On April 3rd 2010, Saffanah started the second leg of her voyage from Marathon FL to Jacksonville FL where she will undergo the many remaining projects associated with her restoration. Her first leg from the Keys to Ft Pierce in December was definately more entertaining than the recent trip this past week. This trip was pleasant and comfortable, incorporated great weather, lucked out in nearly perfect timing for winds, tides and moon light, and included a view of the last night time Shuttle launch - a spectacular event - and the photo shows the remainents of the shuttle trail reflecting in the morning sunrise.

Unfortunately, as is the case for most of the sailing time I have ever experienced, there was very little intrigue about which to write - no emergencies or heart stopping events, no great sea stories that can be elaborated over time, just five days of five knot motor sailing in light air, under azure blue skies punctuated with white puffy clouds and plenty of shore color provided by azalea, dogwood, and redbud blossoms. Is it not odd that the most idyllic passages offer the least about which to write?

When Saffanah arrived in Ft Pierce in December, we had new canvas made to protect the new sails we had purchased in the fall. And because Mack Sails is located in nearby Stewart, we elected to purchase a Mack-Pac (sail cover and integrated lazy jack system). While measuring the boom and mast, the Mack riggers discovered a badly cracked spreader and a damaged port stay turnbuckle. As a result, they strongly advised that we not sail the boat again without first addressing these two problems.

Unfortunately, the DYI yard at Harbortown had closed the day before Mack surveyed the rigging and we had either to travel back down the ICW to Stewart to have the mast un-stepped or motor 250 miles up the ICW and do the work in our Jacksonville home port. We decided to travel up the ICW and just use the jib to pull us along if we had a southerly breeze.

After waiting out the chilly and rainy winter months, we arbitrarily decided to leave Ft Pierce on Easter weekend - come rain or shine. As luck would have it, a stationary high stalled over central Florida the day we left and bringing spring like 5 - 10 knot southerly light air for the next five days.

The trip up the inter-coastal waterway is nearly a straight shot north up the Indian, Banana and Halifax rivers with just enough east-to-west/west-to-east jogs and narrow and shallow-water twists and turns to make the task of spotting red and green day beacons a tiny bit tedious. That coupled with a constant stream of fishermen racing to their favorite hole, a wide collection of randomly placed crab pots (that often means randomly placed IN the channel), a bunch of Bahamas snow birds heading back to their summer Chesapeake and Maine homes in their sail boats and trawlers, and an occasional 60 foot motor yacht delivery made a seemingly leisurely five knot per hour pace a lot of work. By the way there are no less than 103 bridges between Miami and the Ortega River in Jacksonville, well spaced to disperse any potential "monotony anxiety" one might conjure up. And just to add a bit more challenge, Einstein, our Garmin 3210 GPS, unexpectedly decided to take the week off, so we had to use paper charts and binoculars to track our hourly progress.

In addition, my permanent traveling partner (my wife Diane) had never stepped on a sailboat nor navigated the ICW before this trip. Further she had never seen (let alone steered with) a tiller before departing Fort Pierce - so helmsmanship training further reduced the potential for monotony. Also on-the-job-training (OJT) on docking and undocking, reading chart symbols, hailing bridges, etc. added spice and variety to our otherwise active daily regnum - no classroom instruction, coast guard course, beforehand.

So our trip north could be more appropriately described as a task than a leisurely "trip up the ditch".

But any effort spent or anxiety experience was definitely offset with spectacular views of ocean inlets, salt water marshes, gorgeous homes and estates, and wild life galore. And, while definitely a passage off shore along the coast line would have been a lot less challenging and less expensive, the ICW continues to hold a fond and dear place in this sailor's heart.

Without GPS (Einstein) and radar, travel at night on the ICW is too much a risk for this sailor who gets uncomfortable in less than 100 fathoms of water or when the nearest coast line is less than 100 mile away. Daily progress had to be measured by the distance between anchorages and marinas and adjusted to fit with scheduled bridge openings. Oh by the way, Saffanah's anchor platform was broken during the trip up to Ft Pierce so anchoring was not going to be in our play book during this trip - only the good but expensive marina life for us.

So forty or fifty mile days - determined the by the destination - set the pace - an average of 6.1 mph including wait time at bridges, backtracking a few wrong turns, and long runs against (or with) the always present tides and river currents.


Sat April 3 Left Ft Pierce 7:30 AM
Arrived Melbourne 2:00 PM
47 statute miles 6.5 hours
Best of the day - beautiful sunrise, great weather.
Worst of the day - really nothing at all

Sun April 4 Left Melbourne 7:30 AM
Arrived Titusville 3:00 PM
40 statute miles 7.5 hours
Best of the day - great wildlife birds and lots and lots of dolphins and a couple of manatees
Worst of the day - again really nothing. Had to power against an 2 knot outgoing tide for first few hours - no big deal

Mon April 5 Titusville
7:30 AM Daytona Beach - 4:00 PM
48 Statute miles 8.5 hours

Best of the day - saw the last night time shuttle launch - spectacular!
Worst of the day - a day late and a dollar short on every bridge opening
Worster of the day - got lost in Ponce Inlet and had to back track to the ICW - where was Einstein when we needed him?
Worstest of the day - Left Marina at 7:30 AM ahead of at least a dozen other sailboats - all of which passed us and were out of sight by 9:30 AM. Saffanah is definitely under-powered and a first class ICW slowpoke but what can I expect with a little over 19000 pounds and a little 30 hp engine

Tues April 6 Left Daytona Beach 7:00 AM
Arrived St Augustine 4:00 PM
55 Statute Miles 9.5 hours
Best of the day - my growing confidence that Saffanah's rebuilt engine, while undersized for her displacement, was now a proven workhorse and definitely a keeper.
Worst of the day - more bridge delays - we were forever a day late and a dollar short when it comes to hitting the published bridge opening schedule

Wed April 7 Left St Augustine 7:00 AM
Arrived Ortega River Landing - Jacksonville 7:00 PM
53 statute Miles 12 hours
Best of the day - could not have timed the entrance to the St Johns river better - even if I had planned it. Hit the ICW/St John's intersection at slack tide with high tide down-stream four hours later
Worst of the day - missed the rush traffic Main Street bridge opening in Downtown Jacksonville by five minutes and had to idle for two hours - wasting the perfect timing at the river's entrance and making the final five miles to the Ortega river very hair raising considering a sudden easterly 25 knot wind, three foot waves and a final three mile, local knowledge jaunt directly into the setting sun in less than 8 feet of water

Oh lest I forget, we did have a moment or two of high anxiety. Our chosen home port marina's insurance underwriter requires ALL boats to dock stern in to the new floating docks. As we arrived at our new marina, the tide was beginning to flood with the two knot Ortega river current and the 25 knot wind, of course. was blowing against the combined current and tide. And of course the slip chosen was on the down stream of the current and up wind side of the 25 knot wind.

Just to add a little more spice to the soup, the dock master decided that we should go directly to our assigned slip before dark - rather than allowing us to pull to the transient dock for a moment to gain an understanding of where he wanted us to go or figuring how we were going to do what he wanted. He also recruited an audience of 10 or so locals to watch how a skilled blue water sailor singlehandedly brings his full keel, tiller directed, sailing vessel into the slip - regardless of the sea conditions. A couple of hours later and with the help of the 10 locals, two dinghys and six dock lines, Saffanah was safely in her new home - no damages to the surrounding boats, but severe damage to my ego and reputation.

My Most Recent ICW Experience
A passage from Marathon FL to Fort Pierce
December 2, 2009

I first became aware of Saffanah surfing E Bay and I first saw Saffanah at anchor in Boot Harbor in Marathon FL. She is a 32 Downeast cutter built in the seventies in Costa Mesa CA, and definitely showed her age - weathered and crazed hull, sad canvas, lousy sails, no electronics, a busted motor and grungy water line. But stepping aboard I immediately had the feeling she was a match for the West Sail 32 I had regretfully sold ten years ago. And so once more I re-demonstrated the very first watery lesson learned (or very obviously never learned) - a fool and his money soon part.

