Having reached Key West we were finally able to devote several days to repair � both for ourselves and for the boat. Once the saturation levels had dropped from standing water in our pockets to a mild, clinging dampness we removed the screws from the rubrail and found our culprits. Several of them had been replaced with the rustable/corrodible versions which had, go figure, rusted and corroded. This allowed water to seep in and eventually caused the flood in Brian's bunk. We epoxied, siliconed, and (wisely) opted for stainless steel versions when refastening the rail. The rubber seals around the hatches were also replaced so as to help resting sailors avoid an involuntary saltwater shower whenever a wave crashes across the bow. The cabin was cleaned and organized, the decks scrubbed, our paperwork secured, and our bodies nourished with hot food we didn't have to cook. Over the course of the days spent at the Galleon Marina we became a subject of interest to both the locals and the other itinerants. "Coming from WHERE?" was a typical response, followed closely by "And you're going all the way THERE?" Three or four times a party of seagoers hovered on the dock looking over the work, offering gratefully accepted advice, and marveling that people are still willing to attempt this kind of run in such a small boat. Peter, a fellow sailor commented, "We're a dying breed. It's so good to see you doing this�keeping it alive. I'll tell you, my claim is I've got no grass under my feet." Peter has been sailing the high seas all over the world for over 30 years. He's probably forgotten more ports than Faith's crew has ever seen. And he has so far been the only one who didn't blink or ask twice when we told him what we propose to do. Instead he perused the boat's lines (how she is shaped and sits in the water), asked a few questions about what we want to see along the way, and declared that it was a grand journey similar to the ones that gotten him started those years ago. Then he took us out for beers so we could trade stories and compare notes � and so he could offer us information for contacting various ship's agents along our route. Ship's agents are something like nautical lawyers who make passing from port to port in foreign countries less hectic and red tape strewn. Peter's contacts will likely be very valuable to us in the near future�
As much fun as the dockage was we moved out of harbor after two nights to an anchorage across the channel just off the southeast of neighboring Wisteria Island. Key West's harbor accommodations are very good, but at 75 dollars a night (the most inexpensive) a bit rich for us after a couple of nights. Besides, it's much more peaceful and secure to be laying off anchor watching the passing ships or casting the ocean fishing pole Mike had given us back in Sarasota. I suppose there were a few interruptions � notably when one of the passing ships fired a cannon at us. No kidding. There are five or six two masted ships � Tall Ships in sailing parlance � that take large parties out on the ocean every day. As they return they sail right by our spot, usually to our extreme delight. The exception came as the three of us were below, relaxing in our bunks, when KABoooooooMMM! A cannon went off just twenty or thirty yards off our beam. We jerked toward the windows, staying low to peer just above the lower sill. A billowing puff of smoke was wafting along the port side of one of the Tall Ships, confirmation that we were under fire. A loud cheer went up from her decks as the revelers celebrated their supposed victory. We were somehow able to restrain ourselves from placing a couple of warning shots across her bow with our flare gun�.
The real excitement came on the 5th of May � Cinco de Mayo � but not from the quarters you might expect. All week the weather had been mild. We were preparing for departure � on to Mexico at last! � and heard on the radio: "Severe thunderstorms approaching Key West from the west at thirty-five miles per hour. Winds gusting up to 40 knots. A water spout (that's a tornado on the water) sighted thirty miles west of Key West. Mariners are advised to stay in port. People on shore are advised to remain inside strong structures and remain away from windows." Alright, we thought, let's get our stormgear on and clear the decks. Then from the radio: "Severe thunderstorms off Key West. Winds gusting to 60 knots. A warning has been issued to all craft until 12:30 pm�" OK, Brian and I have seen this before. We're likely to drag anchor in something like that so I manned the tiller, standing by with the engine in the event that we started slipping toward another boat. Brian and Eric went up to the bow to bring in the anchor when the time came. All of us watched in, what shall we call it, growing anticipation? as the dark clouds descended on us. Wind speed kicked up quickly, sending small breaking waves across the channel followed by lightening and thunder in the near vicinity. So far nothing altogether out of our experience. That's when Eric and I were treated to something neither of us had seen before: lightening striking the foremast of a boat about 100 yards away. White hot bolt searing our eyes � so close you couldn't even tell what it had hit � and a jarring lash of thunder not a second behind. As our eyes came back into focus we saw sparks raining down from one of our neighbors' masttops and a billow of smoke being shredded by the rising wind. In theory the mast of a sailboat is grounded into the hull and will conduct electricity down into the water without seriously damaging the vessel or its occupants. In actual fact, lightening strikes are such an incredibly strong current of electricity that they can go pretty much anywhere they damn well please. The upshot here is that none of us touched a metal part on the boat unless absolutely necessary for the next half hour�.which wasn't easy since the predicted 60 knot winds began tearing the tops off of the building waves and driving the now-large-drops sideways into us. This is an experience usually reserved for the seabound � a wall of water pelting you in pebble sized beads that strike as if fired from a slingshot. Needless to say, looking directly into a gale of this force is not only painful but acutely hard to maintain. Would it be redundant to point out that this is exactly when we began to drag anchor? I fired the engine while sheltering my eyes from the Poseidonic watery wrath as Brian and Eric caught hold of the anchor line. We powered up enough to slacken the line, making it possible for anchor and line to be retrieved. The next thirty minutes were occupied by running back and forth between a pair of channel markers on a course perpendicular to the direction of the tempest. The wind finally blew itself out enough for us to reestablish a firm hold on the bottom (and thankfully we still had a firm hold on our own!). We like to look at everything in life as an opportunity, and so it was with quiet pride that we found no more water in the cabin than we brought in with us upon going below to change into some drier clothing. The seals had held! As I finish this entry we await the fairer winds predicted for this evening for departure to Isla Mujeres and the beginning of the Mexican portion of our adventure!
Arriba!