All is well

Boat is ok, more scrapes but afloat. KW is shaken, some flood damage, but 80% functional. We'll spend H'ween here.

Plans made

We reached the marina by phone today. The ZP is not on their "Sunk" list, so it looks like she made it through another one. They have power there. We've decided to drive back down on Saturday, hoping that will allow time for a few more gas stations to get back on line between here and there.

In the meantime, we've been doing Disney. On Tuesday, the girls and I went to Epcot. They are having a food and wine festival this month, so we ate our way through the World Showcase. We had tasty tidbits from Greece, France, Turkey, Ireland, China, Norway, and Japan while enjoying a variety of musical acts. My favorite was Off Kilter, a kilted Canadian group featuring bagpipe and electric guitar. They were very fun, doing a mean Whiskey in the Jar, Johnny B. Good, and (of course) Amazing Grace. The Taiko drummers in Japan ran a very close second.

Yesterday, Marjie and Chloe stretched their wings a bit and went to Magic Kingdom on their own. They had a BLAST. I remember going to Disneyland alone with my sister, so it felt like a traditional rite of passage for them.

Much of today was taken up with a trek to the doctor's office and pharmacy. I've been having asthma trouble, so it was time to go back on the "control" medication. I'm not sure if it's close proximity to the rats or a new selection of pollen. I tend to suspect the latter, since I breathe just fine when we're out at sea.

We all have mixed feelings about returning to the boat. We're all a little homesick and discouraged. But Halloween is a rockin' time in Key West, and then simple Keys cruising awaits. We'll see if we can't get this adventure back on track.

KQR

Making plans

Despite tornado warnings a couple of counties over, Wilma was no big deal here. We got a lot of rain -- the hotel pool overflowed a little -- and the winds blew steady at about 35 mph for several hours, but we never lost power and certainly never felt endangered. The theme parks reopened in the afternoon ('though we found out too late to take advantage), and we were able to have a pizza delivered this evening.

Our plan is to visit the Magic Kingdom tomorrow, and then head back to Key West on Wednesday. That depends on the Keys highway being reopened by then. If it isn't, well, we'll get to visit Epcot, too.

I had written up the highlights of our visit to Disney-MGM Studios, but the computer hates me today and I lost it. When I quit being frustrated, I might try again. Short version is: We loved the Beauty and the Beast show, we loved the giant fish puppets in the "Under the Sea" part of the Little Mermaid show, and Marjie and I got happily scared to death on the Aerosmith Rock'n'Roller Coaster (Chloe sat that one out with the 8yo daughter of the family in front of us in line). The rains hit in time to cancel the laser show at the end of the day, but nature substituted thunder and lightning. Marjie didn't have a raincoat, so she got totally drenched, but she got a new shirt and a Mickey rain poncho out of the deal.

KQR

The rains arrive

Had a fun day at MGM, didn't get soaked til eve. when fringes of Wilma arrived in style. Parks closed Monday.

Waiting and moving

Wilma's slow pace is costing us too much in marina fees, rental car days, and motel nights. When all is said and done, we'll have gone through more than a month's worth of cruising budget in order to spend this week on land. And I know we've been making the best decisions we could with the information that was available at each decision point, but it's pretty frustrating that we could have had another day or two in the Tortugas or Key West.

Frank has a cold. Too many germs on land.

Anyway, now that we've had a couple of days of veg'ing out in front of the TV, we're moving again. The Motel 6 up in Orlando is our next destination, being both cheaper and less in the line of fire (we hope). If the rains aren't too bad -- and so far they haven't been -- we might even hit Walt Disney World. The girls just have to agree on which park to visit.

KQR

West Palm Beach Motel 6

We had a very uneventful evacuation drive today. We got up early to avoid traffic, expecting it to be like our 13-hour 5 mph drive out of New Orleans. Instead, thanks to Wilma's slowing down out there and the resultant push-back of the mandatory Keys evacuation, we had clear roads and (ahem) easy sailing. We got up to Lantana (just south of West Palm Beach) before noon. We have reservations here at the Motel 6 through Monday, so we're all set. Depending on what Wilma does, we may end up heading south again before then!

