PREFACE

I had only been on a sailboat once, and didn’t think much of it. It was something that seemed so extravagant that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to access sailboats on a regular basis. Two years later, I came across a Living Social coupon and took my first sailing course in May 2013 in Newport, NJ.

After completing ASA 101 and passing the certification test, I joined the True North Sailing Club, and fell absolutely in love with sailing. It was through the club that I met Terry, the skipper to whom my Boating Instructor, Captain Al, recommended me. Terry took an interest in my development and realized that he could push me to complete increasingly difficult tasks. He gave me a challenge, and I took it and tried my best.

“Natural talent to your level is rare,” he told me.

By August, he was teaching me how to single-hand a J24 as we sailed down the Hudson River into the Upper Bay and even south of the Verrazano Bridge. By October, he had me completing the on-water skill sets required for the ASA Instructor qualification clinic to teach the Basic Keelboat class (ASA 201).
       We found that we worked well on a boat together - we could communicate. He would direct and explain, I would question and execute. We had pretty compatible personalities to handle spending so much time with each other. It’s comforting when nerds find other nerds like them. You can find someone you trust and communicate with, even if you don’t always agree with them.

      The sailing season runs from May through October in New York, and our new-found friendship carried solidly through the winter. When the 2014 sailing season started up and we began sailing once again, we revisited the idea of chartering a boat, something we both had on our “goal lists.” As the summer progressed and my school schedule became clear and Terry’s work schedule allowed, we found a window and started the search for charter companies. Our efforts eventually resulted in the booking of airplane flights and putting a deposit on a charter in southwest Florida.

This was happening. We were both going on our first charters.

CHAPTER ONE: Getting Ready

There’s more to prepping for your first sailboat charter than you might expect. Terry always told me “bad things happen when you run out of options,” so we tried to envision everything that could go awry and have options to handle any emergency situation. Rogue waves can occur, washing passengers overboard. People have been known to disappear and drown in the time it takes the boat to turn-around, therefore, life-jackets were a must. Not those standard red life-jackets with a single strap and that look totally uncomfortable for extended wear. Instead, we each had top of the line self-inflating Baltic life-jackets. Being out in the Gulf is a different proposition than the relative safety of the NYC harbor. The NYC harbor is surrounded by quick response, highly trained USCG, NYPD, PAPD, and NJPD emergency rescue services. The Gulf is far and away a more hostile environment if you find yourself in the water, and rescue is likely to be measured in hours or days. In addition to the self-inflating life jackets, we had tethers and carabiner clips to ensure that we were always clipped to the boat during rough conditions. This was also to keep Terry from becoming floating shark bait in the Gulf if he lost his footing while I slept, leaving the boat to merrily sail along on her own.

Terry sent me website link after link about supplies to pack, and it was my job to consolidate all of them into lists. I also took it upon myself to make a menu for the week. The thing about cooking on a sailboat is that you have limited space and two gas burners. Simple one-pot meals and snacks were ideal. With me being someone who enjoys healthy, natural, homemade meals, I wanted to make sure we stayed at our best on-board. Fortunately, since I had just completed my first year as a public school teacher in NYC, I became the Queen of quick, simple, healthy meals. My repertoire was perfect for this trip and little did I know that my experience in NYC sized kitchens would be such a benefit when working in the ship’s galley.

We flew into Fort Myers International Airport and stayed at Terry’s mom’s house on Monday, two days before the charter. These two days were helpful because it allowed us to prepare food, check our gear, and gather any missing supplies or things we couldn't fit into our checked luggage. We also benefited from the time to go over our plans and talk over options. Better than doing the prep on board an unknown vessel in an unknown environment. The night before setting off, I cooked a pot of chili and green bean almondine and packed it up into freezer bags. The key to easy sail cooking, I later found, is self-made pre-portioned bags of food you just throw into a pan and heat up. 

      12 hours until our charter!

CHAPTER TWO: Setting Off

Terry, his mom, and I arrived at Tarpon Point Marina in Cape Coral, FL on Wednesday, July 16. Shortly after noon, with sunny skies.

“Can you believe it? Today’s the day!” Terry’s mom said.

We walked into the SWF Yachts office to check in. Our charter was for a Hunter 29 Sloop called “Magic,” a quick sailing vessel that we were told would be fun to sail. After a few introductions and the receptionist getting out the paperwork, she told us,
        “There’s a problem with the fuel line. We’re waiting on a part for the boat. Did you already eat lunch? Did you need to buy any supplies?”

What a buzz-kill.

“No. We have everything and we’re ready to go,” Terry said strongly.

“Well, the other option is to move you up to a bigger boat.”

“Let’s do that.”

So we changed the paperwork and were now going to charter an Island Packet 32 called Argo II. We looked at her specs. She was bigger, bulkier, and geared more toward a slow, leisurely cruise than a true sailing adventure. 
"She's like a fat cow," the woman at the counter told us. We would later find out that this boat would more than compensate for its lack of nimbleness.

We walked by white boat after white boat on the dock, and then we saw Argo II. She was a nice-looking boat, but her paint-job made her look like she was taken straight out of the eighties. She reminded me of the van my parents used to have when I was a kid. A beige looking coat, with a few thin stripes in an attempt to make it stylish. It was old-school, but as long as she was good to go, we'd take her.

We started unloading our suitcases and bags. After some time, Mark came out to show us around the boat so we knew how she worked. Before the trip, Terry warned me that when they do this, they’re trying to get a feel for how knowledgeable of a sailor you are. Figure out how much they trust you with their boat. I watched as Mark asked Terry to move around the boat checking out various components. I kept my comments to a minimum unless I had a clarifying question.

