Travels with Roland Continued:
As the Sea Buoy is left astern, and the course locked into the autopilot, I plot a DR track across the chart to the entrance of the Anclote River (also called the Tarpon River)
Spaced at one-hour intervals, they measure an inch and a quarter apart, and are so numerous, that the passage of each one already appears long and insignificant. As the sport fishermen fade astern, the 38 feet of boat about me seems to shrink as I am left with the ocean to myself.
All that lies ahead however, is not unrestricted open Blue Ocean. As a result of an air-to-air gunnery range, maintained by Tyndall Air Force Base, near Panama City, live ordnance firings upon target drone aircraft occur day and night within a charted Warning Area to the Southeast. Unmanned radar towers used for triangulation are located thru out this region of the gulf, making it an area that you do not wish to blunder into for obvious reasons.
As the trip wears on, one soon learns that staring at the GPS mileage, and time to the next waypoint can become very depressing, when over one hundred miles remain. Much like watching the odometer of a car lining up zeros when it nears the one hundred thousand mile point, it becomes a big event when the mileage of your GPS finally drops the third digit. This then breaks down further, with the passage of each multiple of 10 until that is all that remains. Staring at the depth indicator also becomes a mesmerizing event, as the bottom rolls past in a nondescript uniform 60 feet of water, while over 40 miles off shore. Plotting an electronic fix, inspecting the weather decks, listening to the current weather forecast, tapping the barometer, and checking the bilge, suddenly becomes an hourly ritual. The rest of the time is spent staring at the horizon and wondering about the last time you did such things as; changed fuel filters, serviced the hydraulic steering, checked torque on the shaft coupling, greased the rudder post, and a thousand other items which you wish to have given more attention to. The slightest change in engine resonance or drift in RPM suddenly brings any daydreaming to an abrupt halt, and establishes a more frequent scan of the instrument panel. The presence of Dolphins, that are a pleasure to observe anytime, suddenly scare the hell out of you, when a shape, out of the corner of your eye, breaks the water having a large FIN.
With sunset, darkness falls like a certain, and the vessel about me, seems to shrink even further. Plunging into the darkness ahead brings visions only weeks old, of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, littered with items large enough to not only stop a propeller, but sink the vessel to which it is attached.
A revised weather forecast, now calls for winds of 20-25 knots, backing to the NE after midnight, seas 4-6 feet. This direction is exactly what I have had the greatest concern, do to Restless’s displacement hull and roll characteristics. The term, “after midnight” imparts a rather vague prediction, and I soon convince myself that I will be tied to the dock by the time it takes affect.
When not passing the time looking forward, I attempt to breakup the boredom of cruising at 8 knots, by standing in the after companionway, and gazing at the constellations overhead. There is a great deal of airline traffic in the eastern sky, and I find myself recalling the many hours spent in the cockpit of an airliner for over 29 years as a pilot for NWA. Having just past the 8-hour point in time remaining to destination, the snails pace of this voyage is made more acute, when I consider that 8 hours and some odd minutes was the flying time from Detroit to Amsterdam in my previous occupation.
The forecasted increase, and backing of wind direction comes earlier than midnight, and the ride steadily erodes. To have gyrostabilizers in such conditions would be a pleasure. The benefit of a steadying sail, certainly an improvement, and a helm seat anchored to the deck to replace the stool, which causes me to be constantly “Launched,” across the wheelhouse even better. I finally submit to the futility of its usage, and either stand, or sit on the pilot berth. In time, the inability to secure this seat, becomes an obstacle in the darkness, and with its constant banging about the wheelhouse, I jettison it overboard.
During one of my many occasions spent standing in the companionway, looking aft, I observe the western sky briefly illuminated in an orange glow, from a rippling light. High above, a jet fighter is launching a practice missile attack upon an unmanned drone. Observing such a demonstration, gives new meaning to the charted notation; “Warning Area,” for this section of ocean. Near midnight, the port navigation light is observed extinguished, and I spend but a moment, considering the alternatives. To venture upon the weather deck of the wheelhouse, in such rolling conditions to re-lamp while alone, is very much an unnecessary risk. Having not observed another vessel for the past 14 hours only reinforces this decision.
Arriving at the Anclote River entrance at 0315, the value of GPS interfaced with a chart plotter, proves its worth tenfold. The ability to pilot on expanded scale, thru an area that is foreign, being fatigued, and at night while channel markers suddenly loom out of the darkness close aboard, instills a greater appreciation for its capabilities.
With the emergence of the first large marina on the north shore of the river, I turn into the staked private channel with the intent of securing, and getting some much needed rest.
With minimal power for steerage, I soon find myself slowly brought to a stop in the silt bottom, 10 feet short of the dock! Welcome to the grand expanse of Florida surface water.
There are no comments for this post.
Add a comment:
