IP38, 5 day St Aug to Charlotte Harbour delivery

[CapnK]

(click links under the small pics for to see big'uns...) ((also, it ain't exactly professional and polished writing, but it's close enough, and for now I gotta get back to payin' work. Also, 'scuse any errors, I know there are plenty in there...))

We left St Auggie at midday under a Small Craft Advisory, winds northerly at 15-20 and gusting a bit higher, seas 5-7'+. That is an "interesting" inlet to leave in those conditions, to say the least, due in no small part to the fact that there are no jetties or man-made structures around to protect vessels in transit. We knew that once outside and into the ocean, we'd be running off and with the seas, so that would help make things very "doable". Also, the boat had a brand-new autopilot which would make steering and watches MUCH easier.

Fully foulied-up, and just before heading out the throat of the inlet, we maneuvered to unfurl and refurl the main (the IP38 has a Z-spar in-mast snarler), leaving it reefed to about 50% just in case the iron genny quit on us on the way out. After a once-over of the rest of the boat to make sure all was in order, we began pounding our way out towards the open sea. We clawed through the inlet hugging the northern side of the channel, at times taking spray over the entire boat, crabbing to keep her upwind as far as possible in case a crash-gybe and run back in was needed for emergencies. Thankfully everything went as planned, the near slack tide made things as calm as possible, and the diesel purred right through the shocks and drops of an ocean enraged at having to cross over sandbars. Once we made the sea buoy and turned off for a run, we began to make great time just as we'd hoped and expected. Course set south, soon we were seeing speeds of over 9 knots (SOG) on the GPS under that 1/2 main and reefed staysail, and the autopilot did a good job of managing the following seas. Fun!

After we'd been running a couple of hours, as I came on deck Rick pointed out a large set of spars coming up over our SE horizon. It was apparent that this was a BIG sailboat, motoring north into the teeth of the seas we were running from. She passed by about 5 miles east of our position, and I managed to get a couple of barely usable shots of her for later ident. Turns out that she was the S/V Tamsen, 170' LOA of Perrini Navy luxury. Even being that large, it was evident that the seas were big enough to make themselves known to her. As she passed us to the east, the "San Juan Highway", a giant supply barge bound on it's bi-monthly run to Puerto, dipped under our stern and passed us southbound on the inside, and a small group of Atlantic Spotted porpoise came by and checked us out for a little while. Lots of traffic in our stretch of the ocean. ;)


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By the time the sun began to go down we were alone on the sea again, the wind was beginning to play out a bit, and the seas had calmed down a foot or two. Cap'n Rick rustled us up some of his hippy-style vegetarian food for dinner, and we ate in the cockpit while watching a gorgeous, very 3-D sunset.


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I regretted that we would pass by Cape Canaveral in the night and I wouldn't get a chance to see the gantries, derricks, and other large NASA structures, but given the alternative of going much, much slower, it was a trade-off I could live with. We began a 3-on and 3-off watch structure, I had 9 to midnight and 3-6AM. The night went by uneventfully; just as I came on at 9 another pod of porpoise (or maybe the same as earlier, I didn't think to ask...) swam with us for a while, and during my second watch and off of the Cape, we passed a vessel of some sort. It was not too large or far away, but indistinguishable as to what exactly it was by the lights it had all over it. Unless of course a half dozen 360* red lights at deck level and a similar number of whites there and aided by several large floodlights is some sort of new nav light arrangement of which I am unaware... 5 miles later we slipped past the entrance of Port Canaveral as a couple of ships went in, my watch ended, and I went below to catch some winks.

Day 2 dawned gorgeous, if relatively light-winded. The strong northerlies of the cold front had passed on, leaving us with light winds of only 5-10 kts from the west. The ocean had lain down as well, seas were only 2-3', so we were motor-sailing in order to maintain a good speed. By noon, our roughly 24-hour mark, we'd covered almost 150 miles; a pretty good days run, considering. Temps had warmed considerably and the Florida sun felt nice, although it wasn't quite yet time to break out shorts and t-shirts. We had dolphin visitors en masse after lunch, a pod of 30+ adults and young'uns, and we played with them for nearly an hour as they surfed the bow wave and accompanied us south.


