Monthly Archives: December 2014

Tuesday, 9 December                                                            25.1 SM

Just keep the reds to the right and you can’t do wrong.

It’s hard to imagine an easier day, certainly not on the ICW.

Steadfast pulled off the pier at 0900 and onto a stretch of waterway that is fairly straight, fairly wide and fairly deep, depths mostly in the upper teens, even some low 20s. The timing couldn’t have been better as she caught a flood current that carried the entire trip and kept speeds well above 7 MPH most of the way.

True, the “balmy” 58F required more than shorts and tees, especially with a fairly steady ten-to-twelve out of the nor’west. But the sun felt good beating down on those layers of fleece.

There was a brief conversation with the master of the double-bascule bridge at Crescent Beach who promised “Maintain speed and bring ‘er on, cap’n. I’ll get her open fer ya.” And sure enough, he figured just right and Steadfast slid through the open spans without slowing a bit.

There’s not a lot of room left with a tug and barge coming the other way.

Later the skipper of a north-bound tug-and-barge was heard to warn the large motoryacht astern of Steadfast, “You need to come down off plane, captain.” The motoryacht did but then, Steadfast giving the tug a wide berth, the big girl proceeded to squeeze through between the other two vessels. Not the wisest of tacks, perhaps, but it worked.

Steadfast nestled in for the night on the dinghy dock.

Other than that it was a walk in the park. In fact, after three-and-a-half hours, the turn into park-like Palm Coast Marina opened to starboard and Steadfast slipped home for the night.

So, this report ends up being not unlike the day’s transit, i.e., brief.

Steadfast out.

Monday, 7 December                                                0.0 SM

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN JACKSONVILLE HAS ISSUED A WIND
ADVISORY…IN EFFECT UNTIL 3 PM EST THIS AFTERNOON…NORTH WINDS 15 TO 25 MPH…WITH GUSTS OF 35 TO 40 MPH.
NOAA weather statement

It’s been honking down the river, howling through the rigging since late last night. There’s a threat of showers, too, and with a high temperature of 57, wouldn’t that wind-driven rain feel good on the cheeks. Ooo, baby!

They string lights during the day, test at night.

So, you guessed it – Steadfast is not leaving the pier today. Maybe tomorrow when there maybe some sun and the wind is forecast to be a good bit more manageable.

Meantime, neighbors at River’s Edge continue to prepare their yachts for Saturday’s lighted boat parade. A lighted Pegasus on the bow pulpit is an imaginative touch.

Stay tuned.

Steadfast out.

Another foggy start to the day.

Saturday, 6 December                                                34.7 SM

Oh, man! More fog?! Whaddup wi’ dat? This makes three out of four days with Maine-iac fog. As in, visibility no more than a quarter-mile at best. But, hel-low, this is NOT Maine. Someone’s making a BIG mistake. Fog? Again? In Florida?

Well, mistake or not, there it is. Not quite as thick and foreboding as yesterday but enough to keep Steadfast on the pier a bit later than usual this morning. By 1035, the far side of the river has revealed itself, spurring hope that the day’s undertaking may be within reason. So she’s off, back onto the waterway and motoring southward once again and, again, virtually on her own. The occasional weekend angler but not a Snowbird to be seen.

A sloop lies abandoned in the marsh.

The twelve-mile cut through Ponte Verdra gives Ray-the-Smart-Pilot a chance to earn his keep. It’s long and straight. He troubles with the heading, even in these calm waters, but his performance at the helm is at least acceptable for the most part. It’s good to have him there to spell the helmsperson.

The fog, as forecast, burns off by noon or so and the rest of the day’s run is under some sun, some clouds (more clouds than the Chamber of Commerce would want you to believe), some sun again. On through the marshes she goes, a derelict yacht here, another one there. (Florida has a real problem with people parking their boats, then going away. A fiberglass boat is forever!) And then—boom!—waddya know, there’s Saint Augustine. The oldest permanent European settlement in the US, her historic waterfront is unique, unlike anything seen so far on the ICW.

