1/9/2015, Blown Away

Some say that all sailing blogs follow this narrative: “Just sailing along, something broke, I fixed it.” This post is one of those, with a few really scary parts added in.

We had spent seven warm, glorious, lazy days at the unprotected Ft. Pierce anchorage, just south of the Ft. Pierce Bridge, on the east side of the channel. To the west was the inlet that led to the ocean. “Unprotected” meant that wind from almost any direction would hit us hard.

On Thursday, 1/8/15, we woke up very early in the morning, maybe 3 AM, to howling winds. We decided to bring in our plants. We also brought in the fender that we left on deck, (tied to the boat), for swimming in the strong current. I had just used it this afternoon, when the weather was calm and beautiful.

Once back in our stateroom, ready to try to go back to sleep, we noticed a bright light flashing through the ports. At first I thought it was lightening, but there was no rain or thunder. We looked outside. Our neighbor, on the boat that we referred to as “The Brits,” because they were, and because we never saw their boat name, was shouting against the raging wind. ”YOU’VE…DRAGGED!” The waves were rushing by, dark with white foam, like in a movie. All of the lights on his boat were on, and he was holding a huge white fender ball, ready, in case we swung into him. This young British couple had been across the ocean and knew how to prepare for anything! We, on the other hand, are still learning.

We noticed the channel marker and manatee warning sign, previously at least 100 feet behind us, were much closer, and we were in line with the Brits instead the “Blue Boat” from Canada in front of them, where we expected to be. We had dragged at least the length of one boat, and were continuing to move rapidly backward.

We quickly started our engine and, shaking with fright, I turned on all of the instrument switches, in preparation for bringing up the anchor and resetting it. As is our habit, Chuck brings up the anchor and I put it down, so he went to the bow and I went to the helm, in shorts, t-shirt and jacket.

I reflexively turned on the instruments at the helm, including the chart plotter, which had stopped working immediately after we left our Vero Beach mooring on January 1, 2015 to head south. When we turned it on we got no picture, and it make a squealing noise. (For my non-boating friends, the chartplotter is like the GPS in a car. However, with no "roads" and plenty of dangers, it's really important.)

In spite of the chart plotter not working, we had been able to make the 13.5 mile trip down to Ft Pierce on New Year’s Day, in daylight, with no issues. Even though it was cloudy and drizzly, we just followed the channel markers on the very well-marked and nearly straight channel. That day, the autopilot was working but the chart plotter did not display any image. We decided to stop at Ft Pierce, only two hours away from Vero Beach (with little wind, and the current in our favor), because it was beginning to rain and the anchorage was easy to spot without a chart plotter. And there was room for our boat. After 3 tries, (which maybe should have been a red flag!), we were able to anchor without dragging, and we stayed there for a week. We were using the Bruce anchor that we had employed since the problems in Cape May  (see blog post  "9/15/2014 - 9/19/2014, NJ Coast, Little Egg Inlet, Cape May Adventures 1-5").

We spent the week at Ft Pierce trying to diagnose and solve our chart plotter problem.

•          We took our nav pod apart and tried to find anything detached, loose or frayed. No such luck.
•          We made a phone call to Raymarine, who said our model was too old to fix. To replace it, we’d need to upgrade both the chart plotter and our radar, which is analog, and all of the associated wiring. Approximate cost, at least $3500, plus another very large number for installation.
•          We made calls to local dealers, hoping for a more favorable “Second opinion.” They didn’t call back.
•          We tried to buy a replacement Raymarine “RL70C” that we could swap in, to work with our existing wiring and radar, at least temporarily. We struck out on Craiglist, and eBay wouldn’t let us pay with a credit card because our billing address and shipping address are in different states, so we had to cancel the transaction.
•          We tried and succeeded in buying a suitable backup unit, a new model Garmin. We decided to have the Garmin mailed to the Vero Beach City Marina. We had the address with us, and we knew it would be an easy trip back to pick it up. We made a mooring reservation for Friday, 1/9, when we expected the package to arrive at the marina.
•          We received New Year’s greetings from a friend who spends winters in Vero. We asked for a recommendation and found a shop that did talk to us, but they agreed that the old machine could not be fixed and they tried, but were unable, to locate a replacement unit. They said we’d have to buy something new, which they could help us install. They also kindly clued us in that this thing is no longer called a “chart plotter”. Now it’s an “MFD,” or Multi-Function Display.
•          We called Pete Brocker, the diver at the Vero Beach City Marina, and a great all around resource, since he has been at Vero Beach for many years. We hadn’t exchanged contact info, but we were able to find his easily, since he has a business. We asked him for recommendations, and he referred us to Mike Giannotti, the electrician who works in FL in the winter, for Hartge Yacht Yard, in Maryland. I actually had Mike’s card, which I had gotten from a Hartge presentation at the SSCA GAM in Annapolis, in September. I didn’t realize that he was in Vero Beach, and that he works at the Vero Beach Marina all the time. I called him and left a message.
•          I always expect electricians, plumbers, and any other essential tradespeople to be too busy to talk to us. Mike not only called back, but also tried to walk us through some basic testing over the phone. He had us check our system with the radar unplugged, and it worked! But only once, and we couldn’t get it working after that. I was hopeful that our box was still usable, but Mike said no, he didn’t think so. And of course we wanted it to work with the radar on.

