Thursday, 29 August 2019 - Two years after Hurricane Irma, I weigh anchor at 1pm and head out into the depths of the Gulf of Mexico again. On board: Water - 165 gallons, Gasoline - 37 gallons, Diesel - 115 gallons. Light winds and sweating like a hog because it's hot without the breeze. Right after I exit the channel of the harbor, I complete 2 slow 360 degree turns to swing the compass in hopes that the lightning damage wasn't serious, but only reset some settings. No luck. The wind direction indicator remains always indicating that the wind is from the aft. I can live with that. I'll simply tie some telltales to the shrouds where I can observe them. I pass Looe Key lighthouse about 6 o'clock and American Shoal about 7 o'clock. Shortly thereafter, I think that there is a big, lightning filled squall about to overtake me, but it barely sprinkles on me and dies out. I do, however, watch a big storm that is on the Gulf side of the Keys. It puts on quite the lightning show, but stays on the Gulf side. The wind had been very light all day, so I had been motoring, but they picked up a bit. I was glad of that. Unfortunately, the wind died off again. I was, however, very hesitant to run the engine in the dark because of all the lobster pots that are in the water. If I catch one in the prop, it could wrap tightly and possibly do some serious damage. I've caught several in the past but been very lucky and sustained no damage. Still, catching one involves stopping the boat, dowsing all sails that are up, pulling the line up with a grappling hook and cutting the line, or, sometimes having to get out all my diving gear and cutting it off and untangling the rope. I definitely don't want to do that while trying to outrun a hurricane, and especially in the dark. With no wind, but darkness upon me, I cut the motor and tried to sail but didn't get far before dawn; perhaps 5 or 10 miles all night.

Friday, 30 August - At daybreak I restarted the engine. Still having no wind, I furled the sails and motored till after noon. Finally, a little breeze picked up and I also realized that if I would motor just a little further south, I would be sailing out over the edge of the reef and be rid of the lobster pots. They make this a real ordeal. There are so many, literally thousands that I'm lucky to be able to sail in a straight line for more than a few minutes before changing course to avoid picking one up on the propeller. That means it's difficult to use the auto helm, and more importantly, to get any sleep. I'm already feeling sleep deprived and exhausted.
                    Right after setting the foresails to head further south in the deep water and downwind I thought I would kiss the lobster pots goodbye, but I didn't see the last ones until I passed 136 feet. Right after that, a very large pod of porpoises came to visit and play at the bow. There must have been 30, 40 or more.
                    Yahoo! All the rest of the afternoon and not a lobster pot in sight. I had virtually the whole Florida Straits to myself. I only saw one other vessel. It was a 600 foot long, 190 wide tanker running empty, probably headed west toward Houston. I finally got some much needed rest and I feel much better.
                    With the little winds I had I was having to tack downwind to keep from wallowing in the crossing waves, so at about 6:30 I decided to furl my genoa and simply tighten the staysail to resist the wallowing and head straight downwind west, which is exactly where I am trying to get. I'm going to stay just off the reef in about 300 feet of water all night and not have to worry about the lobster pots and their floats anymore. This way I can relax a bit.

