We checked and double checked the weather predictions, inspected the sails, fueled the tanks with diesel, loaded on enough provisions for a small army, and stocked the refrigerator with plenty of beer. We were ready to untie the lines from the dock and head out on our adventure. We left Kemah, Texas, heading toward Galveston. On 11 April 1996, we motored out through the Galveston jetty and into the Gulf of Mexico. Our destination was St. Petersburg, Florida about 750 miles away as the crow flies. We knew a sailboat rarely tracks the crow, a bird that does not necessarily care about wind speed and direction. We had been out into the Gulf of Mexico many times, but this would be our first crossing. Our plan was to exit the jetty and head south on a long tack until we could turn and sail toward St. Petersburg on an easterly tack. If you’d like to learn about tacking, here’s a lengthy but excellent explanation on tacking.
Mother Nature had other plans and after a few hours offshore the winds shifted and began blowing from the south, right on our nose. We altered course and began to zigzag back and forth while the winds slowly pushed us northward. We began to see oil rigs, first one, and then two, until the horizon looked liked a major city with structures that couldn’t veer to miss a small sailboat or even track us on radar. That might not seem to be a problem to you until you look at a map locating all of the oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico.
Oil Rigs-they’re everywhere!
If you’d like to see the number of rigs added each year from 1942 to 2005, click here to check out this cool video. Most rigs are well lit at night and the keyword here is most. As we continued zigzagging throughout the night, we would suddenly see an apparition in our binoculars or hear an odd humming or knocking in the distance off our bow. Day and night we kept a tight vigil watching for rigs, veering port or starboard to avoid one rig only to find another one looming close by. We were slowly being pushed toward the Mississippi River delta and the shipping lanes. It’s amazing how many ships were heading into or out of the Mississippi River and they added one more layer to our vigilant watch.
If you’d like to see the number of rigs added each year from 1942 to 2005, click here to check out this cool video. Most rigs are well lit at night and the keyword here is most. As we continued zigzagging throughout the night, we would suddenly see an apparition in our binoculars or hear an odd humming or knocking in the distance off our bow. Day and night we kept a tight vigil watching for rigs, veering port or starboard to avoid one rig only to find another one looming close by. We were slowly being pushed toward the Mississippi River delta and the shipping lanes. It’s amazing how many ships were heading into or out of the Mississippi River and they added one more layer to our vigilant watch.
We Didn't See It Coming
Finally, we crossed the shipping lanes and the number of ships and oil rigs diminished. After four long days of constantly watching off of our bow, we didn't see it coming. The wind began to shift easterly and we put out full sail, relaxed and enjoyed the nice ride toward our destination. Huge storm clouds were building behind us, but we were so in tuned to watching our bow, we neglected to look behind us and watch our stern. With all of our sails raised, the storm hit raging a wind of over 30 mph, gusting to 50 mph and no way to safely go forward and lower the sails to a storm protocol. Wild Goose began to heel farther and farther until her starboard railing was dragging in the murky salt water. Mark held onto the wheel bracing against the cockpit with one leg to keep from toppling into the water. Down below, with Wild Goose lurching in the wind and waves, I tried to catch all of the things we had neglected to stow before the storm hit. I watched the wind speed indicator as the needle kept turning-35 mph, 40 mph-until I couldn’t watch it anymore. The boat was heeled so far over I could stand on the face of the lower cabinets. There was nothing to do but hold on, hope the masts on Wild Goose stayed in place and the sails didn’t rip to shreds. Mercifully, the storm lasted only about thirty minutes passing over us quickly and heading off into the distance. We survived, the boat was unscathed and we learned a very important sailing lesson-always watch your backside.
Finally, we crossed the shipping lanes and the number of ships and oil rigs diminished. After four long days of constantly watching off of our bow, we didn't see it coming. The wind began to shift easterly and we put out full sail, relaxed and enjoyed the nice ride toward our destination. Huge storm clouds were building behind us, but we were so in tuned to watching our bow, we neglected to look behind us and watch our stern. With all of our sails raised, the storm hit raging a wind of over 30 mph, gusting to 50 mph and no way to safely go forward and lower the sails to a storm protocol. Wild Goose began to heel farther and farther until her starboard railing was dragging in the murky salt water. Mark held onto the wheel bracing against the cockpit with one leg to keep from toppling into the water. Down below, with Wild Goose lurching in the wind and waves, I tried to catch all of the things we had neglected to stow before the storm hit. I watched the wind speed indicator as the needle kept turning-35 mph, 40 mph-until I couldn’t watch it anymore. The boat was heeled so far over I could stand on the face of the lower cabinets. There was nothing to do but hold on, hope the masts on Wild Goose stayed in place and the sails didn’t rip to shreds. Mercifully, the storm lasted only about thirty minutes passing over us quickly and heading off into the distance. We survived, the boat was unscathed and we learned a very important sailing lesson-always watch your backside.
A Brave Visitor
The next morning we found a little bird on our boat. She was a tiny swallow with a lovely forked tail, a rust-colored head and a few disheveled white feathers around her neck. She was probably caught in the storm that ravaged through. She made a valiant effort to cling to a handrail in the wind, but she was exhausted. We scooped her up in a towel and put her behind the dodger and out of the wind. Our offers of water and food were ignored. She just couldn’t find the energy to imbibe. She died that evening, but we felt better knowing her last hours were spent in a warm place and she died as nobly as she appeared.
The next morning we found a little bird on our boat. She was a tiny swallow with a lovely forked tail, a rust-colored head and a few disheveled white feathers around her neck. She was probably caught in the storm that ravaged through. She made a valiant effort to cling to a handrail in the wind, but she was exhausted. We scooped her up in a towel and put her behind the dodger and out of the wind. Our offers of water and food were ignored. She just couldn’t find the energy to imbibe. She died that evening, but we felt better knowing her last hours were spent in a warm place and she died as nobly as she appeared.
Heading into St. Petersburg
On 16 April 1996, we dropped the sails and motored under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and into St. Petersburg. Like the little bird, we were a bit disheveled. But, after our crossing we felt a little more confident and a lot more salty.
On 16 April 1996, we dropped the sails and motored under the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and into St. Petersburg. Like the little bird, we were a bit disheveled. But, after our crossing we felt a little more confident and a lot more salty.
Cheers,
Bunny
What a grand first adventure! I bet it now (after your years of experience) seems so easy. I can't even imagine the fear of that first storm. I also have memories of sitting in the cockpit, middle of the night, staring at the stars...so lovely...until Dad comes racing up from bed quickly making adjustments to our course as I am about to run us into another boat that has been calling us on the radio to warn us we are about to run into them. Oh...you are suspose to listen to the radio AND watch the stars?!?!
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