Manatee River 27-30'N 082-37'W

23JUN09:

I'm falling apart; I'm fighting a cold, my back is bothering me, and my intestines are doing their best to drop ... well never mind ...

But there was supposed to be good wind predicted and the boat was fixed, so I decided to try sailing out of the Manatee River at a boat ramp I hadn't tried before. I arrived at the Warner's Bayou Boat Ramp at 1200 and walked over to the ramp to check out the depth. It was about ten minutes past high tide at Edgemont Channel, which meant another 45 minutes before it hit here. The flood was still running for another two hours at least. So the depth at the two ramps was great. Even at low tide, which wouldn't happen till 2000, there would still be enough water under my keel.

I have to say that this was one of the prettier spots that I've visited along Tampa Bay. The ramp is located on a canal, sheltered from the prevailing winds by a point of land and bend in the Manatee River. I watched the flags on boats moored in the river and saw that the wind was more northerly than from the north west as predicted, which meant that it was coming right down the river. Which meant a mile and a half slog to the Bay with the wind right on the nose and the height of the flood. Also, as I looked out into the river I noticed that the white caps were higher and more numerous than I had expected and there was spray coming off the tops of them.

Beaufort Scale:

Force Knots Wave Height Description

1 1-2 1/2 Light Air - ripples
2 3-6 1 Light Breeze - small wavelets
3 7-10 2 Gentle Breeze - Scattered Whitecaps
4 11-15 3 Moderate Breeze - Small waves
5 16-20 6 Fresh Breeze - longer waves, foam and spray starting
6 21-26 10 Strong Breeze - large waves, foam crests, some spray

I'd say it was a fresh breeze in the Manatee River, thought the waves weren't 6 feet.

I had a little foreboding as I rigged the boat. This was still a protected waterway, what would it be like out in the Bay? But I launched the boat without incident. This is getting easier and easier to do alone. I've got a system that seems to impress the power boaters, because they seem to find launching their larger more maneuverable boats alone impossible.

Soon I was underway out the channel into the River. As the wind started to fill in I realized that I'd forgotten to tie in a reef. I couldn't do it in the channel because it was too narrow. However, once out into the river with the wind coming over the port side, the wind caught the jib which was down but hauled tight to the port side and she hove-to. I put the engine in idle, let the tiller go to leeward and the boat held position. I tied a reef in the main, let go the main sheet and then raised the main. As she headed up into the wind, I let go the jib sheet and raised the jib. Then I jumped back to the tiller, fell off the wind, made the jib sheet fast as the sail filled and pulled in the main sheet till it filled.

We flew across the river close-hauled on the port tack, with the starboard rail buried. We pounded over and through the waves, scattered spray soaking me in seconds. I made several tacks up river and realized that I wasn't having fun, I was struggling. I hadn't prepared well for this trip and was unfamiliar with the river channel and its shoals. The wind was much stronger than predicted and I felt like crap. If Confidence = Skill + Preparation + Strength, then I was missing the last two of the equation. I decided to turn back.

I started the engine, then hove to on the starboard tack. I eased the main sheet and dropped the sail, using the reef line as a gasket to hold the sail down. Then I came up on the wind, let go the jib sheet and tried to drop the jib, but the downhaul fouled forward. I had to climb out onto the pitching foredeck and manually haul down the jib, then tie it off with the downhaul. To be honest, it was exhausting.

I got underway again into the entrance channel to the boat ramp. I realized that the wind was catching the little bit of main and jib that were exposed and that she was sailing. There were two power boats at the ramps, so I put the engine in neutral and "sailed" her in using the wind and flood tide. While still mid-channel, I let go the tiller for a moment and prepared dock lines for the port side. The wind was blowing right into the ramps, perpendicular to the channel, so the bowline was really unimportant. The stern line I held coiled in my hand as I made my approach.

One of the powerboats hauled out just as I was making my final approach, so I turned off my engine and went for it. I came in about five feet off the dock that he had just vacated, put the helm over slowly so that my stern was to the wind and let my momentum and the wind push me into the dock. I jumped out holding onto the stern line, and took three quick turns around a piling. The boat fetched up against the dock and I made fast the stern line, then the bowline. No applause, but I looked over and I could tell the powerboat guys were impressed. I know I was.

In the end, I was disappointed that I didn't get to sail, but I'd still had practice that was invaluable and I think my decision making skills are improving.

Plant City FL 28° 1' N 082° 6' W

20JUN - 22JUN2009:

When I first took the cover off the boat and checked it over, I noticed a small patch of discoloration on the starboard side keel. I knew that I'd have to address it sooner or later, but I chose to ignore it until after I went sailing. I finally had a few days free after sailing around Anclote Key, so I decided to start hitting some of the boat to do list, starting with this patch on the keel.

