Friday, 12 December                                                                                    37.2 SM

It doesn’t feel like it but the heading is correct.

Some days, there’s just not a lot to report. No remarkable photo ops. No unexpected adventures. Just miles and hours of moving farther south.

This is good. And this is the case with this day. Not much out of the “Florida” ordinary, although thick clouds cast a gloom that would not meet the approval of the tourist bureau. Decidedly un-Floridian.

The NASA Space Museum includes a space shuttle.

Steadfast pulled out of Titusville and back into the waterway at 0925, slipped under the highrise and was on her way back down the Indian River. The NASA Causeway Bridge was the only span to contend with today. The others all were of the ersatz 65’ variety, although judging from the clearance boards, you wouldn’t want to transit today with a mast that’s 64’. Something’s gotta give and it’s generally not the bridge.

Fishing Eau Gallie Creek draws a crowd.

Not much traffic. Three or four southbound boats passed (don’t they all?), CG Auxiliary buzzed by and that’s about it. For six hours.

The Indian is wide yet remarkably shallow. The waterway’s controlling depth is 12’. Readings most of the day were 10 or 11 but stray out of the ICW and it quickly shoals to four, three feet or less. Lots of catamarans along the shores. That or derelicts. And on the shores, big homes. None of that “fish camp” stuff. Merritt Island to the east; Palm Shores, Cocoa, etc. to the west. Big yards, big homes.

On to Eau Gallie. There’s no definitive explanation for the origin of the name. “Eau,” we know, is French for water. That much makes sense (except pronounced locally as “you” not the French “oh”). “Gallie?” Maybe corruption of “Gallic?”

Eau Gallie’s oldest house was built in 1902 by businessman John Rostetter.

Who cares? Whatever, it’s an intriguing spot. There’s a long narrow seven-foot channel that snakes in from the river, around a bend and—boom—there’s the basin. Wooden fixed piers, several liveaboards and a couple of boats in the soon-to-be-derelict category.  If you want a slip—overnight lows still are forecast in the low 40s—call Karen, the canvas lady. (Go figga. Not the marina, mind you. The canvas lady.) Buck a foot, 30-amp included. Cash or check only. Gotta luv it.

Kinda like a day with not a lot to report. Gotta luv it.

Steadfast out.

Thursday, 11 December                                                            32.6 SM

Forty-seven degrees doesn’t sound so bad this morning, not to anyone awaking north of the Carolinas. In Mathews, Virginia, for instance, it’s freezing, as in thirty-two degrees. And it’ll be 47-degrees out on the Chesapeake someday soon when some (fool) skipper goes out for a daysail. And enjoys it! But there should not be much debate that on a boat on the water, 47-degrees is chill-eeee.

A long line of traffic leads the way southward.

Forty-seven, as you may have discerned, is the temperature as Steadfast pulls away from the pier this morning and noses out into the waterway. Sunny, mind you, a sun that burns with a bright enticement to every Snowbird underway today, keep moving south.

The chill comes from a northerly breeze of ten or so knots, with a puff now and again that’s enough to make one check to be sure his collar’s pulled all the way up, the watchcap all the way down. It’s also enough to coax out the genny and pull the boat along a half-a-knot faster. Faster is good. And since this is an area with no tide, there’s no tidal current. Whatever way you make, you make.

Florida has a real problem with “homeless” boats.

This stretch of the Indian River is fairly narrow, less than a quarter-mile mostly between the mainland to starboard and a series of small islands covered in palms and plopped randomly along the way. There’s a “fish camp” or two, a boat ramp and a string of humble one-stories that probably date to the 50s.  And for a change, there’s a steady stream of Snowbirds passing by, making the route even easier to follow.

The Indian River is lined with what look like little desert isles.

The ICW then runs down Mosquito Lagoon about 12 miles, pretty much a straight shot all the way to the hard right into Haulover Canal. The bascule bridge opens and Steadfast then is back into the Indian but with the wind—and waves—on the beam, it’s not all that pleasant. It’s almost five miles of a short chop across to where the waterway again turns southward and the wind once again is off the starboard quarter. Ahhhh. Better.

There’s a friendly welcome and good-bye at the city marina.

