Slow Boat

Crab pot buoys are really kind of pretty.  Some folks string 'em on rope to decorate their porches. Boaters hate 'em

We made another long haul yesterday, from Cedar Keys to Anclote Key, which is just off the coast from Tarpon Springs. We were out of sight of land--except for the tall stacks of a nuclear plant, which made a useful navigational landmark.  About the only other thing we saw all day were dolphins and crab-pot floats.

Other Loopers warned us: "In this stretch of water, watch out for crab pots!" To answer a question received off-blog, here's a short treatise on "everything you always wanted to know about crab pot floats" . . .  and why they strike fear in the hearts of boaters.

Commercial crab fishermen ("crabbers") use "pots" or traps--round or square mesh boxes. Crabs find their way in but they can't find their way out. (Click here for pictures of stone crab traps.) Best bait: a fish head or pig's feet. By law, these crab pots must be marked by crab pot buoys--little round styrofoam floats, smaller than a soccer ball. They come in a rainbow of solid colors and stylish stripes. Each buoy must display its "state-issued stone crab endorsement number." (Kind of like a trout fisherman has to wear his fishing license pinned to his vest, in case the warden comes around.)

If you are wondering, "Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?" . . .  I mean, SlowBoat, well, we left Steinhatchee before dawn Tuesday morning:  air temperature 19 degrees,  boat decks and solar panels liberally coated with ice.  After 10 hours of hard driving under a clear but cold sky we finally dropped anchor last night outside of Cedar Keys, Florida (population 790).

First the "Grand Canyon of Florida," and now here we are at the "Niagara Falls of Florida"

I am not a pig. I am a "Hoover Hog"

Santa sells seafood by the seashore. Say it six times fast!

In a small town like Steinhatchee, nuthin's open on Christmas Day. I mean, nuthin'.  So we went foraging for provisions the day before, to tide us over.  Imagine our surprise to find THIS guy selling seafood at the Steinhatchie Fish House!

We had rented a car--which is to say we gratefully paid $20 bucks to borrow the aging Ford Explorer usually reserved for the resort housekeeper to make her rounds in-- so we could do a spot of sightseeing.  First stop: The Road to Nowhere.

We're holed up in the tiny fishing town of Steinhatchee, Florida (population 738), waiting out the weather. Our intrepid little canal boat has more than proved she can take on big water . . . but though we're crazy, we're not stupid! When the forecast is for wind more than 15 knots or "Waves 2 to 4 feet" or more (10 feet this weekend!)  we stay in port.

There's MUCH to interest us in Steinhatchee.  Like oysters.  LOTS of oysters

A boater we talked to the other day said, "I spent a week in Steinhatchee once. Longest year of my life."  But we like small towns, where the guy who nods "hello" in a store will later stop when he sees you walking by the side of the road and offer you a ride, and where the local diner is decorated with so many lights, you'd swear you are INSIDE a Christmas tree.

The Steinhatchee River Welcoming Committee and Boat Review Board

We're docked on the Steinhatchee River, waiting for better weather before we continue our travels south. 

If you want to see the view--as we see it--check out the Steinhatchee River WebCam!

I am strong, I am invincible, I am ready to pilot my boat for 15 hours non-stop across the Gulf of Mexico!

We've spent the last few weeks plotting and planning how to cross Florida's "Big Bend"--the U-bend where the Panhandle meets Florida's West Coast. The Gulf IntraCoastal Waterway doesn't go around the bend; to get to the West Coast you HAVE to cross open water.

For a boat as slow as ours, it's quite a puzzle how to make the crossing. You have to factor in the hours of daylight available, the timing of the tides, predicted wave height and wind direction, and which harbors a creeping SlowBoat can reach before the weather changes. The Cap'n spent hours checking charts and seeking local knowledge. Finally, a plan: Early Tuesday we would leave Carabelle, Florida, and cross to Steinhatchie, a fishing town. Total distance about 75 miles. 

