07/07-07/09 2006
We spent the weekend aboard Olivia again. The air conditioner on our house had frozen, and it was barely belching any hot breeze, so D switched it off, and we brought down a few things. It’s getting easier and easier to stay on the boat, and everyone is learning to operate in a space the size of a shoebox. Friday night was quiet. I visited with Jack for a bit and he told me that they are clearing out, both motor home and boat, going over to Tarpon Marina. Things are just too unsettled, as the Marina owner continues his downward spiral. So now there won’t be anyone to walk the dock and look after the boats, except for the shady looking Cubano bastards who I think are just casing the joint. The Marina is starting to look like a ghost town. The owner is so ****ed up that now he thinks he’s corresponding with Osama bin Laden in email. Probably won’t be long before Homeland Security is there…..
Woke up around nine thirty Saturday morning, and looked out of the little port light on my side of the V berth. Looked like a fine little breeze, so I showered, and then rigged the 135, mizzen and baby sail. Dee went to LV to pick up JW2 who had spent the night at the house and needed to get to the Island for work.
Around 1030 my friend DH called and asked if we were going to sail. DH has the Orange Roughy, and Renaissance, just completed the Veracruz race, and is in my opinion one agro sailor. He sails probably more than almost anyone except Night Magic, and that’s only because our entrance to the fingers is so silted in that he can’t get in or out except on the highest tides. DH is the only person I know who’s sailed down the intracoastal waterway, from Corpus to here, beating the whole way back and forth across that narrow ditch against prevailing winds. I hadn’t seen him since before the Veracruz race, and was anxious to get the details. So I told him we’d stand by till he could get to the Marina.
Around 1130 we are underway to a beautiful day with 8-12 mile per hour east winds, blue skies, blue water and sweltering ninety degree plus heat. The tide is high, and predicted to remain so until around 1930 when it falls to a minus one foot. I plan to be in far in advance of that though, remembering having to wiggle off a couple of weeks ago on a tide less low than that.
We tug up the Canvas as soon as we clear 17, and are under sail, tacking several times to the GICWW. DH is at the helm, and calms the boat almost immediately. D and I are throwing sheets, and we sail without a hitch under the causeway overpass and into the South Laguna. The rigging is fine, and there is little load in the light winds. We continue to sail, heading for the powerlines near the old causeway, relaxed and catching up on things. We talk about kids and sailing, and he tells me about his daughter talking to her Grandfather about boats. He asked her what kind of boats she liked best, and she replied “power boats like yours”. He asked her “why?”. She answered; “….because when I go with you it’s like “The Fast and Furious”, but when I go with Dad…..it’s like “Driving Miss Daisy”….” Ah well, she’s a teenager, and that of course is a disease.
DH tells me about the Veracruz race, about having enough wind, about not having enough wind, and about seizing up his water pump, and having to sail the entire distance, despite becalmings, almost all the way to the mooring. That folks, is sailing. I am impressed, envious and most of all anxious to make a passage like that.
We pass Jack and Barbara by the CG station, and they take a few pictures of Olivia under full sail, as we head towards Barracuda Cove. Several tacks, and we are outside the Mixmaster of the Brazos Jetties, and sailing free in the open Gulf, heading South down Boca Chica beach. The seas are light, no more that a foot or so, but the twinz who have been in the house, look a bit green, if not overheated, so we coax them on deck and spray them down with the sprayer, and they recover somewhat.
After a couple of miles, we turn it around, heading for the jetties. The blue water has remained to the north, but here it is still opaque turquoise. In the distance, to the north, I can make out two white headsails heading south towards the pass. Inside the pass, it is predictably rough, as tides are changing. It is around 1600. The first jib from the north is Night Magic, and they pole out, overtaking and passing us, picking up a reach along the South Jetty. The second boat poles out wing on wing along the North jetty and sails away, as I work to keep the wallowing sails full under the choppy following sea. East of Barracuda bay, along the South Jetty, we too are now on a broad reach, and I give Savannah the wheel, and go forward and raise up the baby sail. We round the corner at Dolphin Cove (and there are a few dolphins playing), then wing out the baby sail as we head North along the island, watching Night Magic and the other boat disappear through the causeway pass. It has been a mellow, delightful day, and we are all just lazing around floating along on calm water.
