Sailing and Yachting News

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Our offering to Neptune worked. He must be a Havana Club rum fan because our exit from Cuba and the transit across the Yucatan channel was uneventful. We were now on our way to Isla Mujeres, a place we’d been wanting to sail to for a long time.

After fueling up, checking out and topping off our water tanks, we left the dock at Cabo San Antonio around 2pm. At approximately 2:15 pm, the wind went SW so we were close hauled in about 9 knots of wind for the rest of the day and through most of the night.

Once through the traffic zones just west of Los Morros, were able to relax a little. The tanker traffic was no longer an issue and cruise ship traffic wouldn’t become a factor until several hours later as we got closer to the Mexican coastline.

That evening, the moon rise was one of the most spectacular I’ve ever seen. The iridescent, grapefruit-like moon popped up on our stern and kept watch over us all night long. As it crept behind a wisp of clouds, it became a creamy, ball of light so bright I could almost read under it. It calms me when the moon shines like that on night passages.

The reason we had been pushing through Cuba for this weather window was because the Yucatan current, which normally runs quite fast and can make a boistrous ride), was predicted to be very light at just 1 knot. That’s a big deal.

We talked to a few friends who had done the passage in the past, and the current was pushing them at over 4 knots! They said that with their main up and their engine running, they were making only 1.3 knots… to the NORTH! It took them almost forty hours to do the one-hundred and ten miles or so. We didn’t want any part of that mess.

Sailing a course of 247, we arrived in Isla’s north channel after approximately twenty-two hours. The current didn’t really touch us until about twenty miles outside of Isla Mujeres when we went from 6.2 knots to 1.9 knots. It didn’t last long. We were back to 6 after about ten miles.

Mural on the North End of Isla Mujeres

Now, whenever you say the words Isla Mujeres to someone who’s been there, their eyes will gloss over a little bit and a faint smile will overtake their face. It’s a special little place. And I completely agree. But as I see it, Isla Mujeres (or “Isla” as we often call it) is really like two completely different islands in one. With two different identities.

The north end, Playa Norte, is surrounded by lovely beaches. It’s full of trinket shops, tiki bars, restaurants, and tour operators. You’ll see tons of sunburned gringos who had too much to drink and paid too much to rent that golf cart their swerving down the main drag. You’ll pay 30 or 40 pesos for a taxi instead of the local rate of 15.

You’ll be approached by vendors who want to sell you a catamaran cruise or a dive excursion to the famous underwater statue site. That said, it’s still a lovely section of town. Some great little breakfast shops are tucked back off the Rueda Medina and if you’re changing dollars to pesos, the north end is where you’ll find the banks. When we were there, the exchange rate was about 18 pesos to the dollar. Not too bad.

Melody looking gorgeous on the North Shore

Isla’s main anchorage is where we landed first. It’s notorious for being incredibly busy and a bit exposed with bad holding. With our Mantus, We never really worry about holding issues but the busy and exposed was no joke. Tour boats fly by and wake you with aplomb. Overloaded catamarans pumping hip-hop into the sky will just about sideswipe you if are too close to the channel. It’s a bit unnerving at first but it settles down at night. The only thing to really concern yourself with would be a passing front.

With V bobbing contently on her anchor, displaying her bright yellow “Q” flag, we launched our dinghy, Chicken (as in Chicken Tender) and headed over to El Milagro Marina and Hotel. On the advice of many friends who checked in on their own, they strongly suggested we use Julio at El Milagro as our agent to ease the process. It took one friend of mine almost four days to complete the process on his own. For seventy-five bucks, it was well worth it to hire Julio. He’ll contact all the required agents and have them come to you at the hotel while you relax, drink coffee and get acquainted.

All in, it took us a few hours to complete the process with the total cost of $158.00 USD. That included our visas.

ATTENTION CRAZY PEOPLE WHO CHOOSE TO CRUISE WITH DOGS

Almost every forum you’ll read says, “They never looked at our dog’s papers.” We had a different experience. In Cuba, they scrutinized Jet’s paperwork closely. In Mexico, the agricultural fella did the same. The USDA Health Certificate we had for him was dated January 18th and technically good for 30 days, although most cruisers report that they just use the same certificate throughout their entire travels with no problem. We arrived in Isla on March 14th. The Mexican official wouldn’t accept it.

We had to take Jet back to the boat immediately and he was to remain there until a new certificate from a Mexican Veterinarian in Cancun was issued. It took another two days to get and cost us an extra $45.00 US. We didn’t have to take Jet anywhere, but an official did make me dinghy him to the boat to inspect Jet in person. He was kind and very understanding about getting soaking wet in our tiny dink as we transited the chop of the main harbor.

Back at El Milagro, Julio took care of all the added paperwork that went along with this little glitch as well. We were nervous about leaving our original copy of the health certificate with him, hoping he wouldn’t destroy it, but in the end, we got our original back and a new health certificate from the proper Mexican official.

When all is said and done, even if you use an agent, you will still have to make a trip to Cancun to get your TIP (Temporary Import Permit), for the boat. The TIP is basically a permit (a decal) that allows you to keep your boat in Mexico. Once your check-in is complete, you have five days to get your TIP decal. Take one of the ferries across. We chose the car ferry because it was only six dollars each way versus eighteen dollars each way for the speedy ferry.

If you take the car ferry, you’ll need to cab it to the Port Captain’s office. You’ll need copies of all of your check-in paperwork, and they won’t make them at the office, so bring your own. If you don’t, as we didn’t, you’ll need to cab it to the small market down the road to make copies (1 peso each). Cost for the TIP was $60 US. It’s good for 10 years, and one of the benefits is that you can import parts for your boat duty-free.

Another good thing about the getting the TIP is the taco shack adjacent to the parking lot where the ferry drops you off. And trust me, it’s really a shack. Corrugated tin roof, crooked wall studs and rusting Coca~Cola signs mean you’re in the right spot. The guys who owns the joint is an absolute joy to speak with and he loves Americans. You’ll get the best tacos you ever had along with a Coke for about $2US.

Once all of our boat logistics were settled, we moved V to the back lagoon. With a nasty norther predicted, we didn’t want have to launch the dink to get Jet ashore in the three foot chop of the main harbor. We found a spot at Marina Del Sol, which is basically just a dock. A somewhat rickety dock with wide spaces between the boards and somewhat questionable power. But… it has some of the best people you’ll meet anywhere. Cruisers from Spain, Germany, New York, Wyoming, and Canada. They’ve been all over the world, landed in the Laguna Makax and got stuck. None of them seemed to be complaining.

Simple map of the island (Printed Material from the Freya Guide to Belize and Mexico)

Gualberto (the owner) is a sweet man who speaks very little English. He loves dogs and pets in general. He was leery about Jet being there amongst his cats, lizards, birds and two dogs of his own.

One of the residents at Del Sol, Robbie, was instrumental in getting us a spot on the dock, which was becoming a difficult endeavor since everyone in Isla was seeking refuge from the coming weather. Robbie walked me along and said, “Flaco (Gualberto’s nickname which, in Spanish means ‘skinny’) has three rules. Follow them and you’ll be fine.” As I concentrated on not busting my ass on the dock, Robbie continued, “The birds come in to nest in these trees at night and he doesn’t like them disturbed so don’t use the bathrooms late. Don’t fuck with his iguanas, and don’t catch his fish.”

See, Flaco regularly feeds the small grouper under his docks. Catching them is a no-no. He runs a tight ship. The bathrooms are spotless. The patio is hosed down every morning. His brother Omar is a gem and once they know you’re not the nightmare gringos, they warm up to you in short order.

Our dock mates, Vlad and Carmen, Tommy and Karen, Bruno, Doty and James were so welcoming, we felt like we’d been there for months. The cruiser net on channel 13 starts at 8:30 in the morning and Tim on Tropical Fun did a great job connecting cruisers with needs. There are pizza nights, happy hour gatherings on the dock at Oscar’s, and Taco Tuesdays if you’re so inclined to join in. It’s a tight community that has it dialed in to help cruisers enjoy their time in Isla.

That second “island” I mentioned is the south end of Isla Mujeres, where Marina Del Sol is located. You’ll discover the local joints, the tiny markets and lavenderias where you can get your laundry washed and folded for around $10. Discover the small tienda where two Heinekens will cost you 34 pesos (about a $1.50 USD) verses 40 pesos each at the gringo bar in Marina Paraiso or Oscar’s. Two plates of tacos, rice and a couple of cold cervezas cost about 150 pesos or around $9 US. They speak only Spanish and they greet you with only smiles.

Mel and I did the touristy thing one day and took a trek down to the Turtle Sanctuary (Tortugranja) and Punta Sur. The turtle exhibit is small and some feel that it’s not worth the trip. It’s there to educate and inform people about the struggles that go hand in hand when tourism slams into a small island and exacts its toll on the ecological resources. It was only a few bucks and while it kind of felt like more of a “zoo” than a conservation effort, we still think that it’s worth tossing them a few pesos. While we were there, we treated ourselves to some Mexican ice cream (we chose the coconut flavor) in the parking lot and it was absolutely delicious!

Punta Sur is Isla’s easternmost point and the first place the sun touches every morning. There’s an old temple, and it’s the place where the natives used to worship Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of the moon.

We were struck by the huge statues of Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of the moon, and a very large iguana. Footpaths weave through the many artist sculptures perched among the bluffs. Still more paths and walkways led us down the cliffs to the waters edge where crystal-clear surf misted our faces with salty kisses.

After a long day of walking, we rewarded ourselves with a cold Modelo and some incredible tacos at a little place near the lake, but not before we made a little cairn of stacked rocks on one of the easternmost points and made a wish in the hopes that Ixchel would provide continued safe passages and adventures.

We fell in love with Isla Mujeres. It has everything a traveler or cruiser could want. It’s easy to understand how people go there, intending to stay for ten days, and end up staying for ten years. After just eight days at Del Sol, Melody and I were feeling the roots pushing out the bottoms of our feet. The friends we made after nights grilling and sharing beers and stories on the dock were sucking us in. We had many enlightening discussion about politics, art, and music with people from Serbia, Spain, Germany, and Mexico. Their viewpoints were interesting. Their delivery was calm and hopeful.

We talked about the battle for Isla to retain its identity while it fights off the assaults from developers. I hope she’s up to the challenge. One need not look further than the Florida Keys to see what “progress” really means. Just my personal opinion. I know, I’m full of opinions these days.

The last three days we spent in Isla were spent swinging on the hook in the lagoon. While only a few hundred yards from our friends at Marina Del Sol, our spirits felt the dock roots retreating. And on one morning, when it felt like it was time to go, we checked out.

We elected to check out of Isla and not Cozumel. Checking out in Cozumel would require us to take a ferry or our boat across. Both seemed like a lot of extra effort if you’re not already wanting to see Cozumel (we didn’t). We were also told checking out in Cozumel is more expensive. In Isla, they charged us 270 pesos to check out. Once you pay at the bank and return to immigration with a receipt, they’ll stamp everything and you’ll be on your way.

It’s nice to arrive, settle in and learn what a town is all about. Then, it’s just as nice to weigh anchor and get on with it. Travel. It’s travel for the sake of travel I guess. It wears you down and builds you up at the same time.

The next morning, we tuned in to the net and said our goodbyes as Punta Sur faded from our stern. We were headed for the small towns south along the Yucatan coast. It’s strange how quickly things change out here. The Mexican coast was the unknown. As we were about to discover, it would prove to be incredibly beautiful and more challenging than even Cuba. The Yucatan Channel would have much to teach. Until next time…

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We’re going to put a quick pause on our travel posts to tell you about a couple of cool things going on around here.