If you're wondering why the blog has been quiet the past few days, we've been holed up in Apalachicola monitoring events at home, where two of our nearest and dearest have had some health challenges.  It's hard to write hearty travelogues when you're worried sick. 

(If you'd like to see some photos from the past few days, check the latest Facebook album.)

Our pretty docksite in Apalachicola

Dear friends have cared lovingly for our son, and Dad is surrounded by family and doing better.  In the middle of all the worrying we nearly forgot that we were celebrating an anniversary: 27 years of wedded bliss. 

Twenty-seven years.  Plenty of psychologists have interviewed passels of old married fuddy-duddies, trying to worm out the secret answer to the question, "How do people manage to stay married?" 

Indeed, when we told folks we were planning this trip, it was remarkable how many woman (how VERY many women) said to me, "I could NEVER be on a boat with just my husband for that long."  At the beginning of our trip, a friend was taking bets:  "How many days on the boat till Cynthia runs ashore, screaming?"  Amazingly, no one has collected yet. 

"I didn't eat all of these oysters--but I could have!"

One goal, on this boat trip, has been "eating locally."  We visit farmer's markets, and we eat at restaurants that feature local ingredients, and we pore over grocery-store shelves to find local products such as meats, cheeses, honey, and flour.  

Right now we're in Apalachicola, Florida, where the most famous locally produced food item is oysters.  

One in ten oysters eaten in American restaurants comes from this little patch of protected waters. Ten percent of the residents are oyster fishermen.  Some streets are paved with oyster shells. The local radio station is "Oyster Radio." 

Of course you are wondering, has this area been affected by oil from the Deep Horizon spill?  

It's been a thrill to see dolphins all around our boat.  CLICK HERE for  a slide show. (Sorry, this slide show no longer available.)

P.S. More new posts below

Cap also repaired the dinghy's broken gunwhale

We've been working our way along the underside of the Florida panhandle, following the network of canals, bays, and sounds that make up the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway.

The scenery says "Florida":  Palm trees and beaches with sand like white sugar and dolphins leaping from sparkling blue water.

The air temperature says "Upstate New York."  Just our luck to visit during a record cold snap.

Sunday night, we tied gratefully at the dock at Port St. Joe and on Monday, while the crew shopped for thermal underwear at the town's lone clothing store, the Cap'n visited three hardware stores, two dollar stores, three furniture stores and an auto parts store, looking for construction supplies to winterize the boat.

Because of this trip, I'm now paying rapt attention to news stories I might have skimmed in the past. Like the story today, in the New York Times: "U.S. Vulnerable to Rare Earth Shortages." China is the world's leading producer of rare earth minerals, and the nation is moving to limit exports.

Why should I care?

Because our electric motor--the one that lets Dragonfly run with the sun--uses several kinds of rare earth.

Guess what I'm wearing under my rain suit!

Back in Mobile, Alabama, the crew of the Dragonfly were mistaken for homeless people.  At the time, we contemplated our oil-stained sweatshirts, our frayed, wrinkled shorts, and our broken-down belts (the ones with the extra holes inexpertly punched using a hammer and nail) and said, "So what?"

But lately, the weather forecast has included "gale force winds."  Overnight temperatures have been so cold, the marina turned off the water supply lines on the docks for fear of a damaging freeze-up.

When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.  

We're in a small town, so the clothing store options are limited.   But Port St. Joe does have an "outdoor outfitters" store . . . a retail category which sometimes means, "Your options in Gore-tex-coated polar fleece are limitless," and sometimes means, "Get your bikinis and novelty T-shirts here."  

Our first foray into uncharted--oops I mean charted--waters

If only I had battery-powered socks, life would be perfect!

Fortified by a hot bath and good night's sleep in an actual bed, we put on every item of clothing we possessed and left Fort Walton Beach on Thursday morning (air temperature 35 degrees, wind 5 to 10 knots), aiming straight across Choctawhatchee Bay.

By taking turns at the helm for 20 minutes at a time, we made it through the day . . .  and approached our anchorage, just beyond the Choctawhatchee Bay Bridge, a little before dusk.  

