Our First Voyage - December 2004

The First Voyage of the s/v Jupiter’s Smile
December 1 – December 4, 2004
The Harborage Marina, St. Petersburg, FL toward the Kemah Boardwalk Marina, Kemah, TX

December 1

After paying our slip fee and checking out of the Harborage Marina, we said good bye to new friends Randy and Jackie Williams (IP350 s/v Tenacious) and Lord Nelson, their dachshund, Tim Redfearn and Holly (Island Trader s/v Outer Marker.)
At about 1000 we motored away in sunny, warm, calm conditions on a course towards the I-175 Sunshine Bridge bound for the Gulf of Mexico. By noon we motored under the bridge with the outgoing tide and set all sails for the WNW beat out the ship channel.

Surprisingly, there was not a single ship in the channel and it was not until we got out into the Gulf that we saw any ships at all. Then we saw at least six as they sped across the waters towards Tampa Bay. By then we were north of the channel, safely away from their headings and we simply marveled at how large they are and how quickly they travel.

We sailed until the wind died then motored toward our destination for the night, a cove off the Gulf Intra-Coastal Waterway (GICW) just inside John’s Pass and behind Madeira Beach. The tide was coming in and the bridge tender responded to our request for “an opening at your earliest convenience” with a prompt opening so we didn’t have to hold our position in front of the bridge in the swift current. We motored out of the Gulf toward the GICW, following the channel markers carefully. Turning to port, we found the cove to be quite shallow, but the time was approaching when we had better find a place to anchor before it got too much darker. We decided that seven feet of water was acceptable and dropped the hook.

As Barbie made dinner, I noticed that the incoming boat traffic favored the western shore of the unmarked and uncharted cove entrance where we had slowly navigated the center. I resolved to leave in the morning during low tide using the western shore route favored by the locals.

Over the dinner dishwashing I reflected that the day had been successful in that we sailed well through 2-3 foot seas, we avoided ship traffic, we navigated well, we kept a good log, the GPS stopped working for about 10 minutes, but we still kept our bearings and knew our course, we communicated by VHF radio to the bridge tender, we negotiated the swift current under the bridge, we found our way up the channel, we selected an anchorage and set the anchor, we had a great dinner and all was set for the rest of the trip … except for the plan for the next day. Did we want to continue to hop up the coast and sleep at anchor each night or head out into the Gulf and sail overnight toward the panhandle of Florida? We listened to the weather radio forecast of sunny skies, moderate northerly winds and moderate sea chop.

December 2

In the morning the forecast had not changed so we activated the windlass and hauled in about 10 pounds of mud with the anchor. While I slowly motored out into the channel Barbie went to the bow to brush mud off the anchor. We detected no less than six feet of water now that it was low tide and we were to the west of center. I called the bridge for an opening and the bridge tender did a good job of timing our passage under him. Passing the bridge, the Gulf looked different this morning as waves crashed on an exposed sand bar along the channel. This bar had been covered when we came in last evening and I appreciated that it had been a good idea that we had followed the channel markers carefully. We had light wind out of the northwest now, our desired course direction, so we kept motoring through small swells. Now that we were back in the Gulf it was time to decide where to go. Hugging the coast would make the trip a long one and while we had no deadline we were on a bit of a timetable – Barbie needed to be back at work from wherever we were by December 16th. Going straight west would put us in Texas by the 9th, but we would likely encounter ship traffic, oil platforms, our insurance would not cover us beyond 100 nautical miles from land and we had never even been beyond sight of land before. I decided on a compromise, to head for the eastern part of the Florida panhandle, Apalachicola. I don’t think Barbie approved as much as consented.

While the navigation system kept track of us we kept our paper log as well so that if yesterday’s GPS failure occurred again we would still know where we were and where we had to go. I used the cell phone to speak with Will Dittmer, our dealer about the GPS problem and he said that it happens sometimes, but we were doing the right thing by keeping our log and charts. Just to put you at ease in this regard, the GPS worked flawlessly for the rest of the trip. I also asked him about the best approach into Apalachicola Bay. He thought that we should skip Apalachicola, go further west, round Cape San Blas and make for Port St. Joe. He also suggested I call Keith Turner of Turner Marine, the Island Packet Dealer in Mobile, Alabama, for advice as well. Keith agreed.

I laid in the course on the navigation system and the autopilot kept us motoring on a heading of 309 degrees, straight into the wind and swells on our nose. By afternoon we were out of the sight of land for the first time in our sailing experience and soon after that we were past the last fishing buoys with nothing but blue water as far as the eye could see... No boats …. Nothing …….. Just the Gulf of Mexico, its wind, its waves …

And us.