Yesterday was a busy day. We got into Key West in the morning and, after getting turned away from one marina (scary moment), found a spot at the Municipal Marina at Garrison Bight. That's on the north side of the island, with Lemming Key stretched out to the west, so we hope we've found the best protection we can from the nasty southeast winds that come from being in the "bad" quadrant of the storm. The marina also has floating docks, a nice plus for riding out storm surge.

After a phone call to the concerned rangers at Dry Tortugas National Park to let them know we made it, I made a lot of phone calls trying to find a rental car. We did not want to become dependent on government services to get out of town, so it was with great relief that I took the last car Enterprise had to offer. After that, we could "relax" into prepping the boat for a hurricane. That we have down to something of a routine, unfortunately. We strapped down and stowed everything loose, packed up a trunkful of possessions we'd rather not lose if the worst happens, and then took a few minutes to enjoy the famous Key West sunset (made truly spectacular by an advancing squall) and drive down to Duval Street (KW's mini-Bourbon Street). It wasn't enough sightseeing at all, but we took what we could get.

As for today, we spent the afternoon watching HBO in the air conditioning. I guess there are worse things.

KQR

And about the Dry Tortugas

Here's a belated trip report about Dry Tortugas National Park.

The 20-hour passage from Naples was distressingly familiar. The girls and I were sick again, so Frank ended up doing most of it alone, poor guy. We made good time, though, due to some very fresh winds. We arrived at dawn at the first of the ring of lights that mark the shallow waters of the mini-archipelago. From there, it's a connect-the-dots cruise to the channel that leads to the keys within.

The main island is Garden Key, home of Fort Jefferson. The fort is a very interesting place, constructed in the 1800's for its strategic position out in the middle of the Gulf. It also did time (pun intended) as a prison, with its most famous prisoner Dr. Samuel Mudd and several other men convicted of complicity in Lincoln's assassination. (It was there that Mudd earned his pardon; he took over as post doctor after a yellow fever outbreak killed the regular doc and worked with great dedication.) Engineering and water-supply difficulties abounded, and, combined with disease and a big hurricane, led to the fort's being abandoned without ever being completed.

Nowadays, it's a fun place to explore, with three stories of pentagonal structure to wander through. (See photos at http://www.nps.gov/drto/.) It has a moat, and the sea creatures are making fine use of both sides of the wall as a handy reef. It was really wonderful to get in the water finally. Chloe and I did the most snorkeling and saw a nice variety of flashy fish and corals, but Marjie got quite close to a big barracuda under the pier. They are pretty creepy to encounter, what with the way they just hang there watching you, and she cracked me up with the less than ladylike exclamation that escaped lips and snorkel.

There were several boats in the anchorage when we arrived, a couple of sailboats and a variety of fishing boats, but there was far less tour-boat traffic than we'd been led to expect. A seaplane or two came out once or twice a day, and a couple of big catamarans (the powerboat kind) came every day from 11 to 2. It was fun to watch the traffic - especially the seaplanes - and we ended up having a really fun chat with a Scottish man and his two teenaged sons. We also made the acquaintance of the folks aboard the Delfina 2, a Catalina 38 that we first saw in Naples. They kept trying to leave but a persistent overheating problem kept bringing them back. We could relate!

Wilma soon became the dominant topic of conversation among visitors and staff. We had one day - ONE DAY - where we felt really relaxed, thinking she was heading straight north to Texas or (gulp) Louisiana. That didn't last long. Tuesday morning's trip to the dock to see the latest tracking maps revealed the updated forecast path, with the Tortugas in the crosshairs.

