JO BETH’s Haulout, 2022 - Fernandina Beach, Florida

Finally, after nearly four months at a standstill, we were able to slip the docklines and get underway once again. Hilton Head Island and Skull Creek Marina slowly faded in our wake, under gray and overcast skies and a light, shifting breeze. As we motored in a generally easterly direction through Port Royal Sound, toward the wide expanses of the North Atlantic Ocean, the skies cleared. Once we passed the sea buoy marking the entrance to Port Royal Sound, we set the mainsail and genoa, (aka ‘headsail’), shut down the diesel motor, and adjusted our course south-southwest towards the St. Marys Entrance Channel on the Florida-Georgia State Line.

Our work in Hilton Head began to wind down in middle February. JO BETH’s new stainless steel arch and top frame were completed by the end of January, and the canvas work was completed during the last week of February. We enjoyed sundowners during a couple of evenings with our dock neighbor Jerry aboard his Lord Nelson Victory Tug-Trawler, made a last provisioning run and refilled an empty propane tank. We had paid the dock lease at Skull Creek Marina through the end of February. However, a brief weather-window to sail south would be open from Saturday morning, the 26th of February, through the following Sunday evening before it closed abruptly with the passing of another cold front. The decision was made to leave while the weather was in our favor, with favorable northerly winds to push us south.

We sailed through a few anchored cargo ships awaiting entry to the port of Savannah, altering course to avoid the container ship MATHILDE SCHULTE after a brief radio conversation with her harbor pilot. Back on our course, we galloped along at an average of six knots on a broad reach, the point of sail where the wind is blowing from one of the quarters aft of the boat. The swell was gentle, perhaps no more than three to five feet, and JO BETH moved effortlessly through the sea. The motion was so easy, it was possible to walk through the cabin without having to hold on to anything. As we were sailing a straight line course to St. Marys, or more accurately, a straight line course from the Port Royal Sound sea buoy to the St. Marys sea buoy, the Georgia coast soon receded over the horizon and faded from view. The course would take us away from the shallow areas of coastline for which Georgia is notorious. At our furthest point off the coast, we would be approximately 25 miles east of St. Catherines Island, but still in only 50-60 feet of water!

*Anchored Cargo Ship, Awaiting Entry to the Port of Savannah*

As day collapsed into night, we enjoyed hot bowls of chicken and rice soup, cozy in our enclosed cockpit. Already, the cockpit enclosure was proving it’s worth, but later in the night a true test of the enclosure would be imposed on us. With the setting of the sun, our lovely wind began to fade; by eight o’clock, I headed below for a sleep and Lisa took the first watch.

I was awakened around eleven o’clock by the sound of Lisa starting the engine. JO BETH’s motion was decidedly more ‘rolly,’ and I became aware I was lolling gently from side to side in my bunk. I got up and went to the companionway ladder to check on things. The wind was down considerably, now more directly astern. The sails were slatting from side to side in the swell, and our speed was down by about half. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, as our position was just then about 10 miles north-northeast of the St. Simons Channel.

The reduced speed would allow us to time our arrival at St. Marys at dawn. We much prefer not to enter harbors, even familiar ones, in the dark if we don’t have to. By now, it was pretty much time for me to come on watch. While Lisa stayed on the helm, I put on my safety harness and ventured out on deck to rig a preventer on the boom. When the wind is coming directly from astern, the mainsail is pushed far out to either side to catch it. However, on a sloppy swell the boat rolls and the mainsail alternately fills with winds and then spills it. If the wind ‘backs’ onto the sail, the result is known as a jibe. (Or, ‘gybe.’) A controlled jibe is manageable and can be done safely; an uncontrolled jibe, however, can be dangerous. The preventer line is secured to a strong point on the deck and then ran through a block back to the boom to ‘prevent,’ or at least minimize, the chances of an accidental jibe. With the preventer set, we furled the headsail and continued south under mainsail and motor. Lisa went below to sleep and I settled in for my watch.

While listening to morning weather briefings in preparation for the trip, I became increasingly aware that chances were good we would be encountering fog as we approached the northeast Florida coast. In one of my routine scans of our surroundings, I suddenly realized I couldn’t see very much. No stars, no dim lights ashore (we were now closing in on the coast), nothing. After a time, we would move into an area of much improved visibility. I could see the St. Simons Channel sea buoy as we passed a mile east of it before the fog closed in once more. We had passed within a couple of miles of the Grays Reef Marina Sanctuary buoy, just a few miles northeast of the St. Simons buoy and never saw it’s flashing yellow light. What was phenomenal were the patches of brilliant phosphorescence that would flash in the crests of the waves and in our wake. It reminded me of photographs of lightning in the cloud tops viewed from the International Space Station. I tried to photograph and video it with my cameras, but only succeeded in capturing a gray-black void.