The discoloration looked like some minor delamination around a crack about three inches long. I'd read in the on-line Skipper 20 owners group that these small cracks were common due to the way the hull was built. Basically, Southern Sails, Inc. made the hull and keel together, then poured 800 pounds of concrete into the keel pocket, laid glass over the top, then put the liner and deck on. The fiberglass around the keel was apparently too thin and stress cracks developed over time. My boat was built in 1981, so some keel work was probably in order.

My plan was to grind out the glass around the crack and then put a patch over it. Unfortunately, when I started grinding the thin glass cracked more and water started pouring out of the keel. This is where I knew I was in trouble. I'd read in the owner's group that many keels needed to be completely re-glassed due to the previously mentioned stress cracks. I had assumed that mine was not one of these hulls. However the water, which showed no signs of letting up any time soon, indicated otherwise.

I continued grinding away fiberglass until I exposed a portion of the concrete ballast. More water continued to flow from the hole. I started picking away at the fiberglass to see how saturated it was and big chunks started coming off. As I picked away more and more fiberglass I realized that I was also pulling away patching material. Apparently one of the previous owners had patched cracks in the hull with a fairing compound, rather than making a proper fiberglass patch. The delamination and deterioration had spread to eventually encompassed about a square foot of the hull.

I ground down the solid fiberglass surrounding this damaged area out to about three inches. This would eventually give me a solid foundation to lay the patch on. Then I inspected the rest of the hull a little more closely. I found that there were similar patches made by a previous owner all along the keel. I was not going to tackle the whole job now, so I decided to patch what I could. I wanted to sail for as long as I could before spending a two to three week period striping away the bottom paint, grinding the whole keel, then re-glassing up to the waterline.

In order to patch the keel, I got a tight weave fiberglass cloth, a loose fiberglass mat and polyester resin. I cut out a piece of fiberglass mat slightly larger than the hole in the keel, then another layer of mat and two layers of cloth, each slightly larger than the first. I started early on Sunday morning because I wanted to give the resin the whole day to set, which turned out to be not necessary.

I hadn't taken into account that the directions were for room temperature and Florida in the summer is quite a bit warmer than room temperature. After adding the hardener to the resin, the mixture started to set in about ten minutes. Luckily I had all the materials at hand, so I just went about it quickly. Slapping resin onto the hull, then first layer of mat, slap on more resin, tehn the other layer of mat and so on ... In between layers I pressed with my gloved hands and tried to get all the air pockets out. In all it took about half an hour to finish, but the better part of the day to dry completely.

The next day I applied a fairing compound made of polyester resin and micro-balloons, sanded the crap out of it and then once dry, on went the bottom paint. I think the patch came out pretty good, though the fairing and sanding the next day looked like crap. It'll last for awhile and let me sail through the season, but I'll definitely need to spend some time on the hull.

In retrospect, I should have identified problems with the hull prior to buying the boat, but I still like my little boat. Also, I'll use less hardener and a slower setting resin next time.

Anclote Key 28-11'N 082-51'W

17JUN2009:

Michael Riff and I left the house about 1030 bound for the Anclote River Park boat ramp. The predicted winds were to be from the NNW at 10 knots, with low tide at 1430. I had wanted to sail around Anclote Key - a circumnavigation of sorts - but the wind direction and strength didn't look good for the attempt. So I had determined that we'd at least sail out into the Gulf a ways and try to pick up some good wind.

The Anclote River flows into the Gulf of Mexico about 30 statute miles north of Tampa Bay. Anclote key is a sandy barrier island resting on a limestone base about 1.5 nautical miles off the coast. Historically the area has been interesting for a couple reasons; in the late 17th century french pirates used Anclote Key as a base of operations to attack the Spanish trading vessels passing to the west and in the 1850's sponges were collected off of Anclote Key and brought back up the Anclote River to Tarpon Springs. The sale of these was so profitable, that the sponge trade became commercially important to the area. The settlement of Greek sponge divers in the area is traced back to this early start.

But getting back to the trip, we got to the ramp just before 1200 and rigged the boat in under 20 minutes. We were still on the last of the ebb tide and the wind was right on the beam, so we raised the main at the dock, sailed off the dock, then raised the jib in the channel. It was a clear sunny day and as we cleared the river mouth the wind filled in to around 10 knots. Once clear of the channel, we made a SW course toward the light house (built in 1887) at the southern end of Anclote Key.

