And the Dinghy Bobbed

SV HideAway and Dinghy 

The commercial satellite image proved our anchorage, in what is now Shell Key Preserve, was impossible to reach.  Viewed from our paper chart it didn’t exist. 

The Intra-Coastal Waterway turns towards the Gulf of Mexico between St Pete Beach FL and Shell Key.  A band of water, too insignificant to be named a channel, snakes through, around and behind Shell Key on the south side of Pass-a-Grille channel.   

Shallow draft vessels could, in the last millennium, continue around the southern edge of Shell Key and work their way around a mix of shallows and sand bars weaving behind boats not drawn far enough ashore behind Shell Key. The reward was an anchorage with 8 foot depth in sight of a mile long deserted beach on the Gulf of Mexico.

Not To Run Aground Means You Gave Up Before You Tried

HideAway has a 28” draft and a kick up rudder. The primary advantage of the shallow draft is chest deep water when I run aground. Usually, the boat can be pushed off and under way quickly, sometimes without the crew fully aboard.  Sections of the shallow channel required PPP navigation skills:  Pushing, Poling and Pulling.  Most days these difficulties prevented overcrowding. Only crazy sailors stayed the night willing to risk the channel closing on the low morning tide.

A foot trail on the East side of Shell Key, leading to the Gulf of Mexico, ends too far north from Ft Desoto Park and too far south of Pass-a-Grille channel to interest the casual beach party enthusiast.  The other access involves anchoring in the Gulf.  A risky business on a calm day.  The East side of the anchorage is dotted with Mangrove islands and small channels suitable only for kayaks and the adventuresome Sea Pearl. 

The HideAway is a Com Pac 23 foot classic, old time, sailing vessel with round ports on her house and along with her wooden pram, looks like she were from a different century.  The sight of her anchored often attracts attention from the nautically inclined. Visitors, both power and sail, wave or slowly cruise around HideAway, then, perhaps, more waves and pleasing comments are exchanged before they continue on. 

Paradise vs the Personal Watercraft Vehicle

We arrived late afternoon, secured our favorite anchorage, and broke out preparations for cooking supper.  A jet ski departed a large power boat anchored in Pass-a-Grille channel and roared towards our slice of nirvana.  Arriving, he slowed and circled the HideAway. 

We waved- He waved.  

The jet ski continued circling, his wake interrupting our plans for steaks on the grille. 

The dinghy bobbed.

The wakes got taller. The speed higher. The circles larger. 

We rolled. The dinghy bobbed. Pans clattered. 

I waved again. He gunned it.

The intentional pest, in the gathering dusk, did not see the partially submerged sand bar off our East side.

“One more lap” I surmised.  “Linda, Come on up and watch the show!”

The impact was quiet as far as crashes go, nonetheless, the sight of the offending captain somersaulting over the handle bars then rolling down the sand bar like a large beach ball in a 20kn wind was worth the wait.  He was slow to get up.  When he did, he walked gently back to his broken jet ski, found a beer in the wreckage, sat down on the overturned craft, and popped it open.

The sun and the horizon were getting closer together and we were past hungry.

“You gonna call it in?” Linda asked as I reached for the marine radio.  “Not yet” I replied “let’s let him contemplate his place in the universe awhile.” 

The dinghy bobbed.

We waved.

He displayed the Florida State Bird.

I shut off the radio.

His situation was uncomfortable.  Had his state of affairs been serious we would have attempted rescue.  Although he had few provisions for a night at this singles bar, he was in no immediate peril.  Without a radio to hail the mother ship a half mile away he would have to wait.

The jet ski, abandoned by the low tide, was too far inland for a single hand rescue.  The captain turned away, taking an interest in something moving in the shadows.

Steaks Sizzled On the Grill

The steaks were delicious, and in the fading sea breeze, the aroma surely carried ashore to the Florida Birdman, sparking a satisfying, mouth-watering hunger response. We hoped.

We tuned in “A Prairie Home Companion” on the FM to be informed and entertained by the folks of Lake Woebegon MN.  In those days this involved wine, much laughter and cigars.

As darkness walked ashore, the captain sat on his Personal Watercraft Vehicle, sipping on the last of his beer, awaiting rescue.

The dinghy bobbed.

Well after dark, a search light on a small skiff found us.

We pointed.

The rescue boat closed in on the shore accompanied by loud discussion, which at times did not speak kindly concerning the ship wrecked captain’s cognitive skills.  The rescuers attached lines on the jet ski and dragged it off the bar by boat and hand.  Picking up jet ski parts as he stumbled along, the defrocked captain, head down, followed.

As they motored off into the night we waved a toast.

They waved back.

The Florida State Bird did not fly.