Soon the fog was packed in even more tightly around us. Our navigation lights cast an eerie glow, encapsulating us inside a damp red-green bubble. The bright spot in all of this was the enclosure. It was wonderful. Inside, I stayed warm and dry, watching our progress on the chartplotter screen and the flashing phosphorescence outside. It was fantastic.

No other vessels were showing on our AIS display save a car carrier well away to our southeast. With fog now closed in, I powered up our Radar system and went to wake Lisa for her watch. We typically don’t use the Radar in good conditions, relying instead on the AIS system. Once she was up and ready, we activated the VHF radio automatic fog horn function which sounds a pre-programmed signal through a speaker mounted high on the mast. As we were now less than 20 miles away from the St. Marys Entrance, an anchored cargo vessel was showing on both radar and AIS. After briefing Lisa, I retreated below for a bit of sleep.

*A Calm Sea and Fog on the Approach to the St. Marys Channel Entrance*

After what seemed just a few minutes, Lisa shook me awake. “We’re about a mile from the outer marks of the channel. The fog is bad. We passed just under a mile from the anchored cargo ship and I never saw it or heard any fog signals.” She retreated back to the cockpit.

I sat up and swung my legs out. Once dressed, I stepped out into the cockpit and gazed at the gray world around us. The seas had calmed considerably and were nearly flat.

“We’re in the channel now,” Lisa said, “and I’ve made our course change to go in. We’ve slowed down - a lot. We have the outgoing tide against us. Oh, and there’s two dredges working in the channel.”

Dredges in the channel? Great. I looked down and saw on the chartplotter screen our speed was 1.8 knots. The two AIS signatures of the dredges were also there, though one was outside of the channel to the south and anchored. The one dredge in the channel, the BAYPORT, was underway and appeared to be actively dredging. We were about a mile and a half apart.

I hailed BAYPORT on the VHF radio and was promptly answered. We switched to a working channel. “BAYPORT, this is the sailboat JO BETH, inbound St. Marys Channel, over.”

“Good morning cap’n, I see you on Radar and AIS. I’m a hopper dredge and moving all over the place. Call me when you’re about a half mile from me and we’ll make a plan, over.”

“Good copy, BAYPORT, will do. JO BETH is clear channel one-eight, standing by channel one-six. Out.”

“Maybe we should do a Security call on channel 16?” Lisa suggested.

I picked up the radio microphone and keyed it. “Securitay, securitay, securitay, this is the sailing vessel JO BETH, inbound St. Marys Entrance from sea. All concerned traffic, please contact sailing vessel JO BETH VHF channel 16. Out.” For the record, no other vessels contacted us. We passed within yards of the channel buoys and never saw them, though we did hear the ones fitted with bells and whistles. To our astonishment, local sportfisherman in small center-console boats began zooming past us in the channel, blasting through the blinding fog to catch fish offshore. Lisa and I shook our heads.

When we were a half mile from BAYPORT, I called the dredge and made arrangements to pass just astern of them as they crossed in front of us perpendicular to the channel. Now, just a few yards from them, we still had no visual contact. Suddenly, we could hear the dull roar of large diesel generators and pumps, and then the deep blast of a ship’s fog signal. A pinpoint of light emerged from the gloom and there in the gloom, perhaps a hundred feet from our starboard side, loomed the stern of BAYPORT. We were so close, in fact, we felt her prop wash nudging us a bit to the south. Just as we were clearing her stern her captain called on the radio, saying, “JO BETH, I don’t see you.” I quickly replied that we had just passed directly astern of them and were clear.

Once past, BAYPORT was quickly absorbed into the void. When we were a quarter mile west of her position, we could no longer hear her machinery or her fog horn. Chances were quite good that she never heard ours, even when we passed just a few feet directly behind her.

I want to be clear that had we not had total confidence in our navigation and our instruments, we would have stood far offshore and waited for better conditions before attempting to enter the harbor. Or, we would have continued sailing. It was a sobering reminder of how things can change and of how we need to be vigilant and adaptable to the conditions we encounter, whatever they may be.