A year later after having her hauled and stored at the Marathon Keys Marina and Boat Yard, and a few thousand dollars later, she was functionally ready to begin her trip to Jacksonville FL where I plan to address the cosmetic issues she so sorely needs.

So on the Day after Thanksgiving 2009 we motored out of Marathon circled the point and entered Hawk Channel.

We had planned to leave the Tuesday before Thanksgiving but a cold front blew through the Keys and even the task of provisioning for the trip was difficult with the wind and rain coming down in torrents. I had never actually sailed Saffanah but knew in my heart she would handle as well as my West Sail. But I did have a concern that the old Perkins, although very thoroughly reworked by the great Keys Marina diesel mechanic, David Brown, would be reliable. David had cleaned the fuel tanks, replaced all hoses, rebuilt the water pump and alternator, replaced the cutlass bearing and attended to the mechanic systems as if Saffanah were his own.

I, over the past year, had added new sails, new running rigging, new anchor gear, a new inverter charger, and a new Garmin 3210 with sounder. So functionally Saffanah was well prepared. But Tuesday and Wednesday and a large part of Thanksgiving day was consumed completing a punch list ranging from making certain we had running lights and an operable head, to checking out the refrigeration and installing the Garmin. On Tuesday night a severe thunderstorm hit Boot Key Harbor, with a reported waterspout and 112 mph winds that damaged a number of boats at anchor and made sleeping a little difficult on Saffanah.

The storm passed but for the next five days winds were be from the north at 15 - 25 knots and gusts up to 34 knots. Hawk channel and traversing the Florida Bay ICW both looked a little unattractive. But at the end of the day, my crew reluctantly agreed that at least starting out in Hawk channel would put us on the lee of the keys and we would take the least amount of pounding on our trip northward to Jacksonville.

In all of my years I never had a real dinghy of my own, and as a result never had to contend with stowing a dinghy on deck, towing on a tether, or using davits. Since Saffanah now has an Aries wind vane attached to her stern, and I had no money or time for davits, we did not use davits. Were I to single hand, the dinghy would be stowed, My dinghy perspective is dinghies are a cost savings device, allowing one to freely anchor and yet conveniently reach shore.

Although I preferred to deflate my new dinghy, my crew, my brother-in-law adamantly stated that if we go off shore (Hawk Channel is not really off shore) we must have the dinghy ready to transport us to safety should Saffanah decide to unexpectedly sink - so the dinghy (aptly named Pee Wee) tagged along hanging on with a make shift tether constructed with a couple of floats and a old Genoa sheets. The goal was to avoid at all costs of catching the dinghy tether in the prop.

Drawing from all of my previous experiences over the past now thirty years, this fool and his money do continue to part - but - this time Saffanah and her repairs and up grades were far below market value. In terms of crew compatibility, however, I forgot to read that chapter. My brother-in-law is an experience power boater and a pilot of sorts, but has never set foot on a sailboat. He and I share different perspectives of watery traveling and so our passage was a mutual test of diplomacy regardless of the situation or the fundamental being addressed.

Friday morning we left the fuel dock and I felt that if I made Snake Creek by that evening, we could decide to continue stay in Hawk Channel over night to reach Biscayne Bay in the morning or cut across Snake Creek and move up the ICW the next day. The decision would be made by the weather. If wind was more northeasterly and we could sail close hauled we would continue with an overnight sail. And if the wind came more from the north and continued at 20 knot, we would cut over to the ICW and just motor sail. Snake Creek is about forty miles northeast of Marathon - so roughly 8 hours of motor sailing would get us there just before dusk.

So off we went, Pee Wee happily following on our bow wave, just like the "Annapolis Book or Seamanship" suggests. The Garman was working perfectly, and both the new Garmin sounder as well as the old Standard Horizon sounder seemed to synchronize. The engine purred (thank you David) and Saffanah handled the three to five foot seas just like I expected her to do. We were enough off the wind that I raised the staysail in the twenty knot breeze but only after a very strenuous exercise as my crew, with the help of the waves, kept falling off the wind and heading into the lumpy sea. But ultimately I was able to get the staysail up, come into the wind and get both a little power and a little stability out of it.

We watched the Garmin, now named Einstein, as Saffanah held steady at five to five and half knots, a good rate for a little 32 foot, 19,000 pound, full keel, off shore boat to do with a head wind and heavy seas. About three hours into our run our speed suddenly dropped to 2 knots. The engine was doing its job, the staysail was full and my heart skipped a few beats. Had we not tightened the prop nut? Oh brother - at least I have full towing insurance.

Then my brother-in-law looked back at Pee Wee and shouted "Pee Wee has snagged a crab trap!" Sure enough, about twenty feet behind Pee Wee floated a crab trap and the traps buoy very clearly had become entangled in my perfectly fabricated vee shaped tether with the floats attached.

Thankfully, the skies were clear, the temperature of the air and water were both close to eighty degrees and I, at 68 years old, was in shape enough to jump into Pee Wee, fight with the snagged crab trap float, and free both the trap, hopefully the crab in the trap, and Pee Wee after struggling for an hour or so. But in the haste to free Pee Wee Saffanah turned to the South and the staysail did its job of retracing our previous path. So we ended up losing two hours or better. By the way I did not open the trap to see if there was a crab that we could later enjoy.

As my brother-in-law pointed out the rest of the day, the season for crabs is November to April in the keys and boaters should be aware of snagging crab traps - so says the Water Way Guide. Sometimes me thinks the Water Way Guide sometimes passes out a little too much information. So the rest of the day we switched roles as helmsman and crab trap spotter, a taxing activity in three to five foot seas.

Pee Wee's adventure cost us some time to say the least so in addition to sweating crab traps, I began to develop my anxiety of reaching Snake Creek before dusk. I knew that sailing at night up Hawk Channel with crab traps galore was not going to work and the northerly winds were not going to die down for another few days. So the ICW would become our route for the next day, and putting in for the night was a logical decision.

Also at about five o'clock in the evening Saffanah's engine seemed to have a very slight seizure, taking a very uncomfortable deep breath before recovering and returning to her normal reassuring hum. She did that about thirty minutes later and once again as we headed into port. So my confidence was a wee on a little on the short side as we headed up the channel.

But I quickly realized we had a problem, one I should have recognized before ever leaving port. The problem was that the ocean side marinas struggled to handle drafts of four feet, and Saffanah drew four foot nine inches. So as dusk approached and I called various marinas south of Snake Creek, each resisted accommodating us since we would enter their channels at low tide. As the sun set and darkness took over, we radioed Paradise Isle Resort, and thankfully they could accommodate us as long as we stayed in the channel. So with the help of Einstein and my brother-in-law waving a hand flash light we anxiously but without incident entered Paradise Isle at about 8 PM. Forty miles down and 450 to go.

The next morning, we motored out the Paradise Island channel, and about a mile later we crossed over at Snake Creek and to my brother-in-laws disgruntlement headed up the ICW to Biscayne Bay. The same route I had covered in a power boat about 10 years ago. I like this route because there are long stretches of open water but the mangroves add a great deal of character. The wind had dropped to 10 knots or less because we remained in the lee of most of the mangroves and Einstein advised us of every bend in the road and every marker along the way.

In the afternoon we entered Biscayne bay and about four PM we began to see the skyline of Miami. I had forgotten just how wide Biscayne Bay is, and so as we assessed our position, we scrapped our decision to head into a marina on the west side of the bay and decided that Einstein had done such a great job the night before, we would carry on and stop over at the Coral Gables City Marina. But we would arrive after seven, and on that day sunset was 5:36 PM. So once again we would have to spot markers with a light and rely fully on Einstein.

Once again at dusk Saffanah's engine took that hair raising deep breath, and recovered only to do so a few minutes later. But this time I took a stab at the problem. Saffanah had been constructed with two fuel tanks, a sixty gallon tank directly beneath the galley sole and a 17 gallon tank in the cockpit locker. David, a great mechanic in Marathon, had installed a three way valve in Saffanah's fuel line that would allow us to switch between tanks. He was concerned about the larger tank initially, and so we had been drawing from the smaller tank rather than the larger one. So when engine took yet a third deep breath, I rotated the valve and whoopee no more engine seizures. Thank goodness because by this time it was getting pretty dark.

