Full Circle

Chris Parker didn't exactly put his seal of approval on the day we chose to cross the Gulf Stream to Florida.  He even used the dreaded "s" word to describe the day. "Squally."  But it was either brave 4-6' seas, maybe a squall, and have a 20-25kn wind behind us, OR, motor (entirely) into a 10-15kn wind and  2-4' seas the following day.  After that, things were really going to go south and there wouldn't be another window for a week or more.   We were feeling pressure to make tracks north.  We chose option A.  

We cast off the dock lines in West End just after 2am.  We were just behind a boat named See Land and a couple of other boats were planning on leaving a couple of hours after us.

Thank goodness for the moon.  It was 6 days past full and still casting quite a bit of light on things.  We raised the main with a double reef and unfurled part of the jib.  We sailed downwind at an average of just under 7kn.   The sea continued to build as we moved farther from West End; 4... 5... 6 feet, with an occasional  7.  At that point, my seat moved from the cockpit bench, to the floor.  It's easier to hide the fact that you're in the fetal position when you're sitting on the floor.  

At least it was a following sea.  I was thankful for that.  We surfed down the big waves, accelerating from 6.5 to 9kn at one point.  Flying fish hurled themselves out of the waves into the cockpit.

Chris Parker came on the SSB at 6:30.  I didn't want to listen.  We were 30 miles off shore at that point.  We were committed.  Scott wanted to hear what he had to say.  I plugged my ears and sang to myself while he listened.  I tried to read his face afterward; looking for any tell tale lip biting.  Nothing.  That was a good sign. 

The sun rose on a partly cloudy day, and Riley rose from the v-berth.  She stood in the gangway, zipping up her life jacket, studying the sea for several moments.  She looked down at me sitting on the floor and said with a smirk, "How's is going, mom?"  She knew how it was going.  It was no secret that I hate big seas.

Wren kept sleeping.  And sleeping.  I'm not sure how, with the ride she was getting up in the v-berth, but I was thankful for it.  I wasn't sure how she'd react when she saw the sea state.  I was in no mood to comfort anyone.

Scott busied himself rigging up some ballyhoo in hopes of catching one more Mahi, and  Riley busied herself putting together a message in a bottle which she had plans to drop in the middle of the Gulf Stream.  Scott helped her melt a crayon on the cork to seal it and I was able to muster up enough gumption to go below to retrieve the camera to document the occasion.  I have no idea where she got such a large wine bottle.

Ri chose the "ugly color" to melt

Wren didn't show her face until 10am.  She was rested, and chipper, and hungry.  I wondered how anyone could even think about eating.  Scott and I had eaten very little, and I couldn't even drink coffee (a true barometer of how I was feeling).  Wren munched a bagel and cream cheese and was pleased to know that we were over half way there and would be seeing land in about 3 hours.

The hours passed.  I felt better and better as we neared the coast of Florida.  We invented a new game called "dodge squall."  Scott is very good at it, locating the squalls which show as a purple splotch on the radar, and navigating the best path through them.  At one point, it was raining just off to port and starboard, but we remained dry.

A pod of several Atlantic white sided dolphin greeted us as we neared Florida, and swam along with us for quite some time.  Some of them even doing dramatic leaps out of the water, as if they had just escaped from Sea World.  It was a grand welcoming.

Fish really can fly

Dodge squall champion

We made the cut at  Ft. Pierce inlet right on schedule for slack tide.  We motored to a familiar spot just off Hutchinson island and dropped the anchor.  It was the exact same spot we had anchored 3 months prior when we first headed out from Cracker Boy to begin the sailing part of our trip.  We had come full circle.

Sail comes down...

after a long day.