Saturday, 31 August - When I got up closest to daybreak this morning the first thing I noticed was the depth gauge. It read 18 feet. That's not dangerous, but I thought it meant that I had sailed a considerable distance north into the shallows again. That would mean lobster pots. Luckily, when I checked the charts on my plotter, I was actually in about 2000 feet, way out of the depth finder's range. I'm finally in the deep water beyond Dry Tortugas in the Gulf of Mexico. With so little wind on this trip, I'm running about a day slower than the Irma trip. Speaking of light winds, I motored all night with only the tiny staysail up to stabilize the boat, but to no avail. The boat rolled about 15 degrees to each side every two seconds all night long in confused seas.
                    It's interesting what you see out here. I've seen the afore mentioned dolphins, a sea turtle, some flying fish, a small swift that circled the boat several times and tried to land, but because the boat was rolling so much, he couldn't. Just a few minutes ago I saw a dragonfly.
                    Hallelujah. It's about 10 o'clock and the wind just picked up enough to stabilize the boat. I unfurled the yankee (genoa) and set it with 10 knots of wind to fill it. Making 3.5 knots with the engine finally shut down. I'm glad to be able to shut the engine down. For one, I may need to conserve the fuel for later, and two, I'm getting a little concerned about the lethargy I'm feeling. It may be caused by carbon monoxide that the engine produces and the trailing breeze blows into the cockpit.
                    I thought I had seen the last of the lobster floats, but I still managed to see two out in about 3000 feet of water today. I checked the hydraulic fluid in the AutoHelm today and added about an ounce to it, then checked the diesel fuel level again - 73 gallons. In the process of checking the fuel, I dropped two sets of sockets so that kept me busy retrieving them from under the grated floorboards. I think I found them all, but I certainly hope that none went down the cockpit scuppers. If they did, they're gone forever, but worse yet, could clog the drain.
                    About 6 pm I found cargo ship Resolve on the radar and information about them on AIS. I hailed them on the VHF and got a little information about Dorian. Apparently, it is still off shore and weakening a bit. That's good news. I'm going to try to get some information on the SSB (Single Side Band radio) later.

Sunday, 1 September 2019 - I contacted several vessels today on the VHF radio. One I couldn't understand the foreign accent, another, I understood perfectly, but didn't really have any information of value to me. Another was a vessel under no command. That means he was broken down. He was too busy to talk at first, but called me back and filled me in with Dorians current and expected positions for the next four days. That was good to hear, but the next bit of info was not. He said that it has grown so that even out 390 miles from the eye, they expect 8 - 12 foot waves. I'm within that circle. All I can hope is that since I'm on the lower, westernmost quadrant and since it is most dangerous in the upper, eastern most quadrant, perhaps the wind and waves will be lessened here. I got his information around 3 pm and had been thinking that since I haven't seen any of the outer bands at all, maybe it was safe to head back. At that moment, I decided that since I'm already feeling so exhausted, I'm heading to Cuba to try to find a safe harbor on its south shore. This is a big decision since the whole idea of leaving Marathon was to get away from anything solid that I could hit. Now I'm headed to unfamiliar waters, reefs, cliffs, and languages. If I screw up here, not only will I be in serious trouble, but I'll be in a foreign land to boot. It also looks like I'm headed into a really big dark cloud near Cuba, too. I already hit one serious squall today. It caught me off guard. I was headed south and the wind was out of the southeast, very light and in 4 to 6 foot disturbed seas. Suddenly, the boat turned, not jibed or tacked, but just turned to where I was headed almost due north. The wind immediately hit 25 mph and I had way too much sail up. I tried to tack back around, but missed stays. That means that I didn't get the bow of the boat past the eye of the wind. The sails were flapping and popping and the sheets on the staysail tangled into a hard knot. I started the engine and forced the bow around, getting the genoa to cross as needed in the process. I had to deal with the knot later when the wind backed off a bit because I didn't feel safe leaving the cockpit in such high winds. The fact of missing stays cost me dearly. The sails flagged so violently and for so long that the leach on both sails is ruined, I'll be amazed if the genoa doesn't rip before this trip is over, but so far, it's holding up. I've furled the staysail to save it in case I lose the genoa. I've been amazed at how strong the current coming out of the Gulf of Mexico to the north is. I've had the boat's heading pointed as close to southwest or west as I could with the winds I've been getting and my actual course has been southeast. Right after the storm hit, I started the engine, and tacked, I was actually making 8.2 knots. That's way faster than this boat should go.
                    It's 6:30pm and I'm really worried about the storm ahead. It doesn't look like a squall, more like a tropical depression, but I can't get any information about it. It's very big and very dark, covering about 170 degrees of the view.
                    Well, when will I learn? About one minute after I put the computer down and had started buttoning down the side panels around the cockpit, around came the bow again. This time the engine was already running and the staysail was furled, so corrections went quicker. I did have the mainsail out this time, so I had to reef it in a bit. I don't think the winds were quite as strong, 25 knots max. Still, I need to reef much sooner. It's just really hard to tell where the wind line will be. That storm was not near as large as I thought, only about 12 across, but I was in it for several hours. That seems to have been an unusual storm for these parts, it contained no lightning. It gave me some wind in the direction I needed, but Cuba seems to be sucking me south while I want to go west. I was making about 1.5 knots forward with the engine running at 1400 rpm and the sails back out, and about 3 knots sideways toward Cuba because of the Gulf Stream coming out of the north. I finally gave in and headed the boat south with the current and after a couple of hours fell into the lee of the island about 20 miles out. Darkness has overtaken me, but the sea is much calmer. I'm making about 4.2 knots due south to Cuba, but when I get there I'll still have about 120 miles of westering to due before I can hook around the west end into protection from any north wind and waves from Dorian, but I need the rest. I'm sure that will take another two days at least, or at the rate I've been able to make so far, much more. Winds from Dorian may catch me, yet.