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The weather held all day, with the wind increasing only slightly for a while during afternoon, and then dying away deep in the afternoon. For a while we ran under motor-only as the sails were just slatting, but a few puffs began to show up again as nightfall neared, and it was enough to get some canvas back out. We'd adjusted our course more south now that we'd gotten well around Canaveral, and also began easing in towards shore to avoid the possibility of getting set into the north-flowing current of the western wall of the Gulf Stream. Sunset passed as it did the night before, perhaps not as visually spectacular, but accompanied by some pretty tasty hippie food.


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As night fell and after cleaning up for the evening, Rick and I strategerized about how we'd deal with the miles ahead, and more specifically, Port Everglades, where we'd likely see big cruise liners as well as commercial traffic in large sizes, and possibly - probably - some smaller vessels. We'd be run well in to shore by then, close enough that charts would need to be watched for potential issues like jetties, dredges and such. It looked like we would be passing the Port shortly before dawn during my watch, but Rick said he wanted to be awake, and I knew it'd be nice to have the extra eyes.

I grabbed a couple hours of sleep before my watch started at 9, and when I came up on deck Rick informed me that we were making only 3.5kts over ground - welcome to the Gulf Stream! It was really surprising to me, as we were less than a mile from shore, because where I live, the Stream is 60 miles offshore. :) The watches that night went by pretty quickly, mostly due to the close proximity to land and all the clutter that entails. We slipped the clutches of the Stream pretty quickly, losing only a couple of miles over an hour or so. Port Everglades was interesting, and we did see cruise ships, 4 or 5 of them entering port as we crossed perpendicular to their path into the channel. Soon all that was astern, Rick was back below, and I was left with the last hour and a half of watch.

We were down near a northern 'suburb' of Miami named Hollywood as the sun came up. This is the south Florida you think of when you hear the name - mile after mile of oceanfront condotowers perched on the edge of the continent, architecture defiant of the fact that the largest river on Earth flows a scant mile or two offshore and constantly scours away at the very land they stand on, arrogantly heedless of the fact that probably more than once in any given year the winds of a tropical storm system would be lashing anything it found along the shoreline while violent and remorseless seas raged against the sand. This morning was calm, however, and the skyline just glowed, the sunrise pouring out a golden yellow-orange that lit up the towers as if they were fresh-forged panes of molten glass hung in the sky.


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We came the rest of the way down the last of the Atlantic coast proper then, passing Biscayne Bay, to where Rick brought us into Hawk Channel by Fowey Rocks, just to the north of Elliot Key. Hawk Channel lies between a row of barrier reefs just east/south of the keys and the Keys themselves, providing a sort of watery "highway" protected from the worst of the weather outside. The water was gorgeous, a sublime clear turquoise you could look through to see the shadow of the boat 15-20 feet below on the sand and grass bottom. Boat traffic was light enough to be interesting, and it was Hot, and it was Sunny, and those two things made it just an incredible awesome break from the winter sitting on my beloved South Carolina a few hundred miles north.


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We spent the rest of the day motorsailing sou' sou'west between Keys and reefs, making it just past Key Largo to anchor behind the small, lozenge-shaped Rodriguez Key as evening fell. Though not marked as such, there were perhaps a couple of dozen boats in this anchorage, so we thought it would be a safe place to drop an anchor without worrying about killing $25,000 worth of eel grass.  We found room to swing between a classic double-ender and a Cape Dory 25, set the hook and let the sounds of the breeze and birds take over as the diesel racket died away.


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Tucked away behind that key and with a forecast of calm, we had a good night ahead of us to rest up after two and a half days of constant travel. We sipped some celebratory 12 year old Zaya rum from Venezuela that I'd brought for Rick to experience, and were treated to one of those sunsets that you'll remember even years later.