The sun had finally warmed the air, and the pale blue water was flat calm. Just outside the channel, the water was very shallow, and we could see a large flock of birds--pelicans, gulls, and common loons--all foraging together. 

The Capn' turned off the engine for a moment, and in the stillness we could hear the loons making plaintive little hoots--gentle sounding, very different from their crazy summer laughter.

"Look at that!" Cap said.  "Something's going on UNDER the water."  He pointed to an area where ripples were spreading on the flat, blue-gray metallic surface of the bay.

Cap'n gives the thumbs up to this "Blue Angel" jet. Goes a trifle faster than our boat.

The last post left Dragonfly scurrying through the cold and the winds to Pensacola, Florida . . .  where we found a grateful haven at Palafox Pier, a downtown marina.

About two weeks ago, back on the Tenn-Tom, we'd shared an anchorage--and drinks and laughs--with sailboaters Jeannie and Ron . . . who keep their boat at Palafox and live near the marina. Like rescuing angels, they plucked us off of our cold boat and fed us dinner--Jeannie's homemade shrimp and grits.  (Watch out, Emeril, and beware, Paul Prudhomme, you gentlemen have serious competition.)

Next day Ron loaned us his truck for a visit to the National Naval Aviation Museum, which has sufficient awesomely cool planes to make the average 8-year-old boy pass out with pleasure.

And behind those dunes . . .  the open ocean!

Picture this:  You're skiiing in Vermont, knees bending rhythmically as you bounce up and down, over the moguls.  It's a sunny day, but the cold finds its way into the little gaps at your wrists and neck.  The wind rushes past your face, making your eyes water.  Inside your fleece gloves, your fingers are starting to sting, and your toes are numb inside your boots.

Now image this:  While you are skiiing, you lower virtual-reality goggles in front of your eyes. It's still cold and windy, but instead of white snow and ice-covered spruce trees, you see a white sand beach, backed by low dunes and fronted by ultramarine water. You see umbrellas in bright primary colors shading lounge chairs, rustic wooden piers where pelicans stretch and preen, a fringe of palm trees.

That's what it was like to cruise the Gulf Intracoastal Waterway yesterday.

Wind turbine in paradise:  Just steps from our boat to this ecofriendly Margaritaville

When the bar band strikes up the Jimmy Buffet anthem "Margaritaville," do you know all the words and sing along?

Another Saturday night, and SlowBoat was docked literally steps from the actual Margaritaville: Lulu's. This funky restaurant is owned and operated by Jimmy Buffet's sister, Lucy. We're told that 10 years ago this place was a dive; these days it's an engineered tropical paradise, serving cheeseburgers to as many as 4,000 guests a day in summer.

I wandered around Sunday morning, checking out the palm trees, the candy-colored lawn chairs, the thatched-roof tiki bar, the pretend-beach with its gleaming white sand . . . and the wind turbine.  Huh?

Dog River Marina on Mobile Bay.  Ho Ho Ho, transient slips for rent!

You know how it is: Thanksgiving rolls around, and next thing you know, Christmas decorations are everywhere.

We left Dragonfly tucked up in a side channel on the west of Mobile Bay last week while we flew home to snowy Upstate New York, to spend Thanksgiving with the Cap'n's family.

How amazing to travel 600 mph in a plane.  And . . . how quickly we burned through the "carbon footprint" savings we'd accumulated over the past 6 months by running with the sun.

After a wonderful week with family and friends, we are now back on the boat. And as of today, our SlowBoat is half-way through her grand adventure. She has travelled 3,000 miles in 6 months, with 3,000 more miles to go in the next six months.

Little canal boats all in a row . . .  shrink-wrapped and ready for winter.  Photo courtesy of Doug Wilson

Right now, the Dragonfly is docked under the sun on the slightly salty waters of Mobile Bay. Today she got this postcard from her brothers and sisters, back home on the Erie Canal. Great to hear from you, guys!