Monday, Labor Day, 2 September - In the pitch blackness of night at 2am, the stars are bright tonight and I can see the glow of lights of Havana off my port beam and the glow of another city faintly off my starboard bow. I hope to be out of the Gulf Stream push toward Cuba as I near the shore, but it may turn into a current on my bow. That would really slow me down again, however, I understand there is a counter current near shore. I hope it is outside the reefs. I'm certainly not going to the inside in the dark.
                    3:40 AM - I'm about 5 miles off Archipelago de los Colorados Y De Santa Isabel, Cuba in 2700 feet of water, and closer in, about 4 miles away, it jumps up quickly to 120 feet, then less, is lined with rocks, rocks, rocks. I've headed a bit more westerly and will parallel shore all the rest of the night. Finally, I seem to have gotten out of the Gulf Stream and am making 3.7 knots in the direction I need to go!
                    Storms, storms, storms! I finally was able to hear portions of the NOAA Weather Report this morning on the VHF from Key West. It took about 2 hours to get the portion of the report that I am curious about because I was only getting intermittent reception. They report for many different areas and since the reception was spotty I may have heard the portion I needed several times before I could tell they were discussing my area. At this point, I guess Dorian has stalled out over the Bahamas. Those poor folks will certainly be in a world of hurt. Also, now, they seem to be expecting it to move a little further north when it does move again. Now there's another forming in the eastern Atlantic near the Azores. I hope I can get back to Marathon to resupply and rest a bit before that one makes it up this way. And thirdly, apparently there is something trying to form directly in front of my boat in the southwestern Gulf of Mexico. I hope that moves further north before it coagulates. I just took a panorama photo of what I think may be it. The photo also proves that the world isn't flat. You need to realize that the panorama takes in from slightly to the port of the boat clear around to behind where I was standing, a pretty wide sweep.
                    I just took advantage of the flat water here on the lee side of Cuba this morning to recheck my diesel level, which was indicating I still had 57 gallons in the tank after almost 3 days of motor sailing. I think the engine has been running most of the time. I, also, siphoned the 25 gallons I had stored on the deck into the tank to make 82 gallons remaining and 33 used up. I certainly hope I get some days I can actually sail in order to conserve what's left. Currently, I still need to cover some distance, so I'm making about 4 knots with the engine running into a west 12 knot wind. I can't refill in Cuba because I didn't check out of the U.S. and can't legally go ashore here. They might make exceptions when fleeing a hurricane, but that may actually depend on the individual that I had to deal with. I don't want to have to find out. I really don't want to run out of diesel, either.
                    With the exception of about an hour of sudden 25 knot wind just before I needed to tack, it's been the nicest day so far. I don't know where that wind came from. There were no squalls nearby, but it sure livened up the afternoon. During the strong wind, I made excellent time, but unfortunately, it was on a couple of tacks way off to one side and back. I did game some ground, but now the wind has died off again and right on the nose of the boat. Tonight it's clear as a bell again, I watched a beautiful sunset, and there's a beautiful half moon already up.

