Cruise to Tarpon Springs and Back

 

Michael D. Biggs & Susan H. Nockton

 

Each year when Susan finishes teaching school we take off on a sailing cruise aboard Mariposa, an Island Packet 350. This year we left the home slip in Slidell the morning of June 7, headed for Tarpon Springs. We'd talked in the past about someday cruising the west coast of Florida, but this trip was to get a diesel generator (genset) installed. With the genset, we'd be able to run the boat's air conditioner while anchored out. Six years ago I thought I could get along anchored out with only fans, but over the years my tolerance for the heat has diminished, and I found that many summer weekends we weren't going out in the boat just because it was hot. Originally I'd hoped to have my dealer in Palmetto (south of Tampa) do the installation, but he was tied up. He recommended a company nearby, though, and they arranged for us to have a slip in Tarpon Springs, so off we went. Little did we realize when we set out that the cruise was to be a "good news, bad news" situation from beginning to end.

 

 

Gulf of Mexico Chart

This chart of the Gulf of Mexico shows our routes over (red) and back (blue). Note that on the trip over the offshore leg was a little less than half the total distance while on the return it was more like two-thirds. The area inside the magenta box is hazardous as it is either a bombing range or a missile range.

 

ICW scenes

The ICW through Alabama, east of Mobile Bay and into Florida.

 

ICW scenes

Foliage along the ICW west of Pensacola.

 

ICW scenes

The ICW near Destin, with the white sand characteristic of the area.

 

ICW scenes

You can't tell whether the mast will clear under a bridge by looking up the mast. There was no trouble in this particular case because there was more than twelve feet of clearance - according to the charts.

 

ICW scenes

Much of the ICW is narrow enough that one hates to encounter a towboat. We were in 7.5 ft of water when I took this picture, trying to stay clear of the towboat and its barge.

 

ICW scenes

We did see a pretty moon or two along the way.

 

ICW scenes

The foliage along the ICW changed a little by the time we approached Apalachicola.

 

 

We had until June 23 to arrive, which was good. About the best way to get into trouble sailing is to have a schedule that has to be met. The trip over, following the Intracoastal Canal (ICW), might be done in as little as six days, and we had sixteen. So it hurt nothing when we detoured north into Mobile Bay to visit old friends, Dick and Barbara Davis, in Fairhope, Alabama, on the third day out. The fourth day brought us to a favorite anchorage outside Pensacola, in the lagoon at Ft. McRae. The fifth day we came to two of the five nominally 50 ft. bridges we had to pass under if we were to remain in the ICW. I'd been under the bridge at Navarre Beach before, although it did bend the whip antenna on top of the mast back, and so it did this time, too. We anchored north of Destin near a very busy airport. The next day we went under another bridge, but should have gone under two. I really goofed when I elected to anchor on the west side of one of the low bridges because the next morning the tide was in, and we couldn't chance trying to get under it. We had to spend the day around Panama City, mostly at St. Andrews Bay, clearing under the bridge around 6 PM with just enough time to reach an anchorage before dark. Day eight we made it to Apalachicola where we tied up at a dock to enjoy genuine showers, air conditioning, and a restaurant meal prior to Susan's first through-the-night crossing.

 

The ICW goes through Apalachicola to end at Carrabelle, but a glance at the charts shows that going to Carrabelle doesn't get one any closer to Tarpon Springs. While it is possible, sort of, to cruise one's way around Florida's Big Bend, anchoring every night, it takes forever because so much time has to be spent running into and back out of the rivers to the anchorages that little progress is made moving around the bend. It is much better to look for decent weather, then hop straight across. It's about 150 miles from Apalachicola to Tarpon Springs, or about 25 hours at 6 knots (which is about 7 mph). Normal Gulf of Mexico waves will slow the boat to less than 6 knots unless the wind is good for sailing, but if we left first thing in the morning we'd have an additional twelve hours of daylight to arrive in the next day.

 

 

 

 

Dolphins riding the bow wave.

We were visited by several groups of dolphins that enjoyed riding in the bow wave. These dolphins were smaller than those we usually see along the Mississippi coast, but seemed more playful.

