"Good morning, I said to Bob when the alarm went off. "Today's the day of Bob and Carol's big adventure!"
A brief discussion with Buddy, the local weather expert, and reviews of the wind and wave predictions on the internet confirmed that this would be a good weather passage until tomorrow night. We shared our fears and excitement with the other captains and crews making the crossing. Then we cast off at 9:50 a.m. under a bright, sunny sky. Osprey glided out of the Carabelle Channel and through East Pass between St. George and Dog Islands. She then pointed her bow into the open water of the Gulf of Mexico.
After the land slipped away and we were rocking on gentle swells, we fitted our safety harnesses, clipped them to the jack line Bob had rigged on deck and tried walking around. It's just like walking a puppy, but you're the one on the leash!
We gave Riley the job of reporting on wave height. When he's lying down, he keeps his paws in front of him if it's calm. When the waves get higher, his paws angle out to the sides, so he can get a better grip. We know the waves are really rough when his paws are splayed out to his sides, with his claws grasping the rug.
We spent hours watching the clusters of water drops leap out of the way of our bubbling wake as it crashed into the calm surface of the water.
At 2:50 p.m. we made contact with the boat Young America which had left port after us. We agreed to continue our current course and speed for another hour to finish our engine test. Then we'd slow down so Young America could catch up to be in visual range during the night.
At 3:05 the door rattled and the boat lurched. Bob and I looked at each other with
what-the-heck-was-that? expressions. We felt as if a rogue wave had slammed us broadside, but the water was calm. After the second occurrance, Bob figured out that it was sonic, not liquid, waves from the supersonic jets slicing the sky above. There are several air force stations on the Gulf coast, so the Gulf is their training area.
The outside air was in the low 60's.
When we saw a dolphin jump near the starboard bow, I tried singing again. This time I sang a song I used to sing to Aaron when he was a baby. Another dolphin appeared, then another, and another, until there were 7
- a big, spotted daddy, a mom, and their 5 children. The two littlest ones jumped and jiggled just like any other little kids unable to keep still. I continued to sing the song over and over, and they swam along until I got tired of singing.
At 6:00 we watched the sun begin to dip as oranges and reds spread across the sky. One long, low cloud hovered over the sun like the horizontal curtain over a stage. As the lower edge of the sun melted into the water, the huge yellow ball bulged like jello. Finally, the golden orb was gone, only pastel refracted light remained.
I was glad I had made tuna salad for dinner, because the generator would not cooperate, so I was not able to make hot food. Without the generator, we couldn't use the heater either, so we kept bundled up in jackets.
When nightfall deepened, the real show began. The crescent moon grinned like a Cheshire cat. More stars than I've ever seen twinkled over our heads and in the mirror-like surface of the water. Over the course of the night we were able to watch Orion move from east to west. When he reached the horizon, he dipped his foot in the water, then continued to wade on in over his head. His loyal dog, Canis Major followed right behind.
I said from the beginning I would not do the crossing, but there I was taking my turn at the helm, watching for blips on the radar after the moon set and it was too dark to see, watching our progress on the chart plotter, taking hourly positions and calling them to Young America on the radio while Otto (the auto-pilot) steered. Bob and I each napped about an hour and a half.
One of our biggest concerns had been staying awake, but it was not a problem. Our hourly radio position checks with Young America kept us busy and awake and made the time pass. We charted each boat's position so we could see where we were in relation to each other. We drank coffee, sang to the radio (It reached out there - 40 miles off shore!), and danced.
We listened for radio transmissions from Stevedore, Annie Lee, and Floating Stone, the other boats doing the crossing. Stevedore was within a 10 to 15 mile range, and we were able to communicate regularly, the other boats were further away, so we could hear them from time to time, but not speak with them.
Bob saw a shooting star and said, "Now the earth's mass is greater."
"Hmmm," I replied. "More mass; more gravity. That means I weigh more. I don't like shooting stars!"
At the southern portion of our journey Stevedore warned that they began to see the small floats indicating crab pots when the water depth dipped to 30 feet. We'd all been warned to expect these crab pots. Their lines can foul the prop or a pot can slam into the hull and puncture it. Soon after, in 32 feet of water, we saw 2 floats go by to starboard. After that we were both watching carefully because they were almost past by the time we saw them.
Clouds had begun to cover the sky by first light, so the sunrise was pretty, but not spectacular. It was a blessing, because the glare from a vivid sunrise would have made it impossible to see the crab pots.
We were starting to get the hang of maneuvering through the mine field of crab pots. The water was still flat, so they were clearly visible in the light. Suddenly, after 21 hours of working fine, the engine died. Thankfully, it restarted successfully. We slowed down for awhile, then gradually increased the rpms back to normal. Young America assured us they'd be there if we needed them, but we did not. There were no further hiccups.
Otto led us directly to light "1" at Clearwater Pass. We entered Clearwater Bay, and at 8:55 pulled into our slip at Clearwater Municipal Marina. Safe, secure, empowered, thrilled that we did this crossing successfully, and dog tired.
Speaking of the dog. . . there was one thing I had to do before I could sleep. Our loyal, companion got his walk. Then we slept for 5 hours, went to dinner, and went back to bed until Thursday morning.
The harbormaster recommended the Post Corner Pizza, which is much more than it's name suggests. The menu was complete with Greek and Italian dishes, seafood, and steaks. The lasagna, eggplant parmesan, gyros, and grouper that were ordered at our table were all thoroughly enjoyed. Our server, a young lady from Poland, was friendly and attentive.
After the land slipped away and we were rocking on gentle swells, we fitted our safety harnesses, clipped them to the jack line Bob had rigged on deck and tried walking around. It's just like walking a puppy, but you're the one on the leash!
When we saw a dolphin jump near the starboard bow, I tried singing again. This time I sang a song I used to sing to Aaron when he was a baby. Another dolphin appeared, then another, and another, until there were 7 
Should we still do the crossing without a shake-down cruise? We decided to make the beginning of the crossing a shake-down. We'll run the engine hard, and if it balks, we'll head back in. The problem occurred after 5 hours, so we will have plenty of time to return to port if we aren't comfortable with its performance. Here's a photo of Bob signing away our life savings to the mechanic.
* an informational and entertaining talk about the crossing from Carabelle to Tarpon Springs, FL, from our favorite weather guru, Tom Conrad (He's the one mentioned in an earlier blog who claims to use a heron for his weather statistics.)
