Weather forecast for March 25, 2018:
South Anclote Key, Tarpon Springs, Florida
Low 66 high 79, Sunny
Southwest winds, 10 to 15 kts
Captain’s Log: March 24 - 25, 2018
Anticipation can sometimes have a magnifying effect, making the event in question seem more challenging, more exciting, more dangerous, more important, more painful, more risky, more joyous or more meaningful than it actually is. For example, consider saying goodbye to a special loved one; the thought of the separation and the time immediately preceding it are usually much harder and more stressful than the separation itself.
Likewise, anticipation has magnified our ‘Big Bend’ crossing; at least it has for me. More than once I thought ‘this is how Columbus must have felt when he slipped the lines and headed west into the unknown, not knowing how long it would take him to reach the East Indies’, or ‘Neil Armstrong must have felt this way when he undocked the lunar lander from the command module and began his descent to the surface of Luna’.
I know; rather grandiose thoughts for a 145 nautical mile, 24-hour sail across the shallowest corner of the Gulf of Mexico. Like I have said; anticipation magnifies. But, after all, this is OUR discovery of the New World. This is OUR first step on the Moon.
So, early on Saturday, with the blindingly bright Sun slowly climbing in the east and the adrenaline pumping, we readied s/v Perfect Love for her first (since her reincarnation), and our first, big water crossing.
I completed a thorough check of the engine and transmission and I checked the bilge pumps one more time. Yesterday, during a routine engine room check shortly after leaving Apalachicola, I noticed that the automatic bilge pump would not turn off but, after jiggling the pump by shaking the drain hose, it stopped. With this recent failure in mind, I pushed the 'Manual' button for the pump and then released it. Once again, the pump turned on but would not shut off. I turned the pump off and made a mental note to turn it on during each engine room check performed during the crossing.
I made sure that the deck was completely secured, that the jack lines were tight and that all of the halyards, sheets and furling lines were clear and ready for use. I stowed the starboard-side hose, the one that we use for filling our water tanks, in the starboard-side deck box. Thinking that I might be over cautious, I left the port-side hose, the one we use for the raw water deck wash, strapped to the port-side lifeline (a decision that would eventually prove to be a mistake). My plan was to do whatever necessary on deck to minimize the possibility of a crew member having to leave the cockpit and go forward. Finally, we placed our personal flotation devices (PFDs) in the cockpit along with our individual tethers. Our commitment to each other was to wear our PFDs whenever we were in the cockpit and to tether to the jack lines if/when we had to go on deck.
While I was working topside Shirley was busy below decks securing all items that had the potential to become flying objects in rough seas. All of the fiddle sticks were securely installed and Shirley's trusty tension curtain rods were strategically placed to keep doors and/or drawers from flying open.
We are ready! I think. Am I crazy???
At 10:15 Shirley was ready to step on the ‘UP’ switch for the windlass and start raising the anchor. I flipped the breaker for the deck wash pump and realized that we had a problem - the pump would not work. Our anchorage, Shipping Cove, has a mud bottom and our chain was covered in the slime. I tried resetting the breaker several times; no go. Shirley would have to clean the chain manually; she grabbed the long-handled brush and, moving back and forth between the step switch and the anchor roller, physically scrubbed the mud off of the chain, four feet at a time, before it reached the roller. With 60ft of chain in the water it was hard work but she did a great job and very little mud reached the windlass. About 30 minutes later, as we were entering the Gulf, I realized that I had closed the seacock for the deck wash pump after our previous raising of the anchor and I had forgotten to open it again. Stupid problem solved! I passed it off to my nervousness.
It was a bright, beautiful day but, by the time we were five miles off of the coast, it was apparent that we were in for a bumpy ride. The wind was consistently between 15 and 20 knots out of the SSE; right on our nose again. The waves, predicted to be 1-3ft, were consistently 4-6ft. The phrase "I love big bows and I cannot lie", hummed to the tune of a song with a very similar verse, kept running through my head as I watched the waves being pushed aside by the clipper bow of Perfect Love. Waves broke over the railings, often times burying the anchor, soaking the fore deck and splattering the dodger; the boat seemed to be in her element as she plowed through the water.
We soldiered on under these less than perfect condition for most of the day. At one point we spotted a mast, without sails, on the horizon. As time passed the mast grew taller. Eventually we could make out the hull of a sailboat heading towards us. A bit later we passed each other with not more than 100 yards separating us. We waved to each other and then watched as our fellow voyager disappeared to stern.