We made plans to depart Wednesday, taking the trip to Key West in two hops, with an overnight stop at the Marquesas preserve. A visit and strong recommendation from the ranger scotched that plan, and we ended up hustling to get ready and leave Tuesday afternoon with Delfina. With only about a quarter of all we wanted to do in the Dry Tortugas done, we headed out together, to discover the upsides and downsides of making passage with another boat. Delfina has fancier navigational equipment than the ZP, so they took the lead. That was comforting, and the company was nice. But they also had a questionable engine and less fuel than us, so we ended up following as they tacked their way east (upwind). Plus, we're slower than they are (partially on purpose, with sails reefed in to keep the boat level enough to avoid scaring the krewe), which must have been irritating for them.

After a very rolly start, the seas and winds leveled out. About midnight, with everybody obviously safe, we parted ways with Delfina and motored on in to Key West (while they kept sailing). Miracle moment of the night: Keeping to Frank's excellent course, I not only motored directly to an unlighted channel marker a few miles from Key West, I didn't hit the damned thing even though I didn't see it til I was right on top of it.

Fortune favors the foolish.

I do love nighttime sailing, though, when the seas are calm and the skies are clear. It was full moon time for this one, playing peek-a-boo in enchanting fashion through banks of drifting clouds. And after doing it twice, I think dawn is my favorite time to come into port. You can see all the channel markers really well in the dark - the lighted ones anyway ;-) - and then the sun comes up in time to help you find your anchorage or marina. I've seen much more of sunrise than I'm accustomed to these past weeks. :-)

KQR

ZP 'safe' Key West

Easy overnighter to KW marina gives us time to evac by land if needed. More later when I find Internet cafe.

Passage notes

Good morning! Sorry for the delay in posting; Internet access here at the Naples City Dock is a pain, and I suppose I’ve been on strike, preferring resting and doing nothing to taking care of business. Nevertheless, I have put together some notes and stories about our passage from Gulfport to Naples. In fact, I spent quite a bit of time during the passage mentally composing my blog entries about the experience. (During the first day, I decided the title would be This Had Better Be Worth It. Things improved after that, and I’ve had a couple of days of recovery in Naples, so that doesn’t seem quite necessary any more.) Given 5 very long days to think about it -- and given my intense need for distraction during that time -- I composed quite a lot! The notes that follow are the highlights of those mental ramblings and should paint you a picture of life as a deep-water sailor. Enjoy!

First, last, and always foremost
Frank is my hero. With his entire crew incapacitated much of the time, he bore a heavy burden indeed. His watches were longer, his rest periods were busier, and his responsibility for getting us all back to shore safely was huge. He never faltered and he never complained. I was already pretty fond of him before this trip ;-), but my admiration for him now knows no bounds.

The days have character
A lot of things about the trip are already blurring together, but less so than I might have thought. I think this is because the 5 days we spent at sea were surprisingly distinct, as these next few sections will show.

Thursday – Day 1 – Rainy, chilly seasickness hell
The big weather system that we had hoped we would be tucking in behind was still very much in residence in the Gulf. We rocked and rolled and took in most of our sails and still did better than 5 knots in the right direction. The girls and I were so sick, from the outset, and even iron-stomach Frank succumbed eventually. We were somewhat underprepared for the cold, so we were terribly uncomfortable outside. Plus, everything below decks that we hadn’t stowed properly and a good bit that we thought we had ended up tossed every which way. The ensuing mess meant the inside wasn’t terribly comfortable either. We got through this day not so much with grit and determination as by the simple fact that we had no choice but to do so. In the Captain’s Log, Frank described this day as “Survival conditions,” and I’m afraid it was no exaggeration.

Friday – Day 2 – A little less rainy, a little less chilly seasickness hell
Signs that the weather system was moving away were the only thing that kept us going. Land was no longer in sight when dawn broke, and the water was a deep, pure blue. We were literally surrounded by storm clouds, but our regular drenchings fell into the category of showers rather than squalls. I got out the silver emergency blankets and we used those to line our rain gear. It helped the warmth situation immensely and left me kicking myself for not thinking of them sooner. The entire cockpit and good portions of our bodies were soon tinted silver, since that silver stuff rubs off of cheap space blankets, but it was well worth it. Our seasickness continued unabated. Not wanting to be too graphic, I will just say that I did all right while I was driving, but once relieved of that duty, I would “make a stop” on the way to the companionway, go below to strip out of my rain gear and make a stop in the galley, walk the ten feet forward to the head to make a stop there, and then collapse into my bunk. Most unpleasant.