Through the Causeway pass, and reaching slowly toward the channel, I am a bit worried about the falling tide, and fire up the iron genny as we douse sail. It is around 1800 now, and I give Kelani the wheel as we chug towards 13. At 13 we turn in, hugging the channel on the port side, then joggle out a bit to avoid the bar just inside 17 as per DH’s suggestion (….and he knows, he’s been on that bar a time or two himself). We shoot inside the entrance buoy without incident, both agreeing that it is a pathetic situation to have to do this in a “navigable channel”. At the slip, I have to slog through the mud, powering up, and then being sort of skewed in the slip, tie off. I have to wait for enough water to float in order to adjust the mooring lines. DH takes off, and we go to Shitterballs for the last hour, floating around, cooling off. It has been a noteworthy sail, a day of good wind, poor wind, good sailing and fine company.
We spend Saturday night aboard, watching Captain Ron, eating and drinking lightly, crashing out to a ring around the full moon. Around 2AM it starts to rain heavily, falling straight down pelting the coachroof with thundering large drops. I turn over, and fall back asleep. I wake up around 0930 and it is raining again, so I just lay there awhile. Later I raise the jib and dry it in the light breeze for awhile before stowing it away. The Marina owner has left the top to his convertible down, and everyone has checked out the swimming pool which it has become. The deteriorating condition of his car and his boat are an indication of his deteriorating life.
We cook breakfast, bacon and egg tacos, and D rigs the third world bimini, struggling to figure it out till Jim (Island Time) shows up and lends a hand. They talk briefly about Island Times slip. They would like to rent it to us, and we mull the idea. Later we go over there, and Jim shows us many photos taken down South, from Isla Mujeres Mexico to Guatemala’s Rio Dulce River, where Island Time now lies. It is fuel on my fire. I check out the slip, and it is absolutely the best. 13 foot concrete pilings, 24 feet wide, tide risers on ¾ inch moorings, a perfect spot to weather any storm….just barricade it for any derelicts, refugees from the Marina which might become errant missiles. Spending a few delightful hours with Jim and Janice, we learn that we are all from the same “neighborhood”, knowing many of the same people. It is truly a small world, or maybe just a small area.
We are grateful for their offer of such a fine slip, and plan to move over there the first of August (or sooner if things start to go to hell any worse at the Marina).
Sunday night we secured things on Olivia, leaving a few more necessities aboard as she becomes our other home. We return to LV, turn on the now defrosted AC and get ready for the upcoming week. We already miss the boat.
We spent the weekend aboard Olivia again. The air conditioner on our house had frozen, and it was barely belching any hot breeze, so D switched it off, and we brought down a few things. It’s getting easier and easier to stay on the boat, and everyone is learning to operate in a space the size of a shoebox. Friday night was quiet. I visited with Jack for a bit and he told me that they are clearing out, both motor home and boat, going over to Tarpon Marina. Things are just too unsettled, as the Marina owner continues his downward spiral. So now there won’t be anyone to walk the dock and look after the boats, except for the shady looking Cubano bastards who I think are just casing the joint. The Marina is starting to look like a ghost town. The owner is so ****ed up that now he thinks he’s corresponding with Osama bin Laden in email. Probably won’t be long before Homeland Security is there…..
Woke up around nine thirty Saturday morning, and looked out of the little port light on my side of the V berth. Looked like a fine little breeze, so I showered, and then rigged the 135, mizzen and baby sail. Dee went to LV to pick up JW2 who had spent the night at the house and needed to get to the Island for work.
Around 1030 my friend DH called and asked if we were going to sail. DH has the Orange Roughy, and Renaissance, just completed the Veracruz race, and is in my opinion one agro sailor. He sails probably more than almost anyone except Night Magic, and that’s only because our entrance to the fingers is so silted in that he can’t get in or out except on the highest tides. DH is the only person I know who’s sailed down the intracoastal waterway, from Corpus to here, beating the whole way back and forth across that narrow ditch against prevailing winds. I hadn’t seen him since before the Veracruz race, and was anxious to get the details. So I told him we’d stand by till he could get to the Marina.
Around 1130 we are underway to a beautiful day with 8-12 mile per hour east winds, blue skies, blue water and sweltering ninety degree plus heat. The tide is high, and predicted to remain so until around 1930 when it falls to a minus one foot. I plan to be in far in advance of that though, remembering having to wiggle off a couple of weeks ago on a tide less low than that.
