Farwell Florida
June 23, 2024
Last time, I was on my way to Ft. Lauderdale to bust the Water Weaver out of boatyard jail to escape north. My flight into Ft. Lauderdale coincided with yet another major storm which produced another rocky landing and a tropical storm deluge. The sky erupted with >30cm of rain that night and then again the next day, flooding streets at my hotel next door to Cable Marine West where WW was waiting for me.
I donned raingear and waded over to the boat yard where WW had been moved inside for the engine reinstall. She looked disheveled but happy to see me. She was drenched down into the engine room because the scuppers were clogged (nowhere for the cockpit rainwater to go) and both bilge pumps decided to fail. WW desperately needed some TLC. Over the next three days, she got her new engine from JAS Marine, new bilge pumps – probably Marcelo’s most difficult challenge and I hope it didn’t end his technician career, new anodes - the sacrificial metals attached to metal boat parts to fight galvanic corrosion, Theodore II the new tender mounted, a new dinghy mounting rod custom-built by cranky Virgil with his fixed, “Are you stupid?” look – but that was mostly veneer, and another big bill. As quickly as possible, I paid and sprang WW from boatyard jail, and we hastily retreated to our northbound route.
This boat yard and more were far up the New River that runs through Ft. Lauderdale. It is another mind-boggling Floridian waterway: it began as a relatively ‘new’ river that appeared after a storm and earthquake according to Indigenous Seminole legends; it is narrow and full of boats; it is lined with homes and buildings, downtown restaurants, bridges, and those super yacht boat yards far upriver which also includes towboats moving mega-boats. I met one on a narrow corner. I tried to pull over only to be angrily admonished by the towboat captain – “drive that boat now!!” because I was supposed to keep moving, passing within a few feet of each other. There were some choice words fired at me. I believe I was called one of those “special” boaters. I had a dog named Yukie that we considered special too, so I got the captain’s drift, but everyone loved that dog. I just tipped my hat and apologized on the radio.
I had taken on 30 gal of fuel at the boatyard to get me to the intracoastal waterway (ICW) where I could fill up. I also collected Will, the marine engineer who rebuilt and installed the engine, for a sea trial. Everything was perfect - big phew. Here are a few things I learned about Volvo Penta engines for my boat geek friends: the dash temperature gauge has a fixed number for a range of temperatures because Volvo doesn’t want owners calling their technicians in a panic because their engine temperature was varying, which is natural; the engine will never stop unless its turned off or it has no fuel – alas, my Bahamian engine issue remains unresolved, it wasn’t getting fuel, but we don’t know why; the engine computer will not restart without its unique user code – a serious challenge when far from help; and while the latter is an issue for all modern vessels with their computerized mechanical systems, Will was adamant that Volvo Penta was the best engine on the water.
I dropped Will at the dock and finally headed north up the ICW. Lighthouse Point Yacht Club was far enough for the first day back in action, and in a redo of sorts, a grabbed a slip for the night. That provided some good eats with Cindy (their longtime server I’d met last time) and a cleansing swim in the pool. I was about to fall asleep after a few celebratory drinks when Jason arrived with a big boat that could only fit where WW was docked, so there was a tricky bit of nighttime boating among slips to end my day.
The next day I was en route early to West Palm Beach, FL. The ICW is a mecca for crazy boaters who are a mix of “don’t know how” and “don’t care”. I anchored off the downtown municipal docks but wasn’t prepared for the Black Music Celebration at the amphitheater. I love all kinds of music including hip-hop, but 4 hours of one genre assaulting you across the open water required some acetaminophen. The next morning, I dropped Theodore II for her first ride. We went through her paces, including a docking while I walked up to a grocery-like store to grab a few things. She performed excellently, got hoisted back onboard, and we set off for Vero Beach. It was another day on the ICW – lots of big wakes, near misses, finger gestures, WTF expressions, and all met with a smile and a wave as I sailed on at the speed limit on the correct (right) side of the channel. Eventually, I pulled into Vero Beach, FL dropped anchor underneath a giant American flag, sang the national anthem with some dolphins, and passed out.
The next day’s rough waters ended travel early with an unplanned stop in Titusville, FL. It is a great marina with very clean facilities and a couple of alligators in a pond. Best of all was the discovery of the Café Paradiso Bistro and Social Club. It is a Caribbean New Orleans eatery, speak easy/jazz room, and social club run by Ryan and partner/chef Gypsy and their young daughter. Not surprisingly, both hail from New Orleans, two musicians who’d had enough of that scene and landed in Titusville. I was there the night of their Crow Party with staff and guests in all manner of crow-like apparel and make-up. This is easily one of the funkiest places I’ve visited on my journey, and the food was eclectic and excellent! I love these hidden gems.
