Lost at Sea! (Three? Four times???)

We survived “the crossing” of the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico – barely…

When preparing to cross from Carrabelle to Tampa, there are essentially two routes to choose from: Direct cut-across the Gulf (shortest route,) or “end around” and hug the coastline (about 30 miles offshore) the whole way around. The end-around adds about 50 nautical miles to the journey. But, you are always a 30-mile run to shoreline -- in case something goes bump. Note: That’s “Crossing Theory #1.”

Crossing Theory # 2 is: The best time to cross is when the winds are blowing from the East, North, or Northeast. The worst time to cross is when the winds are from the South or Southwest. When the winds are from the East, they are on your bow (the easiest way to receive them,) and the wind and waves are usually less (because the Florida landmass helps to break them up before they enter the Gulf.) Whereas, when the winds blow-in from the Gulf (from the South,) they have more area to build intensity (of both the wind and the waves.) Plus, they would be hitting your boat sideways – rocking you left and right during the whole trip.


Crossing Theory #3: Winds/waves are less at night, when there is no heat of the day to feed them with energy.

So, as we prepared to depart, the weather forecast was: Winds out of the East, seas (waves) 1 foot or less. Even the harbormaster at the marina in Carrabelle said, “The weather looks PERFECT for a crossing.”

While living in Florida, we often saw the Gulf lay down to become as smooth as glass – especially at night. It becomes so flat, that it looks as if you could walk across its surface.

So, our “plan” seemed perfect. We had a great forecast, and we prepared for a 3am departure. We would perform the end-around course (in case something went bump and we needed to retreat to a safe harbor somewhere.) Our departure at night would ensure that the waters would be calm as we ventured out in the uncertainty of darkness in unfamiliar waters. By the time the sun came up (and waves began to build a bit to one-foot,) we would be halfway across already. By the time we get to the other side, the coastline should help cut the wave height down again – for a smooth ride southbound along the coast. Likewise, as the sun set, the waters would lay-down to flat seas again, and we would have a peaceful return to familiar waters.

Now, for the REALITY!

We laid-up behind the western side of the barrier island named Dog Island (just offshore from Carrabelle.) We only got about four hours of sleep before our departure. But, the weather window looked SO good, that we felt that waiting any longer would bring WORSE weather. So, we decided a lack of sleep was okay (we could get more during our “shifts” at the helm.) As a matter of fact, Kelly didn’t sleep AT ALL the night prior! But again, it’s okay, she could sleep while I drove the first shift from 3am until 10am or so.

I set my alarm for 2am (so we could perform our pre-departure run-up routines, and still get out on the water at 3am.)

The first “sign” that something was wrong, was that we were taking some wind & waves on the backside of the island (more wind than waves.) They WERE indeed out of the East, but a little stronger than expected (especially at night – things SHOULD BE much calmer at this hour…)

We had anchored in about 10 feet of water. But, it was REALLY close to a steep rise to SHALLOW water (only 3 feet deep.) When we anchored, the weather was REALLY calm. We feared that the change of tides, or a change in wind direction might “swing” our boat into shallow water (and cause us to become run aground in our sleep.) So, we opted to set a stern (second) anchor into deeper water. This would keep our backend from swinging into the shallows.

So, with heavy winds the next morning, our boat was really pushing sideways against BOTH anchors. It was difficult to get the boat out from between them. Kelly was at the helm on the flybridge, and trying to follow my directions on how to maneuver the motors/boat to get us unhooked. We must have let-out 300 feet of bow anchor line at one point – trying to maneuver! Then, reeled it all back in to try a different maneuver. After about four or five attempts, we FINALLY got ourselves aligned with the stern anchor, and drove backwards as quickly and straight as we could to collect it (success.) The bow anchor was easy after that. But, by the time we made four or five attempts – my hands were seriously rope-burned from tugging at the lines.

We exited on time at 3am, and by 3:21 we had cleared the channel and markers of Dog Island, and we were in the open Gulf. The wind was indeed from the East, but the wave height was already more than one-footers. In my mind, I kept telling myself (the waves will die-down as we get further east.) But, I was also thinking to myself, if the waves are this big at night – how big will they be when the heat of the day feeds them more energy?