With the engine once again purring smoothly, and with only a little anxiety we slowly motored in to the marina, and quietly tied up at our previously reserved slip, the Coral Gables skyline well lit in the background. Pretty, pretty place! Nice marina, loud band at the local tiki bar.

Next day the weather forecast was great - a large high pressure area had become stationary over south Florida and winds would be steady out of the north at 15 mph. Not so great for heading out of Governors Channel but perfect to go up the bridge laden ICW - so once again against the wishes of my crew, we headed up the ICW, wrist watch in hand, hoping to pass one bridge opening on the hour and the half our and catching the next on on the quarter past and quarter till. There are a lot of bridges! I mean a lot of bridges! While my brother-in-law was a trooper, he did repeatedly remind me as we waited for every bridge to open of the time lost had we not gone off shore.

Light House Point was once again a night entrance after seven in the evening and after clearing umpteen bridges. But the bridge angst was well off set with a dinner at a local island speakeasy only acessable by boat. The next day after tightening an alternator belt, freeing a seized fitting on the pump out and filling the galley tank, we headed out for the next twenty or so bridges, arriving in Palm Beach about four thirty.

The day started out ok, but at the North Palm Beach - Parker Bridge, we just missed the opening and had to circle. Just as the bridge opened for us, Pee Wee's tether decided that it had enough of avoiding the prop and bang just as we started to enter the bridge, we had no power. We were about 200 yards on the south side in six feet of water. So the anchor went over, I stripped down to bare bones, and the next hour was spent cutting loose the half inch halyard that I had used to manufacture the tether. Thankfully, I had previously purchased a prescription lense diving mask, since in my old age everything is just a blur without my glasses, and in the murky water I could clearly see the tangle and use a knife to once again free Pee Wee. Needless to say, Pee Wee is now deflated and stowed on the foredeck of Saffanah regardless of my brother-in-laws admonitions.

Clearing the bridge an hour later, we decided that an early evening was in store and I began to obsess over the potential of a 30 minute hot shower

In all my years of traveling the ICW, I have rarely been disappointed in a marina. In the early years, some were not appointed very well, but, if so, the service and the welcome more than offset the lack of amenity or aesthetics. But in Palm Beach, the marinas most definitely accommodate Wall Street millionaires and not us little little sailboat trash and certainly behave with an equivalent level of arrogance to our types. After being advised that most marinas would not accommodate anything fewer than fifty feet, the Palm Harbor Marina, MM1023, welcomed us with open arms. Great ad in the water way guide, showers, fuel, restaurant. As we pulled in we noticed few boats at what appeared to be brand new floating docks. The dock master greeted us and as we tied up apologized that he had to charge for a fifty foot slip and by the way the restrooms and showers had not yet been constructed, the restaurant had not been constructed, and there was no fuel. And if we wanted power we would have to rent his 50 to 30 amp splitter for fifty bucks than night.

It was late, and I did not want to go on another 15 miles so we stayed, the harbor master did cut me a $10 dollar break on the slip and finally rented the splitter for only $10 additional. However, I do have some advice to the owner of the marina, who by the way lives on 125 footer in the unfinished marina. You can clip a man's hair all of his life but you can scalp him only once. Even if I do hit the lottery and my next boat costs 20 million bucks it will be a cold day in you know where before I ever put in to the Palm Harbor Marina at MM1023 again!

On Tuesday we made it to Nettles Island just before the forecast thirty to forty knot southerly wind began to blow with all of its might. Tied up broad side to a fixed dock, the night was likely one of the most unpleasant nights I have ever spent on a boat. The boat tossed and turned, the waves slapped the beam of the boat with astounding bangs and we spent every hour or so adjusting the lines and fenders.

My brother-in-law had to return to Atlanta the next day and Fort Pierce seemed a likely stopping point that would allow me to return to our business for a few days, and then set off for Jacksonville after Christmas.

So at 6 AM we designed a clever little spring line and in spite of the 30 knot breeze holding us against the dock, we pulled off just like a power boat pro would do it. With that feisty breeze now at our backs the ride up the Indian River past the Ft. Pierce Inlet took only a couple hours, and today Saffanah is safely snuggled into a slip in Harbor town Marina. Next week I will change fuel filters and do few little things to make ready to head to head up right after the Christmas Holiday.

Powerboats and the ICW
A Passage from Ft Meyers to Orlando FL
June 2004

To all of those sailors who complain of the "stink potter", curse their wakes, brashly condemn their lack of appreciation of the environment and extend their contention to the owner's lack of self reliance, you have my apology. In 2004, my heart got ahead of my brain, and in the back yard of an owner of a Carver 35, I wrote one more check - this time for a power boat. Twin 354's, master stateroom with bath tub, a real stand up refrigerator, generator et al. It was a warm day in June, the sun came in through the windows on the main salon, the flying bridge was fully enclosed, a second steering station in the salon all envisioned no more weather exposure, no more lines and sheets, no more crawling onto deck, and a happy wife.

But Ft. Meyers was a long way from Orlando and I had lost my slip in the St. Petersburg Marina with the sale of Threshold. But the 40 some foot bridge restriction on the St Johns River was no longer a barrier. Sanford was less than ten miles from my home in Orlando. So the first destination was pre-determined. The path to get there required a little more thought.

Just a couple years before, I had crossed the Caloosahatchee/Okeechobee/St Lucie Canal in a sailboat the most illogical choice of boat in which to make the trip. So it seemed perfectly logical, that I should run a power boat across Florida Bay to Key West and then run up Hawk Channel to Miami to join the ICW. Never mind that it added a couple hundred miles to the trip in a boat that averaged about one gallon per mile to operate - remember that old adage a fool and his money soon part. De ja vu all over again.

So off we went Ft Meyers to Naples to get fuel, Ft Meyers to Key West to get fuel, Key West to Plantation to fix engine, Plantation to Key Biscayne to get fuel, Key Biscayne to Pier 66 to get fuel, and so on and so on. The boat I had purchased had not been run very much in the last 5 years and although the owner had a third party to maintain the boat, I have learned it is better to buy a boat that has been routinely operated and maintained than to simply seek low engine hours and low usage. Just like the old saying go "If you don't use it your gonna lose it".

Is there no end to lessons learned?

So on the way into Key West the port engine began to echo a slightly weird noise and by the time we reached Plantation Key it was obvious big troubles were hiding in that engine. Luck would have it, if you could see the glass half full, my crew was the same mechanic who had helped the young couple in the Indian River a couple years earlier. Within hours of limping into Plantation Key, the heads were off the engine, and two days later new heads were on and we managed to travel the rest of the way to Sanford without further mechanical hic ups.

By now my nautical skills were pretty refined although my skills with two separate gear shifts and throttles left a little to be desired. But all in all, adapting to a power boat from a sail boat did not pose any great heartburn - except for the constant need to find fuel. Crossing Florida Bay is a pretty easy task with compass and GPS - and for some reason I still had that little grey monochromatic GPS that I used coming down the Chesapeake. Taking from the lessons learned book, there were no more nighttime passages or fog bound passages. Barges were fully respected and anticipated. And the trip to Jacksonville was uneventful.

Are there differences between making a trip up the ICW in a Sailboat and in a Powerboat outside of the obvious cost of fuel and human comfort issues? In my humble estimation - not really. No wake zones have definitely mitigated the differences in travel time between inlets. If one were to go outside in a power boat speed is of an advantage but range forces you to seek an intermediate port that will a increase your overall travel distance and discount your advantage in speed. A properly crewed and equipped sailboat while much slower off shore, can comfortably travel many twenty four hour days before seeking a port. In the contest, the a displacement hull will always be the hare and the powerboat that planes will be the tortoise - over distance steady Eddy wins the race but in a sprint Speedy Gonzales comes out ahead.

How would I characterize my power boat trip against my sailboat trip? Well in the comfort category the power boat wins but a giant leap. From Shell Oil or BP's perspective sail boats are not going to get their advertising dollars. Definitely trawlers represent the best compromise of between the two in this category.