Tuesday, 3 September - It was so clear and calm last night that at one point, 12:45 am, I exited the saloon, where I was napping, and looked out and thought I had almost run into another small sailing vessel. I turned on the radar to confirm its nearness to me. The radar showed absolutely nothing, not rain, land, nor any vessels. I thought maybe it was malfunctioning. It took me a few moments to realize that I was seeing the planet Jupiter, which was low in the sky, and its reflection on the calm waters. It appeared yellow and just about low enough in the sky at that moment for me to mistake it for a masthead light.
                    At 9 AM I rounded Cabo de San Antonio at the west end of Cuba about a mile and a half offshore after having a nice night and morning of motor sailing into southwest breezes.
                    I checked the fuel level at 10:30 this morning and am amazed to see that, after running this big engine for 24 hours straight, it has used only 19 gallons of diesel. That seems pretty efficient to me. I still have 64 gallons in the tank. That means I've only used less than half of the 115 gallons I started out with. Surely, since I've had the Gulf Current against me all this time and will have it working for me about all but the first thirty going home, I can make it back to Marathon on that much. We'll see what tricks the winds have up their sleeves. I sure hope I get ta actually sail more on the way back.
                    I passed the lighthouse at the west end of Cuba, Cabo de San Antonio around noon today, then headed eastward with the intention of hiding just off the cliffs there in the north winds from hurricane Dorian. However, the winds are now really out of the southwest and this big bay, Bahia De Corrientes, is situated with its opening directly to the southwest. Not good. I scan the charts and realize that there is a finger that extends out from the southwest point of the bay that sticks out just enough to slip in behind and get a little wind protection. I head there. It's about 15 miles away. On the way, I find a bit of information about the site that makes it sound not so good. Bad holding, possibly weak or poorly maintained mooring balls designed for the lobster divers, etc. I also got some weather info about Dorian from a passing cargo vessel. It sounds like it's finally moving north and the threat this far south, 490 miles from where in is now expected to come ashore on the east coast of Florida, is about over. I decide to head back. I turn around and, since I came into the bay running downwind, it takes me about 5 hours to exit the bay. Part of that is because I had to tack and tack again because of wind shifts and light winds. Luckily, a squall formed on my port side that increased wind velocity and gave me a lift, a change of wind direction in my favor, and I finally made it out.
                    At my next turn to go north, I had a 620 foot cargo vessel almost right behind me. Then another coming from the east showed up right dead ahead. It's raining and I can't get eyes on either one. When contacted on the VHF radio, the first guy doesn't speak English and the second guy says we should turn and pass port to port. That's correct, and I do. Then he turns to port. Yikes! I hail him again in a panic. We're very close. We confirm that he's turned to port, so I do too, in order to pass starboard to starboard, but hey, we miss each other. I really thought I was going to get run over, so much so that I actually grabbed two life vests and put them both on. I realized later that if he had turned to starboard as he should normally have done, he would have run into the 620 foot ship behind and to my port side with his 320 foot ship. Then I also realized that he was on the wrong side of a traffic separation lane that is on the charts in high traffic areas like that point at the west end of Cuba. Many boats pass here going to or from the Panama Canal.
                    At midnight I decide to make a four mile detour and anchor for the night in the south end of the Gulfo De Guanahacabibes. I was sailing in 3000 feet of water and 20 foot water was only 4 miles away. The water should be crystal clear in the morning when I get up. I want to check the oil and transmission fluid levels when the engine is cooler. I hope my anchor holds. I suspect the ocean bottom is rock hard coral. The charts sometimes indicate whether the ocean floor is sea grass, mud, rock, coral, or sand, etc., but not here.

