First, plan, plan, plan. Then check the weather forecast a few hundred times. Next, provision for three times the expected length of the voyage. Just in case. Captain Bill, in his Chief Engineer capacity, replaced filters, changed oil, un-pickled the water maker (don't ask), re-stocked fuel additives and otherwise readied our little ship for the sea cruise. Even the finicky 25 hp Yamaha engine on the Love Me Tender was tested and deemed seaworthy. We are also now in possession of a handy 100-pack of assorted electrical fuses to avoid a repeat of last spring's unfortunate fuse fiasco. Enough review -- we are old salts (quite literally) and prepared for any and all adventures.
We set off from our Charleston marina slip at slack tide on late Wednesday afternoon. First stop: the fuel dock! (These guys love to see us coming.) Bill sensed us listing to the right, so we added 350 gallons of pale pink diesel to the starboard tank but only 250 gallons to the port side. A gallon of diesel weighs about 7.5 lbs., so we added over two tons of ballast at this stop. Nicely balanced, we head out to the edge of Charleston Harbor and drop anchor for the night. Wind and current in opposition create a side to side rocking that is reminiscent of the crazy Watch Hill effect. Luckily for us, the winds calm after midnight and we sleep well.
Now the real voyage begins. We are up with the sun and have raised the anchor and set our course for the center of the channel by 0700 hours. We follow the NOAA ship "Thomas Jefferson" and a catamaran named "Muse" out through the long, rock-lined breakwater that leads from Charleston Harbor to the open Atlantic. Luckily there are no incoming cargo or container ships to hog the channel so we don't have to flex our maritime muscle before breakfast.
The day is clear, but the effects of an earlier storm keep the seas a bit lumpy, and we chart 3 to 4 foot chop all day long. Not bouncy enough to require clinging to rails, but bouncy enough to encourage sitting. A nice day for a cruise. As evening approaches the Captain and I discuss the watch schedule. We decide that, since I am more of a night person, I will take the 8 to midnight shift. A light dinner with the evening news and the Captain goes on break.
And so my watch begins. Our heading is 194 degrees and our course will take us about 60 miles offshore before the night is over. The moon has just passed its peak fullness and it rises slowly through a spooky mist of layered clouds on the eastern horizon. The reflected shimmer of its glow off the ocean is spectacular. The interior of Let's Dance is in full 'night mode.' No lights are on except the red courtesy lights in the passageways. The radar screens in the pilothouse are set at 6 and 12 mile ranges, respectively. The computer screen with our pre-planned route is dimmed as well. Only four hours. I can do this!
Being alone in the pilot house at night creates a strange dichotomy between serenity and uncertainty for me. It is a breezy night and the doors are open to the salty air. The splash of water slapping below is soothing, almost hypnotic, as it dances off the hull. A few stars and the amber harvest moon shed a cone of light on the ocean surface. The steady sweep of the radar images lulls me and all is well with my world at sea. But, at the same time, the lack of visibility and complete reliance on technology run counter to my desire for control. Sure, the radar will reveal any ships that wander into our path....won't it? That, and hey, it's really dark out there!
Finally, eight bells and my first watch is over. Captain Bill takes the helm. (He has been sleeping right behind me on the settee in the pilothouse during my entire watch...just in case.) We are too far offshore to have an internet connection so he is forced to entertain himself playing video solitaire and reading the newest Jack Reacher adventure. And, naturally, constantly scanning the radar screens for early warning signs of traffic. I retire to the salon with my pillow and slip immediately into peaceful mermaid dreams.
All too quickly his four hours give way again to my next four hours and the cycle begins again. The seas are broody and have strengthened while I was dozing, so the 0400 to 0800 watch is a little rougher ride. Once again, Captain Bill is right at hand should a calamity arise. Luckily, the only radar sighting for me is a 735 foot long cargo ship named Hammonia and she stays a very satisfactory 9 miles to the west of us. Smart ship!
