Preface - That's Unusual for a Blog Post!
This will be a long post. It is long for the simple fact
that we’ve been quite distracted, and because we have been distracted, there
have been no real updates here in a long while.
The post prior to my recent and quick update was in April,
last year. Know that, up until Hurricane Irma, our summer was passing
uneventfully. We planned a cruise to the Dry Tortugas, an island group about
80 miles west of Key West but didn’t go due to an engine exhaust problem. The
repair took most of the summer, largely because the Keys are the Keys. Other
than that, and our bitter disappointment with the end of Stone Crab season when our supply of delicious claws was cut off,
there wasn’t much to be updated.
Then came Irma.
If you don’t want to know, or aren’t interested in, the
details of our Hurricane Irma experience, here’s the short version:
Hurricane Irma made landfall in the lower middle portion of
the Florida Keys on Sunday, September 10, 2017, as a strong Category 4
Hurricane. JO BETH was secured on a mooring in Boot Key Harbor, Marathon, FL,
and was blown into the mangroves which ring the northern shore of Boot Key
Harbor in Marathon, FL when the pennant of the mooring she was secured to
failed. She was the outermost boat in a pile of five. She is now being repaired
at Hinckley Yacht Services, Savannah, GA.
That’s the gist of things. However, if you would like to
know of our experiences of this storm, my eighth and Lisa's fifth,
then please read on. Perhaps what we share will be helpful for other sailors
and anyone who may find themselves in the path of one of these storms, to plan
and prepare.
Hurricane Irma has caused us tremendous inconvenience, but
little more. It has been much worse for so many others. Many of our friends,
fellow live aboard sailors and cruisers, lost their boats in the storm. For
many their boat was their home, just
as JO BETH is ours. Others have been left nearly destitute and stranded. Our
home was significantly damaged. It was not lost.
In 1992, Hurricane Andrew roared across the extreme southern
portion of the Florida peninsula. Lisa and I lived ashore at the time, in the
far southern reaches of Miami. In the area of Dade County where our modest
ranch home was located, sustained winds reached nearly 180mph. Gusts were
recorded in excess of 210mph. The friend’s home to which we had evacuated, a
significant distance inland from ours, was literally torn apart around us. We
wound up huddled in the central hallway, the doors to all the rooms nailed
shut, while the storm screamed in our ears. There were 10 adults and two kids;
three dogs, two cats and one parrot. We sat in ankle deep water, in stifling
heat, waiting for it to stop.
It was awful.
In that storm, we lost our home and almost everything else. Entire
trees were missing from our yard. Pieces of our house lay in the street. We
were fed by the Red Cross. We were fed by the Army. We sheltered for a few days
at a friend’s home in Ft. Lauderdale, FL. Soon after, I went to work for one of
my clients and was put up in a hotel in downtown Miami. Lisa chose to return to
the house to try and save what could be saved. She told me later she would lay
awake at night, while staying with neighbors in their semi-wrecked house, listening to gunfire
in the distance.
We know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that we are
fortunate. We also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we will recover.
As bad as Irma was for us and for JO BETH, it was infinitely worse for others; this wreck was once someone's dream of sailing into the sunset
Just as You Start to
Relax...
On the evening of August 31, 2017, with JO BETH secured in
her slip at Bonefish Marina, Marathon, Florida, Lisa and I lay down in our berth, retiring for the night. I was asleep before her, as she often reads late. She may have had the Atlanta Braves game on the satellite
radio. I’m not sure. What I was sure of, was that Category 5 Hurricane
Irma, a monstrous giant of a storm, was going to miss us. The last forecast I read before turning in, the hum
of the air conditioner filling the cabin with a soft, white noise, was that Irma was forecast to make a sharp turn to the north, missing the
north coast of the Dominican Republic and Bahamas. The predictions were she would pass just east of the eastern most Bahamas, perhaps making a side swipe
against Bermuda with her eastern fringes. Eventually, the cyclone was expected to curve into
the cold North Atlantic waters where she would likely be absorbed by another
weather system sweeping from Canada towards Iceland and Scandinavia.
That was a relief to read. Hurricanes make me nervous.
We had just watched Harvey inundate the Texas coast. Our
friends Ken and Carrie Philbrick, from Port Aransas, TX - also Pacific Seacraft
sailors - were anchored in the harbor of Luperon, on the northern coast of the
Dominican Republic. We would later learn they had ridden out Irma aboard their
Pacific Seacraft 37 named GRIFFIN while anchored and tied into the mangroves
surrounding the harbor. In a FaceBook post, Carrie had said they experienced
strong Category 2 hurricane conditions for several hours, and tropical storm
conditions for several hours more, but were fine. (Ken and Carrie would later ride out Maria in the same location, with
few issues. They’re now sailing in the British Virgin Islands.) There was no
damage to GRIFFIN or any of the boats they knew. For the first time in several
days, I fell into sleep thinking of something other than an impending storm.
As I was asleep before Lisa, I was also awake before
her. Summer mornings in the Keys are gloriously beautiful, cool though humid.
When skies are clear, the stars are still visible in the pre-dawn light. In the
distance, puffy clouds hovering over the warm Gulf-Stream waters dot the
horizon. I had the morning habit of walking a circuit of the marina. Bonefish
Marina was shaped like the letter U, only inverted. At one corner of the U was
the ‘clubhouse’ which housed the marina office and the laundry and shower
facilities upstairs. On the ground level were a workshop, and the ‘Man-Cave;’ an
area furnished with a long table and chairs, a small kitchen and bar area, and
a large flat screen television. As I made the turn at the top of the U, I saw
the television flicker off and go to black. The long, tall
figure of George Ipock stood from one of the chairs. George and his wife Nancy
live on a big green steel hulled ketch-rigged sailboat in the marina basin. He
turned and took a step towards me, the coffee steaming from the mug he held.
