Fog Land

The gulf coast ICW runs all the way from Texas to the Fort Meyers area, except from Carrabelle to Tarpon Springs. Nicknamed (by me) the “Armpit of Florida,” the bay between is notoriously shallow and all open water. Many loopers make an overnight 180 mile crossing all the way to Tarpon Springs, though some will hop along the coast and do smaller daytime jumps around the bend. We travel much slower than everyone else, so our speed limited us to doing a 100 mile overnight crossing to Cedar Key.

The tricky part about this crossing is finding the right weather window. Shallow water in the gulf, currents, and weird wind patterns can make for horrible wavy conditions and a rough experience. We’ve heard stories of people waiting upwards of a week for the right time to go, so we were expecting the unexpected. Friends and family had been asking about where we would be for Christmas and for a mailing address and such, but because this crossing is so unpredictable we had no idea what our timing would end up being. Thanks for understanding!

At the potluck the night we arrived, there was a whole group of loopers leaving the next day to catch an overnight crossing weather window. They were gearing up to go, but we had no plans to leave with them. There were some projects we wanted to do (ie do something about our lack of water pump), and we had been looking forward to resting for a few days before making the crossing. However, the next morning we spent hours looking at forecasts and our plans changed. If we didn’t leave that night, we had a slim chance of a window in 5 days, or we would be spending Christmas in Carrabelle. After debating every detail, we decided it was now or never. Our choice confirmed by the local weather guru, we prepared ourselves for a very short stay in Carrabelle.

We left in a bit of a rush, but we did get a chance to explore the town and reunite with Tim and Ramie and new friends Tim and Mary. We all packed ourselves into the world’s smallest police station, and we found a WWII memorial dedicated by Richard Nixon himself. An extremely eclectic 50’s diner with memorabilia covering the walls was the home of sandwiches and ice cream, and we recounted stories of our travels since our last meeting.

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon, but as time wore on our departure became imminent. We said goodbye and headed out the channel we had entered just 24 hours prior. It had finally been warm, and I ran around the boat in shorts and a tank top tightening jack lines and tying in the anchor. As I worked in the fading golden light, Emily drove us to the mouth of the river and the temperature suddenly dropped 20 degrees. It was weirdly chilly and wisps of fog started to hug the tops of the trees. The opening into the sound greeted us with clouds rolling on the surface, and we couldn’t see the channel out into the gulf just 2 miles distant. Worriedly we wondered if we should keep going, or if it would prudent to turn back and wait for a different day with better visibility. Our logic to carry on was based on two points: we kinda sorta had to take this weather window because it was the last opportunity for a while, and once it got dark we wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway, so the fog didn’t really make a difference. Questionable logic, yes, but we had to keep practicing our youthful naiveté.

Grayness faded to dimness, and now dressed in almost all my gear (and wishing I had slept more the night before) I closely watched our position on the GPS to try and stay on course past the last few channel markers into open water. The last bit of land drifted in and out of sight like a ghost, and channel markers appeared and vanished within minutes, like dreams disappearing to nothing. Fog can be creepy on its own, but this was exceptionally eerie. Even the handful of dolphins accompanying us on the way out didn’t stay long, sinking into the waves below. The light continued to diminish, and gray melted into darker gray and into nothingness. As darkness fell, we knew we were leaving behind any chance of safety and the comfort of light and land. There was no going back, so we swallowed our fear and settled into a rhythm with the blackness.

We ran four hour watches, one sleeping while the other drove. The night was darker than dark, and I would strain my eyes to see if there was anything to pick out around the boat. The fog continued, blotting out the stars and soaking everything. Blinking, I would find that my eyelashes were heavy with dew and eyelids heavy with tiredness. I could have hooked up the autohelm, but with nothing to look at and nothing else to do but listen to music, I focused on holding a compass course to stay awake. Up above, the fog cleared every once in a while to reveal a carpet of stars, but it was swallowed up before long.

Night seemed to stretch on endlessly. Emily had the dawn watch, and she managed to capture a spectacular sunrise in a momentarily cleared horizon, surrounded by a pod of dolphins. Daytime was almost exactly the same as night, just super bright. The fog, if possible, seemed heavier than ever before. By mid-day, we were approaching the entrance to the channel into Cedar Key with no sign of it clearing up. Our options being try the channel in the fog or wait out in the gulf for it to maybe clear, we slowed down to idle speed and worked on picking out the markers.

Tense? Yes. Visibility was about 150 feet. Doable? Also yes. We stared at our position on the chart, and spotted the markers as we passed by. Smart? Not really, but we survived. About half way through the three mile long channel, we got lucky and the fog lifted. Completely at random, but we didn’t care. We could finally see the islands we were passing between, and our destination was within visible reach. Dropping the anchor and turning off the engine after 22 hours of running, we dropped onto the seats and stared into silence. We did it. Completely exhausted, we probably high-fived—I was too tired to remember much clearly. Safe and sound, we had made it across the gulf, and we rewarded ourselves with a well-earned nap.

If you are interested in sharing our experience of the gulf crossing, follow these steps:

Go into an empty room with blank walls (preferably white or gray)

Turn off the lights.

Sitting or standing within a foot of the wall, stare at it.

Rock back and forth and have a misting fan pointed at you.

At some point, turn on the lights.

Do this for 22 hours.

Welcome to Cedar Key!

Goodbye sun