First, we were very excited to celebrate our 5-year boat anniversary this past Memorial Day weekend! Yes, on Memorial Day 2012, we hopped on board Vacilando (then named Sonrisa), and sailed out of Panama City, Florida, bound for the Chesapeake Bay. We were green, excited, and scared shitless.

We’d sold our house and almost everything in it for what was supposed to be a one-year experiment. That “experiment” continues 5 years later, brought to you from the Rio Dulce River in Guatemala.

What the… heck. Where did the time go?

The talk of anniversaries is the perfect segue for me to mention another upcoming benchmark. Last June, the 12th I believe, Melody gave me an early and unexpected gift for my then-approaching 50th birthday.

After publishing two non-fiction books, my dream to complete and publish a work of fiction was stuck at the gate. I had started and abandoned several drafts in frustration. The looming “Big 5-0” hung like December fog around my shoulders. I was ready for anything that might help. Melody was ready to toss me overboard. Cue the heavenly lighting effects. The angelic choir… Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Ladies and gentlemen, the James Patterson MasterClass.

MasterClass offers a variety of online courses that are taught by celebrities, teaching you how they do what they do, each one for less than $100. James Patterson teaches a course on how to write a novel.

One morning, I got a lovely email announcing that his course had been purchased for me. The accompanying note said simply, “Because your wife believes in you.” No pressure there, huh?

Secretly, I was already having reservations. I had never read a single James Patterson book. I knew nothing except that he was one of the best-selling authors of our time. But I didn’t read mystery / crime novels and I certainly wasn’t trying to write one.

That said, while on a 10-day production job in Atlanta, I delved into the online course, watching all 22 classes in about 3 nights. It was incredibly enlightening to listen to someone so successful in their field describe their creative process. I really enjoyed his delivery as well. He was no bullshit.

But the thing that changed it all for me, that clicked on the bright light, was how he did his outline. I won’t go into all the details here but by the end of July, I had the outline for my first novel complete. August through November was spent in the library writing and re-writing. In January, when we left the states on the trip we’re currently on, I had a finished manuscript.

We spent the past few months editing and working on the book cover design and our marketing plan, and last week, almost one year to the day, and with the help of my amazing wife, Burning Man was published on Amazon for Kindle, and Barnes and Noble for Nook. In the very near future, it will be available as a paperback from your favorite local bookstore.

For those of you with commitment issues, you can get the first four chapters of Burning Man for FREE at chrisdicroce.com.

As an additional bonus and further inspiration to buy the book, it comes with a FREE 5-song soundtrack that you can download when you purchase the book in digital format. How’s that?

With your help and the help of many others, Burning Man had an incredible launch. If you’ve already read it… and you enjoyed it… please consider leaving a review on Amazon. A positive review helps us immensely.

So, this is how we do it. Making a living while cruising is tricky, but doable. On Vacilando, we have several plates spinning at the same time. Melody sells her fantastic, handmade, nautical jewelry through Maggie & Milly as well as freelance editing/proofreading, and helping other cruisers learn ways to make money via her blog, Saving to Sail. If that’s not enough she’s about to add a few new twists to the equation.

Me? I write. The purchases you guys make keep us afloat. Literally. You’ve all been incredibly supportive, reading along, commenting and hopefully making us better at what we do.  Thank you. From the bottom of our keel. Sorry… my jokes have not gotten better.

Wishing you all peace and love.

Chris, Mel, and the Jet-pack

P.S. A special thanks and shout-out to Mike from Boat Radio, who not only has a fantastic radio show, but he has been an incredible supporter and a great friend. Last week, he had us on again as guests on his show – if you missed our interview, you can listen here, and be sure to listen to some of his other wonderful interviews with other cruisers! Boat Radio has had over 600,000 downloads in less than a year at the time of this writing, so go see what all the fuss is about!

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When we finally were able to get out the channel at Marina Hemingway, we were full of both excitement and a bit of anxiety about sailing Cuba’s northwest coast. We’d read and researched the trip to within inches of its life. We understood it was mostly a downwind run and we knew that entering the anchorages through narrow passages with few navigation markers would be tricky.

The reef that extends west doesn’t really come into play until you get to Cayo Levisa, and you are not allowed to go ashore anywhere on the north coast (west of Hemingway) except at the resort of Cayo Levisa and at Cabo San Antonio when you check in or out…but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.

When we turned NNW at the sea buoy outside Marina Hemingway, we had the morning southeasterlies to push us along. The westward setting current I read about really wasn’t apparent yet.

Once we hit the waypoint we created letting us know it was safe to turn WSW, we beared off to a heading somewhere around 242 degrees. The wind stayed between 100 and 120 degrees on my wind indicator and our CAL loved every minute of it.

Sailing the north coast was some of the most spectacular as well as the most challenging sailing I’ve ever done. The mountains tower off the port side. They are lush and green. Completely unexpected.

The winds here build so predictably, one could set their watch by them. SE from the land as the sun rises — a light 5-8 knots. Around 10am you’ll notice a shift to the east and a slight freshening. By noon, 12-15 knots of easterly winds fill in, and by mid-afternoon those winds are close to, if not every bit of 20 knots.

The sea state is easily provoked and before you know it, calm rippling one-footers have shockingly popped up to 5 feet. It’s all fun and games when you’re surfing and howling with joy on that downwind ride. Then you realize at some point soon, you have to turn beam to and transit over a reef where depths might be 8 feet at best. Those five footers now wanna wash you straight across that narrow channel or bounce your rudder off the reef looming just below. It becomes a whole different kinda howling.

The first stop west, and quite possibly my favorite, was Bahia Honda. I’m not sure why, because there is literally nothing there. They’ve done away with the guarda station there so we didn’t get boarded or even contacted when we entered the harbor.

Bahia Honda is a ship recycling port. The main landmark you’ll see when you get close is the massive, rusting hull of a grounded tanker at the harbor entrance. From a distance it looks like a chunk of coast line. The channel is “well marked” with good depth. Well marked in Cuba means one or two indicators somewhere close to where they should be.

Once inside, if you tuck in behind the shoal in the northeast pocket bay, you’ll be rewarded with calm water, fresh breezes and beautiful scenery. The water in Bahia Honda is deep but if you proceed with caution, you can find an area of thirteen feet to drop the hook a few hundred yards off the tree line. The bottom here is grass. (If you don’t have good ground tackle, you’ll have restless nights all along the north coast.)

Bahia Honda’s beautiful anchorage

The mountains of Cuba are green and rippled like you’d expect to see in Hawaii. They creep close to the coastline here. I was in awe and so wished we could have gone ashore to the small village of Santa Teresa just off the bow. We were teased by the sounds of roosters, dogs barking and pigs squealing.

Our second stop west was Cayo Levisa. The sail from Bahia Honda to Levisa might have been my best day sailing ever. The morning was gorgeous, the cloudless sky was a bright blue, and the water matched its splendor.

The ocean here is deep. Very deep. Thousands of feet deep, in fact, and it can be a bit nerve wracking. One minute you’re sailing in water so deep the depth sounder goes blank and the next minute you have a crystal clear view of the bottom when you cross into the shallows of twenty-five feet. At times, it looks as if you’re in five feet of water. Limestone flats and small coral heads pass by in the shadow of V’s hull.

On this particular day, the wind stayed at 120 degrees all day. The jib was full. The main was eased and drawing like a freight train. Our CAL hit 7 knots and hovered around that number all day long. We entered the reef on the east end of Cayo Levisa with the waypoints from the Waterway Guide to Cuba. While we did see some shallow spots of six feet or so, our trip into the anchorage was without incident.

The afternoon winds freshened as expected, but by that time we were already swinging on the hook. Our attempt to take Jet ashore was met with a member of the hotel staff telling us the guarda had already left for the day and we’d have to wait until mañana to “check in” and until then, we couldn’t come ashore.

Yes, even though we had already checked into Cuba at Marina Hemingway, you still have to “check in” at each port or anchorage in Cuba that you stop at that has a guarda station. All they do is check your paperwork and passports, and fill out a little paperwork of their own.  If there’s no guarda station, you might instead be boarded by guardas on boats to check you in, but not always.

We returned to the boat but within the hour were hailed by a whistling guard to come back in. The afternoon ferry from the mainland brought him back and he was willing to check us in that afternoon. It was swift and quite pleasant speaking with him. He asked me if I had any baseball gloves on board. He said his boy was playing little league and his glove was completely worn out. I so wish I’d had a couple of gloves to leave with him.

Vacilando at anchor in Cayo Levisa The dock at Cayo Levisa

With our check-in done, Mel and I walked the spectacular beach and had a couple cervezas in the incredibly upscale tiki hut at the ecoresort on the island. Completely beyond anything I’d have imagined. We entertained the idea of renting one of their villas on the beach, then we saw what they cost and promptly dispensed with any more of that foolishness.

The beach at Cayo Levisa

The next morning, we were required to do a quick check out with the same guard that checked us in. We were told the ferry would arrive around 8:30am. We got up and over there way early so we sat with a local fisherman who marveled at a cat who simply would not leave Jet alone. This cat came within inches of a certain realignment several times. The check-out process went quickly and we weighed anchor around 9:30.

This next leg west was the longest leg of the journey and the one that had me most concerned. I knew the run to Cayo Jutias would take most of the day and that meant we’d be turning beam to into the anchorage well after those late afternoon winds got going. The sea state would be raging.

There are a few stops in between at Esperanza if you go inside the reef, or just inside the Pasa de la Laja, but it makes for a very short day and I wasn’t really happy with the protection either one provided for how far out of the way they were. While we weren’t in a rush, we were trying to make a really good weather window for our crossing of the Yucatan Channel. Had we not been aiming for that, we’d have stayed another day in Levisa or made one of the closer anchorages.

Overall, the trip to Cayo Jutias was uneventful. With the winds light and dead aft, I hoisted the main and fired up our awesome iron genny. We throttled up to 1800 rpm and maintained a steady 6.5 knots all day. That got us to the entrance at the Pasa Rocondora (about 8 miles west of Jutias) around 4:30 in the afternoon. Yep… The winds were 20 knots and the seas were every bit of 5 feet. We’d have three to four miles with seas abeam before we got in the lee of the huge mangroves that are Pasa Las Barbacoas.

We eased the full main and turned beam to. Jet took up residence in what we call his “battle station,” which is the cockpit well. It’s lined with a yoga mat so he doesn’t slide around when the boat rolls.

There really wasn’t an opportunity to reef down at this point. We had to deal with the conditions and steer the boat. Traveler down. Mainsheet eased. Throttle back. Vacilando screamed into the Rocondora, eager as we were to be resting on the hook. Mel drove us in while I called out headings and spotted the one red marker to starboard. She did a spectacular job of keeping the boat steady.

Once inside and in the lee of the mangroves, we turned northeast and doused the main and headed into the small cove, where we waved at some passing fisherman. With our Mantus firmly set, we poured some rum and enjoyed another spectacular sunset.

Day four saw us traveling inside the reef all day. We got going early. For the first few miles we had the escort of a few official looking Cubans in a well-armed launcha shadowing our boat. They never got closer than half-a-mile, nor did they contact us.

We were making great time under sail with the wind again at 120. Mel tossed a line off the stern with a shiny lure and within minutes was reeling in what turned out to be one nasty barracuda. We were told never to eat them because they carry the dreaded ciguatera toxin. I was later told that in Cuba it is safe to eat the small barracuda. We turned the snapping little bastard loose.

Once past Cayo de Buenavista, you enter the Golfo de Guanahacabibes where you can point a little more south of west. This is a big bay and if the wind is opposing the currents, it can probably get quite nasty. We got close to shore to avoid the afternoon swell, which does occur inside the reef. Don’t let ’em kid you that it doesn’t.