“Morning, George,” I said.
“Yeah, mornin’” he answered. “You seen the weather?”
I looked up at the sky. Venus shone brightly, low on the
west horizon. I could see Jupiter and still make out Saturn.
“No, I just got up. We don’t have a TV. I checked last
night. Irma’s still supposed to make that turn,” I said.
George snorted and took a long draw from his mug. “Oh, she’s
still gonna turn awright. Go watch,” he said, brushing past me and nodding
towards the man-cave.
“There’s coffee.”
Once in the man cave, I looked at the remote for the big screen television; it was also the remote for the DVD player and some other connected device. I tossed it back on the table. Upstairs, with the bathrooms and washing machines, was a simple TV I could operate. I passed on George’s coffee and climbed the stairs to the upper floor. I eventually located the remote under the pile of mail and magazines on the small round table and turned on the television. I found the cable channel guide and tuned it to a Miami station - and my heart stopped.
“There’s coffee.”
 |
| Hurricane Irma's landfall in the Florida Keys |
Once in the man cave, I looked at the remote for the big screen television; it was also the remote for the DVD player and some other connected device. I tossed it back on the table. Upstairs, with the bathrooms and washing machines, was a simple TV I could operate. I passed on George’s coffee and climbed the stairs to the upper floor. I eventually located the remote under the pile of mail and magazines on the small round table and turned on the television. I found the cable channel guide and tuned it to a Miami station - and my heart stopped.
George was right, Irma was still forecast to make the turn
north. However, the turn north, which last night had been forecast to be
approximately 400 miles to our east, had shifted approximately 400 miles to the
west. Irma was now forecast to skirt the northern coast of Cuba, then turn and
pass directly over the middle Florida Keys as a Category 5 Hurricane. The
lovely television meteorologist said all of this with an unbroken smile, even while
warning “all who can hear my voice need to begin preparations now."
I switched to another Miami station. More of the same. Even
the cable network news stations were talking about Irma. I turned the TV off.
Outside the picture window, I could see the eastern sky glowing softly in
purples and reds. I went back downstairs to the dock and walked to the southeastern
corner of the marina, past friend’s boats, their air conditioning discharges
flowing into the marina basin. I stopped on a small point of land which
protruded into the Key Colony Harbor channel.
To the south, the Atlantic spread out before me. On the
horizon, a brightly lit ship was slowly moving west; probably a cruise ship
out of Miami, bound for Key West and then Cancun. I sat on one of the chairs
under the small tiki hut and gazed across the marina basin at JO BETH, snug in
her slip, Lisa snug in the V-Berth below decks. A small group of Pelicans
wheeled overhead, headed out from their mangrove roosts to fish. A silhouetted lobster
boat rounded the bend in the channel, heading out to tend their pots, her red
and green navigation lamps dim against her bright deck lights, the voices of
the crew, a murmur over the grumble of the diesel engine. Soon, the charter
fishing boats and the snorkel-dive boats with loads of tourists would follow.
In the light breeze that had begun to blow, the coconut palms whispered. I
stood and I realized I was sweating.
We didn’t have television on the boat, but we have our
laptops and, in the marina, there was excellent Wi-Fi. I went back to JO BETH
and began to read the forecasts and forecast discussions and watch the latest
graphical forecast model runs. The forecast was essentially the same as it had
been the days prior with regard to intensity and the predicted northern turn.
What had changed was where that
northern turn would happen. And in that, there was still some degree of
uncertainty. Irma was a large and impressive storm. It was clear that even if
the Keys didn’t get the brunt of a landfall, there would be some significant
effects felt throughout the island chain. There was also a chance Irma would
decrease in intensity as well. Monster hurricanes, the Category 4 or 5 beasts,
are actually quite fragile. The slightest degradation in environmental
conditions can weaken them, sometimes rapidly.
Lisa’s not a morning person. I sat for a moment in the saloon, listening to her steady breathing. I decided not to wake her and
went back out to walk some more. Walking for me is a meditative experience. I
can walk all day, with no destination. As I rounded the corner of the U on our
side of the marina, I saw the man cave TV was back on. George had returned. I
pulled up a chair and sat.
“There’s coffee,” he said.
I looked at the TV. “What’s your plan?” I asked.
“Shark River,” he answered.
I steadied my gaze on the TV and thought for a moment. Shark River is a long, narrow, and moderately deep tidal
river that penetrates some 40 or more miles into the Florida Everglades from
the Gulf of Mexico. The river entrance was approximately 50 miles north and
slightly west of Marathon. Shark River had been one of our alternatives to go to in a storm; in
fact, Shark River seemed to be every sailor’s ‘hurricane hole.’ It can be well protected
and a safe haven in hurricanes, provided the hurricane tracks far enough east
or west of the region. Ancient, old growth mangrove forests line the river
banks.
On the other hand, it is extremely remote. Cell phones don’t work there, and the only persons who might hear any calls for assistance on VHF transceivers would be those other sailors anchored close by – provided their radios were turned on or still operational - and they may or may not be able to help.
On the other hand, it is extremely remote. Cell phones don’t work there, and the only persons who might hear any calls for assistance on VHF transceivers would be those other sailors anchored close by – provided their radios were turned on or still operational - and they may or may not be able to help.