The early part of the sunset gave no indication that as it dropped further it would reveal hidden, multitudinous layers of clouds, brilliant filigrees of gossamer stratus crowning all in a layer of gold, accenting the deep, burnt orange of last sunlight and the bruised purple of cumulus hugging the land to our west. Then, after the last few seconds of sunset countdown, we were again amazed as the crepusular light created a visual layer cake of vast dimension, the very last of the yellows and oranges delineating a roseate underbelly of the highest clouds overhead contrasted sharply against the deep blue and plum of everything below.


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After dark we had 'movie night', watching The Big Lebowski on my tablet propped up on the cockpit table. Dinner was yet again more hippie food, although tonight a concession was made to us animal murderers of the world with the addition of a slab of salmon to complement the otherwise noodly, green plantey fare. It was a bit of a surprise to wake in the morning and find that, apparently due to the unique composition of the atmosphere of the Keys, a rum bottle accidentally left open will allow the contents evaporate at a hideous rate. My other speculation is that after we'd gone to sleep, we were boarded by very quiet but thirsty pirates; something had to explain why there was only a third of the bottle left that AM when we rose and got underway.

I think the salmon may have been a bit spoiled as well, which would explain the need for aspirin and anti-acids for both Captain and crew...

(Continued...)

[CapnK]

Pulling up the hook the next morning just as the sky began to lighten, we were underway before sunrise. Passing Tavernier Key, we settled in with coffees, the boat ready and in shape for the days run, and nothing else to do but watch the sun rise as our course veered ever more west. The sunrise rivaled the sunset of the night before; while perhaps not as complex, it came on instead with a purity and determination. Initially only a glow of pink hinted at below a leaden horizon, soon the upper edges of the clouds to our south began to be outlined with the bright light of new day. In only a few more minutes, the entire scene changed as the sun climbed up over the backs of the clouds which had been blocking it before, sending shafts of light up into the sky overhead, and burnishing the dark sea into a lustrous umber. Once free of the clouds which had held it hostage in the night, old Sol burnt brilliantly from a backdrop of pure blue, free of the darkness to make another transit of the sky.


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It was another beautiful day though one with light air, and we motored most of the morning making 6 knots or so towards our late-day goal of turning north under the 7 Mile Bridge and entering into the Gulf of Mexico. Our travel was punctuated every so often by reaching waypoints we plugged into the GPS, consecutive markers both guiding us ahead and keeping us in the channel where our 6' draft posed no issues in the otherwise shallow waters around the Keys. Uniform of the day was definitely summer clothing, with temps in the 80's and hardly a cloud in the sky. The shade of the dodger and bimini were welcome relief, a concept somewhat hard to believe when only days before I was begging for an end to the cold overcast of winter back home.


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Finally, after a lunch of CapnK's Super Famous Tuna Salad Made With Whatever Is Available In The Galley (Yay! MEAT!!!!) had been served up, the wind began to stir and we were able to spread some canvas. By 1PM we were able to have both the main and the full genny out, and, with a slight assist from the growly below, the IP fairly leapt along at 6.5kts+.


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I stayed up with Rick until we had Marathon on our starboard beam, then went below to get some needed rest. He woke me at my request as we passed under the 7 Mile Bridge, just west of Boot Key Harbor, and after looking around for a bit at the sights, I went back below to study the v-berth bunk mattress for another hour or so until we'd made it out into the banks which guard the southern Keys from any northern approach.

It was weird on awakening to find that we were in just 7.5' of water, tens of miles from any real land, in a boat drawing 6'. Slowly running hard aground in extensive shallows is generally going to be a nightmare, one I really, really hoped we would not be experiencing this evening. I took over the watch as we crept along, one eye on the sounder and the other on the hundreds of crab pots we were weaving between as we made slow progress towards the north. On the upside of things, we were now set on a direct course for the Charlotte Harbor sea buoy, and it looked as if the weather was going to be such that we would be able to sneak in a few hours ahead of a cold front and winter storm which was making the news for all the states around the Gulf and southeast.

