Pensacola Bound

 

Ahoy readers!

On Monday we arrived in Panama City, Florida.  (Why would a city in the USA would name itself after a nation a thousand miles away?!?)  We made it past the “Apalachicola Bump”, so now we head straight to the west until we reach the Louisiana border.  No, we have not yet decided how we will traverse the Bayou State.  It mainly depends on the wind and weather.

coming into Panama City

As it has since we left Clearwater, the wind is still no help.  Westerly winds are useless to us.  But there is a glimmer of hope:  for the rest of the week, the forecast models are showing a slow drift to the south.  But the seas have been oddly quite calm.  I suppose it’s a trade-off:  unconventional wind direction yields calm seas, and vice-versa. 

Brent’s boat is gloriously comfortable.  It’s big and roomy, and we each have our own cabin, each with at least a double-bed, private head (toilet), and its own modular air conditioner.  Best of all: the boat has monstrous Lithium batteries that hold enough charge to run our cabin ACs all night long - a definite life-saver in this heat! 

This journey has provided additional input into the eternal monohull-versus-catamaran debate.  Clearly, catamarans are roomy and comfy, and nobody misses heeling.  But - at sea, they are bouncy.  Even relatively small waves knock us around bigtime, where a monohull could effortlessly slice right thru them.   

We are basically hugging the Florida coast, at a distance of anywhere between a quarter-mile to 10 miles.  The endless stretches of snow-white beaches is mind-boggling.  If they are accessible by land vehicle, the beaches are developed with houses, condos, and such.  But a huge portion of them are totally virgin and uninhabited. 

It’s interesting that, other than an occasional fishing boat, we are pretty much the only watercraft out here.  No ships, no other cruising yachts - nothing!  Most of the trip is a kinda monotonous.  We watch squalls form in the distance, each with huge anvil-shaped clouds overhead, and some lightning.  But none of them have come our way.  The most exciting event of the day is when get a dolphin escort, which happens occasionally.  We never get tired of seeing them.  So now you got three full-grown, middle-aged men standing up on the foredeck, squealing with delight and snapping pictures. 

Fun in Panama City

Panama City is the biggest metropolitan community we’ve seen since leaving Clearwater.  As we enter the pass into St. Andrew Bay, we are greeted by a friggin armada of tour boats, jet skis, and other pleasure-craft.  Later we learn that these pleasure boats are all rentals.  There all, like, zillions of them available to rent here.  Anchor down for the night. 

our anchorage, at night

Looking westward, we must make a decision on whether to shoot for Pensacola, versus making a rest stop halfway at Destin.  Anchoring after dark is not ideal, but neither is a 12-hour day of sailing … um, make that motoring, not sailing.  We could, of course, tack back and forth, like our sailing forefathers did in the days before diesel engines, but that would nearly double the time it would take to make westward progress.  Which option?  

We flipped a coin, relying on the sailing gods to take control.  They said:  head straight to Pensacola! 

We left Panama City at daybreak.  Us, and about a hundred fishing boats, all heading out to the deep water.  I suppose that’s where all the fish are. 

That afternoon, I was at the helm when a small powerboat headed straight towards us.  Hmm.  The driver turned and ran parallel to us.  Then on the VHF I hear:  “Calling the westbound sailing catamaran.” 

I replied on the VHF:  “This is sailing vessel Just One More Day.” 

“This area is a military practice zone.  You guys will need to alter your course.” 

We had seen these areas marked on the charts, but had not paid them much attention.  “Copy that.  How must we proceed?” 

“Head north for 10 miles, then continue westward.” 

So we turned north, and this guy - we never really figured out who he was - took a position out in the middle of the “military practice zone”, evidently to warn off any other wayward vessels.  

the "screecher" headsail

But now, heading north, we had the westerly wind on our beam.  Heck, let’s raise the sails and actually SAIL for ten miles! We set the big screecher sail flying up front.  Engines off!  Ahhh!  This is what sailing is supposed to be about. 

fishing man

And then:  one of our fishing lines started twitching.  Fish on!  Minutes later, we pulled in a humongous creature that looked like a tuna.  I had to consult my fishing expert brother Tim, who, from the photos we texted, said it was a bonito.  A close cousin of tunas, it was definitely edible, so we carved it up and had some VERY fresh fish for supper. 

approaching Pensacola

As expected, the extra ten miles of northbound sailing put us in Pensacola well after dark. But we anchored successfully at a lovely spot. 

Stary tuned!

Capt. David