We tug up the Canvas as soon as we clear 17, and are under sail, tacking several times to the GICWW. DH is at the helm, and calms the boat almost immediately. D and I are throwing sheets, and we sail without a hitch under the causeway overpass and into the South Laguna. The rigging is fine, and there is little load in the light winds. We continue to sail, heading for the powerlines near the old causeway, relaxed and catching up on things. We talk about kids and sailing, and he tells me about his daughter talking to her Grandfather about boats. He asked her what kind of boats she liked best, and she replied “power boats like yours”. He asked her “why?”. She answered; “….because when I go with you it’s like “The Fast and Furious”, but when I go with Dad…..it’s like “Driving Miss Daisy”….” Ah well, she’s a teenager, and that of course is a disease.
DH tells me about the Veracruz race, about having enough wind, about not having enough wind, and about seizing up his water pump, and having to sail the entire distance, despite becalmings, almost all the way to the mooring. That folks, is sailing. I am impressed, envious and most of all anxious to make a passage like that.
We pass Jack and Barbara by the CG station, and they take a few pictures of Olivia under full sail, as we head towards Barracuda Cove. Several tacks, and we are outside the Mixmaster of the Brazos Jetties, and sailing free in the open Gulf, heading South down Boca Chica beach. The seas are light, no more that a foot or so, but the twinz who have been in the house, look a bit green, if not overheated, so we coax them on deck and spray them down with the sprayer, and they recover somewhat.
After a couple of miles, we turn it around, heading for the jetties. The blue water has remained to the north, but here it is still opaque turquoise. In the distance, to the north, I can make out two white headsails heading south towards the pass. Inside the pass, it is predictably rough, as tides are changing. It is around 1600. The first jib from the north is Night Magic, and they pole out, overtaking and passing us, picking up a reach along the South Jetty. The second boat poles out wing on wing along the North jetty and sails away, as I work to keep the wallowing sails full under the choppy following sea. East of Barracuda bay, along the South Jetty, we too are now on a broad reach, and I give Savannah the wheel, and go forward and raise up the baby sail. We round the corner at Dolphin Cove (and there are a few dolphins playing), then wing out the baby sail as we head North along the island, watching Night Magic and the other boat disappear through the causeway pass. It has been a mellow, delightful day, and we are all just lazing around floating along on calm water.
Through the Causeway pass, and reaching slowly toward the channel, I am a bit worried about the falling tide, and fire up the iron genny as we douse sail. It is around 1800 now, and I give Kelani the wheel as we chug towards 13. At 13 we turn in, hugging the channel on the port side, then joggle out a bit to avoid the bar just inside 17 as per DH’s suggestion (….and he knows, he’s been on that bar a time or two himself). We shoot inside the entrance buoy without incident, both agreeing that it is a pathetic situation to have to do this in a “navigable channel”. At the slip, I have to slog through the mud, powering up, and then being sort of skewed in the slip, tie off. I have to wait for enough water to float in order to adjust the mooring lines. DH takes off, and we go to Shitterballs for the last hour, floating around, cooling off. It has been a noteworthy sail, a day of good wind, poor wind, good sailing and fine company.
We spend Saturday night aboard, watching Captain Ron, eating and drinking lightly, crashing out to a ring around the full moon. Around 2AM it starts to rain heavily, falling straight down pelting the coachroof with thundering large drops. I turn over, and fall back asleep. I wake up around 0930 and it is raining again, so I just lay there awhile. Later I raise the jib and dry it in the light breeze for awhile before stowing it away. The Marina owner has left the top to his convertible down, and everyone has checked out the swimming pool which it has become. The deteriorating condition of his car and his boat are an indication of his deteriorating life.
We cook breakfast, bacon and egg tacos, and D rigs the third world bimini, struggling to figure it out till Jim (Island Time) shows up and lends a hand. They talk briefly about Island Times slip. They would like to rent it to us, and we mull the idea. Later we go over there, and Jim shows us many photos taken down South, from Isla Mujeres Mexico to Guatemala’s Rio Dulce River, where Island Time now lies. It is fuel on my fire. I check out the slip, and it is absolutely the best. 13 foot concrete pilings, 24 feet wide, tide risers on ¾ inch moorings, a perfect spot to weather any storm….just barricade it for any derelicts, refugees from the Marina which might become errant missiles. Spending a few delightful hours with Jim and Janice, we learn that we are all from the same “neighborhood”, knowing many of the same people. It is truly a small world, or maybe just a small area.
We are grateful for their offer of such a fine slip, and plan to move over there the first of August (or sooner if things start to go to hell any worse at the Marina).
Sunday night we secured things on Olivia, leaving a few more necessities aboard as she becomes our other home. We return to LV, turn on the now defrosted AC and get ready for the upcoming week. We already miss the boat.
