Hey Skippy,


Your writing talent needs improvement. You just don't sound nautical enough.
I have taken the liberty of doing a rewrite of your lubberly prose. My
improvements will be delineated using asterisk (*word or phrase*)



"Flying Pig" wrote in message
...
Ragged Islands (*enroute*) to Ft. Pierce Passage - 3/3-3/6/2011

We left you after (*scrubbing*) (*Flying Pig's bottom*) and having one
last amazing conch dinner aboard a (*fellow cruiser's*) (*yacht*). We'll
have to live without the
pleasures of conch until we (*arrive back in*) the Bahamas this summer,
and we'll be doing a bottom job (one of the primary reasons for putting
Flying Pig on the (*hard*) in the states, vs waiting until we (*fetch*)
Cartagena for a more serious refit), anyway, but the effort was very well
rewarded, as you'll see anon.

Those interested should be able to see our passage, including our transit
to
the marina where we'll be hauled out, by clicking on
tinyurl.com/flyingpigspot. Clicking the hybrid tab will allow you to see
our avoidance of the shoals, and clicking the right arrow at the bottom
will
allow you to follow us from the beginning. Double-clicking on anywhere
will
zoom a level at a time, if you like, too...

March 3rd had us up as usual, (*monitoring the VHF for*) the morning
weather. Chris
Parker was in George Town on a busman's holiday, doing seminars each day
while he wasn't enjoying all the adulation which his many subscribers
there
were lavishing on him, so we solicited a window for our passage from Ed,
his
sub. Ed gave a much shorter version of the potential weather than Chris
would, but made a strong point of saying that if we wanted to do this
(*passage*) soon, we'd need to (*arrive in*) FL by Sunday the 6th.

We'd previously made a decision not to (*depart*) until we had a chance to
run it by
Chris, his advice ALWAYS having been absolutely spot-on in our prior
experience, but this window, as seen from the gribs (visual depictions of
weather in a given area at a given time) we'd been pulling all week,
looked
absolutely ideal.

Accordingly, at 2:10PM, having done all the 1-2-3's (little chores we do
on
a daily basis) of (*clearing*) the deck, and, significantly, making a
triple
(*hitch*) (*painter*) for our sorry Walker Bay Genesis which (*has yet to
swing on*) the
davits since we returned to the Bahamas in July 2010 due to some safety
issues with the (*lifting tackle*), we (*weighed anchor*) under main
alone. 5 minutes later saw the genoa unfurled, and we were off to the
races.

Our new(*fresh*) bottom proved itself as our 288*T course out to clear the
first shoals saw us making 6.5-7.5 knots in only 12-15 knots of apparent
wind (*on the quarter*) (*a speed*) unheard of for a VERY long time. By
2:40, we headed up to the gap which would clear the Cochinas and Middle
Ground
shoals. That put us on a 305*T course, moving the wind forward to 90-105*
and boosting the apparent wind to 14-17, but cutting our speed slightly to
6.5-7.3 knots as we (*pitched*) through the slight chop.

I also was to learn when I went (*aloft*) to make some adjustments to our
WiFi system, once we'd arrived in Ft. Pierce, that the bracket to the wind
instrument had (*carried away*). I don't know when that occurred, but I'm
sure it
affected the true wind angles as the (*strut*) supporting the instrument
was no
longer stable; thus, you'll have to take my readings with a grain of salt
(of which we collected massive amounts during our trip!) :{))

I went (*below*) for a nap at 3PM on general principle, now that we were
on a
course which would hold for a while, but when I arose at 4-4:30 after the
noise of a jibe (*all standing*) due to the autopilot having gone into
standby and the
boat turning downwind, the wind, due to our being out of the islands' lee
had pick(*freshened*) to 15-19 knots, on an apparent (see above!) angle of
75-105*,
mostly a function of our (*wallowing*), I expect. However, we were
rewarded
with a SOG of 7.4-8.5 knots. WaHooo! That leg would see typical speeds
of
7.4-7.9 knots with 3-5' seas, mostly swells, and the pressure on our sails
kept us at a comfortable 10-15* heel, ideal for our hull configuration.

