Sail - Chap 6 - Marco Island

Strange domes outside of Marco Island.

After two hours, we successfully exit the Everglades City mangrove, snake-infested channel. Man, that is a long channel! Today's destination is Marco Island. I actually have "Everglades City to Sanibel Island" as our 3rd sailing day leg, but let's see where the day takes us. That is a long way and one of our longest legs - approx 52 nautical miles. As I have mentioned before, we only go 3-4 nmph. You do the math.  Don't forget to factor in the heat.

The interesting part about Marco Island is that it effectively marks the end of the Everglades. "True" civilization, I'm told, begins once we reach this waypoint. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. The Everglades have been challenging, exciting, surreal, desolate, hot, scary and extremely remote. I have mixed feelings about leaving them behind.

It really isn't that far to Cape Romano but we don't even exit the Everglades City channel until 9:30 a.m.

The weather forecast is much-improved. In fact, there is a zero percent chance of rain today. The problem with that is there will be no storms and no clouds. No storms or clouds means no wind and in it's place - searing sunshine. Searing sunshine means oppressive heat. Believe it or not, it gets very hot on a white sailboat, offshore with no wind in the Everglades in the middle of summer. Why didn't someone explain that to me before I left Tallahassee?

We sail for a few hours until we see the Cape ahead and to our right. There is an actual building!

We keep sailing, and sailing, and sailing, but after about two or three hours we notice that we simply aren't making any progress.

I ask Nick, "Did you turn around or something when I wasn't looking?  Why aren't we past the Cape?
Nick shrugs.

What the heck is going on? Oh yeah, tides! There is a strong incoming tide which is pushing the boat towards the east shore and not letting us get West around the cape. The Everglades, apparently, do not want us to leave.

Nick starts up the engine and after an hour or so that gives us enough "push" to overcome the tide / current. After a few more hours, we make it around Cape Romano and start heading North again.  But now it is much later in the day than we expected.

The water is beautiful - and now, for the first time since we left Bahia Honda, deeper than 10 ft. 25 ft to be exact. Also for the first time, I see a small bait ball next to the boat, so I throw a silver spoon into the midst (Thank you to my brother Russell, who unfortunately passed away a few months ago, for teaching me about spoons). Wham. I immediately get hit:

Unlike Nick, I do not go shirtless often on this voyage. With my pasty skin, I can't afford to get seriously sunburnt.  Besides, I don't have all the muscles he does.

So, sorry about the old man, pale body in this picture.

Spanish Mackerel. Nice. He will be dinner soon.

I should put my shirt back on.

A few minutes later, this bad-boy hits the starboard trolling rod:

A four-foot barracuda.

Okay, that was fun!

Barracuda trolling off a sailboat going 4 mph. That ain't easy, folks.

Not 100% safe to eat large barracuda because they can contain a toxin.  I'm not taking that particular chance on this voyage. I've got my own issues. So, back in he goes, a little dazed, but he'll be fine. 

See the water?  Flat smooth, no wind.

Then, I catch this guy!!:

116 pound yellow-fin tuna!  

.....

I'm just kidding, of course. 

We caught him a few months ago in Venice, Louisiana on a charter fishing trip with Sam & Nick.

(Different adventure altogether)

Psyche.

Things quiet down in the fishing arena. I drink a beer and fillet the Spanish Mackerel and put the fillets on ice! We keep sailing. No sense in being in a hurry out here.

The tan god himself.

See any storms on the horizon? Me neither.

Play a little music, hang out.  

We're sailing!

Now that we are free of the Everglades, the water off this Cape is absolutely beautiful. I like to stand up on the bow and look around. There is a slight breeze up here also. While I am up there, I watch two huge manta-rays speed directly under our hull. That's cool!  I call the "moment".

I accidentally leave my Android phone on the bench outside for 20 minutes. I pick it up. It is extremely hot. It tells me that it is overheating and needs to shut down. That just makes me appreciate my Garmin even more. It has been in the direct sun for days - it is electronic - and it has never complained or faltered. Amazing engineering.

