Having lived aboard for the majority of the last year we had some very specific needs.  First, we love the old style appearance of the trawlers and wanted to get away from sailboats.  Truthfully, we didn’t sail much last year and used the motor constantly, actually we haven’t sailed much in the last seven years and used the engine all of the time so we decided to go ahead and buy a power yacht.  Second, we wanted a nice size kitchen, a comfortable living room and a much larger second room for Logan.

Once we knew what we were looking for, as if it were imbedded in our genes, we immediately started looking for a project boat and had foregone even the slightest inclination of buying anything else.  We were fortunate enough to run across a 49 foot DeFever that needs just enough work that nobody seemed to want to do and we were able to buy her at a fantastic price.

And in one quick decision, we went from homeless without a single piece of furniture to a fully furnished waterfront home.

We spent the first couple of days cleaning out everything and then it was time to head back to Louisiana to have Logan’s tonsils removed. They had been bothering her for a while now and the doctor decided to go ahead and remove them.

Logan couldn’t have been happier to have those organs removed until she felt the post operation pain.  She immediately asked the doctor to put her tonsils back in.

Roxanne and I are catching up on work while Logan recuperates.  It will also give me some time to finish the book.  The third draft has been completed and the third round of editing will begin soon.  We wanted to launch the book this month but it looks like it will be June or July before the big release.

Roxanne and I both dislike the name on the new boat , “Tar Baby” and have been trying to come up with a new name with very little success.

If anybody has any ideas for a new boat name, we would love to hear them.

We are sorry for the delay in posting.  A lot has happened in the last month and we were sort of waiting for everything to come to fruition before blogging, but that is taking too long.

Conrad and I have always loved being on the water and naturally have a love for boating. Our time spent cruising this last year has only made our love for the water stronger. It didn’t take us long to figure out that we had no desire of going back to being landlubbers, at least not anytime soon.

We decided that for us to continue living aboard and cruising we would like to have something a little bigger, a little faster and perhaps something without a mast. Yes, we decided to make the switch over to a power boat. This will make cruising much easier without having the hindrance of bridges to contend with which will open up many more cruising grounds for us, especially inland waterways in our beautiful United States.

We were contacted a couple of months ago by a gentleman who showed interest in purchasing the Great Escape. After weeks of correspondence he had her inspected and put down a deposit while we were docked in Titusville, Florida. We went to closing a few weeks ago and Great Escape is now with a nice young family in North Carolina.

This was a bitter sweet moment for us. We bought Great Escape after being sunk in her slip and we put a lot of hard work into her to bring her back to life. We were very proud of her and thoroughly enjoyed the 7 years we had her. Our next purchase will be a trawler between 40’ and 50’. We love the classic look that some of the older trawlers have and we are not afraid of a project boat. We have looked at several and narrowed it down to a few possibilities. If all goes well during the Sea Trial next week we will be the proud new owners of a 1980 49’ Defever Pilothouse Trawler.

We’ll let you know how it works out.

Situated within a 140,000 acre wildlife refuge, the Kennedy Space Center Visitor Complex is just a short drive from the marina and we couldn’t leave Titusville without a tour.

Entrance to Kenedy Space Center

It’s hard to believe that just over 50 years ago the first American, Alan Shepard, was launched into outer space and into the great unknown. 8 years later, Neil Armstrong took man’s first steps onto Earth’s moon.

Conrad on the Moon

As we made our way through and studied the exhibits of the Kennedy Space Center it put into perspective that we are but a small speck in this vast universe.

The Rocket Garden

The Rocket Garden is the final resting place of several historic NASA rockets where you can climb aboard Mercury, Gemini and Apollo capsules – and get an idea of the cramped quarters America’s astronaut pioneers endured.

Roxanne in a Gemini Capsule

Atlas Rocket

The tour wouldn’t be complete without a viewing from the IMAX theatre. The five-story screen and 3-D special effects make you feel like you’re floating right along side of the astronauts.

Waiting for the movie to start.

The visitor center consists of endless hands-on exhibits for kids of all ages. Conrad took this opportunity to practice his landing techniques before submitting his application to NASA

Conrad at the exhibit.

From the visitor complex we took a bus to the Apollo/Saturn V Center which houses the Saturn V moon rocket used to launch astronauts to the moon. Along the way we passed by the gigantic Vehicle Assembly Building built in the 1960’s to construct the massive Saturn V rockets. It is one of the largest buildings in the world by cubic footage.  It’s hard to fathom the size of this building.  The Saturn V rockets are 36 stories high and can roll through the large vertical doors.

Vehicle Assembly Building. Arrow points to a spec that is a typical size house door.

363-foot-long Saturn V moon rocket

Massive rocket engines of the Saturn V

Apollo 14 Capsule charred from re-entry in 1971

We ended our tour with the shuttle launch simulation experience. It involved a lot of violent shaking and rattling but was very cool none the less.

Our marina is located near the base of the Max Brewer Bridge which stretches over the Indian River to Merritt Island. From the top of the bridge you get a clear view of the John F. Kennedy Space Center. We’ve had the opportunity to watch two rocket launches since we’ve been here. One was at night and the other during the day. They were both very awesome.

You can see the rocket in the picture just before it disappears into the clouds.

Even Skeeter enjoyed the launch.

Traveling north along the ICW and approaching Titusville FL we couldn’t help but notice a giant white building off to the right.  We were passing Cape Canaveral and the giant white building was what NASA calls the Vehicle Assembly building.

This is where they piece together the Space Shuttles and other rockets before rolling them out to the launch sites.  There is a strange feeling of familiarity when you see something in person that you had seen many times on TV, but when it comes to large structures, TV just isn’t able to capture the grandness of these buildings.

Visiting Cape Canaveral would have to wait.  Right now we are only interested in pulling into the marina and finding ourselves a cold beer and a juicy cheeseburger.

After tying up in the boat slip I made my way to the office to pay.

I asked a marina employee, “Any good places to get a beer and cheeseburger around here?”

You always have to make it understood that you’re walking so I continued, “A place that’s within walking distance, actually less than walking distance.”  Some of these guys think that two miles qualifies as walking distance so it’s good to idea to be very clear that you aren’t really interested in walking too far.

He thought about it and told us of a place near the bridge that was yellow and has a green roof.

Roxanne and I started walking in the direction of the bridge and every building was yellow with a green roof.  After a little searching we did find the nice little restaurant that served cold beer and juicy burgers so I kept my grumblings about the directions we were given down to a minimum.

After sleeping in and enjoying a nice cup of hot coffee it was time to wash six days of crud from the boat.  I brought out the bucket, water hose and brush and began swabbing the decks.  It appears I hold two positions on this boat, Captain and deck hand.

After rinsing down the boat I was about to turn off the water hose when I saw manatees beneath our boat drinking the fresh water as it rolled off of the sides and through the drain holes.

I know how Roxanne loves her animals, so I let a controlled yell for her to bring out the camera.

These guys absolutely love fresh water and any time they hear the sound of water splashing into the marina they all swim over in a giant herd for a drink.

To say it is unusual to hear a loud foghorn sound radiate throughout the interior of our sailboat would be an understatement.  Roxanne perked up and looked around like a Meerkat on high alert before asking inquisitively, “What was that?”

I had to laugh at the ridiculousness of my answer, “A manatee is outside of our boat and is sucking fresh water out of our sink outlet.”

We turned on the sink faucet and headed outside to watch the 1,000 pound monster suck on the side of our boat like a hamster at its water bottle.

We have Skeeter, our black lab, with us now and he isn’t exactly sure what to make of the manatees.  You can see him here staring into the water at a large manatee that is swimming by.

As we all stroll down the pier Roxanne will call out to Skeeter, “Where’s the manataee?”  Skeeter’s excitement will skyrocket as he runs from one side of the pier to the other, looking into the marina’s waters for a manatee.  And when he spots one, he will begin to point, and then look at me with the expression, “Ok you shoot him and I’ll jump in and bring him back.”

I think our swamp dog is a little over ambitious.
 

Not wanting to make our way too far north where it is much cooler, we decided to stay a month here in Titusville. This will give us more time to make a visit to Cape Canaveral, watch a rocket launch and explore the area. Then next on our list is the much anticipated Jimmy Buffett concert.

So needless to say, with very few ever made and considering the age of the vessels, we were stunned to see another Catfisher 32 in the mooring field at Vero Beach.

Sailboat Ming (Catfisher 32)

Neal, the 76 year old owner of the other Catfisher, immediately jumped into his dinghy and rowed over to our boat.  Neal doesn’t believe in outboard engines.

Neal was more interested in the upgrades and work we have done to the Great Escape and I was more interested to hear stories about a 76 year old cruiser.

Apparently he travels up and down the east coast with the weather and makes the warm and sunny Vero Beach Florida his home in the winter and then travels back up north before the summer heat arrives.

Vero Beach Anchorage

We had a perfect little tight anchorage amongst the mangroves and the weather has been a comfortable warm during the days and a perfect cool temperature for sleep at night.

I asked Roxanne how she slept, “Horrible, those damn dolphins kept waking me up.”  The dolphins arrived in the quiet of the early morning to hunt for breakfast.  Without another sound to be heard, the dolphins breathing sounded like an erupting geyser which apparently disturbed Roxanne’s sleep.  I couldn’t help but laugh.

Roxanne and I take turns steering the boat.  We have a constant internet connection so work continues, even when we are on the move, from a perfect office window with an ever changing view that no corner office could ever compete with.

Ospry eating a fish on top of a mast.

Our next stop was Melbourne FL.  Once again we didn’t leave the boat and it had just occurred to us that it has been 5 days since we were on land.  It wasn’t odd because it was a long period of time, cruisers often spend much more time than that aboard, but odd only because we hadn’t noticed or had much desire to leave the boat.

But I was becoming tired of always being on the move so it was time to pull into a marina, enjoy some cold beers and eat a tasty cheeseburger.  We have decided to pull into the Titusville City marina, which is very close to the Kennedy Space Center and Daytona and so with an anticipation of a very cool stop, I hauled the anchor early and we headed towards Titusville.

With everything scrubbed clean and equipment loaded, we are ready to get out of southeast Florida.

In a certain way, we love the southeast portion of Florida.  It’s warm in the winter and the waters are beautiful but the cities are large and require 12 lanes of interstate and there are tons of boats here.  Too many boats actually.  The waterways are abuzz with boats heading in every possible direction as they churn the waters into a wake filled white foam.

But before we can enjoy the solitude of peaceful cruising once again, we will have to navigate the tangled web of draw bridges for the next couple of days.  It’s a simple and straight forward process.  We simply drive our boat up to the draw bridge, at which time I would call them on our VHF radio (basically a CB radio) and we would discuss when the next bridge opening will be.

Sometimes they would open when we called and often we would have to wait between 5 and 30 minutes for the next opening.

It’s a hindrance to our progress that we anticipated and we only scheduled to travel forty miles on the first two days.

Panoramic Shot of Boca Raton Anchorage

Our first night we anchored in the crystal clear waters of Boca Raton.  Condo’s and houses encapsulated the shoreline and many other boats joined us in this rare anchorage in these parts.

We were very anxious to move further north so we moved along early the next morning with the knowledge that we would have to contend with the draw bridges all day once again.

Million dollar home after million dollar home lines the ICW.  At first they were fascinating but soon they all began to look the same.  All of them had a brown stone appearance with multiple columns in a Greek architecture fashion.  They built basketball courts on their roofs because they had no yards left.  Every piece of land was used to build the largest house they possibly could and it gave the whole area a very crowded feel.

Most of the cruisers are heading south this time of year, avoiding the cold temperatures up north.  As we continued our north bound journey we would see all kinds of sailboats and motor yachts making their southerly migration.

The rains came on the third day and as I steered our boat in compete comfort from inside the pilot house I had to chuckle at all the southbound sailors in their rain gear standing outside in the weather at the helm of their yachts.

We arrived in Stuart Florida just before sunset and just before the rains really began to pour down.

There is something about boats that has the ability to sooth and completely change your mind-set.  The worries of the world and the hustle and bustle of everyday life fall from your shoulders as you cross an invisible demarcation line that exists somewhere between your parked car and the pier that the boat is secured to.

This feeling was understandable in remote marinas near large bodies of water but here in Ft. Lauderdale, up the New River that has us basically in the middle of the city and literally in a ladies back yard, the feeling yet survives.

Great Escape in Terry’s Backyard.

Terry lets her dogs out, which she lovingly refer to as her children and with quiet and quick feet, something you don’t expect with the older generation, she crosses her back yard and leans on the chain link fence that divides her yard from our temporary pier.

Terry has three piers in her back yard that she rents out to boaters, we are on the last one and she had come to check on us.  In a motherly tone she asks if we need blankets or pillows or food or anything else.

We discussed our adventure and Terry asked simple and direct questions that displayed a resume of person who has “been there and done that.”

We busied ourselves with cleaning four months of crud from our boat.  Then came the loading of equipment and gear followed by checking all of the boat’s systems to see which pieces of equipment decided to break during our absence.  This led us to our last task of purchasing food and storing everything away.

We have made some modifications to how we intend to cruise this year.  We have purchased a used mini-van, which I have relabeled as a VUV (van utility vehicle) in order to make it sound cool.  Roxanne was on board with this change and used the new label in conversation when Logan said, “Mom, it’s not cool when Conrad says that and it certainly isn’t cool when you do it.”  Logan would have preferred if we had bought a Ford Mustang.

Our plan is to sail the boat 50-100 miles and then find some means of driving back to the car and moving it up to where the boat is located.  This plan is sure to present some real problems but not having transportation is a much bigger problem.

With everything in place and the boat working perfectly, we added the last touch and placed brother-in-law Red’s good luck charm back by the helm.

And after a 4 month break if feels great to be back on our boat and tomorrow we set sail and begin our 300 mile trek north to Jacksonville.

Though I agree with the idea of a “Bucket List”, I never liked the basic guidelines, “Things to do before you die.” Being the prefect procrastinator I would, by my vary nature, not try to accomplish anything on the list until I became terminally ill or very old thereby defeating the purpose of the list in the first place.

I like Jimmy’s idea of the “Scavenger Hunt” list.  Even a procrastinator recognizes that a scavenger hunt is a race and should be completed now.

So after a few quite months in the Swamp House our need to get on the move again has surfaced and here are a few things that we have on our scavenger hunt list for this upcoming year.

1. The sailing cruise will continue as we jump back aboard the Great Escape in two weeks and move her 300 miles north to Jacksonville FL.

2. We always wanted to see Jimmy Buffett in concert but never got around to doing it.  But this is the year.  Floor tickets have been purchased and we are off to see the Parrot Head’s founding father in concert in February.