We weren’t on the Gulf for more than 3 hours, before the waves claimed their first victim – Kelly got seasick! (Three times in about 30 minutes.) She tried to take some Dramamine, but she was puking it back up before it could settle-in and take effect.

We finally gave her some time at the helm (which usually helps to fight seasickness.) She took another dose right beforehand. So, this round “took,” and after about 30 minutes at the helm, she was ready to go pass out and sleep her way through these unwelcome rollers. “The waves won’t be as bad on the East side of the Gulf,” I reassured her.

Navigating at night is actually pretty kewl. You can see the lights of channel markers from pretty far away against the black sky. Unfortunately, not ALL of the channel markers have lights on them. So, you have to rely on your charts and GPS to help paint-in the missing pieces…

At least the sky was clear upon our departure. There were a million stars out, and they made night navigation easier. I’d just pick a star or group of stars on the horizon ahead of me, and then steer to them for 30 minutes or so. Since the stars cross the sky throughout the evening, I had to pick a new set of stars every half hour or so for a new/accurate bearing.

After about two hours of this, however, there were no stars on the lower-horizon (a sure-sign that there are clouds ahead blocking them out.) The moon was full, and as I approached the clouds over the next hour, I could see their outline into the sky. I could also see their base (but no stars beneath them…) a sign that there is either another row of clouds behind them, or rain ahead – or both!

I checked my GPS heading, and compared it to that of our mechanical, built-in compass. Traditional compasses are subject to something called “magnetic deviation.” They are SUPPOSED to be recalibrated when you relocate the boat to a new/different cruising area. We hadn’t had the chance to have our compasses recalibrated. So, I just had to make a mental note of the deviation.

Throughout the next few hours, I deviated from our heading here and there – to avoid storm cells. But, the cells were growing more intense, larger, and the gaps between them smaller and smaller. Plus, a WHOLE LINE of storm clouds were now forming behind us, and starting to catch-up to us as well.

Oh, and somewhere during all of this, the winds and seas changed directions. I think you can probably GUESS which direction they were now coming from – the South! We were now rocking left and right somewhat wildly. Kelly’s seasickness returned, but her stomach was empty now – dry heaves! Repeatedly!

Fortunately, the sun soon rose across the horizon (from behind the clouds.) So, we could now see the storm cells better. But, the sun was a mixed blessing. Sun – more heat, and intensified cell build-up…

Just as I was beginning to think that we (yet again) out-maneuvered Mother Nature… Apparently, Mother Nature woke up in a frisky mood, and wanted to tussle. Within less than a minute of thinking that I had cleared into the blue skies – the rains caught me from behind. No biggie, just some rain... right?

I began to turn a bit steeper towards the South now (in an effort to take the waves a bit more on the nose, and also to steer clear of the WORST storm that was about a mile off to our North.) I could see a literal wall of water to our left – I knew EXACTLY where that storm was! I wanted to give it a wide berth – in case it need to grow a bit. (I was praying that it would blow to the North – and it initially seemed to be doing exactly that.)

But again, just as I was counting my lucky stars – Mother Nature came to play…

I felt a STRONG cool breeze blow our way, and I could also see the wall of water growing closer, too. With that, I turned DUE SOUTH in an effort to run away from it. I ran for a few minutes, but the wind and storm were catching up to us!!!

QUICKLY, the wind from the North overcame the Southerly breeze and waves, and now served us 3-footers against our stern. How did they build-up so quickly from the COMPLETELY OPPOSITE direction?!!!! I had NO CLUE that the wind could change the waves that quickly!

The wind intensity just continued to build. I was doing about 8 mph due South, and the winds were RAGING against our backside now! (And they were still increasing!)

I then made a 100% gut-reaction, instinctive change. We had never had this boat in these kinda winds. But, my SAILing experience taught me that when the going gets rough, to ALWAYS POINT YOUR BOW into the wind! So, that I did!

