Crossing the Gulf of Mexico

It's been a busy few days.  There was buzz of a good weather window to cross the Gulf on Saturday night.  After that, bad weather was blowing in and it was going to be quite awhile before another window opened.  It was a Thursday when we heard that.  Hmm.  If we were going to make that window we would have to put in two long days of travel, arrive at the starting point of Dog Island by late afternoon and just carry on out into the Gulf to start our twenty or so hour over-night crossing.

Jeff and I, being the kind of folks we are, quickly agreed.  Let's do this thing!!  (keeping in mind that if it looked chancy or the reports changed, we'd change our plan and hang around Carrabelle for awhile and wait).


We had a few long days of uneventful travel on our way to Dog Island, often both lifting and dropping our anchor in the dark (are those eyes reflecting our lights??). We stopped to fuel up and as we approached Dog Island the little bit of wind there was died down, the waves diminished even more (an omen??).  The sky was blue. The sun was shining. It was a LOVELY day for a crossing and most reports were that it was supposed to even improve.  So after a full day of travel, without stopping, we headed out into the Gulf of Mexico for our twenty-two hour over night crossing.  Yeah!  We were pumped.

Amazing sunset out of sight of land.

It started off great.  There were three boats headed out together as buddy boats: a larger trawler, a sailboat and us, the little trawler that could (or hoped so!).  We were quickly out of sight of land and it was so beautiful.  The sunset was amazing. Soon the stars were out in all their glory and it was all going well.  This was going to be nice!


Then the wind picked up.  Then the waves picked up. Oh Oh. The wind shifted slightly and the ride became increasingly beamy and uncomfortable.  We weren't too concerned as it was forecasted to slow down in an hour or so.  One of the boats we were travelling with had satellite weather so were we able to hear updated forecasts.  It was a sinking feeling (bad choice of words) to hear that NOAA had changed their forecast and the weather was going to deteriorate, not improve.  OH DEAR.  We were in for a ride.

Soon those lovely stars disappeared as the clouds rolled in.  Clouds?  It was supposed to be a clear night.  The beam seas increased and became even more uncomfortable.  The three boats began to discuss a course change.  Would that be better?  It was worth a try.  We all turned a bit North, into the waves a little more, which didn't improve things much for us and would make the trip longer.  We decided to stick to our course and get it over with but stayed in radio communication with the larger trawler as they headed more northerly and we began to drift farther apart.  We continued to follow the sailboat on our original heading.  The weather continued to deteriorate and the boat started to really bounce around.  The sailboat decided to put up some sail, stabilized and with all that wind, zoomed off.  We couldn't keep up.  We watched as the light that was guiding us got smaller, then intermittent as it bounced below the waves, then finally disappeared all together.  Suddenly we found ourselves alone with no one in sight.  There were a few other boats out there somewhere and we all continued to keep in touch by radio for awhile.  That was a godsend.  But eventually the radio went quiet too.


So that's how we ended up alone in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico being bashed around in the pitch darkness.  We could see nothing beyond our boat so we have no idea how high the waves were but up on the fly bridge we were getting sprayed in the face with salty water on a regular basis.  If one of us moved we had to almost crawl or time each step carefully as walking was completely impossible.  Just to stay in our seats we had to keep our legs spread, feet firmly braced on the floor and hold on to something. Things were battened down well in the cabin, we thought, but cupboards flew open and things were flying around. The microwave flew out of it's perch and landed up-side-down on the floor, broken. Furniture rearranged itself.  We lost many things overboard, the camera bag, a small table etc. We don't have autohelm so we were hand steering.  It was almost impossible to keep the boat on course as we were being pitched around by the waves and in the total darkness we had zero point of reference.  Soon Jeff was seasick for the first time in his life.  Let's just say it was a very long, unpleasant night.


Once, at 2:19 a.m., the moon came out from behind the clouds.  I have never been so happy to see the moon! It was a sliver of a crescent, but it was enough.  Finally, we had something to guide our course and steering became much easier.  Just keep the moon there on the port.  This was doable!  Unfortunately, it disappeared about ten minutes later and that's all we saw of the moon and stars.

It's a weird thing to be out there is such total darkness.  In discussions with other boaters they experienced the same thing so we're not crazy, but you start seeing things, all in shadow but very realistic looking. I'd be watching my course on the plotter, and then squinting ahead, trying to see where I was going in the darkness with no success, I'd figure okay, a little to the starboard, away from those buildings and into the grove of trees.  And off I'd go.  They were all shadowy but they looked so real.  Jeff was sure he was seeing oil rigs in the shadows.  We were seeing lots of mystery boats too.  We knew they were just optical illusions but it was very eerie.

The other weird thing was, in all those waves, we could see on the chartplotter that we were being tossed off course a lot.  When we turned the steering wheel a bit to get back on course, with no visual input around us, we had the sensation that the boat was slowly spinning around and around in circles.  We could see on the chartplotter that we were simply turning the boat fifteen degrees or so, getting back on course but it didn't feel like that.  Then we'd  be tossed the other way.  We zigged-zagged like that for most of the night.  Just focusing on keeping the boat going in the right general direction.  For awhile we were wondering if the rudder was okay.  Once daylight came we realized the rudder was fine. It was just another weird sensation from straining to see in the total blackness around us.

Eventually, the wind shifted a bit to the East which provided a better ride for us.  A slight glow appeared in the distance.  Soon, we could make out a bit of a horizon line.  Daylight!  The waves continued to diminish.  The air felt warmer.  The next thing we knew the sun was out and we found ourselves having a beautiful cruise through calmer water.  Wow!  It felt surreal.  Sweaters were peeled off.  The dolphins visited regularly and played around.  Being able to now see some of our surroundings steering felt back to normal.  Jeff's tummy settled and our nightmarish night morphed into a lovely day on the water, although we were still a little shaken and extremely tired.  We had not slept in over thirty-six.

We made our way back onto the Intracoastal Waterway where it picks up again after Carrabelle and after getting a wee bit lost (ugh) found our way into the marina we had booked.  We shut Pearl the trusty Perkins diesel engine down.  She had been serving us, flawlessly, for thirty-five continuous hours.  She's amazing.  We love Pearl.

We are tied up safely at dock at a lovely marina in Dunedin (Marker 1) which has a GREAT Looper special.  There are lots of other Loopers here and it's close to everything.  We've booked for a week but we may just stay put for longer.

We're still processing our first over-night crossing and the lessons to be learned, which are many.  We learned that while we both have adventurous spirits there's nothing wrong with a little well-placed caution and a little extra planning.  We've gained a new respect for the big water.  We've learned that when the going gets tough, the tough stick together. We did very well as a team under extremely trying circumstances (tough way to test that one but A+).

In retrospect, we have been in rougher water than we saw on our crossing.  We know that.  That wasn't our difficulty.  If we had had an autohelm, a light on a boat ahead of us to follow, or even a star or the moon to guide us through all that blackness we would have had a MUCH easier time of it.  The biggest difficulty was being alone in the total darkness, hand steering with no reference point.

 Right now there is a storm brewing and I hear thunder in the distance.  We're cozy in the cabin watching our Canadian Flag in the cockpit proudly extended straight out sideways whipping and snapping in the wind once again, very content to be safely tied up this time.  It's time to slow down.  We're Canadians on a beach in the winter.  AWESOME.  It's been a long time coming.  For now we'll take a nap and maybe later watch a movie.  We made it.  We learned some lessons.  We're happy to be here.  Someday we hope to do it again under better circumstances.