Ready…Set…
Approximately 70 miles west-northwest of Key West, in the sub-tropical Gulf of Mexico, lies a small island group known as The Dry Tortugas. The Dry Tortugas consist of seven tiny islands; Garden Key, Loggerhead Key, Hospital Key, Bush Key, Long Key, Middle Key, and East Key. Of these, only Garden Key, Loggerhead Key, and Bush Key, are open to visitors. Garden Key is the center of the island group and is the location of the massive brick and mortar antebellum fortress, Fort Jefferson. The entire island archipelago and 100 square miles of the surrounding seafloor all make up Ft. Jefferson – Dry Tortugas National Park.
JO BETH at anchor in Tortugas Harbor
There are only three ways to get to the Dry Tortugas: by seaplane, either chartered or your own; the Key West based National Park Service Ferry, YANKEE FREEDOM III; or your own vessel. Of course, our manner of conveyance was our very own JO BETH. Most visitors choose to visit for the day, and opt for the ferry from Key West. Camping is available at the park and is restricted to no more than three days. Because of the islands extremely limited resources, the maximum number of campers allowed for any given period is approximately 30 persons using eight designated campsites. Dry Tortugas National Park is one of the most remote parks within the United States National Parks system. Camping here is a very primitive experience. The island group is called ‘dry’ for a reason – while there are sea turtles aplenty, (after all, the island name translates from Spanish as “The Turtles”), and a lot of other marine life in abundance, there are no naturally occurring sources of fresh water on any of the islands. All trash must be carried off the islands, and there is no store or any resources available to visitors. You must bring everything you will need for the duration of your stay.
Since our arrival in the Keys, The Dry Tortugas have been a place Lisa and I wanted to visit. We had made several prior attempts, but always had to cancel or postpone the sail for a variety of reasons: the weather; one or both of us would come down with a sinus infection; issues with JO BETH; and so on. When the timetable opened up for us to make the trip just after Christmas, 2019, with a decent weather forecast (more on that later) we began our preparations to sail west from Marathon.
Islas Tortugas, here we come!
Our course from Key West to The Dry Tortugas
Go…
After spending several days preparing and provisioning the boat, we motored out of our slip at Marathon Marina & Resort and pointed the bow west into a steep and choppy sea. We planned to break the trip into three days. The first day would be the shortest, from our marina to Niles Channel, which separates the islands of Ramrod and Summerland Keys. We would spend one night at anchor there, then make an early departure for the Marquesas Keys, a group of small islands approximately twenty miles west of Key West. We would spend the second night of the trip at anchor off of Boo-Boo Key in the Marquesas group, and on the third day we would make sail for the Tortugas.
Usually, Lisa and I prefer to make short offshore passages, like this one, overnight. We’d typically leave in the late afternoon from our starting point and sail through the night, arriving at our destination the following morning. However, thanks to the voracious appetite so many of us have for fresh seafood – and in particular, for stone crab claws and spiny lobster – sailing at night was not a viable option. The reason is all of the floats that mark the location of the crab and lobster traps. There are thousands – thousands – of them scattered throughout the Keys waters. Lisa and I were astonished to see them as far as the eastern most boundaries of The Dry Tortugas – Ft. Jefferson National Park, nearly 70 miles from the closest inhabited land. We had to maintain a constant and careful look-out for these floats, especially when we were moving under motor power. A single trap float line getting caught in the spinning propeller would cause significant problems, and could potentially damage the engine, transmission, and propeller shaft bearings. Anchoring at night and moving only during daylight hours was our best and safest option.
Niles Channel anchorage
The winds leaving Marathon were on our beam and southerly, but had built up a steep and short chop in Hawk Channel. As we were in the process of setting sail, I became somewhat seasick and was soon sharing my breakfast with the fishes. Quickly though, the motion of the boat under sail steadied and I began to feel human again. The first day’s sail was short, and after about five hours, we had the anchor down in Niles Channel and settled in, nearly completely surrounded by crab and lobster trap markers. The winds built a bit more, close to twenty knots, and became more southeasterly. The weather forecast called for the winds to weaken overnight and shift more easterly, which they did. After a dinner of Chicken Tikka-Masala over rice, and a good night’s sleep, we awoke to near calm conditions, with the wind at 5 knots or so from the east-southeast.
