Walking Among the Bones…
Once Lisa and I recovered from the news we had almost been the focus of a SAR, (Search and Rescue - see Part I for the full story.) by the Coast Guard and National Park Service, we set about exploring Ft. Jefferson. A very curious thing about this fortress upon the sea is that it is surrounded by a moat. The moat served multiple purposes. First, it was a ‘last’ defense against any force that managed to penetrate the ‘ring of fire’ of the fort’s armory, as well as the US Navy warships that would be stationed at anchor there; second, the outer wall of the moat served as a ‘sea-wall,’ a barrier against the pounding waves from the Gulf of Mexico; and third, it was to serve as the fort’s toilet. That’s right - the fort’s toilet - for nearly 2,000 people.
This third intended use was defeated by poor engineering and environmental design, as the premise behind the idea of the moat serving as a toilet was it would be ‘flushed’ by the twice daily high and low tides. This was flawed from the start, specifically because tides in the area are small – minuscule – when compared to the tidal ranges where the majority of the forts of similar design were situated along the Atlantic coast. For example, at Savannah’s Ft. Pulaski, the tidal ranges average between seven and nine feet, with two high tides and two low tides occurring every 24 hours. At Ft. Jefferson, while there are also two high tides and two low tides every 24 hours, the average tidal range is less than one foot. It’s not difficult to imagine the health disaster created by the warm and semi-tropical environment and lack of tidal flow.
The moat completely encircles the fort, and today is clean enough to have become something of a tidal pool environment. No swimming or snorkeling is permitted in the moat, and I can’t image why anyone would want to, as it is filled with jellyfish, sea urchins, stingrays, and other similar ocean critters. The top of the moat wall can be walked almost entirely around the fort, save a twenty foot section on the north side which has collapsed; the moat has completely silted in at the southeastern and southwestern sides. The breach now serves as the inlet and outlet to keep the water from stagnating.
Walking through the main entrance into the fort, the sheer scale of the place impresses itself upon you. The walls of the fort encircle the parade grounds, which today are used for meeting places for visitors from the ferry and seaplanes taking ‘formal’ guided tours. (Lisa and I eavesdropped on one of tour guides, and opted for the ‘self-guided’ option.) There are numerous signposts marking places and points of interest.
For its time in history, the fort was a technological marvel. The canons which ringed the lower and middle levels were retractable; that is, the canons would fire, then pull back from the gun port. As the barrel of the canon retreated, heavy cast iron doors would close to seal the gun port closed while soldiers reloaded. However, the ocean environment was harsh on all the materials which made up the fort, especially the canons, ammunition and anything else constructed from iron or metal. Many of the fort’s canons were scrapped and ‘repurposed’ or melted down for the manufacturing of materials needed during World War I and World War II. Of the original total armory, only 10 or so of the original canons remain at the fort.
The top of Ft. Jefferson offers amazing views; that’s JO BETH anchored to the right of the frame
Scattered around the parade grounds are the ruins of soldier’s barracks and officer’s quarters, as well as living quarters for the civilian workers and slaves, along with ammunition magazines and foundations for various other structures. Ever present in your mind, as you stroll among the bones of the fort, is that everything you can see which makes up the structure – everything – had to be brought out by ship. From the bricks and stones which provide the flooring, to the lumber, to the horses, mules, wagons, and carts, to the canons…all had to be carried to where it is now. An interesting after effect of some of the construction materials in the is that the fort is actually growing stalactites and stalagmites in the structure. This is result of so much lime being present in the mortar mix which holds the millions of bricks in place.
The winds were steady and persistent during our time in islands. The water was not as clear as it typically would be, and it was a bit on the chilly side, so our snorkeling was limited. Also, during our trip out while I was dealing with our stalled and fuel starved engine, I pulled a groin muscle. The idea of being in the water with fins on and kicking didn’t exactly appeal to my aching leg. The explorations of the fort were strenuous enough, and I would spend much of the afternoon each day the first four or so days we were there icing my leg. After a while though, we spent more time walking the beach on Bush Key and watching all of the birds which make the island group home.
Magnificent Frigate Birds
There are gulls of seemingly every variety, as well as Brown Pelicans, Sooty Terns, Ruddy Turnstones, and Masked and Brown Boobies. The dominant bird in the sky, however, was the Magnificent Frigate Bird. With a wingspan exceeding seven feet, they soar on thermals rising from the sea and islands in all weather. The early sailors called them ‘Man ‘O War Birds’ as they are known for lying in wait (so to speak) for other seabirds as they returned from their feeding flights and harass them until they regurgitate their catch in a desperate attempt to flee the giant aggressor; the frigate birds then acrobatically dive and swoop to grab the seafood feast from the air. We saw them doing this to hapless gulls and terns on more than one occasion. The male and female Frigate Birds are predominantly black; the females throat area is white and the males have a throat pouch of brilliant red skin which they inflate during mating season to attract females.