As quickly as I could, I spun the boat (between rollers) and pointed her bow directly into the wind. Only seconds thereafter, the FULL FORCE of the waterfall wall of rain hit me square in the face.

The wind strength grew, and grew. I was now steering due North, directly into towards the heart of this storm. Just when I thought that the sky couldn’t dump any MORE gallons per minute upon us, Mother Nature seemed to then DOUBLE the volume of water (and the speed of the wind.) The intensity was truly amazing – words can’t describe it.

It was about this time, that Kelly came up to join me on the flybridge. We were both wearing our lifejackets, and holding on as tightly as possible.

It was at this time, that I began to HATE the lyrics of the Gilligan’s Island theme song… The weather started getting rough, the tiny ship was tossed…”

I wouldn’t really call our crew “fearless.” I was driving based more on instinct at this moment, than anything else. Kelly asked if we should go below. But, from our experience with rains on the rivers earlier in the cruise, I learned that the windshield becomes IMPOSSIBLE to see through with that much water hitting it. Plus, I’d be at a lower vantage point.

Folks, I have NEVER been in a storm this strong before. I was waiting for some sort of waterspout or tornado to appear. I was waiting for the raindrops to change to hail or ice or something. Neither of us was really sure of what to do. Kelly asked if we should call out to the Coast Guard on the VHF? “No, not yet,” I replied to her. We were both “safe” on the flybridge together. I felt that having one of us try to go below to use the VHF radio would put us at risk of accidentally going overboard. Also, I didn’t really see that we were necessarily “in danger.” Yes, it was SCARY. It was WILD & INTENSE! We were 100% out of our element and comfort zone, in an unfamiliar situation, in a fairly unfamiliar boat, in unfamiliar waters. But, we weren’t “in danger” of anything. We weren’t taking on water (sinking.) Our motors were both functioning properly. Our steering was functioning properly No one was injured. So, “no,” we don’t need to call the Coast Guard (yet…)


There was one GOOD thing about being in the middle of the Gulf (as opposed to being on a river in the Midwest.) Out here in the Gulf, there wasn’t a boat around ANYWHERE. We could see horizon-to-horizon before the storm – and there was NO ONE around. No land, no shallow water, to other boats – NOTHING. So, we had room to maneuver – LOTS of room!

I say all of this, because as we motored northward into the storm, and the intensity grew, it then unexpectedly changed directions! I had to immediately turn hard right into the East. I was worried about taking the waves from the North. But, surprisingly, the waves changed direction in-sync with the wind!

My most important instrument on that boat is not my compass, not my GPS, not my charts. I learned that my most important instrument on that boat, was the little Florida flag that Kelly had bought me for Father’s Day, and I had hung out front on the bow pole. I had contemplated uninstalling that bow-mounted flagpole. But, chose to adorn it with a Florida flag instead (for looks, not functionality.)

Now, that flag was serving as my tell-tale to the change in wind directions. I wasn’t watching radar, GPS, compass, or anything else. I was 100% steering based on the redirection of that little flag. If it even changed an inch, I’d redirect the boat accordingly! But, it wasn’t changing by inches. The wind was changing directions COMPLETELY. I was heading East, then South, and then WEST!!!

We were truly “lost at sea.” (Note: Lost at Sea #1) We covered the PC monitor on the flybridge, to prevent it from getting wet. It was of no use to us now anyway. We were steering based on gut & weather/winds now – not based on course/heading/bearing…

At one point, we seemed to enter some sort of “eye-like” feature in the middle of the storm. The winds were lighter, as was the rain. It was still raining, but just HUGE drizzle drops at this point. Around us, was a 360-degree curtain of rain – so thick, it looked almost like a fog. I knew that our pause in the middle would be short-lived. Pretty soon, this storm is going to push one way or the other, and we are going to be back in the thick of it again!

Just then, I saw a dolphin riding out in front of us. It was a truly reassuring sight. In the middle of this mini-hell, was such a beautiful creature – and the waters were truly blue here, too!