I didn’t have time to visit the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral just across the bay. My weather windows have been limited this year and I needed to move on. However, I met a local plumber at the Bistro and upon hearing my story, he proceeded to tell me about the Center’s poop issues. I need to do some more research, but the story was one of poorly managed and leaking sewer lines back to the mainland at Titusville. Ironic that they could put humans on the moon managing that poop issue but couldn’t engineer a solution to manage their own poop on earth. It’s a theme of my expedition as you have discovered.
Wildlife was reappearing as I got farther north, the ospreys, pelicans, terns, egrets, and dolphins with mangrove-lined waterways rather than the human wildlife on the ICW. The bad news was in WW’s engine room. Each morning I check the engine before departing (you can’t check after a run because it is 185oC or thereabouts down there). After my second full day I checked my first fuel filter as per Will’s instructions. The only fuel onboard so far was from the boat yard and Ft. Lauderdale Marina. I cracked open my Racor to drain any water and junk that is centrifuged out before the actual filtering in filter two. I was shocked to find water. I checked after my next run and there was more water. There are only two possible ingresses – water in the fuel most probably from the boatyard or my fuel cap had lost its seal. Fortunately, I had a new cap onboard. There was no more water in the fuel for the next few days, but I don’t know if the water in the fuel was from the boatyard and I got it all, or the fuel cap was an issue. I would like to know, but honestly didn’t care much once it was off my “Issue Lists” 1 and 2 of the 3 lists of things to do onboard.
I had noticed that my shaft seal which is an older, drip model was not dripping. This seal is also known as a “stuffing box” that encloses the shaft to keep water out (coming in via the very fast spinning shaft which is also lubricated with a sea water line in). The lubricating water “drips” out into the bilge where it gets pumped off board. There is a drip rate to monitor and adjust. Some adjustment is expected after the shaft is removed to replace the engine. I had arrived in St. Augustine, FL with a plan to rest and check out this interesting city. On my morning inspection, I was horrified to see that one of the shaft seal’s two, collar locking bolts was missing and the other had only one nut where two should exist. When reinstalled, these bolts and nuts should have been locked in place and over the three days of boating, they had shaken loose. The bolts and nuts were laying in the bilge water, but I still needed to improvise locking nuts which I found at the local hardware store. My first day of rest and history became a day of anxious boat repair. The boat yard apologized; what else could they do.
I have been on boats most of my life recreating and working, I have been far offshore on three oceans, and I have sent many others out to do work for me (I have a fleet of 10+ boats). None of that experience prepares you for the reality of long periods on the water, often in remote locations, and the reality that is the precariousness of your safety that depends on a hull and power which can be compromised instantaneously and without warning. Fully understanding, accepting, and preparing for these risks has been a very humbling learning experience that I plan to share widely with boating enthusiasts as “making wise choices”.
I eventually toured St. Augustine. It is recognized as the oldest and longest inhabited city in the USA since Europeans arrived (established 1565) and the original capital of the Florida territories. It has fascinating history and architecture to explore, but you will have to endure a horde of tourists and their requisite cringy, predictable tourist shops along the old city’s Avile Street. I did find a pub to watch Canada vs. Argentina in the Copa America, and another to watch Edmonton beat Florida in Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals. I forgot my credit card at the latter which was bound to happen because here in the USA they still take your card away to some mysterious machine that produces a paper bill on which you write the tip and total amount, sign it, and these scribbles are miraculous adjusted as your final bill received from your bank. Given that the rest of the world ditched this antiquated process long ago, it is strange that a world leader in digital technology can’t catch up to its innovations. I came back in the morning, the bar keeper opened the register, extracted two decks of credit and identification cards, and shuffled through them to produce mine – big phew.
This was my last stop in Florida after arriving in the state in December. It is a truly interesting place with a collection of characters from cowboys and rednecks, to retired golfing seniors, to the ostentatious, ultra-rich (or the appearance of such), to a plethora of Latino-worker bees, and regular Americans making their way along like the rest of us. When I scored some “Georgia” peaches in the grocery, I knew it was nearing my next stop which would be Cumberland Island, GA.
Thank you, Florida!
Allen
Somewhere in the salt marshes of the Carolinas