3. The greatest sailing, travel, adventure book of all time will be released in April.  The name is still a work in progress as well as the cover. If anybody has a book title suggestion we would love to hear it.

Here are a few that we came up with.

- From the cubicle to Key West: We quit our jobs, sold all of our stuff and sailed away.

- The Greatest of Escapes: We quite our jobs, sold all of our stuff and sailed away.

- Own Less and Live More: A sailing adventure that takes you from the cubicle to Key West.

4. And then in June or July, it’s off to the Marche region of Italy where we will rent a small house and enjoy the Italian lifestyle for three months.

 —

We left town last January before Roxanne could eat a large bowl of boiled crawfish and during the whole sailing adventure she was constantly on the lookout for anybody in Florida who sold these little red Cajun delicacies.  Sadly there were none to be had.

With crawfish season just beginning, Roxanne swore she wasn’t going anywhere without a crawfish fix.  As fortune would have it, Orlando’s seafood just started serving crawfish and Roxanne stuffed herself on the boiled mudbugs and raw oysters.  Once again we have a happy cajun.

I was told that this was a great time of year to work in the swamps because the gators and snakes are hibernating.  I have never heard of alligators hibernating and since I was the one they were trying to convince to get into the water.  I was very skeptical.

I am not an alligator expert, but I must admit, I hadn’t seen many gators around lately.  Usually, at any given time, we can look into the swamps and see a couple of these large reptiles.

It was time to quit being a candy-ass, so I put on the long rubber boots that came up to my crotch and happened to be two inches too short for the water depth and filled with water immediately.

I tried to focus on the work but the thought of those damn gator never left my mind.  I gathered 4×4 posts that were laying about and tried to organize our building material.

Cindy was standing on the deck as I remained waste deep in the swamps as we discussed how we planned to reconstruct this pier.  I unknowing loosened a post that was buried under the water in the soft mud.  It slowly began to float and work itself to the surface right next to me.

The post broke the water’s surface in a gator like fashion, at which point I almost added a little fudge to my underpants as I proceeded to do a reenactment of walking on water.

Cindy, watching the whole sad episode could only laugh hysterically and wipe the tears from her eyes.

Fortunately there is no video.

Places where we live change us.  We have no choice, we adapt blend and modify ourselves, usually subconsciously to fit into our new environment.

I tried to argue that this was all caused by our genetic connection to the caveman, but my wife wasn’t sure what all of this had to do with the fact that she now had alligator sausage in her omelet.

For better or for worse, I see omelets as a time to experiment.  It’s so easy to fall into the same old habits.  We visit the same restaurants, eat the same entrees and remain in the same rut.  We like our ruts so why change, but I believe, from time to time, we should try new restaurants and if you want to eat the best things on the menu, let the waiter order for you.  You never know, we might find ourselves a new rut.

So if you have left over taco fixings from the night before, they make great omelets.  Bratwurst omelets on the other hand are basically uneatable.

So when I learned we had alligator sausage in the freezer, I couldn’t help myself.  A little tomato, some yellow onions, salt, pepper, Tony’s and a link of alligator sausage and you have yourself a swamp house breakfast.  They’re not as good as taco omelets but are much better than the bratwurst fiasco.

Just over a year ago, I let the Director of Human Resources know that I was retiring.  He looked at me and asked, “Are you 55?”

“Nope, 42.”

“Then you’re quitting.”  He less than enthusiastically continued, “Let me get the paperwork.”

That didn’t sound as cool to me as retiring, but who cared.  I was about to embark on a sailing voyage where the outcome was far from certain.

When we break from the chains of our occupation and we set out on an adventure, we like to believe we know what we are going to encounter, but that is just a silly belief to hold our fears at bay.

As humans, it is our nature to focus on worst case scenarios and plan for the sky to fall.  We buy insurances, subscribe to an Auto Club and generally try to cocoon ourselves in bubble wrap so that nothing bad ever happens to us.

But sadly we don’t give equal time to thought of all the good things that could happen.

In the last year, it is safe to say that I have experienced more in the last 52 weeks than I have in the last twenty years combined.

From the places we see, to the people we meet and the things we do.  Life becomes an endless adventure.

And looking back over the last year, the part that caused the most fear, the part that was the most difficult and was the most stressful, was the very beginning.  Letting go is difficult.

Freefalling from the high dive and swimming in the deep end is scary.  Until we do it just once.  Then we wonder what the hell we were so scared of.

And once you are in the deep end, you aren’t all that anxious to go back to the kiddy pool.

At the age of 18, I started to love the previously despised spinach and began hating theme parks.  This trip did not change my opinion of Mickey and his band of wallet raiding rodents.

I’m a member of the ever so small silent minority that doesn’t think Disney World, Universal Studios and everything Orlando is the epitome of what a vacation should be.  But what the hell, Roxanne and I were driving by the city that Mickey built so we decided to stop in.

Arriving in the afternoon we delayed our trip to the theme parks and headed over to BB King’s restaurant for some good food and some excellent music.  The BB King All Stars took the stage with an eight piece band that entertained everybody by playing classic blues. Whenever I see a group of talented musicians I am often reminded of the imbalance between pay and skill when you are an artist.  Only the top few make a fortune.  One tier down, the extremely talented, manage to scratch out a living.  If you fall below that level, you can teach or start a wedding band.

Bright and early we paid our $100 each and made our way through the gates of Universal Studios.

Everything is overpriced but the parks are full of people so it’s hard to blame a business for charging prices that hordes of customers are willing to pay.  The place is spotless, and the architecture within the parks is nothing short of impressive.  The Harry Potter section of the park was especially remarkable.

I’m not sure where we were, but somehow we found a bar that was inside of a giant fake tree.  I asked the bartender what she thought of the crowds in the park today, she asked, “Did you get trampled?”

I replied, “It’s a bit crowded but not once did I get trampled.”

She looked back at me and grinned, “Then it’s a very light day crowd wise.”

Even with the very short lines at the rides and being able to move about with relative ease, I just can’t seem to understand the attraction to these places.

As I strolled through different themed sections of the park, it dawned on me somewhere between the Lost World and Dr. Seuss’s Wacky World, that my problem with these parks is, that nothing is real.  The original is always better than the copy, non-alcoholic beer should only be consumed by those with hepatitis-c and technologically enhanced breasts don’t compare to the ones that nature makes.

The real world is just much more interesting to me.  So we put Orlando in our rear view mirror, for the last time I’m sure, and headed for Jacksonville to visit family.

But the sailing away is just the end result, our choice for adventure.

The true great escape, the golden nugget we all pan for, is absolute freedom.

A couple of weeks ago my wife asks, “Do you want to head down to your parents house for a couple of weeks and check on our boat?”

It dawned on me at that point, what absolute freedom we have.  We can load up and leave when we want.  We can stay in south Florida as long as we like.  We don’t have to wait for a weekend, or use vacation time.  We don’t have to ask permission or have someone check our mail.  We don’t have a litany of bills to pay or a house to care for.

Great escapes come in many forms, from sailing away to buying an RV and cruising the country to living abroad in a rented home.  But to make it happen, you must find a way to sever all the anchors that are holding you in place.

So where is our next adventure going to take us?  We aren’t sure yet.  There has been some discussion of heading out west for 3-6 months.  There is talk of renting a house in Argentina, Italy or Nova Scotia.

We just don’t know.

Today we are in Port Charlotte FL hanging out with the Scrub Jays.  These are inquisitive birds that live in the brush and that will fly right at your face and then land on your head.

They say they are on the “Threatened” list but there is no shortage of them around these parts.

We put together this short video so you can see the Scrub Jays in action.

We left our boat in Ft. Lauderdale with some new friends as
we headed back to visit family in south Louisiana for hurricane season.  Hurricane season is always on our minds.  After riding out a few of them to include
Katrina, we decided we didn’t really want to be on the boat if anything blew
through.

The swamp house is nestled on a small island, amongst the
wildlife, where you need a boat to get to the front door.  It’s perfect.

After living on a boat for 8 months it was second nature for us to load and offload luggage from the skiff.

Logan and Conrad bringing luggage to Swamp House

Conrad tossing bags onto pier at the swamp house.

Mom and Dad made the drive with us from south Florida.  They decided to take the opportunity to visit their other son, the least favorite one, and their grand-kids.

Mom, Dad and Conrad on porch at swamp house.

Our time at the swamp house was cut short because, hurricane Isaac decided to roll right over us.  We evacuated north to stay with family.  It’s always a tense time,waiting out the storm and then waiting some more before you can head down and evaluate the damage on your property.

Brother-in-law Jimmy, owner of the swamp house and owner of great stories that have lines that include, “Hell I thought that gator was dead, I went and grabbed it’s tail and that bastard swung around and almost bit my hand off.”  He chuckles and smiles at the pleasant memories of the story and then adds, “Yep, you learn how fast you can move in the swamps when a gator is trying to bite you.”

Well, Jimmy had to come down to the swamp house and rescue us before the storm blew through.

This is Jimmy and if you don't look like this, you don't need to be in the swamps of Louisiana.

We rode out the storm in Wesson MS, and hoped the waters wouldn’t rise high enough to put water in the Swamp House.

Jimmy, like every good swamp man, owns an air boat, so the first chance we got, we headed down south to check on his property.

Three days later and the waters were still high and we had to launch the boat on the exit ramp from the interstate.

After the boat was launched on this exit ramp, we needed to make our way to the swamp house.  Since the waters had risen, there were no real waterways only high water with trees and poles in the way.  Sitting in the air-boat with Jimmy perched up high in the captains seat and the engine purring loudly, I patiently waited and then to my horror I heard the engine rev up and the air-boat went into a quick 180 degree spin as Jimmy decided we didn’t need waterways as we hurdled towards fences and small trees.

Airboat at Swamp House

Where there was no path before, Jimmy created one.  We slammed through the trees, poles and fences and landed the boat on the other side, in the canal where we could make our way to the camp.

Besides some pier damage, Jimmy and the swamp house survived without much damage.  Unfortunately, they were the lucky few in Manchac that could make that claim.  Many houses and camps flooded as people had to rip out the interiors of their homes and rebuild.

We had to wait two weeks before the power was restored to the swamp house.  But we finally made it back to our temporary home.

Living in the swamps is interesting and a bit different from living on land.  For one thing you often have to contend with gators on your pier, blocking your path.

Logan named him Spike

~ Unknown

I don’t know any rich people.  I mean the overtly wealthy types.  But now I find myself surrounded by them and I can’t help but stare, as if they were animals in a zoo, in an enclosed area and I was standing on the outskirts marveling at this wild creature.

Roxanne and I made our way up the New River which will take you to downtown Ft. Lauderdale where they have city docks that are priced just within our budget.  We cruised up the river, passed the appropriately named Millionaire Row, an extravagant stretch of the river with obscenely beautiful houses lining the banks.

The millionaires in this town don’t own 50 or 60 foot yachts but 120 to 150 foot mega yachts.  These mini cruise liners tower before you and seem to be just narrow enough to pass down the river without scraping their sides on the seawall.  Needless to say, there isn’t much room left on the river for anybody else.

We nervously made our way up river, just praying and hoping we could get to the city docks without having to share the river with one of these behemoths.  Our docks were in sight, just south of the draw bridge.  Roxanne was poised on the front of the boat and I was sweeping the boat out wide to get us lined up with our boat slip when we heard the siren on the bridge sound and it began to open up.  On the north side of the bridge was a gigantic vessel, large enough to eclipse the sun and cast a shadow down upon us.  I screamed through the open window to Roxanne at the bow of the boat, “Holy shit, do you see how big that damn thing is!”

Roxanne screamed back, “What am I blind, what are we going to do!”  We were on the wrong side of the river, preparing for our docking and now I needed to get out of the way.

I hollered back, the diesel engine always requires hollering during docking, “Hold on, we’re going to come in fast!”

I throttle up and aim our boat for our rectangular parking spot which is bordered by a beautiful 40′ yacht to the left and very solid wooden piers to our front and right.

We were going way too fast.  I slammed the boat in reverse upon entering the boat slip, the diesel engine was screaming loudly and spewing a cloud of smoke, Roxanne and I were hollering as we tried to maintain control of the boat as it danced and wiggled in reaction to my heavy hand on the throttle and then it happened.

Bamm!  We slammed into this beautiful 40′ yacht to the left of us.

Honestly I find it rather amazing that after all these years this is the first time I have hit another person’s boat.  There have been a couple of close calls during my life.  Back in 2003, in-between two other boats, I tried to parallel-park my 30′ long boat in a space that was only 28′ long.  There was a lot of hollering and diesel smoke in that instance also.

I’m not even going to mention the British Virgin Islands incident.  All I know is, I can’t ever go back to that fuel dock again.

A rather unhappy older couple from New Zealand came flying out of their boat to see what in the hell was going on.

I thought this would be a great time for us to introduce ourselves.  I looked over, “Hi I’m Conrad and this is my wife Roxanne and we’re from Louisiana.”  Not to be rude I continued, “Where are ya’ll from.”

They looked at each other with the troubled gaze of, “What in the hell is wrong with these two?”, but realizing they neither had the answer they just resigned to their fate.  They were going to have to deal with us.

Two days later I hear a loud knock on our boat.  There really is no front door so if someone wants your attention they just knock on your boat three or four times.  There stood our new friend with his left arm extended straight out from his side.  I said, “Hi Phil, how are you doing?”

No reply, he just stood there with his arm extended, starring at me.

I was a bit confused and then it dawned on me, “Is it 5 o’clock somewhere Phil?”  He smiled broadly, looked at the watch on his left arm and said in the always cool sounding New Zealand accent, “It’s 5 o’clock here, come on over for some beers.”

And that’s how we became friends with the New Zealanders.

To be continued…..

There are things you learn in life that you wish you didn’t know.  And sadly, much like the first time you heard your parents having sex, you can’t erase it from your brain.

Today I learned that that the parrotfish poops sand.  I’m not making this up.  This fish chomps on small critters attached to the coral reefs.  These fish end up with a belly full of coral inside them which they excrete out at some later time as sand.  Roxanne witnessed this first hand.  She was swimming behind a group of parrotfish when one produced a sand cloud.  She stopped following them at that point.

Every parrotfish produces 250 lbs of sand every year and there are a lot of parrotfish out there in the water.

So the next time you are relaxing on a nice beach on a beautiful day, just remember, you’re sitting on a large pile of parrotfish shit.

I learned that tidbit of information from Tim the dive master.  Tim was explaining to us, at our last stop on the snorkel tour, to swim out to this white buoy and drift back about 50 ft and there we would find Jesus Christ.

I couldn’t help but think that a lot of people are looking for Jesus, maybe Tim should blog about this.