We raised anchor at sunrise and motored away from Niles Channel into a much calmer Hawk Channel and continued west. By 11:00am, we were passing the Boca Chica Naval Air-Station, and by 1:00pm, Stock Island and Key West were fading in our wake. Soon, we were passing the islands which make up the Key West National Wildlife Refuge; Boca Grande, Man Key, Woman Key, Ballast Key, and the Barracouta Keys, all the while dodging and maneuvering around the crab and lobster trap marker buoys. These buoys are almost always made from Styrofoam or some similar material. They are usually painted in vibrant reds, yellows, oranges, and other bright colors, but some aren’t. We passed many that were painted black, brown, or dark purple. Worse though, were the ones painted in hues of blues and greens which almost matched the color of the sea. They were nearly impossible to spot far enough ahead to pass at a comfortable distance. Once or twice, we even mistook birds floating on the sea for the trap markers!
By 4:00pm on our second day, we were anchored with one other sailboat at Boo-Boo Key in the Marquesas Keys, once again surrounded by lobster and crab trap markers. We had left cellular and Wi-Fi signals behind in Key West, though we could still pick up the NOAA Marine Weather broadcasts from Key West on our VHF radio. The weather forecast had changed, and called for a weak cold-front to pass later the next morning, bringing with it, ‘freshening north-northeasterly breezes.’ The sea state forecast, which predicts wave heights and direction, was essentially unchanged. Under a spectacular sunset, we enjoyed a light dinner of spinach and cheese ravioli. After doing the dishes, I went into the cockpit and lay down on the portside seat. Out there, away from the light pollution of the inhabited Keys, the sky was breathtaking. The Milky Way was clearly visible and, as I gazed into it, a brilliant shooting star crossed my view from east to west. The quiet was startling and soon, we were fast asleep in the V-berth.
The next morning dawned overcast except for a patch of blueish-white low on the southeastern horizon. We weighed anchor and were underway by 7:00am. The sea was glassy calm; so much so, that it was difficult to distinguish the horizon. The sky and sea merged into one mirrored reflection in front us, seemingly placing the dreaded trap markers in suspense above the water’s surface. For a brief period, the overcast broke apart, giving us glimpses of blue sky. We passed by hundreds of Portuguese Man O’ War Jellyfish, some so small they were hard to tell apart from the bubbles in our wake. Once in a while we saw reddish-brown Moon-Jellyfish fluttering just beneath the surface. We also saw a sea turtle poke its head of the water, then quickly duck and dive after spotting us. Gulls and other seabirds fished around us. The National Park Service Ferry, Yankee Freedom III passed about three miles north of us on her way to the island park from Key West.
A glassy and calm Gulf of Mexico
Soon enough, the newly forecast cold-front approached. A long, low, and dark gray band of clouds rolled along the sea surface to our northwest, bringing with it a light and noticeably cool breeze. The calm and glassy water now stirred, rippling beneath the moving air. The frontal boundary didn’t look that strong, but it didn’t necessarily look weak either. Within half an hour, we were pushing along against 15 knots or so of wind from the north-northwest, and debating about whether or not to raise sail. Small weather systems like this often exhaust themselves fairly quickly, and if this was going to be the case, we didn’t want to set the sails to only strike them again in an hour or two. So, we waited.
Although the forecast mentioned little change for the sea state, we watched as the seas built surprisingly fast. Within a couple of hours, we went from a glassy calm to three foot steep and closely stacked waves. Soon, they were up to four feet, with an occasional six footer rolling under us. We decided the wind was indeed going to hold and to set sail so as to take advantage of the breeze.
It is much easier for the crew and the boat if the boat is turned up into the wind when sail is being set or struck. This allows the air to (mostly) flow past the sails instead of catching in them as they are being raised and/or lowered. As it turns out, this is one thing for which we didn’t prepare well enough earlier that morning. When we anchored at Niles Channel, we fully secured the sails – meaning they were stowed and covered, their halyards disconnected and secured. What we should have done the morning we left Niles Channel, was reconnect the halyards and prepare for the sails to be raised quickly when needed. Instead, we motored to our anchorage in the Marquesas with everything stowed, and we left the anchorage earlier that morning with them still stowed.