But if your goal is neither time nor destination driven then the decision is a tossup and personal choice, the cause the slow deliberate process of navigating the ICW off shooting rivers and bays yields treasures beyond the more mundane issues of money and time. As I look back on Port Royal Sound or the trip up the golden mile in Ft Lauderdale time and bridges were my friend and not enemy. I do believe that sailing demands more seamanship skills and resourcefulness than power boating only because the a sailboat itself is more sensitive to currents and winds and lacks the maneuverability of a twin engine power boat and draws a lot more water. So for you stink potters out there, besides consistently showing pity and disdain, cut the rag merchants a little slack on the seamanship side. And for you sail boaters just remember the first watery lesson I ever learned - a fool and his money soon part.

Skipping any further editorials, the power boat Patience spent a year in Sanford FL, then moved back up/down to Palm Coast for a year, then to the Conch house marina in St Augustine for a year, then a solo trip up to Hilton Head only to be transported over land to the now infamous Lake Lanier. A year later Patience returned to St Augustine and finally she now rests with a new owner in Jacksonville FL.

And during all of that traveling, she had few crises worthy of this blog, traveled about 750 miles up and down the Southern region of the ICW, and gave her owner and captain many hours of idle speed sightseeing. Thank you Patience!

Patience is a virtue
Seek it if you can
Seldom found in a woman
Never found in a man.

Daytona Beach to St Petersburg Passage
St Lucie Canal/Okeechobee/Caloosahatchee/Gulf Coast ICW
April to June 2001

While Daytona Beach offers Bike Week, NASCAR, a great beach with hard bodies, and the World Series of Softball, for a sailor the place has a big limitation. St Augustine and Ponce Inlets offer the closest access to the Atlantic Ocean and in either direction several bascule bridges and an hour or two of motoring must be handled before an inlet is reached. So for several years Threshold was more of a floating condominium than a sailboat, and I stayed on board a couple days a week.

Orlando is centered between Daytona and Tampa/St Petersburg and I had debated both options heavily with the decision to put my name on the St Petersburg City Marina waiting list hoping for a slip to open.
My mother always admonished me, "be careful about what you ask for - you may get it" and true to form one day I received the unexpected telephone call from the St Petersburg City Marina, "you have a slip next month if you want it." Without out question this marina is one of the most appealing locations along the east coast; similar to ones in downtown Baltimore or in Miami and Ft Lauderdale'

Located in the refurbished sections of downtown St Petersburg one can enjoy the ambiance of a beautiful city and yet have a great bay or harbor to day-sail with little restriction - direct access to Tampa Bay and unrestricted access to the Gulf of Mexico. So Threshold had only a month to get from Daytona to St Petersburg otherwise no day sailing in Daytona.

One can very easily see there are several routes that can be chosen for such a passage. Go to the Keys and then take a hard right turn or take the cross Florida route and the Gulf ICW up to Tampa Bay. I wanted to see Lake Okeechobee and I was not certain that my weather windows would allow enough time for me to travel off shore to Key West and then up to St Petersburg, Also I did have to work so if I traveled the ICW and the canal across Florida, I could always tie up in a local marina and return to Orlando for a few days, then return to pick up the next leg.

So the route was determined and in April of 2001 Threshold moved from Daytona to Titusville and ultimately arriving at Indian town on the St Lucie Canal. Outside of the fact we had a strong northerly breeze that allowed us to sail downwind the entire stretch of the Indian River at five plus knots using the engine only to maneuver bridges.

The trip to Indiantown was uneventful with the exception my crew this time included my oldest daughter who had very profound recollections of Captain's Bligh and Ahab adventures in Charleston Harbor twenty years earlier. But for her this time she admitted that Captains Bligh and Ahab were not in charge of Threshold - and that did make her much happier.

And along the way we were able to repay the debt I owed to the amorous captain and mate twenty years earlier off the beach of St John's Island in Charleston South Carolina.

As we passed Titusville and headed down the Indian River we came up on a small power boat stranded in the channel tied to a day beacon. The boat included a frantic dad, a crying mom and a couple of little children. The engine would not start, it was getting dark and they were worried. One of my crew members was a mechanic who had come along for the day. He had grown up on the Indian River and new every detail that needed to be known about channels spoils and thin spots in the water. So we began to tow the stranded boat to a marina he knew, and he jumped into the powerless boat. By the time we were within a mile of our destination, he had the stalled engine running; all ended with the little boat heading into port and Threshold continuing down the ICW.

I guess sooner or later "what goes around comes around".

The spring weather ran warm and cool and the evening we arrived in Indiantown a fog began to set within an hour after we tied up to the transient dock. The St Lucie canal is exactly that, relatively narrow and high banks define the shoreline. There was no need for day beacons because you could not stray from the channel. So with that in mind, early the next morning we cast off our lines and motored out of the marina and into the canal although the fog had not lifted and seeing the bow of the boat was difficult. But I knew all would be ok. After all what was the worst that could happen? We run into a bank?

My crew at the time was a very sweet lady I had married in the early 1980's so she had been with me for twenty years and knew my personally very well. But even with such wifely understanding she would repeatedly question me saying "Is it safe out her with the heavy fog? How can you see anything? Would it not have been smart to stay a little longer in the marina and let the fog lift?" Rest assured, I reassured her that no one else would be out her and what is the worst that can happen? We turn left instead of right and we bounce off the bank.

But somewhere around the third or fourth reassurance, she asked "do you hear that motor, what is that noise?' The question did register in my mind and thankfully the fog broke just enough for me to see a big, black, undefined lump heading directly toward us - a commercial barge. Who would have thought that a commercial barge would be in the St Lucie canal? Or better yet, who in their right mind would have not stopped to read about the barge traffic on the St Lucie canal before entering the canal in a heavy fog?

There are now many volumes to the Lessons Learned Book - obviously I am a very prolific writer to have created such a thick book with so many chapters and anecdotes.

Once again the barge captain was way ahead of my game and made a slight starboard turn while I did the same. We cleared port to port with little room to spare. But the rest of the trip and the rest of all my future trips will certainly remind me that the ICW can allow lull even the most experienced captain into a cavalier state of mind and a sense of entitlement and over confidence.

We then came to the infamous railroad bridge - and the lake at the time was high. So our 52 foot mast would not clear the bridge. We had earlier called the local "boat tipper" and with a handful of barrels on our starboard deck, a halyard attached to the Boat Tippers work barge, Threshold developed a sixteen degree starboard heel. Once heeled the "boat tippers" captain shouted "hit it with full power and do not hesitate", Threshold and the "boat tippers" barge simultaneously powered under the bridge, neither arriving on the other side any worse for wear. We paid our $75 "tipping fee", the crew emptied and removed the barrels, handed us two, aluminum foil wrapped bacon and egg breakfasts and disappeared into the fog.

A couple hundred yards later we entered the lock to Lake Okeechobee with the fog now so heavy we could not see the gates at the end of the lock. The lock master closed the entrance gate, and a few minutes later the lake side gate opened exposing a monolithic wall of grey despite all of my assurances to my now concerned crew "By the time we clear the lock the fog will have lifted and we can enjoy a nice ride across the lake". The lock master did graciously offer to allow us to tie up the some pilings a few yards into the lake, he too suggesting we wait until the fog lifted before we crossed the lake.

But I now had confidence in the little monochromatic Garmin GPS, and the fact the lake was above normal depths, so my ego just could not accept the lock masters offer, and the little Perkins began to hum at 1800 rpm and Threshold ran on at 5 knots toward the little electronic dot displayed on the monochromatic Garmin screen.

At five knots a passage across the lake will take a few hours - five to seven depending upon your ability to spot day beacons. So we likely averaged three or four because if I felt lost or concerned I could not visually spot the marker shown on the Garmin screen I would cut the speed in half and navigate using the depth sounder.

Every twenty minutes I would deliberately make the pronouncement "the fog will lift shortly" - that is at least three times per hour for those not so mathematically inclined. And every hour passed with increasing frustration that the fog had not lifted. We could hear power boats pass by us and feel their wake but we could not see them. The GPS worked great and we found every day beacon even though we could see the less than 100 feet away.