Once we cleared the lee of Anclote Key and entered the Gulf the waves increased and so did the wind, remaining pretty steady at 15 knots for the whole day. A direct course north was impossible due to the wind direction- trust me we tried. So we decided to head due west into the Gulf and make as much northing as possible. Maybe we'd be able to go all around the island, maybe not, but we'd still be sailing, so ... We came up on the wind close hauled, or as near as my small boat could manage it, and watched as Anclote Key receded into the distance.

I'd never been very far out into the Gulf before - or any sea for that matter - but now I noticed that most waves were only about 2 feet, but that every fifteen seconds or so a larger 3-4 foot wave would come up. I found it exhilerating; sailing and being at sea in my own boat, but I did realize that my wife wouldn't have had as much fun. She would have liked Anclote Key though. The beach was beautiful and I see an anchored small boat and beach chairs in our future.

We went about 2 NM beyond Anclote Key, then tacked to a NE course. The wind had veered slightly west while we were heading out, so we were able to make a good course toward the channel on the north end of Anclote Key. At this time we started to notice dark cumulous clouds and thunder heads forming to the NE over the land. I checked the radio and the weather report didn't predict any storms for our area, not that I could have done anything at that point anyway. We were too far out to make it back before any freak storm hit.

As we headed for the channel I was a little nervous;

a. I wasn't familiar with the channel.

b. The channel wasn't marked.

c. The channel was subject to change from shifting sands.

All of my concerns - if not my judgement - proved to be well-founded. I brought us in too close to the shoals, the channel had shifted south closer to the island and we ran aground on soft sand. I was loath to try the engine because we hadn't used it yet, but needed to give it a try. That didn't work, so we dropped the jib, let the main out and broke out the anchor. I jumped into the very warm water - it only came up to my waist - and I walked the anchor out to deeper water. The loss of my human ballast, Michael taking strain on the anchor road and me pushing got the boat going again. Though I had another trip into the water to retrieve the anchor, it was fun jumping on the boat and hauling myself aboard as she started sailing by with Michael at the helm.

We made our way southward trying to get around shoals on the eastside of the island, but not going too close to the mainland because of more shoals. The wind died in the lee of Anclote Key, so I started the engine and dropped the jib. I had significant trouble getting to the Anclote River channel, getting into shallow water again and again. Eventually, I ignored the buoys and where the chart indicated I should be and took bearings from a mainland stack and the lighthouse on the island. I didn't find out until I got back that over this past winter there had been two buoys added, one removed and the numbers had been changed. I was taking positions off buoys that weren't where I thought they were.

At this point the storm that had been threatening for the last two hours started to become more of a concern. Lightening could be seen and heard inland, and it seemed that the storm was moving in our direction. As we revved up the motor (all 6hp of it), Michael started de-rigging the boat, stuffing sails and other gear into the cabin and leaving only the mast up. He took the helm as I rigged the mast for dropping, my plan was to get to the dock as soon as possible, then drop the mast at the dock. The lightening got closer, the wind filled in strong from the north east and I was really concerned about a lightening strike.

We readied for a starboard side docking, but I came in too fast and we used the other dock instead and went in on the port side. The rain was starting, so we tied up quick, turned off the motor, dropped the mast, then ran for the truck. We made it just as the storm really hit. To be honest, it was kind of intense; there was lightening everywhere, the wind and rain looked like news footage of a hurricane and that's when the hail started. Michael joked that all hell breaking loose was a great way to end a sail and I agreed the only thing missing was the fire and brimstone.

We watched from the safety of the truck as an unmanned sailboat anchored in the river dragged its anchor and floated into a small speed boat tied up to the docks. I wanted to help, but there was no way I was going out in that storm. Afterward once the wind stopped, the sailboat floated off with the tide and we called the park rangers to let them know. But my boat was fine, so we hauled her out, secured the mast and were on the road for home by 2030.

Another day on the water and I didn't die!

Hillsboro Bay 27-51'N 082-32'W

14JUN 2009:

I checked out the boat briefly on Saturday, taking off the cover, airing out the cabin and checking the sails, but the test is sailing it. So Sunday - after an interesting adventure taking Jordan to Mass during the celebration of Corpus Christi - I put the charts, radio, and binoculars in the truck, put the sails in the boat, and headed for the Alafia River boat ramp. I was sailing single-handed again due to a previous misadventure on the boat with my wife. Note to self; not everyone finds 20-25 knot winds in a small boat exciting!