More dire warnings came from the TV meteorologist. “Prepare
now. Don’t wait. This is the real deal, folks.” Video from past hurricanes,
including Andrew, Katrina and Wilma flashed across the screen to drive home the point.
George turned in his chair to look at me.
“What about y’all,” he asked. “What’s your plan.”
To be honest, our plan was to not be in a hurricane. I
sighed.
“We haven’t decided anything yet. We’ve talked about Shark
River, but that’s about it.”
George turned back to the TV.
“Either way, it’s lookin’ like it’s gonna be bad. Don’t seem
it’ll matter much where we go,” he said.
I slid my chair back from the table and stood.
“Pretty much George,” I agreed. “Pretty much.”
“Pretty much George,” I agreed. “Pretty much.”
George lifted his mug
in the direction of the kitchen.
“There’s coffee.”
“There’s coffee.”
I looked at the TV. The forecast storm track was menacing.
“I know. Thanks.”
“I know. Thanks.”
I turned and walked back into the dawn.
Lisa and I had discussed Shark River as a safe haven, and as
noon approached, we were discussing it again. The fly in Shark River’s ointment
for me is the fact that hurricanes ‘wobble.’ As they move along, steered by
upper level winds and air currents, they frequently lean one direction or
another, a kind of drift. The intense part of a hurricane is around the eye
wall, particularly the northern and eastern portions of the eyewall. As
distance from the eye, or the center of the storm’s circulation, increases the
severity lessens, often exponentially. Very strong hurricanes tend to have
very small eyes, and very thin eye walls. The frightening and screaming winds, those
emphasized in forecasts, rarely extend more than a few miles from the eye. At
the time, Irma’s eye was roughly 25 miles across.
A small wobble would make a big difference; it could put us,
wherever we were, in the less intense western and southern quadrants of the
storm. Or, a wobble might put us in the more intense northern and eastern quadrants
of the storm. Lisa felt Shark River was still a good option to be considered
but at the same time, agreed on the ‘worry of the wobble.’
Another factor in our thinking was the size of the storm.
The storm was so big, that by the time it was close enough to be confident the
wobble effect may have been minimized, we would already be feeling the effects.
JO BETH moves at 7mph in the most ideal conditions. The trip to the entrance of
Shark River would take us at least eight hours. Then, we had another four or
five hours to run up river and get secured. If we were going to go, we would
have to leave in two days, three at the very latest. Once there, we were there,
regardless of what Irma decided to do. Accordingly, we decided the Shark River
option was not a good one for us. We had no idea how accurate that decision
would turn out to be.
Lisa was more concerned about the time it could take us to
move. We began to look at the charts of the east and Gulf coasts of Florida,
and for a brief moment, discussed going to Cuba. However, my passport had
expired long ago. We turned our attention back to Florida. After poring over
the charts and cruising guides, we decided to table the issue for that day. We
would begin getting JO BETH ready and give Irma one more day to maybe change
her mind. It’s happened before.
Prepare for the Worst; Hope for the Best...
We spent much of that Friday afternoon chatting with our
dock neighbors. Everyone wanted to know everyone else’s ‘plan.’ On Saturday morning,
little had changed. Irma was still following the same forecast track, with no indication she would shift away. I had the gnawing feeling that one
more day in which we could have moved was slipping by. I also began to
understand that if we did decide to move, we would not escape the storm. All of
Florida would feel it, some places more than others, but very few in the
Sunshine State would escape Irma. Of that, I was certain. As the pretty lady
with her pretty smile had said, “all who can hear my voice need to begin
preparations now.”
I spent many more hours on the computer, watching forecast
model runs and reading forecast discussions and updates as they were released.
Lisa and I were still discussing a run north towards Naples or Marco Island,
possibly as far as Sanibel or Sarasota. Miami and Ft. Lauderdale seemed to be
less viable options. They were already overcrowded, and the dozens and dozens
of bridges there would be a significant problem.
We did not want to stay in our marina slip for the storm. We
have weathered multiple tropical storms with JO BETH while in a slip. A strong
hurricane is something altogether different. The marina basin at Bonefish is open only on one end, which meant any storm surge would likely magnify
itself within the basin as it flooded in, with no easy escape. Some of the boats
stayed; George and Nancy decided against going to Shark River and stayed on their steel hulled sailboat and our
friends Paul and Deb Silverstein stayed on MOMMA GOOSE, their 45’ trawler
yacht. Both boats were damaged, though not severely. JO BETH’s slip was damaged. David Bell and Brenda Collins, who lived on WIND SPIRIT were in a slip next to JO BETH. Their slip was more heavily damaged. Our other dock neighbors, Ron and
Fran Olson on QUESTERIA were touring the western states in their RV and
visiting family. They and a couple of other owners in the marina had pre-paid
one of two local boat yards offering hurricane haul outs and hired local
captains to move their boats in their absence.
While it is possible our damages might have been less had we
stayed, we had no way of knowing one way or another. Indeed, they may have been
worse. During the hurricane, a large Hatteras motor yacht docked in Bonefish Marina broke
her lines. She drifted about the marina basin, colliding with multiple other boats. One boat sank and two others were badly damaged, including
the Viking Sportfisherman GOLDEN EAGLE, which belonged to our dock neighbors and
friends Mark and Angela Mundy. The drifting Hatteras was also damaged. She was
eventually blown out of the marina basin and grounded in the Key Colony Harbor
entrance channel. Given the location of our slip relative to the location of
the Hatteras’s slip, chances are good she would have struck JO BETH.
