FL 120 2K24 Pt 2 of 2 . . . .

[Charles Brennan]

Slogging east, sedately down the Santa Rosa Sound towards Big Sabine, I was periodically checking the weather and evaluating conditions.
I hate those grey area decisions that seem to crop up so often in life, where maybe you should and maybe you shouldn't. 
When I was a kid in school, I was pretty dismal in Math, but the one thing I excelled in, was the Time-Distance problems.
I could even do the tougher ones like:
One train leaves from Boston at 10 AM going west at 48 mph and the other train leaves San Francisco at 1 PM going east at 52 mph, but one train stops for an hour at a station and the other train doesn't, then which train derails first?
(Answer: The Amtrak train.)
So while trying to enjoy the day, my mind kept juggling: boat performance, (Good!) time, distance, velocity, weather, fuel and ice resources, alternative hidey holes, Santa Rosa Sound topology and crew safety.
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Does this look like the face of someone who is happy with his options? 
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Checked the weather radar and contrasted it with the NOAA wind data buoys and was mildly unsettled by the wind trends.
Checked the chart and decided I felt too exposed at Big Sabine if foul weather materialized, and I no longer had enough fuel to try and make a run for it, if it came to that.
I was also a little low on ice, because SOMEBODY LOCKED THE KEYS IN THE TRUCK!! 
As slow as we were going today, I wouldn't make Big Sabine much before 9 or 10 o'clock at night, if I stopped first at Quiet Waters Beach for more ice.
Alluva sudden-like, all the T-D variables coalesced into potential Bad News.
Reluctantly, I Face-Booked a message to the fleet that I was not going to make it to Big Sabine and was returning to Fort McRee.

I asked my crew for their opinion and not getting one, made my decision to turn around.
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Late afternoon and in very pleasant weather, causing me to second-guess my decisions, we arrived at Fort McRee and tied off right in front of the monument signs.
My Grandson had never been here before, so I thought I would show him that Wasted Taxpayer Dollars, was not a New Thing and was a historically integral part of our Nation's Culture.
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Walking among the ruins.
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Battery revetment.
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Grandson freaking out his Grandpa, with his Mountain Goat impression.   
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Here he is, with the pic zoomed in and I had no idea how to get to him, if something happened.
Still don't know how he even got up there.
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More walls.
For years, those walls repelled potential invaders, only to succumb to ordinary bushes.
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I was struck though, by how much better ye olde concrete holds up, than today's modern concrete seems to.
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Remains of a cistern.
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More revetments.
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Remains of the perimeter wall.
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Grandson apparently considering if the wall is high enough to bother climbing on.
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When we returned we saw  Doug Byerley coming in on a Montego 19, Wayward Son all the way from Missouri and who had apparently made the same decision I had.
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Didn't blame him in the least.
Between Sand Island north of us, the Gulf Island National Sea Shore south of us and sand points jutting out east and west of our cove, I felt that we were reasonably protected from storm winds coming from any direction.
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More hot dogs for dinner, since I wanted to use up all remaining perishables, before lack of ice forced my hand.
Still had plenty of other stuff I could heat up.
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Checked the weather radar conditions again after supper, which were noticeably deteriorating to the west.

Right before sunset, Ken Purdy came cruising in.
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He is convinced that Shell is a 15½-foot Cat Schooner, on account of the fore sail is slightly smaller.
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He considered beaching here, and I recommended that if he was sleeping on the beach, to move the hull well up onto the sand to forestall anticipated weather and offered to help him if he wanted.
He decided to move to a slightly more sheltered cove, around the corner.
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So, was Charles just being a Fraidy Cat? 
Uhh . . . . .  no.
Around 11 PM we started getting light rain and by midnight got the first flashes, but very distant soft thunder.
At 1AM the lightning-flash-to-thunder-report started getting from 5 miles away, down to 1 mile away. 
The boat rested easily between my shore stake and the stern anchor, that I had deployed to keep the hull from slewing around onto the beach.
Got a few gentle bumps during the worst part of the storm and that was it.
Must have finally zonked out until 2 AM, when all Hell broke loose.   
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Image: Steve Gully

We normally have a blue canvas curtain that hangs down from the companionway hatch for privacy and ventilation and minor bug control.
Inside the cabin we have a Thermacell bug repellent gadget.
When it first started raining, I put the teak companionway hatch in place and draped the blue canvas over it.
The storm slammed us at 2AM and blew the canvas up and over the companionway causing the stinging, driving, rain to enter the edge slots of the companionway slide and hit me right in my face.
No, this is not Ole Grandpa having an "accident" in the night.   
This is how much rainwater soaked my berth in less than two minutes, before I got the canvas wedged in between the companionway hatch and the cabin roof slide, to stop all the rainwater ingress.   
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With adrenaline-surged wakefulness, I surveyed the cabin for any leaks.
Nothing like a violent thunderstorm to help find them for you.
Good News: Cabin very snug and dry and NONE of my port lights leaked a drop. 
Bad News. One of my three mast step bolts had a slow drip, but that can be easily fixed, now that I know it's there.
Slept fitfully, if at all, the rest of the night.