My employees like "memes". We are not allowed to drink beer at the office until after 4 pm. So, a few weeks ago, two of them put a funny meme on my door related to it being "5 o'clock somewhere". I figure this is the perfect time for me to return the meme favor. After being out of the office for a week, this is actually my first correspondence back with my office:

You may have to click on the picture to see the words.

After a few more hours of battling current, we are on finally on the North end of Cape Romano. The shoreline is full of condos and people. We have definitely left the Everglades. Funny - civilization goes to the Cape and then simply STOPS! We have been sailing/motoring North most of the day. It's been a beautiful, but hot day. Although Marco Island isn't one of our "planned" overnight destinations, I call ahead (we have cellular service again!) and reserve a hotel that has a dock. I am learning that "voyage planning" is great, but it's impossible to strictly follow.

Marco Island coastline. 

We are not in Kansas, I mean the Everglades, anymore.

We pull into the "Boat House" hotel dock around 6:00 pm.:

Perfect resting place for the sailboat - for a day.

Rooms aren't fancy, but very clean.

Cute place. Perfect for our basic needs.

Although the office is closed, our room key is waiting for us, as promised by the nice lady on the phone, taped to the office door. We have no problems getting into our room. Immediate shower - change clothes!

Once again, air-conditioning! We're not as tired today as when we arrived in Everglades City yesterday, so we make the decision to go out. Within walking distance is a restaurant / bar called the Snook Inn.

We have a nice dinner, a "few" beers, and listen to a live band. The place is hopping. I, of course, tell everyone around us at the bar that we have "just sailed in from Key West". That is like an open invitation to conversation. We show off some pictures and we have fun with the people sitting around us at the bar.

Great picture Nick!  

In all honesty, I am stealing most of the pictures in my posts from Nick's Facebook page.

You should consider being a photographer, Nick.  You are very good at it, my friend.

The bartenders here are extremely friendly and efficient. My beer never runs dry.

We head "home" early from the restaurant/bar. (Gotta be up early). Time for one more beverage out by the pool before we go to sleep. Good night little sailboat:

Tomorrow: Sailing - Chapter 7 - Sanibel Island.

Thanks for reading. Has anyone really read ALL the Sailing chapters?  You need to get a life!  :-)

Sail - Chap 5 - Everglades City

Let's see, where did I leave off?  Probably nobody reading anyway.....

Oh yes, we are motoring in the pitch darkness and there is a severe storm directly in our path.  We are about 5 miles offshore scared sh**tless. (shirtless :-) following the Coast Guard navigational buoys.

Then God simply reaches down and makes the storm dissipate - right before we reach it. Poof! No more storm. Uh, okay. Thanks. Believe it or not, this has happened to me before. (Gene can attest to it about a year ago coming back in at 2:30 a.m. from 50 miles out. All the storms just dissipated as we reached them - weird, but awesome.)

The darkness also dissipates and we see the first glorious rays of sunlight emanating from the East. The sun rises to a beautiful, clear morning. Our path is clear.

We take off the PFDs and I un-clip the ePIRB.

But seriously, thank you Lord. I owe you one.  (Perhaps he was just looking out after Nick and I was just along for the ride, but I'm good with that)

Our destination today is Everglades City. It should be an easy 4-5 hour sail, but I'm kinda through making those estimations. It is a very pretty morning for sailing:

Good morning!

Same, same, from the tan one.

Of course I am fishing! Trolling. Still very shallow water though. I'm not catching anything.  

Water is beautiful here.

Mistake #5

My waypoints are at the opening of channels. In my dining room during preparation, I did not consider the time it takes to traverse "through" channels at 4 NMPH to get to our final destination(s). Here is what it looks like to "enter" Everglades City (Which we have started calling Emerald City, btw):

My lat/long waypoint is the red dot in the lower left-hand-corner. 

It is a LONG way puttering through the mangrove islands to actually get to the "city". 

