February 10, 2007
Oceanside Marina
Key West, Florida

The saga of the deceased transmission continues…

After moving heaven and earth to wire money to American Diesel for “next day shipping," the transmissions were to have been sent Thursday, February 1.  Ole called to verify they had been shipped, and was told that “the freight forwarder did not feel like driving 80 miles to pick up just two transmissions, and besides, they were short on drivers.”  We were assured they would indeed be shipped on Friday.  A call Friday afternoon verified that the freight forwarder had, indeed, picked them up on Friday, but wouldn’t be actually shipping them until Monday.

There was much swearing in Norwegian.

A call to the freight forwarder on Monday indicated they would be in Key West on Wednesday.  A call Wednesday morning revealed they had missed the Wednesday truck from Miami to Key West, and would arrive here Friday, February 8.

There was much swearing in both Norwegian and English, and very little romance.

Wednesday, February 6, we moved back over to Oceanside so Ole could work with a mechanic to disassemble both transmissions and begin the process of raising both engines.  All of the prep work was done by Friday morning, and, blessed be, the transmissions actually arrived about 1:00 pm.  Ole and Mike the Mechanic worked like champs and by 5:00 pm Friday, both transmissions were “hung.”

As of noon today, February 10, with work by James and Mark and Ole, it actually looked like we could get to sea trials by Monday morning, move back over to Safe Harbor, and prepare to leave Key West as early as Wednesday!!!

Then, it all went horribly wrong.  As he was ready to install the oil coolers after lunch, Ole found they were not brand spanking new like the cute little Twin Discs they belonged to – they were used!  Not only that, when he pulled out the plugs, water came out, there was green stuff and rust around the screw threads, and much swearing in Norwegian, English, and some other unrecognizable language. 

Now, to my way of thinking, when you drop 9 or 10 boat units on a vendor for new transmissions, one assumes that all of the bits, pieces, and parts are also new.  And, of course, nobody at the vendor side works on Saturday.  We'll see how it goes when we call American Diesel on Monday.

On the social front,  we've had a few visitors while we've been "stuck" in Key West.  Al and Jan Furtado, friends from the Pompano Beach Power Squadron, felt we needed cheering up, so they drove down on Sunday the 4th, sat on the back deck with us in the rain, and helped us demolish a plate of hors d'ouvres and a gin & tonic.  They were kind enough to take us out to dinner, and on a run to the grocery store.

Our buddy Spiff arrived in his beautiful 46’ Fisher “Ruthy L” on Thursday, with Brendan, Kim, and Trevor from Riverview Marina as delivery crew.

February 13, 2007
Oceanside Marina
Key West, Florida

Hooray! The new transmissions are in, the engines are perfectly aligned, and we’re ready for the weather to cooperate so we can be on our way! All that’s left to do in the engine room is to paint some of the bolts and connections, de-grease the diamond plate, and put stuff away. Ole worked like a stevedore to get it all done.
 

By the way – the “used” engine oil coolers were not exactly. Apparently the Twin Disc transmissions require high oil pressure through the coolers, and American Diesel pressure tests them (with water) before they release them to the customer.
 

Here are some pictures of Safe Harbor Marina -- it's probably the last place of its kind in Key West, given the exorbitant price of real estate.  One of the highlights of the place is the Hogfish Bar, located at the head of the dock, on Front Street.          

Another highlight is the Bama Sea Products dock just across from us.  At all hours of the day or night, fishing boats pull up to offload whatever it is they have caught.  We've sampled some fine yellowtail and incredible Key West pink shrimp at slightly less than grocery store prices but way fresher

February 23, 2007
Marina El Milagro
Isla Mujeres, Quintana Roo
MÉXICO!

Links of Interest: 
A great interactive map of Quintana Roo, showing where we are and where we're going through Mexico, can be found here: http://www.maps-of-mexico.com/quintana-roo-state-mexico/quintana-roo-state-mexico-map-main.shtml.  And for information about Isla Mujeres, this is a great little site: http://www.isla-mujeres.net

We are now officially cruising!

Alter waiting for a comma between cold fronts, we scooted across the Straits of Florida, hung a right 20 miles off the northern coast of Cuba, held our breath, and ran across the Yucatán Channel.  Total travel time:  about 50 hours.  Casualties:  one Rubbermaid bucket; one pair of Ole’s reading glasses, and a broken arm on Jan’s beloved Maui Jim sunglasses.  Poseidon has rarely been satisfied with less.