Saturday – Day 3 – Twilight at the end of the tunnel
Oh, the relief as the seas calmed down! People tell me that the third day is always when things start to get better, but we’ll never know, because the conditions were so markedly improved by our third day. We all managed to eat a very little bit and – most importantly – to start taking in fluids. The skies were thick and gray, so that we couldn’t tell 11 a.m. from 4 p.m. Twilight all day. That suited Chloe just fine, since she stayed below all day. She’d found a spot – lying crosswise on one of the dinette benches – where she didn’t feel sick. She read and slept all day and began caring for our poor, neglected, storm-tossed rats. (Their water bottle went flying on the first day, and I was worried about them but beyond helping them. They owe their little lives to Chloe.) Marjie, meanwhile, stayed in the cockpit most of the time and was still one miserable kid. I had to bully her into taking small sips of water. By the end of the day, when she ate half a slice of bread with jelly, she and we began to know she would be all right. So, things improved. But there was still a fair amount of tedium, and I’m sure you can imagine our dismay when we realized we’d need a fifth day to get there.

Sunday – Day 4 – This isn’t so bad
With the weather turning ever more pleasant – warm but with enough overcast to keep us from broiling – we got a glimpse of what the passage would have been like if not for the bad weather. The sea was actually CALM, and we had Singular Experiences (see below). Chloe came abovedecks and Marjie actually sat up. We’d gone 24 hours without “feeding the fish.” As night fell, we could see the glow from Tampa, and it was comforting to know that we could end our passage at any time simply by heading due east.

Monday – Day 5 – Nature’s last laugh
It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the seas were calm, and we were almost there. Unfortunately, our Conservative Navigation (see below) and a shift in the wind meant that we had to take a power-boaters-don’t-have-this-problem jog back out to sea to get around the headland at Fort Myers. How depressing to spend hours going in the wrong direction!! Okay, okay, we were still headed south, but – with the way the Florida coast curves to the southeast – we were heading AWAY from land. Ugh. We did that until I simply couldn’t stand it any more, then took aim at Naples. We were running downwind now, with a stiff breeze and waves pushing us east, so our speed was about 8 knots. Cruising, indeed! But the wave action wasn’t pleasant and driving the boat as it surfed took a lot of energy and attention from our sleep-starved selves. I managed to broach the boat once, fortunately with no harm done except to re-trash the interior that Frank had recently tidied. By nightfall, the clouds rolled in again, and we had to dig out the raingear. (Our raingear being rather icky with sweat and saltwater by now, this wasn’t thrilling.) I felt totally disoriented. My tired brain was not quite able to simultaneously reconcile that (1) though the land and lights were on our left with a big empty nothing in front of us, we were going the right way, and (2) though the coastline was in sight and curved around to be directly in front of us, we were in no danger of hitting it. I spent a few hours alternating nonsensical worries that we were off heading out to sea with even more nonsensical worries that land was about to jump out and bite us. To cap things off, the wind shifted again to come straight at our noses. There was NO WAY we were going to do the purist sailor thing and do a bunch of tacking and jibing to come into Naples under sail. We fired up the diesel and motored the last 3 hours, anchoring about midnight off the Naples beach, in the rain, just outside the channel that leads to the Naples boat basin.

