Our Maiden Voyage...

We waited anxiously, with the freshly signed Bill of Sale in our glove box, until finally on Thursday the wind coming off the Gulf had returned to manageable (for a couple of novices) and we had secured a temporary home for our Lil’ G. We'd been looking for a marina or mooring where we could keep our new girl while we did some repairs and modifications to make her into the adventure vessel we’ve been envisioning for so long. After asking around and doing some research, we decided to rent a slip spot at Blenkers Boatworks and Marina in Bradenton, which is north of Sarasota and south across the Manatee River from Palmetto, where we have spent most of our time since arriving in Florida. Our friend Bart lives there (when he’s not off guiding for Outward Bound or following his adventure bug) with his sons, Tyree and Teal. 

Here is where I take the opportunity to pour my heart out to the three of them...you all are absolutely amazing and we are crazy grateful your continuous hospitality and for opening your home to us! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And a very special thank you to Bart, for your kindness and patience, for teaching us about traveling by the wind, and for sharing with us your passion for life and adventure! 

Ok, now back to our Lil’ G...We arrived at the Sarasota Sailing Squadron around noon and prepped her for our first sail. 

Adam worked diligently (until I interrupted him and forced him smile for the camera) to make sure everything was still there and in the right place, and then these guys stopped by to wish us luck (so I made them stop and smile for the camera too...well at least they stopped, I guess).

Then a few minutes before one o’clock, we started up the engine and pushed away from the dock. We were off! Adam reversed out about fifty feet and when we were positioned just right, he shifted into drive. The motor then promptly died. And thus began our very first “Oh shit!” moment. I frantically tried starting her up again and with each pull, nothing. We were floating between the dock we had just left and a mooring field of sailboats. We quickly considered our options. First, the most logical for our vessel, to raise the sails. However, we were faced directly at the dock and weren’t sure we’d be able turn her out toward the bay under wind power alone and in the space provided. I’m not saying it couldn’t be done, I’m sure it could, but we’re amateurs and one thing we do know is that when faced with a possible collision the last thing you want to do is add speed and power. Second, set an anchor. Again somewhat valid, but we weren’t sure we would be able to set it with little enough chain and rode (rope, basically) to not swing into one of the many close obstacles. Then Adam being even more logical and level headed than my mind can muster while frazzled, stated “I think if we let the wind push us we should be able to get some steerage and I’ll try to guide us back to the dock.” The only dangers in the situation now, were being blown too far toward shore where we could run aground, and being blown with too much force into the dock that I couldn’t jump off and stop the bow from slamming into it. And so Adam did his best to steer the boat away from the shallows and I ran to the bow. I stood with a line in hand and watched the dock approach in slow motion. When it was still a few feet away but reachable, I leapt off. I turned quickly and thrusted my weight against the bow to help swing the boat parallel to the dock and keep it from hitting anything. This gave Adam a bit of time to analyze our motor trouble, before hopping off and helping me walk the boat back to where it had been only minutes before. A couple of men prepping their boat on the opposite side of the dock, who had just waved us off, looked up with curious expressions. “Yes, we’re back already and it was wonderful,” I joked. Their expressions didn’t change much, except for meager smiles. Then I heard Adam say, “No, I just forgot to push the choke back in and flooded the engine.” They chuckled and one responded, “Oh, I’ve done that before. We’ve all done that before.” Yes, we are prepared to make mistakes. Good thing we got that one out of the way early. 

We tied Lil' G to the dock once again and climbed back on board to try and get the motor running. Adam poked and prodded and after trying a few times to start it, it revved back to life. I jumped to the dock, untied the dock lines, threw them on board and gave Lil’ G a shove. Round two. We were off! Adam guided us out through the markers and into Sarasota Bay. 

Then we raised the sails and I took the helm for a bit.  

We started off across the bay at a decent pace and Adam looked at the charts for our heading. After a bit of confusion and some bickering, we discovered that either our compass was off or our electronic chart heading was off. And so we followed our gut and our visuals till we reached the other side of the bay and found markers guiding us into the Intracoastal Waterway, between the Florida Coastline and Longboat Key. Not long after entering the canal, we saw smooth gray fins break the surface of the teal water in front of us. Moments later, a small pod of dolphins were right along side of us, gliding up and down through the wake, playing and I presume showing off a bit. It was beautiful. ‘This is a good omen,’ I thought. 