I am convinced the safest place for a boat in a hurricane is
hauled out of the water and blocked ashore in a boat yard. The higher the
ground of that boat yard is above sea level, the better. This has been borne
out time and again in all of the hurricanes I’ve been through and those with
which I’ve been involved in my work. JO BETH rode out Hurricane Matthew in 2016
in the Hinckley Yacht Services yard where she was already hauled for the
completion of work below the waterline. No boats which had been hauled and
blocked in the Hinckley yard were damaged during Matthew.
Of course, boats which are hauled can be damaged. Anything
which can catch the wind should be removed, including sails, canvas, etc. A
sail coming loose in the wind can prove disastrous to a boat hauled ashore, and
to those near her. Floating debris can dislodge the stands beneath a boat,
causing it to fall. Still, the vast majority of boats hauled for a storm tend
to do much better than the majority of boats left in a marina slip or alongside
a seawall or bulkhead.
Lisa and I arrived in Marathon in
February, 2017. One of the first things I did was to check with the local boat yards about hauling for hurricanes. Unfortunately,
the boat yards in Marathon, as well as the rest of the Keys which have enough
water depth for us to access were either fully reserved for storm related haulouts, or they were refusing to haul boats
for hurricanes. The refusal to haul boats for a storm is understandable, and
not uncommon. The hurricane haulout can have unintended consequences for the
boat yard and boat owner. In many instances after Irma, boats which were hauled
could not be relaunched because boat yard equipment or service docks had
sustained damages. In other situations, the boats fortunate enough to haul for
the storm had no dock or marina to which they could return. It can be a
Catch-22 situation.
Soon, it became clear our best option would be to move JO
BETH to the Marathon City Marina mooring field and secure her on a mooring. On
the Sunday before Labor Day, we began to remove loose gear from her decks and
around the docks, stowing it away in marina dock boxes. On Labor Day, we unbent
the mainsail from the boom and lowered the jib along with a few other jobs. Early Tuesday morning, in the company of Tim Meuting and Christine Petit
aboard SERENITY, and John Waterloo and Susan Seifert aboard JEZEBEL, we powered
away from Bonefish Marina into the calm Atlantic and turned southwest-west for the
entrance to Boot Key Harbor. Our friends and dock neighbors, David Bell and
Brenda Collins aboard WIND SPIRIT, returned from an upstate camping trip to
make their preparations. They powered over to Boot Key Harbor later that
afternoon.
While we were underway to the harbor, I noticed our
batteries weren’t being charged. Just as the alternator in a car charges the
car’s battery when the engine is running, the alternator on a boat engine does
the same. The battery charge state was good and I didn’t much worry about it.
I had been doing work on the engine exhaust system. I concluded
I must have knocked something loose. I would take a look once we were on the
mooring.
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| Boot Key Harbor, Marathon, FL; JEZEBEL is in the foreground |
The trip proceeded without event until we were in the harbor
channel. I called the City Marina on the VHF radio to request a mooring ball
assignment. There was no reply. I tried again; again, no reply. I called
JEZEBEL and SERENITY; no reply. I switched to the handheld radio, which is
powered by an internal set of batteries and hailed the marina office once
again. They answered promptly and we were told to go to mooring ball C-10.
Jezebel was assigned mooring ball C-9 and SERENITY, D-3. The battery charging
issue was puzzling and with the VHF radio not operating, I presumed I had
disturbed a ground wire.
We were soon
secured on our mooring. Things only got more bizarre from there. When I pressed the electric stop for the engine,
nothing happened. I tried again, with more pressure; again, nothing. Clearly,
we had an electrical gremlin in the system. I turned the fuel supply valve off
to starve the engine of fuel. The fuel line is tiny, approximately ¼”, and fuel
consumption of the engine at idle is so low, that after thirty minutes the engine
was still purring along. Finally, I opened the engine compartment hatch and
smothered the engine air intake with my flip-flop sole. The engine sputtered and stopped.
We had to shuttle ourselves back to Bonefish Marina to get
cars. We also needed to stop and take a look at the place where we intended to
shelter on island. I decided to investigate the battery issue when we returned
to the boat in the afternoon. After our last trip to Bonefish to secure what we
could at the slip there, we returned to JO BETH. I confidentially announced to
Lisa I was going to sort out the electrical issues, and I did. The moment I
turned the battery switches to the 'OFF' position, the plastic switches crumbled
to dusty fragments in my hands, their insides falling into the abyss of the bilges with
little tinkling and clacking sounds.
We were now, officially, screwed.
We launched the dinghy and made a panicked run to the local
West Marine. The store was a mob scene with people buying last minute items for
their own preparations. Our battery switches weren’t in stock. However, one of
the associates gave us the phone number of an electrician who lived on his boat
in the mooring field. I called Alex with Sea Tek Marine, and two hours later, Alex had jury rigged
our system so that we could function and charge the batteries.
Had we gone to Shark River, we would have really been
screwed.
I mentioned earlier that Lisa and I were planning to shelter
during the storm on the island. Lisa attended St. Columba Episcopal Church in
Marathon. The church had recently bought a building with an upper floor, which
was rated for Category 5 hurricane conditions. It consisted of a large common room, with
bathrooms and a kitchen. Windows were few and small, and there were a couple of
small utility rooms. Knowing we lived aboard JO BETH, the church offered the
building to us and anyone we knew who was planning to stay in Marathon. After
getting our boats secured in the mooring field all of us – Tim and Christine,
John and Susan, Lisa and I – went to check the place out. Lisa and I took our
mainsail into one of the storage rooms and stuffed it away. We stashed our extra fresh water jugs in the bathrooms. All agreed it would
be good for a few days, until we could go home.