Around 2:30, the wind was blowing at 18 knots, heading for its usual climax as we entered the Ensenada de San Francisco and ultimately our anchorage at Ensenada de Anita. Again, Mel drove us into the anchorage as I prepared to drop anchor. There is some shoaling in the area, but the NV Charts will keep you honest. We didn’t see anything to be concerned about. We found 8 feet and set the hook.

On our last day in Cuba, we cruised out of the anchorage and immediately pulled sail, bound for Los Morros and Cabo San Antonio, the point at which our travel in Cuba would meet its official end. On our now familiar heading of 241 degrees (which you’ll carry most of the way) we passed clear of the Cabezos de Plumajes and landed at Los Morros just after noon.

The dock was freaky scary with its rusty chains dangling and opposing concrete walls but the dock hands are capable and swift to tie you off. The harbormaster was kind, funny and quick with the check-out process.

While he finished up with the official business, we took on fuel, water, beer, and one last bottle of rum. Word to the wise, Don’t buy rum or beer from the bar! Mucho expensivo. Ask them to open the small store attached to the bar if it’s not already open.

With full tanks and our papers in hand, we offered Neptune a little of our rum in exchange for safe passage and headed out the Pasa los Morros. Many folks come and go via the Pasa Sorda, but it’s a bit shallow and Mel and I were done with shallow. We wanted some deep water so we elected to go the one mile more to the sea buoy.

Leaving Cuban waters was bittersweet

Melody and I were really quite sad to leave Cuba. We entertained the idea of turning SE and heading down the south coast. While it was tempting, we decided to go with the plan in place. We wanted to see Mexico and Belize.

We watched as the coast fell off our stern and then quickly regained a passage mentality as traffic separation zones, tankers, and cruise ships were now the order of the day. The ride to Isla Mujeres would have us transiting the famous, or should I say infamous Yucatan Channel where current is swift, the water deep, and the traffic stressful.

Once we crossed over the three nautical mile mark, we doused our Cuban courtesy flag and prepared for the night’s passage. Next stop. Mexico!

Wanna read our other posts about sailing to Cuba? Click here!

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If you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time now, you know how I write. You know that I use profanity sometimes and yes, I can be a bit reactionary and opinionated. Isn’t that what a personal blog is for? Your opinions about something? Your firsthand experience?

This post is purely emotional with a dash of politics thrown in. How can you not glance at the political aspect of Cuba? But… mostly, it’s about Cuba’s sights and sounds. Its food and its people.

For the last 57 years or so, Americans have been “banned” from Cuba. Yes, there have been ways to get there via a third country or by some special exemption to the embargo, but legally, traveling to Cuba as an American tourist has been a no-go.

In January of 2016, former president Obama had the good sense to reduce the restrictions and basically open Cuba up to Americans. Thanks, Obama!

Yes, Cuba nationalized American financial interests without compensation, but that was in 1958. Castro — Fidel, anyway — is gone. The island of Cuba is ninety miles from the American coast. Does it make better sense for a terrorist organization or a hostile regime like Russia to get a foot-hold there?

I know Russia is a “sensitive” topic at the moment. But in my humble opinion, it’s far wiser for the United States of America to step up and use the diplomacy it’s been famous for to resolve a difficult issue. Maybe nothing will ever be fully resolved, but to make the effort means more to me than anything.

I, for one, am thrilled. I don’t give a single shit about the oil refineries that were seized in 1958. The U.S. oil industry has done just fine in spite of it. The minute I heard that U.S. citizens were able to travel to Cuba on their own vessel, I was in. I (selfishly) wanted to meet and talk with the Cubans first-hand. I didn’t want my impressions to be filtered through another journalist’s interpretations or blog posts, much like this one.

Sunrise over Havana as we entered Cuban waters

When we arrived in Marina Hemingway, Melody and I were riding a special sort of adrenaline rush. We had planned for so long to do something like this, arriving actually made me a bit weepy. Once we got checked in and safely parked on the dock, we had one beer at the Tiki Hut and the adrenaline disappeared. We promptly went to bed.

The next morning, we awoke refreshed and eager to explore. We took a right out of the marina and walked a couple of miles to the small village of Sante Fe where we stumbled upon a small cafe. A line of locals blocked a portion of the sidewalk where a guy served up delicious pork sandwiches. For a total of 5 pesos each (about $0.20), we devoured those things, then hopped in a crowded cab for a ride into Havana.

What struck me immediately was exactly what strikes most first-timers to Cuba: the automobiles. The streets of Cuba are bustling with the hum of 1950s American cars. Chevy, Ford, DeSoto, Oldsmobile, and Jeep. But the “hum” is a little different than one would expect.

Just one of the many beautiful old cars we saw

This, our first Cuban cab ride, was in a 1952 DeSoto. What I never knew about these cool old cars is that most, if not all, have replaced their original American V8s with Russian diesel engines. That familiar Detroit “hum” was now a chugging, clunky, smoke-spewing shell of itself. A crime, right!? I know.

But gas is extremely expensive. None of the locals could ever afford to keep those thirsty American V8s. One driver told me buying a new engine was cheaper. Seeing these old convertible Chevys and Fords chug black smoke from their oily Russian power plants makes my head spin, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

When we got to Havana, scooters buzzed close. The streets were alive. Crowded and vibrant with activity. We walked around with wide eyes and an eagerness to eat something. Anything. Street food, sandwich shop, bread… anything!

The first place we found was on the corner of M17, just down the hill from the Hotel Nacional. La Baliza was a small, very local place that served hamburgesas. Basically it’s a hamburger, but since beef is nonexistent in Cuba (as far as we could tell) it’s made with ground pork mashed into a hamburger patty and served with cabbage and other spices. Along with that, they served pina frappes (frozen pureed pineapple) that looked delicious. We each had a hamburgesa and drank enough of those frappes to give us brain freeze. Our entire bill was equal to about 3 bucks.

With bellies full, we braved the heat and stumbled upon a local outdoor market where we ate another pork product and marveled at the pig heads propped up on tables. Other tables were stacked high with peppers, cabbage, potatoes, and tomatoes. Eggs were yet to be seen, as was bread. Beef was nowhere to be found. But pork? Lots of pork and chicken.

The people were incredibly welcoming and willing to engage us gringos with our sub-par Spanish and they were too polite to correct us when we completely flubbed their language.

Mostly, we just walked and walked… and walked. Mel took a stroll through the Panamerican Market and scored some Gouda cheese and fabulous bread. I would have joined her, but carrying a backpack through the market was not allowed. I waited outside and had almost as much fun people-watching.

We ended the afternoon in a place called the California Cafe, which we knew was a pricey gringo hut, but we did it anyway. The young waiter promised his mojito would be best we’d ever tasted or he’d give us our money back. He didn’t disappoint. It was perfect.

A 1956 Buick Riviera was our chariot back to the marina. We talked for a good long while with our driver Jorge and he was pretty candid about things in his country. Rarely will you find a Cuban willing to openly discuss politics. Although no one will say it directly, you are encouraged to refrain from engaging in open political discussions with the locals (so they don’t get in trouble). The reminders are subtle, but they’re there. This is still a communist nation.

Our conversation skipped quickly from politics to cars. In particular, his 56′ Buick. He was incredibly curious about our lifestyle. I invited him to come aboard for a cold beer, but he declined. Jorge wasn’t allowed to visit our boat. We met several people who I wanted to invite to the boat, but they aren’t allowed on board. Cab drivers have to basically “check in” with the marina security when they come to get you or drop you off.

Jorge was very knowledgeable and we enjoyed our conversation with him

One thing we had heard and read was that the food in Cuba is terrible. I have no idea what they’re talking about. We found a small “restaurant” in the tiny town of Jaimanitas, just east of the marina gates, that rivaled any meal I’ve ever had.

Granted, it’s simple. There’s little in the way of presentation and you may not get a napkin. We ate chicken, rice, black bean soup, and cabbage salad. All cooked to perfection and fresh as it’s ever gonna be.

Doesn’t look like much but the flavors were delicious! They make the most out of what little they have.

Up to that point, we had been unable to find eggs anywhere. With the help from a local to communicate our request, the restaurant was gracious enough to sell us a flat of thirty! Real, unrefrigerated eggs with blazing orange yokes that tasted like heaven to me.

I’ve been ranting about the eggs in America since Melody met me. They taste like cardboard. Washed, sanitized, and chilled to their bland, crappy best… ye-ha. No thanks. Give me eggs with placenta still on the shell. Don’t wash ’em, and don’t you dare get those beauties anywhere near a refrigerator.

In our first few days in Cuba, we also had the pleasure of getting to know Victor and his wife Cathy on board s/v Kisma. Victor is a native Columbian with duel citizenship. Cathy is from Mississippi. They’ve been married for 42 years and they’re the cutest damn couple I’ve ever met.

Victor’s Spanish is impeccable of course, so traveling to the market with him was awesome. Passing local fishermen on the bridge, I’d ask him, “Victor, how do I say, ‘Did you catch anything?’” And he’d tell me. I’d ask, “Victor, how do I ask where the bakery is?” And… he’d tell me. Melody and I learned so much from him and loved every minute we got to spend with him and Cathy.

Making a new friend while in line at the local panaderia (bakery) in Jaimanitas. Our local market finds – we had some amazing meals with these simple ingredients

The thing that captivated me most about Cuba was the people. They smiled at us. They tried their best to understand my gringo Spanish. And they never once asked for a handout or gave us the wrong change.

I will be honest. When we first arrived, I expected to be hassled and hustled the minute I dared to escape the confines of the marina gates. The exact opposite occurred.

One night, Melody and I found ourselves lost deep in a neighborhood after the sun went down. I got nervous as two men approached us in the street. I expected the worst. Instead, one of the young men, knowing we were lost, tried his best to direct us back to the marina. When I said we were actually looking for a particular restaurant we thought was close, his eyes lit up and he said, “Ah… Si. Si!” Then he walked us to the door of the place.

In another trip to Havana, we met Ariel, a man with one leg, who walked with old aluminum crutches. He spoke incredible English and insisted on hobbling along with us to show us the neighborhoods Americans rarely venture into. With tour guide precision, he showed us Callejon de Hamel, the Afro-Cuban art district near the Hotel Nacional. He said Americans don’t often visit because the neighborhood looks sketchy. It did look sketchy but don’t let that stop you. You’ll be pleasantly surprised by the reception.

Ariel was engaging and knowledgeable and we learned a lot from him about the Cuban way of life

He introduced us to the artists that created the work we were seeing. He took us to the bar where the Rolling Stones hung out. He was sweating his ass off trying to keep up, but insisted on continuing. He told us about the hospitals (and how there were separate, nicer hospitals for the tourists than the ones reserved for the locals), showed us the food lines and explained the government rationing and the ways of the Cubans that we might not otherwise see.

Then he needed a rest. As we stood together on the street, he said to me, “Governments will always be governments, my friend. But we are people. And people must always be people. We must be friends.”

That exchange will never leave me.

On another occasion, Mel and I wandered into a small house in Jaimanitas that had some artwork for sale on display. It was around the corner from the famous artist Fuster’s house that we were heading to see.

The homeowners invited us in and we spent an hour talking with Nelson and his wife Marianella. Their twin boys were the artists and they were magnificent, each in their own way.

We bought a piece of art but Nelson wouldn’t let us leave just yet. He insisted on showing us photos of himself as a young man in the military. He took my hand and said, “I spent many years in Russia learning how to make war. Efficient ways to wreak havoc and I’m glad we are friends. America and Cuba need to be friends now. It’s been too long.” I couldn’t keep the welling in my eyes a secret. I could only smile and nod. It was a fantastic moment.

