the biggest tugs I have ever seen, bigger than even some of the smaller cruise ships.
As we passed the entrance to the base, we were accompanied - escorted, if you prefer - by one of the small, armed power vessels that maintain watch there. They picked us up as we approached, and paced us until we were well beyond the entrance. They ignored our friendly waves, and their bow-mounted machine gun looked decidedly un-friendly.
ICW navigation in the Southern reaches of the Georgia Coast seemed a little tricky to me. The channels were often marked only with ranges, and there were quite a number of them. Nonetheless, we made Jekyll Harbor Marina before long, and took dockage for the night.
Jekyll Harbor is a very nice place, though it's a little isolated from everything but the on-site restaurant (Seajays Waterfront Cafe - good low-country boil).
They have a courtesy car though, and if you use it you are expected to put a couple of dollars in the tank. Very fair exchange from my viewpoint. Using the courtesy car, you can easily get to locations on the island to re-provision as needed. The car isn't allowed to leave the island, though, so no shopping in nearby Brunswick.
Leaving Jekyll Island the next morning, we crossed the St. Simon's Sound and continued heading north on the ICW. We weren't too far from our terminal destination when RT looked behind us and saw some fast launches approaching with blue lights flashing. They turned out to be the Coast Guard, and they'd decided to perform a routine inspection of the Event Horizon.
The inspectors were very polite, and everything was in order, so after drifting for about half an hour, we were allowed to get underway again. We found the entrance to the South Altamaha River with little difficulty, and followed the channel markers upstream to Two-Way Marina.
We arrived at the peak of high tide, which was fortunate for two reasons: first, we had plenty of water under the keel - little danger of running aground as we maneuvered; and second, the river current was at a minimum, which meant we could maneuver without fighting the current - a decided advantage. We docked with some assistance from another boater (handling the lines) and little difficulty.
My Honey met us there, and after a short rest, RT had to leave us - duties at home and at work calling him back. We stayed for a few more days, making sure all was secure, then we left for home.
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