The winds in the middle were a bit shifty. I took advantage of this, to slowly attempt to get us pointed back to the East. It was more luck than anything else… Before I knew it, we were indeed pointing East, and entering the wall of water (again.) This side of the storm seemed a BIT lighter than the side we entered. Soon, we saw a lighter area of the wall – hint towards sunshine? I did my best to cheat our steering. Instead of dead into the wind, I turned a bit more northerly (steer into the light…)

We soon saw blue beyond us, and maintained our course (with fingers crossed, and Kelly now singing sun songs.)

We seemed to inch our way out the backside of the storm. It was slow, but a foot-by-foot improvement was a GOOD thing!

As we exited the rain and the storm cell, the seas returned from the South. We were now standing within INCHES of water on the flybridge – feet (and EVERYTHING else soaked.) It was still a rolling ride, but we were out of the rain now.

I went below to survey the damage. Kelly had told me that things got pretty tossed around below. But, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. It looked like an indoor tornado had passed through! Books, newspapers, magazines, etc. were EVERYWHERE. Things that were on shelves and counters, were now on the floor. Kelly had put some of the kitchen stuff (glasswares, knives, etc.) into the sink (to avoid injury/breakage.) But, pretty much everything else was EVERYWHERE.

And, there was water inside – LOTS of water – still POURING in from above!!! Onto the new laptop!!!!

Apparently, the water on the flybridge had gotten so deep, that it filled the area beneath the upper helm (instrument console.) It then poured down through the wiring holes (from the radar and such) down onto the lower-helm (and anything laying upon it.) The laptop was still working (at that moment.) I pulled it away from the stream of water pouring onto it. It died moments later… There goes our GPS and charts! (Note: Lost at Sea #2.)

I have another laptop, and we have Kelly’s laptop (and the original CDs to install the software on it.) I wanted to get our charts working again, but I was also now smelling SMOKE!!!!

I grabbed a fire extinguisher, and tried to determine where the fire was. It smelled like paper burning. With all the newspapers and such blowing around the cabin, I assumed that maybe a piece had blow down into the engine room, and caught fire down there. I opened the hatch door, but there was no smell and no fire down there. (You can’t imagine my relief!!!)

But, there was still a STRONG smell of fire/smoke/SOMETHING! It seemed strongest in the front cabin. I looked into the wiring closet – but, no fire/smell there, either. I looked in the forward head, it was also okay.

All I could think, was that it was the smell of an electrical fire (e.g. my laptop melting.) It was then, that I noticed that water was also pouring through the roof-mounted VHF radio, and the radar system!!! With all of those electronics taking on water, the smell HAD to be that of melting electrical components!

Satisfied that there was no fire, I put the extinguisher away, and shut-off pretty much EVERYTHING down there.

I then booted my old laptop, and attached the GPS. Just as the navigation software was loading – BLUE SCREEN OF DEATH!!!

Go figure…

I figured that it was now faster (and more reliable) to load the mapping software and GPS drivers onto Kelly’s laptop (clean load,) than to attempt to troubleshoot my own laptop issues. It took me about 30 minutes to get the software installed/configured. While it was loading, I also cleaned the cabin up a bit.

To my surprise, after all of our blind navigation and such – we were actually back on our original course, heading in the right direction. (Compasses ARE actually helpful, after all.) Now, if I had just bought that backup VHF radio yesterday when I had it in my hand; or a handheld GPS, or a paper chart/map of the area.) Woulda, coulda, shoulda…

We are now out of cell phone range, our VHF radios are working as receivers, but not as transmitters. We are down to our third (final) laptop/gps. (And we are only six hours into our “adventure!”)