We entered the lake somewhere around 10 AM and the fog finally lifted at about 2:30 PM, just in enough time for us to see the rim of the lake and get a sense of the environment that I wanted to so badly see. We locked down into the Caloosahatchee River around 5PM and tied up to the first marina in sight - it might have been the only one in Moorehaven at the time.

For some reason that escapes me, I seem to write new chapters in my Lessons Learned Book, only to then not practice what I preached in the old chapters. Overconfidence, a misplaced sense of skill, a cavalier attitude, or just plain stupidity seems to consistently erase many of my lessons learned. Traveling in fog regardless of the level and sophistication of electronics and the crews experience should never be taken lightly. Likewise traveling at night along lanes that have commercial traffic should be avoided - again regardless of the electronic sophistication or ability to interpret the blotches, dots and pings. GPS, Radar, AIS and VHF definitely are great tools. But electronics do not replace common sense and do not compensate for the boater who lacks both electronics and common sense a very easy lesson to be overlooked or ignored.

The Caloosahatchee River and Gulf Coast Intracoastal Waterway

The next day was idyllic traveling down the Caloosahatchee River through the sugar cane fields and large pastures of cattle. Few navigation skills were necessary until arriving in Ft Meyers and the trip from a seamanship perspective was simple, but once again the scenery and serenity did more than offset the lack of nautical challenges. One note - sugar cane fields are set afire after the cane is harvested and by the time we arrived in Ft Meyers Threshold was covered with ashes.

We left the boat in a Ft Meyers marina and two weeks later Threshold was setting in her new slip at the St Petersburg marina. Her crew spent many evening watching the sun set through the St Petersburg skyline and many weekends day sailing Tampa Bay. The passage up the Gulf Coast Intracoastal Waterway was little different than that of the ICW south of St. Lucie, narrow channels, some congestion and many beautiful homes. No particular events stand out in my mind outside of the continuum of the previous 1,200 miles or so of this endearing watery highway

A couple of years later someone walked up to Threshold's slip made an unsolicited offer to buy her at a price that was hard to resist, and to this day I miss Threshold much more than I miss my ex wife. But new chapters begin where old ones quit and there are many more lessons to be learned.

The Next leg of the trip
From Norfolk to Daytona
July 1999 - August 1999

Norfolk to Cape Fear

Once safely tied up at a comfortable marina in Norfolk, dinner and a warm shower were in store, and the next day with a new crew, Threshold started at mile marker 0, coerced the cantankerous railroad bridge tender to open and was through the lock by ten AM and well on her way to Coinjack. The new crew was very compatible, jovial and definitely looking forward to a fun couple of days. We elected to skip the Dismal Canal on this passage since one of the crew planned to traverse the canal the next year and invited me to join him. The next year we took him up on the offer and so I have been able to see both passages first hand.

We had hoped to venture off shore but the winds were a steady southerly breeze of about 5 knots and would have been dead on our nose for as long as we could monitor the forecast. We would have to motor sail all the way. So the ICW remained the route of choice - and ten years later I would not give up a single day of the passage and would never regret that decision.

The passage to Coinjack was absolutely uneventful - maybe it was because the crew was experienced and maybe this portion of the trip was just simply a simple passage. While the seamanship aspects of the trip were pretty mundane, the scenery and the serenity of the trip off set the lack of crises and we arrived at Coinjack about 6:00 in that evening. In July the Bermuda High had set in and the weather was clear, the temperature in the seventies and eighties, almost no wind, and all was well to cross Albemarle and Pamlico Sounds in the next couple of days. We could expect an occasional shower or thunderstorm in the afternoons but otherwise there were no brooding hurricanes or tropical depressions between Maine and Key West.

As we traveled for the next few days, we were continually impressed with the skill of the barge operators maneuvering their loads and tows with the skill of a seamstress threading the eye of the needle. The dredged channel is pretty narrow in many places and delivers some very abrupt changes in direction. Enhanced with cross currents and encouraged by strong winds with an ocean fetch these barge captains certainly cannot sleep at the wheel and every day must present a new challenge for each of them. I think that we pleasure boaters sometimes forget the interstate commerce that has given us this watery highway.

Crossing Albemarle was also uneventful except when we approached the confusing switch in day beacons from red right returning from Norfolk to red right returning to Norfolk - or was it the other way around. Regardless we made the right decision and a few hours later we reached Bell Haven.

With a crew of three grown men on board and the need to replenish provisions and beer daily, anchoring was not a particularly viable option. We could bond daily but a small boat anchored in the mosquito infested waters demanded a more intense sense of intimacy and bonding with nature than any one of us could muster up. Tied up safely to a dock with 30 amp service and on-board air conditioning offsetting the close quarters just made a lot of sense - forget the cost.

The next day the Pamlico River was easily crossed and New Bern become our new overnight home. From that point Beaufort, New River and Topsail Beach passed with ease and the old crew began to prepare to be replaced with a new crew. We did have a couple of near groundings - the boat takes a upward leap and heels - but either we had developed the seamanship skills and/or the crews experience seemed to take the occasional hic ups without the panic and trauma that many of my previous passages had experienced.

At Wilmington the new crew boarded and the old crew left. But the new crew was one man short and the arriving crew member had to be on an airplane back home in 48 hours. Traversing the ICW to Charleston would likely take three days. So with a great weather forecast and 2 to 3 foot seas predicted we headed off shore via the Cape Fear River, and once we cleared the last inlet buoy set a course directly to the first whistle buoy entering Charleston harbor. If you read the previous blog about Charleston you can see a little irony in this passage.

While the wind was from the South, the course to Charleston allowed us to sail close hauled all the way, and exactly 22 hours later we entered Charleston Harbor, passed the local cut in the south jetty, reminding me of my first anchoring experience, and tied up to the transient dock at the Ashley Marina. The new crew made his flight a day early and I spent a couple of days refreshing a few memories of the Battery and the Charleston restaurants.

The crew for the next leg of the journey to Jacksonville turned out to be delightful - one was my youngest daughter Michelle - the one who twenty years earlier had noticed the missing boat off of the St John's beach. She had since grown, graduated from Florida and Princeton and was a practicing architect in New York City. With such a great crew in hand and twenty years later, we set out between those Charleston jetties and at the whistle buoy laid a course for Jacksonville.

Leaving Charleston early in the AM with a morning fog lifting allowed Michelle and I to see the local cut and reminisce a little about her lasting perceptions of Captains Bligh and Ahab. But the flat seas and warm air soon took over our mood and for the next twenty hours or so we held a steady course, only occasionally touching the helm. The stern light on the West Sail was mounted on the boom gallows just aft and above of where the helmsman sat and throughout the night the helmsman was regularly bombarded by flying fish attracted to the light.

At sunrise a large pod of spotted dolphins joined us for a couple of hours. There were new calves in the pod and they seemed to look directly into our eyes as we watched them gracefully waltz in our bow wave. I wonder what the thought and I am certain they thought the same of us.

Late in the afternoon, I picked up a VHF weather station just north of Fernandina Beach warning of severe thunderstorms and water spouts heading our way. I knew that we had little chance reaching Jacksonville before meeting the storms, and while at the moment the sky was blue and the clouds white, I doused the sail, stowed the stoables, and without saying much to the crew, went down below and put on my foul weather gear, harness and tether. When I came back on deck, the crew was astounded with my garb and began to laugh. Twenty minutes the storm hit and the crew huddled safely below while I enjoyed the challenge - me and Threshold against Mother Nature. The weather passed about three hours later and we entered the Jacksonville harbor under calm conditions and a heat lightening show that gave us all of the light we needed to make the port turn from the St. Johns to the ICW. An hour later we tied up to a marina dock and my daughter complemented me on my seamanship skills. Oddly enough she never reminisced about Captain Bligh and Ahab again.