It was nearing 4:00 P.M. This was the latest we wanted to leave the marina, to ensure enough time to get out of the Intercoastal Water Way (ICW) before sunset. Day markers don’t have lights, so leaving the channel in darkness would be nothing short of dangerous. Especially when you run the risk of running aground in shallow water right outside of the ICW.

We said good-bye to Terry's mom, and soon enough, Terry got us on our way. Argo was a big boat to maneuver, especially when you’re not used to prop-walk.

“You’d think I’d never boated before,” Terry said in frustration. Argo took some getting used to.

The skies started getting cloudier and darker. As we motored out at our max speed of five knots, power boats were speeding back in the opposite direction. Their passengers wore t-shirts and worried faces.

“Grab the foulies,” I was told.

I went into the cabin to grab our waterproof jackets. We were so excited to start our journey that even rain couldn’t put a damper on it. We had to motor through a mild thunderstorm, Terry getting soaked as the helmsman, me staying dry under the Bimini as the navigator, using his iPad to check for surrounding depths. My only concern was that he was steering a metal wheel when lightening was abound.

“It’s most likely grounded,” he reassured me. I was glad we didn’t have to test that assumption.

At last, after about two hours of motoring in the rain, we reached the Gulf of Mexico! But for the next hour, it felt like thunderstorms kept wanting to pop up, one after the other.

“I don’t want to put the sails up until the storms subside,” Terry explained. With storms come high winds, and with high winds comes a greater chance of the boat capsizing if sails are up. We didn't have experience in truly stormy waters, and didn't want to push our luck. The Gulf was moving water more than I thought it would. And because I had been feeling ill from a sinus infection the day before, my life wasn’t made any easier.

In the past, the only times I felt sea-sickness were after two glasses of wine on that first sailboat I was on, when I’m hungry, or when I’m sleepy. Nonetheless, I felt so nauseated that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. Two things helped- steering and lying down on the cockpit bench. I never actually expelled anything due to sea-sickness, though. I know my body well enough to slow it down and take precautions before it got worse. I felt bad for Terry, because was doing so much of the driving, but he saw my condition and didn’t want to push me.  Though, you can’t go through a whole night without some rest. I volunteered to steer a bit. One hour increments were as much as I could manage, so he could at least get some shut-eye. 

The boat waddled. So much in those waters that even steering the wheel became problematic. I’m so used to using a tiller, when you feel and control everything so easily; I missed that J24 so much. This was just not working for me. With some time, however, I started getting the feel of the wheel. The time delay when turning, the amount to turn. I needed to read the boat’s response to the current conditions. She’s bigger than what I’m used to, and a whole damn slower, but you just gotta know how to handle her when the water starts battling her.

I packed all this food on the boat, but I couldn’t even bear standing in the cabin for a few seconds, forget about a few minutes worth. It was dark, I felt sick, I was tired, and we were motoring. It was the first day, and the trip felt like a washout. What had I gotten myself into? I was really beginning to doubt this trip.

We motored through the night. Since I wasn't at my fighting level, Terry kept the sails down rather than be faced with a single-handing situation on a new boat. Unfortunately, the diesel engine’s fumes were constant the whole trip down. I only briefly smelled them at the very start of the trip. Since my nose was so stuffed up from a sinus infection, there was no way I’d be able to detect it thereafter.

We couldn’t dock at Rose Marina in Marco Island until at least 7 am. Since we reached a point where we had some leeway in our course, we decided to raise the sails. I steered as Terry moved forward to prep the main. With the boat rocking as it was, and a cumbersome sail bag to remove, this was already looking to be no easy feat. Eventually we got the mainsail up, unfurled the jib, and finally began sailing.

Too bad I could barely keep my eyes open. It was about 4 am. But we were sailing. We were finally sailing on the Gulf. We had the boom out pretty far since we were trying to go on a run.

Whoosh...Splash.

 “What was that? Did something fall off the deck?”

The boom had swung around in an accidental jibe. Terry didn’t know something fell, but my cue made him search around. One of the cowling vents was gone. Apparently, the boom knocked off both the port side and starboard side cowling vents, one of which was now at the bottom of the Gulf.

It was a rough first day. The only bout of relief was catching a double rainbow after the evening storms.

CHAPTER THREE: Marco Island

            Terry had been at the helm and brought us to the outer markers of Marco. He held us in the Gulf until the sun rose and we started heading into the channel. For those that haven't navigated Southwest Florida waters, the key is depth awareness. Always. Southwest Florida has a great expanse of water, gunk-holes here and there, but the hidden underwater secret is that much of the water is shallow and non-navigable. The shallow waters hold an amazing vibrant and diverse ecosystem. For the sailor, with our deeper drafts, we have to pay attention to the marked channels and be wary of shifting shoals and other conditions.

      It took us a couple of hours of moderate motoring to follow the channel until we approached Smokehouse Bay. We entered from the northern side of the bay, and as we approached a deeper section on the far side, we hailed the Rose Marina. This would be our first Marina approach and docking with our Island Packet. The Marina responded to bring our vessel into the left of a docked Catamaran and to expect a starboard side tie-up on a slip to our starboard side. We started forward, but then saw a boat exiting. We waited for her to exit and then resumed the entry. To the right were two guys waving us in. Slip to the right, 90 degree turn. Terry made the turn, the wind started pushing the boat from the stern and he hit reverse. Argo responded in her own time, which is to say, not quickly enough. A bit of a mess of docking, but I threw the bowline to the waiting marina deckhand and rushed back to throw the stern line. We had her in- finally.