Starting from the bottom left corner, this is the maze of islands that you must go through to reach Everglades City.

Wow!

The pictures above is what it actually looks like. We are passing yet another mangrove island. Birds everywhere. Snakes swimming past. Mermaids. Fortunately, there is a well-marked channel. Thank goodness for that. Without it, anyone would be lost here for days - or forever. Great place to hide, I suppose, if someone were chasing you and you knew what you were doing.

We see some small flats fishing boats leaving the channel, so hey, at least there are people around now!  They are the first humans we have seen in a couple of days. We wave. Some even wave back.

Others just stare at us. I am noticing that people tend to simply ignore sailboats.

It takes us 2 hours to motor through the mangrove maze and arrive at "civilization". I must admit, it was beautiful going through all those mangrove islands. Nick, though, isn't admiring the beauty, he is quite nervous because he keeps feeling the gas tank. If you were to spit a few times in the gas tank, that would be about equal to how much fuel we have left. All that motoring early this morning left us dry. There is no wind deep inside this meandering mangrove channel, so sails won't help. Nick is very worried we won't make it.  But, of course, we do. We know exactly what we're doing!

We arrive at the "Rod and Gun Club" in Everglades City:

Crazy, drunk, sailboat dude meets us at the dock. Sailboat people have issues....Wait, where does that put me? Don't answer that.

Now, I'm not very proficient dealing with crazy people. I kinda clam up, but Nick is as friendly as he can be. So while he is chatting this guy up (the guy is offering to do everything for us - I'm assuming for a price), I decide to walk up and inquire about a room.

I enter the lobby past the old truck. 

What I notice:

• 1st: No air-conditioning. Dang.
• 2nd: No people - anywhere. That's odd. (Except sailboat hippie dude, outside)
• 3rd: This place is beautiful. Odd, but stunningly beautiful.

If I smoked cigars and drank bourbon (I do neither), this would be a good time for that.

Front Desk.

Bare necessities for decorations!

The place looks, with all it's stuffed animals and mahogany walls, like some place right out of the history books. In fact, it was built in the 1800's and it doesn't look like it has changed much since then. Apparently, they are working on restoring the main hotel that was adversely affected by the hurricane which is why it currently doesn't have air-conditioning.

Since we can't rouse anyone but tipsy, sailboat guy on the dock, Nick and I (Okay, Nick) gathers enough information from him to learn that there is a gas station within walking distance. He assures us that someone will be back to the hotel soon.

We walk to the gas station in the middle of town carrying the fuel tank. Man, it is ridiculously hot here!! The sweltering heat off the asphalt makes it hard to breathe. Aaaah, air-conditioning in the gas station! I had forgotten! Amazing invention air-conditioning. Needless to say, we take our sweet time shopping at the Marathon gas station in Emerald City.

We return to the Rod and Gun Club and sure enough, an extremely nice guy named Jeff is there to offer us an air-conditioned cabana with two full-size beds right next to where we have parked the sailboat at the dock. Frickin awesome! Inside our room (not out in the rain), Nick and I take our much-deserved showers and discuss visiting a nearby restaurant. But after eating some gargantuan fried chicken wings and drinking a couple of ice-cold Corona's at the Gun Club (food was awesome, btw), we both fall asleep (collapse) in the air-conditioned cabana before we can go anywhere else. It's about 5 p.m. We don't wake up until 7 am the next morning. I guess we were tired. No idea why.

This morning, we have returned to the Marathon station for donuts and coffee. We are told that there is a local grocery store only a few hundred yards away. We visit and re-supply our stocks - including LOTS of ice!!! More beer (of course), NY steaks, fresh fruit, water, beef jerky, etc. Gotta love civilization. On the walk back, we take a few photos:

Nice shirt, Nick. :-)

Beautiful town. Strange place. Nice people.

The buildings I take pictures of are perfectly maintained, yet right next to those perfectly maintained building are abandoned, derelict buildings with mean-looking crows staring at you, ripping apart something dead with their sharp beaks, like in an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Just bizarre.

