Crossing the Gulf (wow) Nov. 13?

November 14, they tell me.
Okay. So, where do I start? We watched the weather, and decided against various days for 10 days straight, basically because there was a north wind. No North Wind. That’s the mantra. So we waited. And waited. Every day some north wind. The reason being that the Gulf Stream runs north at 2 ½ knots (3 mph to you landlubbers) and when the wind crosses it, the waves grow. And grow, and the more they grow, the more they grow. Because the little dents the wind makes, the wind can grab onto as it blows. And the wind blows on a 2 foot wave, and the top of the wave is exposed to more wind, and the bottom isn’t, and so it grows. And grows. And grows.

So that’s the problem. So we cross. We got up at 3am, out in the harbor, stuck in the shallows at 4. Out of there, 4:10. So far, so good. We get out in the Gulf Stream ten miles, and the seas grow from 3 feet to 6 feet. And up. The forecast was 2-4, and then falling down smaller. Plus, the closer to where the wind starts blowing across the water, the less room it has to build the waves. So, the idea is that by the time we get there, they should be smaller. And the axis of the Gulf Stream is near Florida, 15 miles out, and it’s far from Bimini, where we decided to go first, because it’s closest. Well, anyway, that all sounds good on paper.

We get out there, and the seas grow. Not only that, but the wind grows. East wind. (the Gulf Stream runs north-northeast). So east isn’t so good, but at least it’s not the north, right? Well it didn’t start out that way. It shifted to the north right away. First 5 knots. As predicted. Then ten knots. The outside estimate of the prediction.

Oh, more background: I was going to put the bolt through our keel before we left. It swings up toward the boat so you don’t ground in shallow water. After we got stuck (4:00) James, the guy driving the other boat headed out. I thought, no biggie. I won’t put the bolt through the keel. Something that’s a precaution to make the boat self righting in case of a capsize, but otherwise better to leave out, in case you hit bottom it can swing back. Still with me? Good.

Okay, so I start to see bigger and bigger seas, and as a precaution, I decide “I’ll go put that bolt in now. We’re in plenty deep water, we’re more likely to capsize than run aground now.” So I take the bolt out of it’s seat, where it has the role of keeping water out of the boat, basically at the waterline. I lower the keel so the holes line up, and go to replace it.

But it doesn’t go.
It won’t fit. The holes won’t line up, because of the sideways push on the keel from the wind. So now it’s half in, half out.

It’s stuck.
And every time we hit a wave, water shoots through both sides of the holes into the boat. I fought with it, and fought with it, and really broke a sweat (I rarely sweat), and got it out. Put the keel back in swing mode, replaced the bolt, and locked it in place, and the water out. So that worked out.

Things were cool for several hours. It was beautiful. Gorgeous clouds, sunrise, (we got pictures), got a rainstorm for five minutes and a huge rainbow (no pictures), saw flying fish, and the bluest water ever. Like a mile deep, crystal clear. Pretty cool.

Eventually, things got bad. Winds picked up, now in addition to the big waves from the north we were crossing at an angle, which was fairly comfortable, sails up and motor on, we got 20mph winds from the east, on the nose, so motor only, and the boat is less stable. They grew. They got big. The period between the waves shrank. That means the wave shapes get steeper. A lot steeper. As we got closer, it got crazier, and crazier, and weirder and freakier.

We made it, obviously. But here’s some gory details to try to convey the size of the load in my pants by the time we got done:
Remember that part in the Perfect Storm when Marky Mark is on deck wrestling with some line on the bow as the rest of the Funky Bunch wrangle the boat around and there’s like sheets of water landing across everybody? It was kinda like that. Wet. Salty.

So wet, that even though the cabin was locked tight, the whole inside was drenched. So wet, our clothes were soaked under our doubled raingear (bibs, jacket with hood).

So salty that I just took a shower, and there was little cubes of salt on either side of my eyes, and in my eyelashes, crystallized- AFTER I got out of the shower. And I’m a thorough showerer. (showerist? Anyway…)

So wavy, that at times our boat would launch off of a wave, and I could feel air under the rudder (which is in the back, you landlubber). When the waves stacked up, coming from all different directions, and they’re 8-10 feet tall, and all in a bunch (gaggle? Herd? Bevy? Bushel?) they looked like a mountain range on a video game. Spiky. Hard to pour gas into a fuel tank in that shit, believe me.

James said he could see our keel (the fin under the boat) in the air off of the big waves. Some were breaking across our bow, all the way up to the MAST. Our boat is 25 feet long. That’s some big waves.

So we made it. We’re sitting on a wet bed, in dry clothes, in Bimini, and it’s beautiful. The water was the color of a blue slurpee (slushee) but brighter, when we got here 12 hours or so later.

Oh, and the last mile or so, the engine made some really funny noises, so we’re lucky we got here when we did. And not Ha Ha funny, like when I step on a rake and it hits me in my giant oversized novelty clown nose. But like a grating, and a crazy POP sound. Oh well, now we have something to do tomorrow.

By the time it was over, I was using both the tiller AND the motor to steer in unison. It was that hard to navigate. Oh yeah, and the tiller handle on the motor came off while we were in the middle of it. I had to screw the pieces back together while Ruth steered and the Funky Bunch threw Marky Mark lifelines in my mind. Ruth did so MUCH, besides steer (which she did A LOT, in addition to all of the other stuff she did, which was basically everything else, like weigh anchor, pour gas, talk on the VHF radio when needed, read charts, etc. etc. I married a total BADASS. She even made us sandwiches. Now she’s next to me in our wet bed, with the rigging shuddering in the wind, the waves lapping, me tapping, and she’s reading about how to catch a marlin in the Gulf.

James rocked too. He knows his shit, and it’s a reassurance to sail along side someone who knows what’s up so much, reads the maps right, gives us fuel injection cleaner when the engine was racing in idle, and even bought us conch fritters for dinner when we got here. Great guy, even if he did sail on autopilot most of the way, the bastard.

I have boxed 10 rounds, I have crashed cars, I have jumped out of an airplane, and nothing, I don’t think was as intense as this.

WOW. I’m beat. I’m going to BED.

WOW.

I repeat: WOW.