Singular experiences: Dolphins!
On the fourth day, there were dolphins. Oh, my, how there were dolphins! We were cruising along, feeling mostly human again by now if a bit bored, when there was a sudden commotion alongside the boat. A pod of dolphins arrived with much speed and fanfare and began frolicking around us. There were at least 30 of them, in a wondrous variety of sizes and colors. The girls ran forward to see them better, while I enjoyed all the slicing fins and splashing breaths from the wheel until our cries of excitement woke Frank. Then he and I took turns driving and going forward to watch their show at the bow. That was definitely the best viewpoint: seeing those sleek forms zip and dive and dash as they played with our boat was amazing and glorious. There were several babies in the pod, with one little guy no more than a foot and half long joining his elders at the bow. Fabulous sight. We cruised along together for probably half an hour, til even the teenager dolphins had enough hot-rodding and the pod moved off.

Singular experiences: Merry and Pippin
During a rainstorm in the fourth day, a significantly bedraggled little brown bird arrived on our boat. Shellshocked and shy, she at first huddled on the bow pulpit looking distinctly pitiful. We left her alone to rest – we were at least 100 miles from shore!! – and by morning, she was hopping around deck like she owned the place. Alone with her for the moment, I started calling her Pippin. As the sky lightened and my family began to stir belowdecks, she got increasingly brave, til the moment came when she perched on the companionway, eyeballed the interior with visible curiosity, and then flew right on in. Marjie and Chloe were thrilled.

Not long after this, Merry arrived. He plopped down out of nowhere to perch on a coiled line hanging next to the companionway. I called out to the girls to let them know we now had two birds, and Chloe cautiously stuck her head out to have a look. He was too tired to be perturbed, so she slowly reached out a hand toward him. He let her pet him! A few minutes later, she had him perched on her hand, and a few minutes after that, he was sitting on my shoulder while I drove the boat, listening with great curiosity to my whistling.

Interactions with these little friends dominated the rest of the trip. Pippin nibbled on some spilled rat food and whatever tasty tidbits she was finding on deck during her constant patrols. Merry wouldn’t eat anything, but he grew increasingly comfortable with us, and even seemed to seek out our company. At one point, he discovered a conveniently concave little spot in Frank’s discarded rain jacket and burrowed and nestled in there with evident great pleasure.

As we neared the end of our trip, you will recall that things got a little hectic. I did my daring 360 in the sailboat, we had yet another rain squall, we took down the sails and started motoring, etc. Somewhere in there, Merry took his leave. We were only about 10 miles from shore, so we have every hope that he is now happily munching food from some backyard feeder, but we *really* wish he had stayed with us all the way to Naples so we could be sure.

Pippin did just that, though. After we dropped anchor and made our way below to collapse utterly, I found her sitting in the open window in the head. I wished her a good night and went to bed. When we awoke the next morning, she was gone.

Points of reference
When you’re out in deep water, you don’t have land masses, radio towers, buoys, and the like to use as points of reference while steering the boat. Staring at the compass or wind indicators for hours is not exciting and, for me, not conducive to good steering or a calm stomach. Here are some things I used to help me stay on course:

• Sail shape and sounds (sails make unpleasant noises when you’re not steering right)


• Wind direction


• Wave direction


• Oil rigs (first night only)


• Stars (when we could see them)


• The new moon (when we could see it)


• Cloud shapes (unless they were moving)


• City glow (last two nights only)

Here are some things that did *not* help me stay on course:

• Other boats that I’d mistaken for stationary objects


• Gut instinct

Conservative navigation
One principle of upwind sailing is that you should sail “tight to the wind,” meaning you point the nose of the boat as much into the face of the wind as possible. This is because no boat can sail directly upwind and some boats are, in fact, really bad at sailing anywhere close to that. If you get as close to it as possible, you will be free later to “fall off the wind” – sail so the wind is coming comfortably over the side of the boat – and point directly at your destination.

Well, for two days of survival-conditions sailing and without consulting each other about it, Frank and I both endeavored to sail a bit tighter to the wind – in this case, more east than south – than our course required. We had these huge southerly swells that we just *knew* had to be pushing us south, and one just never knows what the wind is going to do later on in the trip. Thus confident that we weren’t going to miss Florida entirely and with other more pressing priorities on our minds (surviving), we didn’t check our relative position on the chart until the third day. We realized then how far east we’d come and how much south we needed to go. That’s about when the wind changed and “falling off” was no longer possible. Instead, we had to sail downwind, and we couldn’t point as southerly as we wanted to without a bunch of maneuvering that we didn’t have the energy for.