Now that we had decided to raise sail, everything had to be done on a pitching, rolling, deck. I went forward and began connecting the mainsail halyard to the head of the mainsail, which meant I had to step up and balance on a section of the mast pulpit bars in order to reach the mainsail head. Once this was done, I began raising the sail. I succeeded in half a dozen pulls, getting about 1/3 of the sail up, before things came to a grinding halt. One of the sail battens, the thin, flexible, lengths of fiberglass which bend and flex to help the sail maintain an airfoil shape was catching on one of the lazyjack legs. (Lazyjacks are a network of small lines which serve to ‘catch’ a sail as it drops to prevent it from spilling onto the deck or worse, into the sea.) When raising the mainsail, the lazyjacks should always be retracted and pulled forward to move them out of the way of the mainsail – and I had forgotten to do this. Down came the scrap of sail I had hoisted, and forward went the lazyjacks. This time, when hoisting the sail, we decided to put a reef in the sail – meaning, the sail would not be fully hoisted, but shortened to match the wind conditions. As I attempted to secure the reef, the reefing line for the first reef – JO BETH has two reefs in her mainsail – wouldn’t budge. And it was then, that things became interesting.
When we left Marathon two days earlier, we had started with a full tank of diesel fuel. The amount of motoring we had done consumed 25% or so of that fuel. We weren’t concerned about this in the least; after all, JO BETH is a sailboat. Plus, we burn just slightly more than 1 quart of fuel per hour, and the tank capacity is 35 gallons. We also carry 15 gallons in jugs lashed on deck. However, all of the pitching and rolling in the quickly building seas sent the fuel in the tank sloshing about. This caused the fuel pick-up tube, which delivers fuel to the engine, to be exposed to air in the tank, creating air blocks in the fuel line. For this reason, the engine began to falter, and soon it sputtered and with a shuddering clank, come to a stop.
Another problem we faced was that when we turned into the wind in order to raise sail, which was from the north, we made a course change. As we were trying to raise sail, we continued to be propelled at 5 or 6 knots forward by the engine. When we decided to get the sails set, we were approaching Rebecca Shoals, a shallow area of coral reef which we needed to pass on either the south or north side. The south is the preferred course in northerly winds, and on our planned course, we would have passed south of the shoal. But because of the time we had spent attempting to get sail set, we now found ourselves north of the shoal – and in much rougher waters. Now, without an engine, the prospect of being set onto the shoal area was a concern. Fortunately, we were three or so miles north of the really shallow areas.
Regardless, we were about 20 miles from The Dry Tortugas and now, with the sails set and reefed, we were sailing along quite well. Still, the situation with the motor was a bit worrying. We could sail to the Tortugas just fine, but entering the harbor and the area where the park service preferred for yachts to anchor would be quite tricky under sail power alone. I ran over the possible causes in my head for the motor stopping; I checked for any sign of overheating and found none; the dual fuel pre-filters were full and clear and the fuel clean; and so on. After a bit more thought, I concluded that during all of the wild pitching, air had entered the fuel system. Once we were in calmer water, I would check the system and ‘bleed’ the air out. Bleeding the fuel system is simple, but it requires me to stick my hand between very hot hoses to operate the fuel lift pump manually, and in doing so, have my face inches from the motor as I watched for fuel without bubbles to emerge from the bleeding port on the primary fuel filter housing. It would have to wait until we were in calmer seas.
It Really Was a Simple Request…
Before leaving on the trip, we filed a float-plan with several trusted contacts. The float plan outlines the planned itinerary of the trip, and provides enough information about the yacht and crew for rescue services to be notified if the crew hasn’t checked in by the stated ‘overdue’ date. One of these contacts is a friend of mine in Key West, a professional captain. As we continued on our way, a sport fishing boat emerged on the horizon on a heading for Key West. I decided to call the captain and ask for a message to be relayed to our contact in Key West concerning the engine, in the event the issue was more serious than air in the fuel system. We were too far from Key West for our radio transmissions to reach the island. We would discover later that this radio call was to result in something a bit surreal.
I hailed the boat on the radio:
Me: Sportfisherman north of Rebecca Shoals, this is the sailboat on your portside, over.
No reply.
Me: Sportfisherman north of Rebecca Shoals, this is the sailboat on your portside, over.
The fishing boat slowed.
Him: This is the Yellowfin, is this the sailboat calling, over?
Me: Roger, we have a disabled engine and would like to make a request for a message relay, over.
Him: Roger, good copy, understand you wish to relay a message, over?
Me: Roger, we wish to do a message relay, over.
Him: Roger, good copy, switch and answer channel 74, channel 74, over.
Me: Switching to 74.