The sign on the top of this abandoned building is very descriptive of this town's strange dichotomy:

We finish packing the sailboat at the dock and we wave goodbye to crazy sailboat guy as we head back out of the channel. Thank goodness there is an outgoing tide because the current, here in the river, is so strong that we would never had made progress from the dock with our little 9.9 HP motor. (Not that we don't love that little motor by this point in time).

My final thought as we exit the dock is that it seems strange that our lives are being completely controlled by tides. That is an odd thing to control your life. 

Goodbye Everglades City. Thanks for the supplies and the air-conditioning.

Tomorrow: Sailing - Chapter 6 - Marco Island.

Sail - Chap 4 - Highland Point Beach

Good morning readers. 6:30 am. Up and Adam. (Where does that phrase come from, anyway?)

• I quickly make sausage and eggs for breakfast.  
• Radar is clear.
• Beautiful morning.

Our destination today, for the 2nd leg of our sailing journey, is Highland Point Beach. Based upon my calcs, this should be another 5-6 hour sail. Easy-peezy, right?  What could go wrong?

Incoming tide, so the sailboat is floating again off our little island. Awesome!

We set sail Northwest. Goodbye little island.

My next waypoint is a Coast Guard buoy off the coast of Florida - SW of Cape Sable. The first cape on the SW coast of Florida.

An hour and a half later, we see the navigational buoy. Nice! The lat / longs I have entered into the Garmin GPS remain correct. The buoys are where they are supposed to be. Thanks again Coast Guard.

We are deep in the Everglades at this point, hugging the ragged Florida shoreline. There are absolutely no other boats around. We definitely feel the isolation. No cellular, no radar. VHF Radio kinda "buzzes" - but that's about it.

Nick is enjoying the sunshine.  He is getting tan fast.  Me - not so much.

Perfect sailing weather:

But the weather remains unstable in the Everglades. Apparently, it rains a LOT in the Everglades in the summer. Who knew? A storm chases us into something called "Little Shark River". This is the leading edge of the storm:

We head into the river, of course, to get out of the strong winds and lightning. Neither of us are excited about sailing through another storm like yesterday's. Although we are near the Florida shore now, we are definitely deep in the Everglades - so it isn't really "shore" so much as it is "swamp" and mangroves. We haven't seen another boat all day. If something bad were to happen - finding us... Well, let's not think about that.

We anchor a short way into a river and hide behind some mangrove islands. While we wait for the storm to pass, another beer seems appropriate (they are kinda still cold at this point). I drink one while I fish. I catch nothing.

Major Mistake #3.

Although the boat is anchored in shallow water, it keeps twisting around in a funny (not ha-ha) way. At first we think it is just the tide in the river, but Nick asks me to pull up the keel in case it is hitting bottom. No matter how hard I pull on the keel rope - I can't budge it because the anchor rope, apparently, is wrapped around the keel. Hmm. Neither of us are thrilled about swimming under the sailboat in this brackish water in "Shark River"! Lots of fins everywhere - and they aren't porpoise. We work the problem; discuss cutting the anchor line; but we need that anchor. We work out a strategy and solve the problem together by maneuvering the boat with the motor. The rope loosens around the keel. Keel comes up. Problem solved. Teamwork, baby!

Time for another beer.  It's fricking hot! 100+ degrees:

And yes, if you are wondering if we are drinking water, I can assure you that we have like 10 waters for every beer.

We get rained on of course, but after a while we can see that the storm has passed us. Time to exit the river and continue North. We sail for a while, hugging the shore, but again - another storm - so again - another trip into some obscure river to hide. This time - just North of Shark Point. Nick took this picture as we try to beat the storm into this river. What you see is the leading edge of the storm - like all the others today, it is moving from left to right (West to East). We are trying to get to the river between the mangroves:

We make it before the worst part hits us - again. Damn storms! 