As I returned to the helm, I began to settle back in. Kelly went below to medicate/sleep some more. I looked-over Kelly’s laptop screen, and realized that it was running on battery power only. I didn’t want to bother/wake her to find the right (12-volt) power cord, nor mess with the power inverter (it had taken on some water, too.) I figured that her battery would last us about an hour. I could get a good bearing/heading during that hour, double-check to compass deviation, and then navigate via compass for another 2-3 hours (once the laptop runs out of power.) We were currently in 30-something feet of water. As we cut the corner at this angle, I had about 2-3 hours until we needed to make our turn to due-South. We would be getting a bit closer to the other shore by then, so the water depth would be about 20 feet deep by then. (That was my clue/hint.) I can steer our current Southeasterly course until I see a bottom depth of 20 feet on the depth gauge, then turn to due-South. Laptop or no laptop. Storm or no storm. GPS or no GPS. I now have “a plan” for MANUALLY finding our way home to Tampa.

The battery would certainly run out of juice in less than two hours. During that hour or so, I practiced navigating via compass only – preparing for the laptop to die-off. About 70 minutes later, the laptop indeed died (as planned this time.) (Note: Lost at sea #3 -- kinda.)

I didn’t want to wake Kelly until I NEEDED to. She has been having a rough crossing, and if she could sleep through some of it – all the better!

I navigated for another two hours without knowing our EXACT location. I had a heading, and a placemark for when to make our turn to due-South. But, I didn’t REALLY know where we were anymore. I was just streering a heading and using “dead reckoning” at this point. (There is that “dead” word again…)

Note: We never really “feared for our lives.” Granted, this was probably the most terrorized either of us has ever been before. I can’t IMAGINE trying to be aboard a slow boat during anything heavier/worse! I figure that we had simply passed through a squall. Our boat didn’t get “knocked down” or “knocked over” like sailboats often do during these high-wind events. They are designed to pop back upright. But, their indoor tornados would look more like indoor hurricanes if they rolled over 360 degrees (or simply fell to 90- degrees, and then bounced back to upright.) Plus, that kinda action can leave sailors with bodily injury, and also cause the mast of the boat to get bent/broken off. (And tear or rip sails clear off the mast.) Similarly, smaller powerboats (even faster little runabouts) that are not designed with self-bailing decks, would have freshwater drowned in that storm. They would have taken on so much water, that it would have flooded the engine room, and killed the motor. Their little bilge pumps would NOT have been able to keep up with the storm! With all that water aboard, they would have sat a bit squattier in the water, too. With no engine to maneuver the bow into the wind, and the size of the waves, they would eventually start taking waves over the gunwales (sides) and swamped/sunk the boat.

We, however, felt somewhat “safe” in our trawler. It rocked and rolled like a carnival ride. But, it was obviously “working as designed.” It’s designed like a fishing bobber. It weebles and wobbles, but doesn’t fall over. LOTS of water can awash her decks, and then run out over the sides again. Granted, it’s not a comfortable ride during these events. However, “comfort” is a relative and negotiable item at this point. (e.g. I’d rather be on this boat – or a LARGER/FASTER one. But, it’s better than being on a smaller/slower boat…)

We didn’t “fear for our lives.” We felt semi-safe in our little tug-like boat. I listened to our last/final VHF radio, to see if anyone would need our assistance after the storm. There were a few other calls for help/assistance. But, they were WAY behind us, and getting help from other directions/boats. One had lost its steering. Another was taking on water (unknown reason why.) But, we were safe and sound.



Preparation: Before our departure in St. Louis, I put in some serious time (and money) working out as many kinks as possible (especially with the motors.) The motors had a fuel delivery/supply issue, which would cause them to die every now and then (unpredictably.) Once they were fuel-starved, it took lots of time/effort to bleed the air out of the fuel lines, and get the motors restarted. (I can’t imagine trying to do that during this recent storm event.) THANKFULLY, my efforts in St. Louis paid off. The motors have ALWAYS fired-up on-demand during this entire trip. They have purred like kittens. The few “alarms/alerts” that they have sounded, were due to us pushing them a bit too hard (too long.) I simply needed to back off the throttles a bit (for awhile.) Things would cool-off, and alarms would self-silence themselves. So, on this crossing, I set the motors at a “comfortable” and conservative setting. During the entire 27 hour journey, the motors never missed a beat or gave us a single complaint.



