It's a 1200-mile human-powered adventure race, and when Spawn finally docked in St. Mary's, Georgia at midnight on Thursday, March 10, it was time for the Tampa Bay 22 sloop to hop onto the trailer and pass the human batons over to the Winonah canoe Miss Patsie. Stage 4. Fort Clinch to Cedar Key: the paddling and portaging leg across the top of Florida. But first, while Moresailesed and TwoBeers slowly de-rigged Spawn so the creature can be trailered back across the state, they recounted a few of the many tales of the sail from Key Largo to Fort Clinch. As many of us noticed, Spawn chose to take advantage of the Gulf Stream, that warm and mighty river inside the sea. For skiers, imagine the Gulf Stream is a magic carpet lift (For non-skiers, think: magic carpet), which conveys boats north and east up the right-hand side of Florida. |
They ran their dual-headsail rig: a jib and a screecher, and, as best they remember, a reef in the mainsail.
With a lively 15 knot breeze nudging them from their starboard quarter, the miles flew by. It was so civilized (especially in comparison with the upwind slog of Stage 1) that they were able to keep a watch system, whereby one sleeps while the other sails the boat.
And somewhere off Palm Beach, while one was sleeping, the time just slipped away. Rousing the sleeper from time to time to check that the heading was correct. It was the correct heading, but at a full gallop (18.6 or so was the top speed they recall; before their Tactick electronic compass sighed and passed away), well, that's how they went "to the Bahamas," according to Moresailesed.
Slight exaggeration. They never actually SAW Walker Cay.
More than 40 miles offshore, the sleeper awoke, checked his navigation, and called for a turn, posthaste! I am very glad to report that after the shenanigans of 2019, the boys generally go for a "chicken jibe," which is to say they tack.
The difference between a tack and a jibe is fairly academic as far as navigation goes, each being a roughly 90° turn –– until is isn't. As anyone who has tried to carry a poster board in a windstorm knows, the wind wants to grab things and fling them about.
To tack, a boat turns so that its nose points through the wind. To jibe, a boat turns away from the wind, presenting the boat's stern to the breeze. When a boat is traveling downwind already, one would normally jibe to change directions.
But things can happen on a jibe, especially when it's dark and the sailors are tired, and they are a long way from shore. A sheet can catch on a cleat, a sail loads up, and next thing you know, the boat is ass-over-teakettle (that IS the technical term) and there's a lot to do.
Prudent (cluck cluck cluck) sailors sometimes choose to do the slower maneuver of turning not 90°, but 270°. Even so, it took two tries to get Spawn tacked around and scooting back toward Florida.
Two tries. Back to Florida. Oy vey.
TwoBeers reported that while they had seen any number of turtles offshore on the west coast of Florida, they barely saw a single fish on the east coast until they got to Fernadina Beach. At Fernadina, it was a veritable SeaWorld, with dozens of porpoise (including baby porpoise –– parpooses?) busily feeding off the big fishing pier. Coming out of Checkpoint 1 on Saturday, they bore witness to Andyman and Natedog accidentally colliding with a manatee with a tremendous splash and fuss. The sea-cow, not the men. Later that same night, Spawn snuck up on a congress of manatee doing whatever manatee do in the dark. Manatee are not natively warlike, so there were no vengeful repercussions. Nevertheless, adorable sea-creatures displace a literal ton of water when startled, and it's always dramatic. |
Knock wood the price of gas has a silver lining.
The sailors got drenched, of course, and they agreed that they got really good at reefing the main ("I don't even need a flashlight." TwoBeers said.) And then shaking the reef out again when the squall passed, leaving only a whisper of wind.
"It was the most heinous night of my life. And there was nothing to do but <intensifying invective> bear it." Moresailesed pulled a rueful face. "On a big boat, you can always go below, but on Spawn, you are just THERE. We couldn't even put ashore. "
At the time, the boat was off a wide, sandy beach with no handy inlet to inland waterways. Even with the storm wind gone, the water-state stayed wild and wooly. "I'm never going to need to see New Smyrna Beach ever again." Moresailesed declared.
TwoBeers chimed in: "Yeah, it was brutal. I mean, I built this boat, but I don't know how it stayed together. You'd go off one wave RIGHT in to another." It would become a theme, this statement...
We all share a collective silent moment of appreciation for Spawn holding together regardless the conditions. Good barky!
Nothing like an international incident to slow a racing program.
Spawn did not get the text, and thought at first a blimp was on fire. "The cool thing is that there's a crackling sound after the sonic boom." TwoBeers observed, to which Moresailesed said, "Yeah, but sometimes there's debris, and we were really close to that launch."
Did they get a photo? Nope.
And, by the by, did they mention the electrical fire? "It never was a fire. It just smoked a little, and we disconnected the battery from the water pump."
There IS a fire extinguisher on the boat. I packed it myself.
Good thing Moresailesed and TwoBeers have a lot of warm work ahead of them, paddling upstream.