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5:30 pm Depart: ICW->Ft Pierce Inlet

And so as the yard apes clocked out at 5pm we fired-up the Universal 24hp motor and cast off from Cracker Boy! Out to sea (fingers crossed). It isn’t far from the dock to the ocean… not even a bridge to go under. Just a quick two mile run – half ICW and half Ft Pierce inlet. And as we start into the ICW the wind arrives and the clouds build. So that by the time we hit the inlet it is raining steady. Lots of boat traffic coming in to avoid a storm just north of us. Only other boat leaving port is one large barge headed out ahead of us. As we reach the turning point (from ICW into inlet out to sea), Phil needs to take another look at the packing around the prop shaft… gotta be sure it is sealing well enough to go Oceanside. And so I get to take the wheel.

Just like that, I am cruising away, out through the markers, into the wild blue yonder… the Atlantic Ocean! Just boyfriend, boat, bird and Barb! For a second I started to get a bit nervous… just hours in the water and already we’re at seas, alone, in the rain, with a storm brewing north of us. And as we get a bit wet, Cuka starts to sing her beautiful rain song. Like salve on a wound, her singing melts my fears and reminds me that rain is a natural part of earth’s beauty (and not a bad omen). So I shed my sunglasses and let the rain wash away the salt from a hard days work. the scuppers flushed away not only the days sweat, but also my momentary fears.

As I approach the final marker, we start losing momentum and begin bobbing in the chop at the mouth of the inlet. I have visions of this 39’ boat being tossed about just like a fishing bobber. And I have lots of boat traffic flying it to avoid the storm north of us. Soon I’m just barely inching forward (although I’m up to one-third throttle) due to the mixing currents: inlet waters being pushed back by the Atlantic’s current. I try to yell for Phil to come topside, but his head is so far into the motor compartment he can’t hear me. So I whistle up some courage from Cuka’s rain song and push the throttle to half power. If the increased engine revs don’t punch us into through the churning mouth of the inlet into the ocean, at least it will bring Phil topside to see why I’m pushing the engine. Minutes later, as I clear the final channel marker, Phil arrives to report things are looking AOK down under.

7:00 pm Atlantic

Now he wants to raise sails! So as we race south east around the storm crawling into Ft Pierce Inlet behind us, I’m back at the helm while he pulls halyards and raises sails. Although I’ve been in this position over 30 times before, it was always on the Cal 28. Not only is Our Tern half again the size, but it has a steering wheel (instead of tiller) and is a much heavier boat (taking more muscle when she heels over). And although they are both made to be racing sailboats, these Catalina sails hadn’t been well used in years (due to the rotten mast step making it unsafe for sailing). I’m still not sure when I quit holding my breath and crossing my fingers, but within minutes it was all done and we were sailing! The rigging was holding. The sails looked strong. And Our Tern was leaning over 10 degrees when I shut off the engine.

Away we sailed. On a south east course, away from land and into the Atlantic. We wanted to sail outward and make distance from shore (away from the shallows and traffic which make for stressful times in our deep draft boat). And here, just a few miles south east of Ft Pierce Inlet we had our first sunset on Our Tern: three miles of gentle rolling ocean, a steady row of high-rise beach condo along the shore and the sun setting between condos.

As the red highlights in the clouds faded and darkness settled around us, we began to see the August night sky. In all the ado of the past weeks, I had completely forgotten that this was the best night sky of the entire year. Around the half moon we had not only Venus shining brightly but also a steady shower of shooting stars (caused by the earth’s annual trek through Pleiades. And this is the only time of year we have three planets to see at one time: Venus, Jupiter and Mars. It quickly reminded me of all the other places I’ve been for the August meteor showers: backpacking up near Rabbit Ears Pass outside Steamboat Springs, floating on a boat on Clinton Lake in Kansas, on the beach of Tulum, Mexico, and sitting on a jungle gym with my six daughters in our backyard in Wichita, Kansas. It was very calming to realize that although it seems I have changed so much, these stars anchor me like roots. Perhaps the only real consistent in my life. Guess I’m more nomad that I knew.