Our new friends Nelson and Marianella

This was our experience with Cuba. We didn’t seek these conversations out. We were advised not to engage in political discussions with the locals and frankly, I couldn’t give a shit about politics anymore. I wanted to see Cuba. I didn’t want to discuss how they felt about Americans coming to Cuba. I just wanted to immerse myself and be an observer. It was impossible to be invisible. The people draw you in.

The rest of the world has been visiting and enjoying this country for years. Cuba doesn’t need saving. They aren’t clamoring for the American hand of prosperity to drop dollars from the sky. What they need is an infrastructure that doesn’t collapse on their heads when a hurricane hits them. They need drinking water. They need their streets paved, and if you asked them, they’d tell you they could do it themselves.

I’m torn about Cuba. I know its people don’t have it easy, and I don’t understand the communist economy structure well enough to have a position on how it all might change for them. I do know that the day Starbucks and McDonald’s enter the picture, the Cuban people will be less healthy and probably less happy.

Their reefs, mountains, and inland areas have been unmolested. They have some of the last remaining species of birds and wildlife on the planet. I hope they value that and keep a tight grasp on mining rights and resort construction along their shores.

I’m not sure what this administration will do. Personally, I think Trump is the most dangerous man on the planet. If he decides to retract what Obama put in place, I’m not sure it will change too much for the Cuban people. For me, I would still go to Cuba with my middle finger raised as high as humanly possible so as to be visible from the Kremlin West (our White House).

I’m not a political writer. This is a travel blog. A sailing blog, and some of you get quite perturbed when I even tip a toe in the political theater. But, it’s impossible to talk about Cuba and not talk about the politics of Cuba. The politics of America’s relationship to Cuba.

Please don’t take this as an opportunity to post your political diatribes or tirades in the comments. I’ll delete them. I’m simply stating my opinions and my hope that the USA keeps the relations with Cuba moving forward and not backwards.

What I hope you take away from this post is what I hope you take away from every single post I ever write. Inspiration. If you’ve been dreaming about something, do it. Life is short. People get sick. And, whether you’re married to a supermodel or you have a trust fund of epic proportions, you never know when either one will run out.

If you’re thinking of Cuba, I would say book your flight. Stay one night in the fabulous historic Hotel National and take in Havana. Then, get the hell out and go stay in a Casa Particular — Cuban style. They’re about 25 bucks a night! You can’t beat that.

Engage. Try speaking your crappy Spanish. It’s okay. Mess it up. But make the effort.

If you go to all the Hemingway sites, be prepared to stand next to a hundred of your closest friends who also want an overpriced mojito at the Floridita. Go anyway. Drink the good rum. Buy a Cuban cigar and smoke the shit out of it. I’m not a big fan, but do it anyway. After all, you gotta go to know!

Much love, people.

Wanna read our other posts on sailing to Cuba? Click here!

Thinking about sailing to Cuba in 2017? You’re not alone. It’s the hot topic right now. If you speak to ten sailors in south Florida, nine of them want to sail to Cuba. For the longest time I was one of them.

Many, many people we’ve met feel the same sense of attraction to this island. For so many years it’s been open to everyone except the Americans. For decades, Canadians, Europeans, Australians, Japanese and others have been able to visit — but not us. In Jaunary 2016, President Obama removed the final hurdle for Americans like me to sail their personal vessel to Cuba. That did it. That became our goal.

When we were in the Tortugas this past February, Melody and I said about a dozen times, “I can’t believe we’re here.” The years of doing the east coast, the ICW and then landing in St. Pete were great, but if I’m honest, it seemed like we were a bit snake bit. The dream of sailing to the islands, any islands, seemed to be slipping. Our cruising kitty kept getting hammered. Each year we’d fall a bit short of our goal to shove off.

Not this year. Come hell or high water we were leaving whether we had five hundred bucks or five grand. We were going as far as the money would allow.

In thinking about this blog post, I was dismayed about how I’d get it all in. How does one cover the specific “nuts and bolts” that everyone wants to know and do it in an artsy kind of way that doesn’t read like a to-do list. I couldn’t.

So, I’m breaking up the Cuba posts into a few different chunks. This one is going to be the breakdown post. The Reader’s Digest post for lack of a better description. If you wanna know about the check in process, the cost, the channel into Hemingway and the docks, this is the post that will have it. We’ll tell you everything we learned in our 12 days at Hemingway Marina. The last four days of our sixteen were spent sailing and anchoring along the north coast to Cabo San Antonio. That will be covered in a later post.

Let’s get to it!

The Coast Guard 3300 Form: Getting Permission to Sail to Cuba

Go to a hundred different forums and on every one, someone somewhere will ask, “Do I need the Coast Guard 3300 form?”

Let me put it this way. Do you need insurance? If you have it and never use it, then maybe your insurance might seem like a waste. If you do use it, then it was a godsend.

Think of the Coast Guard form like this — if they stop you crossing the Florida Straights and you don’t have it, you’re screwed. Or, you’re inconvenienced, hassled, and quite possibly turned back. For what it took to get it, I would say do it.

It was simple. Google “Coast Guard Form 3300” and the first thing that comes up is the link to the form. Better yet, here’s a link for it right here. Print it out. Fill it out and fax it in — they provide the number right on the bottom of the form. The USCG will email you back with any questions they have. They asked me to provide an itinerary and under which of the 12 categories of permissions I was traveling. As a musician and writer, I filled in People to People.

Yes, there are some questions that might not be easy to answer at first, like “At which Lat and Long will you enter Cuban waters?” I googled that, too and found a position approximate of where the Cuban waters begin about 12 miles from their coast. Just fill it in. It’s not a test and they’re not going to chastise you if you aren’t exact. Some guy or gal just needs to see the boxes filled in. The actual permit is the application you filled out. It’s just returned with a signature.

Do You Need a License from the Treasury Department to Sail to Cuba?

The simple answer is that you do not need a license from the Treasury Department if you plan to keep your boat in Cuba for 14 days or less.

Under the current rules (although who knows what Trumpet will do), if you’re on a recreational vessel and staying in Cuban waters for 14 days or less, you can use license exception AVS (Aircraft, Vessels, and Spacecraft), which means you are considered a vessel on temporary sojourn. You can read the press release by the Treasury Department regarding vessels on temporary sojourn and the license exception here under the section titled “Travel.”

On the form 3300 there is a place to enter your OFAC license number and the Commerce Export license number. In those spaces, I entered “AVS” to indicate that I had a license exception and had no problems or questions from the Coast Guard.

Now, this stuff seems to be changing weekly, so do your own homework. I’m a believer in having more than is required. I made a copy of the press release that explains the AVS license exception and I highlighted the particular information relevant to us and stapled it to my 3300.

Charts and Cruising Guides for Sailing to Cuba

Here’s what we either already had or bought to aid us in our sail to Cuba:

The Garmin chartplotter was basically useless for this trip. The Garmin charts in Cuba are vague at best. There are large blocks of dark blues and red lines denoting reefs, but no good detail. The channel and sea buoy for Hemingway are accurate if that’s all you need.

Our iPad is loaded with Navionics, Garmin Bluechart for the Western Caribbean, and NV Charts for the Northwest Cuban Coast (Chart 10.2).  I found the NV chart book and electronic charts to be invaluable. They’re loaded with great information and detail, and we liked the usability.

The best tool we used to navigate Cuba fell in our hands by accident. Mr. Addison Chan, coauthor of the newest Waterway Guide to Cuba, happened to be docked on the sea wall at Marina Hemingway a few boats away from us. He and his lovely wife Pat joined us for some rum aboard V one night. When he found out we were headed to Isla Mujeres, he asked, “Will you deliver something for me when you get there?” I said, “Sure.”

It was the latest edition of the cruising guide he’d just finished writing with the help of Nigel Calder and a few other seasoned cruising veterans. He told us to use it if we needed it en route and I’ll tell you this, it’s the best damn book on Cuba out there!

We used his waypoints entering the tricky path through the shallows to Cayo Levisa and it was spot on. If you get the Waterway Guide and the NV Charts, you can do Cuba without a problem. Addison made it easy.

The Crossing to Cuba

If you’re a sailor, you know about the gulfstream. If you don’t… you will soon, and God help you if you get it wrong. We decided to cross from the Tortugas for two reasons. The first, and the most obvious, we wanted to visit the park. One never knows if and when one will get another opportunity to experience this lifestyle so we figured we’d do it while we could.

Number two, the crossing into Hemingway is a more direct route than it is from Key West. A crossing from Key West on a rhumb line of 203 degrees is approximately 100 nautical miles. That course has you beating a bit more into the stream than a departure from the Dry Tortugas. Our course was 166 T at a distance of 94 NM. To counter the effects of the stream, we steered a course of 175 T.

Before we left the Tortugas, the wind had been a steady 15-18 knots from the WNW for about 24 hours. It was slated to abate to 10-15 knots from the WNW for our crossing. We knew the seas would be up a bit but decided to go for it. The weather windows in February are small and close quickly, and we didn’t want to get stuck running out of water in the Tortugas.

For the most part, the crossing was uneventful although with big quartering seas, our auto helm had difficulty handling the course so we hand-steered for most of the night. Thinking the forecast would actually be correct, and the winds were going to die down a bit, we left around 9am. When the wind stayed in the high teens all night, we were forced to slow the boat so as not to arrive in the dark. A reefed main and rolled in jib does little to help the motion in those seas. Looking back, we should have left around noon and not at 9am.

Needless to say, we arrived at the sea buoy around 8:30am. The effects of the stream were not evident until we got to within 20-30 miles of the Cuban coast. At one point my heading on the GPS read 154 T. That will wake you up if your getting the least bit groggy on a watch. Not to mention the tanker traffic as you get close. It wasn’t too bad but we did have to jibe to miss two of them.

The Channel into Marina Hemingway

The first thing you’ll aim for is the red and white sea buoy that stands about a quarter mile outside the channel at a position approximate 23 05.4’N 82 30.6’W. This buoy is not easily seen and it’s closer to the reefs than it is to the channel. Don’t dick around here for too long. The ocean goes from thousands of feet deep to forty feet deep in a very short amount of time. When you get a visual on the sea buoy, you can try to hail the marina on 16. If they don’t answer, try 77. We tried for about fifteen minutes and finally raised the marina on channel 77.

Side note: I was told, and read in many places when researching our trip, to call the marina when you’re twelve miles out and request permission to enter Cuban waters. Good luck with this. They will not answer. For the most part, the radios in the marina are handheld versions. They won’t reach. I tried calling and got no response. When the St. Pete Regatta was coming in while we were there, we listened to several boats hail the marina, requesting permission to enter Cuban waters. Nobody received a response.

When the dockmaster answered our call, he was very helpful and spoke good English. He asked the name of our vessel, our last port, how many were on board, and whether it was our first time into Hemingway. When I said it was, he directed me to leave the sea buoy to starboard and follow a course of 140 T through the markers to G9, at which point I would turn to port and find the blue customs building immediately to my left.

This was all well and good except we were doing what everyone tells you not to do, entering with a boisterous NW wind and swell. Breaking waves will push you across the channel entrance, just as all the forums say they will. On either side of the channel, you’ll see breakers crashing and white water splashing 15 feet into the air.

We surfed in without incident although I did find the 140 bearing to be a little close to the reef. I may have not been on the correct angle when I picked up that heading. Needless to say, our CAL did a beautiful job of helping out on that one.

Check In & Clearing Customs

Clearing into Cuba was easy, fairly fast, and pretty painless. Docking at the customs/immigration building is straightforward, but do use ample fenders and keep them high.

We complicated our check-in a bit by traveling with a dog. Jet did great on the passage across, but needed to pee and poop as soon as we hit the dock. It’s difficult to explain to a dog that he can’t just jump off the boat and “do his thing.”