Preparing for Weather…
On our third day there, the harbor emptied. We knew a cold front was approaching, and forecast to bring 25+ knots or more of wind, mostly from the west and then the north and northeast. For 24 hours or so, we were the only boat in the harbor. Late on the fourth day, while we were exploring the upper tiers of Ft. Jefferson, the yacht PRIVA-SEA V sailed in from Key West and anchored. On our way back to JO BETH, we stopped and introduced ourselves. PRIVA-SEA V is a Canadian boat, though she is moored in Key West. Her owner and crew are all Polish. We had a good time getting to know one another and swapping sea stories over wine and cheese. Thanks to PRIVA-SEA for a lovely evening.
The cold front arrived with a wallop mid-afternoon Saturday. Lisa and I had spent some time prepping JO BETH that morning, by rigging extra lines and preparing a second anchor at the bow, ready to go, in the event our primary anchor began to ‘drag.’ We sailors are a peculiar lot, as many would agree, and one of the more arcane sailor’s art is the setting of an anchor. Unlike large ships, the weight of an anchor plays a lesser role in the design and deployment of an anchor from a small sailing yacht. Instead of dropping something heavy onto the sea floor and depending on the sheer weight of the object to hold the boat in place, we modern sailors ‘hook’ ourselves to the seabed. Small boat anchors are designed to dig and bury themselves on the ocean floor in a variety of materials; sand, mud, clay, rock, and sometimes, a combination of everything. In the Dry Tortugas, the harbor bottom is mostly sand and sand/clay. The material connecting the anchor to the boat is also an important player in the equation, and in our case, it is up to 200’ of 5/16” galvanized steel chain, plus 150’ of heavy nylon rope.
An anchor can break out of the bottom and begin to drag when the directional forces on the anchor change, such as with a sudden change in wind direction and velocity. This can be further exacerbated by any bottom material which may ‘stick’ to the anchor after it breaks free, preventing it from re-setting itself.
As the system approached, the wind slowly veered from the west-southwest to west. With dark clouds crossing the horizon, the gust front blew in with a 40 knot blast of chilly air from the northwest. The skies darkened even more, and the winds dropped a bit to around 25 knots. Soon, a cold rain was drumming down, giving JO BETH a much needed fresh water rinse. Fortunately, our anchor held, as did PRIVA-SEA V’s, and the second anchor wasn’t needed. Jerzi, (pronounced ‘Jersey’), the owner of PRIVA-SEA V and I had agreed to stay in radio contact throughout the bad weather in the event either of us needed anything.
After three or four hours, the rain stopped and the winds actually decreased. Soon enough, they picked back again and for the next 24 hours or so, were a steady 20-25 knots from the north. The temperature dropped to a comfortable range and we eagerly opened the ports and hatches to get a steady cool and fresh breeze through the cabin. Overnight the skies cleared and our spectacular view of the stars and planets was restored.
A Rough and Tumble Ride to the Marquesas Keys…
The time was coming to plan our return trip to Marathon. Since the arrival of the cold front, we had been getting weather reports and forecasts from the park rangers and the ferry captains. We knew another cold front was headed our way and we had a narrow window of around 36 hours to make the return trip. We began to ready JO BETH, and two days after the cold front arrived, we added 10 gallons of diesel fuel to the tank, secured the dinghy and cabin, weighed anchor and headed out of the harbor. PRIVA-SEA V also left shortly after we did, taking a more northerly route back to Key West.
Given our prior experience passing Rebecca Shoals, we were determined to take a more southerly course back to the Marquesas Keys. A park ranger had taken a liking to Lisa after discovering they knew people in common from shared experiences in the tall ship world. (For those of you who don’t know, Lisa has crewed on two tall ships, the R/V WESTWARD, and the SSV CORWITH CRAMER.) He provided us with updated weather forecasts and agreed with our plan to keep Rebecca Shoals on our port, or north side, as we sailed east. Unfortunately, the weather forecasts proved to be just a little bit off.
An hour after sunrise, when we had cleared Southeast Harbor Channel and were approaching the park boundary, we turned our bow southeast. The plan was to put Rebecca Shoals several miles to our north, and then resume our easterly course to the Marquesas Keys. The weather forecast had promised north-northwest winds at 15-20 knots, becoming north and decreasing to 15 knots by nightfall. The waves were forecast to average between three and five feet. For JO BETH these were certainly manageable conditions; the north wind would be blowing across her beam which would allow us to sail on a beam reach, the most favored point of sail for most sailors, and the point of sail at which JO BETH sails her best.