The east bastion of Castillo de San Marcos, with walls as much as 19′ thick, has a commanding view of all of Mantanzas Bay.

There on the high ground is Castillo de San Marcos. The Spanish designed the ramparts so cannon with a range up to three-and-a-half-miles could be brought to bear on the inlet from the Atlantic, on Mantanzas Bay below or on any troops attempting a mainland attack. Although she changed hands a few times, it was always a peaceful transition; the Castillo never fell to enemy fire. Impressive.

Built in 1888, the Hotel Ponce de Leon is considered a masterpiece of Spanish Renaissance architecture.

Much of the hotel’s interior was designed by Louis Tiffany.

Likewise other sites in Saint Aug, the city gates, for instance. And the “new” by comparison Hotel Ponce de Leon, the opulent retreat that Henry Flagler built in 1888. The Ponce brought the first Snowbirds to

The handsome Bridge of Lions stands in the way of ICW traffic.

Florida but today serves as student residence and dining hall for Flagler College. And the newly-restored double bascule Bridge of Lions that spans the Mantanzas River to connect Saint Aug with Anastasia Island.

The harbor looks benign this evening but once the wind pipes-up tomorrow, it’ll get lumpy out there. Once through the Bridge of Lions, Steadfast looks for an option up the San Sebastian River and finds it at River’s Edge Marina, another one of those “rustic” arrangements of piers, decks, buildings, etc. that says “Old Florida.”

Appropriate, it would seem, for a city that is Florida’s, and the country’s, oldest.

Steadfast out.

Thursday, 4 December                                                            29.6 SM

Pelicans perch on the pier at Fernandina Harbor.

Talk about boring, this is it. But remember what the Old Salt always says, that at sea, you don’t want too much in the way of excitement; boring is good!

So Steadfast is underway at the ho-hum hour of 1000, motors ever-so cautiously into the waterway and two miles later, turns not-so-hard a-port into droll Kingsley Creek and the first of what passes for the day’s adventure, i.e., finding deep(er) water.

In a pattern for the day—and what may prove to be true for most of Florida—the bottom quickly rises from 30-something-feet to single-digits. There are readings in the 7s for a brief time, then slowly back into the low-teens. Sure, seven-feet is plenty for Steadfast. It’s just that when the readings keep dropping, there’s a point at which she’ll be aground. I’m just sayin’. It gets your attention.

Ray-the-Smart-Pilot is not much good in such situations. “Smart” as he may be, he’s not tuned into the depth meter. And on this leg of the ICW, there’s not much in the way of a straight stretch. It’s all long, arcing curves through the marshes, this one to port, the next to starboard, then to port and so on.

Gulls and pelicans know a snack awaits off the shrimper working Amelia River.

There’s a stretch crossing Nassau Sound that’s kind of fun, from a piloting point of view, as in, how wide do we need to swing around “46” to clear the shoal. But the most excitement comes when approaching the St. John’s River.

Still riding the ebb current down Sisters Creek, the speed-over-bottom bumps up to seven-miles-an-hour. Not bad. As soon as she pops out into the St. John’s, the river current cranks her up to 10-plus on the way to the Atlantic. It’s only about half-a-mile from the mouth of Sisters across to Pablo Creek. But it makes for a fun ride, the bow heading towards Pablo but the hull schussing sideways downstream ‘til Red takes over and says “Enough o’ this. I’m in control.” Thank you, Red.

Pablo Creek’s the easiest stretch of the day to the turn to port at Red “34” into Beach Marine, “family owned since 1994.” Convenient, for sure, and reasonable for this part of the world. Nothing remarkable, mind you. In fact, kind of boring.