I was curious so I had to ask, “Jesus is underwater?”  Tim replied in a strong Jamaican accent, “Yea mon, but don’t worry Jesus can hold his breath for a long time.”

A cracker from West Virginia who sounds like a Jamaican telling jokes about Jesus, that alone was worth the price of the tour.

He further explained that the city sank an eight foot bronze copy of the statue, “Christ of the Abyss” in 20 ft of water off Key Largo.  The hordes headed straight for the statue, Roxanne and I headed for the uncongested waters of the reef where we could see things that weren’t made out of metal or by man.  We get enough of that on land.

The beauty of the Florida Keys has nothing to do with the Keys themselves but with the surrounding waters.  The cities and towns have no personality or identity, and how could they?  The local population is ever changing as drifters and paradise seekers come and go with the tides.

There is a folklore expectation of the Florida Keys.  An undeserved reputation for being paradise that is propagated by the overworked battalions of American workers who dream of the good life.

“At least I live in paradise”, were the words that were spoken in a self convincing tone over and over again from the transplanted locals who are trying to tell themselves that they found the happiness they were so desperately looking for.

But they were not happy and the thin veil of their words could not hide their deep and utter disappointment.  Paradise does not exist here.

The Florida Keys are like any other destination, they are what you make of it.  The snorkeling, fishing and diving are fantastic.  There are more bars and tiki huts than you can count and everybody makes a fantastic cheeseburger.   Key West is fun and it reminds me a lot of Bourbon Street in New Orleans.  Just a cleaner and much safer version.

And to say the Keys have no personality may not be totally correct.  They do things in an interesting way down here.  After ordering our lunch at the counter the lady asked for my favorite song.  Over the loud speaker you could hear them call out the titles to classics like Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” and an older couple would stand to get their food.  I had to laugh when I heard the loud speaker blare out, “Baby Got Back, your order is ready.”  It occurred to me that my wife’s name is also the name of a song, so I simply told them, “Roxanne”, though I wish I used Rusty McHugh’s song, “She Put a Louisiana Lip Lock On My Alabama Pork Chop.”

In the end, I find it difficult to summarize the Florida Keys and that’s mainly because that everything worth seeing down here wasn’t created by man.  The clear waters and the living reefs make this place an aquatic playground.  With 100s of islands that stretch a 100 miles out into the ocean, it is a paradise for those who are willing to jump on a boat and toss off the lines and leave the islands behind to enjoy the beauty of the surrounding waters.

We have been in Key Largo now for a couple of weeks. We are in a marina here enjoying our newly installed air conditioner. A lot of rain has moved through since we’ve been here so the opportunities to get out of the slip have been slim.

The summer heat moved upon us rather quickly while we were in Marathon. Of course we didn’t have air conditioning at the time so the last couple of weeks there were pretty rough. This is when the bought of laziness over took us. When it’s so hot that by 8:00am you start to sweat just by sitting there doing nothing you lose all motivation to do anything. The only way to stay somewhat comfortable is to sit in front of a fan, go swimming or enjoy a cold draft beer at the local bar.

Unfortunately, the heat arrived just before Madison arrived from Louisiana. She suffered through it with us but was quite a trooper about it. I guess all those years of pitching softball in the heat prepared her for it. Despite the heat we had a fantastic visit with Madison.

Logan holding the welcome sign that Madison insisted on having usdisplay as she arrived at the airport.

I was unsuccessful at securing a pass to meet Madison at her gate (which I’ve done many times with Logan) so she was on her own to find us in baggage claim at the Miami airport. Did I mention that this was her first time flying? With some verbal instruction from Logan via cell phone she finally found us.

We went straight to Key West from the airport. We found our room, got cleaned up, and went out for the night. If I look terrified it’s because I am, just by the thought of taking two teenagers out to Duval Street.

Madison and Logan ready to party on Duval Street

First stop of the evening was at Irish Kevin’s for cocktails (sodas for the girls) and live entertainment.

Then some hat modeling.

Looking good Logan.

Last but not least we stopped at Margarittaville for some cheeseburgers in paradise. Madison couldn’t decide what to order so she did what any girl would do and called her mom. Silly girl.

The next day was much anticipated parasailing for the girls over the beautiful waters of Key West. If you can’t tell they were very excited.

Madison loves the camera.

Groupe shot before parasailing.

More music and late night apps at Willie T's

Enjoying Willi T's live music.

Logan and Madison taking a picture with a 7 foot tall drag queen on Duval St.

Hemingway house and pool. It's still the largest private pool in Key West.

One of the many Hemingway cats on the property. According to the staff, the cats are treated much better than they are.

Cat condo for the Hemingway cats.

Madison having a braclet weaved for her.

Dinner and cold drinks at Dockside in Marathon.

Snorkeling at Sombrero Reef.

Madison studying fish.

Logan fixing her mask.

Roxanne enjoying the water.

A brunette walks into the examination room and says, “Doc, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I hurt all over.”  She continued, “Watch”, she touched her shoulder and she said, “Ouch!”  She then touched her elbow and said, “Ouch!”  The doctor was confused and asked her to touch her knee.  Once again the brunette said, “Ouch!”  The doctor looked at her and said, “You’re really a blonde, aren’t you?”  The lady replied, “Yes, how did you know?”

The doctor said, “You have a broken finger.”

My wife and daughter are both blondes and needless to say, I had to tell them this joke.  Now whenever any of us does something stupid, someone else will grab one of your own fingers and touch you with it and sarcastically say, “Ouch.”

We were approaching Marathon and Roxanne asked, “What ocean are we in?”

We started this trip in the Gulf of Mexico, we have been in the Gulf of Mexico our whole sailing lives and after 4 months of cruising, I would like to think my wife would know what ocean we are in.  (We all know the Gulf of Mexico is not an ocean, not really the point, stay with us here.)

I was about to grab her finger and do the “ouch” thing, when it dawned on me, I don’t know what ocean we are in.

Roxanne saw my hesitation and said mockingly, “Shouldn’t the captain of the boat know what ocean they are in?”

I searched the depths of my puddle deep brain but I couldn’t for the life of me remember where the dividing line is between the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean.  Hell, we started this trip in Florida and we are still in Florida, it doesn’t seem right that we would be in a different body of water, but we are.

As it turns out, when you cross under the 7 Mile Bridge in the Florida Keys you cross from the Gulf of Mexico into the Atlantic Ocean.  The really should put a sign on that bridge.  Maybe one like every state has on their borders, with a cool slogan to go with it of course, “Welcome to the Atlantic Ocean, We Sank the Titanic!”, or something like that.

Roxanne just gave me a smirk with the look of, “You know what you have to do.”

I took my index finger, touched my shoulder and said, “Ouch.”  Except it was truly painful, admitting I am wrong always is.

Where are we? Marathon, Florida Keys

In between work, boat maintenance, and school we’ve managed to find some time for exploring Marathon. The first thing we did was kayaked over to Sombrero Beach on the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a beautiful beach and park with a volley ball court, picnic areas and rinse stations.

Sombrero Beach

We quickly discovered that Marathon has an abundant iguana population. These guys are everywhere and they are huge! Logan has been given lessons by a local 10 year old girl, who lives at the marina, on how to catch the lizards. She hasn’t had her opportunity yet but we’ll be sure take pictures of the iguana catch or of the hosipital visit from the iguana bite.  Either way it should be very cool!

Iguana on dock.

We also made it over to The Turtle Hospital where they rehabilitate injured and/or sick sea turtles. Most turtles are released upon rehabilitation, but there are a few who have become permanent residents due to the extent of their injuries. They have a very dedicated staff who gave us a tour of the facility where we were able to meet some of the patients.

Turtle recovering from from a boat propeller strike.

This is Bubble Butt, a permanent resident due to the damage caused to the back of his shell from a boat strike.

This is O.D. Another permanent resident weighing in at over 300lbs.

Boot Key Harbor is a great area for kayaking. We’ve been out several times sightseeing by kayak in the shallow grassy areas and in the many mangrove forest. On one of our excursions we discovered an abandoned dingy inside one of the mangroves. It was a good quality dingy but in need of a little TLC and a lot of elbow grease.

This lost dinghy was deep in the mangroves.

We came back to it later in our dingy and towed it to the city marina in hopes of finding it a good home. That was a week ago and as of today it remains unclaimed. I’m beginning to think that Conrad and I are the only two people that can see the potential in half sunken boats.

Too shallow to motor, had to row it out of the mangroves. It turns out the owner is a live aboard and happens to be in jail at the moment. He didn't even know his dinghy was lost. They locked him up for sailing by a waterfront bar and tossing beer bottles at the customers. They frown on that here.

Spotted eagle ray swimming next to the boat.

One of many funnel clouds produced by a thunderstorm that moved over Boot Key Harbor.

Conrad and Logan going to shore.

Conrad and Logan being silly.

Tuesday May 22nd is a big day for us. Logan’s lifelong friend, Madison, is flying in from Louisiana for a visit. She will fly into Miami where we will pick her up in a rental and drive straight to Key West for a couple of nights. After that we will drive back to the boat in Marathon for the remainder of her stay. We are really looking forward to seeing her and having her here with us.

Marathon - Florida Keys

Well, it has only taken us 3 ½ months but we have finally made it to The Keys. We pulled into Boot Key Harbor last Sunday (May 6th). The boating season here is slow so getting a mooring ball was no problem. With the mooring ball we have access to the amenities of the city marina which are really nice.

Logan doing laundry before leaving Marco Island

It took us 3 long days to get from Marco Island to Marathon. We anchored one night in Indian Pass and the second night in Little Shark River. Both anchorages were very pretty but they had fast moving currents and about a billion no-see-ums. We nearly lost our anchor in Little Shark River after snagging on what we believe was a huge rock. The anchor was recovered but isn’t quite as straight as it was.

Bent anchor - Who says a 30hp Yanmar doesn't have power?

Little Shark River

Little Shark River (Everglades) at sunset.

Little Shark River (Everglades) Sunrise

Boot Key Harbor Mooring Field

Boot Key Harbor City Marina (Where Logan spends a lot of her time)

Super moon shining over Boot Key Harbor

We will be in Boot Key Harbor for several weeks. This is a very cruiser friendly community and we like it here a lot. We’ve found our favorite hang out just a short dingy ride away. They have live entertainment 7 days a week and pretty good food.  We have lots of places and things to explore here so I’ll be sure to put up plenty of pictures of our ventures.

“If you don’t want your dog to have bad breath, do what I do: Pour a little Lavoris in the toilet.”
~Jay Leno

Most people that enter the bathroom will check for toilet paper before they begin their business.  Unless you want to end up sock-less, it’s just a good practice.  Boat toilets have added to my list of things I need to check beforehand.

Our boat toilet is electrical.  We need a pump to empty the toilet bowl and move the deposit to the holding tank which will eventually get pumped out at some time.

Well after dropping the kids off at the porcelain pool, I reached over and pressed the electrical button which would make all this stuff go away.

Silence, nothing happened.

A slight state of denial and a massive state of panic consumed me as I pushed and pushed that damn button, I probably said a few Hail Marys and asked God for a little assistance, but the damn thing would not work.

Sometimes these kinds of problems are simple, low power or a bad wire connection.  No such luck, this toilet was going to have to be taken out and taken apart.

I came out of the bathroom and asked Roxanne, “Which cup do you not want anymore?”

A sacrificial turd chalice was selected and off to work I went.  Logan and Roxanne thought that this would be a great time to go ashore and do laundry.

There are some items on a boat that are critical and there are some that are nice to have.  The freezer is nice to have but the toilet is critical and since it is the only one we have aboard, this contraption needs to be fixed.

After a two hour disgusting process, during which I passed through all 5 stages of grief.  Stage 2 (anger) was pretty fun.  A really stress releasing monologue of colorful words flowed unimpeded at the manufacturer of this relatively new toilet.

But after a while you just get to work and it turns out that a 10 cent spring inside the electric motor had corroded and no longer pushed on the item it was designed to push against.  I grabbed one of Roxanne’s pens, opened it up and removed the tiny spring, chopped it to size and installed it into the toilet motor.

It’s a universal law that if you unscrew or unbolt more than 10 parts from a machine that there is only a 3% chance that it will ever go back together again and work.  So you can imagine my amazement, as if something completely unexplainable happened, when I reassembled the toilet and it worked.

So now, before I drop the browns off at the super bowl, I press the electrical button to make sure everything is functional.  I have to, I’m not sure how many sacrificial cups we have left.

Marco Island

Our anchorage in the city of Fort Myers provided great protection from the winds which were remnants of the front that moved through last week. We were close to town so we took the opportunity to dingy ashore and stock up on essentials (wine for us and pickles for Logan). It was also a great location to give Logan lessons on operating the dingy.

Sunset in Fort Myers

We left the city of Fort Myers Tuesday morning and hooked to the mooring balls of Matanzas Harbor Municipal Mooring Field in Fort Myers Beach that afternoon. For $13 a night you get a mooring ball, showers, dingy dock, pump out service and laundry facilities (not a bad deal). From the dingy dock there is easy access to many stores and restaurants and the beach is within walking distance. Logan took her first solo dingy ride to shore in search for a quiet spot to study. I think this is code for “time to get away from the parents.”

Morring Field at Fort Myers Beach

Night time at Fort Myers Beach

We left Fort Myers Beach Thursday morning to move further south to Marco Island. We only intended to stay here for a couple of nights but more bad weather and high winds are moving through so we’ll stay put until everything calms down. We are anchored in Smokehouse Bay which has a dingy dock. Smokehouse bay is in the middle of town so everything we need is very close by.

Osprey Nest

Osprey Nest Again

Anchored in Smokehouse Bay on Marco Island

Seahorse hanging on to the anchor chain.

Seahorse swimming away.

Logan caught in rainstorm.

Logan drying out from dighy ride.

After nearly 6 weeks of visiting the parents in Port Charlotte the crew is finally back aboard the Great Escape. It feels great to be back aboard and cruising again, although I haven’t quite gotten my sea legs back yet.

We left Port Charlotte Thursday morning and anchored that afternoon in Pelican Bay next to Cayo Casta Island. It’s a secure and well protected anchorage so we decided to stay put while the front moved over South Florida. The front produced severe thunderstorms and winds up to 47 mph during the last two nights so we didn’t get much sleep, except for Logan of course. She can sleep through anything.

The weather improved Sunday morning so we made our way over to Fort Myers in 7 hours of wind and choppy water. We’ve anchored in a bayou here to wait for the winds to die down before moving further South.

Grandpa Fred showing Logan how to operate his boat.

We did get around to completing some boat projects while we were in Port Charlotte. We found a very nice couple, Kim and Skip, who allowed us to tie up behind their house while we worked on the boat.

