Sunny, Windy, Cold
The nights have gotten really cold, the wind is still raging from the north, and I am making sail to the Crane Keys. Last night I wore all my clothes, sleeping bag, put my legs in a backpack and finished of with some towels on top. Still cold. The wind is building again and is more than 20 for two days now.
Sailing south with the storm jib and a reef I have plenty of speed and the loads are still small.
There goes the sun past the edge of what is meant by the word Earth. And then a wind shift as radiation diminishes with the light. The anchorage is sticky mud and I'm in less than a foot at low so atleast I'll sleep soundly inspite of the howling wind. I don't need to think about the anchor, it seems to enjoy being tied snugly around the bow and shows no signs of chafe.

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These waters are usually gin clear, shallow, and warm, but for the duration of our micro cruise they have been opaque and cold due to arctic northerlies and record low temperatures. When people think of sailing in the Florida Keys they often think of manatees, dolphins, brilliant tropical reef fish, coral heads, sponges, sea stars, sharks, and rays. But with such cold temperatures everything that can go out to deep water has done so in an effort to stay warm, and we have seen mostly the dead.
The first mate anole has disappeared into the extra mainsail. By "extra" I imply that there is another, not that this one is in usable condition. I'm flying a larger mainsail installed permanently at the first reef so that it fits. The 100 jib has taken all my sail repair tape to re-attach the leech and doesn't like wind above 10 knots, so I am thankful for the small storm jib I brought from Seattle. The wind is solid from the north at 20+.
Inspite of the cold, or perhaps because of it, the ants seem to be suddenly interested in my garbage. They are following an inch wide path that leads from the v berth, along the hull deck joint and down to the garbage hanging by the main hatch. A long walk. Cracking a can of oranges and some crackers I toss a number of each up into the vberth. That should keep them going for a while. They are huge fans of orange syrup, as am I, so we share the rest while waiting for the first mate to re appear from the sailbag. Luckily for the ants he seems too cold to come out and join the feast.

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Anchored out in Key West Florida having just sailed the length of the Keys in a small enginless boat many things are running through my mind. I will try and relate a few of these by posting scraps from my logbook and adding another small gallery for the Keys. The premise of this trip was to find a small boat in the tropics for next to nothing, fly there, sail it as far as made sense, offload it and fly home. Basically a cruise on my own schedule without the hassles of long term boat ownership or short term chartering, an attempt to experience sailing without the planning or boat systems that conventional cruising seems to require. Instead I found that ingenuity, synchronicity, practiced trance states, friendship, and the physics of uncertainty are dependable systems of the seafaring life. Infact I would venture to say that becoming familiar with these, the substance of the experience, is more important to a successful cruise than familiarity with stuff that is for sale, whether it be ideas or gear.

The Kittiwake 23 was tied to the dock as it had been for years. No one can remember exactly how long it had been there, 25-27 years at least. During that time many changes have occured in the small universe that is this boat, and I can't help feeling a little like Jesus come to resurrect the dead. A few months ago the boat had sank at the dock and there is still evidence of water intrusion as the bulkheads and bunks continue to dry out and carry on rotting. Luckily the hull has no core and was built in a time when builders kept things simple and stout, so even though the foredeck is rotted and houses a large colony of ants, the lizards and I can still get underway. After tearing out wiring, hoses, head, and lights i dove into the channel to plug all the thruhulls with underwater epoxie and scrape the bottom. Luckily the rig was still standing, although barely. Spreaders were attached with a single drywall screw per side, stays were missing, turnbuckles were cracked. To these problems and many others I applied a little Wharramism and now find myself sitting on the hook waiting for the wind to veer so I can run down Dusenbury Creek, into Tarpon Basin, and beyond. The bilge smells like there's something dead down there and its starting to get dark.. it looks like rain and northerlies are on the way.

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