We were keeping a sharp eye on the weather due to our angle of attack and
the already relatively brisk winds, so when we saw some rain on the radar,
engaged when we saw some clouds, we rolled up the genoa at 5:45PM. I'd
have
preferred to reef, but Lydia's got the whim-whams about me going out on
deck
in nasty conditions, so we took that option instead. The squalls increased
the seas to 6-8', and raised the wind to 20-25 knots.

*deleted entire paragraph about fuel polishing as it has no place in a
sailing log.*

Having (*exicted shoal water*), we (*steered*) due west for the next leg
very soon
after that, which moved the wind aft, even worse for the (*wallowing*). We
still were making 6.5-7.5 knots, but the wind became fluky, varying all
the
way from 10-25 knots, typically at 120-135* on our starboard side.
Indeed,
this entire trip would be a starboard tack until we turned in from the
Gulf
Stream!

Lydia went (*below*) for her nap at 8:30, and by 9PM, still (*wallowing
like gargage scow*),
we started (*seeing*) major breaking waves which exacerbated (*the
wallowing*)
but also
induced some yaw. Not very (*conducive*) for sleeping! By 11PM, the wind
had become extremely fluky, with frequent periods of 5-7 knots, alternated
with periods of 14-20 knots. It appeared we were also getting some
(*veering*), but with the seas remaining high, our speed was dropping,
now, to
the mid-6's. Still (*respectable*) progress compared to the last several
passages we'd made!

I went (*below*) for my sleep at 1AM, Lydia having come (*on watch*) after
one of my own (*cachophonous*) jibes. Conditions remained the same for my
sleep which ended at 6:15,
Lydia having awakened me to be on with Chris Parker at 6:30. In the
intervening time, she'd seen one fishing boat, but no other traffic
whatsoever. Indeed, until we got off the coast of FL, we were to see no
other boats in the entire trip.

Friday, March 4th dawned with my speaking with Chris, who told us what to
expect for winds and seas. He confirmed that this was a terrific window
of
opportunity, but would be, in the words of my second ex-wife (on whose
father's boat I cut my sailing teeth), "sporty" sailing. By 7:20, we'd
turned on our second major leg, (*making*) 316*T. The winds had
(*freshened*)
to
20-25 knots, gust(*ing*) to 30, on an apparent angle of 90-110*,
accompanied by
seas which were building to 6-8' - fortunately, mostly swell, as opposed
to
chop. As we (*were sailing under mainsail only*), our speed was dropping,
too, seeing "only" 6-6.5 knots.

Once we had our course dialed in, Lydia went (*below*) for her sleep at
7:30. By
9, the wind continued to (*freshen*), (*to*) a relatively constant 25
knots. We
assumed we must be in a counter-current, or, perhaps, tidal flow, as our
speed dropped to only 5.5-6.0 knots. Indeed, it got worse, as, by 10AM,
we'd dropped to only 3.8-4.4 knots, (*aggravated*) by the building seas
inducing
45* rolls, the only benefit we could figure being that the fuel polisher
would have more to work with, if there was anything loose in the tank.
All
that R&R also woke Lydia, who came (*on deck or watch*) at 10:45.

All that motion finally convinced her to allow me to take in a
reef on the main(*sail*) so that we could (*unfurl*) the genoa again.
Harness on,
bright sunshine, I (*made*) myself (*fast*) to the mast after we'd fired
up the
(*iron genoa*) for long enough to keep us into the wind. Reefing was a
total
non-event, as it's been in every case we've ever done, including the
triple
reef in 40+ knots I took just before our wreck 4 years ago, and I
extracted
a promise from Lydia that when I suggested a reef in the future, she'd
allow
me out on deck :{)) We (*unfurled*) about a 70% jib to counter the weather
helm we'd had, too.

That stopped a lot of the (*wallowing*), and stood the boat up nicely,
increasing our
(*way*) back to a much-preferred 6.4-7.1 knots. Once stabilized, I went
(*below*) for another nap at 11:45. Back (*on watch*) at 2, the wind was
dying, but not (*veering [or backing]*), so we were seeing 12-16 knots of
apparent wind at
the same 90-115* - which, in the "relatively light" air, gave us 5.7-6.2
knots SOG.