      We docked around 9:30 am. We made it to Rose Marina, safe and sound. There was a man in his yacht docked in the slip next to ours. He greeted us, and when I told him my name, he responded by saying that Meredith was the previous boat owner of our current slip. What a coincidence! But now, the Florida heat was hitting us with full force, only exacerbating the fact that we had a long night of little sleep and sparse food. We were starving, since the only food we had to eat since breakfast the previous day were peanuts and Doritos. I was too sick and tired to cook in the galley, and Terry couldn't man the galley because he was manning the helm.
       A shower helped perk us up a bit, and we subsequently fired up the iPhone to find a destination for nourishment. We headed to the Esplanade for lunch to a restaurant named C.J.’s on the Bay. I felt so weak that whole morning, and it was tough even to get food down after barely eating the previous day. 

     We walked back to the boat after lunch, and passed out in our air conditioned vessel for four hours. My whole body felt so much better at that point. Neither of us felt like sailing that day, so instead we decided to take a cab to Tigertail Beach to check out Sand Dollar Spit. It was there that I found my first sand dollar, but of course, was cracked within a few days of transport. They're fragile things, those sand dollars.

         This was the first beach south of Maryland that I had been on. The white, sandy beach was a dream, and I couldn’t believe how warm the Gulf water was. I was swimming in bath water.

    After hopping in a taxi back to our boat, I made supreme chicken quesadillas. Terry wolfed them down like a starved castaway on a deserted island. Afterwards, the lack of sleep caught up with him and, a fair bit exhausted, passed out around 10 or so. I stayed awake to cook my Italian pasta dish and package it as leftovers, so that I wouldn’t have to prep and cook it while underway. I didn’t sleep until about midnight.

      For breakfast the next morning, I made French toast, bacon, and hash browns. Not more than a few minutes after starting the bacon, the air was pierced with a loud shrill inside the boat, followed by alternating English and Spanish declarations.
       "Fire condition detected. Leave the vessel immediately."

       Damn it.
      “Just put a bag over the smoke detector,” Terry yelled from outside. I did, but the moment I removed the bag, off it went again.

      “Just grab the smoke detector and put it outside.” That was a better plan. The smoke detector was now known as the bacon detector.

      Well rested, showered, and stocked with more ice, we were anxious to set out and carry on with our adventure. The seas were beckoning and the Argo II and crew were eager to leave the tethers of the slip and get out in the Gulf to stretch her sails.

CHAPTER FOUR: Friday Night Sailing

We headed North from Marco with an eye on anchoring in a sheltered cove for the evening.  As it turns out, we should have done a bit more planning for this option – the area between Marco and Naples is pretty inhospitable and doesn’t provide a lot of options for those that don’t know the area intimately.  We finally found that there was a mooring field in Naples City and were going to try and tie up there, but by that time it was 8:00 P.M.,

We were a few nautical miles from shore, and the mooring field would’ve taken over an hour of motoring. Plus, we’d have to take down the main and flake the damn sail.

“What if we can’t get a mooring ball or slip? Then what?” I asked.

“Then we anchor off the shore, even though we won’t have any protection.” Terry was worried the on-land thunderstorms would approach us.

I looked at the clear sky due west, and all the thunderstorms on land to the east.

“Why not just stay out at sea? No one’s around- what’s the worst that could happen?”

He thought it over, checked the radar, and went with it. So we went due west and chased the sun. We saw another pretty sunset, another starry sky. I was feeling sleepy, though, and hungry to boot. Both of which, I discovered, are not good when you’re trying to sail.

“I can’t decide whether I should eat and then sleep, or sleep and then eat.”

“Sleep first,” he said.

My gut told me I should eat. Whatever.

An hour later, I woke up feeling less hungry, initially, but very shortly thereafter, my stomach was not happy that it came in second. I needed to heat up chili in the galley. Sigh. Okay stomach, just hold out a little longer.

Terry scarfed down his fourth meal, but it took me about 15 minutes to get it all down. Small spoonfuls. When it was down, I felt wonderfully better. I was ready for the midnight shift.

Just me and the sea. It was now 1:00 A.M. Terry slept on the other side of the cockpit from where I was sitting. Moral support, in part.  But also because it didn’t make sense to sleep below when you can sleep under the stars.  There was lightning off to the southeast in the distance. Earlier in the night, Terry kept on me to watch the sky.  He was worried that the storm could head in our direction while he was sleeping.   

“I think we’ll be okay.” And it turned out, we were more than okay. It was a peaceful night, and the winds were favorable. 

My way of sailing Argo II was to let her steer herself and find her way. I discovered she preferred a close-hauled tack. She’d chase it to irons, luff a bit, fall off and then chase again.  Once in a while, she’d overreach and need a hand, but mostly she was comfortably making her way.

After an hour or so of sailing, the moon began to rise, in all its orange, waxing self. It was as if it whispered to me to look, because I did a quick look around and saw it on the horizon. I saw the crescent rise and fade to white. Argo II wanted to follow a moonbeam while going close-hauled with the northwest wind. Or perhaps, she wanted me to see the moon. I continued due west for an hour or so, keeping the moon abeam, before the wind started to slowly shift toward the north. As the wind continued to change, Argo II headed more northeast. She started galloping, reaching her stride, up to 5.2 knots at one point. She was in her element. Around 4:00 A.M., Terry’s eyes opened, he took the helm and I, relaxed and satisfied, grabbed a pillow and took my turn under the stars.

CHAPTER FIVE: Saturday Snorkeling and Stormy Seas

After sleeping about three hours, I woke up to a sunrise. The perfect sunrise is one when you don’t have to get out of bed. Just open your eyes and see the sun lighting up the sky. It took some time to really wake up, but eventually I was ready for a shower- the first one on a boat! A bathroom on a boat can be a pretty constrained affair, where the space includes the toilet, the sink, and the shower all in an area where you can barely turn around.  Showering while the boat rocked to and fro was definitely a lesson in balance. After an adjustment period and with some suds, I felt refreshed and ready for the day.