I went on to explain our situation with the engine, making it very clear I was quite certain the problem was as simple as air in the fuel lines, etc. I passed along our contact information, the name of our Key West contact, (who he said he knew well), and that we would assess the engine issues once we arrived in the Tortugas. I also advised we might be requesting parts be sent out by seaplane or ferry to make any repairs if the engine problem turned out to be something else than air in the fuel system. I assured him we were in no distress whatsoever, that we were healthy, had plenty of food and water aboard, and that we were continuing on to the Tortugas under sail, that we only wanted to make our Key West contact aware we might be contacting him upon arrival in the park. We even provided an ETA for our arrival at Tortugas Harbor. We concluded the call and continued on our separate ways, with the sportfisherman being gone and out of visual range inside of five minutes. I attempted to call Dry Tortugas radio to advise them of our ETA, but our hails went unanswered.
The sailing for the remainder of the day was uneventful. About three hours later, under clearing skies and calming seas, we entered the southeast channel for Tortugas Harbor. I began the process of bleeding the air from the fuel system, which was indeed the issue. It took three times, but by the time we had rounded Iowa Rocks and entered the channel for the inner area of Tortugas Harbor, the engine was purring along like a happy cat. It was New Year’s Eve and we found ourselves a spot among the eight or so other yachts already there. We set our anchor and settled in for our stay.
As we secured the mainsail, a park ranger approached in the small park security vessel. He greeted us, glanced over the boat, and gave us a run-down of the park rules; no fireworks, no loud noises, don’t harass the wildlife, don’t enter the fort after dark; told us where we could and couldn’t go, etc. We asked if we could wait until the following morning to go in and register and pay the park fee, which he said would not be a problem, and moved on to the catamaran anchored next to us. We grabbed ourselves a couple of drinks and sat in the cockpit, watching the last seaplane of the day arrive and collect day-trippers for the flight back to Key West. After a lovely sunset, Lisa made a pot of roasted red pepper and tomato soup. Once I finished the dishes, we read for a bit and were asleep by 8pm.
Beach on Garden Key…Look Closely and You’ll See a Sail on the Horizon
An Unintended Consequence…
The next morning, we prepped the dinghy to go ashore. We rode in and secured it on the beach, adjacent to the same area of beach used by the seaplanes to load and offload their passengers. We went to the small boathouse on the dock and filled out the boat permitting forms and paid our park fees. We took a quick glance at the posted weather forecast for the next few days and then set out to explore the fort a bit. We hadn’t gone two steps when we saw the ranger who greeted us the afternoon before. We said our good mornings as we passed, when he spun on his heels and said, “wait! JO BETH! You guys came in late yesterday, right?”
Lisa and I glanced at each other.
“Yes,” I said, “you came to the boat and talked to us.”
He walked closer. “Did you two know the Coast Guard was looking for your boat yesterday afternoon and last night? There was almost a search and rescue started.”
We were shocked. We stood there a minute before mumbling, “no. Why?”
“Did you talk on the radio to a guy in a Yellowfin sportfisherman yesterday?”
Tortugas sunset
We told him we did and explained what we had discussed. Once we finished, he stood there a minute, studying us, before saying, “really? That’s it?”
“Yes,” we said, “that’s it.”
“What happened? Why was the Coast Guard looking for us?” I asked.
The ranger shook his head and chuckled.
“That guy,” he started, “he’s a worrier. He’s a ranger too, in Everglades, and he’s a friend of mine. He was out here visiting and fishing. I guess he got freaked out after leaving you guys out there. He called me, and asked if you were here, and I guess you weren’t when he called, ‘cause I said I hadn’t seen your boat. So he called our dispatch office, they asked us to start looking for you, and then he or somebody called the Coast Guard. But we didn’t go look for you, because we didn’t know where to look for you, and by then, well, you were here.”
We were dumbfounded.
Seriously? The United States Coast Guard almost launched a search and rescue…for us?
“So, it’s all cleared up now?” I asked. “The Coast Guard, they’re not still looking, are they?”
“No,” he said with a laugh, “it’s all clear.”
Then Lisa said, “but you came to our boat. Didn’t you see the name?”
He said, “yeah, but I wasn’t sure I was remembering it right. Besides, I didn’t even think it was your boat ‘cause you guys came puttering in here all nonchalant and casual. Like nothing was wrong.”
We just stood there for a moment, still in disbelief.
The Yankee Freedom III had entered the harbor and was docking. Our ranger jerked his head in the direction of the ferry dock.
“Gotta go,” he said and was off.
Part two will cover our time at Ft. Jefferson and The Dry Tortugas. Currently, we’re in Key West, waiting for weather to clear so we can continue on to Marathon.