Pretty anemic sunrise, I must say.   
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Remember this big honkin' yacht behind Wayward Son?
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Yacht dragged/spun on his anchor in the night and bumped into Wayward Son forcing Doug to move, in order to avoid another bump in the night.
When we woke up the next morning, the yacht was anchored behind Urchin.
Guess if there had been another storm in the night, it would have been our turn.

And what of the fleet on Big Sabine?
They got slammed very hard as well and were considerably more exposed than we were, being on a lee shore.
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Photo: Steve Romeis

Apparently, every anchored boat save one, dragged anchor and/or were blown onto the beach in the 2½-foot breakers hitting the beach.
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Photo: Steve Romeis

But at least, you never lack for help on a Florida 120.
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Photo: Steve Romeis

This "success" pic was taken after several strenuous attempts.
Frankly, I was glad I wasn't over there that night and mentally congratulated myself, for my caution.
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Photo: Steve Romeis

Decision time again and it seemed like there was a hefty storm cell headed east, the only wrinkle being that it might head just north of us or it might simply paste us.
Given how my luck was going, I decided to get outta Dodge and  roughly calculated that we had about a 3 hour weather window to get back to the State Park, if the worst happened.
Light winds on the nose decided me on using the remaining fuel to get back in around an hour and a half, then about the same time to de-rig and get road ready.
I can cite any number of times that I was pulling away from the ramp when the first fat raindrops started falling on the truck's windshield.
But it's those times drenched in pouring rain and holding a wet, slippery mast, while staring at multiple lightning flashes, that tend to stick with me and inform my decisions.   
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Although the rain was very light (just sprinkling, really) I broke out the foulies so that if things worsened, there wouldn't be a mad scramble to reach them.
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The man in his element.
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Millennials DO love their selfies.   
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Well, this time the bad weather hosed me over yet again, by obligingly staying north and keeping my weather guesses firmly in the .500 batting range.   
We got the boat (slowly!) de-rigged, while I made a mental note that I really need to get cracking on the SCAMP Project, because I really AM getting too old to be horsing around with equipment this big and heavy.

A rest stop on the way back, showing a complete lack of violent storms but mildly reinforcing my decision, by also showing a complete lack of wind.
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This was surprisingly, the worst weather I've ever seen on a FL 120.  I was impressed in my previous two attempts at how very good the sailing conditions were, in May vs June, in Pensacola.
Between Bob n' Bake light winds, heat and very heavy rains and lightning, it felt more like a BEER Cruise, without as much partying and comradery.
Will I be back next year?   
You Betcha!!   
Unless  . . .  . . SOMEBODY LOCKS THE KEYS IN THE TRUCK!! 

Charles Brennan

[Norm L.]

Thank you as always for taking us along and posting the photos.
What might be interesting is a mention of the homes of these boat as they have state registrations on the bow.

As for locking the keys in the vehicle twice in the last 10 days conversations arose about Quebec. That lead to our story of driving along the south shore of the St. Lawrence River from Quebec City over to Moncton, St. John and back to Portland ME. The woman at a B&B where we stayed parle un peu of English. In the morning when we left we discovered that some idiot (a husband not a wife) had locked the keys in the rental car. That led to Madame the keys are locked in the rental car is there a key smith near. Since our charades skills were lacking this took a while. I think getting AAA from Dover-Foxcroft ME was not an option.

[Riley Smith]

Great write-up CB. I knew about the weather window and knew I had to get back to the ramp on Thursday. And I also knew it was going to take a while. I was totally worn out by the time I had driven the two hours home and nothing sets the nerves off in the damaged neck like driving. I don't think my second foot got off the floor good before I was asleep in that marshmallow bed. The rain did a good job of washing the boat. You should have seen how much salt spray there was on it!

[Noemi - Ensenada 20]

Charles, how is your grandson TWENTY???  When did THAT happen?

Also, after locking my keys in my car....while I was shoveling snow off it....while it was RUNNING...when I had to get to work.......well, after that, I made a spare set that is always always always in my right pocket.  Saved my butt more than once.

[Charles Brennan]

Been a long time since the grandson fit into these boat shoes:
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I bought some new boat shoes for the FL120, since my old Sperries  (the ones in the pic in the above shot, when they were much newer) were basically shot and then had to wear the old shoes anyway; when the grandson forgot to bring anything more substantial than flip-flops and appropriated my NEW Sperries for the trip!! 

In my mind's eye, I still see him like this:
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Although I am aware he has grown up in fits and bursts:
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Into this:
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But some things never change:   


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Charles Brennan

[Riley Smith]

Isn't it amazing seeing them grow up? My grandson Cruz was so tiny when he was born. Now he's a bundle of energy at 8 yrs old. My oldest granddaughter just graduated from high school. Yes, time goes sliding right on by.

[Noemi - Ensenada 20]

The toddler shots are what I remember.  My my my.