Bye-Bye Margaritaville

We were going to go to Key West. Yep, that was the plan. That was the dream.

Visit the Florida Keys and then cruise down through the Bahamas, the Caribbean, and eventually end up in Grenada to wait out hurricane season. The route was set; in our future we saw blue waters, spectacular sunsets and living on island time.

After our stellar whooping crane trip, we felt ready for this bigger next step. We spent weeks plotting our course, but how does that verse go, ‘man makes his plans, but God determines his steps’? The weather wouldn’t cooperate, and patience wasn’t exactly our strong suit. So, in a whirlwind of frustration and spontaneity, we ditched the Florida dream (for now) and set a new course, heading south toward Mexico instead.

It was a rash, spur-of-the-moment decision, and as with most impulsive choices, it brought plenty of ups and downs—literally. Shortly after the Houston Ship Channel spat us out into the Gulf of America, we hoisted our sails and were off, nonstop, to Port Aransas. Nonstop sailing, and nonstop stop rolling and pitching making the journey feel more like a carnival ride than a coastal cruise.

Gone were the lazy days motoring down the ICW, with sunny birdwatching and naps on the bow. There was no going down below to catch up on Spanish lessons or pretending I can play the ukulele. Instead, we bounced across the water, sometimes reaching speeds of 9 knots, but mostly hanging around 5 or 6—rocking and pitching with every gust and wave.

It didn’t take long for chaos to reign below deck. Chris found eating and sleeping nearly impossible, while I was thankful for the foresight to stock the cooler with premade sandwiches. As for sleep, my challenge was trying to stay awake; the boat’s motion seemed to rock me to sleep even as we were tossed about. More than once, I was jolted awake by the sound of the contents of our cabinets crashing to the floor as the latches that were meant to hold them were bounced out of their hasps. Fortunately, most of our stuff was metal or plastic, except for a couple of pot lids and two ceramic coffee cups which miraculously survived. We almost lost the microwave—secured with a bungee cord before every trip, except this one. In our haste, we forgot, and soon it was dangling precariously by its cord. We saved it in the nick of time, but everything else had to wait.

There was nothing we could do about the cabinets with sliding doors. As the boat pitched forward and back, the doors slid open and closed. When the boat rolled from side to side, everything tucked behind the sliding doors made a break for it, one by one, falling to floor with a clatter. Some cabinet latches refused to stay latched, and the cabinet under the galley sink doesn’t even have a latch, yet we store all your typical under the sink items there. I watched the bottle of Pine Sol rolling back and forth, thankful we’d emptied the trash can before leaving.

Did I mention that the roly-poly, teeter-totter portion of our trip lasted nearly 30 hours? The start was relatively calm, with waves under 1 meter, but as we neared our destination, some grew to a height of 6 feet, crashing over the boat. Which is how we learned exactly where our leaky hatches are.

Speaking of wet, that was the only part of the journey that truly dampened my spirits (see what I did there?). The rocking may have made me fear for my life each time I ventured to the head at the bow of the boat, but it didn’t discourage me. However, being constantly damp did. You know how you get up in the morning and everything is covered with dew? Imagine sitting in it all night and half the next day, dripping wet.

It was warm enough for shorts and a t-shirt, but the dampness and 10–15 knots of wind made me cold, so I pulled on a long-sleeve shirt and sweatpants. I was warm for a minute—well, warm, but clammy. Before I could blink twice, my outer layer soaked up the moisture like a sponge, so now I was both warm and clammy while also being chilled to the bone. Like a well-cooked steak: warm on the outside, still cool and pink on the inside!

It’s very uncomfortable, to say the least. Changing clothes or grabbing supplies below was out of the question—the fiberglass deck, slicker than an ice-skating rink, made sure of that. I found a rolled-up beach towel and used it as a blanket, which worked until it, too, was damp. Now I felt like a baked potato steaming away in its tightly wrapped tinfoil jacket. The space between my fingers and toes is dripping, my hair is gross, my life vest smells funky, and it’s my turn at the helm. Yet the constant rocking motion makes it impossible to keep my eyes open. Even as we were tossed, I still struggled to stay awake, like a baby fighting sleep while being rocked in its mother’s arms.

After being rudely tossed from sleep several times in the cockpit, I fought my way below to use the head. On the way back, I wedged myself into the small sofa between the wall and nav station, pausing to catch my breath before tackling the steep stairs. Within minutes, I was sound asleep again! Poor Chris—his motion sickness and my dozing at the helm meant he managed nothing more than a few hours of catnapping the entire trip.

Our plan, on reaching Port Aransas, was to anchor overnight in the Lydia Ann Channel, then head to Corpus Christi Saturday morning, just ahead of the predicted bad weather. But we arrived later than we hoped, and with the anchorage already crowded with boats seeking refuge, we decided to dock at the municipal marina instead. It was very windy, and they assigned us a slip near the entrance that wasn’t quite long enough for our boat.

Chris did an excellent job backing in even though we had to fight the wind, and a neighboring boat owner jumped in to help secure our dock lines. Even so, as William pulled on the bow line, the rear of the boat swung out just enough for our dinghy to hit the electrical box attached to the dock. With the weight of our boat combined with the force of the wind, we knocked it right over even though we just bumped it. Thankfully, it didn’t damage any wiring, just broke the brittle plastic. Still, it was an expensive lesson and a chink in that armor of pride.

Now that we’re here, I think we’re just going to sit tight for a few days, wait out the weather, and then maybe move on to Corpus Christi where we will prepare for the next step in our journey. This time, our plan is to plan—carefully and patiently. Stay tuned for more adventures, and, hopefully, fewer leaky hatches!

We were not able to take many photos while making our way here. It's hard to hold a slick phone while being tossed about! Our friends Jim and Connie, who were tracking us on the Nebo app, saw that we were passing by and took some pictures for us as we were leaving Galveston. Pretty cool!

(We are still showing up as Wind Chime in AIS)