Pilot House / Living Room

Different View of Pilot House

Galley / Kitchen with new faucet and wood refinished.

Bathroom sporting a new faucet.

Back porch with new indoor/outdoor carpet and cushions.

My parents live in a docile subdivision where the homes proudly display perfectly manicured lawns with a swimming pool in every backyard.  Just about everybody’s  retired and a transplant from someplace else.

My dad was hosting a monthly investor’s group meeting where he introduced me to Dean who is from Tennessee, John who is from New Jersey, Dick who is from Michigan and then there is my Dad who is from Germany.

I’m not sure if I meet anybody who is actually from Florida.

Some parents will enthusiastically and embarrassingly sing the praises of their offspring to the point of nauseam to all that are in audience.

These would not be my parents.

My dad announces to the investor’s group, “This is my youngest son, he’s unemployed you know.”

John chimes in a sympathetic and understanding manner, “Yeah, I have one of those.” I heard someone else say, “I’ve got two.”  It was a game of one-upmanship in loser offspring.

I was labeled and nonchalantly tossed into a group that I didn’t want to be associated with, so I tried to explain, “Well, I purposefully quit my job so we could sail down the Bahamas and Caribbean.  The term unemployed implies I’m looking for a job but can’t find one, I think we need a new word to describe being purposely unemployed.”

John, who I really don’t know, starts laughing and says, “They already have a word for that.”  Everybody was paying close attention as he spoke a little louder to make sure all the 70 year old ears could hear his joke, “It’s called being a bum!”  Lots of laughter erupted from around the table.

I just smiled and gave a respectful chuckle and turned to exit and John continued, “Do you need some cardboard and a marker to make a sign?”  Lots of laughter.

I was halfway down the hall when I heard someone say, “How about, will work for food.”  Somebody else chimed in, “That’s no good, he gets all the free food he wants here from Fred and Mary.”  I could still hear them all laughing as I made it to the bedroom door.

There is an ease, a tranquil likeability to retired people that’s hard to explain.  Worries and stresses of their former selves have washed away as they become what they always wanted to be and they do what they like to do.  Rarely are they idle.  Even in the morning, just as the sun is making its first appearance, there is a routine.

Mom will make her way to the back of the property with a cup full of seeds and nuts.  Rabbits, birds and squirrels will come out of the woods and hop to her feet as she pours the food on the ground and talks to them like Mary Poppins.  All that was missing was an umbrella and song.

Mom sat at the back patio table and offered us all another cup of coffee.  Roxanne was amazed that wild animals would come to her.  When they lived in Mississippi, Mom would walk to the back fence waving an apple in the air and the bull in the pasture next door would mosey on over for his morning treat.

My dad looked a bit shocked and blurted out, “You mean to tell me that you had been feeding that bull my apples all of these years!”

Mom shot back at him, “What were you doing eating the bull’s apples!”

And that’s about how every day starts.

But more than just routine, they do things.  Sue wrote a play and had here friends help her perform it at a local theatre.  Ted, the retired machinist, is now a bird carver and is ranked third in the world.  Dad is flipping houses and running a tax business and Chuck , the retired fireman that likes to be called 2×4(two by four), is building stuff.

For some reason, lack of time I guess, we all wait to do what we want to do.  We follow careers that we haphazardly fell into because it seemed like a good opportunity.  And maybe it was, but unfortunately most of us save what we want to do for the unknowing and unpredictable end.

The end is closing in on the retired folk, and they know it.  They all like to joke about death.  Not in a morbid, I fear for my soul kind of way but in a “Do I really need to go to the dentist if I’m only going to only live 10 more years kind of way.”  Every purchase, surgery and dentist visit must be balanced against how much time they have left.

My dad sat down and started talking, “The dentist wants to pull some teeth and build a bridge or two.”

He continued, “I asked the doctor how much?  He said about ten thousand and that it would last 20 years.  I said, hell doc that’s no good, I only have about 10 years left, do you have anything cheaper?”

It was sort of a joke, sort of.

Their social calendar is full, and yes they actually have to keep a calendar with all the different parties and get-togethers that are being hosted. It’s a peaceful existence. It’s hard to remember now, but there was a peace about life until I hit the age of 12. High school is when the peace treaty was broken, college was about the time war was declared, by the time work and children came into the picture I was deeply entrenched in a long conflict but it appears that retired people once again live in the tranquil bubble of peace. And why not, the only thing the have to worry about is death and from what I can tell, they aren’t really worried about that too much.

We originally planned to stay at my parent’s house in Port Charlotte, FL about a month but the cruising lifestyle has taken hold of us and time has slipped by and we are still here.

We found a guy who lives on the water who was nice enough to lease us a pier for a month.  The price was right and it is near my parent’s house, so it really worked out well.

The other day Roxanne says, “We are going to have to pay Skip more money for the boat slip, you know our month is almost up.”

I reply very confused, “We’ve been here a month already?”

We have been working some.  Roxanne has stripped all the wood in the pilot house and she is now working on the third coat of wood finish.  I’ll post more pictures when she is done.

It only took us 5 and half years but we finally have the name of the boat, on the boat.

I bought a Hawaiian sling.   It’s a long pole that is propelled by rubber tubing that is used to spear fish.  I tried to get my dad to hold a block of wood under water in his pool so I could get some target practice, but he refused.  Party pooper.

We will be heading south in about a week.   So maybe I’ll get the chance to swim around and spear some fish then.

Sponge Docks of Tarpon Springs

On a nice spring day in 1902, Young Nikolas stood naked on the side rail of the boat like he had done hundreds of times before.  A large bag around his neck, a rope tied to his waist and a 30 pound flat stone held high above his head.  His friend is staring through a wooden bucket with a glass bottom, which he holds partially submerged in the water, to aid him in viewing the sea floor.

Nikolas gets the signal.  He plunges head first into the blue waters still holding the flat stone out in front of him. The water glances off of the stone as he uses it like a rudder to guide his decent through 100 feet of water down to the ocean’s floor.

He yanks the large sea sponges from their rocky homes and places them in his bag.  He works as quickly as he can and after a couple of minutes he reaches for his waste and finds the attached rope and gives it two sharp tugs.  The deck hands receive the signal and pull Nikolas up to the boat as fast as they can.

This was a good dive.  Better than last week when Nikolas wisely sacrificed his flat stone by tossing it into a sharks’ open mouth and then quickly gave his rope to sharp pulls and ascended to safety.

These were the safe years of sponge diving.  Little did Nikolas and his fellow divers know that sponge diving would soon become the most dangerous occupation in America.

—

Tarpon Springs Florida, from the outside, looks like any other coastal Florida town.  You will pass the large marinas that always seemed to be spaced apart perfectly.  Large waterfront houses that fill you with envy and a slight hint of relief that it’s not yours to pay-for or maintain.  And a sprinkling of commercial vessels along the shoreline, most of which show the scares of a life of hard work.  But this is just the books’ cover; it’s not until you get off your boat and visit the Sponge Docks that you start to understand that Tarpon Springs is different.

There is a disproportionate large number of Greeks in Tarpon Springs.  According to the latest census, 12% of the Tarpon Springs population reported having Greek ancestry while 8% of the families reported speaking Greek in their homes.

As with most things, there is a reason there are a lot of Greeks in Tarpon Springs.

In the early 1900s, large fields of sponges were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico, off of the coast of Tarpon Springs to be exact.  With the advent of the synthetic sponge, that really doesn’t mean anything to us today.  But back in the early 1900′s natural sponges were very valuable.

How valuable?

For over 30 years, the natural sponge industry beat out the revenue generating heavy weights of tourism and orange juice.  Florida was about to experience a sponge industry boom.

But there was a problem, there is always a problem before vast riches can be achieved.

The sponges lived at seemingly unobtainable depths.  It wasn’t widely known but there were a group of people that were already experts in sponge diving.  The Greeks.  The Greeks had been diving for sponges for over 50 years, so logically, they were recruited and transplanted to Tarpon Springs to work the newly discovered sponge fields.

The good wages and the apparent endless fields of sponges brought an ever increasing number of Greek families to Tarpon Springs.

But there were dark days ahead for the sponge divers.

The days of skin diving(diving naked) were over.  The newly invented deep sea suits were being used.  Compressed air was fed down to the divers via a hose that screwed into a large brass helmet.  Now the divers could work at greater depths and for longer times.

But little was known about decompression sickness and the bends.  Much like opening a bottle of soda, bubbles will come out of a liquid and float to the top when the pressure is released.  Unfortunately as the divers surfaced and the intense water pressure on their bodies was reduced, bubbles of air would come out of their blood leading to pain, paralysis and death.

To say sponge diving was dangerous is an understatement.  Even as late as the 1950′s and 1960′s when decompression sickness was understood, the mortality and paralysis rate averaged about 5% each year.  1 out of every 20 sponge divers died or was permanently paralyzed every year.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like those odds.

The sponge industry is no longer the leading industry in Florida.  It doesn’t even make the top 10, but the Greek influence on Tarpon Springs is alive and well.  Even today you can walk down the streets and hear the Greek language as it fills the background of your ears like pleasant music.

Greek restaurants flourish everywhere as they serve flaming cheese appetizers and scream “Opa!”, when it is brought to your table.  I still don’t know what that word means but it is fun to say.  The broiled octopus is heavenly and they entertain their customers with live Greek music and belly dancing.

There are sponge shops galore and if you have never used a natural sponge, well you just may want to buy one.  The soft silky feel of the Rock Wool sponge has never been duplicated by its’ synthetic counterpart and is sure to make your wife a very happy woman.

The sponge docks of Tarpon Springs are simply a fun place to enjoy a little taste of the Greek culture.  I have never been to Greece but deep inside I hope it is something like visiting the Sponge Docks of Tarpon Springs.

For more information about the Sponge Docks of Tarpon Springs visit:

Wikipedia page about Tarpon Springs

Sponge Docks of Tarpon Springs Web Page

Conrad Swimming with Manatee in Three Sisters Spring

Kings Bay is infused with 64 million gallons of crystal clear, 72 degree water, from over 50 different natural springs every day. The water travels slowly west, out of Kings Bay and through the 7 mile long Crystal River, where it becomes part of the Gulf of Mexico. And, this area happens to be the home to over 500 West Indian manatees.

How could we possibly resist a visit?

“Where ya’ll from?” I’m not sure how, but bartenders have a way of sniffing out tourist. After a couple of miles of a lazy walking tour through Crystal River City we decided to pop into this cool looking Irish Pub for a break. Actually, I don’t know why, but all Irish Pubs tend to look cool.

We ordered a couple of cold beers and I answered, “We’re from Louisiana.” He just smiled in a, “I don’t really care fashion”, so I followed up with, “Is there a good place on Kings Bay where we can ride the manatees?”

The bartender just gave me a blank stare and then chuckled and shook his head in a disapproving way, “They don’t let you ride the manatees, but if you want to see them you should visit Three Sisters Spring.”

He pulled out a map and showed us where to go and continued, “You have to get there early or it will be utter chaos.”

I find that bartenders are better than Google for local knowledge.

“How early?”

“First light, like before sunrise early. And be careful, there is a group of volunteers that watch over the manatees and makes sure that no one is harassing them.”

“So no riding the manatees.”

He chuckled again, “That will probably get you a $500 dollar ticket.”

As it turns out, there is a large group of volunteers, mainly retired folk, that wear lime green vests that either educate you about the manatees or just scream at you for some violation.

There are many rules that you must follow if you wish to avoid the scorn of the volunteers, to include no poking, prodding, riding, surrounding, disturbing or chasing of the manatees.

The last rule should give you an idea of how slow these mammals move. Think of all the different animals in the water. How many of them can the average human swim fast enough to actually chase?

Not very many, but manatees are one of them. They are simply large underwater cows that spend their days eating grass from the waters floor. A lot of grass actually. Each manatee will consume up to 10% of its’ body weight in grass each day. Considering these animals weigh up to 1,500 pounds I’m surprised there is any grass left for these monsters to chomp on.

In 1977 the Crystal River Nuclear Plant began operation. This is only interesting because nuclear plants discharge warm water into the surrounding estuaries. Manatees love warm water and soon discovered Crystal River. It wasn’t long after that, that they swam up into Kings Bay and discovered all the fresh water springs that produce 72 degree water year round.

Despite the manatees large size they are very sensitive to cold water. Evidently if it gets too cold they have digestive track problems. So the manatees seek out warm waters and hang out. Crystal River is now home to over 500 manatees and the number appears to increase every year.

And people come from all over the globe to swim with these creatures. The multitude of languages spoken at Three Sisters Spring would make you think you were at a United Nations barbecue.

“It was soooo majestic.” I heard a lady tell her friend after they completed a “Swim with the Manatees” tour.

“Majestic?” I’m not certain about that. It’s about as majestic as standing next to a cow and watching him chomp on a bale of hay.

But it is very cool. Manatees are very large docile creatures that evidently fall into the, “they are so ugly they are cute” category. It’s an exhilarating experience to be able to swim with these large mammals as they lumber around and eat grass. They are curious animals and often times will swim right up to you, within inches of your face. They will exhale and then take a deep breath before heading back to the waters floor for more food. I can personally vouch for the fact that manatees do not have puppy breath.

In 1980, according to a federal study, there were about 30,000 people who came to view or swim with the manatees in Crystal River. That number increased to 100,000 in 1998 and after watching tour boat after tour boat pass by our stern, even on cold rainy February days, I firmly believe that number has doubled or tripled.

But the number of visitors is becoming a problem. As it turns out, manatees have a hard time being intimate with so many people watching. Evidently they like some privacy when they are trying to get their manatee groove on.

Surprisingly the constant attention from humans floating with them reduces the number of offspring and is therefore more damaging to their population than collisions with boats or cuts from propellers.

It appears that the ever growing popularity of swimming with the manatees is going to be the cause of the whole operation being shut down by the federal government.

On our way out of the Irish Pub, I thanked our bartender for all of his great advice and information. When we reached the door I turned back and asked, “Oh yeah, are there any good restaurants around here where we can get a good manatee steak?”

The bartender just smiled and said, “Yep, Cellblock C of the Federal Pen.”

I hear their Zagat rating is really low, I think we’ll pass.

St. Marks to Crystal River

After six nights in St. Marks we had a great weather window open up for us at last. Actually, it’s the best weather window we’ve had since our departure from Pensacola. The weather window would last for several days so we wanted to take advantage of this opportunity and make an overnight trip to Crystal River. We were excited to finally make some distance and get further south.