We set all sails and were soon met with near headwinds of around 20 knots. In order to be able to ‘point’ high enough into the wind; that is, to be able to sail nearly upwind, we had to keep the motor running. The sea state was closer to five to seven feet, on average, with occasional waves a couple of feet higher. Once past Rebecca Shoals, we made our turn more to the east, and more into the direction the wind was coming from. We were able to continue motor sailing, but we were taking a beating. Soon, we took in the jib and staysail completely. We had hoped to average five knots of speed over the bottom, but at times we were only making three and a half or four knots. Then, a wave would slam into the bow, and sending spray flying, effectively stop us. JO BETH would shrug it off, and gathering herself, slowly build her speed once again. Having cleared the Dry Tortugas National Park boundary, we were, once again, back among the crab pot buoy markers. By 11:00am, PRIVA-SEA V (being a much larger vessel, thus able to make better way) disappeared from view over the northeastern horizon.
The autopilot could not cope with the confused sea state and poor Lisa steered the entire way. I was not able to stay braced on the windward side to steer due to my strained leg muscles. We would slam into the seas head-on, burying the bow in the waves, creating rivers of Gulf of Mexico water streaming down the side decks and out the overboard drains. Rise, fall, SLAM, and repeat. We had to keep a vigilant watch for trap marker buoys, which were often hidden beneath the rolling and pitching ocean swell. This was our day for the next 11 hours.
Around 4pm, we sighted the Marquesas Keys, the thin line of the island’s tree tops slowly coalescing into view from the lumpy ocean horizon. By 5:30, we had all sail down and I was on the foredeck preparing the anchor as Lisa steered us toward our anchorage. It had been a long day. We were both looking forward to having a cold drink in our hands and a good, hot meal.
“We have an engine alarm!” Lisa shouted from the cockpit.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I can’t see it in the sun,” came her reply.
I ran aft and looked. It was the high temperature alarm. I shut the engine down. I ran back to the foredeck to get the anchor down. We were in a bowl shaped channel of deep water, with a depth of 15 feet or so, but surrounded by coral heads and sandbars. The anchor had to get on the bottom and dig in. Quickly, it was set and we were stopped and secured. The motion of the boat settled somewhat, and just behind us, approximately 30’ away, were a set of trap marker buoys.
I went back to the cockpit and down into the cabin. I lifted the top portion of the engine compartment hatch and was greeted with the stench of distressed and heated rubber. The belt on the sea water cooling pump had shredded itself into fine and stringy threads. I looked and sniffed around the engine. I didn’t see any leaks, or any paint bubbled and blistered from the engine overheating. Aside from the belt failure, we seemed to be ok. I went into the cockpit and told Lisa what had happened.
“Well, we have another problem, “ she said.
“What is it?”
“We can’t steer. The tiller, it’s locked in place. I think the dinghy painter is pinched between the top of the rudder and the hull.”
The dinghy painter is the towing line we use to pull the dinghy when we tow it behind JO BETH. It’s made from nylon and polypropylene line, so it floats on the surface of the water, to keep it away from the spinning propeller when the engine is engaged.
“How’d that happen,” I asked, looking over the side. Sure enough, the painter was tightly snugged against the hull, disappearing beneath the water. Frankie, our dinghy, bobbed alongside, but at an odd angle.
“After we shut off the engine,” she said, “I was trying to keep the bow into the wind until we were anchored. I had the tiller all the way over to starboard and I think the painter settled on top of the rudder. So, when the anchor set I swung it back to the center and it jammed. I can’t move it now.”
We both slumped onto a cockpit seat. The sunset was beautiful. We could hear the steady drone of two or three small crab boats working their traps a mile or so to the northeast. We carried spare belts for the engine, so we could change the belt. But, we couldn’t steer now, so where would we go? We tried using the boat hook to free the painter, but without success. JO BETH was still rolling in the swell too much for either of us to safely get into the water and attempt to free it. Plus, it was getting dark.
“We’ve got to call for a tow,” I reluctantly said.
We were still too far away from Key West for the local Tow Boat/US operator to hear us on the VHF radio, and we had no cell phone service. We could, however, reach the Coast Guard station in Key West. I called the Coast Guard on the radio and asked for them to relay messages on our behalf to the towing company. (Fortunately, this is something they do on a routine basis.) We passed along all the pertinent information: our latitude and longitude, the boat name, a description of JO BETH, etc. By 10:00pm, a small tug boat was approaching and hailed us on the radio. When I told the captain our rudder was jammed, but on the centerline, he laughed and said, “well that never happens! It’s always jammed hard to one side or the other!” By 10:45pm, we were under tow and headed for Key West.