So yet another lesson was learned - Captain Ahab and Bligh are not necessarily immortal and their image can indeed be changed. And don't forget "what goes around comes around"

I made the trip from Jacksonville to Daytona Beach solo and for a year or so stayed at Halifax Harbor in while I commuted between Orlando and Atlanta. Later I would move Threshold to St Petersburg FL via the St Lucie canal and Gulf Coast ICW

Twenty years after my first ICW Experience
A passage from Baltimore MD to Norfolk VA
July 1999
The era of the S/V Threshold

Baltimore MD and the Chesapeake Bay

1999 once again gave me the opportunity to revisit the very first watery lesson that I had learned - a fool and his money soon part. Once again, a windfall bonus, a great Annapolis yacht broker and a West Sail 32, which this time was a real "sail away' package, all came together in the back yard of "Threshold's owner. I was commuting from Atlanta to Washington DC, and any reasonable pragmatist could see the economics of living on a sailboat at the Shem Creek Marina in Annapolis and traveling back home on the weekends. Pretty doggone logical decision in my mind. And, God forbid, should the job transfer me someplace else, good ol' Threshold could easily move with me. Sweet!

And this time I had charts and a monochromatic hand held Garmin GPS so getting from Baltimore to Shem Creek in Annapolis posed few navigational problems. Only one bridge to pass - Shem Creek. I picked up the boat at the local marina after the survey and paid for a fresh bottom job and with all of the confidence in the world, stepped into the cockpit, started the engine, cast off the lines and fifty yards later ran aground on the sand bark that the yard foreman had previously warned me about.

But Threshold was strong and had a powerful Perkins engine with a three blade prop and the twenty year old lessons learned from the ICW immediately returned to my mind. Simply turn the tiller full port, pointing the bow to what I thought to be deep water and gun the Perkins. Thankfully, the marina had a little power boat with a tow line and shortly, after listening to the yard superintendent's instructions for the second or third or fourth time, Threshold was now in 10 feet of water and heading to Annapolis, hopefully, with no further embarrassments to be levied upon her by her new Captain.

Six months later, I learned my company was going to relocate to Orlando FL, and I had a month to get settled in the Sunshine State. Of course the news broke my heart, but then again there are many alligators and crocodiles in Florida and crocodile tears are of such a common occurrence that no one would take heed to my protestations. But how to get Threshold to where she needed to be was a bit of a concern since I could not make the junket in one single leg, and I did not have my crew of twenty years ago. Long ago I learned to appreciate the second hand to spell me at the helm, spot day beacons, and help me tie up or anchor at night and fix a welcome PBJ sandwich and a cup of hot coffee.

Also ICW mile marker 0 was still 140+ miles away and I was not familiar with the Chesapeake shore line. Even then Daytona was another 830 statute miles after that. Let me see, at 50 miles per day and a thousand miles to go, even that fellow in China would find a single handed trip a little daunting. So it dawned upon me that I had a bunch of frequent flyer miles, a handful of college chums who had retired and had little on their work plates, and I had a need.

So the trip was planned. At Annapolis, Norfolk, Cape Fear, Charleston, and Daytona, a new crew would fly in and an old crew would depart. I would cover the expenses (mostly frequent flyer passes), and the trip would be spread out over the course of a month to allow me to attend to work as well as pleasure.

On July 3 1998, Threshold left Shem Creek and headed to Norfolk - a passage of, give or take, one hundred thirty miles. For the passage I had two crew, Jim and Jack, both of which had never been on an off shore sailboat, and, as I soon learned, were unequivocally incompatible with each other. The concepts of port and starboard, tack and jibe, main sail and jib were foreign to both. So I decided that before we made the trip down the Chesapeake we would have some early morning sailing and boat handling lessons.

The wind was brisk - 15 to 20 knots and Threshold was a cutter with hanked-on staysail and jib. Jim had some experience sailing a West Wright Potter but Jack knew "jack little" about sail boats or any boats for that matter, and probably to this day has little regret about his lack of this kind of knowledge. Regardless we did our thing, discussing sails and running rigging, and sheets and the like and before I realized it we were still sailing within four miles of Annapolis at three in the afternoon.

I had been watching the weather, and while I knew a Bermuda high was settling in off shore of Norfolk, there would be a significant possibility of a thunderstorm that evening. So after having all of the fun we could have learning how to sail a heavy boat in 15 knot breezes we doused the sails, stowed the stowables, fixed a light dinner of pasta and I took the helm and pointed the bow toward Norfolk.

As the sun began to set we could see the fireworks of both Baltimore and Washington in the night sky, and while Jack and Jim were ogling at their splendor, we could also see the outline of the thunderheads in the same sky. At that moment, I suddenly realized that this would be their first night time sailing experience and a shudder ran up my back.

Both were tired from working the sails that day so both sat in the cockpit, backs to the bow and watched the darkening horizon over the stern of the boat. For a while I thought they were mesmerized by the moment, but suddenly both headed for the scuppers at the same moment, up chucking their pasta.

Seasickness is no joke. It is a terrible feeling no matter who you are and it is debilitating. We were then thirty miles down the Chesapeake and it was dark, the wind and seas building into a nasty and sloppy chop. I was raining and there was some lighting. I had not planned for an emergency port, and did not want to turn around and go back to Annapolis. And I had not followed the precaution of knowing my crew properly.

So I did only what I could do. I put on my foul weather gear; stowed Jack and Jim down below and sat at the helm for the next six hours. No, Threshold did not have an autopilot or wind vane, and yes every ten minutes I checked the monochromatic GPS and watched the compass like a hawk watches for a field mouse and marked our position on a paper chart.

At about three AM after the storm had passed, Jack and Jim found their sea legs, and joined me in the cockpit. Jim relieved me at the helm and Jack reluctantly spelled him every so often. After a quick cup of coffee and confident that they could stay on course, I decided to jump into the quarter berth to grab a few winks, hoping to wake up at dawn and prepare to enter Norfolk that afternoon.

I dozed off only to wake up to hear Jack and Jim arguing. "Should we go between them?" "No, go around them" "No they are too close, we need to go between them" and the argument began to heat up with a lot of profanity thrown in just to spark excitement. Needless to say, I went up on deck and looked forward only to see us heading straight for the beam of a north bound container ship. I knocked the helm to starboard, gunned the engine and we missed the freighter by no more than 50 yards, its wake throwing Threshold every way conceivable a few seconds later. Both had seen only the two white mast lights and nothing else and were heading for the gap in between.

Needless to say, I stayed in the cockpit the balance of the night and about 3:00 PM we tied up at a Marina in Norfolk. Little was said about the incident twelve hours earlier, but a huge collection of lessons went into the lesson book. Do not transit the Chesapeake at night in a small boat unless well equipped with VHF, GPS, AIS and Radar and then only if you know how to operate such equipment proficiently. Know your crew and make certain all are compatible - incompatibility can lead to disaster not simply hurt feelings. And plan your trip with an emergency port in mind.

Looking back, the trip was enjoyable and we felt a sense of accomplishment. The one scary incident received little discussion and chagrin was contained within each individual. But I did put my crew in danger, risked my boat, and if we were to have hit that freighter no one would have known our fate since I did not file a sail plan with anyone.

Traveling the coastal waterways in a pleasure boat requires a sense of responsibility and I was not responsible that evening. It could have cost us our lives; a big lesson to learned by all taking such a trip.

A Little Interim Boating
Lake Lanier - Atlanta GA
1979 - 1999
The era of the S/V Threshold

The next twenty years after the SV Paramour and I separated, were spent traveling around the world on 747's and Air Busses and a host of other commercial vehicles. But there was not a harbor, a river, a coastal plain that I did not at least take a moment to survey for buoys and markers, signs of currents, look for prevailing winds, or talk to locals about the passages in and out of these exotic harbors and ports. I have now by airplane, car and train circumnavigated the globe several times and visited more than forty countries. Someday I hope by small boat.

But the ICW and sailing never quite left my mind and my salt water gap was spent honing sailing skills on a fresh water lake in Atlanta - Lake Lanier.

While the locals tout a seven hundred mile shore line, for sailors a low bridge cuts deeply into that seven hundred miles leaving only to two legs of three and five miles on which one can refine what I call pure sailing skills - jibing and tacking, reefing and running with a spinnaker, and a host of skills power boaters would not relish nor find useful. So for at least ten of those years S/V Tenacity, and old 35 foot Morgan center board sloop and I crisscrossed the landlocked lake. The the surrounding hills and varying seasons did allow me to refine a few more sail handling skills and I did continue to add to my lessons learned book - along with an occasional and unexpected lesson in humility.