           We sailed for a while and looked for places to snorkel.  Terry was trying to find a place that was shallow enough to anchor but far enough off shore that we’d be out of trouble if the anchor slipped a bit. There was a decent onshore wind, so we ended up anchoring a fair bit off the coast just north of Big Reef pass. This would be my first snorkeling experience. We set the anchor and made sure it was holding firm. Next, our first use of the dinghy.  The motor was small and fairly weak, with only 5 HP, and we had to lower it from the stern pulpit down to the boat and attach it to the dinghy. So far, so good. We put our snorkeling gear on board, started the engine and motored to the island.
     As we came near, Terry cut the engine and jumped overboard to walk us in.
     Whoops. The water was too deep. A bit of swimming and we made it to shore. I put my gear on.  

I felt handicapped by the snorkel fins.

“I can’t swim with these,” I said in frustration.

“Just move your knees, like this.”

I mimicked his movement. Nothing. How did I, the sea girl, the frolicker, be unable to swim with fins?

I stepped out of the water back onto land.

“You’re wearing my fins” Terry said dryly, as he tried to put his gear on.  I accidentally grabbed Terry’s fins instead of mine. That would do it. We swapped fins and I gave it another go around.

Success!

Okay, this isn’t so bad after all. All I could see were shells, since the water was too turbid, but at least I know what it feels like.  We snorkeled around.

We only stayed maybe 30 minutes before bringing the dinghy back into the water, but it was still a good time.

We packed up and set out in the dinghy again.

Revvv….silence. Rev…silence. The engine wouldn’t start. After the fifth or sixth time, it started, but then died ten seconds later. Terry pulled the cord again…silence. It took about five times to get the motor running which each time lasted maybe 10 seconds before failing. We were going against the current and against the wind. The engine kept failing, and in the excitement to go snorkeling, we hadn’t packed the oars. I contemplated hailing for help on the VHF radio, but Terry kept working the motor.

He didn’t give up. I saw the anger and frustration in his face.  If he quit, we’d be washed up to shore in short order, with no hope of reaching our ship - our home - without assistance. Swear words started coming out of his mouth. We’d make progress, then get pushed back. Progress, then retreated. Terry has run multiple marathons, and he told stories about how much pain he pushed through to finish those runs. Good thing- this was one of those times you had to dig deep if you wanted to make it to the finish line. We finally made enough progress to come alongside the Argo II. It was like crossing the finish line of a marathon.

     “Argo, I am sorry for anything bad I ever said about you,” Terry exclaimed as we boarded the boat.

    It was near 7 pm and we had three hours ahead of us under normal conditions. But these were not normal conditions. The winds had picked up, the seas were starting to get choppy.  Both of us clipped ourselves to the boat. We would have been like rag dolls if we weren’t holding onto something. I was steering the boat at this point, and boy, was it a fun ride. The bow soared up to the sky and crashed down into the waves. Up and down. Up and down. I steered with my feet, and held tightly onto the line that attached my lifejacket to the center console. I was a rodeo girl riding a bull. The only problem was keeping on course. I didn’t notice the growing concern in Terry’s face as he took the wheel after a bit.

       The sun was setting, and it was taking forever to get to the first buoy of the channel. Terry said he underestimated the effect on our progress. We were making 1 to 1.5 knots at best, bow into the wind. There was no way we’d get anchored before midnight at this rate. The winds kept strong as the waves kept churning, which was what my stomach started doing soon after I ceased steering. The gulf was so calm not even six hours prior, and now we had swells making the boat roll, pitch, but worst of all, yaw.

     Terry told me afterwards that it was probably the yawing that made me feel sick. My breathing became more frequent as I felt increasingly nauseated. It was my attempt at trying to calm my body down. I lay my head back and closed my eyes for therapy.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. Lean up, drink some water, head back down.

Terry noticed and hated to ask, but had to: “When you get a chance, can you close all the hatches?” It was nearing full darkness, and we didn’t want to get stuck in a position where water would be rushing into the cabin. I could only muster enough of a stomach to close two hatches at a time before coming back up for air to recover. I was rhythmically panting for air.

      Give yourself a minute to relax, I told myself. Here we go again.

   The boat moved so much that you always needed to find something to grab and hold onto- injury at this time was less than ideal. I had a job to do. Once this was done, I wouldn’t have to go under for an extended period of time again.

       Last one. Finished.

       I laid down and curled up on the cockpit bench next to Terry as he steered. He grabbed my hand after seeing and hearing the condition I was in.

       “We’ll be okay,” he told me in a calming voice. When you’re in a crisis, there’s just something instinctual to holding onto someone for mental support.

I was scared. These seas weren’t like the first night. The wind howled. I looked over and saw the toe rail not even a foot from the water. The design of this boat magnifies the rolling to a disconcerting degree. The J24’s can keep strong while heeling, so water can rush over the toe-rail and pose little concern - at one time, I was horrified for my life of a heavy heel in a J-24. Now I find it to be a great amount of fun. But we didn’t know how Argo II fared when she heeled this much. Our stress levels were matching the amount she was being thrown about. 
     "How are you holding up?" I asked.
     "It's tough, but I'm holding steady on course."
     "No, I meant your stomach."
     "Oh. Excellent."
     I was embarrassed at how little my stomach held up next to his. Then again, it had been some time since I had last eaten, and I had to occasionally go into the cabin to grab supplies.  