Now that things were a bit less windy, I (*unfurled*) the genoa to its
135%,
and we were rewarded as we (*bounded ahead*) at 6.6-7.7 knots. As always,
ever
changing, the wind started to (*veer*), so by 2:45, we eased the
(*sheets*) and went
up to 7.2-8.0 knots in only 13-18 knots of apparent wind, helped by the
waves dropping to only 2-4'.

Lydia came (*on deck*) at 6PM as the seas started building again, to 3-5',
and at 7PM
I went (*below*) for an extended nap. Conditions remained essentially the
same,
and by midnight, we were off the banks. The deeper water minimized any
tidal effect we'd been seeing, so as we turned on the next major leg at
321*T, we were seeing only 15 knots of apparent wind but were making 8.2
knots. Hmmm. This is promising. We'd been worrying about being able to
(*fetch*) Ft. Pierce before dark on Sunday. As you'll see later, that fear
proved to be (*unfounded*).

I came back on (*watch*) at 1:30AM, Lydia going bleary-eyed, as the wind
continued to (*veer*) a bit. That helped, as it put the apparent wind of
10-20 knots at 120* on our starboard quarter, yielding 8.5-9.5 knots,
aided
by the slight favorable current in this area. 2AM had me (*heading up*)
slightly
to improve the wind angle, as we still had lots of heel and
(*wallowing*). Indeed, conditions were to remain so lumpy that doing
cooking below was extremely challenging. Lydia'd not attempted our usual
routine for coffee, which is to grind our beans, then put the boiling
water
in our french press before pouring, instead, using a bagged coffee single
for my mug. (Our routine is, if calling for relief, to have coffee ready
for the (*new watch*...)

More ever-changing routine, the wind became fluky by 4AM, dropping and
(*veering as an analog to*) the speed variations. A slight course change,
to
keep the sails full, kept the speeds to 7.4-8.5 knots, and, once
stabilized,
I went below to talk to Chris at 6:30. He provided his usual
exact-to-the-minute forecast, letting us know the best course to take at
the
anticipated interception of the Gulf Stream's eastern wall, and to our
exit
at Ft. Pierce. As this was Saturday, we'd not have another opportunity to
talk with him, given that he's off on Sundays, so we wanted the most
possible detail to take us through the end of our trip.

Saturday, March 5th saw us enter the longest - and fastest - leg of our
trip, aided by the Gulf Stream's northerly flow. Where we entered it,
however, it wasn't a due-north stream. Indeed, due to the apparent wind
angle, we bore off slightly from the preferred course, which would be on
the
line of 79*45' W longitude, putting us about 355*T. That took us more to
the center of the stream at that area, and we hoped that the wind would do
its forecasted (*veering*) to allow us to correct for a slightly east of
north
heading to bring us back into the stream as it turned north later.

8AM saw us making 9.9 knots (*speed over the ground*), briefly, but mostly
we were in the high 8s to
low 9s. By 10:30, we'd turned to 005*T to bring us (*in line with*) the
stream's direction, aiming for 79*45' W. The wind was down to only 14-18
knots apparent, and we were (*full and by*) (maybe - floppy bracket
adjustment??)
at a relative pinch of 75-90*. Of course, this isn't a pinch, at all,
being
a close- to beam-reach attitude, but with the lesser wind at the time, we
were still making an exhilarating 9.5-10 knots.

By 1PM,. as we entered the axis of the stream, we were seeing 10.8-11.6
knots (*SOG*) in only 14-17 knots of apparent wind. 2PM had some squalls
on the
horizon, so we proactively (*furled*) the genoa to its reefed position of
about 40%. Dead reckoning had us going WAAY too fast, which would put us
at
an arrival of not long after midnight, but the squalls turned into only
light showers and disappeared from the radar, so we (*unfurled*) the genoa
again to 70%. The 18-24 knot winds gave us 10.2-10.8, still flying along.

Along with that, the wind (*backed*). As we were already well pinched
for the level of sail we had out, we again turned 355*T to ease the
pressure
slightly. As it continued to back slightly, and rise, with gusts to 28
knots, that proved to be a good move. However, that was short-lived, so
by
2:45, we went back to 000*T with the wind at 75-90* apparent.