We left St. Marks at noon on Tuesday expecting to arrive in Crystal River on Wednesday at approximately 3:00pm. I started out at the helm to give Conrad a chance to rest up before nightfall at which time he took over for the night. It was cloudy all through the night making it very dark and eerie like.

Sunset on the Gulf

The winds and seas worked with us for the duration of the trip so we arrived in Crystal River the next day as scheduled. The channel markers are very close together and the waters are extremely shallow on either side so we came in slowly.

Entering Crystal River

We chose to stay at King’s Bay Marina because they are only a 5 minute Kayak ride to Three Sisters Springs. Three Sisters Springs is the largest Manatee sanctuary in Crystal River. The underwater springs produces 72 degree water providing a safe haven for the West Indian Manatees during the winter months. Approximately 500 Manatees come to Crystal River each year between November and March. This is the only place you can legally swim with manatees in their natural habitat.

Before reaching the springs we spotted a heard of manatees over at the side of the canal. We paddled over for a closer look as one came up for a breath of air. You can see others around him just below the surface. From a distance they look like large boulders sitting on the bottom. When manatees are using a great deal of energy, they may surface to breathe as often as every 30 seconds. When resting, manatees have been known to stay submerged for up to 20 minutes.

Manatees in Crystal River

72 degree water for a manatee is like sitting in a hot Jacuzzi. For me it’s more like going for a swim in the Arctic Ocean. And the fact that it’s February doesn’t help the situation. For a manatee I’m willing to suck it up and dive on in.

The water at the springs is crystal clear so that you can see all the way to the bottom. This small manatee was resting on the bottom at the springs. West Indian manatees in the United States are protected under federal law which makes it illegal to harass, hunt, capture, or kill any marine mammal. It is considered harassment to approach a manatee while they are resting or feeding on the bottom so I was careful not to disturb him. You can see the small fish surrounding him which will stay close and feed off of him.

Manatee sleeping on the bottom.

The average adult manatee is about 10 feet long and weighs between 800 and 1,200 pounds. The manatee below is medium size.

You guessed it, a manatee.

It is also considered harassment to chase, follow or swim after a manatee. The best way to experience a close encounter with one is to remain quiet and motionless. They are very curious mammals and will approach you for inspection if they do not feel threatened by you. This big guy found me to be interesting enough to approach. This is him swimming towards me.

Manatee swimming towards Roxanne.

He slowed down enough to get a good look and continued on. I guess I wasn’t that interesting after all. You can see in the picture below how close he came to me. I was able to reach out touch him as he went by. Their skin is mostly rough except for the areas that have algae attached.

One last manatee picture.

For your enjoyment here are a few video clips of our manatee encounters. In the last video there were huge manatees swimming and playing in the water all around us. I laughed at Conrad when he was startled by a manatee that ran into his kayak only to be startled myself moments later.

Logan has been visiting with her cousin, Elizabeth, in Jacksonville up to this point. Elizabeth, Justin, baby Caiden and their adorable new puppy Nola came to Crystal River to return Logan to us. They arrived on Saturday with plans to spend the whole day to visit and get in on the manatee action. We grilled up some burgers and hot dogs and hung out for a couple of hours. Elizabeth, Justin and Logan took the kayaks to Three Sisters Springs while Conrad and I took Caiden and Nola to the park.

We had a great day with all of them and were very grateful to have them here to experience this with us.

Elizabeth only fell into the water twice which is better than we gave her credit for. She blamed the first one on a manatee. But after the second time we came to the conclusion that she just has no coordination.

Elizabeth and Justin manatee hunting.

Uncle Conrad teaching Caiden about women, sailing and beer.

Caiden ready to get to the Bahamas.

We had long anticipated our visit to Crystal River and it has been so much more than I could have expected. As we were finishing up our last day at Three Sisters Springs we came by three little girls floating with their snorkel gear and wet suites on. They were all lined up with their little heads under water watching something intently. We could look down from our kayak and see a female and baby manatee floating just in front of the girls. Apparently baby manatees are extremely curious and this particular one very much enjoyed the company of the girls. The baby was playing with girls and twirling around in the water next to them. One little girl popped up and giggled “He likes is belly rubbed!” What an amazing thing to experience.

Carrabelle to St. Marks Florida

Elizabeth (our niece) and her family live in Jacksonville, Florida and we don’t get to visit as often as we would like to. She invited Logan to their home for a short stay until Conrad and I make it to our next stop. Elizabeth made the long 4 hour drive from Jacksonville to Carrabelle to pick her up. It was really great to see her and Logan was looking forward to spending some time with her cousin.

After a few more days of waiting in Carrabelle we had a small weather window open up for us to make a day trip over to St. Marks. The weather window was too small and not favorable for a crossing to Steinhatchee. We were eager for a change in scenery after being held up in Carrabelle for over 2 weeks.

We arrived in St. Marks just as the sun set. We endured dense fog for most of the trip making it extremely difficult to come into port. Thanks to a little luck and billions of dollars of government funded GPS satellites we found our way in between the markers all the way through the channel. The fog broke up more and more as we approached land allowing us to safety dock at Shields Marina and capture a picture of a bald eagle.

Bald Eagle sitting on the banks in St. Marks Fl.

After a full day’s journey we always get a craving for a cold beer and a cheeseburger. Once we were secure in our slip we set off in search for just that. We decided on the first place we came to, St. Marks Riverside Cantina. It’s a quaint little place where the staff and locals make you feel right at home as soon as you walk through the door. It’s mostly a bar with a limited menu of burgers and sandwiches. They also happen to have the best Swiss cheese and mushroom burger on the planet.

St. Marks River Cantina

You will notice that their logo is much better than the oyster bar down the street that went out of business.

Warm Beer and Lousy Food

St. Marks is located approximately 20 miles south of Tallahassee with a population of about 300. Nearby is the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. The town itself is abundant with wildlife and history. We took the time to visit Fort San Marcos and walk part of the Tallahassee-St. Marks Historic Railroad State Trail.

Tallahassee-St. Marks Historic Railroad State Trail

Confederate Magazine at Fort San Marcos

St. Marks River offers great fishing which we also took advantage of while we were there and did quite well. We caught lots of trout and redfish. The Pelicans are very aggressive at trying to take your fish off the hook as you reel in your catch. It takes two people working together to bring your catch to safety and out of the reach of the scavengers. The trick is to reel the fish in and keep it just below the surface of the water while the second person gets the net under the fish and scoops it in quickly.

Pelican waiting for a free lunch.

]]> http://www.livethegreatescape.com/carrabell-to-st-marks/feed 3 http://www.livethegreatescape.com/carrabelle http://www.livethegreatescape.com/carrabelle#comments Fri, 24 Feb 2012 10:32:12 +0000 Conrad Cooper http://www.livethegreatescape.com/?p=655 Continue reading →]]> Visiting the City of Carrabelle

Roxanne and I walk into Carrabelle’s tourist and information center.  It doesn’t seem to matter how small the town is, they always have an information center.  A couple of nice ladies were having a conversation in an office across the hall when the one behind the desk hollers out through the open doors.  “If ya’ll have any questions, don’t be shy, come on over here and ask.”

She seemed like a lively one so I headed on over, Roxanne smartly stayed behind and looked at the brochures, “Hey ladies, can you tell me where I can find a box of red wine?”  I like boxed wine and it works well with the boat.

They sort of looked at each other trying to answer my question when the lively one says, “Have you tried Harry’s Bar?  They sell packed liquor.”

“I saw the sign, Harry’s looks a little rough on the outside so we just walked past, is it safe in there?”

They both started laughing, “Well sonny, if you go in there and somebody gives you any trouble, just come on back here and let me know and I’ll go right on over and take care of them for you.”

The both started laughing hysterically.

I liked these ladies, even though grandma basically called me a wimp.

I was having fun so I decided to talk with them some more, “I saw that your town has the world’s smallest police station.”

I was skeptical that this thing was real.  It’s really just a phone booth on the street that’s labeled “Police Station.”  It sort of looked like a gimmick to drum up tourism.

I had to ask, “Is that thing real?”

Worlds Smallest Police Station

The other lady replies, “Oh yeah!”  “Now we’re a bit older than you and you have to remember to back in the day before cell phones.   Carrabelle is a small town and we just had one cop, Marvin Braswell.  We decided to have a phone in the middle of town that anybody could use.  It was free of charge and people would use it to call home or whatever they needed.  So, if somebody needed Marvin, they just called that phone and anybody that was nearby would answer and track him down and let him know what the problem was.”

I was surprised.  I thought for sure that this phone booth police station thing was a gimmick.

She finished up her story, “We don’t use it anymore, hell I don’t even think there is a phone in the booth but back in day it served its’ purpose for us.”

Roxanne made her way over and I thanked the ladies for their time when the lively one shouts at us as we are walking out the door, “Remember to come and get me if you run into trouble at Harry’s.” This was followed by another round of laughter.

I immediately got the joke when we opened the bar door to Harry’s.  The bartender was an older lady of about 60 and the patrons may have been eye witnesses to the D-Day invasion.

We had a beer, found our box of red wine and made it out of the door without any trouble.

If you would like more information about carrabelle fl, you can visit their website at http://mycarrabelle.com

We left Apalachicola early Sunday morning headed for Carrabelle, FL. From Carrabelle we will wait for a good weather window to make a Gulf crossing over to Steinhatchee, FL.

We average 5 knots in speed so the crossing from Carrabelle to Steinchatchee will take 12-14 hours. We will have to be patient and wait for not just good weather but the right winds to help push us along in the direction we want to go.

It was a beautiful morning in Apalachicola as we crossed the bay so I chose my seat on the bow to keep an eye out for dolphins.

Roxanne on Dolphin Watch

No dolphins, but we did get to watch several oysterman in action as they raked up oysters and pulled in their load. From there they will be sorted and the small ones tossed back.

Oyster Fishermen in Apalachicola Bay

We arrived at C-Quarters Marina early in the afternoon. We were greeted by a very friendly staff and a few locals.

We weren’t tied up long before Logan put her kayak in the water in search for a hermit crab. She bought empty shells in Apalachicola just for this occasion. She will search out the hermit crab that is most in need of a new shell.

Logan on the hunt for hermit crabs.

It didn’t take her long to pick one out and it indeed needed a new shell. The best part is that I finally got her to smile for the camera.

Logan and her new pet, Peanut Butter the hermit crab.

The small town of Carrabelle is surrounded by Tate’s Hell State Forest comprised of over 202,000 acres. They were conducting a controlled burn in the forest which filled the sky with huge clouds of smoke. This made for a really cool sunset.

Sunset in Carrabelle

On the second night in Carrabelle we cooked crawfish bisque for dinner as I had brought with us some frozen crawfish tails from Louisiana. It was a new recipe that I was eager to try out and it turned out to be delicious (Thanks for the recipe Carol).

As you can see I’ve reduced the size of pots I use but still seem to cook enough for an army. We bagged some up and shared with our neighbors on s/v Wand’rin Star and still had lots left over to freeze.

Roxanne cooking a crawfish bisque.

We stayed in C-Quarters Marina for a week waiting for a weather window until finally things were looking up. On Sunday we moved out to anchorage at Dog Island. From here we will move on to Steinhatchee early Tuesday morning.

As we made our way from the Carrabelle River to Dog Island we came across a pod of Dolphins. I saw them coming so I was already at the bow with the video camera when they approached. If you listen carefully you can actually hear them communicating.

Dog Island is located about 3.5 miles offshore from Carrabelle. It is approximately 6.8 miles in length and is only accessible by boat, plane or ferry. Half the island is protected by a nature conservancy and the other half is privately owned. There are no stores and no paved roads but they do have a landing strip for small aircraft.

Dog Island is a beautiful place to anchor, kayak and go for a ride in the dingy. We motored over to the island to take a walk across to the gulf side.

Conrad and Roxanne exploring Dog Island by dinghy.

Great Escape Anchored in Tyson's Harbor, Dog Island FL

The island has a small marina for the residents and a loading dock used by the ferry. The ferry makes several trips a day transporting passengers back a forth from Dog Island to Carrabelle. This appears to be a vessel used to transport vehicles to the island.

Dog Island Ferry

The Dog Island Airport is basically a clear strip of land down the middle of the island. I’m not sure I would be comfortable landing at an airport posted “Land At Your Own Risk!!”

Dog Island Airport "Land at your own risk!!"

Dog Island Airport fund raising effort.

Dog Island Runway

The beach on the gulf side of Dog Island was full of sea shells of all shapes and sizes. We walked along the water for a while collecting shells as we went.

Some places were difficult to walk without stepping on shells.

Shells on Beach at Dog Island

Tuesday came and our weather window closed on us. The conditions were not favorable for a gulf crossing so we made our way back to Carrabelle to wait it out a little longer.

Apalachicola

It’s really hard to not like Apalachicola.  Being from the south, I am use to friendly people but the City of Apalachicola takes it to a new level.  Everybody is friendly.  Even the tyrannosaurs sized German Sheppard, who playfully meets all customers outside of Honey Hole Liquor, is about the nicest dog I have ever come across.  Many of the local citizens like to believe that the Indian word Apalachicola means “land of the friendly people.”  I’m beginning to believe that myself.

Apalachicola Shrimp Boat

Not only are they friendly but they seem to have a personal vendetta against rude behavior.  Every business we walked into had some sort of sign proclaiming, “No Crabby People”, “No Pissy Attitudes”, “$5 Charge for Rude Behavior, 10$ Charge for Obnoxious Behavior.”

Roxanne looked at me and said, “This town could get expensive for you.  You better behave yourself.”

But, we didn’t stop here to visit with nice people.  We came for the seafood and more precisely the oysters.  Apalachicola takes real pride in their oysters and the local restaurants prepare these world class mollusks in a multitude of different fashions that makes you want to try them all.  From on the half shell to the classic Rockefeller to my favorite, oysters with jalapenos, red peppers, covered with pepper jack cheese.  My taste buds were in heaven.

Oysters and Soft Shell Crab at Papa Joe's

If you begin to get tired of eating oysters (I’m not sure this is possible) there is no shortage of excellent seafood here.  Fresh Gulf shrimp is served everywhere and a stop at Papa Joe’s restaurant for the soft shell crab basket is a must.

Apalachicola City sits on 210 square miles of shallow Gulf of Mexico water that is fed nutrient rich waters from the Apalachicola River.  This perfect balance of fresh and salt water makes this location ideal for oysters.

Crab fisherman and pelicans waiting for scraps.

If you take a walk out onto the city pier in the mornings you can see the fisherman heading out into the bay to check their crab traps, do a little shrimping and yes, to rake the bay floor for oysters.  Pelicans often ride along and wait in a puppy dog fashion for scraps or extras that the fishermen aren’t going to keep.

