Reflecting on Lockdown
And so to sea again but a strangely different cruising experience. We left Marco Island a week ago after a month at home in Naples but for us lockdown was anything but boring – very unsettling but not boring. We arrived at the marina just in time, a couple of days later they closed to transient boats but as we were already there we could stay. We spent 10 days on the boat whilst all around us things slowly closed down. At first the restaurants were open but at half capacity, so tables were spaced, then they went to carry out only then at the end of March they closed altogether. When we left on May 1st, they were all opening again, the almighty dollar had won out over science.
Our time in Marco and Naples was spent on maintenance, first the boat and then the house. The troublesome vacuum unit on the forward heads was rebuilt – twice, the old sealant that stops water coming in to boat from the chainplates (where the mast rigging attaches) was stripped out and new sealant bedded in and a dozen other overdue jobs got done before we started on the house. We also took a huge amount of clothes, books and other stuff off the boat and started again from fresh with what we needed rather than what we had accumulated in the three years since we left here.
It’s always a shock to the system leaving the boat and going home especially to the house in Florida. For a while you rattle around amongst all that space, marvel at the huge fridge, washing machine, drier and remember what it’s like to have a car, not to mention our lovely Harley. You go to the supermarket where the shelves are fully stocked with a huge variety (excluding toilet rolls and sanitizer of course) and you sit out by the pool at night while dinner cooks on the gas grill. Without the social interaction however it’s not the same.
We did have an Easter parade, sensibly, safely and well organized. Those with open top cars dressed up with Easter bonnets and paraded around the whole community, everybody else set out their chairs on the driveway, sipped wine and beer and laughed and joked from a safe distance. We set up an amp and got out a guitar and before we knew it the strangest gig I’ve ever played went on for a couple of hours with people shouting out requests from the driveway and leaving cold beers and the end of ours. It was a welcome distraction from the weirdness all around.
As well as the worries we all share about family and friends not to mention our own health, we were anxious about the approaching storm season and our US health insurance. Our good friends at Amlin, the insurance company who insure the boat and us were helpful as ever and confirmed we were good on health until mid-July when they would review and extend if we still couldn’t get back to UK and they renewed the boat insurance. We agreed we would try and get the boat up to Chesapeake north of the hurricane zone then try for a flight home.
And so, on May 1st, slightly delayed by an early storm that lasted a couple of days with lots of nail-biting lightning (it’s 3 years ago that Seminole Wind took a direct hit in the same place remember), we headed out on the first leg of our journey north.
Well actually to do that we first have to head south to the Florida Keys then, from the very bottom of the USA we turn left and head 900 miles up the coast of Florida, Georgia, S. Carolina, N. Carolina and Virginia before turning into the huge, shallow protected bay that is America’s equivalent of the Solent but on a much larger scale.
This time though, for the first time we didn’t head for Key West, instead we hugged the coast of the 10,000 islands and the Everglades national park and took 5 days, anchoring at night in isolated bays and rivers and doing 20 or 30 miles each day. It was an incredible experience and left us wondering why we hadn’t done this before. Actually, there are two reasons we hadn’t done this before, the second I’ll come on to but the first is its shallow. Our boa]t draws 1.4 metres (4.5ft) and for the last 15 miles before the bridge into the Atlantic the water is around 1.5m deep. At no time in the whole 5 days was the water deeper than 5 m and for most of the time it was 2.5. You feel your way gingerly into anchorages and river entrances and because this is all mangroves the water is not clear enough to “read” as you would in the Caribbean. You can peer into the water as much as you like but it looks the same whether it’s 10m deep or 1m. The good news is for the most part the bottom is soft - sand or mud and the reward is extraordinary.
On one night we anchored in the Little Shark River and there were three other boats at anchor in a two-mile stretch, that was the only night we shared an anchorage, every other night we had the place to ourselves. Well not quite to ourselves, Dolphins and Manatees were everywhere popping up beside the boat for a look at the strange animals that were visiting their world. The air was full of birdsong and animal noises but not a trace of vehicles, there’s no roads or any other man-made noise pollution. It was coming up to the last pink moon of the year and with no light pollution the sky was crystal clear. We would see a few fishermen in powerboats in the middle of the day but for the rest this was true social isolation, no Wi-Fi, cell phones and perhaps best of all at this time, no news. The beaches are white sand and completely deserted with mangrove lagoons and driftwood sculptures fashioned by nature on the foreshore. It was just heavenly and the paddle board got me into places you could easily believe had never seen a human other than the Seminole Indians who used to live here – Seminole Wind was truly home.
There are of course the bugs, but we have learnt some great techniques over the years. Terry had a huge mosquito net made that goes right over the cockpit and at night you stay inside, venturing out on. Deck is not recommended. We have some good old-fashioned fly swats that provide endless sport and some very good, very old-fashioned sticky fly papers that work ever so well. We didn’t escape completely but quite acceptable collateral damage.
And so to the second reason we have never used this route, the depths are of concern but by working the tides and careful navigation you can work the water. What you can’t do is make the bridge any higher. The Florida Keys are a series of islands curving south to west from Miami down to the Dry Tortugas somewhere around 150 miles. The first 100 miles are all connected by US1, the highway over the sea.
At the beginning of the 20th century, Henry Flaggler extended the Florida east coast railway from Miami to Key West bridging all the islands, one bridge alone is 7 miles long and, whilst it connected Key West and opened up the tourist industry in the keys, it also effectively blocked all the passages between Florida Bay and the Atlantic. Henry rode the first train to Key West in 1812 and it was variously called the eighth wonder of the world and “Flagglers Folly”. In time the railroad was replaced by a highway – US1 and, unlike trains, cars and trucks can climb slopes so a couple of the bridges were knocked down and higher ones put in their place. The height was set at the US standard 65’ but because the water underneath goes up and down with tide, can be raised by offshore winds and affected by atmospheric pressure, the height is somewhat variable.
Our mast is 63’ high plus the antenna and navigation lights sat on top of it. Intellectually I know that I can work the tides and currents the same way I can do on depths but running gently aground on mud is a whole different ballgame to driving an aluminium mast on top of 20 tons of boat into a colossal concrete structure– oh and there’s powerlines each side too! I wanted to go through at low tide and so in the last 5 miles to get to the pass our keel was brushing the sea grass on the bottom at times.
Well we got the maths right and here we are on the Atlantic side but I think for that hour or two I had breathing difficulties that had nothing to do with a virus and everything to do with an extended holding of breath.
We are now anchored off Rodriguez Key and chilling for the day; after a week of light variable winds the first time we get a decent blow it is right on the nose and we are in no hurry so we’ll just hang out and take the more favourable wind forecast for tomorrow. We’ll then head up to Biscayne Bay and see if No-name Harbour is open. We spent two Christmases there and love it but my guess is, being part of the state park, it will be closed even though we have no intention of going ashore. Then on to Fort Lauderdale where we hope to step ashore for the first time in two weeks and get some warranty work done on our dinghy and our shore power system checked out by the guys who installed it 5 years ago.
This is a long blog so if you reached the end, thanks for hanging in, I guess though I wrote it for selfish reasons. One day when I’m too old to do this, sitting by the fire in the depth winter Terry and I can re-read, remember and smile. At a time when there is so much pain in the world, I’m embarrassed to say that this was one of the best weeks of my life and I so wish I could grant the same to those we love and those who are suffering.