Ever changing, the wind and seas built to 6-8' and an estimated 10 footer
appearing from time to time when swell and waves coincided, with many
breaking. As these were essentially abeam, that occasionally produced
some
fairly large rolls, when we happened to be on the downside of a breaking
wave.

I went (*below*) for a nap at 3:30, but was awakened at 5PM by slapping
sails and
a wallowing boat. The wind had altogether died, and, along with it, most
of
the waves. There was a light rain, but no squall activity. We grabbed the
opportunity to actually cook a dinner in the relative stability. Sure
enough, whatever the meteorological reason for that anomaly, the wind
picked
up, in a matter of, literally, a couple of minutes, from 2-4 to 20-25
knots
on an apparent 60*. Flying Pig, goosed by the wind, jumped immediately to
10.5-11.6 knots. 6:15 saw a 5 minute lull, but after that we were right
back at it. Along with the lull going away, the waves returned with a
vengeance. I have difficulty understanding how days' worth of wind waves
and swell can disappear in minutes, but then, on reappearance of the wind,
be right back up in, again, a matter of minutes.

7:15 saw Lydia doing a panic routine as a cruise ship appeared off the
horizon. To her eye, it looked like it would intercept us, but my
interpretation of the radar was that it would pass very safely astern.
After repeated attempts to hail (well, we hailed, but they didn't respond,
probably because they'd had us on their radar for the last several hours
and
knew they'd not get anywhere near us), the boat did, indeed, pass 2+ miles
astern of us, and, ever fearful that it might turn back to get us, Lydia
didn't go (*below*) for her rest until it had reached 150* off our port
quarter at 7:40PM.

Now that (*Florida was in the offing*), we were to see a fair amount of
traffic,
but none of it was near us, and none had a crossing course. For the last
many hours, we'd been keeping essentially a due-north attitude, but as the
Gulf Stream started its westward movement after the bulge of FL, we
(*fell)
off to 342*T at 8:30PM. That put us in a 120-135* apparent wind of 10-20,
still pretty widely variable in speed, but we managed to keep about 10
knots
under our keel as I (*unfurled*) the genoa to take advantage of the
broader
reach. This would put us (*at*) the Ft. Pierce (*roadstead*) (*at an ETA
of*) 2AM.

Consultation of the charts let us feel comfortable with an early morning
entry and anchoring, so we kept on keeping on. Lydia went (*below*)
for a nap at
9PM as we continued to charge northwestward. The wind had backed, yet
again, which made for some nervous calculations about what would happen
when
we turned in for the channel. My estimation was that we'd still have some
Gulf Stream (*current drift*), which would necessitate a more southerly
heading than
our course, so we'd be able to (*come about*), and still have the winds in
a broad
reach.

At 11:45PM, that's exactly what happened, as we went to 100-120* apparent
wind, with the boat heading 20-30* more southerly than our 270*T course.
By
1AM, the 7-9' swell made the shoreline's tall buildings, only 10 or so
miles
away, disappear for seconds at a time from my 6'+ above-water perch. VERY
impressive. NOAA radio keeps saying SE at 15-20, but we're seeing more
like
8-17, widely variable, which gave us only about 6.4 knots during this, the
shortest of our open-water legs.

Indeed, we entered the channel, 480 miles from our start, exactly 60 hours
from when we left, at 2:10AM. Exactly 8 knots average, a booming trip.
We
had our potty locked into no-discharge mode, and the anchor down, right in
front of the USCG station, by 3AM. Whatta Ride!

We were well worn out due to all the motion we'd had, including a couple
of
minor launches from the galley to the nav station area during some of the
more egregious waves in the Gulf Stream, but otherwise it was a great
trip.
We'll sit a bit until we can contact our marina where we'll haul out for
some boat work, take advantage of the great internet to catch up on phone
calls and otherwise get ready for our work ashore.


Good Grief, I'm exhausted just trying to make such a long-winded diatribe
a little more palatable to sailors so I give up already.

Skippy, if in the future you only take ONE word of advice from me, please
and desist saying "Lydia went down." Your sex life should not be a topic.
LOL!


Wilbur Hubbard