The result of all this was that we “came out” near Tampa instead of near Naples. Not the end of the world, but it probably added twelve hours to our passage.

Sleeping at sea
Reading between the lines, you may have figured out that Frank and I didn’t require Marjie and Chloe to stand watches. They were both too sick initially, and then Frank and I were in a groove and just happy to have them pretty much taking care of themselves. So all steering on the passage was done by the adults. Since the longest either of us took the wheel was about four hours, you can see that Frank and I got our sleep for those five days in small doses. I discovered a variety of ways a tired, seasick KreweQueen can sleep under those conditions.

While on watch:

• Slumped over the wheel


• Sitting upright at the wheel


• Standing at the wheel


• In any position, with eyes wide open

Note: These are not as dangerous as they sound. The sails make those aforementioned unpleasant noises and wake you up if you start to drift off course.

While not on watch:

• Curled up on the stern seat next to the captain


• Curled up on the low-side cockpit seat


• Curled up on the floor of the cockpit


• Stretched out on the floor of the main cabin


• Curled up crosswise on the slightly damp sheets of the very noisy forward cabin


• Stretched out on the side deck


• In the rain


• In the sun


• With blankets


• Without blankets

The 110-degree diet
We had a small lunch as we left Gulfport. That was about it for food for nearly three days. Then we had some very small, bland meals here and there as we finished out the passage. There's no scale onboard, of course, so I can only guess at how much weight I lost. Let's just say that, while I wouldn't wish the 110-degree diet on an enemy, I am quite pleased with the results!

Technical notes
Days 1 and 2 – As we left Gulfport, the wind and waves increased. We gradually took in sail until we were running with only the jib sail, and even that was furled to about 50 or 60 percent. We held a rough heading of about 110 in a close reach and did about 5 knots steady.

Day 3 – The wind had eased up considerably, but we were all SO tired that we didn’t add any sail back on, being quite sure that would be Mother Nature’s signal to kick us in the head. Besides, we were still making about 4 knots. By end of day, the wind shifted so we were running downwind.

Day 4 – Returned to full sail. *Tried* to hold a heading of 125 or so, but it meant a careful balancing act to keep the sails full of wind.

Day 5 – Full sail mostly, with occasional variations in the amount of jib we had out. Standing rigging on this boat keeps us from pushing the boom out enough to run downwind smoothly, so the price for our excellent speeds (8 knots or better) was a whole lot of muscling the wheel around. We jibed out to sea at a heading of ~135 for several hours, then back in to Naples at about 120.

And in conclusion
Naples. City of the rich, evidently. We motored up the channel to the Naples City Dock, flanked by gigantic mansions that inspired thoughts of hurricane vulnerability. But it’s definitely Florida!! Palm trees, lovely beaches, mangrove swamp, and dozens of million-dollar power boats.

I totally impressed myself by piloting the boat into the gas dock like a pro. To my desperation-tinged inquiry about guest facilities, the clerk replied, “Of course!” We filled up, found our slip, and began the recovery process. SHOWERS!!!!

It’s all been rather surreal, but no moment more so than our first shore dinner Tuesday night. Remember all we’d been through, then imagine my near-hysterical, laughter-and-tears reaction when the waiter at the marina restaurant presented us with a basket of bread and said, “And that’s mango butter with honey.” Of course it was. What else could we possibly have on our bread at such a time?!

We’ve spent the last few days doing as little as possible. We have managed to clean the boat, stock up on provisions, and have a little engine adventure involving a bad batch of diesel (the dockmaster apologetically took care of having the bad pumped out and we’ll fill up with a complimentary tankful today). We also had a few meals that we didn’t have to prepare and walked around Naples a good bit. A fine little vacation!