And rake the bay floor is not an exaggeration.  These fishermen stand on the sides of their boats and use long wooden handled rakes to scrape the bottom of Apalachicola’s Bay and then pile the oysters into the center of their boats.

It looks like long hard work but I for one am glad they do it.

Downtown Apalachicola

In-between meals it is definitely worthwhile to walk around town.  Apalachicola still has that old southern feel with many buildings dating back to the early 1900s.  There are no chain style shops here.  Every place you walk into has an original feel and an almost museum like quality.  You can easily laze away the day strolling around town until you find yourself at a different restaurant sucking down some more oysters and a couple of beers.

Apalachicola; seafood heaven and land of the friendly people.  Yep, I’m a believer.

If you would like more information about apalachicola visit their website www.cityofapalachicola.com or visit the wikipedia page about apalachicola.

The last two mornings here in Panama City have been extremely foggy. Each morning you can hear the fog horns in the distance as the boats come into port. We waited until the fog was all clear before we departed. We will make a short trip for an overnight anchorage in Wetappo Creek.

Wetappo Creek is a swampy area full of wildlife and beautiful scenery. Logan knapped during our trip and woke as we were setting the anchor. She looked around and asked “Where are we?”

“Wetappo Creek. Isn’t it beautiful?”, I replied.

“Oh, no! Not another creek! Will we have internet and cell service out here?”

“We have internet but no cell service.”

She seemed okay to have one of the two.

As we settled in we observed lots of fish jumping around us as if they were feeding on something. I took the opportunity to put my line in the water in hopes of catching dinner.

After an hour and several nibbles I finally snagged one. I was super excited until I reeled it in and saw the size of it. It wasn’t big enough for even one of us to eat.

Logan took over the pole for a while with no luck either. It was getting dark and the bugs were biting so I called it an evening and we grilled steaks instead.

I fished again the next morning with no luck so we weighed anchor and set out for White City.

After a very peaceful stay at West Bay Creek we were eager to move on to Panama City. In exchange for the serenity of the creek we had no internet service or cell service which has put us behind on work and articles.

As we entered West Bay for the crossing to Panama City I spotted a couple of dolphins in the distance heading in our direction. This is usually when I make my way quickly to the bow of the boat for an up close show of them swimming alongside and in front of the boat. I’ve watched this dozens of times and each time I see it is like the first.

Conrad doesn’t get to see the show up close as often as I do because he’s usually at the helm. This time instead of rushing to the bow I signaled for him to go up front and take watch (Logan was still sleeping).

Conrad made his way up to the bow looking all around for a dolphin with none in sight. He began to look discouraged and with one last attempt to find them he took hold of the railing and leaned over as far as he could to see if they were in between the pontoons of the boat. As he leaned over two large dolphins leapt out of the water right in front of him. He was so startled that he jumped back nearly knocking him off his feet. I laughed hysterically as he stood there in shock.

The rest of the way to Panama City was pretty uneventful. We had great weather all day. We arrived at Panama City Marina around 3:00pm. The staff here is extremely nice.

There is a small convenience store next to the fuel dock so before we were completely tied off Logan hopped off in search for an ice cream bar. Needless to say she made several trips for ice cream and chips during our two day stay. One time I went to check on her when she was supposed to be studying and I found her knapping on the table.

We walked downtown the first night in search for a place to have dinner. We decided on an Italian restaurant called Ferrucci Ristorante. The food was very average and way over priced but it was nice to get out. We played it safe and ordered Pizza Hut the second night.

Day two in Panama City was spent catching up on work and writing. Conrad took care of some small boat projects and Logan caught up on some school work (after her nap). We were near the Tyndall Air Force Base and had jets fly over several times during the day.

The marina also has a beautiful 911 memorial that we enjoyed viewing.

Sailboats are slow.  According to Logan, painstaking slow.  We travel at 5 mph.  If we have good wind, 7 mph.   We try to limit the distance we travel in any one day to 20 miles.

20 miles is not a long way.  Logan was shocked by this revelation and said, “That’s only 20 minutes by car!”

Yep, we plan to travel 1,000′s of miles at 5 miles per hour.  It’s a significant departure from our hurdling down the interstate at 75 mph previous lives.

The short traveling distances and slow speeds definitely lend itself for experiences that cannot be planned or anticipated.

In Joe’s Bayou, a couple of brown pelicans paddled right up to our boat one early morning.  Brown pelicans are not small birds with wing spans of 6 feet or more and these two were apparently looking for a free meal.  Roxanne tossed them some bread, she loves animals and feels a need to try and feed them all.  Before I could comment she looked at me and said, “They look hungry.”  These pelicans were evidently picky eaters and turned their beaks up to our bread.

Later in the day as we motored east in the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway) and watched other pelicans (ones that were not on a food stamp program) fish for their own food.  Pelicans don’t seem to fly but hover.  They hang up in the air effortlessly like a helium balloon that drifts along with the breeze.  Their eyes constantly scanning the water until they lock onto their target and when the time is right, they pull their wings in and fold them back and as gravity takes hold of the large birds they don’t just fall but seem propelled towards the water in a missile shaped attack pose.  They crash into the water and completely submerge.  Then they surface and sit in a duck like fashion and kick their heads back as if drinking a shot of whiskey and work their catch down their throats.

In a tiny pocket of water that is truly in the middle of nowhere.  West Bay Creek was the quietist place I have ever been.  With only the occasional breeze that you could hear rustling through the trees long before you ever felt it, there was almost no other noise.  All the sounds of life that we subconsciously tune out don’t exist there.  No cars, airplane, sirens, neighbors, TV’s, cell phones (there is no cell signal in West Creek Bay) or even the soft hum of florescent lights.

It was just quite.

With the hustle and bustle of the American way of life it’s easy to forget about one of the great simple pleasures of life.  The joy of silence.

Dolphins are always a treat and no matter how many times we see them we always get excited.  Roxanne was driving when she ran to the back porch (we’re not really into nautical terminology) almost screaming she was so excited, “Dolphins on our bow, run up there and take a look!”

I dropped everything and ran up to the bow and looked down into the greenish brown water and saw nothing.  I looked back at Roxanne who was now back behind the steering wheel and she just shrugged in a, “I don’t know where they are fashion.”  I watched for a while hoping they would surface but saw nothing.  I leaned over the bow and stared into the water, focusing intently.  Suddenly and without notice, two dolphins traveling in the same direction as us, jumped out of the water making a perfect arch, landed back in the water without a splash and then both proceeded to do a second jump just to make sure we didn’t miss their first show.

I was scared (I clutched my chest in a Fred Sanford fashion), startled, shocked, relieved and then, excited as kid that just rode a roller coaster, all within a 5 second time span.  It’s one thing to see these beautiful creatures sitting in the bleachers at Marine World but something completely different to see them at play in the wild, 5 feet from the bow of your boat.

You always hear people say, “The journey is half the fun.”  I always thought that percentage was rather low and slowing down just makes the journey last that much longer.

As I was typing this I saw an otter catch a fish and then a pelican swooped down and stole the otter’s catch.

I wonder what I will see tomorrow.

After some much needed rest and our morning coffee we weighed anchor and set out on our course to West Bay Creek.

It took us approximately 3 hours to cross Choctawhatchee Bay. We had great winds so we put up the jib and motor-sailded at 6 to 7 knots most of the way across. It turned out to be another beautiful day. I took over the helm once we entered into a part of the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway) known as “The Grand Canyon”.  It’s a narrow waterway with high banks on each side.

Since we left Pensacola we’ve only seen three other boats on the water. Soon after we entered The Grand Canyon a power boat zoomed by. We were just able to make out the words “U.S. Customs and Border Protection”. We thought this was a strange place to see U.S. Customs since we were nowhere near a border.

They motored past us a little ways and then made an abrupt turn back towards us. Conrad said “Damn they are going to pull us over!” Sure enough they pulled up behind us and we slowed down as they approached. As part of a random check we supplied them with our identification and boat documentation.

After a quick check we were cleared to go.  They were extremely nice and pleasant to deal with. Of course Logan thought this was all very exciting as she’s never been pulled over on a boat before. She took a picture as they motored off.

After a couple of more hours we reached our destination in West Bay Creek. We planned to anchor in an inlet that didn’t have a lot of depth. Since we only draw 3 ½ feet that wasn’t much of a concern for us. Just to be on the safe side we sent in our depth finder ahead of us.

After a thumb up from Logan we motored in and set anchor. Logan continued on a ways in her kayak to check out the creek. She was thrilled to be able to pull her kayak onto shore and walk on land after being on the boat for two days.

Once the anchor was set Conrad and I joined Logan in a little kayaking. The creek was in the middle of nowhere and very serene. It was eerily quiet as we paddled up the creek. You could actually hear the wind beneath the wings of the birds as they flapped by.

Conrad and I woke early for a morning kayak before weighing anchor.

It was a bitter sweet departure leaving our family and friends behind to begin our adventure on the water. They were all a huge part of making this happen from offering storage space for the few belongings that we didn’t sale to lending a hand with boat maintenance in preparation for the voyage.

We didn’t sleep well the two nights leading up to departure. This is a day we’ve looked forward to for years and it was finally happening. Even though everything on our “To Do List” was finally checked off it still left us wondering if we had forgotten something or if there were things that we hadn’t thought of.

Our friends at Palm Harbor Marina were kind enough to come out Wednesday morning to wish us well and take pictures and video of our departure.

As we entered Pensacola Bay we spotted the U.S. Coast Guard practicing some sort of maneuvers. We also had three dolphins swim at our bow for a moment as if to wish us fair winds, but I wasn’t quick enough with the camera to capture them.

The Captain has settled in comfortably and is quite happy if you can’t tell.

Although the Bay was a little choppier than we expected it turned out to be a beautiful sunny day.

After 10 long hours we made it to our destination. We anchored at Joe’s Bayou in Destin Florida. It was late so we grilled up some hot dogs, kicked back and watched Captain Ron.

We also had some very curious pelicans come up to check us out.

Our catamaran has two bilges, one in the starboard (right) pontoon and one in the port pontoon.  The other day I cleaned them both.  I had them both nice and dry because we intend to store canned goods down there.

I popped open a floor hatch yesterday to have a look at something down in the bilge and to my surprise and dismay, it was full of water.

A boat taking on water is a big problem so I had to know, was this fresh water or sea water?  Both problems are high on the sphincter pucker scale but one means you’re sinking and the other means you are losing water from your fresh water drinking tank.

So there I was, kneeling on the floor staring down into the dark bilge and all of this water.  Which is it, sea water or fresh water?

I had a temporary flashback to when I worked in a lab with all of those beautiful pieces of equipment that could have told me the answer but as I snapped back to reality, I realized that the only way to know was to taste it.

I really didn’t want to taste this water.  The bayou we are floating on is routinely closed to swimming because of bacterial content.

I took a big scoop of water with my hand and had a nice big sip.  Definitely fresh water.  After a whole bunch of spitting and teeth brushing I tracked down the leak to a faulty water pump.

I emptied and dried the bilge again and told my bilge story to a friend.  He mocking said, “Why didn’t you just use your volt meter and do a continuity test?”

Yep, that would have been better.

“For a change, lady luck seemed to be smiling on me. Then again, maybe the fickle wench was just lulling me into a false sense of security while she reached for a rock.”
~Timothy Zahn

Red is a 6′ 4″, 280 pound, whiskey drinking, ponytailed, proud Irish descendent.  And the kind of person that, when you meet him, you like him instantly.

Red and I were putting a bed that he just bought from us into the back of his truck when he began talking about our sailing adventure.  Every conversation that we have these days turns towards our sailing trip.

Red told us a couple of his boating adventures while in the Gulf of Mexico that involved 12 foot seas and people strapping on life vests.  Everybody seems to have one or two of those stories for us.

He turns towards Roxanne extending out his arm, “I want you to take my lucky charm.”

He hands Roxanne a silver coin with a three leaf clover on it and continues in a serious tone, “I want it back when you guys return but for now I want you to mount it near the steering wheel and it will bring you the luck of the Irish.”

He continues, “You know that the Irish are some of the best seamen in the world and they are fantastic ship and boat builders.”

Before I could mention the Titanic, Red chuckles as he finishes off his thought, “Somebody always wants to mention the Titanic when I bring this up.  We only made one mistake when we built the Titanic….we let a damn Englishman drive, and the first thing he does is smash it into an iceberg.”

—

Well Red, your lucky coin has been mounted by the steering wheel and we all thank you for the incredibly nice gesture.  Roxanne was especially happy with it and mentioned something like, “We are going to need all the good luck we can get.”  I’m not sure what she meant by that but it made me a bit nervous.

“Life is like riding a bicycle – in order to keep your balance, you must keep
moving.”

~Albert Einstein

We each have a large ice chest size box.  If it fits in the box you can take it on the boat.  Otherwise it goes into storage, off to Goodwill or into the garbage.

I would grab a book from my bookshelf and pause for a second as I weighed its’ value against the limited space in the box.  It’s a terribly conflicting situation that is very similar to when we are faced with our favorite sweet, tasty desert.  We know we shouldn’t indulge but it’s hard to resist.  Everything I own seems to be an indulgence that needs to be parted with.

I held up a neck tie and asked Roxanne, “Do you think I should bring this?”

She looked at me curiously, “Do you plan to wear a tie as you snorkel?”

“Very funny, I may need this.”

“When was the last time you wore a tie?”

“Can’t remember, its’ been a while.”

She gave me a look that says you just answered your own question.

I don’t care, I’m taking the tie.

It’s a uniquely human trait to accumulate.  Even people at our garage sale kept saying that they had too much stuff, but they kept buying.

The box was invented to fight off my outdated genetic code that insists I hoard as much as possible.  I’m sure the desire to accumulate helped our Neanderthal ancestors survive and propagate but right now it’s hindering my progress.

I began making little rules for myself to help me decide.  If I didn’t remember that I owned it; out it went.  If I hadn’t used it in the last year; out it went.  Surprisingly these two rules eliminated 95% of my belongings.

It’s a bit a unsettling to stare down into the small void of an empty box and think that every bit of your personal belongings are going to fit into it.  But they do, quite easily actually.

I managed to convince myself that I don’t need a neck tie.  I took it out of my box and placed it in the Goodwill donation pile.

“Pick out the good stuff and throw the rest away”, the supervisor bark to her helpers at the local Goodwill store after she surveyed all the items I just donated.

I was a bit surprised by this. I thought it was all good stuff.  Hell, I was wearing some of those clothes just last week.  I know that everyday people shop at Goodwill stores but somehow the thought of Boxcar Willie and his hobo friends turning up their noses to my donated clothes bothered me a bit.