A few hours later, the depths on the gauge were getting lower. We putted our way into the upper 20s, then the middle 20s, and finally the lower 20s. Once I saw my first “22” reading, I called down below to wake Kelly, so she could take the helm.

I went below to find the 12-volt power cord for her laptop. I found it, and it was in a dry place. When I plugged it in, however, the charging light flip-flopped between “charge” and “battery.” This is a sign that it’s not getting enough 12-volt supply.

No biggie. I know how to fix this issue!!! MORE POWER!!! In the tossing seas, I went below to start our generator, to give us some REAL power. (It would also give us some welcomed air conditioning, and other creature comforts.) In doing so, however, I somehow seemed to short-out the starter relay! Click, after empty “click.” Repeatedly, I tried to start the generator. Repeatedly, same results… No generator – no power. (We do have a second generator on deck. But, dealing with it in these seas would be a hassle. And, I ONLY needed enough power for her laptop.)

With the generator at least temporarily dead, I realized that I could use it’s dedicated 12-volt battery, to provide a SOLID/dedicated source of power for her laptop. So, I attached a set of jumper cables to the generator battery, and attached the other side to a power inverter. BINGO! We have juice!

Are we having fun yet?

I restarted her laptop, and we now had a GPS fix on our position. After HOURS of dead reckoning, we were EXACTLY where we needed to be. We were turning EXACTLY at the right point to put us on our southerly course/line. (I feared that if we had a mechanical breakdown while cutting the corner – that we would be difficult for rescuers to find.) But, now that we were back onto our pre-published route, we would be “findable” should something go wrong. The Coast Guard could simply fly our course, and find us.




We had contemplated going inland around here. But, there’s something NOT RIGHT about “running to safety” towards a place named “Deadman’s Creek/Cove” or something like that. (It had the word “deadman” in the name – I know that!)

Instead, we went ahead and turned more southward. I charted alternate courses towards two other “possible” hurricane hideouts to retreat toward (they were still BOTH at least three hours in front of us.)

We researched both of these “safety harbors” a bit further. Unfortunately, the news about both of them was the same: “shallow water approaches – only for boats with drafts of 2 feet or less.” Combined with the words, “no services.” WHAT KINDA OPTIONS ARE THESE???!!!!


Lesson learned: Don’t take the long way around. You are just as much “at risk” six hours offshore from the end-around route, as you are if you cut straight across. Help is not going to get there any faster. And, there are no “easy out” places to run and hide and lick your wounds. You have to put your nose to the wind, and keep plodding along with what you’ve got.

At least the wind and waves are now on our bow as we head southbound. After noon, they even seemed to calm down (a bit) to maybe only two-footers? The sun came out, and helped dry us out a bit.

Kelly was now in and out of consciousness. She medicated herself pretty heavily to combat the seasickness. So, at times, she would simply sleep for hours on end. When she was awake, I tried to give her some time at the helm (to help combat the seasickness) while I did other chores. I would grab a quick bite to eat/snack, or a catnap. I had about 50-60 minutes to do my thing, before she’d get drowsy or sick again, and medicate herself back to sleep. I felt so sorry for her. She said that she vomited something like six times. But, that doesn’t count the blurps that she basically choked back down during the storm from hell and such. (Gross!) (Poor girl…) 

I felt green a few times myself. I almost wanted to vomit in sympathy with her. But, I knew that once I started, I wouldn’t stop. So, I fought it off as best as I could. (I used the Dramamine once myself as well.)

All day, dolphins would literally RACE from a ½-mile away or so towards our boat and bow. They were literally leaping out of the water one after the other to spot our boat over the waves –as they seemed to race each other to our bow.

The visibility was now crystal-clear, and at least 30-40 feet deep. I could now see their WHOLE bodies PERFECTLY, as they danced and zoomed below our boat. Initially, I thought that they were only riding our bow waves. But, now that I can see them completely, I see a much different scene. They literally dance and race beneath and around our entire boat. It’s like our boat is some sort of big whale or mothership – and they taunt and dance with it (and each other.) You can see their heads bounce and jitter, as they apparently squeak and chirp at each other – nodding their heads to one another as they communicate. I can’t hear them, but it’s that familiar head-bobbing nod that you see on Flipper and at the dolphin shows at the zoo/theme park.