Time passed as slowly as the bottom receded - a half hours travel giving us another 6" of depth, another hour and another foot of water below the keel. Finally, as the day began to wane, we reached a ledge of sorts, and were back into double-digit depths - what a relief! The wind had completely died, and I furled the sails in we purred along on a sea of smoothest glass. Occasionally you could sight a fishing boat or perhaps a crabber off in the far distance, but mostly we were alone. From here there was only one boat who passed us on a reciprocal the entire time until we reached our destination.


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As the sun set over the razor-sharp horizon of calm Gulf water, the beginnings of a fog could be seen in the east, steadily and stealthily creeping along in the shadow of the gloaming. When it began to get dark we were enveloped, and our world shrunk down to the boat and what little you could see outside of her decks, from fifty to perhaps as far away as five hundred feet. During my nine o'clock watch the mist became so heavy that at times the white brightness from the steaming light overhead was obscured to nearly nothingness, and the bow lights and anchors would disappear from view. The atmosphere was almost as sodden as the Gulf waters under our hull. By the time I came back on at 3AM, Rick had slowed the boat to a bit under 5kts, and we were sounding a foghorn every two minutes as we slunk through a deep and total wet blackness. For all that was visible outside of the tiny circle of light and noise we created, we may as well have been at the bottom of the sea as on top of it. Below is what I punched into the tiny note-taking app on my phone during the watch, between sounding the foghorn every two minutes and trying in vain to see what might lay ahead of our socked-in little ship.

"4th nightwatch begins for me at 3AM, and I find that the thirty eight feet of solidity which is our world has become enveloped in a sodden and pervasive maritime fog. Everything drips of it, and the horizon has shrunk down to a mere five feet beyond the edge of our deck. In this tiny world of gray wet, an unexpected current has taken hold of our hull and would help drive us along at over seven knots, if only we could see. Instead, and maddeningly, we have throttled back the diesel so that we tick along barely making five. The chartplotter indicates that the millionaires hive of Marco Island is sliding past a scant eight miles away on our starboard beam, as unseen by us as we are by them, and we have only the foghorn, blown every two minutes, to signal any other souls nearby that we too are out here on the water. Our calls go unanswered. We are wraiths of the Gulf, slow rolling on a small groundswell as we make the last lonely fifty miles to port."

The beginnings of the new day brought some relief in that we could see at least a little bit farther out into the grey cloak which was still wrapped around us. Late in the morning a sportfisherman hove into view, likely coming from Naples or Cape Coral, bound out towards deeper parts of the Gulf. Other than that brief sighting the only indication we had that there was a world beyond our own were sporadic transmissions heard on the VHF maritime frequencies of our radio.

Slowly, slowly, as an unseen but assumed sun rose in the morning sky somewhere to the south of us, we began to see intimations that the fog was thinning. Only a few short miles from our destination, we were still socked in, but looking up you could see at last the blue of sky overhead. Finally we came upon a clear patch, and for the first time in almost 18 hours could see things several hundred yards away. Here and there were crab pots, and even a small boat, a 30'ish fishing boat which we were bearing dead down upon, but still far enough away that a clear course was steered with plenty of room around them. And at last, as we came with the outer reaches of the entrance to Charlotte harbor, the fog began to lift in earnest, and I sighted the sea buoy ahead at a half miles distance.


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By the time we'd passed the sea buoy and enetered the shipping channel, visibility had lifted enough that we could see our course ahead between the barrier islands of Cayo Costa and Gasparilla, and on in to Charlotte Harbor at last.


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It was a straight shot across the bay then, a rhumb line to Burnt Store Harbor marina where we were to take the boat. Ricky contacted the new owner via phone, and giving them an ETA of about 3 hours we put the finishing touches on cleaning the boat up and getting our gear ready to transfer to shore. The trip across the harbor was pretty and uneventful, and we finally put our vessel in her new slip after 5 days and 3 hours of traveling down and around the peninsula of Florida.