The wind was coming from the north. We wanted to go NNE, but there was a wreck and obstructions underwater in our path. Terry kept our bearing as best conditions would allow, but the wind kept fighting us, pushing us east or west so much in fact that the boat felt like it was being directed straight for the submerged wreck. We didn’t know the sounding of the wreck, so we had to avoid it at all costs.
     The VHF radio stayed on channel 16, and we kept the volume up so that any announcements would be audible. 
     "Vessel get hot. Vessel get hot," we heard from the radio.
     What the hell did that mean?
      "Vessel get hot."
    Terry and I looked at each other. We didn't know this boating lingo. Did this mean a storm was quickly moving in our path? That we were in immediate danger?
     Then I saw a spotlight coming from a boat not far from us. 
     "Vessel get hot."
    Was that directed toward us? Was he trying to communicate with us? I used Terry's iPhone to google the phrase. Nothing. All it did was flash its spotlight directly at our boat. It had to be within 100 feet of us. My mind started going crazy, thinking of every possible scenario of what the next chapter in our story would look like.
     The boat continued his path around us, sped up, and become lost in the distance. 
     "It's the vessel CALLED Get Hot," Terry proclaimed.
     "Really? REALLY?!" I said in disbelief.
     We got all excited over nothing. It was one of those times when caution gets the better of you. At least we knew. 
     But that wasn't all. Two sea birds starting flying near our boat, calling out in their foreign language. It was ominous, to say the least. A scene in the movie where the birds build up the suspense before something terrible happens.
     "Of all the times, you pick now?" Terry yelled out to the buzzards. "Come back during the daytime."
     Birds during the day are cute. Annoying, maybe, but a nice occasional addition to the scenery. When they sneak up to your boat in the middle of the night with no one else around, flying circles around your boat? That's when things get weird. Though, they eventually lost interest and kept on their way, as we did ours.
     We lined ourselves up for the first buoy of the channel after passing the wreck. Approaching that light gave us hope. The further into the channel we’d go, the calmer the seas would be. The next concern was staying in the channel clear of the non-lighted day marks, which alternated with lighted channel markers. I was on the look-out with my head-light and the iPad, looking in the general direction of a chart-marked buoy or post until it came into view. I was searching for triangles and squares on posts. They had maybe one or two light reflectors. Fortunately, there was enough light pollution that ever so slightly eased seeing a dark shape in the distance.

“Found the buoy- starboard side,” I yelled out.

“Keep an eye on it.”

       Passed it.

       Now I had to look for the next light. Repeat.

We made it out of the Gulf through the Boca Grande Pass. In the relative safety of Charlotte Harbor at last. We originally planned on anchoring in Pelican Bay, but with the shallow depths and a tree submerged as an obstruction, I didn’t like that plan. I looked on the depth chart for an alternative. We needed area of 6-12 feet in depth, wide enough to allow some room to swing around in the changing tides and wind, and far enough from the ICW.

 “How about this area?” I pointed to a spot on the iPad map.

       “There’s no shelter from the wind or current.”

       “At least it’ll be cooler. And there won’t be bugs. Well, not nearly as many.”

       Terry wasn’t convinced. We headed south down the ICW. The wind abated and became stagnant the further we went.

       This will be miserable to sleep in, I thought.

    After passing a couple of lighted buoys and the unlit day marks that crept out of the blackness, 

Terry yelled out, “Get back to the cockpit.” 

I walked back. He was worried about my safety, that I might miss sighting a day mark.

“If the boat gets nailed and we sink her, I’ll get over it, but I don’t want you going down with her.”

So we reversed course and back-tracked to the spot I first suggested. We motored off the channel, dropped anchor, set the anchor alarms and kept an eye on our position. Ten minutes went by with only minimal fluctuations in location.

“Give it some time and we’ll come back up and check,” he told me.

Time to get dinner started. It was 1:30 A.M. and we were both starving. I made the second batch of chicken quesadillas.  They were gone before they hit the plate. 

Another night in the books.

CHAPTER SIX: Cabbage Key Cheeseburgers and Useppa Stories

        The warm air and thought of the anchor slipping made sleeping in late a fantasy. But it was for the best, since that meant we'd get an early start after checking on the boat. She had held steady through the night. The anchor held. After a short planning session, we motored over to the Boca Grande marina around noon to pump out waste and top off our fuel.

       It took just under an hour to drive over to the marina to pump out waste and fill up on diesel. Power boats sped by us one after the other. I was going a measly 5 knots, but I was owning it. Argo II doesn’t have the power of the fancier motoring yachties - she’s a solid sailing ship with an engine that sips diesel. She’s a hippie. She just mosies on her way, relaxed, cool, collected. Besides, I liked my look with her- baseball cap, polarized sunglasses, rashguard, hair tucked away in my cap- this chica don’t mess around.  Terry was below decks and I liked the thought of the male dominated boats speeding by thinking that I was single handing her.           

   We departed the marina, which had a bit of a wicked passage with a large sandbar and a narrow channel, and headed for the Gulf, trying to find prime real-estate to park Argo. As luck would have it, we saw a sandbar off the northern shore of Cayo Costa State Park with a number of boats anchored in the shallows.

        Bingo.

       We looked at the current and the wind, and skirted the shallow sandy areas. Current was a concern, but the location was killer. Our target was outside of the southern end of the channel connecting Charlotte Harbor with the Gulf. Dropping anchor, we set the alarms and closely monitored her position. No drift again in maximum ebb. Our anchor was a good one.  

       We took the dinghy to the sandbar haven we found. There was a dog on a nearby pontoon boat, tourists taking pictures, and guys and girls enjoying beers in the shallows next to their boats. The dog jumped in for a swim. We did, too. I frolicked in the surf and Terry laid in the water, cowboy hat and all.  It was fun, but our stay was limited to a half hour. We had a reservation at Useppa Island and were requested to arrive by 5 PM. So a little before 3:30, we reluctantly motored back to Argo II. The dinghy’s motor, named Patience, certainly required exactly that from her operators. She wasn’t going as fast as she did the very first ride out, as if she couldn’t get to second gear. We were stuck going turtle speed, but at least the engine didn't quit and we made it back to Argo slowly but surely.