Back to Thursday morning, in the dark, early hours of the morning, at the Ft Pierce anchorage, with the anchor dragging, and the cold north wind howling. Chuck was at the bow, trying to bring up the anchor. I was at the helm. By habit, I turned on the chart plotter, and a picture displayed! But it was too bright and I couldn’t see ahead of me, so I quickly turned it off. We tried to re-anchor a few times and could not. The wind was blowing about 35 knots and gusting to 38, and the current was very strong. And it was cold! I was shaking from both fright and cold.

What should we do? We knew there was another anchorage nearby that might have been more protected from the wind, and maybe with a better holding bottom, but would we be able to find it in the dark? Would there be room for another boat? Our anchorage was close to the inlet that lead to the ocean, and was, we finally realized, well scoured on the bottom, from the tide going in and out. That meant poor holding, at least with the Bruce anchor, which doesn’t have a pointy end to grab in. The Bruce had been terrific in the Chesapeake, which has a mud bottom.

We decided to go back to Vero Beach City Marina in the dark, expecting we’d travel for a few hours and get there in the light. We knew it had been a two hour trip down to Ft Pierce, a week earlier. When does the sun come up now anyway? We didn’t know.  What time was it? We didn’t know.

We radioed the Ft Pierce bascule bridge to request an opening. The operator saw us leaving the anchorage and he cheerfully agreed to open for us. He wished us luck, and said, “I hope you don’t get blown away!” We headed north through the bridge. It was very dark, and very cold. The moon was out and nearly full, but the sky was so cloudy that there was very little light. It was hard to see the channel, which had been so easy to follow in the daylight. I tried to find our “Master Blaster”, a very bright spot light, but couldn’t locate it in my near-panic, and didn’t want to leave Chuck alone up on deck, so I abandoned the idea of using it, and just brought up a regular flash light.

Almost immediately, we drifted away from the channel and almost grounded. We didn’t know which way to turn to stay in. Chuck tried to turn on the chart plotter and it came on, miraculously, a second time! I found the instructions and we successfully dimmed the display.  This time the chart plotter was working but the autopilot was not, so someone had to hand-steer the whole time, standing out in the cold wind. We took turns at the helm, switching off for quick trips below for more clothing. When I went below, I finally grabbed my watch and checked the time. It was 4:48.

I can’t see well in the dark, and when we dimmed the chart plotter, the speed indicator and the depth meter also darkened enough that I couldn’t see them from the wheel. Chuck read me the depth meter whenever I asked or he noticed it dropping, and he located the channel markers with the flashlight. A few of the markers were lighted but most were not.

For the first time, I did most of the helming. We were both very tired, but I’m better at staying up all night. Chuck kept me company and took over whenever I needed to go below, to get more clothing – long pants, hat, gloves.  I dragged my ski clothes back out from under the mattress. It was cold standing there at the wheel, even though we have a dodger to block the wind. The wind was right on the nose. There were whitecaps in the ICW from the wind blowing the water. One time a wave sprayed over the bow and water landed on me, from beyond the dodger. With glasses on, this meant it obscured my vision. I went down to clean my glasses, and took the opportunity to rest my neck, which was aching from tension, and from the strain of gripping the wheel and leaning into the strong wind. I thought of an old mariner that I had read about who tied himself to the wheel in stormy conditions so he wouldn’t get washed over board. It was uncomfortable for us, but at least it wasn’t that bad!