What’s next
We leave Naples today for the Dry Tortugas, a small collection of islands at the western end of the Keys. They comprise a National Park, complete with a ranger-staffed fort to explore and lots of good snorkeling (finally!!!). About a dozen tour boats come out there daily from Key West, but before and after tour-boat times, we should have the place to ourselves.

Days 2 & 3 of the Florida Crossing

Friday, October 7th: Calmer Seas, 200 Miles est first full 24 hrs. Current position: N29deg 6.35mins; W86deg 45.17mins; About 4:30 PST. Est. speed 7-9 mph, yes, mph.

Saturday, October 8th: Much calmer seas; Queene Ronnie is able to eat; traveling much slower. Pointing 110-120 degrees into the wind. 4:38 PM PST: N28deg 35.59mins; W85deg 12.92mins. 4-5 mph.

Jerry LL: I hope you're plotting this! How many more days do you estimate to Naples, Florida?

Further locations, when they call them in, will be posted as comments on this page. (I hate to mess up her blog.)
She's calling now about 4:30 while it's still light in the Gulf.

Mary, aka Queen Mother

Day 1 Crossing to Florida

Veronica called; big rollers and queazy but all are comfortable. At 6:20 PDT: N2949.5W; W8814.6 Decreasing if we got it right via Sat phone and Frank yelling it up to V. They will call again Day 2, October 7th, about 6 PM PDT.
Mary

Lazy days

Well, we're still at Cat Island. We discovered that none of us was so anxious to do the passage to Florida that we could resist having a few truly relaxed days. We have the island all to ourselves, you see, and the beach is nice, and the breeze is steady, and the stars are gorgeous, and we have dolphins around regularly, and... you get the idea. Our only complaints about this spot are that it's pretty rolly when the wind clocks around from east to northeast, and the water isn't clear. Frank says the Gulf in Louisiana and Mississippi is too muddied by the Mississippi River to be that beautiful blue-green we're all dying to see. But it's still a nice spot, and we've been such a long time getting here.

If Stan proves no threat, we'll spend tomorrow getting shipshape, and then jump off on Thursday. (To give you an idea of how relaxed we are, I had to check the calendar to see what day of the week it is.)

I had a little adventure today. Frank and the girls weren't interested, so I went ashore alone. I had a lovely time exploring the north tip of the island -- went wading, found a suitcase from New Orleans, saw a small ray in the shallows, and walked over to the eastern beach to look out at the wide expanse of water that we'll soon be crossing -- then got back to discover that the dinghy was floating away. (Lesson learned: No matter how far up on the beach you *think* you've pulled the dinghy, you still need to tie it up to something.) After a 100-yard sprint up the beach, I entered the water already tired. Fortunately, the water is about 3 feet deep, even just beyond the ZP's anchor 1/4 mile out, so I could walk when I got tired of swimming. I was still pretty whipped by the time I got up with the wayward Grave Tender. I walked it back to shore, then collapsed in the limited shade of the scrawny pine trees that inhabit the center of the island. Phew! Definitely got my exercise for the day!

Marjie remains diligently at work on her novel. She has more than 300 pages now. As have we all, she's also been working her way through our collection of paperbacks. She very much enjoyed the first 5 Janet Evanovich stories and is currently reading a medical thriller.

Chloe is doing her usual craft projects. She made quite a few Harry Potter-themed items, including badges for her improvement on Hermione's S.P.E.W. club, H.E.L.P. (House Elf Liberation People), and a bunch of sickles and knuts. This evening, she had a somewhat chilly shower in the cockpit, so I bundled her into a big green beach towel. She discovered how to drape it as a toga, so we've been digging out safety pins and talking a lot about Roman lifestyles. She draped her toga-draped self across the boom and said, "Venus on the boom."

As for Cap'n Franko, I think the quiet days are doing him a lot of good. He's been reading and napping and adjusting to the heat and taking care of his queasy wife, but mostly recovering from all the stress of recent weeks. We're all slipping into cruising mode, and it feels really good.