Sunday, 8 September - I drifted for several hours, but at 3 AM I determined that since the seas were calm again, a five mile per hour breeze would suffice. I set the mainsail and genoa and headed off at 88° Magnetic, perfect. Not much wind but I'll take it. By 6:45 in the morning I had made about 6 miles but now had 1.1 knot of wind. Becalmed again. At least the seas are smooth so the boat doesn't roll and pitch. At 7 AM I get a sudden burst of 2 knots of wind out of the east, exactly where I want to go, but not where I want wind from, that backwinds my sails and turns me southward, then dies again. I'm still not as far east as Key West, and that's a long day's sail from Marathon. I'm starving. While I'm adrift, I think I'll have breakfast and give the wind a chance to make up its mind.
                    All right, I gave Mariah her chance to make up her mind and she did...she decided to do absolutely nothing, so at 8 o'clock I furled the sails and headed east with the auxiliary. I have 26 gallons of diesel to make about 70 miles. It's only 64 miles as the crow flies, but I'm not about to fight 60 miles of lobster pot floats all day again, so I'm taking the outside route in deep water as far as I can, then I'll go straight in through the last of the lobster pots.
                    At about noon today I was approached by the National Security and Border Patrol. I'd been expecting them since I'm sure the roundabout route and slow timing made it look like I might be bringing something illicit in from Cuba. I merely slowed the boat to an idle, handed the papers over to the gentleman and talked about my trip while one of the other officers ran some kind of check on the registration, etc., and the other steered their boat along beside mine. They were very pleasant and it only took about 10 minutes. Then they pulled away and I accelerated on my way, having never changed course.
                    I'm making good time making a bee-line for Marathon now under power. Even with a slight headwind, I'm making about 5 knots or 5.8 mph. I may make it back to my mooring ball just about dusk.
                    I arrived back in the harbor about 6:30 and Tammy and Jay Klassen rendezvoused with me at my mooring ball, helped me attach my mooring lines, then invited me to dinner on their boat; just what I needed after eleven days sailing by myself. It sure was good to see everything in the harbor just about like I left it.

Tuesday, 10 September - Second anniversary of Hurricane Irma, and they finally started replacing the dinghy docks that had been destroyed by the storm. My first day back on the Cruiser's Net in the morning and numerous people welcomed me back and everyone wants to hear about my trip. I think they all just missed my voice on the radio with ads I have for some things I'd like to sell and the questions I have for the trivia section of the morning net. Tom Krueger has a car here and he volunteered to take me to the grocery store to replenish my stores. I still have plenty of food but was out of the basics; bread, bananas, eggs, milk, and a few other things. I do need to get ready in case another storm heads this way. Hurricane season doesn't end till November. We're not out of the woods, yet. Later, Mike and Bev of the S/V Qeequeg invited me over and traded me a beer for my Cuba story.

In retrospect, I could have stayed here and been just fine. They got considerable rain and the outer bands of Dorian passed over, but almost no winds over 30 mph, but the day I left, there was no way to know that was going to happen. Tammy and Jay Klassen headed north to Shark River and, again in retrospect, I should have too. It's only a long day's sail north and they were fine. Hindsight is wonderfully accurate. The problem, I've learned, is that if you wait to know whether a storm is going to have a major effect on you, it's too late to get out of its way, get hunkered down, and remove all the sails from your boat so they don't get ripped off, etc. I, again, made good decisions to leave and where I went. I was safe and so was the boat. That's what counts. It would have been easier, however, if I'd run to Shark River or stayed put, but you just can't know that ahead of time. Any of these storms can turn toward you and accelerate. Even the "expert" meteorologists can't really predict their tracks in advance. It's better to get out of the way and I did.
                    I was out to sea for 11 days, used up 96 gallons of diesel fuel, and acquired some damage to my sails, but I still have my boat and my health. I got lucky again.

Wednesday, 11 September - 911 - The anniversary of the infamous day that changed our lives forever. I stuffed insulated bags that newcomers to the harbor are given with information about the harbor, Marathon, and the Keys and activities and resources nearby. I washed clothes, too, then we had a meeting of the net controllers for the morning's radio net to discuss upcoming activities. They are wanting to establish a bank account for the cruisers. It certainly would be convenient for collecting online donations for the occasional needy person in the harbor, for other good charitable causes like the bicycle drive for needy kids in Marathon at Christmas, and for collecting donations for parties like at Thanksgiving and Christmas, which are pretty expensive, but it sounds like an opportunity for accounting problems to me since there are really no "permanent" residents here.

Thursday, 12 September - With another possible storm headed this way it was decision time again. Run away again or stick around and pray. I've decided that I think this one's going to miss us in its early stages. People further up the east coast and those poor souls in the northern Bahamas need to worry. We are predicted to get winds in the range of 25 to 30 mph and lots of rain throughout the next few days. I hope that's all. Then, there's already another threat lined up further south.