    Useppa Island is a private club. Quite the escape, per the website. We followed the ICW south to marker 71 and steered to the channel leading to the island. We were greeted by two men ready to take our docking lines. 

      “We’re glad you’re here – it’s nice to have someone else on the island!” 

     These weren’t your average deckhands. Both had nametags with Captain – Captain Dane and Captain Jeff. As we found out later, they were both USCG captains.

       It’s the off-season, and with an exclusive club, the lack of population is even more magnified this time of year. Terry had a tough time docking Argo again - here, a backing wind pushed the boat toward the T dock and Argo II's sluggish motor didn't snap to task.  He didn't yet have the feel for how to get her to dance. 

          Dane and Jeff provided the assist and our boat was settled in.

      “And here’s where you can hook up your cable,” Dane said helpfully.

         “Yeah, we don’t need that,” I said with a smile. I looked at Terry, “Our adventures at sea are enough entertainment.”

       “There are very few people who could live that way,” he replied.

        I felt smug. No T.V. during our sailing adventure. Terry had his iPad and iPhone, so we always had internet access. The only time we didn’t was when we were 15 miles off the coast on Friday night. Even still, we used it only for navigation and weather purposes. Terry texted his mom regularly when we spent the night at sea. That way, if anything happened, they’d have a recent location and direction to look for us.

After Dane and Jeff walked away, Terry apologized.

    “I’m sorry you had to be on this boat with me while docking. That was embarrassing.”

            It was okay. I’m sure I couldn’t have done much better with that little amount of practice.

          We got off the boat and walked to reception to check-in. Our plan was to get on our way to Cabbage Key via our dinghy for Cheeseburgers in Paradise. Rumor has it that Cabbage Key was the inspiration for the Jimmy Buffet song.  At least this time we were in the Bay so waves weren’t much of an issue. The only problem was that the propeller started cavitating and even though we revved it up higher than a quarter of the way, it wouldn’t pick up speed. Ah, the unreliable dinghy motor.

            We eventually made it, after about ten minutes on the dinghy. Tied her up and went in for food. I saw a turtle slowly moving across the grass. A father brought his daughter close to it to pet it.  

            When you get into the restaurant, you see dollar bills everywhere. On the walls, on the columns, on the ceiling, dangling from ceilings, taped to other dollar bills.  EVERYWHERE. 

            Terry gave me a dollar bill to write on and he wrote on his own.

            The SIREN, I wrote. This was my nickname after our excursion south of the Verrazano Bridge in September 2013. (See Chapter 7 entry. Now, what's interesting about our boat, Argo II, is that the Argo was the ship that Jason, a Greek mythological hero, sailed. He had to make it past the Sirens to survive.) Terry wrote “Captain T” on his. Then we found a place to tape it up.

     After a few more minutes of drinking Coronas, our cheeseburgers arrived. Exactly what the doctor ordered: Our “Cheeseburgers in Paradise,” as was rumored that Jimmy Buffet wrote.

            Following the burgers was dessert. The only dessert we had all week. It was a slice of ice cream with chocolate graham pieces on the bottom, whipped cream on top, caramel inside. Absolute heaven. Orgasmic.

            Then we walked around and explored the wooded area on the island. It was getting buggy and there wasn’t much to see so we headed back to Useppa.

            Upon arrival, we decided to take a walk about and explore the island as the sun started setting. It was a beautiful resort. This island is only accessible by boat and golf carts are the means of transportation around the island. We needed to walk off dinner, so by foot we would go.

            The beach on the opposite side of the marina was pretty. White sand, gorgeous white houses, green grass covering the landscape around the homes. Even the house's walkways were lined with crushed sea shells. There were chunks of rock conglomerates of trace shell fossils. I even found a swing set, where I retreated to for a short while, pretending I was a kid again.

            We passed by a tree, which had dropped some fruit onto the ground.

         “Mangoes!” I exclaimed. I remembered reading that the Club didn’t want its patrons to pick fruit from any plants, but these mangoes were on the ground, and going to rot anyway. We picked up a freshly fallen one to carry back to the boat and continued on our way.

            We saw a golf cart go by.

          “You gotta check out the grotto!” a kid yelled out. “Someone made stuff there- it’s so cool! All the way at the south end of the island!”

            The bugs were out in full force, coming for me, but after hearing this tip, I decided to stick it out a little longer. When we reached the grotto, we were greeted by an entrance covered in shells, rocks, wood, and a sign that said “Welcome Gator Fans.” By this point, the bugs had exacted their heavy toll in blood and welts. We were in Florida, alright. The path in these woods was lined with shells, and consisted of bricks, pieces of rock, really thick glass to lead the way. It looked like a voodoo forest or, at the least, a perfect setting for a horror slasher film. Only here, the bugs were the ones drawing the blood. It was reaching near darkness, and by the end of this excursion, I pleaded to Terry,

            “We need to get back ASAP. I’m being eaten alive.”

            On the walk back, we passed by the Collier Inn, where a few people were having drinks. Quaint. Very New England-esque.

            We returned to the boat around 9:30 P.M. We each grabbed clean sets of clothes and headed for the showers. This marina's facilities were nothing short of "posh." These had body cleanser and shampoo in dispensable containers, which was quite a nice feature, in addition to the immaculate space and expanse of the outer room and shower area.  It bordered on a small NYC studio apartment.