We continued on slowly and then fired up the motor to prepare for the upcoming bascule bridges (more commonly referred to as drawbridges). As the first, Cortez Bridge, came into view we lowered the sails and radioed the bridge attendant to see when the next scheduled opening was. He informed us that we had two minutes. We told him we thought we’d get there just in the nick of time, and I believe we did. But the bridge didn’t open. We waited, the motor idling, and after a couple of minutes we radioed the bridge attendant once again, asking if the bridge was going to open. He said that we were two minutes late and would have to wait til the next opening at four o’clock. We were a bit perplexed since the bridge never did open and we had been there waiting for at least two minutes, but decided that we should probably drop an anchor and turn off the motor to conserve some of our limited fuel. As we motored over to the side of the canal, we agreed that it would have been a good idea to have topped off the fuel before we headed out that day. Another lesson learned. When we were clear of the canal, I let the anchor slip into the water and slowly released all of the chain and an addition fifteen feet of line. We waited patiently for about ten minutes before we pulled up the anchor and motored back over to the bridge, making sure we were there early this time. Just before the hour, traffic halted on the bridge and at exactly four o’clock, the bridge split and each side slowly raised to a near vertical position. We cruised through, giving a less than sincere wave of appreciation to the stubborn attendant. 

Once we cleared Cortez Bridge, we were in sight of the second, Anna Maria Bridge. We radioed to see if they were on the same schedule and when the attendant confirmed that they were, I told him we’d be there one or two minutes early. Adam immediately informed me that we would surely be a few of minutes late and we both hoped that this bridge attendant would be less of a stickler when it came to the set schedule. Thankfully as we approached (but still a few minutes away as Adam had predicted), traffic slowed to a stop and the bridge began to raise. We both waved largely and with gratitude as we passed under. 

We continued up the canal and followed the markers out into Tampa Bay. Then we headed up the mouth of the Manatee River and as we neared Blenkers Marina, the sun began to set. With the colorful sky behind us, we focused our attention on getting into the marina before dark. The marina slowly came into view, but we couldn't quite make out the entrance. As we got closer, it became visible by the lack of concrete and wood, and we were shocked at how narrow an opening it was. 

These photos weren’t taken that evening, but I felt a visual was necessary so I shot these a couple of days later when we were returning to the marina from a day of sailing. 

We took a somewhat leisurely pass in order to get a better look at the barely-there entrance and to spot our assigned slip. “The one right next to the sailboat ‘Too Nice For One’,” as the marina master had explained to me. I was beginning to think we should have investigated the layout from the marina shore when we were there earlier that day, but it wasn’t getting any lighter and we were down to the last drops of fuel, so Adam lined us up and I took a deep breath. We hadn’t guided her into such a tight space before, and we weren't exactly sure how she would maneuver with the outboard motor. Adam worked his magic at the helm and I stood at the bow, ready to fend off any pylons or, god forbid, other boats. With my head swinging back and forth from the bow, to the sides, to Adam at the stern, I watched as he gracefully pulled her into the marina and our designated slip, like he’d done it a thousand times. Then as we neared the concrete seawall, I climbed over the rail with a dock line in hand. I jumped off and turned to fend the bow from hitting the wall. Once she stopped in the water, I gave her a hefty shove back and gently wrapped the bow line around the front pylon. Then I quickly ran back along the thin dock to grab a stern line from Adam but the wind was pushing Lil’ G forward and before I got the stern line wrapped around a pylon, I heard a loud crunching sound. It was the bow hitting the concrete seawall. Adam looked at me in shock, "Caitlin!" I immediately turned around and ran back to the bow to hold it off the wall. Another amateur move, just checking ‘em off the list. I realized I had been so nervous about getting the boat into the slip that I had put no thought into tying her off or the direction of the wind. After some post-accident discussion and some creative boat maneuvering, we got two stern lines and two bow lines tied off and Lil' G looked secure in her slip. We pushed her and pulled her to make sure the lines we tied would prevent her from making contact with the pylons that surrounded her and the concrete that loomed in front of her. Then we stood out under the stars and agreed that although not with out incident, or incidents rather, our first sail was a success.