This is the long-haul trucking of boating. We will trade watches for as long as it takes to get to West Palm Beach. We are now 24 hours in and still in good spirits. (I think Bill is secretly impressed that I am not whining or sulking.) The hours roll by -- Bill switches the fuel intake valve from starboard to port and back every six hours to maintain an even keel; on the even hours I record our lat and lon along with our course over ground, speed, the wave height and barometric pressure; odd hours Bill checks the engine room for leaks, notes rpms and load, fuel usage, drive shaft drip and temperature. Pretty exciting stuff, right?
When we're not logging data we read, eat, sleep or watch TV. We may be out of internet range, but we are not without entertainment. Satellite TV connects us to the world. We also have a satellite phone for those important ship-to-shore calls. And music.....always music.
At 1130 hours on day two of the cruise we are joined by a dolphin troop who race ahead and to the sides to jump our wake. Their act is followed by a fleet of flying fish skipping over the foamy waves. Little guys leaping for their lives in an effort to escape undersea predators. A lone gull sees a dining opportunity as well and circles the school. He leaves hungry, though. A loggerhead sighting right now would produce the perfect offshore trifecta! Wow, this is fun! It's like an aquarium out here. No, wait. It is an aquarium out here.
We maintain our southerly course, passing perilously close to the Naval Submarine Base at Kings Bay just north of the Georgia/Florida line. It is the home port of the fleet of ballistic missile nuclear subs armed with Trident nuclear weapons. Yikes! Nothing shows up on the radar screens, but these guys could be doing laps underneath us and we would never know. Best to move on out of their territory. We power on at a smart 6.6 knots. Good work, Let's Dance!
Another night, another dawn. Another day on the high seas. Once again the Captain relieves me at midnight, but by 0400 I am still drowsy, so I ask for a little more time. And then a little more time. It turns out that one night in a row is all I can actually manage on the four to eight shift. Bill pulls a 7 hour watch and encounters all sorts of excitement as I snooze away the hours in the salon.
A duet of cruise ships and an errant fishing boat keep Bill alert during the night and early dawn hours. Carnival and Disney ships return their guests from the Bahamas to Port Canaveral in the pre-dawn light. No problem with them -- they are so lit up you can see them almost 12 miles away on a clear night. Our longest radar has a 24 mile range. They can't sneak up on us! The fishing boat, however, was another matter. As Bill watched, first only on the night radar screens, then with his own eyes, the well-lit work boat closed in on Let's Dance. Bill zigged, they zagged. Again. And again. Finally, Bill stopped Let's Dance entirely and they crossed a mere 300 yards in front of us. Radio calls yielded no response. Hey you! Careful out there! I slept through it all.
And so day three begins. Forty-eight hours in and, as they say on Wall Street, we are "too long to be wrong." During breakfast, the Coast Guard breaks in on the radio with a warning for all mariners. They announce a satellite launch from Cape Canavarel at 1150 hours. This morning! The Atlas V rocket is going up. And the Coast Guard suggests, no, actually, demands, that all boaters vacate the area. Pronto! We're going as fast as we can, guys. For us, 7 knots is very close to our personal best for speed.
The seas have settled nicely as the cruise continues and by mid-day Saturday, half way down the coast of Florida, the ride is downright superb. Blue skies, flat seas, light winds. It doesn't get any better than this. We have consumed a fraction of the food we brought aboard, read most of the books and shared a lot of quality time together. We have made good time, avoided the north-flowing Gulf Stream by moving closer to shore and are preparing to bring this odyssey to a close. We will tuck in at Palm Beach Inlet and spend the night at the edge of the marine traffic lanes there before tackling the last few miles to the marina in the morning.
The inlet is in sight, but we have to do a few donuts offshore to allow a cruise ship to exit the narrow channel before making our way in. We are polite that way......that, and they are a lot bigger than us. A trio of dolphins leaps completely out of the water to celebrate our arrival and are silhouetted in the late afternoon sun. Thank you!
Sixty hours underway! Four hundred and fifty-two statute (that would be three hundred and eighty-three nautical) miles, an average of 6.383 knots per hour, no mechanical issues, no personnel issues. Independent thinking by the crew is not encouraged and I have behaved admirably under Captain Bill's excellent command. He said so. Let's Dance is now snugly afloat in slip 28, Old Port Cove Marina, clean as a whistle and awaiting her next adventure.
Happy holidays from Let's Dance........Carol & Bill