We'd made it in ahead of the bad winter weather to come, but I still got to get a taste of it when I reached home the next day, driving north up Hwy 17 between tall rows of bending, ice-laden pine and live oak, still feeling the summer sun of the Keys on my skin.

[Frank]

Great pics!!!  Have fun

[Jim_ME]

Now that's how you do a report, Kurt! Great photos and writing. Grog.

Just came in from shoveling what I very sincerely hope is the last major snowstorm of the winter and was happy to read about (and see photos of) a place with better weather. I would be really content to experience the remainder of winter via TV and the Sochi Olympics--even figure skating.

It was a bit of a surprise to wake in the morning and find that, apparently due to the unique composition of the atmosphere of the Keys, a rum bottle accidentally left open will allow the contents evaporate at a hideous rate. My other speculation is that after we'd gone to sleep, we were boarded by very quiet but thirsty pirates; something had to explain why there was only a third of the bottle left that AM when we rose and got underway.

I think the salmon may have been a bit spoiled as well, which would explain the need for aspirin and anti-acids for both Captain and crew...

Think that I may have read about this very phenomena happening in the Keys in those famous novels A Farewell to Rums and For Whom the Fish Spoils? Or maybe it was The Old Pirates and the Sea...by...um...Ernest somebody? ???

[Captain Smollett]

Awesome write-up, Kurt.  Wow.  Thanks for the pictures.

Couple of questions:

(1) Did you guys plan to anchor in the Keys?  Was that part of the plan from the beginning, or was this an 'adaptation?'

If the latter, what motivated that change?  I would think getting some good rest before tackling the shallows of FL's southern tip there would be a strong motivator.

(2) In the soup, were you sailing via GPS (and/or chartplotter)?  Did you have an active contingency in case of failure?

One trick I've learned since my own "failure" sailing in fog (w/o GPS and for a time, no compass) is to use a drag line.  If the line streams straight astern, at least you know you are sailing a straight line.  Going straight in limited vis is extremely difficult without SOME kind of tool (GPS, compass, whatever).

I guess what I'm asking is...did any of your operational habits (such as frequency of DR plot or anything else) change in compared to earlier in the trip?

(3) Comments on the IP-38?

(4) Did the other dude eat the meals with meat?   ;D

(5) Where's the "He tied me up and made me clean the head with my toothbrush" treatment?  Was that tempered by the couple of days worth of lost animal protein...you were more compliant, easier to control?   ;D

Again, thanks for the write-up. It was a great read.

[CapnK]

1) Yes, it was planned as a layover day/night. Initially, it was to occur at a place with access to a restaurant & adult beverages, but that didn't work out as we were pushing to make it back in before catching northerlies in the Gulf. :)

2) We were motoring, there was 0 wind. Besides the chartplotter (Rick rigged it to the helm just for the trip; it left with us, as the onboard/installed plotter was broken), we had 2 handheld GPS'es, phone nav apps, paper charts, and compass. I like the floating line idea. Bythe time fog set in, were were on a straight course to the sea buoy, so all we had to do was stay close to that course if something went pear shaped.

3) All the comforts of home. A luxury home, pretty much. They could do some thinking on how the shower panel affixes when folded out, to make it work better when underway (!!!). Kind of a big space below in the salon if you were getting knocked about; easier to grab/more handholds in the main cabin would be an improvement of your plans include a goodly amount of time offshore. Z-spar furler - 'nuff said.  ::) If you get on a boat with one of those, plan on jams, work out your unjamming system prior to leaving, especially if the sails are older. Clubfoot stays'l is nice to have, but I think it could use a dedicated traveler. She seemed to get up to speed easily enough, better than I expected. the new autopilot made the trip very easy.

4) He did, it is not a religious conviction, more one of a lifestyle choice. :)

5) Pending other possible paying trips with Cap'n Rick Bligh in the future, I will reserve the True Stories until such time as it is expedient to reveal them... :D

[Captain Smollett]

Cool.  Thanks.

