Day 5 - Tuesday: Big Spanish Channel and Cudjoe Channel

sailing is hard work

      Today is our long sail day.  The plan is to sail all the way from Bahia Honda, north-westerly up the Big Spanish Channel, out into the open Gulf of Mexico, and westward into Cudjoe Channel for the night.  Distance:  about 25 miles.

      But an hour out, and the wind dies down to almost nothing.  There is nothing worse than being on a sailboat when there is little or no wind, and the temperature is like a hundred degrees.  So we have no choice but to fire up the propulsion engine.

      And it won't start.

      After much diagnosis, we determine that the problem appears to be with the starter.  It seems to be turning over, but will not engage the diesel engine.  So we break out the cell phones and put in a call to Joe.  (Fortunately, we still have cell service.)

      First the bad news:   This is a major problem that will require major repairs.  It cannot be fixed over the phone.

      The good news:   The auxiliary engine can recharge the propulsion batteries, but it's some kind of indirect connection that is less efficient or something; in all honesty, I do not understand all the complexities of this electric system.  So we must monitor the propulsion battery constantly, and will not be able to run the propulsion motors hard at all.  We'll make it to Key West Ok, but it will definitely take longer, unless the wind comes back.  Oh, and I almost forgot to mention:  the auxiliary engine is MUCH noisier than the propulsion engine.

shot of chart plotter screen, new Cudjoe

       So onward we plod, at a fraction of the speed we were going yesterday at this time.  The propulsion motor throttles are barely above idle.  And even then, we must periodically shut them down to zero when the battery voltage gets too low.

      A few hours later, we emerge from the Big Spanish Channel into the open Gulf, and turn westward.

      Out here away from all the human development clustered around Highway #1, the scenery becomes more interesting.  There are hundreds of little tiny islands to our left (southward) side, each  low and flat, and covered with dense mangrove forests and/or marsh.  Occasionally, we would see some man-made development, but most of it was uninhabited.  To the north, there is nothing but open ocean.  The water is very clear.  It has a somewhat greenish tint, with splotches of dark blue and light blue, indicating deeper and shallower water, respectively, and occasionally whitish, which indicates sand.  The surface is smooth and flat.  When the wind died to a dead calm, the water becomes like glass.  Jeremy would comment later that he really likes it out here, far away from the rest of civilization.

 

Fat Albert

       We can see the infamous blimp, nicknamed "Fat Albert", from many miles away.  It is white-colored and tethered to the ground on one of the small islands in these parts.  The U.S. military has been operating it out here since WW II.  There are actually two of them, according to the cruising guide.  One of them blasts TV propaganda to Cuba, and the other searches for unauthorized ships and airplanes trying to enter the U.S.

        Then there are these crazy little fish that jump out of the water and seem to "run" across the surface, like a skipping stone.  It looks like they're all trying very hard to get away from our boat.  Tim says they are called "Geaux" fish.

dolphin swimming

        Eventually, we arrive at the place where the Cudjoe Channel meets the open Gulf, and turn southward into the channel.  The water here is deep, and as clear as can be.  Nearby, a large fish or animal or something breaks the surface with a loud splash.  To our astonishment, we see that it's a DOLPHIN, and we can actually see it swimming under the water for quite a distance!

Check out the area by dinghy

       Near a small mangrove-covered island, listed on the nautical chart as simply "Mangroves", we drop anchor.  There is a wicked eastbound current flowing through here, presumably a tidal current.  I estimate it must be flowing at 4 knots.  Jeremy goes into to water for an anchor inspection, but the current is so strong he cannot make any forward progress, even with swim fins!  Tim and I advise the crew to wear flotation and to tether yourself to the boat before swimming here.  The girls settle instead for getting a bucket of seawater and pouring it down each others' swimsuit.  I could swear I saw steam rising out of their swimsuits as that nice cool water washes away the sweat of one long, hot, dismal sailing day.

      Mitch, as usual, hops in the dinghy to go explore.  Sometime later, he comes back and reports that, as he approached the nearby island, a huge flock of birds, like, exploded as he approached, just like on a National Geographic Wildlife show.

The Captain & niece at sunset

      A half-hour later, the current is gone.  This confirmed my suggestion that it was tidal.  So everyone jumps in the water; no tether necessary!  Underwater, we see rays, lobsters, coral, and many, many fish.  Several of us swim toward "Mangrove" island, where the water is only about 3 feet deep.

      And of course we do our anchor inspection.  The anchor appears to be dug in Ok, but the chain rode has a sharp bend in it.  Also, an hour or so later, the powerful current starts up again, only this time it is flowing from the OPPOSITE direction.  None of us have ever seen such dramatic tidal currents, anywhere!   

This IS Doug & Michelle's honeymoon, don't forget

       Further increasing our anxiety about anchor dependability is the fact that storm clouds are gathering on the southern horizon.  So we guys huddle up to discuss the situation.  We decide that pulling up the anchor and trying someplace else is not likely to help because these tidal currents are probably everywhere in here.  And besides, a lot of the seabed around here is that same hard-packed sand and crushed coral that could give us the same problem as we had yesterday.  At least where we are, the anchor is indeed set, but the concern is that shifting winds and currents could potentially pull it loose.  So tonight, we will do an all-night anchor watch, starting at 10 p.m. and ending at 6:00 a.m.  Each of us five guys will pull a 1-1/2 hour shift.  We are to keep a close eye on nearby "Mangrove" island, and if it appears we are dragging anchor, then we are to immediately wake the rest of the crew.

       We divvy up the shifts by drawing out of a hat.  I get the last one, starting at 4:30 a.m.

       Also to be decided at our crew meeting was how best to get to Key West, considering that the wind forecast for tomorrow was just like today:  about 5 knots, out of the west.  The WEST!!  Yuck!!  We're supposed to have EASTERLY trade winds at this latitude.  And we don't have our main propulsion engine.

       The original plan called for a stop tomorrow at Jewfish Basin, a place that was described with very high praise in the cruising guide.  But, Jewfish Basin had a narrow and rather shallow entrance, and once into the basin, it would take some time to get to our planned anchorage spot.  Reverse that process the next day.  With neither good wind nor a reliable propulsion engine, all that maneuvering would be time-consuming and potentially hazardous.  On the other hand, we had noticed that winds seem to pick up in the later part of the day. 

       Anyway, we decided to make the go or no-go call as we passed the entrance to Jewfish Basin tomorrow.  If the winds have picked up, and it's not too late in the day, we'll go on into Jewfish; otherwise, we huff it all the way to Key West in one leg.  That would make it a 30-mile sail.  Once in Key West, we will go with the original plan and anchor or moor the first night there.  How long will it take to get there?  It depends on the wind.  Best case scenario:  about 5 hours.  Worst case:  15 hours.  We'll check the weather forecast in the morning, see if anything has changed.

      Everyone get to bed!  We got a long night, and a much longer day, tomorrow.