Lake Lanier locals please excuse my candor, but Lake Lanier does not sport a tide, there are no currents, no salt water spray, no waves, no unexpected shallows, no navigation markers, no customs inspectors or immigration agents, no barges, container or cruse ships, nor most of anything else that makes ocean sailing the experience it is. Please accept my appology.

Unfortunately, while much enjoyment came reaching in a twenty knot breeze, sooner or later the passage down the lake would end at the dam holding me back from traveling down the Chattahoochee River into Mobile Bay and once again tasting salt water spray. And I would long for the sea or at least the ICW.

My Very First ICW Experience
A passage from Charleston SC to St Augustine FL
March 15, 1979

Getting Ready

Before I can share my first trip, I must explain how I became aware of the ICW and the gained the basic knowledge I think necessary to make a first trip down the waterway.

As a boy growing up in the cornfields of Indiana, visions of oceans and seas and rivers were ingrained in my mind by my grandfather - a Danish immigrant and a North Sea eel fisherman. Although I would have wait for college spring break in Ft Lauderdale to get my first glimpse of emerald and blue salt water, his stories of the sea and the transatlantic passage from Denmark on a wooden schooner gave me a leg up on all other wannabe sailors of the world. So in 1978 I found myself at the yacht brokerage dock in Charleston, South Carolina, writing a check for a brand new Hunter 30 - the FIRST and most primary of the many watery lessons I have learned - A FOOL AND HIS MONEY SOON PART.

Now mind you, I had never sailed before - no prior Sunfish experience, no prior Hobie Cat experience, no romantic, captained, chartered, sunset dinner cruise on a tranquil bay, not even one hour's practice sailing a remote controlled boat on a little pond. But armed with my grandfather's legacy, many evenings of arm chair sailing with the Hiscocks and Joshua Slocum, and the broker's "personal assurance" that thirty footers are much, much easier and forgiving to sail than little sailboats like Hobie Cats and Snarks, I found it easy to part with the windfall bonus I had received from my company the day before.

After all the broker did promise that he would personally teach me how to sail my shiny, brand new, sailboat - the second watery lesson learned on the second day of my sailing career - never buy a boat, or anything else for that matter, from a guy who lives aboard his own boat, does not own a home on land and constantly talks about the virtues of retiring to the tropics once he gets a little extra money in his checking account. Needless to say, once my check cleared the bank, early one morning I watched the very sincere and helpful broker sailed out between the jetties of Charleston, never to be seen again (at least by me). I hope he is enjoying every moment of his stay in Tahiti.

So there I sat (for several weeks) at the Ashley Marina in the Charleston harbor, "virtual" sailing my brand new shiny sailboat - which, by the way, was equipped with the Hunter "sail-away package" - a package the broker assured me was all one needed to circumnavigate the world. A third lesson learned in as many days - there is more to sailing around the world than "a sail-away package".

Unfortunately there is a limit to how long one can "virtual sail" a brand new sailboat - though over the passing years, as I have walked the docks of a thousand marinas, I have often wondered just what percentage of these beautiful boats are "virtual sailed" by their land locked owners. But for me the peer pressures and the viral admonishments from an angry wife (who never met my grandfather and thought she had better uses for the bonus money than an impulsive purchase of a sailboat that I did not know how to sail) forced me to abandon the virtual world and step into reality - a scary thought to say the least, although at the time my high level of male hormones would never allow me to utter the word "scary" or admit that I did not have clue as to what I was doing.

So on a very quiet Saturday afternoon I learned how to start the Yanmar diesel engine - thankfully after a few attempts cranking the engine a really nice guy on the boat next to me diplomatically suggested that it was generally a common practice allow the glow plug to preheat before expecting the engine to kick over. The same guy, thankfully, helped me to cast off my lines and gave me encouragement from the bow of his boat as I hesitantly left the dock - of course it never stuck my mind that he was not being encouraging at all, but instead nervously protecting his pride and joy from an obvious and hazardous novice.

While I did not dare, nor did I know how, to raise the sails, the day proved to me that grandpa knew his stuff and Danish eel fisherman's blood did run through my veins. Returning to the dock a few hours later, after motoring up and down in front of the crowd of tourists walking the Charleston Battery, my newly found friend and a half dozen other boat owners frantically fended me off a handful of boats in the marina, and with only a modest loss of grace but with a sizable bounty of humility, the shiny new boat and I managed to return relatively unscathed. And, I learned my fourth but very profound watery lesson - virtual boating just does not equate to the real thing - no way Jose!

Over the next few months, I learned many watery lessons. For example, do not try to raise the jib in front of a crowd of people walking along the Charleston Battery especially if you cannot distinguish the foot from the leach - hanks do attach to the head stay. Or, do not attempt to sail in three feet of water when your draft is four feet - especially if you have a half dozen guests on board who were previously convinced that you were an experienced and seasoned seaman - I have no idea where they would have come to such a premature but erroneous conclusion. Or, do not tie your boat lines tightly to the dock when there is a possibility that a six foot tide will occur twice daily. Spring lines, tides and currents, wind and the need to keep grass and tube worms off intake strainers became more than anecdotes in my lessons learned book.

As the weekends, passed my confidence gradually grew - although my book of lessons learned seemed to grow at a more exponential rate - and soon I found myself trying to get the "rail down", testing just how close to the wind I could come, and practicing, with authority, my commands such as "prepare to jib" and "prepare to come about" with my crew (my then six and ten year old daughters and now ex-wife). Ultimately, my crew lovingly (I think that is the operative adverb) compared or placed me in the same league with Captains Bligh and Ahab - but then, in reflection, those references may have been more directed toward my command presence than my seamanship.

At any rate, a year later my job took us to Jacksonville and the S/V Paramour and I could not stand a hundred and sixty miles separation. So the decision - off shore or ICW - had to be made and a new St Augustine marina just under construction was selected to become Paramour's new home.

And, the one hundred sixty miles to be traveled? I will admit it today. I did get a quote to truck the boat to Jacksonville. But once my now ex-wife saw the quote; I quickly reconsidered that thought. After all, as she put it to me, was I not prepared and confident enough to move the boat myself? Obviously that answer had to be yes - although quite privately, I had never looked at any chart outside of the one I had for the Charleston Harbor. And despite all of the weekend harbor sailing, I had never actually passed between the Charleston Harbor's jetties, and I had no clue where the ICW entered or exited the Charleston Harbor. But I did know a lot of stuff. I mean, after all, it is red right returning - right? - But, does that mean right retuning to the sea or from the sea? Day beacons, mile markers, bridges, currents and tides? Well all can be learned just as I had learned about anchoring a few months ago.

By the way, if you are going to travel the ICW, anchoring knowledge is a big deal. And by the time I was ready to make my first trip I did know a lot about anchoring before heading for St Augustine. Let me explain. A few months earlier, I made an attempt to renew my boating bond with my crew promising a very tranquil afternoon on a remote St, Johns Island beach - no authoritative command shouting, no raising the sails, simply motoring through a local knowledge cut and anchoring just off the beach and a short dinghy ride to where we could have a picnic lunch and enjoy serenity and privacy. Pretty clever way of selling the sailing life and re-bonding with my crew, huh? What could go wrong? Thankfully an anchor and rode was a part of the sail-away package.

The day did start out pretty well - we found the "local knowledge cut" in the Charleston Harbor jetty just like the locals said and a couple miles later, I dropped the anchor, and Captain and crew went happily ashore. For a while it was bliss until suddenly my littlest daughter innocently asked "where is the boat daddy". Well the boat was in sight but about a half mile from where it should be - obviously a case of anchor dragging. But what to do was a bit of a quandary.

As I ran down the beach I thought about the Annapolis Book of Seamanship laying next to the couch in my house and vowed, once the present crises was resolved, I would diligently re-read each of the book's chapters and promised to never skim a chapter again. For example, had I properly secured the anchor rode to Paramour (I just do not remember reading that passage in the book) at the time I set the anchor, I likely would not be running down the beach to fetch my Paramour from the surf - another lesson to be added to the lessons learned book. But, back to the crises at hand. By the time I reached Paramour and climbed aboard and started the engine she was pounding stern-on to the sand bottom with a thunderous shudder and a heart rendering bang ever few seconds.