*Well Inside the Channel, the Fog Begins to Lift*

We were coming to Fernandina Beach to haul JO BETH from the water for much needed maintenance and repairs. Tiger Point Marina and Boat Works couldn’t haul us until March 9. This gave us a little more than a week to rest and relax. Our plan was to head for an anchorage in the East River on the southwest side of Georgia’s Cumberland Island and spend a few days there before possibly moving to another spot. Once we were in Cumberland Sound, the fog gradually began to lift away and, by the time we were anchored just northwest of Sea Camp Dock, the skies were blue and the sun shining. We notified our float plan contacts we had arrived safely and were anchored. Another cold front was approaching and we had rainy, squally weather for Sunday night and all of Monday. By Tuesday fair weather returned, and we enjoyed our quiet time immensely. Boats came and went in the anchorage, and the ferries from St. Marys brought campers and day trippers to the island and guests to the luxurious Greyfield Inn. Cumberland Island is a National Seashore, and is an amazing place.

*Our Beautiful Anchorage at Cumberland Island, Georgia*

On Friday, our longtime friends Rusty and Phyllis, and Rusty’s cousin Steve and his wife Cindy, arrived on ANDIAMUS, Rusty’s Selene 53 trawler yacht. Another cold front was passing over, and winds were brisk, making dinghy trips to visit a wet and cold prospect. And, we were fogged in yet again! We decided to wait until Saturday, when blue skies returned once again. We really enjoyed our visit and time aboard ANDIAMO, and it was great to see our friends. We hadn’t seen Steve and Cindy in over 35 years – since our wedding! We went ashore on Cumberland and walked the beaches, and even had a private tour of the Greyfield Inn and property by one of the caretakers. The Inn occupies the most recent Carnegie Family home on Cumberland Island, which was owned it its entirety by the Carnegie’s until the early 1970’s when much of the families holdings were donated for preservation and the formation of the present day National Seashore. Greyfield Inn and Stafford Plantation are managed by many direct descendants of the family, some of whom still reside on the island. Plum Orchard, another Carnegie home, is managed by the National Park Service.

We would be staying at Rusty and Phyllis’s house while work aboard JO BETH was underway. We are very grateful for their hospitality and generosity as they provided us with shelter, laundry facilities, transport, and so much more!

As our day approached to be at the boat yard, we began readying to get underway. After such a peaceful and enjoyable time at Cumberland Island, we were a bit stymied by the preparations to move again, even though the trip was less than five miles. It was a gray and cloudy day but, fortunately, without fog. Soon we were secured at the boatyard service dock and moving things we needed off of the boat. The next morning JO BETH was hauled from the water and secured in the yard with her bottom pressure washed and scraped.

Lisa and I have a list of projects we want to complete while hauled, and the boatyard is also doing certain tasks at our request:

· Sanding and repainting the bottom with antifouling paint

· Repairing damage to the paint on the hull topsides

· Replacing the propeller shaft bearings and seals

· Complete diesel engine service/inspections

· Installation of an Iridium satellite communications system

· Installation of a cellular signal booster system

· Re-installation and expansion of our solar array (the solar panels were removed for the new top installation)

We’re looking forward to all of these jobs being completed, and while we’re not thrilled with the learning curve new gear aboard brings, life on board will be more comfortable and safer. I’m especially looking forward to having our solar system back up and running. While anchored at Cumberland Island, we had to run the engine for a few hours at least every other day to keep our batteries in good shape.

*The Greyfield Inn at Cumberland Island*

While the yard is working on those things, we’ve been doing a deep clean of the interior lockers removing mold and mildew caused by excessive condensation over the winter in Hilton Head. This means pulling everything out of the lockers and cleaning the locker space as well as the items within the locker. This has been a great exercise in culling unused and unneeded gear and other items from the boat, freeing up valuable storage space. We’re also reorganizing many of our equipment manuals into digital form and making some modifications to other components.

Once the work here is done, what’s next? First, we’re planning a brief stop in Brunswick, GA to address annual necessities: doctor’s check-ups and physicals; dental cleanings, and the like. After that, we’re making another run for New England for the summer months, with the goal of spending July in Maine, including attending an informal gathering of other Pacific Seacraft owners. After that, the path diverges. We will see.

We’ll leave you with a couple of shots of JO BETH in the boatyard. Until next time!