The wind was forecast to shift out of the northeast and since we were headed northwest that would have been great. The wind got stronger, but it didn’t shift. It remained on our nose. For 24 hours it would remain on our nose. Barb began to feel a little queasy. While she went below to made dinner for me, she ate crackers and peanut butter and felt better. Staying topside in the cockpit helped some too.

Our first sunset at sea was a good one.

The seas were expected to be 6 – 8 feet, which meant that there might be waves 12 – 16 feet high from time to time. They were.

Laurence Draper, of the National Institute of Oceanography, says that one wave in 23 is over twice the height of the average wave. One in 1,175 is over three times the average height. One in 300,000 exceeds four times the average height. I didn’t expect to be far from land for more than 36 hours so we would be subject to 21,600 waves, give or take. Statistically, eighteen or nineteen waves might exceed 18 - 24 feet high and only one, if any, would exceed 24 - 32 feet. We were far enough from land to experience this effect except we were in the Gulf of Mexico. The water depth along our course did not exceed 120 feet, so the wave heights would not reach the extremes predicted by Draper for deep water. However, the frequency of the waves was greater, a period of six seconds maybe, so the boat motion was plenty disrupted. Wave theory and statistics not withstanding, when the larger waves hit, the boat’s forward motion (already down to about 3.5 knots) was almost halted. During the night the waves were parted and shed to the sides beautifully by the hull design. The rounded coach roof shed the larger waves that the anchor platform managed to scoop aboard the deck before they reached very far aft and the water flowed harmlessly past the gunnels back into the sea. The bow light at the top of the pulpit rail illuminated those rare waves that submerged it and even those waves didn’t reach as far back as the mast before they too fell away.

At the 2001 Annapolis Boat Show we heard Alva Simon speak and remembered his response vividly when he was asked how often he practiced man overboard drills. After a long pregnant pause with disdainful glare, he responded in a voice restrained just below a controlled scream that there is no excuse for a person to be involuntarily overboard. Never. Not ever!

Just like Alva Simon, we had been wearing our safety harness equipped, inflating life vests whenever we were underway. Now we had tethers clipped onto strong points of attachment inside the cockpit and to our safety harnesses. We had jack lines in place (webbed safety straps that we attach from the cockpit to the bow cleats) should the necessity arise where we would need to leave the comfort and safety of the cockpit and go forward on deck. Attaching our tether to a jack line would prevent being swept overboard.

From time to time, on three occasions during the night I could see lights in the distance. The radar screen revealed the heading, speed and distance of the lights from us and although the waves periodically hid the lights from view the radar kept a steady and capable lookout. The first lights appeared at about 2300, slightly astern of our starboard side and passed forward of us crossing to our port side. The radar showed that the vessel was doing nine knots and never got closer than 3 nautical miles. The second sighting was a trio of boats on the radar maneuvering at low speed. I inferred that they were fishing boats dragging their nets. We got as close as 1000 yards to them and by using binoculars I could see that they were shrimp boats with their long booms extended. The third sighting was another trio of boats headed in the direction opposite to ours passing two miles off our port side. I imagined that they were pleasure boaters traveling together toward the warmth of the Florida Keys or beyond. I also imagined the wind at their backs and following seas. I had adjusted to the boat’s motion and the sounds of variations in the engine’s speed, resigned myself to the 3.5 – 4 knot laboring into the wind and seas and had begun to be attuned to my surroundings. From time to time between the sounds of the boat spray and the moan of the wind I could hear the breathing of dolphins exhaling as they swam nearby. I embraced the conditions in a Zen like state. Barbie succumbed to mal-de-mare at about 0700.

December 3

Part of Barbie’s research this morning revealed a flaw in our boat’s design. Until now we had believed that the statement, “all boat designs are a compromise.” did not apply to Jupiter’s Smile. She was perfect for our purpose and us.

On our boat, facing the head (which was what Barbie was doing fairly often) the mast is just to the left of the head. On a cutter rigged sloop the mast is usually set slightly aft of the mast of a single headsail rig. Barbie discovered that she would have preferred that the head had been placed even farther aft to lessen the effect of the boat rising and falling in the heightened wave action. I have seen boat designs where there is a head in the most forward space in the interior layout. I would think that such a design would require a seatbelt during normal head operation and if a crewmember were vomiting instead, certainly all would be lost.