Our first crew (Lise and Svein) were unavailable because of work commitments, so we opted to hire delivery captain and Ft. Lauderdale neighbor Trevor Davies, of Argonauts, to accompany us on our first multi-day run.  That way, we had professional experience on the bridge in case the new transmissions needed the touch of the chief engineer.  It was a good choice – Trevor is a great companion and knowledgeable sailor.

We left Safe Harbor Marina at 4:35 pm on Monday, February 19, in order to see (and dodge) the cursed crab pots thoughtlessly scattered in the navigation channel, get a good view of Florida in the rear view mirror, and arrive in Isla Mujeres in daylight.  The voyage plan was based on an average speed of 6 knots throughout the 355 nautical miles.  We stood 4-on, 8-off watches, with Jan on at 8-12; Ole on at 12-4; and Trevor on at 4-8.

As soon as we left the channel and entered the Florida Straits, we began experiencing the first expected Gulf Stream current, which, by the 8:00 a.m. watch on Tuesday, had slowed us to just over 4 knots and made for a relatively uncomfortable night in 5-7 foot seas.  We figured that at that speed, we might arrive in Isla Mujeres some time in July.  Trevor predicted during our west and southwesterly course along the coast of Cuba that as soon as we hit the 84^th parallel we might get a counter current to help push us forward – and as predicted, we surfed along at over 9 knots with quartering seas for most of Wednesday morning, more than making up lost time, and pushing up our arrival in Isla Mujeres to midnight Thursday morning – way too early for the poorly marked channel entrance.    Because we were so early, we had to burn some donuts in the ocean for about 4 hours to make the entrance in daylight as planned.

The last 6 hours of the cruise were the most uncomfortable, with the prevailing current trying to push us north while we were trying to get west, making for some great rolls.  For those who haven’t had the pleasure, let me try to describe what happens.  A wave of 5 to 7 feet comes at you directly (or nearly so) from the side, lifts up the boat, and at the top of the wave, because our hull doesn’t “bite” into the wave – it slides off it sideways.  Jan hogged the queen sized berth in the master cabin on her off watch, splayed out like a starfish hooking fingernails and toes into the edge of the bed to stay on.  Trevor, salty dog that he is, tried to tough out the forward bunk, but got routinely tossed out, opting for the luxury of the sofa in the salon, wedged in with cushions.  Ole, God bless him, fought for bunk space with Jan and the cats, and predictably maintained his good humor in spite of bad-to-no sleep.

Trevor assured us that these were the best conditions possible for crossing the Yucatan channel in the winter – we couldn’t have had better weather!  Sheesh, one can only imagine what bad conditions might have brought.

And speaking of the cats…Barclay continues to impress in her role as ship’s cat.  She was on watch with all of us in the pilothouse, demanding breakfast and dinner at the usual time, and strolling on the back deck whenever Jan went out for a smoke, in spite of the movement.  Watching her time her steps and jumps with the boat’s motion was funny – all four legs were splayed out like Popeye the Sailor Man – and not a complaint was heard.

Maggie, on the other hand, was thoroughly miserable.  In spite of veterinary advice to give her half a human dose of over-the-counter bonine 2 hours before departure, as soon as we left the marina, she emptied herself out from both ends, crawled downstairs, and for some reason parked herself in the top bunk in the forward cabin for a good 30 hours.  We moved her twice to the master cabin (the center point of the boat), but she insisted on being where we could see how miserable she was (yes, Virginia, cats can be evil manipulators of human emotion).  Jan and Ole both moved her to the master bunk and spent some skin-to-skin time with her, and for the last 20 hours, she found her usual place on the floor in the dead center of gravity.  Odd, though, that the minute we tied up at the dock and cut the engines, she was face-down in the food bowl.

Clearing in formalities were accomplished in rapid fire (3 hours), with assistance from Armando at the fuel dock acting as agent.  The Health Department official came onboard first, followed by the Immigration inspector, and both were friendly and pleasant.  Armando also arranged for the folks at el Milagro to bring a skiff to us and escort us to a place at their marina, where we were helped by three dockhands to a stern-to hookup with power, water, and high-speed internet.

Within minutes, the residents of the dock had all been by to greet us and welcome us to a potluck dinner featuring grilled black grouper prepared by the dockhands in the common area of the marina.  It seems to be the usual eclectic assortment of characters – some heading north, others south, but everyone willing to share information and experience over the beer.  Exchanging boat cards will assure us there will be few strangers as the cruise continues south.