The custom officials took our lines and were pleasant, fun and amazed we had a dog that big on board. Once we swore up and down that he didn’t bite, the doctor took off his shoes and boarded first.

After a few mundane questions, a glance over all our boat documentation, passports, and Jet’s International Health Certificate, he took our temperatures and passed us on to the two young guarda frontera gentlemen. Those two guys were more amused by our boat name than they were in giving us any grief about our check-in. Apparently “Vacilando” has its own risqué meaning in Cuba. I had no idea.

We filled out the customs forms and headed into the nice, air-conditioned office where they took our photo and stamped our passport. We had to ask them to stamp it in lieu of the paper visa that they give most Americans, and they seemed somewhat surprised, but happily obliged.

With all the formalities over with, they let me take Jet ashore to some grass where he took his first international poop. Ever the ambassador.

Finally, one more officer boarded with a cocker spaniel to search for… explosives? That’s what they said. After a lackluster effort, he tossed the poor dog haphazardly into the cockpit and left without so much as a “piss off.” He was the only one I did not particularly like. I hope he treats his wife or girlfriend better than that dog.

Anyway… I only mention all of this because we went to a seminar about traveling to Cuba where they said the Cubans no longer search with dogs. Um… wrong. If you have a pet on board, and he/she doesn’t play well with others, (see: Jet) make sure you have a plan.

Also… don’t bring drugs or pornography to Cuba. If you get caught with pot or other drugs, apparently it’s an automatic 25 years in Cuban jail. Not worth it.

Finally, we got our slip assignment, and upon moving to our slip in Canal 1, the northernmost canal, we were boarded by two more officials, the agriculture guys. They didn’t steal our apples, onions, or our garlic. They did look in the fridge, but didn’t take anything. Ironically, they were more concerned with the ingredients in Jet’s dog food than with any of the fresh produce we had on board. Not kidding.

They were pleasant, and the only officials who openly asked us for a tip. We were over-generous, handing them $5 because we hadn’t changed any money yet. Don’t do like we did. Politely decline or hand them a coke or a cold beer.

Once the agriculture gents left, we had to visit the dockmaster and get all the fees sussed out. Here’s a breakdown of the check-in costs (which you actually don’t pay until you check out):

• Visa – $75.00 each
• Cruising/Boat Permit – $55.00

The marina is $0.70 per foot/per day for a vessel up to 45 feet. For us, that came out to $24.50 per day. It’s $1.00 per foot from 45 feet to 74 feet, and it goes up from there.

Water is .06 per gallon and yes, we filled our tanks with it, using it to shower and wash dishes, and drank it after filtering it through our Berkey. It was fine.

The power pedestals are new and power is billed at $0.35 per KW. We didn’t need to plug in. Our solar kept us at 100% the entire time.

We spent 12 days in the marina, some of them waiting for a weather window. When we checked out, our final bill came to $510.16.

Make sure to write down what the power meter and water meters read as soon as you land. When a front was threatening, we asked to move to another dock. The dockmaster who moved us was not the same as the one who checked us in or out. Once we moved, another, larger boat took our old space. Upon check out, they tried to charge us for a couple hundred gallons of water that the larger boat had used. They hadn’t made note of us moving and read the wrong meter. Thankfully Melody had written down all of our meter readings. She’s a boss.

Money Exchange & Currency

Cuba has two different currencies: the CUC (pronounced kook), which stands for Cuban Convertible peso, and the Peso. The CUC is the currency that is designated for tourists. 1 CUC = 1 USD. The peso is designated for use by the locals. 1 CUC = 24 Pesos.

When exchanging, the US dollar is penalized 10% and then charged another 3% conversion fee. So, for every 100 dollars you exchange, you’ll get 87 CUC back. Some people try to outsmart the system and change to Euros or Canadian dollars (CAD) before leaving the states to skip the exchange penalty. Right now, the Euro is an attractive conversion, but you’ll actually lose money if you change to CAD first because for every 100 CAD you exchange in Cuba, you’ll only get 73 CUC back (at the time of this writing).

Changing money is easily done in the hotel on the south side of Canal 2. They’ll match the bank rates and save you the wait in line. Some locals will tell you they can give you a better rate, but be wary. One of the dockmasters who shall remain nameless offered to change money for us. We took him up on this since we had just arrived and didn’t feel like hitting the bank (and didn’t yet know about the hotel’s ability to exchange). He exchanged at the same rate the bank and hotel would have given us. Had I known better, I would have negotiated a better rate since he isn’t penalized when converting US dollars and therefore was pocketing that 13%.

One of our friends (who speaks fluent Spanish) was in line at a  bank waiting to exchange money when one of the guards said he’d do it for 91 CUC to 100 USD. A bold move tto make right in the bank, but he did it. I would not advise this.

Since there are two different currencies, when asking for the price of something, you’ll want to confirm whether the price is in CUCs or Pesos. We found that the touristy places typically gave prices in CUCs. The small, local places usually charged in Pesos.

When you stay away from the tourist areas like Havana, you’ll get Pesos back as change which is good, because you can get things much cheaper with Pesos if you seek out the local joints (i.e. breakfast for 10 Pesos, or roughly 42 cents!).

Many local places accepted CUCs (at the 24:1 exchange rate), but only if you had CUCs in small denominations (1s and 5s). For example, if you tried to pay for a meal that was 10 Pesos with a $20 CUC bill, they would have to give you 470 Pesos in change, and most didn’t have that kind of money on hand, so keep that in mind and try to keep small bills on hand for such occasions.

Some people warned us ahead of time that we might get ripped off, and that some locals would take advantage of unsuspecting tourists by short-changing them, or giving the change in the wrong currency, but we were never short-changed once. If we paid in CUCs and got Pesos as change, it always came out right.

It seems really confusing at first, but you get the hang of it after a day or two. Just be sure to keep your CUCs and Pesos separate.

Side note: At the time of our visit, there were no ATMs or banks where you could use your US-based card to access cash, so be sure to bring enough cash to sustain you for your intended time, and extra in case you get stuck for longer due to weather.

Clearing Out of Cuba

Whether you are clearing out of Cuba at Marina Hemingway or another port, the process is pretty straightforward, although different from some other countries.

If you’re cleared in at Marina Hemingway, and you’re headed right back to the states, the check-out process is simple. You’ll just visit the dockmaster, at which point he will give you your bill (which includes your marina fees as well as your visa(s) and cruising permit charges).  From there, you just walk to the other side of the lobby to the secretary/treasurer and pay her. She’ll give you a receipt, and you’ll be on your way.

Side note: The dockmaster will automatically add a 10% propina (tip) to your total bill. This gets supposedly split among marina staff. It is not required and you can request that this be removed — the dockmaster will give you no problems. We simply stated that we had been tipping the staff throughout our stay accordingly, and wished that it be removed. Especially since the bill included our visas and cruising permit costs. Sorry… not going to tip on those charges. By the way, standard tip at restaurants, etc. is 10%. Most Americans tend to overtip, but we found the standard to be well-received.

If you are continuing on through other parts of Cuba (like we were), the process is a little different. When you visit the dockmaster, you’ll need to give him your proposed itinerary for the duration of your time in Cuban waters. Be sure to list every possible anchorage you may be staying at.

Your itinerary doesn’t have to be exact, but it’s important to be as thorough as possible. Along the way, depending on where you anchor, you may have to “check in” at certain ports (such as Cayo Levisa) which is nothing more than simply showing the guarda your paperwork and passport. There is no money exchanged, but if you stop somewhere that’s not listed on your itinerary and the guarda frontera stop you, it could raise some eyebrows.

Once we got to Cabo San Antonio where we cleared out of the country for good, the port captain was super friendly and made it very easy. He looked over our paperwork, made a phone call to Marina Hemingway to confirm that we had paid all of our necessary bills, and cleared us out.

Marina Hemingway: Useful Knowledge

Canal Preferences

You’ll hear stories about the dreaded Canal 1. “It’s horrible! The ocean will break right into your cockpit!” Not so. Canal 1 is quite lovely until a norther blows through. Since they only use the south wall of Canal 1, a strong norther will be pushing you onto the wall. And let me tell you, it’s a very hard wall. A nasty, jagged, scuffed up wall. That said, Canal 1 is closest to the bathrooms and showers (which are located in a building called the SnackBar).

We only requested a move from Canal 1 to the north side of Canal 2 because the front was going to be particularly nasty from the NE and it was going to last five days. Our freeboard is not so high that when low tide occurred we might have slipped under the lip of the wall. No amount of fenders would have helped.

The canals are long. Try for Canal 1 away from the tiki bar or the north side of Canal 2 for closest proximity to the bathrooms and showers. If you end up on the south side of canal 2, you’ll be on the same side as the hotel. Good for changing money but it’s a bit busy there and the walk to the dockmaster and showers is about half a mile. Canal 3 and 4? No mans land.

Wi-fi & Cell Service

This is gonna be short — don’t count on it. The hotel on site sells ETECSA wifi cards for $1.50 CUC. This is the cheapest we found. Each is good for an hour but if it works, it’s slow at best. Doesn’t really matter how close to the antenna you are. We have a booster and it didn’t make a difference. Some days it was great. Some days it didn’t work at all.

We have T-Mobile and although we did have cell service (very limited), calls were $5.00/minute while in Cuba (so we only made one very short phone call to let my mom know we arrived). We were able to send and receive texts under our unlimited plan at no charge but I’m not sure about other cell providers and what they offer.

Taxis & Transportation

Cuba is a funny place. It’s not unlike any other big city. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you might get hustled. If you are a gringo standing outside Marina Hemingway and one of those cool 1953 Chevys stops and you say, “I wanna go to Havana!” They’re gonna charge you 20 CUC. Mel and I did okay. We never paid more than 15 CUC and our best was 13. At least know your Spanish numbers, it’ll help with change as well.

You can get a “local taxi” in a more run-down car for cheaper, often squeezed in among a few strangers. They only operate within “zones” so to get to Havana, you might have to take 2 or 3 different taxis. Our Columbian friend Victor can get a ride halfway to Havana on a local taxi for 50 Pesos, or about 2 CUC.

There are several local buses, but we never rode them. Honestly, after two trips to Havana, we wanted to stay away from the big touristy stuff. We did a lot of walking. If you don’t like to walk, your trip to Cuba will be expensive.

The hotel in the marina offers a shuttle bus but it seemed pretty pricey for where it dropped you off. Cabs regularly circle the marina so you’ll have no trouble getting a ride.

Poop & Toilet Paper

Yes, it’s its own category. Bring your own TP with you. Everywhere you go. Havana, Jaimanitas, bars, restaurants… doesn’t matter. You won’t find toilet paper. The marina does a great job with what it has but I will be upfront about this. Most mornings, the water is off. You’ll walk into the bathroom having to “go” and the toilets will be full. Yes… with poop.

After searching the six or seven stalls, you’ll be confronted with the frightening reality. There is nowhere to poop unless you poop on top of other poop. Sadly, that’s the case. If you know how to remove the lid off the tank and flush the toilet by pulling the chain, you can sometimes get one last “flush” out of the toilet even when the water’s off, but don’t count on it.

Some mornings your anxiety will be unfounded as you’ll get there and find an unmolested toilet bowl. That is a good morning.

Your quads will get an awesome workout while in Cuba as well, because rarely will you find a toilet seat. They’ve been stolen or the establishment has removed them to keep people from pooping and then clogging the toilets with paper. Never throw your paper in the toilet. Toss it in the waste basket next to the toilet. The plumbing can’t handle it. Sorry… that’s the downside.