            Bedtime. Terry cut up the mango for me before crashing on the berth across from me. The first night he slept in the V-berth, but found it to be too small, so we each slept on the two salon berths, which doubled as couches. I stayed up to try and get some writing done, but didn’t make it past 11:00 before I stopped fighting my eyes.  

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Siren

September 2013-West Bank Lighthouse, NY
       
         I told him I wanted to jump off the boat and swim in the Bay at some point. That day, we passed by an island or two, and I thought it’d be cool to swim to one of them. Until I found the lighthouse. She was calling my name.

            “That lighthouse. I want to swim to her.”

            It was surrounded by large rocks and the water rushed up against it. It was about max ebb flow so the current was at its strongest.

            “…okay.” He hesitated. There were a million reasons running through his mind why this was a terrible idea. Somehow my impetuous spirit had him asking "why the hell not?"
       Memories don't get made when you don't take chances. Plus, he had enough confidence in my athletic ability to be able to manage myself.

           The plan, then, was to drop me off north of the lighthouse so the current would carry me there. If I survived the current smashing me into the rocks, then I'd climb them and conquer the lighthouse. Afterwards, I'd jump back in the water and swim out so he could pick me up about 120 degrees west of the lighthouse, similar to swimming when in a rip current. The key was for me to get far enough away from the rip rap so that the boat wouldn’t run aground.

            “Alright, ready to go!”

            There I was in my bathing suit and Keds. I figured since the shoes were light, they’d be okay getting wet.

            “Life jacket?” Terry yelled out cautiously.

            “I’ll be fine.”

            I looked at him. He knew what that meant. He saw how excited I was, and didn’t want to kill that crazy spirit of mine. This was something I had been talking about for weeks, and had told him more than once I didn't want to wear a life-jacket, as much as he insisted that I did. I walked to the port-side towards the stern, stepped around the pulpit, and held on.

            Alright, here I go.

            I let go.

          I started treading water, but my shoes felt like someone strapped weights to my feet. I panicked.

            Oh my God, I’m going to drown, I thought. Shoes off, shoes off! Get these damn things off! I threw my shoes to the deck. 

            I moved my legs again. Freedom. This wasn’t how the story was going to end. Part of me reconsidered this whole idea.

            You’re in the water. You wanted to do this. You’re swimming freely. You’ll get back to the boat anyway, just go to the lighthouse.

            I started swimming. The rocks up ahead were lined with large birds.

            What a cool picture this will make! But as I got a better look at them, an ominous feeling came over me. I’m intruding on these creatures’ territory, and they’re not much smaller than I am. Soon enough, the birds all flew away. They didn't care to be bothered.

            The water went up and down. I tried to keep my body parallel to the water line since I didn’t know when the shore would approach me underwater. The rip rap came near.

            Scrape.

         Something got my right thigh. Minimal bleeding, but definitely a few scrapes on my skin. I was on rocks covered with what looked to be hundreds of tiny clams. There were so many of them that it was akin to walking on nails so close together that it provided enough support that my feet were safe.

            Land.

       I made it. The hard part was over. I was here. I started climbing boulders bigger than me. I was like a kid- I love climbing things, be it trees or rocks. But it also wreaked of bird poo, and I had to watch my step.

            Not quite how I envisioned this. I looked out to find Terry. He was fighting to keep the boat from being carried into the rocks, tiller in one hand, camera in the other.

            I wanted to stay a while, but I didn’t want Terry to get into trouble rescuing me. After a few minutes, I climbed back down and waved so that he knew I was returning to water.

            “Swim straight out to that side,” he yelled out.

            I was surprisingly calm that second leg. I was glad to get in the water, which was the perfect temperature, and wash off all the gunk. Tepid, but not too warm that it felt like bath water. Cool, but not too cold that my body would run into trouble if the rescue took longer than anticipated. I swam perpendicular to the current.

            The J24 came closer. Terry reached out from the starboard side by the stern to grab my hand as I reached out for the boat.

            “Got you.”

            I grabbed the stern pulpit and used my feet to brace myself. Terry helped lift me until I was able to stand on the boat, climb over, and sit down in the cockpit. We looked at each other.

            “Safe and sound.”

         There were so many things that could’ve gone wrong. I almost drowned. I could’ve been sliced by the rocks. Had my feet skinned by clams. Had the current drag me out. Taken longer to get rescued. Had the boat crash into the rocks. Had problems getting onto the boat. The million things that had run through Terry's mind could have happened. But they didn't. 

            We did it.

            “I had so many bad scenarios going through my head,” Terry told me.

            “So did I, but it wasn’t until after I got back to the boat.”

            Doing this was risky. Many would say stupid, but nothing was holding me back. We had made a memory that would last forever. One that makes my Dad proud of the picture. I had confidence I could do this and I enjoyed the whole adventure. Would I do it again? Probably not. But I’d never take away that memory. That picture. That moment locked forever in an image so picturesque it seems to have been painted. 
     Ever since, Terry called me the Siren. Here he was, steering the sailboat, keeping it from crashing into the rocky shore, as he saw a dame in the distance, in nothing more than a bathing suit. The name seemed fitting.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Manic Monday

            Another pretty morning to wake up to. I slept for a full eight hours- finally! A full night’s sleep. We were docked at Useppa's marina. It was the best place to finish off the bacon, so that we could immediately dispose of the grease. Bacon, eggs, hash browns- that was the breakfast menu this morning. Step 1 when cooking bacon on the boat:  remove the Bacon Detector from the wall and put it outside.

            We set off to return to the sand bar we found yesterday. We anchored in the same place, but this time we dinghied to Cayo Costa State Park, an uninhabited stretch of beach. Oars? Check. Lifejacket? Check. Radio? Snorkel Gear? Otterbox? Water? Towel? Check. We weren’t going to let the motor screw us over again.