Because of our need to be in Belize by next weekend to get Ole out on a flight to Atlanta for a chief's meeting, we won't be able to stay long here, which is a pity -- it's a lovely little island, charming marina, and welcoming cruising community.  Our plan is to head south to Cozumel on Saturday, February 24, and make day cruises to be in Belize City by Friday, March 2.

Sunday February 25, 2007
12:10 pm
San Miguel, Cozumel

(From Jan's personal journal...)

Left Isla Mujeres about 11:00 am yesterday morning, in partly cloudy skies and fresh east wind of 20-25 knots, making for some rolly conditions as we headed south to Cozumel.  The only casualty was a set screw in the port aft corner of the bimini, making Ole go up on the fly bridge to jury-rig a tie down during some pretty decent rolls. 

We arrived in Cozumel just as the sun was setting, and anchored in 15 feet of swimming-pool clear water just off my favorite artisan store “Los Cinco Soles,” and sat through the departure announcements of Splendor of the Seas, anchored a couple of hundred yards off our stern.  We laughed, realizing that Ole had no standby, no passenger duties, and no pager to go off in the middle of the night.

The anchorage is unprotected, so we gently rocked during the night, and more forcefully during the morning, as the Crown Princess arrived to the accompaniment of excursion boats zooming past us with abandon.

I’ve had a couple of revelations in the past few days or so.  I’m not feeling the “glee factor” that I think I should, and I’ve spent a lot of time contemplating my navel about it.  Friday night in Isla Mujeres I finally experienced and expressed that I’m actually anxious about this trip – not relaxed like I was during our 2-week adventure cruising the Okeechobee and the Keys the first summer we had the boat.

The anxiety manifested as irritation and hurt – and I made it all Ole's fault.

Factually speaking, I stood my watches without incident during the crossing from the Keys.  I operated the radio just fine.  I secured us for sea pretty successfully.  I even managed to cook during 6-8 foot seas with accompanying rolls.

But I slept on the couch Friday night, and woke up yesterday morning in tears – not just little ones – but actual sobbing.  When Ole asked me what was wrong, what came out my mouth was, “I’m exhausted from conversations about fear – fear of running out of cruising money; fear of not being in Belize on time; fear that I’m not doing things right on the boat; not doing things right with regard to household administration from afar, not doing things right in my relationship.  I’m tired of being afraid and all I want is to experience some goddam joy!”

During the crossing, I sat in the pilothouse reading (James Michener’s Caribbean), and felt emotionally raw.

I’ve taken boating, seamanship, piloting and engine maintenance.  I’ve become SCUBA certified and earned my HAM radio license.  My head is now full of facts that don’t correspond with any of my actual – not theoretical – experience, and I guess I feel that I’m supposed to be instantly wise about the ways of this boat and of the ocean.

In our earlier pleasure cruises, I was reassured that at the end of the day or at the end of the week we would be “home.” “Home” was a slip up the New River. Perhaps this cruise as different from others we have done because we’re now “homeless” – the boat is home, with all of its quirks and systems – and we’re not returning to anywhere familiar for a long time.

Who said, “A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing?”

Tuesday, February 27, 2007
At anchor, Bahia del Espiritu Santo
Quintana Roo, Mexico

It’s clear that every day contains lessons learned.

On Sunday evening, at 9:00, we weighed anchor from San Miguel in Cozumel, headed just about due south for Bahia del Espiritu Santo some 86 nautical miles down the coast.  The first three hours we were in the lee of Cozumel, had light winds, and gentle swell from the south southeast, and we said to ourselves, hey – this won’t be too bad.  Had some tunes on the I-pod, homemade oatmeal cookies, a pot of French Roast sitting in the thermos in the sink, and everything secured for sea.  The swells, though 4 to 6 feet, were long and slow enough for us to actually enjoy them.

Then we discovered that the boat can take way more than either the autopilot or the crew.

About half an hour south of the tip of Cozumel, we were in the deep blue of the ocean, and the winds steadily increased to between 18 and 25 miles per hour, and the size of the swell began to overwhelm the autopilot.  By about 2:45 a.m., with Jan on watch and Ole trying to catch some rest down below, the autopilot screamed that it had had enough, what with trying to maintain 6.5 knots while fighting off a steady east wind, a strong north setting current, swells increasing to 8-10 feet, and an annoying wind chop on top.