[Jim_ME]

John asked the question about the IP38 that I was also wondering about. Your answer made me curious about how big the IP38 was compared to a boat that I'm familiar with, such as an Alberg 30. I had never looked at an IP38 since they were too large and far too expensive for my budget (I see that they sell used for about $100k to $150k, and that's been about $90k to $140k beyond any conceivable budget of mine). I appreciated your comment that the main cabin was so large that this could be a liability for offshore use. Looking at the layout of the IP38, I had the same reaction to the two large double berths, compared to standard individual ones. Albeit the large doubles would be nice for couples in calmish conditions, and especially in island hopping situation like the Bahamas where one might be at anchor (or in a slip) most nights. I could imagine these three cabins working well in such conditions for three couples (with one couple sleeping on the settees of the main cabin).

This led me to more curiosity about what the performance specs might show as the cost of this wide beam. It was striking that although the A30 had considerably less than half the IP38's displacement, their motion comfort ratings were quite close, and the A30 had a capsize ratio that was considerably lower (and more favorable for offshore use). For comparison, a 4,000-lb 3-ft draft Cape Dory 25 has a comparable capsize ratio of 1.83. (The IP38 specs that I found gave the keel version draft as 5.0 ft and the keel/cb as 4.0 ft)

As I wrote, it's a purely hypothetical comparison for me, since owning an IP38 is unlikely to ever be an option (except in a charter or extra delivery crew situation, which I too would be happy to experience), but it is some comfort to see that there are currently several A30s for sale in the $5k range (needing some work as older boats usually do), and that they still have many timeless qualities to offer in their favor.

[s/v Faith]

Great write up Kurt!

  What camera did you take the pictures, with?  Those are some really great shots!

I would have to say that IPs are significantly represented in the Bahamas cruising fleet... Great boats, albeit a bit large by sailfar standards... But I am posting from a 42' boat so who am I to talk?

[Jim_ME]

I certainly agree that it is a wonderful report with beautiful photos. No doubt Kurt could do an equally great one from a variety of boats. (And I hope that you will in the future!)

I put the layouts side-by-side to explore the point that Kurt raised himself. To me, at least, it shows not only a difference in size (and thus also in cost), but especially in purpose. It is completely understandable that they would be popular in the Bahamas, where the raw space/volume, wide-ish beam, and relatively modest draft, would have real appeal. I don't mean to put down the IPs, although I am not above praising the Alberg designs, especially for their (critical to me) seaworthiness-to-cost ratio.  ;)

Edit: I should probably add that defending the praise of Albergs to Craig (or Kurt) is obviously preaching to the choir.  :)

[Wade]

If you like the room of the island packets you might consider a 31 Bombay clipper. Not an Alberg but capable and comfortable island hopper. And affordable.

[s/v Faith]

Jim,

  Your chart is very cool.  I really like the way you laid out the data, an IP is such a different boat from an A30 that it seems Ike the numbers would be so very different....  I must admit, I have grown to appreciate the way that different boats work like tools.. The right one for the job is critical... But some just do many things well... Even when stretched a little (or a lot) beyond their intended purpose.

  I might not want to cross an ocean in a marshal cat boat, but I sure would love to explore the keys aboard one.  I could not imagine spending a coupe weeks with half a dozen people aboard Faith... But Emerald Tide is just right for that...

  Different ships, different long splices.  :)

[Jim_ME]

Craig, The chart was from Carl's Sail Calculator website with a database that includes these parameters for many boats. I just saw a note there...Carl is currently very ill and can no longer answer questions or read email. He will try to have updates done by a friend. Thank you to Carl for this great website and best wishes for his health.

I completely agree that the room aboard a large (to me) boat with a main salon that can accommodate, say, three couples, comfortably and separate private cabins, has much appeal for those uses. I would definitely consider chartering such a boat for that sort of situation.

Yet I was surprised that some of the seaworthiness performance capabilities of different boats vary so widely and are not so apparent--and do not necessarily follow from a larger size.