Later that day, we changed our mind. The storm surge
forecasts had been released, predicting a surge of at least 10 feet throughout the middle and lower Keys, with as
much as 15 feet possible in the Marathon area. The forecast also predicted wave heights on the barrier reef, just five or so miles south of the island shores, to be 20'-30'. The island on which Marathon sits, Vaca
Key, is roughly four feet above sea level. We feared that if we stayed we would
be cut off. Road washouts were a certainty.
(Road washouts did
occur: two sections of the Overseas Highway were removed by Irma’s storm surge
near Long Key and on one of the smaller, lower middle Keys.)
With the setting of the sun, our little group from Bonefish
Marina met in SERENITY’s cockpit to discuss the situation. The decision didn’t take
long. In the span of 15 minutes, all of us decided to evacuate. Lisa and I knew
from our experiences in Hurricane Andrew, also a Category 5 storm, that we
needed to be as far from the sea as we could be. Lisa reached out to friends in
Gainesville, FL, to ask for their accommodation. We are forever grateful they
said yes. Hurricanes have taught us one thing: wind is scary, water is scarier.
The old axiom, “run from the water, hide from wind,” had proven true to us time
and again. Tim and Christine went to a friend’s place near Tampa; John and
Susan went to stay with family in the Daytona Beach area.
The decision to evacuate meant we added tasks to our list.
Since we wouldn’t be aboard the boat until the last possible minute, the
refrigerator-freezer would have to be emptied. We would also have to pack more
clothes. And, since we wanted to avoid the crush of a mass departure from the
Keys, as formal evacuations were to start at 6pm the following day, Wednesday, we were
under the gun to get things done.
We completed our preparations for JO BETH on Wednesday
morning. All of her canvas was removed, her tiller lashed amidships, and her
vents and hawse pipes sealed. The engine was run one last time to top off the
charge on the batteries, then a wooden plug was hammered into the engine
exhaust discharge outlet and secured with duct tape. This was done to keep
water from being pushed into the engine exhaust system and possibly, into the
engine itself. Our storm mooring bridle and chafe gear was double checked. The
wind powered battery charger was secured and the internal brake set. We closed
all of the below waterline seacocks, valves which allow seawater to enter the
boat for cooling, toilet use, etc. JO BETH’s electric bilge and sump pumps were
set to ‘automatic.’ We walked the boat a dozen times. The cabin was so full of
gear, that we were walking on top of things. We notified our insurance company
of our preparations.
 |
| Our last view of JO BETH for several days |
I'm Sorry, but we Really Must be Going...
We decided to drive to Miami and spend the night with our
former neighbor, Maurice Poirier. Visiting with Maurice was a silver lining in
the cloud of Irma. The next morning, we would leave for Gainesville. On the
way to Miami, it became apparent people weren’t waiting for the order to leave, they
were leaving. Fuel shortages were already happening. In fact, we were unable to
find fuel anywhere in Miami. We left Maurice’s early the next morning and began our
drive across the Everglades to Naples, where we would take I-75 north to
Gainesville. The formal evacuation order for the Florida Keys had been given to
start at 6pm that same day and the evacuation order for mainland areas of Florida was set to begin at 6pm the following day.
Lisa’s car is much more fuel efficient than mine. Halfway
across the Everglades, I began to worry. Then, at Everglades City, we happened
upon a Marathon Gas station. There were no cars there, but it was open. We
stopped and checked the pumps. They seemed operational. The clerk in the store
said they were open for business. We filled up both cars and got on our way. By
the time we left, cars were lined up at each pump.
The drive to Gainesville went smoothly until we were about
50 miles from David and Mandy’s house, where we hit the ‘wall of evacuees.’ Evacuation orders were now expanding to include the
entire southern half of the state of Florida, for both Gulf and Atlantic coasts. Normally the drive between Miami and Gainesville takes around five hours total. Ours took 12. At roughly 7pm, we
arrived. It had been a long day.
That evening, we spoke with Brenda and David on WIND SPIRIT.
They were nearly finished securing their boat and were planning to leave the
Keys with their two cats, Tiller and Rudder at some point the next day. We
later learned that they were delayed in leaving and wound up riding out the
storm in a friend’s house right on the southern shore of Boot Key Harbor.
The next few days were spent helping our hosts prepare for
Irma. In Gainesville, storm surge or flooding was not necessarily the prime concern, though river flooding
later proved to be the larger issue for the city from the storm. Most were concerned about tornadoes and prolonged power outages. We donated our share of groceries and
batteries. Lisa and I tried to distract ourselves with work, but still paid
close attention to the forecasts. Even in Gainesville, it was hard to find fuel. I finally found an open gas station and waited
in long lines before being able to top off the tanks in both cars. Lisa and I made one last grocery
run and returned to our friend’s house. It was now Saturday evening. Irma was
expected to make landfall somewhere in the middle to lower Florida Keys Sunday
morning.
We were glued to the Weather Channel and to various
websites, including Mike’s Weather Page and
FaceBook. Soon, our worst fears were realized. The center of Irma was clearly
going to track to the west of Marathon. This would place the landfall of Irma’s
eye near Big Pine Key or Summerland Key – and that placed Marathon squarely in
the northern and eastern storm quadrants. In the northern hemisphere, the
northern and eastern sides of a cyclonic storm are typically the most intense sectors
of the storm, and the sector in which the storm surge is the most severe. We
were texting back and forth with our friends David and Brenda, still in
Marathon, and with Tim and Christine and John and Susan, all of whom made it to
their safe spots. We later connected with Mark and Angela Mundy. They had
originally decided to stay with friends on Ramrod Key, west of Marathon, but at the last minute, evacuated to
Stuart, FL.