When the autopilot started screaming, Jan had had enough, and luckily Ole decided that a screaming autopilot and nervous wife warranted some adjustment.  We dropped speed to about 5.5 knots, and Ole began what ended up to be about 6 hours of hand steering in increasingly turbulent conditions.  The hard part was that we couldn’t see the big ones approaching, and once in awhile caught some big swells on the port bow that caused some great sliding and rolling.  As we watched the miles and the clock gradually ticking down, we took comfort in the fact that we would be entering the reef at Bahia del Espiritu Santo some time around 9:00 in the morning.

So there we were…and this is no poop…looking at the lighthouse on the south end of the entrance to  Bahia del Espiritu Santo, the British Admiralty chart of the area (latest datum 1999), the Raymarine chart plotter (new), and Captain Freya Raucher's Cruising Guide to Belize and Mexico’s Caribbean Coast (1986) … and all three of them said something different about where the entrance to the reef was!

Captain Trevor had told us about “eyeball navigation” which was great in theory.  In the heavy chop it was difficult eyeball exactly where the reef began and ended, and where the safe passage lay.

Confronted with three disparate views about where we were supposed to enter the reef without becoming kindling, we had to cruise back and forth for about an hour, perform some calculations on the paper chart, express our separate viewpoints, read the Cruising Guide over and over, and make a decision.  A cruiser we had met at el Milagro in Isla Mujeres who had just returned from this area told us that the positions listed in the Cruising Guide were “right on,” so we decided to trust them, even though the chart plotter and the paper chart showed us that her waypoint was smack on the reef.

So, clenching our sphincters firmly, we steered toward a point that the chart plotter and the chart told us were on the reef, but in actuality was the safe opening that Captain Raucher had documented, and Jeff from el Milagro had told us.

Lesson learned:  Charts and plotters are called AIDS to navigation.—they are not God’s law.  Local knowledge is called local knowledge for a reason.  Trust local knowledge --  recent local knowledge.

About a mile inside the reef, we sat for a few minutes and realized we had not made a decision about where we were going to anchor.  So we cruised south toward the lighthouse (as the sun moved steadily south, creating glare on the water and making the dark shapes hard to read – were they grass?  Coral?  Shadow from the clouds?).  When the depth sounder registered 4.2 feet in an area charted as 10 feet, we turned around and cruised back toward the north side of the bay, hoping for deeper and calmer water.

Finally, about 11:00 a.m., realizing we were not going to find a flat, calm place to anchor in 20-knot winds, we picked a spot between the reef and a beach, in about 9 feet of water – put out 75 feet of chain, cracked open a cold Miller, and went to bed.  14 hours of overnight cruising in less than ideal conditions, plus the need to make a gut decision in unfamiliar waters made for more stress than any of our previous cruises have produced.

Lessons learned:  

1. Any anchorage that lies in enough water with enough chain and doesn’t lie in 8-10 foot swells is a great anchorage when you’re exhausted.
2. The first cold beer after a night passage like that one is the best beer you’ve ever tasted.
3. It is good to nap.

After the nap, we treated ourselves to a swim and some naked pina coladas on the aft deck as the sun went down, a simple dinner, and an unheard-of bedtime of 9:00 pm.

Now for a report on the 4-legged crew: 

Barclay is amazing.  She insisted on staying in the pilothouse with us without complaint throughout the crossing, and when I wouldn’t let her out the salon door for the “outside” water dish, she decided to sneak out the pilothouse doors and drink from it anyway instead of from the “inside” dish in the galley. As she stuck her head out the door, the wind flattened her ears against her head, she hunkered down, and shouldered her way down the side deck before we even registered that she had done it, and was back  a few minutes later, taking up her usual cruising position at the base of the fly bridge steps

Maggie has earned many points on this crossing toward her Junior Sea Scout badge.  There was only one barfing incident, she thoughtfully aimed it at her own scratching pad, then stayed the night under the aft wicker chair in the salon instead of down below as usual.  As soon as the engines were cut, she demanded breakfast, then sacked out on the back deck for a nap, even though the boat was moving at this anchorage more than during any of our past cruises.

Lesson Learned:  The cats are fine, and can stubbornly take care of their own needs pretty damn well.

Now comes the interesting part.  Tomorrow evening we have to intentionally head out of here and do this again for another 66 miles in order enter Xcalac, our official “exit port” from Mexico, so that we can officially enter Belize in San Pedro on Thursday morning and get tied up in Belize City by Friday.

Lesson Learned: 

1. Do not, if you can help it, commit to a schedule if you are going to do this.
2. If you must go out in seas beyond your present comfort zone because you have been stupid enough to commit to a schedule, stock up on brown shorts.

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