Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude

Cheesy title, but fitting.

We left the dock as the current neared slack to head offshore. It felt strange to be heading offshore on a holiday, and I was feeling a bit melancholy. On the way through Port Royal Sound, I texted family and friends, and I’m not sure if that made it better or worse. I was definitely aware of the distance, and with no other boats headed out with us, I felt very alone. But as I noted in the Instagram post I wrote as we were leaving,

I feel incredibly lucky to be able to make this trip and live this lifestyle while we’re still working. Yes, at times this is hard, frustrating and scary. At times I feel very isolated. But that’s all part of embracing change and growing. ‘Sail away from the safe harbor.’

The inlet had us beam to a 2-3′ sea, which was rolly with no wind to push us through. I tried to read, but with the boat’s awkward motion, I started to feel a little nauseous. But once we cleared the inlet and made our turn, the seas were at a more comfortable angle and Silent Sky felt more settled. A pod of dolphins came racing over, jumping clear out of the water to come play with us. They didn’t stay for long, but it was a bucket list experience that I’ll never forget.

Jack’s anti-nausea meds seemed to work even though he didn’t take much of it – he loved the pill pockets but kept spitting out the pill itself. Lesson learned – next time I’ll grind it up into a powder. I also got him this stuffed cat that has a “heartbeat” that’s supposed to reduce stress. I’m not sure if he liked it or not, but he did snuggle with it, and I hope it calmed him a little.

Sunset was incredible and lingering, and I was glad to be off watch so I could shoot. Once I took over the watch, Chris heated up some of the butternut squash lasagna and we had pie for dessert. While it wasn’t a turkey, it was good comfort food and it was nice to celebrate our own non-traditional Thanksgiving in our little floating home, putting miles under the keel.

For some reason, I was really tired on this trip, and I couldn’t wait to be off watch at 2130 to get some rest. For the first time under way, I actually did get a little sleep. Back on watch at 0030, I was just plain cold. I had all my warm gear on, but it didn’t matter. It was a damp night, and it was the kind of cold that seeps into your bones. Between that and being tired, those three hours felt like an eternity.

It was amazing to have radar and autopilot. At one point during my 0030-0330 watch, my course took me within a quarter mile of an unlit buoy, and since I was able to confirm it was on station with radar, I didn’t have to alter course. And I was able to keep an eye on the other boats around me, even when our AIS stopped displaying targets (which it seems to randomly do every now and then).

Dawn found the rising sun lighting the leading edge of an approaching cloud bank, and it was gorgeous. While I had felt all alone out there overnight, it turns out we had quite a bit of company – we counted at least five other boats behind us. Everyone else seemed to be continuing on, but we ducked back inshore at the Saint Johns River. We’d heard that Saint Augustine was challenging, so to play it safe, we used Saint Johns as it was really straightforward. As we approached the inlet, a light rain started. Welcome to sunny Florida! Fortunately the rain didn’t last long, but the clouds stuck around for most of the day.

Saint Johns River is a big shipping inlet, and the area immediately inshore was pretty industrial. Fortunately once we got back on the ICW, the scenery got better and we found ourselves back in marshland, with a bunch of big houses and condos mixed in.

We stopped at an anchorage just north of a bridge noted for its narrow span and high current, but when we dropped the hook, we both agreed that the anchorage felt sketchier than just running the bridge. It was plenty deep (actually a little deeper than we’d like) but shoaled quickly, and there was a lot of power boat wake in addition to the current.

It had already been a long 27 hours since departure, but we decided it was worth pressing on and getting closer to Saint Augustine. Anchorages on this stretch of the ICW are few and far between, and a couple earlier possibilities were filled with derelict boats. I pulled out the Waterway Guide (the Southern edition – the AICW version ends at the Georgia/Florida border) and found what sounded to be a promising spot right around mile 765.

Our journey took us through salt marsh and conservation land, and the whole time we kept an eye out for alligators. I’ve decided that we can’t leave Florida (at least not northbound) until we’ve seen one.

We finally arrived at the Pine Island Loop anchorage around 1600. There was some shoaling, but we had plenty of water as long as we stayed close to the other boats. It was a stunning spot in the middle of a quiet marsh, and as we dropped the hook 30+ hours after departure, I felt at peace.

We had arrived in the final state of our trip and we were only a couple hours from Saint Augustine. And we had one of those sunsets that reminded me just how spoiled we are – as the sky lit fire, giant flocks of ibis flew off deeper into the marsh for the night.

Between a beautiful offshore passage and spending most of the day winding through a gorgeous section of the ICW, I was reminded of why we’re doing this. I felt the accomplishment of another offshore transit safely completed and the true, honest joy of experiencing the world at 5 miles an hour.