Around 7pm, Brenda reported via text that conditions in the
harbor were very rough, and a couple of boats had already broken loose from
their moorings in the western section. Brenda and David have cruised aboard WIND
SPIRIT extensively along the east coast of the US and throughout the Bahamas,
Caribbean, and South America. She said she had never seen conditions such as
they were experiencing. We didn’t hear from her again until three days after
the storm had passed.
On Sunday, September 10, 2018, at 9:10am, Hurricane Irma
made landfall at Cudjoe Key, a small island with a shallow horseshoe
shaped bay, 31 miles west of Marathon. The news reports we were seeing on
television and the reports being posted on FaceBook from those who had stayed were
not good.
The rumor mill was at full grind on FaceBook and Twitter. The
common thread we were hearing was Boot Key Harbor was very bad. There were 226
moorings in the harbor, all full, prior to Irma. After Irma passed, less than 40
boats were said to be afloat and secured in the harbor, the majority of those in
the eastern side of the mooring field. The western side of the mooring field,
where David and Brenda’s WIND SPIRIT had been secured, was said to have been
destroyed.
For nearly three days, we had no idea of how JO BETH or our
friends had fared. The TV news aerial footage, being shot from military and law
enforcement aircraft was maddening as they all stopped short of the harbor area
– again and again and again. We finally stopped watching. We put our phones
down and logged out of FaceBook. JO BETH is a heavy built and well-designed
boat, made for crossing oceans. We felt she would survive, but also knew she
could be damaged. Of course, we held onto the hope that she was one of the few
still on her mooring. Our concern for our friends was palpable.
Finally, on Wednesday, September 13, 2017, we received a
text from Brenda. They were all fine. The home they had stayed in was fine.
They had no power and there were no services on the island. Cell service worked
intermittently and they were well stocked with food and water. Unfortunately,
WIND SPIRIT had been badly damaged. She lost both of her masts and all of her
rigging and railings. Her bowsprit was gone. She was still afloat but would
require major repair. Their insurance company eventually declared her a total
loss.
Texting with Brenda in those few moments was a roller
coaster ride. We were happy they were safe but saddened for the loss of WIND
SPIRIT, their home for 28 years. However, our mood was lifted immensely when
Brenda said they had spotted JO BETH in the mangroves. She was soon able to
text us a few pictures. The following day, NOAA released aerial photographs of
Marathon and Boot Key Harbor. Based on Brenda’s description of where they had
seen JO BETH along with the photographs they sent, we were able to pinpoint her
exact location on the NOAA images. Though she may have been damaged, she had
not sunk.
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| Our first view of JO BETH following Irma - thanks to David Bell and Brenda Collins |
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| NOAA aerial photograph; the red arrow indicates JO BETH |
(Thank you again,
David, Mandy, and family, for your hospitality; and, also, thanks to your kind
neighbors who took us in as friends and plied us with food and drink!)
Getting Back to Where We Started...
One of the hazards of evacuating for a hurricane is being
held back from returning to your home. As frustrating as this can be, we
understand the reasons; damaged or destroyed infrastructure, including
hospitals and medical facilities; no functional utilities; washed out or
otherwise compromised roads, bridges, buildings; and so on. Lisa and I didn’t
evacuate for Hurricane Andrew. We do now for any serious storm. Living in a
disaster zone is not a good thing. It is toxic, emotionally and physically, and
it is dangerous. It is very easy to get hurt. In the wasted and trashed
environment, even a minor injury can become serious in no time. This was something
we had to force ourselves to remember in that evening discussion in SERENITY’s cockpit
when the decision to leave was made.
Brenda and David kept an eye on JO BETH until we could get
to her. Another friend of ours, Jimmy LaValley had stayed for Irma. Jimmy
kayaked out to JO BETH and JEZEBEL a couple of times. He also sent photographs
and kept an eye our boats until we were permitted reentry.
On a sunny and warm Sunday afternoon, roughly 15 days after
the storm, David and Brenda took us in their dinghy through the destroyed
harbor. Winding through the shallow and still murky water, we made our way
towards the spot where JO BETH had nested in amongst the mangrove trees. We
passed over all manner of storm debris: lost anchors, rope and lines, fragments
and pieces of various structures. We were finally able to get close enough so I
could scramble through the broken and twisted mangrove branches and climb on to
her bow.
JO BETH had landed on the outer edge of a pile of five other
sailboats, most of which were badly damaged. She lay at an angle of 15° to starboard and was bow
down by the same amount. Her deck drains were choked with mangrove leaves and limbs.
Stagnant water stood on her starboard side deck. There were items of clothing scattered
about, apparently from one of the other boats in the pile; shorts, t-shirts, a
single tennis shoe. A bra was entwined through the limbs pressed into JO BETH’s
hull. The mangrove leaves had left red, ruddy stains on her foredeck and cabin.
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| In the pile of boats |
JO BETH's hull was covered in deep scratches and gouges, and there were multiple places on the forward starboard bows which were very badly gouged. One of the worst areas was on the starboard side, at the hull to deck joint just forward of amidships. We were very concerned the critical joint may have been compromised. The teak caprails, which cover the hull to deck joint and surround the decked areas, were badly damaged on both sides.