The rain is stronger in this storm. So what! We play poker in the (very dry) cabin during the worst part of the storm, but then we figure it's a perfect time to shower, so we stand outside and get rained on - grab a little soap. Nature's shower. I fish in the rain - cause that's how I roll! Sharks are all around the boat feeding. I think one of them is staring at me, wondering WTF I am doing here in his river. I've never seen so many sharks. Oh, wait - Shark River, Shark Point. I finally get it. Aptly named whomever chose it.

Storm gone. We exit the river; sail North again.

I have no idea which particular storm this is, or at what point in the day, (they are starting to run together) but they all kinda looked like this as they stealthily approach us:

They really are unsettling.  

Go little motor go!

We keep this routine up all day: Severe storm coming. Hide. Peek-a-boo. Exit mangroves. Severe storm coming. Hide. Peek-a-boo. Exit mangroves. I didn't factor these peek-a-boo events into my distance and time calcs.

14 hours later - we reach Highland Point Beach. Yes, the beach was intended to be our final destination for Day #2 - but that was supposed to be after an easy sail. The sun is setting. We're tired. It's hot. Who knew that being chased by storms in the Everglades could be stressful, time-consuming and tiring?

The sailboat comes to a stop about a quarter-mile from the beach - only 1.5 feet of water. I look over at the beach. That is a LONG walk in shallow water. Well, that sucks. But we are determined to be on this beach! It's been a couple of days since I have been on dry land.

We quickly gather up some supplies - including some firewood and tequila (we do have standards to uphold) - put them in Nick's dry bag - and start walking through the shallow water towards the beach. At first, not bad, its sandy, but my crocks keep getting sucked into some of the mucky spots. Then, as we get about halfway, we start sinking up to our hips in "muck" aka mud. And, there are sea urchins that we keep stepping on. Those really hurt. We both cut our feet - Nick's is worse. At one point, I get so stuck that Nick has to pull me out to get "un-suctioned". Then Nick gets stuck. This is difficult and tiring!  

Did I mention that we are determined to get to this beach?  We arrive on dry land about 25 minutes later.  We earned it.

Now I know when most of you think of the word "Beach" (just like I do), you might think of umbrellas, jet-skis, boats, bikinis, children, "people", coolers, para-sailing - whatever...  There is NONE of that here. This is an extremely secluded, remote beach in the heart of the Everglades. In fact, I wonder, while I am standing here, EXACTLY how many people have EVER stood on this particular strip of sand. Ponder this: You must have a very small boat to get here. Everglades City is a LONG way away through swamps. You must walk 20-30 minutes through shallow water and muck and you must not be afraid of sharks or other sharp things. It is definitely one of the most secluded (and most difficult) places I have ever been in my lifetime - and I have been a LOT of places.

It is surreal - and beautiful. All-in-all, pretty cool. Lewis and Clark would have been proud of us. I actually wouldn't be surprised to see some never-before-seen native tribe coming out of the swamp.

We take some quick pictures:

Nick is determined to build a fire.

Dry land.

Gotta admit, that's a great shot. 

Getting dark fast.

Nick's picture.

Believe it or not the sailboat is IN this picture, but it is a long, long way away.  

The sailboat is just left of the sun on the horizon.

Why do we take quick pictures? Because, while we remembered the tequila (priorities), we did NOT remember to bring the bug spray with us. Unlike last night, the "absence" of mosquitoes is definitely NOT a thing here. I'm pretty certain that there is a species here called "pterodactyl mosquito."  

I tell Nick that I'm not thrilled about walking back to the sailboat, through 2 ft water, in the dark, so while it is definitely beautiful here on the beach, and the fire is comforting, it is definitely time to go.  Without hesitation, he agrees.  

After walking 20 minutes away from shore, in this picture below, we are about 3/4 of the way back to the sailboat (still walking through shallow water) Wait, what kind of fin is that to my right? I wish my foot would stop bleeding.

We make it back to the boat just as the night turns dark:

First aid, then I make us a quick dinner on the grill, but even covered in bug spray, the mosquitoes are a force to be reckoned with, so we quickly pack up, close the cabin, kill the remaining mosquitoes in the cabin and attempt to go to sleep. It is easily 100 degrees.