Oh well, it’s t-shirts and shorts for the next year or two.  I’ll have to work on my sense of fashion when we return.

I am extremely close to my family, friends, and animals which makes it that much harder to leave them behind. I have two dogs and two cats, they are like my siblings.

My family and friends are really important to my life.  I have friends that I have been friends with since first and second grade and I’m currently in ninth grade.  My family has always been there for me and has never let me down.  I could not ask for a more loving and caring family.

While we are out and about on the islands some family members and friends are going to visit us for a few weeks and I’m excited about that.  I will also be able to fly out during holidays and summer.

I wonder if it will be strange or uncomfortable, going back home to the city, when we get use to the warm feeling of the sun and water around us and the sound of the birds and waves putting us to sleep at night?

I don’t know what I’m going to do not being able to see my family when I want but that will make me appreciate and be that much closer to my family when I come back than I am now.

Like they say, something good always comes out of something bad, so I’m sure something good will come out of this, I’m just not sure what yet.

“I don’t really think in terms of obstacles. My biggest obstacle is always myself.”
-Steve Earle

It would be safe to say that home ownership has treated me about as well as a chubby baby treats a diaper.

The first home we bought was a condo in a beautiful gated subdivision.  Little did I know that condos come with condo associations.  As the association continued to increase our monthly dues they also increased the difficulty we were going to have selling the place.

It took us 8 months to offload that condo on someone else.  In the meantime we made the rookie mistake of buying a new house before our first one was sold.  Paying two mortgages is about as much fun as sticking your head into a wood chipper.

Life revelations never come to you as you sit comfortably in an air conditioned room.  The hit you as you approach heat stroke levels while pushing a cheap Kmart lawn mower around the yard on a hot August day.

After I finished my yard work, I doused my head with the water hose in an attempt to stay out of the emergency room when I couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that the modern day home mortgage system imprisons overextending, keeping up with Joneses fools like myself.

I had created a life where I worked to support the house and all the insurances, property taxes, fees and bills that are directly associated with home ownership.  I was working 50 hours a week so I could come home on weekends and scope dog shit, cut grass and paint walls.

Only 26 more years of mortgage payments to go and I can truly own this lifestyle.  I couldn’t help but think that there had to be a better way.

I asked my co-worker that proudly goes by the nickname Big Country, “What have you been up to?”

Big Country spits out a little tobacco juice and wipes the residue from his lip with his sleeve, “Awww not much, building a barn-a-minium on some land up there in Kentwood.”

I rarely knew what Big Country was talking about after his first sentence, “What’s that?”

He continues with a little chuckle, “Yeah, that’s what they call metal prefab buildings that people are building and living in.  You know, part barn part condominium.”

He continued, “After I finish dressing out the interior it will take me about 5 years to pay it all off.”

That’s when I realized that Big Country was the smartest person I know.  That really doesn’t say much for the rest of my friends.  One day I was discussing with Big Country ways to improve the fuel efficiency on my truck when he recommended that I kick out the windshield and tie a team of six horses to the front bumper.  He figured I could get a 100 miles per bag of oats. Good mileage by his standards.

Big Counrty wasn’t always the most helpful person.

He was right about one thing though.  The secret is to eliminate all bills.  With no monthly bills, life becomes very inexpensive and that is what living on a boat delivers on a silver platter.

It eliminates the house mortgage and all the fees associated with it.  It eliminates the car notes and car insurance.  Say goodbye to the power, water, cable and high speed internet bill.  Garbage pick-up service, don’t need that any more either.

We don’t have a large boat so our tradeoff will be space.  Sure life is cheap but there isn’t much elbow room onboard a 32′ sailboat and only time will tell how our little family will adapt to the tight quarters.

We now have a signed 2 year lease in hand.  We are moving out of our home after Christmas and the new tenants are moving in on January 15th.  The house was our last major obstacle before our sailing voyage, and for now, that problem has been resolved.

Family and friends are coming by to pick up the last few remaining items we have.  Every room has a strange new sound to them as the lack of furniture has cleared the way for echo’s to bounce off the walls.

The house that we have lived in for the last 4 years is becoming less of a home by the day.

I come from a large family who loves to gather and cook and just as equally loves to eat. I never learned how to cook in small portions. Not even for our small family of three. On weekends Conrad will wake to the sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen. He walks in to find a pot, which takes up half the stove top, full of gumbo.

He asked, “What time is the army arriving?”

Confused by this question I asked, “What Army?”

“The army that you plan to feed with all of this food”, he said as he chuckles.

He likes to pick fun, but this works out great for us. I can cook a large batch of gumbo in my “army pot” and have plenty left over to freeze for later.

The realization is sinking in that that our kitchen full of giant pots, skillets, pans, and etc. is not going to fit into the galley of the boat. Space aboard the vessel is precious and must be used practically. Our large kitchen with many cabinets will be reduced to the size of a one room efficiency kitchenette.

My cooking style will have to change slightly by cooking in smaller portions as our freezer space is now the size of a milk crate. We will only take with us small kitchenware that we currently use on a daily basis. The only electrical appliances to make the cut will be the coffee pot for our morning brew and the blender for frozen concoctions.

I’ve begun my search for ways to maximize our space in the galley. It seems this is going to require a lot of creativity and organization. Fitted properly, the galley has a lot of potential to be set up comfortably. I’ve purchased a line of collapsible bowls, measuring cups, strainer’s etc. to save on space.  These things are great and you can even use them in the microwave.  If the galley on your boat is kind of tight also, you can find these bowls on Amazon by clicking here.

The galley has four cubbies below our pantry with lots of space and height inside each cubby. However, the opening to the cubbies is very small and doesn’t allow for larger objects like canisters or plastic bens to be placed inside. I plan to cut the openings larger which will allow for a lot more storage space.

I will start this project as soon as I find out where Conrad hid that big saw from me.

“The things you own end up owning you.”
-Tyler Durden

Time is becoming very short for our landlubber lifestyle.  By the end of this month we want to be heading south on our boat.  The house that sits on a quite cul-de-sac street will no longer be our home.

Nope, subdivision living is not for us.  We are trading in our four bedroom house with a Jacuzzi for a giant hunk of fiberglass and plastic that has less square footage than the Unabomber’s cabin.

I have lived on a sailboat before.  Personally, I loved it.  It had its’ trying moments in the winter, but all-in-all I think it’s a great way to live.

But I was single back then.  I had the whole boat to myself.  Don’t let the term whole boat fool you.  This was not a big boat and it was back in the days before all these nifty flat panel TV sets were invented.

Since space was at a premium on this boat, and the old TV’s took up a lot of room, I only had one television.  But the problem was that you could only see the TV from the living room (main saloon).  I really like watching TV as I fall asleep, so I thought I was real clever when I mounted a mirror so I could see the reflection of the television from my bedroom (v-berth).  It worked great but since a reflection in a mirror reverses everything, I had to learn to read backwards if the movie was subtitled.

After watching a long movie that was nothing but subtitles I had learned to read backwards fairly well.  That was great but the next time I picked up a book I started reading from the right side of the page and moved left.  I didn’t feel so clever at that point.

We had two full bathrooms in the house and now our single bathroom on the boat is no larger than the average bathtub.  When you close the bathroom door the whole bathroom actually doubles as a shower.

They make special toilet paper holders for sailboats that keep the toilet paper covered and dry during showers on a boat.

You think your wife gets angry when you forget to put the seat down on the toilet at home.  Try forgetting to close the lid on the toilet paper lid before showering.  One squatting wife and a giant roll of sloppy wet toilet paper does not make for a happy spouse.

The kitchen (galley) has everything a normal kitchen has, it’s just everything is smaller.  The microwave is about the size of an Easy Bake oven, the stove has two propane burners and the sink is just about big enough for a plate to sit on the bottom.

Our hot water heater holds two and half gallons.  This isn’t a lot of hot water.  I learned this lesson the hard way on a chilly winter morning.  The boat was warm and toasty but after lathering up in a steamy shower the water abruptly turned icy.

Now what am I supposed to do?

You can either wait for the hot-water-heater to warm up some water or you can man-up and use the cold water to rinse off.  I should have waited.  When that cold water hit my genitals I let out a yelp that landed me an audition with the Vienna’s Boys Choir.

Roxanne and I have a relatively large bedroom.  We have a king sized bed and have our own closets.

Logan’s room is a bit smaller but she is only 5 feet tall, how much room does she need?

For better or worse, space is limited on a boat.  You really have to decide what is important and what you can live without.

There is no attic, to cram stuff you never use into. There are no extra closets where you can store your winter clothes.  There is no extra space.

Logan has never been one that has needed much, and I have reduced my items down to the necessary.  Roxanne on the other hand is trying to figure out where she is going to keep her 50 pairs of shoes and her winter sweaters.  Last I heard she was trying to fit some of her stuff into my closet.  I think I’m going to need a lock on that closet door.

“Did you win the lottery?” was the question I was asked over and over
again. I have to admit that quitting your job when you are 42 years old is a bit odd and it will definitely bring out some questions.

It’s understandable to quit your job if you have another job. It’s also understandable to quit your job if you won the lottery, but to quit your job just so you can jump on a boat
and sail around. Well, that is only

understandable to college students and vagabonds.

“Isn’t it dangerous?” is the second most asked question. I find it interesting that my coworkers who wake up at 3am and commute through New Orleans on a DWI infested highway just to arrive at a refinery that explodes on a semi-annual basis think that cruising on a sailboat is dangerous.

During one rather violent explosion I found myself diving under the desk as I patiently waited steel debris to come crashing through the ceiling. Just another day at the office.

I’m not sure what this says about me personally, but I always dreamt of the day that I would quit my job in the most obnoxious way possible. I fantasized about drawing a big smiley face on my bare bottom. Across both cheeks with an extra fat tip black marker (I’m not sure how I was going to accomplish that). Jump up on my boss’s desk and give him the biggest moon he had ever seen while humming “God Save the Queen.”

But that was just day dreaming. A little break during my monotonous work existence
to bring a “you won the lottery” size smile to my face.

And that’s the point. No one ever thinks they are going to quit their job. They want too, but they don’t.

So when you do make that leap. When you have finally decided that you are going to do something else with your life, oddly, all the little irritations about your job fade away.

No longer are you worried about office drama, new company policies or mind numbing work. Even though you may have months before you give your two-week notice, these things that irritated you like a jagged stone in your shoe magically disappear. It’s wonderful.

There is no greater joy than being 8 years old on Christmas morning.
Quitting your job is a close second.

Location of Sand Island in Pensacola FL

You don’t see a Blues Angels air show, you feel it. The Angels and their F-18 fighter jets swoop down on you silently and then pass you with a loud thunderous boom and rumble that shakes and rattles every organ in your body. A blind person can leave the show with the same feeling of exhilaration and marvel as everyone else.

Formed in 1946 and putting on shows in over 40 cities every year, the Blue Angels were formed as a demonstration of Naval air power. I can personally vouch for its’ effectiveness.

Our friend Joey, looking at his drinking glass, mentions “Back in the time of Christ it
wasn’t unusual for conquering armies to decapitate their enemies and make skull
cups out of their heads.”

Odd conversation I thought but what the hell, let’s see where this goes.

Joey continued, “One king or shah, I forget which, decided to pimp out his mug. He took the head of his conquered enemy and had the skull turned into a gold plated, jewel encrusted chalice.”

I really didn’t know what to say at that point, “That’s pretty sweet, I could use one of those.”

Our friend Tammy joins in laughing a little, “You know I can make that happen.”

The boat goes silent as she continues, “I’m a mortician so I can probably get you a skull.”

I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not so I asked, “Umm, aren’t the families going to notice during the wake if the heads of their loved ones have been chopped off?”

“I can’t get you one of those heads. I have a friend that cremates body parts and I’m
sure he has some extra heads.”

At that moment I was just hoping that all of this was legal and not some work of a serial killer.

She continued, “A lot of people donate their bodies to science. What they do is, chop the body into different sections and send a head to this group and a torso to that group. When the researchers are done, they send the body parts to my friend and he cremates them.”

“That’s interesting and a bit disturbing.” I had to ask, “What is the most revolting thing you guys have to do?”

Tammy thinks for just a brief second, “Well, it’s not what you do, but how the bodies come in.”

She continues, “Floaters aren’t too bad, Jumpers are a mess but the worst bodies come from cat owners.”

I didn’t want to believe what I thought she was saying, so she finished off her thought, “The cats like to have a little snack before the bodies are found.”

Doesn’t that just make you want to run out and buy yourself a cuddly little kitty. I now refer to our two cats fearfully as, Hannibal Lector and Jeffery Dahmer.

Tammy stands and looks at her fiancé Marlin, “Are you ready to go back to Keeld Over.”

“Keeld Over?” I ask.

Tammy flashes a wicked smile and says, “That’s the name of our boat.”

Nobody said it, but everybody was thinking it, “We wish you the best of luck Marlin, you’re going to need it.”

—–

I once saw an episode of Seinfeld where his neighbor Kramer insisted that if you are ever at a party and meet a proctologist, you need to park yourself right there because you will hear the most outlandish stories you have ever heard.

I think I’m going to add morticians to that short list.

“Electricity can be dangerous. My nephew tried to stick a penny into a plug. Whoever said a penny doesn’t go far didn’t see him shoot across that floor.”
-Tim Allen

“How are we going to wash our clothes?” Logan asks. Logan is our daughter who has become very accustomed to the luxuries of infinite power consumption.

Times are great when you are 15 years old. Everything is free. Turn the air conditioner down to 68 degrees on a hot summer day and up to 74 on a frosty winter night. And why not? It’s all free.

But times are about to change for poor Logan.

Being on the open water doesn’t give you the luxury of using all the electrical power you want and then simply sending the power company a check at the end of the month.

“How many solar panels are we going to have?” my wife asks.

“Four,” hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

“And what will that do for us?”

I didn’t want to go into the whole amp-hour, hours of sunlight and all that other
technical jargon that only the engineers who designed the solar panels understand.

“Well, if we have good sunlight for about five hours each day, we could run one-100 watt light bulb continuously.”

Logan was looking a bit puzzled and concerned by my explanation and asked, “Will we have enough power for my TV and my laptop?”

“Yes, we have plenty of power for that,” I reply. Logan relaxed a bit and went deep into thought about other items.

“How about our stove.”

“The oven and stovetop will use propane.”

“How about the dishwasher?”

“We have plenty of power for that too.”

“Really!” Logan was a bit surprised by this answer. “Where are we going to put it?”

Right now we don’t have a dishwasher on the boat. Space is limited so whenever we add something to the boat the biggest problem seems to be where we are going to install it.

“It will be in your room a lot of the time,” I reply.

“My room! Why?”