The radar mast which had been stepped on JO BETH’s stern and
held the radar and wind powered electrical generator was gone. The cabling for
the instruments trailed over the battered stern and into the muck beneath the
hull. The aluminum mast and its stainless-steel support struts did significant
damage to the stern area as they departed the boat.
JO BETH’s cockpit area was filled with storm debris and
mangrove branches. Remarkably, the drains were still clear, so little standing
water had accumulated. Equally as remarkable, the plastic compass cover and
chartplotter covers were still in place!
The cabin lock was in place and did not look to have been
bothered. I turned the combination to the correct sequence of numbers and
pushed the hatch open. Inside, the cabin was an absolute mess, but dry. No water had gotten in
below decks, save a bit of spray from the tiny joints and gaps in the companionway doors and
the overhead sliding hatch. All of the gear we had stowed below, as well as our
things which were always kept below, had been tossed everywhere. Some lockers
had opened and spilled their contents all over.
Her cockpit lockers and their contents were dry, as was the engine compartment. Her batteries were nearly fully discharged, but indicated the electrical system was serviceable. We could only see a small area of the rear port side of the bottom, as well as the rudder and propeller, and saw no serious damages there.
Her cockpit lockers and their contents were dry, as was the engine compartment. Her batteries were nearly fully discharged, but indicated the electrical system was serviceable. We could only see a small area of the rear port side of the bottom, as well as the rudder and propeller, and saw no serious damages there.
I took a few more pictures, locked the cabin, and climbed
back through the tangle of mangrove branches into the dinghy. No one said
anything; I had been giving a running report of conditions as I moved around JO
BETH. Lisa took my hand in hers. David started the dinghy outboard motor and we
made our way through the shallows back into the harbor. Brenda gave Lisa a
quick hug. As we glided out of the shallow mud flats and into the deeper water
of the harbor, I watched the ghostly outline of a sailboat, sunk and on its
side, pass beneath us. A few yards west of where JO BETH sat, the mast of another
lost sailboat was visible just above the water. We were one of the fortunate
ones.
JEZEBEL, the Pearson 424 sailboat belonging to our friends
Susan and John, had been pushed far into the mangroves about a half-mile east of
JO BETH. She had more damage than JO BETH and was declared a total loss by her
insurers. SERENITY was extremely lucky. During Irma, she had drifted down onto
the wreck of a sailboat which had sunk on its mooring behind her, her keel
entangling in the mast and rigging of the wreck. She was held fast throughout
Irma’s fury. Remarkably, no other boats struck her. She escaped with some minor
damage to her keel and rigging.
What? Me Worry?
Salvage is dangerous. Salvage is an indelicate process,
even when all goes according to plan. There have been many instances where an
otherwise lightly damaged vessel has been destroyed in the process of its
recovery from some difficult situation. In my work I’ve planned, arranged, and
supervised the salvage of hundreds of vessels. Salvage still makes me nervous.
JO BETH’s position on the outside edge of the boat pile was
to her advantage, as was the fact she remained dry inside. As the salvors and I
saw it, there were two primary options for her recovery. The first was to
position a barge with a crane as close as was possible to her; strap her, lift
her, and swing her so that she could be placed in deep water and taken under
tow. The second was to build a sling around the hull and lay down ‘skidding
materials’ – usually sheets of plywood or old mattresses - to create a
makeshift path. Then, she would be pulled by winch onto her port side, with her
bows turned towards the ‘path’ as much as possible, and drug to deeper water. As
she entered deeper water, air bags would be placed under her to be sure she
didn’t stay on her side and swamp. Regardless of the method, either would have
to be done at high tide. Clearly, the former was the preferred route to take.
As a function of my job, I had been out with salvage crews early
in the recovery process, not only to show them JO BETH, but several other
vessels which were insured by my client. Salvage began in earnest and boats
were moving out of the mangroves and from under bridges, etc. at a decent pace.
When JO BETH’s turn came, one Thursday afternoon, I was caught completely off guard.
I had not been given any indication the salvage was to proceed that day, or
even that week. Tidal conditions were good, but on this day the high tide had
just passed and the salvage crews were only beginning to set up.
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| Preparing for salvage; note the diver under the boat |
I called Lisa to let her know things were moving. She, along
with Brenda and David, drove over to the City Marina Parking lot; from there,
JO BETH was partially visible through the tangle of mangrove branches. I
hitched a ride on one of the local Tow BOAT/US boats with which I had been
working the past few weeks. When we arrived, the salvage crews were just
starting to position the heavy nylon lifting straps around her hull. A diver
was in the water – mangrove muck, really - positioning a strap at the bow. A deckhand was
on her deck, waiting to take the strap and pull it around the hull. A strap was
already fixed at her stern. Glancing down, I noticed mangrove leaves on the water’s
surface floating towards the harbor. Winds were light. The tide was going out.
The crane rumbled to life. Two of the barge deckhands took
hold of tag lines, one at JO BETH’s bow, the other at her stern, to minimize
any spinning she may do as she was lifted. Then the lift began. Once the
suction of the mangrove muck released its hold on JO BETH’s keel, she slowly
rose. Then, with the loud pop and snap of a few stubborn branches, she was swung
out of the mangroves and over the mud flat shallows. The physical lift had taken almost an hour, but after nearly 20 days in the mangroves, JO BETH was freed.
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| JO BETH is lifted free of the mangroves |
The pull to deep water began in earnest. After about 30 minutes,
the barge was floating. The tow boat disengaged and the barge, with JO BETH
hanging from the crane boom, continued to deeper water. Once the water depth
measured seven feet, JO BETH was lowered until she was floating.
