Crossing Day Dog Island to Clearwater, Florida
Crossing day. The weather forecast held promising, so we checked our list and made sure we had forgotten nothing. The normal start crossing time is 4 pm. That time frame allows you to hit the area at daylight where crab pots typically start showing up. But the winds were supposed to pick up a little later (actually early in the morning), so, at the recommendation of Kim, the forecaster, we decided to get away no later than noon, to ensure an arrival before the winds reached an uncomfortable level. We also decided to take a less direct route, favoring the coast of Florida (aka The Rim), to improve the possibility of smoother waters. As previously mentioned, we do have stabilizers on our boat, so we manage a little better than many boats. But we determined to be a team player and stick with our friends. Besides, safety in numbers is always the best approach.
We sometimes lost cell service so the line would disappear. But this was our route.
We pulled out at 11:39 am, Monday morning, February 3rd. Plotted distance: 157 NM. We did not sleep in, as was the plan. I guess the adrenaline and a little anxiety woke us bright and early. The skies were sunny, temperature 62 degrees and winds were only 4 knots out of the ESE.
As usual, the chef and her staff provided a nice lunch of avocado & grapefruit salad with grilled shrimp. I have had to suffer and sacrifice often on this trip.
All the daylight hours were pleasant as we crept along at our 7.2 knot speed. We saw the sun set in the Gulf of Mexico about 6:00 pm and darkness fell soon.
The sunset was beautiful, but I did not look forward to the next 10 hours of darkness.
The moon was pretty high in the sky early and assisted in our view of the ocean as our eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The hours started creeping more slowly as we found ourselves starting to drag. I was beyond taking a nap, but tried for a bit while Amanda tended the auto pilot. I’m sure I dozed, but did count it as sleep. By midnight, we were closing in on the 100-mile mark.
The moon assisted us, to a degree. This was taken at 2 am.
I was soon back at the wheel, debating the cup of coffee to push me through the rest of the night. Ah, college days reminisced. About 1:30 am, moon still providing some natural light, something caught my eye off the port side of the boat. I called our buddy boat, Vitamin C, reporting what could have been a crab pot, but I was not sure. I told them to keep their eyes peeled. Less than 5 minutes later, now with my spotlight panning, I announced that I saw a crab pot…then another, then another. A thirty second conversation with Ed and we agreed that stopping was the only decision that made any sense. Our early exit from Dog Island, to beat the wind, was coming back to haunt us. We dropped anchors in 32 feet of water and hoped to get some shuteye, waiting on first light. By now, the wind was doing exactingly what was forecasted, creating wave action, being felt much more significantly at anchor than underway. With stabilizers, the swells and waves were hardly noticeable. Sitting at anchor, not so much the case. The Honey Queen rocked and rolled. We both went to bed. Amanda lasted maybe 15 minutes and had to get up. I laughed as I tried to sleep on my side, but I was constantly ending up on my face or my back. Somehow, I fell asleep for maybe 3 hours, while Amanda sat up in the pilot house and counted waves, instead of sheep. The alarm sounded at 6 am and I stumbled to the coffee pot. I sat and sipped and watched the Eastern sky transform from black to pink to orange before the solar king peaked over the horizon.
First light was a welcome sight.
Daybreak came just before 7 am. At that moment, we did a panorama of the boat and counted 10 crab pots. I wish I could have taken a picture of all of them. God was watching out for us. Our decision had been a good one. It would have been only a matter of time before one or both boats would have line wrapped around the prop/shaft.
These guys can wreak havoc on a prop and shaft.
From here until almost Clearwater, we dodged the crab pot floats. No more auto pilot, no relaxing while underway. With the motion of the waves, a crab pot can be behind a wave and under your boat in a second. There are some advantages to having a slow boat. Even at our slow pace, it was not unusual to have to make a quick turn to avoid going over one.
At 3:30 pm, almost 27 hours since our Dog Island departure, we pulled into the Clearwater Municipal Marina. A relatively new marina in the heart of downtown, we enjoyed a slip beside Vitamin Sea and new friends, Todd and Patty, on the Alcyone. I was surprisingly alert, considering. But looking forward to a good night’s sleep. We had an early dinner and crashed. Clearwater would be our home for a week.
Clearwater City Marina–Honey Queen in foreground.