We had asked to be taken to Robbie’s, a boat yard on Stock Island, the island just east of Key West. At around 3:00 in the morning, we were slowing at the entrance to Stock Island Harbor. Fortunately, during the tow, the dinghy painter had freed itself, most likely during a period when the little tug had us going far too fast, at over 8 knots. I had to radio the captain and ask for him to slow to around 6 knots as the faster speed was too much for a sailboat like JO BETH.
The arrival at Stock Island was not without drama, however. As we were entering the harbor channel, the small tug dropped the towing bridle from our bow and moved to the starboard side of JO BETH to secure her alongside the tug. In doing this, the towing bridle became entangled in the tug’s propeller. This resulted in the tug’s deckhand stripping down to his skivvies and, light and knife in hand, going over side in the pitch black to cut the bridle free. In another half hour, we were secured to the bulkhead in the haul out slip at Robbie’s.
Stock Island and Key West…
At 7am, there was a loud banging on the hull. Once I explained our unscheduled arrival and situation to the bewildered and somewhat irritated service manager at Robbie’s, we were again taken under tow, this time by a much smaller tow boat, and moved to a boat yard service dock. With the sea water circulation pump out of service, we couldn’t run the engine, not even for short periods of time. We spent our first day there, exhausted from a lack of sleep and sore from our passage, securing a mechanic and finding something for lunch. We walked from the yard to El Siboney, a good Cuban restaurant on Stock island. We also knew about Roostica, a great pizza spot, also on Stock Island, but a little too far for our tired bodies to walk.
The engine issue was repaired after a couple of days, but not without stumping the mechanic for a short time. The problem was caused by the seawater pump pulley loosening itself on the pump shaft. As the shaft spun, the pulley wobbled, putting excessive strain on the pump belt. If I had put our spare belt on, we would have likely made it 10 or so miles before the replacement belt would have shredded. While we were anchored and after taking a closer look at things, I had assumed the pump shaft had seized, and this was what the mechanic said he had expected to see as well. He even disassembled the pump, anticipating a rebuild was in order, and was surprised to find it in nearly new condition, internally. It was only when he reassembled the pump that he realized the pulley was out of position on the shaft.
Another cold front was coming, and this one was forecast to be a good bit stronger than the previous one we rode out at Ft. Jefferson. Waiting out weather at Robbie’s is something of an adventure in itself. The service dock was quite rough, and surged back and forth against the dock pilings, which were old metal I-beams set into the bottom. The whole arrangement clanked and groaned at all hours, and the rough bollards and cleats on the dock chewed through our docklines. The yard service manager, whose own boat was out of the water for service, allowed us the use of his slip, which was slightly more protected than where we had initially been placed. The yard was also in the process of replacing all of the service docks and accordingly, was in a race with the coming weather to complete as much as possible. Once again, we were moved two docks down and secured.
Boat yards can be alien and strange places to the uninitiated, and even to experienced sailors. There were all manner of vessels hauled and blocked on the ground at Robbie’s: dilapidated and haphazardly assembled houseboats; retired military landing craft and other small boats; sailing yachts of every description and vintage; large and mid-size motor yachts and sportfisherman; and commercial charter boats which usually spent their days shuttling tourists to dive and snorkel on the nearby reefs. The formal name of the facility is Robbie’s Full Service Marina; but despite the name, Robbie’s is a boat yard. It is also one of the few ‘do-it-yourself’ facilities remaining in the area. The only service provided is the hauling, blocking, launching, and storage of vessels. All maintenance and repair work is done either by owners, crews, or subcontractors. The yard employees had adapted junked cars, box vans, and pick-up trucks to fit various appointed tasks around the facility, giving the place something of a ‘Mad-Max’ vibe as they bounced around the rough gravel and sand surfaces of the yard. Lisa found it all quite depressing.
Knowing we would be stuck there for at least a week, maybe more, we persuaded a couple of friends from Marathon to drive our car down for us in exchange for dinner. Since we had arrived and our phones reacquired cell service, we felt compelled to at least earn a bit of income while waiting on the weather. I also had lots of phone calls to return from concerned friends to explain why they had heard the Coast Guard on the VHF radio persistently calling for us and reporting us overdue. (See Part I of this tale for that story!) Plus, the engine repairs and boat yard fees were going to set us back quite a bit. Fortunately, the vessel tow was covered by our hull insurance. We also connected with our friends Forest and Krystal King and their orange marmalade cat Jeff, from the sailboat SANGUINE, who were kind enough to shuttle us around until our car arrived.