We met some of the regatta people from St. Pete Yacht Club who were simply stunned and completely mortified at this reality. They promptly left. Their precious posteriors just wouldn’t be subjected to such inhumanity. Not gonna lie, some of the women’s faces were priceless. Cheap entertainment at its best.

Laundry

Marina Hemingway offers a laundry service inside the Snack Bar building on the western end of Canal 1. It’s a drop-off service, and somewhere along the lines of 5 CUC per load (wash and dry), although I can’t recall exactly, as we didn’t use the laundry service there.

Weather

Lastly but certainly not least is the weather. The entrance to Hemingway faces NNW. If it’s been blowing from that direction, don’t attempt the entrance. If it’s blowing hard from the east, you might also want to think twice. The break will be across the channel and it’s a bit intimidating, not to mention dangerous.

If you plan to visit Cuba in January and February, the weather will be the challenge. You may get stuck at Hemingway for longer than planned, or you might be lucky and get in and out without a hitch.

In February, the days were warm and sunny, and the nights actually required us to pull down the fleece blankets. We couldn’t have asked for better temperatures. The only hitch in our giddy-up was the front that kept us pinned in for an unplanned five extra days.

When we look back, we are glad we got stuck. We got to know Victor and Cathy aboard s/v Kisma, Jeffrey the Dutchman aboard s/v Running Free and Alex Peacock, captain of the tallship Lynx as well as so many others. We wouldn’t have changed a thing.

I know this was long-winded, but there is so much to talk about and more to come. If I missed something you wish I had addressed about sailing to Cuba, ask a question in the comments because someone else may have the same question, and we’ll answer it there.

Thanks for following along. We’re trying to update as much as possible. Internet access is sparse so thanks for your patience.

As always, stay in touch. Let us know where you are.

Much love,
Vacilando Crew

Melody and I have been wanting to visit the Dry Tortugas for years. This year, after getting our bottom job done and putting the unexpected jib expense behind us, we headed out Gordon Pass inlet. With Naples behind us and a light but steady northeast breeze, we pointed V toward the Tortugas.

We had a wonderful overnight sail, complete with plenty of dolphin sightings (which always excite Jet). When we passed into the northwest channel and Fort Jefferson grew on the horizon, any fatigue we had fell away. The water turned a bright Caribbean blue, and we were excited to finally see a new place we’d been wanting to go to for so long.

Tortuga is the Spanish word for turtle or tortoise. The Dry Tortugas is a national park 70 miles west of Key West. Seven small islands and some reefs make up the park. Yes, it takes a bit of effort to get there, but let me tell you – it’s worth it.

Garden Key is where Fort Jefferson, the largest masonry fort in the U.S. still stands. Built between 1846 and 1875, it was never actually finished. Settling issues cracked the fresh water cisterns and allowed them to be contaminated with salt water. Fort Jefferson was never fired upon, nor did it ever fire a shot.

There’s a great anchorage just off the fort but it can be tricky because:

1. The anchorage can get pretty crowded
2. It’s pretty deep (20-30 feet in some places), so you have to put out a lot of scope which can be hard to do in a crowded anchorage
3. There is grass on the bottom in some spots which doesn’t make for good holding so you want to find the spots with sand

Once into the lee of the fort, we searched for a bit of water less than 30-feet to drop the hook and found a sweet little sandy spot in about 16 feet and watched our Mantus quickly sink through the clear blue water. Ahhh, now we can relax.

If you’ve been reading along for awhile, you know that we’ve battled with our dog Jet when it comes to trying to get him to use the bathroom on deck. He’s only peed on deck a handful of times over the past five years. We knew he really needed to go, since his last bathroom break had been about 24 hours prior and since we will be doing several overnight trips with him this year, we wanted to use the opportunity at anchor, with the boat not moving, to try to get him to pee on deck, hoping that it would “click” for him and future attempts would be more successful. The plan was to get him to pee, then launch the dinghy and take him for a proper walk and bathroom break shoreside.

Success! As he peed, we praised him and ran to get treats. Good boy! We did a quick rinse with the bucket, now let’s launch the dinghy. Oh, wait… he’s not done. Now he’s pooping on deck. Problem is, Jet’s not a “standing pooper” but instead a “walking pooper” and at that moment, he was walking – and pooping – all over the deck. Bow, side decks, cabin top, you name it, it got pooped on. “Ummm… good boy!” we said, mouths agape as we realized how much shit we now had to clean up. So much for relaxing. Watch what you wish for, I suppose!

The next morning, we went ashore to tour Fort Jefferson. The fort is busier than we expected, but I’d still recommend going. The ferry from Key West docks in the morning and unloads about a hundred eager passengers. Many snorkel on the beach to the southwest of the fort, some tour the fort itself, and others set up tents and camp overnight, something I had no idea you could do! The passengers (minus the few campers) leave on the afternoon ferry trip back and that’s when it gets nice and quiet again.

There are also a couple of sea planes that make a couple trips from Key West each day. I think we were a bit close to their take-off and landing strip but we had a great spot and there was no way I was pulling up the anchor. (If you haven’t already, watch our video at the top of this post to see just how close they get!)

One thing you might hear from others who have visited the Tortugas is that there are no bathroom facilities and you have to take all trash with you off the island and back to your boat, and that’s true to some extent. However, we found that if your trash was minimal and you asked one of the deckhands on the ferry, they’d usually be happy to let you throw it away in the trash cans that they carry back with them.

The restrooms on the ferry are also open to everyone while the boat is on the dock. Use it – they don’t mind as long as you’re courteous. You can even use the outdoor showers on the ferry designated for the snorkelers to wash the saltwater off. There are also outhouses on the beach at Fort Jefferson and while not glamorous, in a pinch… well, any place is better than no place. As far as the fort, it’s pretty awesome to explore and see it all.

For me, the Tortugas always represented the place where I could see the legendary goliath grouper. These fish are rumored to reach 800 pounds and I have always been fascinated with seeing one in the flesh.

Not to disappoint, on our first morning in the anchorage, I just happened to peek over the side and nearly crapped my pants. One of the big boys was directly under our boat.  I think he was hoping for a Dutch Shepherd snack. Scampering for the GoPro, I did my best to get some footage. It was incredible. These guys are huge and he/she isn’t even the big one!

On our second morning, after we brought Jet ashore for his morning constitution, we headed back to the boat when I spied a Cabo Rico anchored close to the beach. I jokingly said to Mel, “Honey, that’s a Cabo 34. How funny would it be if it was Joe and Maribeth?” Joe and Maribeth are friends of ours from our yacht club in Nashville who’ve been cruising the western Caribbean for the last year, and we’ve been following their travels since they were doing the same trip we are now doing. The last we had heard from them was probably a month before when they were Isla Mujeres, Mexico and preparing to head back to the states, so we knew the chances were slim that it was them.

I altered course and as our dinghy got closer, Melody noticed the Harbor Island Yacht Club burgee off their port shroud and we began to smile that special smile you get when you know the universe is conspiring in your favor. La Peregrina was indeed swinging on her hook a mere 300 yards from Vacilando.

We pulled up to their boat and knocked, and let’s just say that they were completely shocked to see that it was us. After a cold Modelo (Thanks Joe!), we headed back to our boat to drop off Jet, then came back over to visit more with our friends.

They were a wealth of information for our upcoming trip. The following morning we toured the fort again with them, and that afternoon we watched with tears in our eyes as La Peregrina headed north for Fort Meyers. They were headed home after an amazing year “of living dangerously” as they put it. Our paths will cross again, of this I’m certain.

There is no wifi, so we couldn’t get weather reports on our phones. We couldn’t even pick up Key West on our VHF for weather and that’s weird because we can usually pick up within 100 miles. Other boats in the anchorage had difficulty getting NOAA weather on their VHF as well. We don’t have an SSB radio on board, so the only weather we could get was via our Delorme InReach. Each morning, the park rangers posted an updated seven day forecast which was a great help in corroborating what we found via our forecasts.

For the most part, the anchorage is exposed to everything except the north and northwest. It can be crowded and sometimes you can’t put out the full scope one should have out to be prepared for a blow. When the big blow came through on our second night, it took everyone in the anchorage by surprise. 40 knots of wind and rain that swings the boat around at 2 am will put the fear of God in you. If it doesn’t, you’re a fool.

I watched a Catamaran drag off into the darkness, and not a person stirred on deck. I had my engine running and my nav lights on along with one other boat. Where I was planning on motoring, I have no idea. It’s all reef. All told, our Mantus drug about ten feet when the wind veered from the ENE where previously it had been all day from the south. I guess she popped out and then promptly dug back in. Oh, how that warms my heart.

Dry Tortugas National Park is an amazing place that should be seen and appreciated. We love that it’s in its natural state. There are no signs warning of heights and dangerous areas. No railings or glaring yellow and black stripes alluding to danger. It’s unmolested and it should stay that way.

We’ll go back at some point, that’s for sure. We missed the loggerhead turtles and the lighthouse on Loggerhead Key. We also didn’t dive the wreck that’s close by but we did enjoy the fort and the people who take care of it. The park rangers are great. Very informative and a joy to speak with.

Anyway, the Tortugas were a fantastic way to decompress and wait for the right weather window to cross the stream into Cuba. We spent three glorious days drinking coffee, reading, snorkeling, and watching the world go by. Then on the fourth day, the winds were in our favor and it was time to go. Havana here we come!

Bottom Job: Check!
Re-provisioned: Check!

And with that, our last hard time commitment was behind us. We are truly operating on no particular time frame. We are, for the first time in four years, Vacilando. As we left the lock and headed out in to Charlotte Harbor, we were excited for our first destination. Melody had been wanting to see the Dry Tortugas since we bought the boat four years ago. On that first maiden voyage out of Panama City, we were headed that way but Tropical Storm Beryl had other ideas and sent us into Tarpon Springs.  We never made the Tortugas. I’ve been wanting to see the goliath groupers rumored to be there ever since.

We sailed down Charlotte Harbor and pointed straight for the inlet at Boca Grande. With our Delorme tracker running, we got a surprise text from some friends from St. Pete. Geoff and Melody (another Melody!) aboard their awesome Ranger Tug texted, “Are you guys coming down Charlotte Harbor? We’re coming in the inlet! We see you dead ahead.” How freaking strange, right? The universe plays wonderful games with us all and now, as we were about to embark on our crazy journey, two wonderful friends were about to pass like ships in the night… er, mid-morning.

As Far Post (their boat) approached us, the wind began to pipe up, and Vacilando was cruising at hull speed. The two Mels were chatting on cell phones while Geoff and I did our best not to smash into each other. After some enthusiastic waving and hand gyrations, we took some photos of each others’ boats and bid our farewells. They were headed for Naples to see his folks. We were headed out to sea, but not before we decided to tuck a reef in the main.

Vacilando under sail! Happy crew!

We did our usual drill and Mel headed up into the now stiff breeze. Not wanting our aged jib to flog itself to death, I began to roll it in. The old girl never made it. The minimal flogging as I rolled it up caused our old Johnson to split wide open at the point where the sunbrella meets the Dacron. A nice, clean, ten foot slit opened up. Honey! Change in plans.

No longer were we headed out the inlet. We changed course, dropped the main and headed down the ICW (again) bound for a safe harbor. Wanna know the ironic part? About two months before we left, we had been cleaning, rearranging and stowing things aboard Vacilando and came upon our spare jib under the v-berth. It had been there since we bought the boat. A nice, hardly-used 135% in a crisp yellow bag. And I sold it. We’d never used it. Never even came close to using it. Our CAL 35 moves like she’s on rails. The last thing I ever found myself saying is, “We need more sail area.” Our 110 Johnson had always been perfectly acceptable. Well, perfect until she wasn’t. Needless to say, no spare jib. I know… I went against my main mantra, “Two is one and one is none.” When you forget the lesson, it will be retaught.

