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| SV HideAway and Dinghy |
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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