To make a long story short, after much panic and swearing, an hour latter Paramour and I escaped the snares of the outgoing tide and beach pounding with a severely bent rudder, that would allow a only wide spiraling path back through the jetties, through the harbor, and ultimately into the marina. However, before managing such a complicated course to marina safety, one other little problem to be resolved. Paramour and I were now about 500 yards off shore in 10 feet of water and my now ex- wife and children were stranded on a beach that had access only by water. There was no way that I could motor back to the shore and get them on board without getting caught in the off shore bound current whose breadth was less than the diameter of my spiral. This posed a real dilemma that the Annapolis Book of Seamanship did not seem to cover very well in any of its chapters.

Fortunately on the horizon was a small power boat, and I knew if I could "motor spiral" to the boat, the owner would certainly welcome the opportunity to rescue my family. Indeed I did get within a few feet of the potential rescue boat only to realize that the owner and his mate were engaged in an intense, amorous embrace in the boat's cockpit and for some reason were quite resentful when an idiot in a sail boat pulled up next to them and began incessantly blowing his air horn to get their attention. Thankfully, reason prevailed, and the couple concluded that I was simply a stupid guy who should not own a boat and obviously not a weird perverted voyeur playing some sort of a practical joke on them. They quickly dressed, sped to shore, and rescued my family. And that was the very last time my now ex-wife ever stepped foot onto the S/V Paramour and that evening I re-read the chapters on anchoring over and over again.

A couple weeks later I left the repair yard a couple thousand dollars lighter but with my Paramour no longer worse for wear - but I cannot help but believe she may have been a bit leery of the skills of her captain.

So with these experiences in mind, on March 15, 1979 I prepared for my first trip in S/V Paramour.

And away we went!

Thankfully, my nervous marina neighbor next to me was a reasonable man and a good listener and offered a couple of suggestions, after hearing that I planned to single handedly sail off shore to St. Augustine. His first, but diplomatically phrased, suggestion was that I needed at least one crew member to travel with me - and in light of my previous anchoring experience it was a reasonable assumption that my now ex-wife and children would not fill that position. Luckily, the day before he had noticed a young man wondering around the marina who was seeking passage south. My marina neighbor explained that the young man professed to have traveled from Norfolk on various boats, was a writer and artist, and was working his way to Key West.

His second suggestion took into light my limited experience sailing off shore and posed a trip down the ICW as a more appropriate path to St. Augustine.

So in one little brief conversation a multiplicity of problems was simultaneously solved and the decision to travel the ICW was made. The young man had a way to get to Jacksonville for free - that was especially important when I realized later he had no money on his person whatsoever and "working his way" had a different meaning in his vocabulary than my interpretation of the word. I had a crew with experience. The marina diplomatically removed an unwelcomed vagabond from their docks. My marina neighbor managed to move a boating hazard far, far away from his boat. My now ex-wife would not have to renege on her promise never to step aboard that !@#$ boat again. And Paramour and I would reunite once again in St. Augustine. A win-win for all. Wow!

As an owner and captain of Paramour, I believed there was an unwritten law of the sea that states the owner/captain must know everything - even if he does not know anything at all. I truly believed that "fake it until you can make it" is a very important rule of seamanship. Fortunately my new crew was very cognizant of this rule and had refined the unique skill and art of finessing a captain who stringently adhered to this rule.

For example, when my new crew realized we had no charts or waterway guide on board, he quietly suggested we visit a local chandlery to see if there were anything HE needed for our trip and then very carefully managed to nudge me toward the chart cabinet and engaged the local salesman in a conversation espousing the benefits of a waterway guide and the necessity of having charts of the various South Carolina and Georgia harbors and sounds at the boats navigation station. He also subtly surveyed Paramour to make certain the "sail away" package did not need to be supplemented, made sure the previously unused VHF really worked, and all of the Coast Guard required safety gear was aboard. He even studied the galley offering suggestions, that, while he had little need for nourishment, I may not share his low metabolic rate, and proper provisioning on board would be a great enhancement should we be delayed before we could reach the local McDonalds along the way.

In 1979, loran and radio direction finders were the primary navigation tools of the coastal sailor and the sextant and dead reckoning were the tools of choice for the off shore sailor, The only towing service was the US Coast Guard - no Towboat US and there were no clear plastic sleeves to protect paper charts. But the Waterway Guide was published and definitely contained all the information one needed "to stay between the banks of the ICW" until your destination was reached. I did not own a Loran or RDF at the time. But thankfully the Sail-Away Package did include a depth finder.

So at 4:00 AM my new crew and I awoke, allowed the diesel glow plug to do its thing, and by sun-up we were setting southbound in the ICW in a channel known as the Wappoo Cut. At ebb tide and with no wind, the water was glassy and still. I could hear on the VHF a barge coming from the south calling the Wappoo Bridge tender and I knew the barge was ready to enter the cut. How perfect! All we had to do was wait for the barge to pass and we could go through the bridge without waiting for it to close and re-open - except Paramour's Yanmar diesel engine suddenly sputtered and died - flat dead in the middle of a narrow cut known for rushing currents and a high tidal range and with a commercial tug heading our way.

Thankfully, the Charleston Coast Guard station is located about four hundred yards from the cut, Paramour's VHF radio was working, and the Captain of the commercial barge was able to slow his speed. With my sense of humility and chagrin fully engaged, the Coast Guard towed us back to the marina, where later a local mechanic shared the simple technique of bleeding air out of diesel fuel line and how to never allow air to get there in the first place. High among lessons to be learned is an understanding of the mechanical and electrical knowledge of one's boat and how to diagnose problems to avoid future lessons in humility and general chagrin avoidance.

The next morning, and with less confidence but increased brovado, my crew and I set the same course, but with no barges this time, a complete set of tools on board, and with a happy engine we passed the Wappoo Bridge and headed for what was to be the most beautiful and serine trip that would be replayed again and again in my mind for so many years to come. The saltwater marshes, the Georgia and South Carolina sounds, the long uninhabited stretches of coastal wetlands, cut indelible lines in my mind. The sound of the rush of millions of shrimp passing the boats hull, porpoise meandering beside us, birds and more birds and the sometimes onerous but distinctive smells of the tidal flats all remain in my mind as distinctively and rich as they did on those days of March 1979 when if first experience them.

With stops in Beaufort, Savannah, Fernandina Beach and Jacksonville, St Augustine proved to be a short leg which I easily single handed. But the memories of those five days seem to have spanned a lifetime.

And my crew? He set the stage for me to get a grip on the seriousness but accompanying simplicity of ICW travel. How to track progress on a chart, how to look for day beacons, where to expect cross currents and how to use the tide to an advantage - or at least how not become frustrated when the tide was not to an advantage. How to time your passages and how to resist the urge to travel a night just to meet a schedule are fundamental to ICW travel. I learned the rules of the road first hand, the need to line up with range markers. And patience? I remember the first day, after passing the Wappoo Cut Bridge, we had traveled almost four hours when suddenly I realized we were passing the road on which I had owned a house (Summerville SC). A short commute by car but a four ride down the Intracoastal Waterway. I thought of the Chinese proverb of a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step at a time and that it is going to take four days to travel the same distance that I traveled in my car in four hours. We will never get to St. Augustine at this rate I thought.

As to my crew, I have long forgotten his name. I often wondered if he were able to hitch the rest of the ride to Key West. He maintained a diary and a sketch book - he seemed to be a great artist and truly appreciated the trip. I hope he was successful and, if by some fluke of chance he were to read this blog, he would come to understand how much I appreciated and continue to treasure the gift he gave me at the time. I hope he was successful in his endeavors and have a hunch that he was.

As for the S/V Paramour, she remains in the St Augustine Comanche Cove Marina to this day. Ultimately my wife and I divorced and a part of the settlement was the sale of Paramour to a local fellow in St Augustine. I did have some chances to sail Paramour off shore - Bermuda and the Bahamas. But my next experience on the ICW would have to wait nearly twenty years.