A check for incoming water by the salvage crew revealed a dry boat. The towing line was made fast to a bow cleat on her foredeck and before the sun set, JO
BETH was made fast to the western seawall at Marathon Boat Yard.
We had thought the radar and wind powered generator, as well
as the radar mast, was in the mangroves beneath the boat. Once the salvage was
complete, we realized this was not the case. The cables were broken with
nothing attached to their ends. The mast, with the radar and generator, lay
somewhere in the muck of the harbor bottom.
Two days later, on a humid and cloudy Saturday morning, Lisa and I
met with our insurance company surveyor, Steve Mason, from Annapolis, Maryland.
Now that JO BETH was out of the mangroves, it was clear the damages were more
extensive than we had initially realized. Steve completed his survey and damage
assessment with the understanding that another survey and assessment would be
made when she was hauled from the water and moved to a repair facility.
Git 'R Done...
It was unfortunate but unavoidable: JO BETH would have to
leave the Florida Keys in order to be repaired. It’s not that Key's repair facilities
there weren’t up to the task. Certainly, there are some which we would never
set foot in; that can be the case most anywhere. There were more than a few
capable of doing the work had they not been overwhelmed and damaged themselves.
An important factor for us is that JO BETH is also our home. The repairs needed
to be done properly of course, but they also need to be completed as quickly as
possible.
After lengthy discussion, we felt our best choice was to
return to the Hinckley Yacht Services facility in Savannah, GA where we had
just finished our refit several months earlier. We contacted the facility and
advised them of our decision; they were delighted and ready to receive JO BETH.
Thumper Brooks, the operations manager at Pacific Seacraft, recommended the
marine trucking company Deep Water Transport out of Washington, NC, which
specialized in the hauling of sailboats. I spoke with Judith at the Deep Water office on
the same day and made arrangements for JO BETH to be taken to Hinckley. On the
Tuesday afternoon following her extraction from the mangroves, we watched as
she was loaded onto the truck trailer and left Marathon Boat Yard, the truck and trailer turning east onto the Overseas
Highway. Lisa and I found it amusing and almost ironic that the preparation instructions from Deep Water Transport warned us repeatedly to "prepare your vessel for hurricane force winds."
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| JO BETH being loaded for transport to Savannah |
Lisa left Marathon the day after JO BETH for Savannah. Our
friends Justin and Christa Taylor live in Savannah and were about to leave on a
week-long vacation. They needed cat sitters; Lisa needed a place to stay. Since
we like cats, the deal was struck. JO BETH arrived at Hinckley on schedule and
was blocked in the repair yard. I stayed in Marathon to continue working for
another 12 days and then departed for Savannah. Shortly after I arrived, Lisa and
I moved into a small, one-bedroom apartment on Wilmington Island, one of the
barrier islands east of Savannah proper.
Over the next week, we moved ourselves off of JO BETH. Once
she was emptied, we gave her interior a thorough wipe down with a dilution of
water and vinegar to stave off any mold and mildew growth and placed Damp Rid
around the cabin and berthing areas. We stacked our mattresses, cushions, and
all manner of boat gear in every nook and cranny of our new apartment. We then
did at least 20 loads of laundry, perhaps more. We were surprised to only have
to discard a couple of t-shirts and one set of sheets due to mildew.
After multiple additional assessments by the Hinckley
service manager and trade foremen, we believe we have a good handle on the
damages. Boat yards often move slowly, as can the processes of insurance
claims, but repairs are now well underway. The major fiberglass repairs have
been completed and JO BETH is being readied for painting. Thankfully, in spite of the damage to the hull, the hull to deck joint was not compromised. However, additional damages were found once she was at the Hinckley yard; all of her
deck railings were bent and some had broken and fractured; the standing rigging
for the mast is to be replaced, and we found significant, but non-structural, damages
to the keel and bottom. The total repair charges will be just under $80,000.00.
 |
| The down and dirty business begins |
We’re anticipating – and hoping – for repairs to be completed
by mid-summer. At that time, we’ll move back on board, then spend the next few
months in a safe harbor until hurricane season is finished. Our cruising plans
are to return to the Keys for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, and in the
spring, spend some time in the Bahamas. After that, we’re considering sailing
to New England for the summer.
There are So Many Others...
Many of the Caribbean Islands are still in recovery and will be for years to come, as will the Florida Keys. Puerto
Rico is getting a lot of attention, but it's still not enough. Smaller island nations, Barbuda and Dominica specifically,
were literally smashed. And many people in the Keys, and Boot Key Harbor in
particular, who chose to stay on their boats and in their homes during Irma,
did so at the expense of their lives.
Whenever we think things become difficult and
frustrating for us, we remember them.
From Us to You...
Thanks for sticking with us. Thanks for checking on us and
asking how we’re doing. We appreciate it much. I’m back into my posting routine
and have plans to expand things with the blog once we’re sailing again. In the
meantime, I’ll continue to update our progress with JO BETH’s repairs.
Please stay in touch.
Links to those companies and businesses referenced in this post:
www.spaghettimodels.com - Mike's Weather Page - tons of weather information and data
www.boatus.com - Tow Boat/US on the water towing service
www.deepwatertransport.com - Boat transport/hauling
www.marathonboatyard.com - Marathon Marine Center & Boat Yard
www.hinckleyyachts.com/location/savannah-georgia/ - Hinckley Yacht Services, Savannah, GA