And the dinghy bobbed.

It was a quiet week in Lake Woebegon.

SMALL BOATS ROCK!   

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by SailingHideAway

The Magic Pearl Fiddles

The Magic Pearl - Secret Gunkhole

 Fiddling about with a Magic Pearl

 In the years before being possessed by a large, deep draft keel sloop named the HideAway, we sailed the skinny waters north of Ft Desoto in a 21 foot cat-ketch Sea Pearl known as the Magic Pearl.   Magic could sail downwind, on her own, in less than 12 inches of water.  Sailing the shallows of Mullet Key, a small dolphin made circles around us, gently nudging the rudder as if to beckon us to change course and follow. Naturally, we did.   

It was a Zen Experience sans the Effort  

 Silently under a reefed mizzen, we weaved through the narrow passages between mangrove balds, occasionally using a long wooden pole to push us along. Alone in this remote, uncharted place, Magic might well have sailed into centuries past.  Our favorite destination was an unnamed barrier island covered with large, shady Australian pine trees. The island had a small hook of an anchorage known only to members of the Secret Shallow Drafter Sailing Society.  (SSDSS- rhymes with ssdss). On a hot summer day a Free Range Human could relax in the soft white sand, listen to the sea breeze whistle through the eight Aussie pines and enjoy a full view of the Gulf of Mexico in their abundant shade. Under deep blue skies and calm seas, dolphins jumped. Sea birds hunted.  Souls soothed. 

 Arriving late, we left Magic in ankle deep water about 50 feet from the landside shore, threw out a small anchor, and ran bare foot in the sand across the island towards a Gulf Of Mexico sunset.  Our flat bottomed Magic Pearl would be aground before our return, thus, it had no need of an anchor light.  This is worth mentioning because its occupants, intent on racing towards the setting sun, had left their artificial light generating device stored safely onboard. 

  A Sailor Knows the Sun Does Not Set

 The earth rises.  Indeed, the rising and spinning of the very earth you are standing on will require even the above average trailer sailor to question their place in the universe. The effect, according to extensive study by an unknown science research foundation funded by a beach bar & grille, self-published the Earthrise Theory as a fine explanation as to why sailors are known to walk in an irregular manner, especially after the earth has risen. 

 Reluctantly, the crew turned to leave this special place, made larger by the retreating tide, to return to the Magic Pearl.  Sharp as they are, the crew was quick to notice that without a moon, the darkness was complete. We walked hand in hand for a good long while before realizing that our Magic Pearl had vanished.

 There are two accounts of what happened after we stopped, barefooted, to get our bearings. One version alleges screams and running bare feet were involved. The other, not so much. Either way, the conversation centered on the strange sounds emanating from the blackness in the sand near our feet.  Did I mention we were of bare foot?  

The sound, that grew louder as the possibilities of the cause evolved, was of silverware clinking together.  After listening awhile, Linda mentioned her feet were covered with creepy crawlies of the unidentified variety, and that she would be departing soon.  As she too vanished into the darkness, I asked her to bring back a flash light.  I could not understand her reply.

 

Eventually I found our Magic Pearl fully aground with one lee board down, the mizzen sail partially set and the anchor rode streaked artfully across the beach. On board, Linda handed over a flashlight with which I scanned the shore.  The skinny light beam revealed only wet sand and sea grass.  Alone, I walked towards the gulf bravely, some would say foolishly, as Linda declared.  Finding nothing remarkable, I turned off the light and stood silently to fully appreciate the dark of the night, the sounds of the Gulf of Mexico, the vastness of interstellar space and the sweet olfactory sensations of my low tide surroundings.   I began to hear the silverware clinking about the time I remembered my feet were still unclothed.  

 

Fiddler Crabs Holding Claws - How Sweet

 

I Flashed the Light On

 In the dimming light powered by batteries long past their use by dates, the entire beach had turned from white to brown in color and was moving away from me at a good pace over the nearby undulating sand dunes. Tens of thousands of small crabs carrying what looked like large fiddles, scrambled sideways across the sand as one being.   It looked like entire beach was leaving without taking me along for the ride.  I stumbled - almost fell, as I lost contact with what a typical Free Range Human would construe as reality.   I shut the light off.  In the night, the earth stood still. Reality returned along with the infernal clinking.  

 

Before long, I identified the Fiddler Crabs as they lounged on my bare feet looking up at me with their beady eyes - All of them snapping their one large claw.  Do you know any blue grass? I inquired to no response. They meant me no harm. I apologized for disturbing them and took my leave with their song in my heart, my feet intact.     Our Pearl had performed her Magic once again.

 

 

The Magic Pearl - Three Rooker Bar

 

SMALL BOATS ROCK!

 

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