Upon arrival at the Alafia River boat ramp, I found an unbelievable amount of power boats putting in and taking out at the four available ramps. I was the only sailboat, the others were large power boats for the most part, which burned more gas/diesel leaving the dock than I used on my entire voyage. But more to the point, I can only use one of the ramps due to the draft of the boat and the extended dock adjacent to the ramp. Therefore, I took my time raising the mast and setting up the boat, only moving my truck and trailer three times so that power boaters could get to their trucks and trailers. Then I basically barged my way into the Que and launched the boat.

I should describe this because its interesting; I've never launched at a crowded ramp before, but for some reason no one bothered me. I saw at least four arguments when I was setting up, but when I got in the Que and ran the trailer into the water, no one said a word ... other than "nice boat". I'm actually pretty good at confrontation now and was expecting, even anticipating, an unkind word. But, to be honest, all the power boaters were nice to me. I don't know if its because they saw a sailboat and knew that it took longer to launch it or if they saw the look on my face and paused before making a comment ... but I had no issues. I like to think it was my manly physique and tattoo, but my wife tells me that's unlikely.

The boat went off the trailer without a hitch and I raised sail at the dock. The wind was on the nose out of the west, so I used the motor and sails and fell off the wind to head up the Alafia river out to the Hillsboro Bay. My plan was to cut the motor in the channel and at the appropriate buoy, head north to go see the old Seaplane Basin on Davis Island near Tampa, FL. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the wind veered to the north and stayed pretty steady at 10 knots, with a few gusts up to 15 knots, from the NNW.

I waited till I cleared the Alafia River, then cut the engine and fell off toward the MacDill AFB water tower. This happened to be directly across the bay, in line with the channel, so good for me. We were only three hours past low tide at Edgemont Channel, so only one hour past low tide at the mouth of the Alafia. I can't cut across the shoals adjacent to the the spoil islands at the entrance to the channel at low tide, so I stayed in the channel.

Once I hit the outer buoy, I headed up slightly toward a range marker across the bay. I realized that I'd be making long tacks across the bay and the wind was steady for the most part, so I lashed the helm and steered with the main sail when necessary. I only touched the tiller when we had to tack, or to make minor adjustments to the heading. It was great! I never made the Seaplane Basin, but I did make Pendola Point before jibbing and running for the Alafia River.

In addition to learning a lot about sail handling, I learned that my boat can't point as high into the wind as more modern cruisers. While heading north, I crossed the bows of a larger sloop - at a safe distance - but she was able to head straight toward the Seaplane Basin, whereas I was two or three degrees off her course. I had to tack two more times than she did. She was maybe 35 feet, but she has a reefed main, with a roller-reefed jib. Still, when we gusted up to 15 knots, I could point higher and go faster and the other vessel wasn't outdistancing me as much as she should have. Ultimately, I was pleased with my seamanship and the performance of my boat.

The run back from Pendola Point was pretty boring. I jibbed around to 120M and let the jib out opposite the main, so that I could go wing and wing. The flood was still running, high tide at Edgemont Channel was 1630, so by 1800 north of the Alafia River, we still had about 2 knots of current going the opposite way that I wanted to. We were making headway, but our hull-speed is only 5.5 knots and in 10 knots of wind we were unlikely to make more than 3 knots. So I started the engine, dropped the jib and headed for the aforementioned shoals. At mean low tide, the shoals off the spoil islands are 2 feet, but at high tide the shoals are under more than 5 feet of water and I only draw 2 feet. So wind and tide were in my favor.

As soon as I got to the Alafia River channel, I put the engine in idle/neutral, and used the mainsail to go into the channel on a broad reach. The power boaters, oblivious to what I was doing, continued to roar past me, creating wakes that were somewhat difficult, but not impossible, to deal with in an increasingly tight channel. Luckily, near the boat ramp and docks, it opens up into a small anchorage, just before a bridge that is 3 feet lower than my mast. There were a lot of power boats at the docks, but I was feeling confident and decided to go in under sail.

I still had the full mainsail up, but when I was about 100 meters off the dock and the same off the bridge, I saw that it would be too much sail area for the wind and tide. Therefore, I fell off, gained some distance off the bridge, headed up into the wind, dropped the main - save for 4 feet that I left up to give me steerage - and started my approach again. Ultimately, I have the power boaters to thank again, because no one got in my way while I attempted a docking under sail. Of course the engine was still on, but not in gear. Also, I was heading nearly due west, toward the bay, against the tide, with the wind nearly from the west at 10 knots. I'd fall off, catch a bit of wind and speed, then luff up as I closed to the dock. I just crabbed in till I kissed the dock then jumped off onto the dock with my bowline.

I didn't realize how cool it was till I made fast and had to jump down into to the boat to turn off the motor. I'd forgotten it was on.

I'm not a good sailor, but damit, I'm getting there.