Coral reefs, Snake Creek, and Shell Key

Cockpit party

      Winds are light, barely 10 knots, but at a good angle.  Time to do a little tweaking, see if I can get more sail power, get Rainbows End to go a bit faster.  I pull the traveler to windward, to add a little twist to the sail.  This boat has a really wide traveler that would be the envy of any monohull skipper.  Ok, that helps; we picked up about a knot.  The boom is a bit bouncy, tho, and this boat does not have a vang to hold it down.

      Doug, Tim, and I put our heads together and figure out how to use the Raymarine chartplotter.  It seems that none of us have ever used Raymarine; Tim and I have only used Gorman.  It takes a little experimenting, but we finally get the knack of it, and set a course for the Hens & Chickens, a relatively shallow reef, part of the John Pinnekamp Coral Reef State Park system, the only underwater park of its kind in the U.S.  

      The reef was easy to spot because it has a tall marker and lots of other boats there.  All the reefs out here in Pinnekamp Park have mooring balls, so we grab one and tie off.  Everyone grab snorkel mask and fins and get in the water! 

 

Chilling on the foredeck

      The water was a bit murky; not crystal clear, like we experienced in the Caribbean.  Joe had mentioned that these shallower reefs closer to the shoreline might be cloudy on account of all the recent rains.  He was right.  But regardless, we still saw lots of fish and other exotic things down there.  But the water was a bit rough.  Well heck, we ARE out in the Atlantic Ocean, for gosh sakes.  (But I've seen waves much, much worse.)  Every so often, a wave would roll over the top of my snorkel, filling my mouth with seawater.  Yuck.

      We snorkeled around for about a half-hour.  It would have been nice to do more, but we did get a late start today, and we must cross over to the Gulf side, and daylight is limited.

Approaching the Snake Creek bridge

      The course is now set for the southernmost  marker to the entrance of Snake Creek, where we will cross over.  Sails are down and we are under engine power with Tim at the helm.  It is very, very shallow here; the tide must be out.  Tim proceeds cautiously.  The bridge is ahead.  Our timing is just right, as the bridge only opens every half-hour on the half-hour, and that's just minutes away.  Another small monohull sailboat is right ahead of us, waiting for the bridge to open. 

        The bridge opens, and we proceed forward.  So far, so good.

        And then I see it: 

        Power lines.

        Omigosh.  How high are they?  How is it that I did not know there were power lines here?  I call the bridge operator on the VHF:  "How high are those power lines?"

bridge opens

        Bridge operator.  "I don't know, but a boat with a 60 ft. mast came thru here the other day with no problems."

        Me:   "We are 72 ft."

        We move forward, very, very, very slowly, with Tim ready to yank it into reverse if necessary.  We still cannot tell for sure if the wires are high enough.  Everyone on board is watching intently, with instructions to yell "STOP!" if necessary.

       Just a few feet away now.  A bird that was perched on the wires flies away as our mast top approaches.

       Closer ...

       Closer ...

       And ...

       We're clear!

       OMG.  My heart was pounding.

       I radio the bridge operator:  "In case anyone asks, we just went under the wires with a 72 ft. mast.  But, I think the tide is out."

 

close call with power lines

      Later, I would pull out my nav charts and see how the heck I missed that when planning this route.  Here's what I found:  on ONE side of the channel, the chart gives all sorts of info and stats about the bridge.  But you must look on the OTHER side of the channel, where it just says:  "OVHD PWR CAB" and does not say what the clearance is.  But that message is not very clear or obvious.  Lesson learned:   When planning any kind of bridge crossing, closely examine the area in proximity to verify no other hazards.  But, I have no idea how to find out WHAT the clearance is; the bridge operator did not even know.

      Several other powerboats witnessed that close call, or were listening to the conversation on VHF.  A few came up to us to, um, I guess you could say, congratulate us?

view along Snake Creek

       Anyway, we proceed down the mile-long Snake Creek, which was incredibly lovely.  Mangroves line one bank, and on the other side are a series of canals, lined with homes and other dwellings. 

       Then we emerge into the bay on the north side.  We are now in the Gulf of Mexico.  The water is as calm and flat as can be, and a bit murky, with a greenish tint.  The cruising guide said that the water in the Keys was supposed to be crystal clear; maybe it will be so when we get down to the lower keys.  But it's sure not very inviting here.

Thinking man Jeremy

       We proceed northward and turn into the very well-marked channel, and on thru Steamboat Pass, one of many "thread the needle" channel passes, with reefs just outside the markers, that we would traverse over the next few days.

      Just on the other side of Steamboat is our planned stop for the night:  Shell Key, a small swampy island where the chart shows a lake right in the middle of it.  We drop anchor about a quarter of mile from its northern shore, as the depth approached four feet.  I don't have a good way to measure how much of my all-chain rode I have, so I just let out a whole bunch of it.  (Looks like we have well over a hundred feet of the stuff in the chain locker, if we ever need it.)  The kids hop in the dinghy and buzz off to explore.

       And so finally, after a very stressful day #1, and a very long day #2 filled with every emotion from severe anxiety to euphoria, Rainbows End is laying at anchor at a GORGEOUS spot with about an hour of daylight remaining.  The wind is blowing pretty good out of the SE; we open up all the hatches and let our vessel air out real good.  Kat and Theresa take over the galley, and soon the aroma of our first boat-cooked meal wafts all over. 

       And here come the flies.  Great big black nasty things that bite hard!  They are everywhere.  Onto our shopping list goes a flyswatter.  We had heard that bugs can be a problem in the keys, and we had procured repellant, but it seemed to have no effect on these beasts.  (Fortunately , time would tell that this was the only place on the whole trip where bugs bothered us.)

      But the cooks prevail, and supper is delicious!  Nine ravenous sailors scarf down a huge pot of spaghetti.   Compliments to the captain all around for a marvelously-planned vacation (so far) and an excellent spot to spend our first night out!