While I was below cleaning my glasses, I suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I was surprised, “Wow, my hair looks terrific!” I don’t fuss much with my appearance on the boat, and certainly didn’t this night, but I had just cut my hair and the wind had styled it. I remembered an expression from my childhood, “The Windblown Look.” This described the “new look”, when the adult women in my life first transitioned from set and styled hairdos, (created by sitting under torturously hot and noisy hair dryers and held stiffly in place with lots of hairspray), to a more natural look, with the advent of hand held blow dryers. Windblown was quite the understatement on this day.

We continued north, past lighted and non-lighted markers, looking out for something to aim toward, and most of all trying not to hit a channel marker. If I took my tired, irritated, watery eyes off the chart plotter or mark for even a few seconds, the wind would blow us off course and potentially out of the channel. Then I had to ask Chuck for depth readings to determine how quickly and aggressively I needed to move, to get back to mid-channel. At one point we passed through overhead power lines, and it was difficult to determine which set of poles to pass through until we got very close. And of course it was imperative that we not hit a pole!

I was wondering, “When is sun up in Florida in January?” I was hoping for 6 AM. And where does it come up? Which way is east? We were traveling North NorthWest, so east was to my starboard (right) side and behind us. The moon was on our port side and behind, so it didn’t help much. It illuminated the area behind us a little, but sadly, it did nothing for the view ahead of us. 6 AM came and went, and no sign of the sun. I thought I saw an emerging lighted patch on the horizon, but it was behind us, to the south, so it was some city lights and not the sun. Finally, Chuck noticed faint light peering between the clouds on the east side. I was tired, cold and stiff. My neck was aching.

At long last we came to a bridge, and I could see from the chart plotter that another bridge was coming up soon after this one, so that made this one the 17^th Street Bridge, in Vero Beach, and the farther one the Merrill Barber Bridge, which is also in Vero Beach and within sight of the marina. Suddenly it was 7:15 AM, we were between the two bridges, and the sun was up. We tried to call the marina by phone, but got voice mail. They open at 8 AM.

As soon as we turned toward the marina and away from our straight windward course, we picked up speed. We had been running with the engine at 2600 rpms and only making 4 kts against the wind and current (compared to over 7 kts on the way down). Our speed quickly went up to 4.5 and then higher, so we slowed the engine as we entered the marina.

We cruised the mooring field looking for an empty mooring or place to anchor. We spotted an empty mooring, not far from a large powerboat that appeared to be anchored in the channel. It turned out the empty mooring was broken, and yes, the powerboat had broken off of it with the high winds during the night. So he dropped his anchor in the channel, safely away from other boats. We headed for the anchorage off to the west, just beyond the powerboat, in the mangrove cove. We were ecstatic to find it empty. At 7:55, we set our anchor in the same spot where we had seen the Doyle’s boat, Semi Local, anchored when we first arrived in Vero Beach a month earlier. (Mark and Diana Doyle are the authors of our favorite ICW anchorage books and ICW cruising books.)

View of the mooring field, from the anchorage.

We spent the day Thursday and the following night at anchor, waiting for the wind to calm so we could move over to a mooring and raft with our friends Frank and Suzanne, on s/v Rockhopper.

In all, we ran the engine for 3.8 hours, so we must have started just after 4 AM.  I thought we’d need to sleep for a few days to recover, but it was quick. We spent the first day warming up, napping, eating, drinking tea and marveling at our good fortune to have gotten back to Vero Beach safely, in the dark, with equipment that we didn’t expect to work. We are so very thankful.

Mangrove cove anchorage on Friday, after the storm

Preparing to leave mangrove cove anchorage

Autopilot (out), wind indicator & chart plotter (working)

The next day, we stopped at the dock for the 5 essentials (fuel, water, pump-out, trash, intel) and then rafted with Rockhopper.

Frank on Rockhopper

Suzanne with Jonesy and Ozzy.

In the afternoon we met with Mike Giannotti, the electrician from Hartge.

Chuck with Mike Giannotti, working inside the nav pod

Within an hour, Mike found a fuse that was out, and he also discovered that the wires for the chart plotter, autopilot and other instruments were chafing in the place where the wires leave the nav pod to go down the stainless steel tubes that support it, to connect with switches and other things inside the boat. Some caulk, some electrical tape, a new fuse, and we were amazingly, and very gratefully, back in business!

Sandy & Chuck on s/v Summer Wind

Night view of the Merrill Barber Bridge, from our mooring.