The city of Titusville’s built a nifty marina, tucked into a quiet basin behind breakwaters and all but surrounded by park. There’s fuel, pumpout, ice, a small ship’s store and it’s not far into town. So pretty much everything a sailor needs right there.

And, out of the wind, it’s warmer, too.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 10 December                                                            43.2 SM

Steadfast goes nowhere without “On the Water Chart Guide.”

It appeared the highlight of the day would be chatting with the skipper of Semi-Local, the power catamaran that passed Steadfast about 1030. Not that it’s unusual that a power cat would pass Steadfast. After all, ev-v-v-v-erybody passes Steadfast. No. What makes this notable is it’s Semi-Local, the “home office” of Diana and Mark Doyle, editors of the world-famous “On the Water Cruising Guides.” Along with the books, Mark and Diana are key persona of the now-annual Hampton Snowbird Rendezvous, a three-day seminar that’s now a “must do” for anyone plotting this endeavor. Likewise, their publications—hard copy or on-line—are, at the risk of hyperbole, indispensable to anyone who does The Ditch. They’re great!

Empty boosters go by at New Smyrna.

So that was fun, seeing Diana and Mark motor past, ever so slowly, and swap a few notes of their current role co-leading the Sail Magazine ICW Rally headed to Miami. Check out that blog on line.

From there, it was pretty much just stay in the middle. Keep ‘er between the banks. All the way down to the turn off to New Smyrna Beach. Then, Steadfast pulls off the ICW at the NSB boat basin just before a pair of tugs—one towing the other pushing—coax around the curve a big barge loaded with the boosters from NASA’s latest launch. Now, that’s interesting. One just doesn’t see Mars launcher boosters every day. Not in Hallieford, at least.

Josie takes time at Half Wall to visit with a couple of Dad’s friends.

Then, with her once settled in her slip and on a walk into town, there was the introduction to Josie, daughter of our Com-Pac friend Bob up in frigid New Jersey. She works at The Half-Wall, a brew pub just a few blocks up from the waterfront that boasts something on the order of 80 different craft brews from all over the country. It was great fun meeting her and, thus, fulfilling Bob’s request (the fish-and-chips are good, too). Josie’s a charmer, just like her dad! But then, stepping out into the December evening, it became apparent that the rest was just prelude. The day’s true highlight—or perhaps, more accurately, highlights—sparkled above in the palms that line Canal Street. Downtown New Smyrna is something to behold this time of year, bedecked as she is in ways a non-Floridian just can’t conceive.

These qualify as highlights by any measure!

Christmas lights illuminate the palm fronds that spread high above Canal Street. Now those, friends, are high lights! Steadfast out.

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.

Sunday, 30 November                                                0.0 SM             69F !!

The Clubhouse was built as the center of life for those who wintered on Jekyll.

The climate here is categorized as subtropical, of which Britannica’s definition is “a major climate type characterized by relatively high temperatures throughout the year.” Aboard Steadfast, the definition is simpler. Just say “wonderful!”

Along with an attractive climate, Jekyll has a fascinating history. For a brief period, it was home, they say, to a fleet of pirate ships. In 1858, fifty years after Congress outlawed the importation of slaves, the Wanderer landed 400 Africans on the island’s eastern shore. The smugglers were indicted but never convicted.

The chapel was built just behind the Clubhouse.

After the late unpleasantness, former Confederate Army officer Newton Finney bought nearly all of it and, together with his brother-in-law, began developing the Jekyll Island Club. It became an exclusive hunting preserve, winter playground for gentlemen of America’s wealthiest families (Vanderbilt, Morgan, Rockefeller, Pulitzer and the like), the same crowd that built summer cottages along Newport’s Bellevue Avenue. Several of those big wigs listened in as the head of AT&T placed the first trans-continental phone call here in 1915.

One must be properly outfitted for croquet on the lawn.

The state bought the island in 1947 for just $675,000 and since then, it’s been open to the public. There are miles and miles of paved bicycle trails which were put to good use on a tour of the historic district. The Jekyll Island Clubhouse now is a grand hotel which converted to guest rooms some of those former homes of the wealthy. There are four golf courses, oceanside beaches, hotels, gift shops, two small marinas (each just fine but neither reflecting the ritz of the island’s past) and a few places to eat.

Oh, and a subtropical climate.

Steadfast out.