So there we were, motoring down the damn Gulf Coast ICW looking for a spot to stop for the night. Geoff and Melody on Far Post were well ahead and already in Sanibel. We’d never catch ‘em, nor did we wanna spend the money for a marina. We now had a sail to buy. Geoff told us about an anchorage off of St. James City. He said it wasn’t very protected, but it was close to a wacky little bar/restaurant that we just had to go see.

Anchor in St. James City we did. Not protected is an understatement. If the wind is West or SW, don’t stop there. It’s nerve wracking. It’s basically a large open bay that shallows quickly and is well adorned with crab pots. Active Captain has the scoop.

In spite of it all, the shadows were growing long and we needed to stop. We put out a ton of scope and launched the dink. To be honest, Melody and I wanted to simply shower on the boat, cook a hot meal and go to bed but… we had to go see the Waterfront Bar and Grill. Geoff and our friend John Doyle talked of this place so much it had almost become as legendary as Melville’s white whale.

The Waterfront Bar in St. James City

In the dink, Jet took his usual spot up front (picture the Mack Truck dog on the hood of a truck). Mel and I were getting splashed by the steep chop as we motored aimlessly trying to find the channel to the restaurant. I will say, when you run aground in the dinghy, you know you’re in shallow water.

The light was fading and with our jeans soaked we finally found the rickety old docks. The stares were priceless. Jet hopped off and took care of his evening constitution in the side lot. Mel and I gathered on the deck and choked down a couple cold beers and took it all in. I’m simply going to describe it as a… ahem, a very unique place. Apparently, the clams are to die for, but we didn’t stick around long enough to find out. With the day that didn’t go as planned, we just wanted to hightail it back to Vacilando.

It was a sleepless night, and the next morning, we weighed anchor and decided to head to Naples. Once there, we’d make some calls and search for a sail. After about an hour of motoring through the “Miserable Mile” (which is actually about five miles of very shallow water with lots of shoaling), we should be approaching the Sanibel Bridge. Funny thing – no bridge. Just damp, dense fog. Hmmm… looking at the charts, the 75-foot-high span should be less than a half-mile in front of us. Nothing. Nada. Suddenly we heard traffic and when we were about a quarter of a mile away, we finally saw it. Whew!

Believe it or not, there’s a huge bridge right in front of us

Then, a text from Geoff: “Fog! We’re offshore heading for Naples. Radar working. You may wanna sit tight.” Um, too late, buddy. Thanks for the intel. We did end up dropping an anchor just past the bridge, though, and waited until it burned off an hour or so later.

Around 3:30 (or 1530) that afternoon, we entered Gordon Pass at Naples. That is not a fun place. A 30 MPH speed limit will greet you when you come in the shallow cut. Those wonderful power boaters are so sweet and kind, too. Not a single one sped up behind us, grazed our beam and left us rocking and bouncing out of the channel. Not one. Cough. Cough. Middle finger.

We’ve been to Naples before, and let’s just say it’s not our cup of tea. The good thing about Naples, and I mean the singular good thing about Naples? The city dock mooring balls are just 10 dollars a night. There is a four-night maximum, but four nights is three nights too many to be in Naples. On this trip to Naples, there was another good thing. Our pals Geoff and Melody from St.Pete were on the dock. A couple of familiar faces help to soften the blow when things go astray.

After a night of rest, the search began. Sarasota. Annapolis. Fort Lauderdale. Miami. Phone calls. Emails and texts. One call I made was to my old friend Brad Storm, a rigger in Fort Lauderdale. He knows everyone and anyone in the sailing industry. If Brad couldn’t help me, I was f-ed.

The universe, however, works in funny ways, and we should have seen it coming when we bumped into Geoff and Melody. Brad said, “You’re in Naples? You wanna work? I took on a big job and I’m not sure how I’m gonna get it done. I could use the help.”

Let’s now recap: The sail blew out. We diverted to Naples. While in Naples for a day, I’m now planning to get to Fort Lauderdale. All the while, trying to locate a used sail and not spend two-thousand dollars in the process.

I found a sail in, of all places in St. Petersburg! We just came from there! You gotta be kidding me. But wait, it gets better. Remember our friends Geoff and Melody are on the dock. Melody needed to get back to St. Pete to deal with some unexpected issues with a client. She wants to leave in the morning. Geoff calls our mutual friend  John Doyle (previously mentioned) to see if he will drive their car down to Naples where, John will give the keys to Melody and do the return trip with Geoff aboard Far Post. That lets Melody get home quickly and doesn’t leave Geoff doing the trip back to St. Pete solo.

Well, John was such an awesome pal, he went by Masthead Sails, checked out the sail I’d found online and called me with a real-time assessment of the sail. Once he said it was a good deal, I pulled the trigger and he drove the darn thing down and hand delivered the sail along with Melody’s Audi. That afternoon, my Melody and I picked up the rental car, loaded up the Jet-pack and jetted across Alligator Alley, bound for Ft. Lauderdale.

I spent the week in Fort Lauderdale rigging a Little Harbor 75. The days were long but gratifying. Brad and his wife Ingrid are incredible friends who put me up in their home. We enjoyed cooking wonderful dinners, wine, beer, rum, and stories of their younger adventure.

My buddy Brad sailed a 27-foot Albin Vega around the world in the mid 80s. Oh… with no engine. It’s hard to get him to talk about those days because he is humble beyond measure, but… I know the secret. Ply him with alcohol, ask leading questions and don’t interrupt as he contemplates. Do that, and you just might get the story about the Polynesian Chief who tried to marry off his 54-year-old daughter on an unsuspecting young sailor. You’ll piss yourself when he gets to the part about jumping through a window and running off into the night.

Melody spent her days in Naples harassing pelicans and eating ice cream with Jet for his 10th birthday, and hanging with some new friends she made on s/v Ruckus. Personally, I bet she was hitting on some silver foxes at the Dock Bar. You know… looking for Mr. Goodbar? A Sugar Daddy that won’t send her up the mast to change a light bulb? She’ll deny it.

All in all, what seemed like a stressful, unplanned disaster turned into an opportunity to hang with some dear friends and make some new ones. Geoff’s parents insisted we join them for dinner and we were happy to oblige. His folks, along with his aunt and uncle were gracious and funny. His mother shared her Glen Livet 12 with me, happily proclaiming, “She finally had someone to drink scotch with!” Well Mrs. Proud, I’m happy to share a dram with you any time.

This is a crazy way to live, my friends. What you planned for changes. Now, you have to improvise. Shoot from the hip. When that happens, sparks fly, and if you’re lucky, you’ll leave shaking your head, saying to yourself, “Did that just happen?”

So long, Naples! Thanks for the work, Brad! Enough f-ing around, kids… Lets get go see those goliath grouper and the Dry Tortugas!

P.S. Wanna see what happens when Melody tries to get too close to the pelicans in Naples?

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It’s a boat yard. A yard, full of boats. In particular, Charlotte Harbor Boat Storage up in the northwest corner of Charlotte Harbor on the west coast of Florida.

If you’re not familiar with CHBS and you’re on a boat anywhere near the west coast, you need to be. The reviews online tout it as a premiere do-it-yourself yard that is extremely reasonable. I will tell you after our experience there, it’s true. It’s family run, incredibly clean, and well appointed (for a boat yard). The “tenants” (for lack of a better word) were extremely nice from the moment we hit the dock. My only complaint about the place is getting to it is like getting into Fort Knox.

On the Friday afternoon we were scheduled to haul out, as we beat our way north, we had the notion that we’d just barely make our appointment with little time to spare. We rounded the northwest bend into the upper reaches of Charlotte Harbor and Melody and I both noticed the large, low bridge crossing that looked to mark the end of the line. One lonely green marker stood to port marking a shoal.

Mel said to me, “There has to be a channel over there, right?” In my mind I was thinking yes, but my real time vision was providing no clues.

“Sure honey. The charts show a small channel over there and I guess we’ll see it as we get abeam of it.” And… at last, we did.

That channel couldn’t have been more than twenty feet wide. We came into it on a rising tide and nervously saw just over five feet. We draw five feet.

I phoned the boat yard. I wanted to tell them my position and ask for any local knowledge about the channel and the hand-operated lock we’d heard about, which was yet to be seen. Lisa answered and was a bit blasé, simply saying, “nope” when I asked, “is there anything I need to know about this channel? Any preferred route? Side?” Her exact words were, “You draw five feet? You should be fine.”

That was about five seconds before we stuck fast into four feet of mud, 50 feet from the now visible, hand-operated cattle lock on our port side.

A sailboat with a young man on the bow and another man driving was coming through the lock so I hailed them on radio to tell them we were hard aground. There was little room for them to maneuver between us and the mangroves just outside the lock. The excited young man was bouncing around the deck like his feet were on fire.

After many failed attempts to raise them on the radio, I yelled, “Hey! You got a radio?!” The young man said, “Yes!” to which I replied, “Can you turn it on?” (I left off “dumbass!”) He yelled back, “It’s my first lock! I just bought the boat!” The dialogue went on for a scant few seconds until I asked, “Have you got a depth gauge on that new boat?” “Yep!” he said. I actually had to say, “Can you tell me what it says?” “Five feet!” He was about five yards off the mangroves and ten feet off my port side, and he was in five feet. Mel and I were in 4. How ironic.

We sat for a spell in a rising tide and managed to get off without further incident. The hand-operated lock was the next conundrum we had to transit. The rusty chain, no thicker than a cheap dog leash, hangs from the wall along with some small hemp ropes for gripping in an effort to steady the boat. With one hand, Mel tugged down on the chain. With the other she held the raspy, hemp rope and tried her best to keep the bow from swinging into the turbulence. I had the stern but laughing as we were, neither of us were quite successful. If you saw us, you’d have thought we, too, just bought the boat.

The whole event took about a half-hour and no, we didn’t close the lock behind us on the other side. We were kind of flustered by the whole convoluted scene. Some fishermen tossed us a look of consternation as I motored away. Sorry, boys. You close it. Put down your Budweiser ICE and pull the chain. We’re off to make our appointment on the lift.

“Hello, Lisa? We’re through the lock.” It was then she informed me that we still had an hour-and-a-half through the canal to the boat yard and that they closed at four o’clock. My G-Shock was reading three. Then she graciously said to just tie up at the outer dock and that she’d leave us a key to the gate along with any particular information we needed to get through the weekend. It would be Monday before we’d be hauled out. “Okay, thank you Lisa. One more thing. Is our tie up going to be a port or starboard tie?” Lisa said, “Port? That’s left… right?”

I have to say, the trip, once through the lock, was beautiful and unexpected. The Interceptor Canal that leads to the yard is gorgeous and full of life. I would make the trip again just to anchor in that spot for a weekend.

Towards the end of the canal, there is a red marker that will give you pause, as it seems to nudge you right up onto the bank. Thankfully Melody had seen a note on Active Captain that mentioned wanting to take that mark to port because it looked so out of place but take heed, friends, leave it to starboard when you’re coming in, and don’t think about the muddy bank and swamp grass lapping your hull to port. Once through, ’tis a lovely ride to the small dock and a batch of wonderful people who’ll extend their hospitality from the moment your feet hit the ground.

Dean was the first guy to take our spring line. He ended up coming to the boat later that week, sharing some wine and a few beers as well as his stories. He took me to Home Depot on more than one occasion. He took Mel to the market for a bit of provisioning, and on one lovely evening, he clued us into his favorite place for Chinese. Dean is an amazing guy and a talented writer. In the nine days we spent on jack stands, I grew to enjoy my encounters with him and reveled in his stories and storytelling.

