Fernandina/Amelia and Port Canaveral

Susan has STILL not posted about their wild night from Charleston to Fernandina, but here's the photo that says it all. That flag has survived at least three Chesapeake summers, including a dunking and recovery at Zahnisers, over 400 ICW miles, and the 150+ mile passage from Wrightsville to Charleston. This is what it looked like after the trip to Fernandina.

Susan here. That flag was absolutely rigid and vibrating with a sound like a helicopter approaching. I’m finally posting about the Charleston-to-Fernandina/St. Mary’s passage because I came across a picture of what it felt like, thanks to Japanese artist Hokusai. See that tiny little boat behind the first wave and under the second?

At about 3 am on the 21^st, JP was standing watch and I was the ‘watch below’. I woke up and things seemed pretty active so I went up to see if JP needed help or maybe just company. Above, things had that static yet completely in motion quality of a long reach. We were on a beam reach with a following sea that we occasionally outstripped, resulting in “banging” as we came down off a crest. JP was intentionally spilling wind a bit to minimize that – no problem, as we were still going more than 6 knots. I sat for a while, then went below for a last nap before my 6-12 am watch.

When I came on deck, things had changed. Still a beam reach, still a following sea, but winds were gusting in the high 30’s and the waves were 6-7 feet. The combined effect of a gust and a wave, when they happened together, was some fairly exciting pitching and rolling. JP had furled the jib (even so, we were going over 7 knots) and was waiting for me to arrive to take a reef in the main. I started the engine (bless you, Mr. Engine, Sir!), took her off autopilot and steered her about 110 degrees to starboard to head into the wind. This also headed us directly into the waves. Images of the Gloucester fisherman statue came to mind as I wrestled with the wheel and peered through the spray and darkness at the waves sweeping toward us. JP took the reef, which involves lowering the main by about ¼, then retensioning the sail by winching down on the reef line and up on the main halyard, complicated by the wild flapping of anything the wind can get hold of, and the pitching of the boat through 80-90 degrees with every wave. Next, I steered back to the original course (waves and wind on the starboard stern quarter) and reset the autopilot. It was getting lighter at this point and the gusts seemed to be lessening a bit, so JP headed below, leaving me on watch.

As the day dawned, conditions at first seemed to be getting better, then not. Gusts gradually increased to 50+ knots, and the waves were running 7-9 feet. All around were huge green waves with white crests. On the wave slopes, the wind created a network of foam “veins” across the entire surface. Beyond the waves, there was just grayness. One rogue wave somehow penetrated the companionway and sent a few gallons of water into the cabin. Several drenched the cockpit (and me). I hung on and focused on depowering the main slightly with the traveler when gusts hit. JP to the rescue! After less than an hour off, he returned, we repeated the reefing drill, reducing the sail area by another 1/3 or so, and ran that way for another 3 hours at 8+ knots. Our course was determined by the wind/wave direction – luckily it did not send us toward Africa. At about 10 am, I said to JP, “Well, I WAS complaining about not getting a shower before we left.” Within about 45 seconds, another rogue wave flooded the cockpit and, just for fun, somehow went directly down inside the collars of both of our jackets (and continued downward….). This completely new trick was Father Neptune’s last punch, though. About 15 minutes later, JP said hesitantly, “Do you think it’s a little better?”. I nodded silently with fingers crossed. We now understand why sailors are superstitious. Around 11 am, JP finally went below again and I finished out my watch. Looking at the chart, I realized we were only a couple of hours out from St. Mary’s Entrance. That’s one way to make a swift passage. [Susan out.]

With that night behind us, we decided to stay several miles north of the Fernandina inlet, at Amelia Island Yacht Basin. It's located behind one very scary looking tiny channel off the ICW but we found enough water to get in and made sure we went out on a slightly higher than mid tide to be safe. Nice quiet place; it's a little far from the downtown so the first night we walked (crossing A1A - almost as dangerous as sailing outside in 40-50 knot winds) to a nearby restaurant, but on day 2 we took a very friendly cab ride to downtown, window shopped, found another great wine bar / wine store, as we had in Beaufort NC, and then had dinner at a place called 29 South which was excellent - and quite full. We went early, without a reservation, because we were leaving in the morning for the passage to Port Canaveral, the longest of the four passages at 169 nauticals.

The exit from Fernandina was a nasty one - tide and wind in opposition to one another, trying very hard to slam Raconteur into every wave - but once outside, we had a great run. We didn't turn the motor on until after 4 a.m. on Monday morning, when the wind had dropped below 10 kts (no, she does not like light airs). We were at Cape Marina in Port Canaveral before noon, our earliest arrival. We took on fuel and then docked at a lovely T dock, and spent a lazy afternoon exploring the "back alleys" of the port, but finding a brand new restaurant, Milligan's Reef, where I took this picture of a relaxed Captain JP.


We're now en route to home port. We left Canaveral around 830 this morning, so expect to be {yes, I'm knocking on all the teak in sight} in Lauderdale before nightfall tomorrow, the day before Thanksgiving. I'll post when we arrive, and I'm working on a slide show of the trip.