But, hey, boring’s not bad.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 3 December                                                            0.0 SM

“There was a thick fog. A scow went by so close we could hear them talkin’ and cussin’ but we couldn’t see no sign of them. Jim said he believe it was spirits; but I says: “No, spirits wouldn’t say, ‘dern the dern fog’.”

Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

It’s hard enough to follow the ICW markers when you can see them, never mind in fog.

The idea was to get going again but never was the plan to get underway early. Good thing. Nature had other ideas.

Sometime during the night, a thick fog rolled up the coast and lay a thick gray-brown blanket over the ICW, like smoke from a fire of damp logs. Even the birds were grounded, flocks of them perched on the piers all day! The reports didn’t say how far inland the mist floated but it cut visibility on the waterway to as little as 50 yards at times. The forecast called for it to lift around 1000, then said 1300. A bit of sun did shine through around 1400 and a few boats got underway then. But the fog below never cleared totally and rolled in again with a vengeance about 1700.

At one point, the waterway just disappeared.

Maybe Maine felt rebuffed, not having been visited when Steadfast ventured north this past summer.  This definitely is a taste of Maine, a real Down East kind of fog.

Message received and the response the same as in Tenant’s Harbor two years ago: lay over, in this case to enjoy another day in Fernandina.

Steadfast out.

Monday, 1 December                                                                        32.8 SM

“O, frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! He chortled in his joy.” Lewis Carroll

This day at approximately 1500 hours, Steadfast slipped down Cumberland Sound, turned hard a-starboard and crossed the state line into Florida. Almost immediately, her speed improved and sun warmed the cockpit. What a great way to start her Flori-days.

TowBoat tries to help a big Beneteau sloop hard aground off Jekyll Point.

The current being what it was, it seemed prudent this morning to postpone departure from Jekyll to catch the tide as it came in St. Andrew’s Sound and ride it most of the way to Fernandina Beach, about a six hour run. Joe-the-Tow-Boat Guy, getting set to cast off his lines, confirmed the wisdom of waiting for a rising tide. He tried to explain how he happened to be headed out this morning.

“A doan know wha’ that boy wuz thinkin’. He jes’ curried the turn to 29-A and kept goin’, raht up on the shoal.” Shaking the mop of gray curls escaping under his faded ballcap, Joe added, “Ah doan think he’s goin’ nowhar’ fer awhahl.”

Green Can “79” is moved into position in King’s Bay.

The greens that mark Jekyll Point thusly were given a wide berth and, while there were moments when the depths dipped to single digits, this leg and the remainder of the day’s transit were without incident. For Steadfast, that is. Other vessels were heard alerting those nearby, “Don’t follow us. We’re aground!” Shoals abound down here.

There was some difficulty coming into King’s Bay, spotting Green “79,” the can marking the turn to port for Cumberland Sound. The difficulty was understandable. Ol’ “79” was underway at the time as the crew of a Coast Guard patrol boat prepared to put her back in service.

A number of boats lay at anchor off Cumberland Island.  With pristine beaches and a resident herd of wild ponies, this national park is high on the list of “must see” stops along the ICW. The shadows lengthening, wind picking up, it was decided that Cumberland would be a “must see” but on the trip home in the spring.

Circa 1860, she’s not the oldest house on Amelia but one of few left anywhere built of hand-hewn lumber fastened with pegs.

Fernandina Beach is well worth a visit in its own right. Six Flags, eat your heart out. Fernandina claims to be the only site in the US that has been under eight (8) flags! Count ’em – France, England, Spain, Confederacy, well, you get the idea.  A 50-block area of this city is on the National Register of Historic Places, resplendent in shades of pastel pink and yellow and lime green with a splash of white to brighten here and there.

A cargo ship loads at the Smurfit Paper wharf.

A touch of home looms on the waterfront: three-story tall conveyors spilling woodchips into house-sized piles, it’s a Smurfit Paper plant just like West Point!

Otherwise, it’s all Florida, including temperatures in the 70s, and we “chortled in joy!”

Steadfast out.