Finally, after nine days, we had a weather window to make the trip from Key West back to Marathon. SANGUINE was also sailing to Marathon, and then on to Titusville, leaving the Keys behind for a while. The winds were once again easterly, right on the nose, and forecast to be around 12 knots with a small swell of 2 feet or so. This time, the forecast was spot on. Leaving at sunrise, we motored the entire way back to Marathon, under brilliantly blue and sunny skies. Of course, we spent most of our time being vigilant for the ever present and annoying trap buoys.
By 3:30 in the afternoon, we were back at Marathon Marina, having arrived with something of a bang. Whenever possible, we try to top up our fuel tank before going onto a mooring or into a slip. We had planned to do this, and due to some miscommunication with the fuel dock personnel, went to the wrong spot on the fuel dock. At the last minute, we had to turn in the marina channel and go around to another side which would put our port side against the fuel dock if we came in against current, as one should. However, we already had the fenders and lines rigged for a starboard side tie in expectation of using the fuel pumps on the marina channel side; since this is also the configuration for docking in our slip, we lazily decided to make a circle in the harbor channel and dock starboard side to. We should have moved the fenders.
Power pedestal down!
Lisa was on the helm, as she usually is when docking, and due to a series of miscommunications on my part, plus me blocking her view as I stood on the foredeck, the bow collided with the power and water pedestal on the dock. The pedestal fell with a loud ‘bang,’ breaking the potable water line and sending a geyser of fresh water 12 feet into the air. Soon enough, marina personnel had secured the water and JO BETH was secured alongside the fuel dock. To say Lisa felt horrible was an understatement, but Rick, the fuel dockmaster on duty, simply walked past the boat, paused and said, “diesel, right?” Once we had fueled up, we slipped away from the fuel dock and within 5 minutes were snug and secured in our slip. A few hundred dollars and a day later, the fallen pedestal was fully restored.
A Post Cruise Debrief…New Lessons Learned and Old Ones Reinforced…
Lisa and I enjoyed ourselves immensely at Dry Tortugas National Park. As with everything, there were lessons learned. For us, perhaps the biggest lesson came from our experiences with the weather. As sailors, our lives are ruled by weather. Now that we’re secured in our slip, and my leg is no longer aching, and we’re not feeling the literal beating to windward on the return leg from the Tortugas, it’s quite clear that we chose the wrong time of year to make the trip, at least from Marathon.
Loggerhead Key, as seen from the inner harbor at Garden Key
Had we waited until the late spring, we would have been finished with cold front passages and prevailing easterly and southerly winds would have filled in. This would have made the trip out much more comfortable, but the return trip would have still required careful planning. However, with the longer days of spring, we could have chosen a more southerly or northerly course angle on which to return, and that would have virtually eliminated the rough ride we endured. Also, the prevailing winds at the Tortugas would have shifted and weakened, allowing us to be able to explore and snorkel more from the dinghy. We had really hoped to visit Loggerhead Key, but due to the winds, it wasn’t safe to do so.
Another benefit of waiting would have been a reduction in the number of crab and lobster trap buoys as the seasons would have been finished or at least winding down. Believe me when I say, in spite of everything that happened, dealing with the trap marker buoys was by far the least enjoyable aspect of the trip.
One concern we had prior to our departure was conserving our water. The islands are called the ‘Dry’ Tortugas for a reason. We departed with both of our water tanks full and an additional 20 gallons secured in jugs on deck, for a total of 100 gallons. When we arrived in Key West on the return trip, we had only consumed 60% of the water in the forward tank. Our aft tank and the deck jugs remained full. While we were certainly aware of our water usage, and took steps to consume water carefully and wisely, we weren’t obsessive about it. In that area, we feel we did quite well. We even both took a shower on board.
In the end, the lesson that will definitely stick with us is how being tired and fatigued can affect our judgement and decision making abilities. Fortunately, we were never close to being in any situation which was genuinely dangerous; but were certainly in situations which were inconvenient and uncomfortable. When we had the engine issue on our return leg to the Marquesas Keys, we would have been perfectly fine to wait until daylight to call for the tow boat. Tow boat captains and crews make their living with an acceptance of risk. Weather conditions had calmed considerably when the tow boat arrived and took us under tow, but working at any task after dark, especially on a boat, and even more so on a boat under tow, increases the level of risk for all involved. Nothing would have changed by waiting, and with all things being equal, at least the tug deckhand wouldn’t have had to dive under the tug in the dark to cut the entangled towing bridle.