The waves came with an interesting regularity; small, small small, LARGE. At one point we hit a particularly big wave and suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something black and undefinable go flying past the cockpit enclosure. I called for Shirley, who was below deck at the time, to join me in the cockpit. We scanned the foredeck for what might be missing and Shirley soon discovered that the deck wash hose that is normally secured to a forward stanchion on the port side was missing. Mystery solved. We also noticed that the two dock lines secured to the bow pulpit were violently flopping around and could be lost if not taken down.
Shirley wanted to go forward to retrieve the lines but the boat was bouncing like a bucking bronco and I didn't want her to leave the cockpit. She insisted and I eventually acquiesced. Shirley clipped her tethers to the port jack line and then very cautiously climbed out of the cockpit. She then proceeded to crawl forward, staying as low as possible, while making her way slowly to the bow while I tried to keep us from taking the full force of the oncoming waves. As each wave hit the hull Shirley took a torrent of sea spray in the face. At the pulpit she had to get on her knees to reach the lines. While hanging tightly onto the pulpit with one hand, she untied one dock line, pushed it behind her onto the deck, and then reached for the second line as the bow rose and fell with the waves. Finally, pushing the lines ahead of her, my intrepid XO crawled back to the cockpit. She was soaked, but no worse for the wear and rather full of herself; we were both very happy that she was once again safe and secure.
Later, just after the sun went down, I remembered that it had been several hours since my last engine room check. Shirley took the helm and I went below. As I opened the starboard-side engine room doors I was shocked, and then immediately horrified, to find water in the bilge. It was a mere 3 inches from the floor boards! We were alone, 80 miles off shore; it was dark outside and our boat, our life raft, was taking on water. I didn't know where it was coming from. Talk about a negative adrenalin rush; I could feel my pulse rapidly increasing but I quickly got over the initial shock and then formulated a plan of attack. I remembered that the primary, automatic bilge pump was not working; I had to turn it on manually, I also turned on the secondary pump. The majority of the seacocks were already submerged so I couldn't tell which, if any, was leaking. Feeling through the salt water, I close all of the seacocks with the exception of the main engine raw water intake. I then grabbed the 3ft pipe that serves as the handle for the big, 33 gallon/minute manual pump and began pumping like a mad man. I pumped until I was exhausted but I could see that I was making progress. I got up, went to the companionway and I called to Shirley, telling her that we had "a BIG problem". I then went back to pumping. Shirley later told me that she immediately began praying after I delivered my blunt and rather vague message. A few minutes later, with the auto pilot engaged, Shirley left the helm and joined me below. We took turns pumping until exhaustion, but we were able to completely drain the bilge.
With the bilge now empty I could see that water was running into the deep sump below the engine, passing under the fuel tanks, and that it was coming from somewhere forward. The stream was flowing like a hose with its faucet halfway open. With all of the forward seacocks closed, the only possible source had to be the drain hole in the chain locker. Instead of acting as a drain for the wet chain, it was allowing water to gush through because we were burying the bow every few seconds.
There was nothing that I could do to stop the flow. So, every 30 minutes for the rest of the cruise, one of us went below and turned on the manual bilge pump until the sump was completely drained. Crisis over! We were out of the woods! The entire ordeal lasted maybe 20 minutes, but it felt like a lifetime.
By sunrise on Sunday morning, approximately 21 hours after our departure from Dog Island, we were approaching the outer channel markers leading around Anclote Key towards Tarpon Spring. Staring directly into the rising sun and dodging crab pots, we made our way into the Intracoastal Waterway and, at 10:30am, we dropped our big Rocna anchor just off of South Anclote.
We were exhausted, not having slept for over 24 hours. We were very anxious to sleep, but we had to take care of a few things first. All of my power tools were stored under the floorboards and were subsequently submerged in salt water when the bilge filled. After an initial washing and drying, we placed all of them on the deck, hoping that the sun would eventually dry them out (mixed results the next morning; two eventually worked, two did not). After several hours of much needed sleep, Shirley cleaned the entire interior and cockpit while I cleaned the power tools once again and then updated the log book. That evening, while watching a beautiful sunset and feeling rather accomplished, we sat in the cockpit and enjoyed a simple dinner and strong waters.
Our first big offshore adventure was now history. We made it and we learned a lot!
Until next time, may your tomorrow bring fair winds and following seas.