KQR

Cat Island, Mississippi

We made it! An actual cruising destination, sort of! Cat Island, Mississippi. (For Jerry and other GPS fans: N 30 degrees 14.680' by W 89 degrees 04.704'.)

But first, some details about our trip here. Bayou Bonfouca was... UNEVENTFUL!!! Crossing Lake Pontchartrain was fun, breezy, and easy. The only real excitement came in anchoring after dark. New Orleans is pretty devoid of lights right now, with the exception of some big generator-powered halogens they're using while they do repair work at the Lakefront airport. With those hummers as beacons, we zeroed right in on our destination... and almost hit some big pilings that extend out into the lake past the end of the runway. Fortunately, a big tug was there, too, feeling his way with a big spotlight. We tucked in behind him and he led us right to the entrance to the Industrial Canal. We dropped anchor just off the airport, in dead calm conditions, with dolphins as escorts. It was really nice.

Up early the next morning, we scooted in to the Seabrook Bridge, right there at the mouth of the canal. Informed by the railroad bridge operator that we would have to make arrangements to get the roadway bridge opened, we started our round of radio and phone tag. Coast Guard to DOT to a different DOT number to "hang on, I'll call you back." Fortunately, all that tagging led to not only the Seabrook being opened for us, but also the Danziger farther down. The Danziger operator drove out just for little ol' us. Once clear of the Danziger, you can imagine our jubilation with no further obstacles between us and the Gulf.

The Industrial Canal shows heavy hurricane damage. The warehouses there look blasted, with shattered windows, crumpled walls, and twisted frames. And the smell is AWFUL, except for one short stretch that smelled strangely of coffee. We didn't have far to go before making the turn into the Mississippi River Gulf Outlet (or Mister GO, as it's known here), which is also the Intracoastal Waterway. We branched off to the Rigolets cut of the ICW, a peaceful motor up what is essentially a bayou. Before we knew it (about six hours later), we reached Lake Borgne, aka the Gulf. WHAM! Big waves, big winds, but still a narrow channel to stay in, keeping company with big barges making their way to and from New Orleans. With the wind coming right over our nose, we had little choice but to keep motoring, so we've made a bigger dent in our diesel supply than we had anticipated. By early evening, we had entered Mississippi Sound (aka the Gulf). The channel markers were a little messed up, thanks to Katrina, but we found our way to Heron Bay where we could anchor with a (very) little shelter from the wind. Fine all day, even out in the big waves, the girls and I got a bit queasy at anchor, rolling around in the bay. Chloe soon adjusted. Marjie and I each took a Dramamine and went to sleep.

This morning, we got up and rejoined the ICW traffic. All the barges were headed to New Orleans today. We saw some more dolphins. The rats coped better with the big waves. And it was a long, slow trip east. About 5, we pulled up to Cat Island. Cat is about 4 miles long, with a 2-mile foot that stretches north to south and provides some protection from the wind and waves. It would be better if we could get closer to the island, but we ran out of depth about 1/4 mile from the beach. Eager to run around a bit, we took the dinghy ashore. There are a couple of wrecked power boats and miles of Katrina debris there, which made for an interesting hour of beach combing. We're going back tomorrow with a knife so we can salvage some rope off a big reel. Other than than, it's a mixed collection of trash, furniture (including several chairs, a TV, a couch, and a computer monitor), and dock and pier pieces (including a door that says "Test Operations"). One of the boats is perhaps salvageable; the interior is fairly intact and there are no holes in the hull. She's out of Mandeville, LA, not far west of Slidell. Hard to imagine her getting carried all this way.

Tentative plan is to stay here all day tomorrow, then start our passage on Tuesday. So if you don't hear from us for a few days, that's why!

Marty home Sunday

See more family news from Judy in Comments on my "Back in Slidell" post from 9/26.

Mississippi Sound

W/bridge operators coming to work just for us, we left LA for open water. Sad rats but girls had fun bow ride.