But we have a new problem. The tide is "out" - waaaaaay out. Have I mentioned that the tides are severe here? Unlike last night, where the boat was sitting evenly in "muck", the sailboat is now keeled over on hard sand. I did NOT get out and take a picture, but if I had, it would look almost exactly like this:

Have you ever tried to sleep at this angle? Probably not. Trust me - it ain't easy. I'm on the high side, but Nick's plight isn't that much better crammed at the bottom. Like I said, it is at least 100 degrees in the cabin. No mosquitoes in the cabin though, (the glass is half-full, I suppose). 

The tide comes back in around 4 am and the sailboat rights itself.  

At 4:45 am, I hear Nick say, "Screw this, we're leaving. I'm not spending another night here if the tide goes out again." He opens the cabin and quickly steps out, closing it behind him.

Aaah, man! Mosquitoes start buzzing all around my head again. I hear Nick pulling up the anchor rope. I really, really, really, don't want to get up. But I do. It's not like I was sleeping soundly anyway.

Nick tries to turn on the motor, but it won't start. He pulls the cowling off (after carefully removing the bungee cord) and returns the fuel line to it's proper position. The little motor sputters and starts. We head away from shore.

The night is completely still - not a breath of wind. The moon is out, but it is still extremely dark and eerie. Is this a good time to remind you that we are in the middle of NOWHERE?!! With only a 9.9 HP 1983 Johnson motor to propel us and a Garmin handheld - of which the batteries died last night.  Yes, I brought two more as a backup, but as soon as I put the backup batteries in, I receive a "Low Batteries" indicator on the Garmin.  Navigate by compass in the pitch dark?  Sure. If we need to.

Remember those Coast Guard buoys I talked about in previous chapters? Well, we hadn't been following them because they are 5 miles offshore - and we needed to be close to the shore because of the relentless storms. The buoys mark the "safe" boundary for vessels. Navigation inside them is considered "unsafe". We really don't want to sail/motor in unsafe waters in the pitch dark, so we head for the next offshore buoy. Since we had been hugging the shore and running from storms the day before, being 5 miles from shore makes us rather anxious. But what really makes us nervous? There is a pissed-off thunderstorm on the exact same heading as the next two offshore Coast Guard buoys. The lightning is getting worse. We really DON'T want to head into the storm in the middle of the night, but we don't want to stay here either, and we don't want to hug the shore and hit a shoal, or worse. All of our options kinda suck at this moment.

Nick turns to me and says, "I'm not sure this is a good decision."

I nod.

"I'm not sure it's not", I replied.

He nods.

We are 5 miles offshore - feels like 50. The Coast Guard buoy is ahead of us - blinking red in the pitch darkness. I would like to say that it's blinking is comforting (we at least know where we are on the chart), but it really isn't. We are all alone out here - and we feel it - the feeling sucks. This heading is not safe. We are committed at this point though, so we put back on our PFDs. I, once again, clip the ePIRB to me. We make sure the cabin VHF is on, but we only hear static. I turn on the portable VHF on my belt. The lightning storm is looming ahead of us. We feel the temperature drop. Lightning, once again, illuminates the entire sky directly in front of us. We feel the thunder.

The 1st day storm overtook us quickly as we ran from it, and we had specific maneuvers to perform just as quickly that kept the boat from capsizing, but this is a slow, conscious, risky decision in pitch blackness that we have made to drive towards and enter this thunderstorm. I admit now (as I write this), that this is the most scared I have been on this trip. Why is it that the anticipation of something bad always seems to be worse than the actual bad? The darkness is creepy and enveloping, offset only by jagged lightning directly in front of us. My mouth is extremely dry. Nick and I are very quiet. Our little Johnson 9.9 HP motor is running - sputtering at times. The sails are down. Lightning intensifies - we see it hit the surface.

I say a prayer for the two of us.

This is gonna be bad.