"Hey, let's sail to Key West tomorrow!"

It was time to move south. We were in the last section of the Gulf of Mexico, and it felt like the final level of a video game. We spent hours studying charts, stuck in a debate of how to beat a trifecta of crab pots, shallow water, and time vs. distance. We could hop along the shore, but we would be stuck anchoring in open water with harbors being too shallow to enter. We could sail to Marathon in one quick overnight crossing, but risk hitting an invisible crab pot at night in the shallow water (30 feet) near shore. Or we could do a really long overnight crossing directly to Key West in deeper water, but we had promised ourselves we were done with long crossings because of the exhaustion factor.

Logically, we settled on going directly to Key West. A distance of about 130 miles, we would have decent wind and generally deep enough water that no sane fisherman should be putting crab pots in (so we thought). Although we were sick of overnight crossings, this time we would have a buddy boat and we were happy to have someone out there with us. With our plans set and decisions made, we all looked at each other and laughed- “Hey! Maybe we should sail to Key West tomorrow, just for fun!” We have great friends!

Leaving at noon and sails up and music playing, Samadhi and Elpis headed south. We were excited to be on our way, and the bright sunshine and mac and cheese for lunch kept our spirits high. We had a great time crossing tacks with Samadhi, yelling and smiling as we started to settle into our radio check routine (every two hours for the whole passage). Later in the afternoon, I was doing dishes when Emily yelled for me to listen closer to an unusual call on the radio.

“Someone was just talking about a whale!”

“No way, there aren’t whales in the gulf…”

The radio crackled again, and a true whale tale emerged over the VHF. A tow captain was relaying a message from a marine research vessel that a whale was spotted traveling out to sea somewhere within about 70 miles of our location in the direction we were going. Emily and I looked at each other, and in between practicing our whale calls discussed every “what if” situation for whale encounters. We decided that the most obvious plan of action was to ask it nicely to not sink Elpis and sail in the opposite direction. Though unlikely we’d actually find the whale, it was an ominous reminder that the ocean is big and mysterious and powerful, and we were on our way to be far offshore all night. Safety gear came on deck, and we transitioned into night mode as the sun went down.

Emily napped while I drove the first watch. Music playing, I kept the boat aimed due west for deeper water. There was still an alarming amount of crab pots, and the fading dusk made me wish for the depth contour on the chart to be closer than it was. The minefield eventually thinned out with the last scrap of light, and then we faced another problem. Believe it or not, but the wind was not doing what was forecasted. As I headed closer to our course for the keys, the wind stayed right on the nose and our progress slowed. We had hoped to sail the whole way, but in order to arrive in daylight the engine stayed on. Not only that, but Mike and Dan were determined to sail so it didn’t take long for our courses to split as they traveled slower and according to the wind. We found ourselves once again alone on the ocean, making fruitless unheard radio checks out into the void. By the end of my first shift, I was more than ready to hand off the stress of our lack of progress and pass out in the bouncing v-berth.

My middle of the night graveyard shift revealed that things were much better than before. The wind was light and we could motor much faster, and I relaxed knowing that we could make it in time (though still no word from Samadhi). I settled in behind the wheel, admiring the carpet of stars and letting my thoughts roam free. My gaze drifted down to the ocean, to where I noticed the ghostly shape of a crab pot buoy drifting past in the glow of our running lights. My peace shattered and shocked and cursing, I disengaged the auto helm to dodge it, and saw another three buoys in the waves. We were in at least 60 feet of water and we should have been clear of the fuckers, but I was now deeply suspicious of every imaginary shape and spent adrenaline-fueled hours straining my eyes into the blackness. Adding to the eeriness, fishing boats beyond the horizon produced enough light to look like a small city. When they would finally come into view, it was as if alien spaceships were out for a cruise, noiselessly moving in bizarre and unpredictable directions. The odds were in our favor and no lines were wrapped in the prop, and I was relieved knowing that my next shift would be in daylight.

Waking up for my watch the next morning, I was convinced we taken a wrong turn and ended up in a different ocean. The water everywhere else in the gulf had been a slightly browner version of Lake St. Clair, and it was now transformed into an electric teal. We quietly puttered in a silent globe of liquid mirrors, dead calm water reflecting the glassy melting forms of puffy clouds. Dolphins kept crossing our path, and I would stand on the bow and watch as they kept pace and turned to have a look with a watery eye. Curiosity satisfied, it took just a moment for them to dive away into the crystal depths, my fascination keeping me on the bow long after they were gone.

We traveled like this for most the day, so close to our destination but still hours out. An entire pot of coffee kept my brain in overdrive, thinking about everything I’ve ever thought of in my life while simultaneously coasting as blank as the horizon on our bow. I bounced between the helm and the foredeck, trying to maintain enough activity to keep myself from being absorbed into the ocean. We were in a different world, the territory of the dolphins and pelicans and the fisherman all living at a pace undiscoverable by the people of terra firma. These citizens of the sea went on with their daily business of survival, and we slipped by generally unnoticed and unimportant.

Eventually the coffee wore off and Emily saved the day, navigating us through Hawk Channel while I got to nap. I woke up to a bustling harbor and a stunning change of scenery. It was wonderfully hot, charter boats and cruise ships jockeyed for space in the channel, and hundreds of boats were anchored in every imaginable spot. Our sleepy eyes took it all in, and 27 hours later we dropped our anchor amidst the floating city. High fives all around, we laughed and relaxed. KEY WEST WOO.

There’s no other feeling like finishing an overnight crossing, relief mixed with enjoyment of holding still. However, there was no sign of Samadhi until almost two hours later. They had succeeded in sailing most of the way, but had to do some motoring to arrive before dark. Glad they survived, we made a quick run to shore for critical supplies (rum and ice) and we all celebrated our arrival before passing out at about 8 pm. “We’re never doing an overnight again!”

Sunset

Happily anchored in Key West:)

Violet sky during Emily's sunrise shift

"The ideal time to remember about inferi in Harry Potter is not in the middle of the night in the Gulf of Mexico." -Emily