 

 

Most of our crossing to Tarpon Springs was idyllic, with so little wind that the water was almost glassy. On one of my night watches I saw dolphins playing in the quarter wave off the side of the boat, the first time I was ever able to see such a thing at night. In the early morning hours, though, thunderstorms jumped up ahead of us. They were very active, but we still managed to sneak into Tarpon Springs having encountered only a little light rain.

 

Tarpon Springs is an interesting town. Once a working village it now is a cross between a working sponge-diving town and a tourist town. About 100 years ago a native of Greece revolutionized the sponge "fishing" industry in the area by going down after them in a diving suit. He then wrote back to Greece about what a great place he'd found, and first thing you know the town had a substantial Greek population. Susan and I had recently watched the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," and found it played out in Tarpon Springs. I can't say that all the citizens of Greek ancestry have stayed within the Greek community, of course, but I can say that enough have that there is more evidence of it than only last names. For one, every restaurant in town seems to be run by a couple with a slight foreign accent. We enjoyed touring the Sponge Docks and eating the Greek food.

 

 

New red ship in shipyard across from marina.

I later watched this new ship on it maiden voyage. It was built from steel plates right where you see it.

 

Sunset from marina.

There were thunderstorms nearly every day while we were in Tarpon Springs, but that did lead to some pretty sunsets.

 

Bird reluctant to leave its perch.

This bird wasn't exactly tame, but it was far from wild. I think it also figured it could blend in with its surroundings.

 

Osprey nest.

An osprey nest right across the street from the marina office.

 

 

As for the boat, well.... The work started about five days after our arrival, as scheduled. The first genset installed did not seem to produce the electrical power expected, so the installers air freighted in a replacement. That added another four days to our stay. The morning after the second installation, we prepared to leave the slip, but when I turned on the ignition the engine wouldn't start. The symptoms were strange, so it wasn't until the next day that it was determined conclusively that the problem was totally dead batteries. These batteries were so dead that when the refrigerator tried to come on it would pull the charging voltage down enough that the refrigerator would immediately trip out. The fancy charger controller, meanwhile, would have detected the voltage drop just before the refrigerator tripped out, and changed its setting to apply a greater charge voltage, which wouldn't hit until just after the refrigerator tripped, with the result that the lights in the boat would first dim, then glow extra brightly a couple of times a minute. New batteries took another five days, plus $1500. By that time Susan was spending a week in Destin with girlfriends, as planned months previously.

 

I decided to single-hand the boat to Destin, where I'd anchor for another three days until Susan's week was up, then she could crew for the remainder of the trip back. I had a genset, so would have air conditioning while anchored, so why not? Three hours out of the slip in Tarpon Springs I realized that the engine wasn't charging the batteries, and the genset wouldn't charge them, either. I'd arrive in Destin with dead batteries, and no way to restart the engine. Also the main GPS wasn't finding satellites, so couldn't tell where the boat was. Back to the slip in Tarpon Springs. I'd thought the charging problems were due to the inverter/charger, since two sources wouldn't produce any charging, but not so. The problem with the engine alternator was a wire inadvertently disconnected during the previous work. The genset wouldn't charge the batteries because it was wired in downstream of the inverter/charger rather than upstream. So I called the genset installers to move the tie-in point, which they did. The GPS was fixed by the "simple" replacement of a $100 antenna. Well, it wasn't too bad, but it did take me two hours just to run the antenna through the bowels of the boat. These little things added another five days to my stay in Tarpon Springs, which was just as well. I picked Susan up in Destin (the rental car people got to know me really well) and we returned to the boat to make the return cruise to the home slip in Slidell. We pulled out of the slip (again) on Wednesday morning, July 16, bound for the channel into Pensacola 280 miles away. That was about 48 hours at 6 kts, but once again we'd have another twelve hours of daylight to get into the channel if we weren't able to average that six knots.

 

The weather forecast when we left was for weather much too good for us not to head out, but it also called for west winds up to 10 knots as we approached Pensacola. This isn't a very strong wind, but the direction would not only make any use of sails difficult, it would also produce waves we'd have to punch through. Initially, though, we had such light winds that the water surface again was smooth, and our view of dolphins and flying fish was unobstructed.

 

 

A flight of flying fish.

A flight of flying fish leap out of the surface, tailwalking to get airborne. One of them doesn't make it very far before splashdown. Sometimes they'll fly several hundred yards.