V with new bottom paint Yard dog

Rick, Sue, and Boogaloo (their awesome dog) were in the yard aboard their CAL 35, which they brought around from San Diego! Amazingly kind folks who offered up their assistance as well, and gave us a letter to deliver by hand to a friend of theirs who owns a bar in Isla Mujeres when we get there. Rick told us the letter would be worth a couple of free beers.

We got a really cool surprise visit from a blog follower and yet another CAL 35 owner, Jim Marinelli. Originally from Maine, Jim and Judy (his lovely wife) relocated to Port Charlotte and brought along their CAL. They had us over for a wonderful evening of food, drinks and conversation about our venerable vessels. So there we were, in the back woods of Placida, Florida making those connections that make it incredibly difficult to leave a place. Melody and I were saying, “ We gotta get this boat done and get outta here or we’ll be stuck for another year!”

Amidst the sanding, painting and toting all our dirty dishes down the ladder in a bucket to wash with the hose, we also had a lovely surprise from our friends Martin and Angela aboard s/v Mystique! Knowing we were missing the Sunday Power Hour at Fish Tales in St. Pete, they packed up some mimosas and brought Power Hour to us! Thanks, guys. It was a much needed break. Living on the hard is incredibly difficult, especially with a 50-pound dog.

Easy like Sunday morning… (when Martin and Angela are around!)

Speaking of dog, the process of getting Jet up and down the ladder was tedious and stressful. He’s named Jet, but sadly, the mutt can’t fly. He’s a trusting soul and in the end, it all worked out well, but I think we’re both glad it over.

Not being able to use the sink or the head is a pain in the butt. Climbing the ladder ten or fifteen times a day will work the quads though. It’s all about the silver lining, right?

Anyway, friends… with a fresh bottom and a rested crew, Vacilando went back into the water and pulled away without delay. For the first time since we moved aboard almost five years before, we were truly Vacilando. The boat yard was our last hard time commitment, and now it was behind us, literally.

Finally, we were traveling with a destination, but neither Melody nor I cared much about when we’d arrive. The boat moved like she was on ice. She was smooth and gliding along as eager as we were. Jet laid on the port side lazarette, eyes closed, not a care in the world.

Vacilando got back through the cattle lock and out the claustrophobic channel on a hide tide. The only thing indication we’d ever been there was our trusty space heater. We left it on the floating dock. A memento to the climates we were hopefully leaving behind for awhile. Good luck, little heater. I hope you find a chilly cabin or backwater fisherman’s heart to warm.

It was early September and I was so excited for the first game of the 2016 /2017 NFL season. My Philadelphia Eagles had made some bold moves over the summer and everything was looking up. Then… BAM! Christmas. KA-BLAM-O! New Years. Hello 2017. New England Patriots will face the… Falcons? What-the-what? Is this a joke?

Our anticipated January 20th departure came and went quickly as well, and… we were still on the dock. We’d prepared for so long, then got delayed by a strong front passing through the Tampa / St. Pete area. We’d said goodbye to friends and then proceeded to bump into them the entire weekend while we waited out the weather. I was getting anxious, sad, and second guessing leaving at all. So many great people that we were going to miss dearly. That’s one of the – dare I say – negatives of this lifestyle. Leaving the friends you make when you stay too long, and we made some really amazing friends. Frankly, it made me a little cuckoo if you wanna know the truth.

Our friends from the marina threw us an awesome surprise party at 3 Daughters, a local brewery.

Having just quit her job, Melody was also a bit nervous, but fired up none-the-less and provisioning like a mad-woman. Amazon’s stock must have risen a few points last week. Like Houdini, she made it all disappear into the many crevices and cubbies aboard our floating tiny house. Vacilando was ready to launch. So on Tuesday, January 24, we pulled off H-Dock and headed out into the glorious Tampa Bay.

Leaving the Harborage Marina in St. Pete You take the highway, I’ll take the Skyway

Our goal for the afternoon was to reach an anchorage in Snead Island and drop the hook. We were excited to relearn our whole process of being on the move. It was a smooth endeavor. That night was calm as a swimming pool in the cove and it felt so good to be on the hook. We celebrated the entire day with a sip of some lovely tequila from one of many bottles donated to us by our fabulous dock mates.

Before turning in, Mel walked Jet to the bow of the boat (just to see what would happen) and uttered the words, “go pee.” Believe it or not, he did! He peed like a racehorse. The next morning we all loaded up in the dink and went ashore for a proper walk and potty break for Jet before shoving off. Old habits kicked in and Jet got in and out of the dinghy like an old pro.

With an appointment to haul the boat in Charlotte Harbor Boat Yard on Friday, January 24th, the plan was to sail offshore to Boca Grande, anchor just inside the inlet in Pelican Bay, a lovely anchorage just off Cayo Costa State Park, and then motor up the harbor to the channel and down to the yard. If you know sailing, you know that plans rarely go off… well… as planned. We ended up on the ICW for the entire 3-day trip down.

I will say, doing the Gulf Coast Intracoastal Waterway was very different than the Atlantic ICW. The shallow and narrow Gulf Coast ICW was challenging in a southerly blow, and parts of Sarasota Bay reminded me of the Alblemarle Sound. Short, square waves smashed us on the nose all day. It was a tedious slog as the wind was south the entire trip. That is until we headed north up Charlotte Harbor. Then it went north.

We grounded three times just getting out of Pelican Bay. That entrance is tricky, tricky, tricky. Three times! That’s almost as many times as we’ve been aground in the last six trips up and down the AICW. No worries. At least its before the bottom job.

In order to get to the boat yard, one has to go through a lock to get to the Interceptor Canal. A hand-operated lock. It’s a nail biter. We ran aground twenty yards away from the entrance. The South Gulf Cove Lock used to be for moving cattle through on small barges. It can’t be more than twenty feet wide and even then, I might be stretching it. We didn’t get any pictures on the way in because we were too busy holding the boat steady. Melody held a bowline with one hand and yanked a rusty old chain that was flimsy enough that it felt like it might break off in the other.

Once through the lock, the canal was very much like the Dismal Swamp. Narrow with a depth of about 6-7 feet. It took us about an hour and a half to reach the boat yard. Sadly, by then the boat yard was closed. No haul-out on Friday as we had hoped.

Jet in the Interceptor Canal

So here we sit on Sunday. It’s raining, the laundry is done and we’re desperately trying to keep to ourselves and not meet anyone. Word around these parts is, “come in for a week and stay for a year.” Sorry folks. We did that already. We are hauling out, pressure washing, and painting. That’s it. This time… this plan is going to go according to plan. Is that redundant? Either way, Vacilando is happy in some fresh water. Melody is happy in her cozy pj’s. Jet… well, he’s Jet. He’s the king.

Me? I’m good…I’m going to spend some time scampering through the yard and gawk at some boats.

I can’t believe it. The holidays are over and here I sit, January 1, noshing some Dove dark chocolate and almond squares, still warm with the buzz of an Eagles win over the Dallas Cowboys. Hollow as it may be, it’s a nice way to end the season and begin 2017.

Can you believe it? Two Thousand and Seventeen! Where in the hell did the last decade and a half go? Seems like only yesterday we were all freaking out about Y2K and now we’re staring down the barrel of 2020.

New Year’s Day is not as celebrated around here as it used to be. Today marks two years since we lost Mel’s dad, Jim. She’s currently in Little Rock, Arkansas with family. Her trip served as a rite of passage of sorts. The goal to celebrate his life rather than mourn his loss. I just got off the phone with her and I can hear that she’s ready to come home. I’m ready to have her home.

I’ll wait to take the Christmas lights down from the mast until she’s had another chance to enjoy them. It’s warm and cozy onboard V when the colored lights are glowing. Jet is curled up on his dog bed, feet twitching in pursuit of an imaginary bunny or squirrel. Boy, is his life gonna change in about three weeks.

Actually, all three of our lives are about to change quite drastically. After almost five years living aboard and traveling the east coast, Chesapeake Bay, and Florida, we’re leaving. Yep, leaving the U.S.A. Let me back up. I’ll try to give you the Reader’s Digest version.

Last October, we landed in St. Pete for a planned stop. We needed to get some big ticket items for the boat, and we felt that spending a year in one place, without the stress of traveling, and while making some money would go a long way to making that happen.

Since that time, we’ve added a bunch of things to V in order to get her ready for our upcoming trip. In addition to our regular OCD maintenance, we got some necessary items that should make life a little easier on the hook and allow us to keep away from marinas.

265 watts of solar panels, which we mounted on a custom stainless rail system atop the bimini, have been keeping our modest power needs met without a single issue. Even during the short winter days. What a relief to unplug from the pedestal. No more worries about unsafe currents and surges. Of course, our SmartPlug alleviated most of those already but, no electric bill is a pretty snazzy benefit to boot!

New solar panel setup

To supplement the solar, we picked up a Yamaha 2K genny. We upgraded the almost new Profurl, added an extra low stretch halyard to the mast, and some new Garhauer jib cars and traveler controls.

A new-to-us 2-stroke Yamaha 8HP motor will power our new Mercury inflatable. No more rowing a tippy hard bottom dinghy with Jet jutting from side to side, upsetting the “stability.” Let’s see, new memory foam v-berth topper, new fresh water pump, new screens for the hatches, and a Berkey water purifier. Are you feeling me here? It’s no wonder I have not written a post since our friend Mike from Boat Radio wrote a guest post in November. It’s been very busy around here!

In April, we published my second book, What’s Up Ditch, which is featured in the 2017 Waterway Guide. Thanks, Waterway peeps! In September, I completed my first fiction novel (more to come on that in another post). Melody (among the million other things she’s got going on) just finished the edit.

Speaking of Melody, this past Friday, she took the most major step of all. She quit her J.O.B! She was very nervous (understandably), but she did it. Now, she’ll be ramping up her Maggie and Milly nautical jewelry line and doing more freelance work. She’s also about to launch her first online course. Like I said, it’s been a bit crazy around here.

So… on January 20th, or there about, we are shoving off. I would love to be as far away as possible from a television, radio, and any internet connection as they inaugurate you-know-who, as our next Commander-in-Something. Actually, I can’t think of a more symbolic day to leave on the adventure we’ve been working on for the last four years.

Is the boat ready? Are we ready? Is Jet going to be miserable? Do we have enough money? What are we forgetting? These are all the things I’ve been asking myself in the dark when I’m pretending to sleep. Honestly, we’ve been sitting for a year. We’ve never sat in one place for more than four months. We’re rusty and that’s a problem. We’ll remedy that with a brief shakedown trip along the coast before crossing the stream into Cuba.

Our last order of business, once all the paper work is in order, is to get some bottom paint on the girl, and check her running gear and rudder. If we get no surprises, we’re headed for Havana. After that, Isla Mujeres and parts south. Our “perfect world scenario” places us in the Rio Dulce sometime before June. We’re not making plans much past our first and second destinations. We sailors know what happens when we make plans. There are many forms to file, copies to be made, and certificates yet to be secured.

Three weeks goes by fast. Hell, look how fast the last seventeen years went. I’m not sure what you guys have planned for the new year but it is my hope that you achieve whatever it is you dream about. It’s my hope that strength and a calm spirit accompany your trip through two-thousand-seventeen. Personally, I can’t believe how fast all of it has gone. I lost many of my musical heroes this past year and I’m truly sad about that. They shaped me. They kept me company on my night watches and I felt more secure because they were still here. I won’t dwell for too long on that.

But, we are guaranteed nothing. If you wake with a dream or a fire in your belly, don’t ignore it. You owe it to the universe to blast through the bullshit that scares you. You get one shot at this. I know two people who’d love a second shot and I refuse to let them… or their daughter down.