Kelly was asleep for most of these events. She was awake for the most impressive event, however. EASILY two dozen (maybe three-dozen) spotted dolphins came racing towards us – head-on. As they reached our boat, they literally swarmed us! They were jumping around our bow, down both side, and behind us in our wake. There were big ones, and babies, too! (They are REALLY cute!) The little ones were only 2.5 to 3 feet long. Kelly was up front on the bow, cheering and clapping them during their performance. At one point, one of the dolphins even returned her applause – with a tail-splash to get her wet. This swarm of dolphins followed with us for 20-30 minutes!!!

It was about 5 or 6 pm now. (The hours seemed to go on, and on, and on – and blend into one another.)

As the sun set, Kelly was sawing logs like a TRUE SAILOR! (We had truly earned our stripes during this cruise – and we were only halfway done with it.)

Just before the sun set, we seemed to start (finally) taking turns at the helm. I’d drive a couple of hours, then she would take the helm for a few. I’d catch a quick catnap, or tend to some chores. Then, flip-flop with her. As midnight approached, however, we were both having trouble staying awake. It was just about then, that some evening storms began to build. First, they were ashore (to our left again.) A few hours later, the tail of the row of clouds began to move offshore – into our path. We were going to HAVE to go through another storm – like it or not (mostly NOT!)

I woke Kelly up, so we could batten down the hatches, and prepare for another rainstorm and blow. Kelly didn’t want to do another storm from the flybridge. And with it being dark now, I was going to be able to see more from below (charts and the flag) than I would have from above. (We could also keep the indoor tornado under control.)

The HARD rains never came (thankfully.) Instead, just light rains, HEAVY winds, and BIGGER seas! Just the right prescription to cure my drowsiness! Adrenalin = the miracle drug. (Well, for SOME of us…)

Sailor Kelly was sawing logs again. It seemed like the bigger the seas, the bigger the logs she was sawing. I could hear an occasional small thump against the hull. 90% of those were probably just the floats from crab pots. But, there was this ONE unique THUMP/THUD! At the time it occurred, all I could think, was that it sounded like we hit a kayak. But, the sound was more like hitting a suitcase or something? Maybe some floating trash/box? Later, I assumed that it was probably, actually, the shell of a sea turtle bouncing off our hull. It didn’t drag down the whole length of the hull – as you would assume from hitting a kayak or other floating trash. Instead, after the initial thump at the bow, it seemed to get/swim away.

We fought heavy seas, hour after hour, all the way to our destination island of Anclote Key. The waves didn’t lay down until we were about one mile offshore. I (we) were truly exhausted – 26 hours of this stuff!

We just wanted to drop anchor right in the middle of the shipping channel. Kelly asked me to speed-up the motors, to get us there sooner. I just didn’t want to risk anything else. We had lost computers, radios, generator, etc. They say that once you start a diesel, you aren’t supposed to shut it down until you drop anchor at your destination. I figured that I didn’t want to tempt fate (or Murphy.) I didn’t TOUCH those throttles until we were ready to slow down and stop. We maneuvered about another hour to get into the proper anchoring area behind the key. After 27 hours or reliable, constant purring, , I FINALLY shutdown the motors and gave those kittens a well-deserved break.

At 6am, we dropped the hook into about nine feet of water – luckily, it hooked-up on the first try. The sun was about to rise, but we were going to bed! We didn’t have cell service all day, so I took just a few minutes to post an update to our blog, to let everyone know that we were safe. Then, it was lights out! (At least for five hours…)


Side note:

10 Stupidest Things I have Ever Done

1.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
2.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
3.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
4.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
5.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
6.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
7.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
8.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
9.) Cross the Gulf of Mexico in a slow boat
10.) Long-distance cruise a boat from St. Louis to Tampa