For instance, the Snapdragon 26 feels quite large for a 26 footer, and seems solidly built, but since to be rated offshore capable a boat should have a capsize ratio under 2.0, the difference between a SD26 and A26 is considerable. I could imagine myself, if making intuitive assumptions (and not having checked their performance ratings), thinking that in a Scoot type scenario from Cape Lookout to the West End passage, an SD26 could keep up with the A26 in seaworthiness--but it probably cannot. Imagine if one was to base an assumption on somewhat comparable interior room, and try to keep up with a Triton 28 or Alberg 30. Not even close.

For comparison, the chart shows that the Snapdragon 26 rates considerably lower than even a Cape Dory 19 Typhoon on those critical capsize ratio and motion comfort (displacement to LWL ratio). This was quite counter-intuitive (for me).

So I think that the SD26, which I do like, falls into that same category as the catboat example that you used. As long as one understands the boats limitations and does not push it past that point, you should be okay.

That reserve seaworthiness that a conservative design has in the event that you miscalculate or just have bad luck and get caught out in bad conditions, just seems like such a good thing. When you don't have that, there is so much responsibility to be very conservative. I can imagine being in a group waiting for a good weather window to cross over from Florida to the Bahamas, and feeling pressure to go along with boats when the risk is actually reasonable for them, but might well not be for the one in the less seaworthy boat. This seems like quite a big burden and requires exceptionally good judgment and independence of decision making...which may in part be the definition of a solid captain.  

When you were heading out to the Bahamas there were conditions of 25 knots against the stream and 15 foot seas (steep, I'm assuming). I'm sure this would be uncomfortable in an Ariel, but would probably be dangerous on a SD26 or comparable boat. You avoided it this time with good WX analysis, but could easily have encountered those conditions. This seemed like a fairly routine situation for that time of year.

This is a more extreme comparison between two boats where one is "offshore" capable and the other is not, naturally isn't the same as the previous one comparing a still reasonably seaworthy largish boat with an exceptionally so Alberg 30. (As you say, one that just does many things well...)

Anyway, I'm looking forward to more reports and photos of sails and cruises by Kurt, you Craig, and others.

[CharlieJ]

Very thoughtful post.

I hope one day to be able to again post pics and stories from "out there" from my quite seaworthy Meridian 25  ;)

One point- on your comment "there were conditions of 25 knots against the stream and 15 foot seas (steep, I'm assuming)"  In south Florida they call that "when the elephants march"!!

I had a friend who was aboard a 110 foot minesweeper coming from Rosie Roads PR to Norfolk. They ran into that kind of conditions between the Bahamas and Florida, bucking the stream. He told me he was scared SH**less. They took water over the antennas on a few occasions, and over the bridge quite often.

You DO NOT challenge the Gulf Stream in a hard northerly wind!!! Well- maybe aboard an aircraft carrier ;D ;D

[s/v Faith]

I agree.  I have gone far outside the commonly considered routing to the Bahamas, in that I sometimes will head out early and cross the stream north of what some folks do....  But I would never enter the stream with anything other then reasonably light winds out of the north....  Prefer nothing out of the north at all!

Sometimes one can (and I will) cross and then use a NE wind to get where I am going... But I have tremendous respect for that swath of blue that runs up the east coast.

I have been across it 7 times crossing the Atlantic, and probably 70 times just heading out... She is a fickle one, and can be quite nasty at times...  Violent even from the bridge of a 567' warship or an 1100+' aircraft carrier.

Respect the gulf steam folks....  That is my advice anyway.

I will honestly say that I really feel quite comfortable with Faith in any weather that i have seen aboard Emerald Tide.  The thing is that I would not choose to sail either ship into the weather she might be able to handle... I would much rather sit at anchor a little longer and wait it out.

I know we are seeing some major thread drift here...  Maybe some moderator ought to break this out into its own thread... I would love to see the comparison Jim did showing how an Ariel relates to a Pearosn 424 (cutter headed sloop rigged).