            Being on the shore at Cayo Costa State Park felt like paradise. Clear water, shallow depths, white sand, grass, trees, vines. The Gulf felt amazing. Unreal. Nothing like the North Atlantic water I'm used to. A girl could get used to this.

         We looked east in the sky. Thunderstorm clouds seemed to be approaching. Terry checked the radar on his iPhone.

            Yep. Again we had limited time with which to work. We just didn’t know how much. Some Florida storms move.  Some don't. We didn't want to push our luck and have a storm knock the Argo II off her anchor while we tried to use the unreliable dinghy motor in strong winds. Playing it cautiously, we limited our stay on Cayo Costa to about a half hour or so before motoring back. After getting situated back on Argo II, it was time to start prepping the boat for a storm. Close all the hatches. Put extraneous lines away. Clear the cockpit of everything. Get the motor off the dinghy.

            Boom.

         The thunder was getting louder. We made the right call to get back when we did.

            “Should I make dinner while we’re anchored?” I asked.

            “No, wait until we’re underway to get away from these storms.”

            So I sat at the helm to position the boat while Terry went forward to raise the anchor. Anchors aweigh! When Terry was done with all of the necessary storm preparations, he took to the helm and I got started on dinner. I was hungry during the last few storms and fared terribly because of it. Now I knew better.

            I brought up a bowl of chili for each of us.  

“Thank you, Ems," Terry said. "These portion sizes are perfect. I feel my ponch going down- I’m approaching 'Meredith' abs.” With the physical exertion this week combined with healthy eating, we were doing pretty well for ourselves.

            We kept an eye on the radar. Thunderstorms to the east, thunderstorms to the south, thunderstorms to the west. They were everywhere. We needed to head south to be on track to return to Cape Coral the next day. So after we were a few miles from shore, our course turned southbound.

            We were in a pocket of storms, and all but one were going away from us. But we were in the direction of the large one, which had me worried.

            We kept moving south, as did most of the storms, fortunately. After the one storm heading toward us went off the radar, my stress eased.

            We’ll be fine, I thought, but didn’t dare tell Terry that. He was looking fearful, and his voice was one of extreme caution. Saying we’d be fine would only annoy him, so I held my tongue. After seeing cells disappear, even though one new appeared northwest of us, something was telling me we wouldn’t get hit.

            After another half hour or so, I saw the sun in the distance, rays breaking through the clouds. The radar continued to clear up, but I decided to change course and head north for some time before resuming course, to stay out of the way of the southern and western cells.

            The sun’s rays continued to grow. Things were looking good. I saw the sun’s reflection in the water coming back toward the boat.

            “Stick with me kid, and the sun will find you,” I jokingly said to Terry. We have a running theory that my mood controls the weather. If you ask Terry, he'll say it's not so farfetched. Seems our experiences have been uncannily aligned with my mood. Coincidence?  Maybe, maybe not. Last summer we had a long string of sailing days that were sunny, and the day it wasn’t was when I was stressed from schoolwork.

I was in a great mood that whole day, and we didn’t get hit with any rain or lightening. I was steering the boat at that point.

            “Thank you!” I yelled to the skies. The weather kept us safe.

            We decided to put the jib up. I had a blonde moment trying to unfurl and put up the jib. Terry teased me, which pissed me off because this was the first time I was setting up a furled jib. The J24’s have jibs you clip onto the forestay, and pull up with a halyard.

            “You want more storms? Keep it up, and that’s exactly what you’ll be getting.”

            We sailed with just the jib, so that if a storm did approach, we could quickly put it away, unlike the main, which would have taken more time and frustration on this boat. I took another look at the radar. The cell in the northwest intensified.

            “Look what you did,” I said to Terry. The waves picked up again.

            “Shit…” he paused. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”

            I gave him a look of disdain.

            We got the jib up and I took the helm for some time. Terry looked at me and smiled.

            “What?” I replied.

            “You’ve got the jacket. You’ve got the look. You look like a captain. You make a hot sailor.” I smirked. I felt like a bad-ass with all the skills I gained.

            We were fine the rest of the night. Only a few minutes of rain at the beginning of the evening, but no lightening. The night was cooling off and storms were disappearing.

            “Thank you!” I yelled out again. As interesting as it would be to experience a thunderstorm on a sailboat, it was our last night, we were sailing the whole night. I just wanted an easy, relaxing night.

            I heated up our second dinner around 9, and then took the midnight shift at 11 pm. It was cooler tonight than previous nights. I brought up a bed sheet for a blanket as I sailed through the dark hours. iPod earbud in one ear, the other ear free for hearing the water pass along the boat and alert for any potential problem sounds. 
      There's a point in time when you realize how much you've bonded with your boat. You both share all these experiences. You make it through the rough and enjoy the amazing. You talk to her, because you know she's listening, even if she doesn't always respond. She appreciates the care you give her. Or at least, that's what you believe. You work with her, discovering her nuances on the water, and you don't push her, you challenge her. By the fifth day, I found myself talking to the boat and the sea and the skies. I had thoughts in my head before then, but you reach a point when you feel like one with everything around you. You're but a drop in the vastness of the water. Fighting will sink your ship. Harmony will protect you.

            The skies continued to clear up as the night when on, but I still saw a few lightning strikes out west on the Gulf. Great. I kept an occasional eye on the radar.

            Sailing with just the jib made it difficult to sail close to the direction from which the wind came. We were aiming for southeast, but were going more south-southwest. I tacked, but that didn’t help either, because now we were going north. Terry woke up around 2 am and took over. I showered and got some rest, sleeping on the cockpit bench snuggled up in my sheet.