We were just within our insured distance from land both ahead and astern, but still had more than a day, at this rate, before we would reach Port St. Joe. The wind would continue and therefore the waves would build. Cape San Blas has the nickname Cape sand blast and I was concerned about the sea conditions we might encounter there. The ICW goes well inland from Apalachicola to Port St. Joe and it was looking more and more inviting even though I was not sure of the approach into Apalachicola Bay. Barbie was sick and in misery. If I became as sick as she was we would be in trouble. We had taken enough of a beating. I altered course about 15 degrees to starboard to head toward Apalachicola and a lee shore with hopes that the seas would abate as we got closer to land. As we got closer, I would call on the VHF radio and get local advice or hope to follow another boater from the Gulf into the Sound. With the wind and waves slightly off our port bow the magnitude of our boat motion decreased, but it introduced a slow rolling motion. I deployed the equivalent of a triple reefed mainsail and that did three things. Having the sail up to stabilize the boat dampened her rolling motion. Having the sail up increased boat speed to about 5 knots. Going 5 knots was great except for when that predictable 23rd wave hit us and the spray would fly against the dodger and over the bimini. Remarkably, Barbie was so exhausted that she remained asleep on the starboard bench of the cockpit. On one occasion (it must have been wave #1,175) the boat pitched and Barbie, asleep on her back, was suddenly catapulted off the seat and, still asleep, plopped face down onto the cockpit sole. I had been awake for about 27 hours and this moment struck me to be similar to a sequence from a Roadrunner cartoon. It seemed surreal and funny. I did not laugh because Barbie had struck very hard. I asked if anything was broken and after a response (a good thing) of , “No!” (another good thing) I dropped the seat cushion next to her and said, “Stay there!” I returned my attention to the helm. She was too exhausted to get up and get ice for the welt she was sure would appear, but her hands were so cold that she pressed them against her forehead and that must have sufficed because, while it was sore for the rest of the week, neither welt nor discoloration appeared. After several hours, several trips to the head and fitful sleep in the cockpit, the sole in the head and the aft cabin berth, Barbie arose to make me a late lunch. Seeing her much recovered and lunch were both welcome sights. Either the wind was dying down or we were feeling the lee of the land we were approaching because the ride got considerably better. I increased the mainsail to only one reef, set the genoa and shutdown the engine for the first time in nearly 30 hours. We were now sailing at close to 7 knots. Nearly a dozen dolphins played along side. There were at least two different kinds, a gray kind that enjoyed an occasional jump out of the water and a larger tan and white type. We continued our heading toward buoy #28 off the coast of St. George Island.

I decided to change course to make for Cape San Blas after all as the wind continued to decrease. Our boat speed fell as well even with all our sails fully set so as we neared buoy #2 I started the engine and furled the sails rounding the cape in calm seas. Barbie wanted me to get some sleep so after some dinner, she took the helm and got herself oriented to the navigation system. At 1900, after 36 hours at the helm, I lay down in a sleeping bag on the cockpit cushion that had earlier rejected Barbie and was sound asleep at 1900.001. Barbie woke me at 2300 by which time we had covered about half the distance of the St. Joseph Peninsula northward. She had not slept well since we left 40 hours ago so it was my turn at the helm while she got some sleep. We were now making good progress across smooth seas under motor power. Good progress is not always a good thing. At this rate we would be approaching St. Joseph Bay and the ship channel at about 0300. Entering a harbor for the first visit in the dark is not a recommended strategy, but we were both tired and needed to end this leg of the voyage as soon as possible.


December 4

Just as predicted the lights of the ship channel appeared and I waited as long as possible before waking Barbie to help me with the harbor navigation. When I went below and started trying to wake her the fear entered my mind that she in fact had a concussion and that was why she was not conscious of my shaking her. I was relieved as she roused finally and gave her the good news that we would be entering St. Joseph Bay soon and that I would need her help navigating. Once on deck we could see the lights of Mexico Beach and Beacon Hill, but also saw the rain approaching and obscuring the shore further south, where we needed to go. We were able to follow the lighted buoys visually and on the chart, but especially appreciated the radar as we approached an unlit charted buoy and by using our searchlight saw it right where the radar showed it to be. We were able to verify that a buoy that was on the chart was indeed neither on the radar nor on the water. Then the rain showers started, but they were not heavy enough to affect the radar at all. I attempted to tell Barbie where the next buoy should be, but she became frustrated and worried when she couldn’t find it. With the autohelm on I took the spotlight and usually found it so we switched jobs. With Barbie at the helm, I spotted buoys as we navigated one buoy at a time up the ship channel. We didn’t know it at the time, but my worry that there might be fishing or crab trap buoys outside the ship channel in the harbor was unfounded. We could have just set a straight course across the harbor and would have been fine, but the radar and charts were working so well, even in the dark and the misty showers, that the ship channel route was the safest. We found the Port St. Joe Marina and put out our fenders, tied along side their dock and fell asleep at 0430. Journey #1 - first leg - successfully completed.