 

Flying fish tail-walk.

You can see the zig-zag pattern left in the wake as the flying fish uses its tail to attain flying speed.

 

 

Winds too light to sail, and too nearly on the nose, prevailed through the first thirty-six hours. As evening approached on the second day I turned on the radar, mostly to see if I could get a return from a sailboat we'd been trailing for several hours. I was surprised to see rain to the southeast. The clouds it was coming from were nondescript, and it looked like a simple, light shower. And it was, for the first twenty minutes, anyway. But just as it seemed we were breaking clear the lightning started, some of it striking less than a mile away. We finally did break clear only to find ourselves facing very active storms all around. It was about that time that Susan pointed to the west and asked, "What's that?" That was a funnel cloud. After watching it idly for about ten minutes I realized three things about it: it had long since touched the water, becoming a waterspout, I just hadn't been able to see the light-colored lower third of it against the light sky beneath the dark cloud; the bearing to the waterspout hadn't changed; and it was considerably closer than it had been when we first saw it. Not good. Over the next several minutes of watching, expecting some sign that it was going to veer off or disappear back into the cloud, I decided all we could do was to go below and button the boat up, which is what we did. With the thing no more than a couple of minutes away we watched as best we could through the boat's portholes. About the time it was within a minute of striking the cloud lowered to the point where the waterspout was a thick column instead of a long, snake-like thing, and the water was clearly visible at the base. Then it seemed to sit still for a couple of minutes, and then I couldn't see it. I stuck my head out of the hatch to find not a trace of any waterspout. Whew!

 

We weren't out of the storm yet, by a long shot. The worst wind and lightning were still to come. Thunderstorms at sea are scary things anytime, but it is especially scary at night because you can't see the waves. Finally, around 10:30 PM, things had calmed down enough that I could go below to get some rest. We'd planned all day for Susan to take the first watch, and she'd napped in preparation while I had avoided napping so that I could sleep early. Best laid schemes, etc.... There were still active thunderstorms ahead of us when I went below, but we'd had them before. If we ran into them, I'd come back out. As it happened, they dissipated and the night was largely clear when I returned to the cockpit around 2:30 AM, Susan having dutifully kept the watch until that time. This was quite an introduction to offshore cruising for her, but she'd come through well. Along about daybreak when Susan emerged from a well-deserved sleep of her own we reached the channel into Pensacola, right on schedule. By 8:30 AM Friday morning we were anchored in the lagoon next to Ft. McRae, with the genset and air conditioner running. We napped for a couple of hours, and generally rested through the day.

 

About 5 AM Saturday morning the genset ceased to provide electricity.

 

We headed out shortly after daybreak, to refuel and make our way to Dauphin Island outside Mobile. When we neared Dauphin Island that afternoon there were some serious storms in the area, and strong west winds were expected, and neither were compatible with the anchorage I'd had in mind. We therefore diverted to Billy Goat Hole at the east end of Dauphin Island. I'd read about the place, but the channel into it doesn't show up well on the chart, and it wasn't clear that the channel was deep enough for sailboats. Some of what I'd read indicated it ought to be suitable for sailboats, though, and this seemed like the time to find out. We made it in, anchored just inside Confederate Pass, and even made it back out the next morning, but we sure did see some shallow water along the way. That anchorage inside Confederate Pass offers excellent protection from all directions, if the boat can only get to it. Sunday we motored on, with the wind continuing to be too light and too much on the nose for sailing, anchoring on the east side of Cat Island. It got rough during the night, but the wind was coming directly over the island, so we were placed as well as we could be. Monday we motored on, reaching our home slip a little before 4 PM, tired, but happy to be back.

 

The genset is due to be repaired tomorrow. After that, we'll have air conditioning and battery recharging anytime we want it. At least, most folks with gensets have that. The day after the waterspout Susan indicated she wasn't going to be an offshore sailor, but by the time we got back to Slidell she wasn't ruling it out totally. We may stick with short passages for the next couple of years, though.

Epilog: The genset has been repaired. The problem was a badly crimped connection that overheated and failed. I'm relieved, because the nature of the failure does not indicate any sort of continuing problem.

 

 

Please take me to sailing little boats!

Please take me back to the home page!

 

Send e-mail to Mike:

mikebiggs02@earthlink.net