“You are the dishwasher.” Though Roxanne and I had a good laugh at that one,
Logan didn’t find much humor in it.

But the question isn’t how much power we have but instead, how much power do we need.

Boats are much smaller than homes so they require a lot less energy. If we turned on every light on the boat it might add up to 100 watts.

TV’s are much smaller and the invention of the LCD flat screen not only saves space but it also uses a lot less power than the old bulky sets.

We hand wash our dishes and the sun heats our water.

It’s a much simpler life. It’s basically a trade off. When you have a job, your free time is precious. You have so little of it that you don’t want to squander it doing basic chores, so we outfit our houses with every time saving device known to man. Washing machines, dishwashing machines, garbage disposals and dryers, the list could go on.

Not only are these machines expensive and use a lot of power but they also break and
require maintenance and replacing.

It’s a strange and vicious cycle. The job necessitates the machines and the machines make the job necessary.

Logan was still contemplating this whole situation when another question came to her, “What about a washing machine?”

“We have a hand crank portable machine on the boat,” I reply.

“Hand crank?”

“Yep, you put your clothes in the top, add water and soap, screw on the lid and then crank the handle for 3-5 minutes.”

Logan just stared at me in disbelief at this repulsive turn of events.

I continued, “After they are washed, you empty out the water, add some clean water and repeat the cycle over again. Once you are done with that you hang your clothes on the lifelines to dry.”

Logan had never been so quiet for so such a long period of time.

The sign outside of Morton's seafood restaurant.

Conrad and I have known for years that one day we would pack up and go sailing. We love the water and we love to travel. In my mind that “One Day” would come once our daughter Logan, who is not a huge fan of sailing, is grown and out of the house.

As we sat at the bar in Madisonville, LA during the summer of 2010, enjoying afternoon cocktails at our favorite seafood restaurant, from out of nowhere Conrad said, “I have an idea.” Now, I had to laugh to myself at the sound of these words. Conrad has an entrepreneurial spirit and ALWAYS has an idea. “We should leave and go sailing at the end of next year,” he said. It’s obvious he’s put some thought into this. He has a specific time frame in mind and he waited until I had a few drinks in me before he sprung his latest idea.

Logan at the time was 14. My first thought was if she doesn’t already hate us this would do it for sure. What about our jobs? How will I ever finish my degree if we go sailing now? Conrad’s wise words to me were, “There will always be a “better time” to go sailing and there will always be reasons why we shouldn’t go now.” “It will all work out.”

That’s a tough point to argue and it made complete sense to me. There will always be a reason to put the voyage off and Logan should be a part of this experience. It may take years for her to appreciate the opportunity that’s been put before her. That’s okay, I can live with that.

So the decision was made. We would leave from our port in Pensacola, FL at the end of 2011 and head for the Caribbean.

The initial shock of leaving her family and friends behind for a while seems to be wearing off for Logan. Maybe we won’t have to hog tie her after all in order to get he aboard the boat for departure. Actually, the more we talk about the adventures to come and places to see the more at ease she becomes.

Now, anytime Conrad and I are having cocktails and I hear the words “I have an Idea,” I can’t help but feel a little frightened of what may come next.

“A house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.”
- George Carlin

Bellies full from a nice dinner from one of our favorite chain restaurants we pull into
our subdivision when Roxanne, my wife, excitedly blurts out, “Big Sign!” My daughter and I chuckle as I ease the car over to the side of the road and stop in front of the sign to give Roxanne a chance to read.

My wife loves big signs. But not just any big sign. She has no love for billboards or banners but she will never miss a chance to read a sign at the entrance to our
subdivision.

These signs typically announce a “Hay Ride” during Halloween or a “Group Turkey Fry” for Thanksgiving. Yes, down here in Louisiana, we make an event out of frying our Turkeys. According to the big sign there were going to be 15 fryers this year. Evidently a record.

This sign announced the yearly subdivision garage sale. Thinking out loud I said, “Perfect, this will be a great time to sell all of our stuff.” We need to offload 10 years of
accumulated stuff/crap before we go sailing.

Roxanne flashed a smile of vindication. Big signs are obviously worth reading.

The day before the garage sale, Logan and I busied ourselves with cleaning up the front yard and emptying out the vast warehouse that we call an attic.

Jim our friendly neighbor makes his way over, talking as he crosses our yard, “Participating in the garage sale this year?”

“Yeah, we have lots of stuff to get rid of” I reply.

“You know that people are going to arrive at 5 in the morning.”

“But the big sign said the garage sale starts at 7.”

Jim laughed and shook his head in a sympathetic manner, “These aren’t normal people
you are dealing with. These are garage sale people. They will be here at 5am, with flashlights, going through all of your stuff.” He added mockingly, “These people don’t really abide by times posted on big signs.”

Jim freaked me out a bit and I was getting a little nervous about these “Garage Sale People.”

Roxanne spent most of the night putting prices on everything as Logan, our teenage daughter, and I hauled our stuff into the front yard.

As the night continued a mountain of stuff grew in our yard. I found it amazing and interesting at all the stuff we owned. We had accumulated so much, that I couldn’t remember buying some of this stuff. Evidently, I didn’t need it or use it very often.

My friend Mike sends me a text message, “Are you selling your router?”

I reply, “Already sold it to Webb.”

“Do you mind if I ask how much you sold it for?”

“$50, with the router bits.”

“Hey knucklehead! Those were my router bits!”

I had no idea that those router bits weren’t mine. I didn’t really know what to say at that point so I decided to state the obvious, “What do you need router bits for, you don’t own a router.”

Mike didn’t speak to me for three weeks.

All the good things that we owned were already sold to family, friends and co-workers. Most of them can’t fathom why we no longer wanted a 52″ plasma TV or a surround sound system.

A curious co-worker asks, “What are you going to do without all of your stuff?”
I had answered this question a hundred times to a hundred different people, “You don’t really need all of that stuff. We are sort of becoming minimalist, you know, doing more but having less.”

That answer attracted nothing but hollow blank looks that will be forever imprinted on my brain. It was the look of someone who had completely changed their opinion of you, and not for the better. Who could blame them? Rich beautiful people live in large luxurious houses while unabombers and serial killers live in small shacks with no television.

Our choice of lifestyle is not an envious one.

Going sailing requires a massive reduction in your possessions. It forces you to ask the question, “Do I really need this?” Walk around your house and ask that question and you will be surprise at how often you say, “No.”

Garage sale people are different. Yes, they were at my house at 5am rooting through our stuff. I was now wishing I had taken this stuff to the dump instead of standing outside on a cold dark Saturday morning watching these over ambitious garage sale junkies get their weekly fix.

A lady shouts at me from across the yard, “I’ll give you 50 cents for this” as she holds up some piece of junk we priced at $1.00.

Trying my best to be civil, “Lady, I don’t have quarters on me, I can’t make change.”

“I don’t think I can pay a dollar for this.”

I think I saw the same lady pull up in a Mercedes Benz, “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I don’t have change.”

“How about 75 cents?”

I really didn’t know what to say at that point.

I did eventually get into the garage sale spirit. I would look around for the largest item we had that was in the absolute worst condition and try to sell that.

I put on my best P.T. Barnum and Bailey imitation as I announced to all new arrivals in a rather loud and obnoxious way that, “Everything must go!” “One day only sale!”

I sold a large box of old ceramic tile to an elderly lady by promising her that someone would carry them to her car.

“But I’m parked around the corner.” She said.

“No problem, Logan will be happy to carry that for you” I replied.

I think she was a bit surprised to find out that Logan is a young female that weighs about 110 pounds. She looked up at me and then down at this young teenager who was grunting as she struggled to lift the heavy box from the ground.

She looked back at me disapprovingly, “I think she needs some help.”

“Naw, she’s fine” as I restrained any embarrassment. “Lift with your legs kid, not with your back.”

It took a while and my best Billy Mays (infomercial pitchman with beard and blue shirt) impersonation to sell a rusty old mountain bike. I had to throw in a free tire pump and car rack to get rid of that ugly bike.

“Ok, I’ll buy it” said the reluctant purchaser. He continued, “I have a few more garage sales to go to, can I pick it up later?”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll leave it here in the front yard for you.”

Two weeks later and the bike is still sitting in our front yard. I think the guy paid me $5 just to leave him alone.

I spoke to a lot of people that morning. Usually, I initiated a conversation by trying to sell something to an unsuspecting garage sale person. They would often reply, “No thank you, we have too much stuff.”

We don’t own much stuff anymore. The majority of our belongings were carried away by an army of garage sale people. And yet, even though it has been weeks, I haven’t found myself lacking anything.

“My doctor gave me six months to live, but when I couldn’t pay the bill he gave me
six months more.”
-Walter Matthau

In preparation for our sailing voyage, I decided to take advantage of all the expensive insurance coverage my employer forces me to have.

I haven’t had a physical exam in twenty years, feeling healthy, I didn’t see the need. But it seemed like a prudent idea to get checked out. So, I made a doctor’s appointment.

So after some initial poking, prodding and listening to my heart and lungs, the
doctor, nonchalantly states “Pull down your pants and underwear and put your
elbows on the table.”

At that moment it occurred to me that I am getting the old man’s physical exam. I thought 40 was the new 30. What the hell is this all about?

He continued, “I am wiping on some KY jelly.” Words that should frighten you.

I’m not sure how deep they have to go to check your prostate but it felt like he was up to his elbow. I highly recommend an Asian female doctor for this procedure. Slim fingers.

This doctor’s visit, to say the least, was uncomfortable. I’m just thankful they don’t offer
amusement-park action photos at the time of penetration. It’s not exactly a Kodak moment.

I guess I didn’t feel like I had been humiliated enough so I decided to go ahead and get a vasectomy. After living with my teenage daughter the last couple of years, becoming sterile sounded like a great idea.

So after a brief explanation about the vasectomy procedure the doctor asks “Any
questions?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Ok, good, stand up and take off your pants and underwear.”

I have had too many guys looking at my goods lately.

So the doctor prescribes me a valium which I am supposed to hold onto and take once I return for my vasectomy. He said, “It’s to take the edge off.”

That’s smart thinking, but if I have to be awake while you cut into my scrotum I would like to go ahead and supersize my valium order please.

I had never taken a valium before. I would like to state for the record that I am now a big fan of the stuff. I tell you, that pill can definitely take edge off.

Riding my valium high, I follow the nurse back to a room that vaguely resembles an operating room. Very vaguely.

“Take off your pants and underpants please, and place them on the chair.” She warmly
states as if it’s normal for a complete stranger to ask you to remove your clothes. It’s getting to the point where I don’t know why I even bother getting dressed to go to the doctor’s office.

Lying on my back on this make-shift operating table, my friendly nurse says, “You did a good job shaving, did you have any help?” as she tapes my penis to my abdomen. Thankfully, she continued with an explanation before I could answer, “We need to keep him out of the way when the slicing starts.” “Good plan”, I thought.

The doctor walks in and looks down at me, “Are you ready?” I know he was just being polite but as I lay there naked on my back with a scrotum that resembles a hairless cat, my penis taped to my abdomen and enough valium to make me ok with the fact that complete strangers are about to slice me open, cut a couple of tubes, and cauterize them with high voltage, yeah I think I’m ready.

Now, I must admit that the procedure itself was relatively painless. Besides the initial shots, which weren’t any worse than any other shot, I would have to say that I was very
comfortable during the procedure. So much so that I decided to make a little small talk. I didn’t have anything else to do so I thought a little chit chat would pass the time.

“Hey doc, when was the first vasectomies performed and what was the original purpose?”

He stopped working and was thinking, “You know, I really don’t know.”

All kinds of alarms and sirens were going off in my head. How could he not know? Isn’t this his specialty? Who is this guy and does he really know what he is doing?

It was at that point that it occurred to me that I spent more time picking out a six pack last night than I did selecting a urologist. Ahhhh, it’s nice to have priorities.

The doctor began cauterizing and I could hear electronic sparks flying from some instrument he was using. It sounded cool and something I would like to see. Well, you haven’t lived until you see smoke billowing from your nut sack like a stream of smoke from a cheap cigarette.

I laid my head back down and remained quiet for the rest of the procedure.

For the next 24 hours I laid on the couch, popping pain pills, with a bag of frozen peas on my scrotum. Every time we have peas for dinner I like to torture my family with comments like, “You know, I think these are the peas I used after my surgery.” Just good dinner humor.

“Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.”
-Henry David Thoreau

Plans are just that. They are plans. There is nothing real
about them. They are thoughts, ideas, intentions, hopes, dreams or ambitions.
But they are not real. Well not at least until you put the plan into action.
Then they become terrifyingly real. “You know you are going to have to sell
your house”, my dad explains to me during a phone conversation.

And that is when it hit me like a sledge hammer. Once we put our house up for sell this
little plan that was mainly talk and dreams changes form. It’s now a reality.

The big broad strokes of this plan are in place but now it is time to
get down to the nitty-gritty. It’s time to unravel our lives from a lifetime of
accumulation, mortgage payments, car notes, credit card debt and every other
thread of this sticky web that we have trapped ourselves in.

It’s a huge undertaking and it’s no wonder that most people don’t live out their dreams and goals. It’s just too damn difficult to undo the life that we have created for
ourselves.

But like every other challenge, slowly steady progress will
always take you to where you want to be. Item by item were completed from our
list and slowly the plan which looked impossible was now simply improbable.
Ahhh, you have to love progress.

“Improbable” fades to possible then transforms into “likely” until one day you have come too far to go back. You have passed the point of no return and this plan has become a runaway train. No longer are you stoking the fires to keep the train moving, you are now just holding on for dear life and going with the flow.

It’s very uncomfortable stepping through the door to an unknown future. With a job your day to day is fairly routine and doesn’t change much from year to year, but now nothing will be the same.

It should be interesting.

The plan was conceived with about as much thought that two horny teenagers put into their futures before diving into the backseat of a Buick. I always thought that too much planning could actually be detrimental but somehow I couldn’t get the thought of Custard’s last stand or Waterloo out of my mind.

The bar stool was becoming comfortable as I enjoyed another ice cold beer and chomped on my calamari. My mind was elsewhere as my thoughts were debating how to sell my wife on the idea of quitting our jobs and going sailing for a year or two.

Not being able to come up with anything more clever, “Why don’t we finish working on our boat and then go sailing for a year or two?”

Roxanne began to fidget with her wedding ring as if she was going to take it off at any moment and call a good divorce lawyer.

I continued “We can sail down the Florida gulf coast, across to
the Bahamas and then down into the Caribbean.”

She stopped fidgeting with
her wedding band, smiled at me and simply said “Sounds great, let’s do
it.”

And that’s how it all started.