Arriving in Stuart: reflections on a dying river

Arriving in Stuart

The morning in Mosquito Lagoon was warm with clear skies. We weren’t ready to leave this place, so we launched the dinghy, attached the outboard, and motored over to the beach. A short walk from the lagoon, up the boat ramp of the park, and across the parking lot took us to the beach. The tide was up, so there wasn’t much beach there. In the early morning sun, we walked a short distance out and back. We were impressed, but not by the stark beauty of the place or by the endless wonder of the waves rolling up onto the sand. What impressed us most was the line of plastic trash at the tide line. We’re not used to this, and probably don’t see it because there are so very few unattended beaches along the Atlantic coast. With no one to rake the beach, it is littered with the detritus of our advanced civilization. Most consistent were tops of plastic bottles. Most were from drinking water bottles. I counted two plastic tooth brushes in a short distance. There were plastic fragments of other unidentifiable things.

Looking over the dunes, Canaveral National Seashore

Suitably chastened by the vision into this particular hell of manmade origin, we returned to Luna, lifted the outboard engine onto its bracket on the stern rail, and retraced our path back to the Waterway. We headed south past the Kennedy Space Center and, with a half-hour to spare, reached Titusville and the causeway bridge, which will not open during rush hour between 3:30 and 5 p.m. From here we motored to Cocoa and anchored right off the channel south of town. Still in evidence here, as there have been all along since Fernandina Beach, are the hulls of sailboats broken free of their moorings and washed up on the shore by the recent hurricanes. These unfortunate ladies advise caution to all casual mariners who would think to challenge the strength of the storms.

Sailboat fetched up on shore by recent storms

Nearing Stuart, where we plan to spend a few days, we stop in Vero Beach. Vero is a popular destination for cruisers, and the municipal mooring field is nearly always full of boats. They never turn anyone away, so when the last mooring is taken, new boats raft up with boats already moored there. This lack of privacy doesn’t appeal to us, so we prepared to pass the harbor when I looked over and saw an empty mooring ball, the one closest to the Waterway. I called the office and asked if we could take it, and they said, “Sure.” So we moored in Vero for the night, though the dock master made it clear that we would likely have to raft up when other boats showed up the next day.

Vero has it all, and the cruising world calls it Velcro Beach because, once there, sailors may find it difficult to leave. The beach is an easy walk away. There are parks, dog parks, restaurants, art galleries and an art museum, a free shuttle bus to the larger stores outside of town. There’s a friendly happy hour gathering at the municipal marina at 5 p.m. We didn’t see any of that, however. A week of windy, rainy weather is forecast to start tomorrow afternoon, and we’d like to be in Stuart by then. So we had showers in the marina, took the dinghy over to the nearby Riverside Cafe for happy hour, and left early the next morning.

Expecting windy and choppy conditions on the Waterway, we hoisted the dinghy back up onto the foredeck and lashed it down. The northeast wind built as we motored south, and before too long, we unfurled the genoa and turned off the engine, making 5 to 6 kts by sail alone. There were waves on the Indian River, through which we were sailing, but they were not nearly as high as what had followed us on the Chesapeake, on the Pamlico Sound, or on the Atlantic Ocean off Charleston. We had a really pleasant run down to the St. Lucie Inlet, where we turned to windward up the St. Lucie River and finally furled the sail. From there, we motored the final few miles upriver to the mooring field at Sunset Bay Marina.

The St. Lucie River is remarkable. A short stretch of water that drains the counties east of Lake Okeechobee (and the lake itself, it turns out) to the Indian River and the ocean beyond, its color is unique and nearly beyond description. In Luna’s wake and in the bucket we hoisted up, the water is a sickly shade of brownish-gray. Not the clear tea-brown tannin color of the Alligator River, nor the sediment-rich chocolate color of parts of Lake Champlain after a rainstorm, the St. Lucie simply looks dead.

The St. Lucie River is brown in the outboard's wake

Now I’m no stranger to toxic rivers. I was in Cleveland when the Cuyahoga River caught fire in 1969. Of course, that was Ohio, and the river is cleaner now. The area known as the Flats in Cleveland, through which it flows, has become a tourist attraction with restaurants, a brewery, and a river walk. But this is Florida, where in the nexus of politics, business interests, and the environment, greed and power prevail, usually at the earth’s expense.

The South Florida Water Management District, which maintains authority over the health of the river, noted that:

The St. Lucie River and Estuary is an ecological jewel on Florida's Treasure Coast that is integral to the environmental and economic well-being of Martin and St. Lucie counties. The St. Lucie is part of the larger Indian River Lagoon system, the most diverse estuarine environment in North America with more than 4,000 plant and animal species, including manatees, oysters, dolphins, sea turtles and seahorses.

 This sounds good so far. But the environmental group, Rivers Coalition, fills in the background with more detail in a 2007 report. You can read the entire astonishing story of the death of the St. Lucie River here: riverscoalition.org/reports-info/st-lucie-rivers-decline.

According to this report, the modern history of the St. Lucie River began in 1898, when a group of local businessmen, seeking a more direct route to the sea, created the St. Lucie Inlet. This cut in the shoreline allowed salt water to enter the brackish Indian River Lagoon and mix with the fresh water of the lower St. Lucie River. This infusion of salt water extended the estuary and created a rich marine environment in the river, which became densely populated with sea grasses, oysters, clams, and numerous salt water fish. Four U.S. Presidents, starting with Grover Cleveland, fished in the lower St. Lucie River and outside the St. Lucie Inlet.

In 1925, the state of Florida dug the infamous C-44, a canal connecting Lake Okeechobee to the St. Lucie River. This single event marked the beginning of the end of this “ecological jewel.” The canal was deepened after World War II and was followed by canals C-23 and C-24 to drain the marshlands of St. Lucie and Martin counties and permit agricultural and residential development.

As chemical-dependent modern agriculture spread and the pace of urban development quickened, the canals allowed the rapid discharge of pollutants and fresh water from Lake Okeechobee. The local fishery, the sea grass, clams, and oysters disappeared, and, in their place, algae grew in the turbid, nutrient-rich water. In 1950, a coalition of businessmen formed the River League to combat the damage.

When the Cuyahoga burned — and 1969 wasn’t the first time — Time Magazine covered the story, Randy Newman wrote a song, and the attention of the nation focused on the health of its rivers. The EPA was created in 1972 in response to the disaster, and the Endangered Species and Clean Water acts followed. Many new regulations and agencies, both state and federal, indicated a strong government response to the problem of water pollution. Over the ensuing years, more than 21 different government agencies have overseen the deteriorating conditions in the St. Lucie River. Yet, the water quality continued to decline through the 1980’s and 1990’s.

Between 2003 and 2007, the prevalence of cancerous lesions in bottle-nosed dolphins in the lower Indian River increased from 3% to 42%. Apparently, the dolphins have gotten the message. The commander and I have seen dolphins nearly every day along the Waterway, as far north as the Chesapeake Bay. But approaching the St. Lucie, we saw no dolphins whatsoever. Perhaps there are no fish for them to eat.

In 2009, a coalition of environmental groups successfully sued the EPA, challenging the decades-long delay by state and local governments to limit pollution in the St. Lucie. The EPA agreed to limit sewage, pesticide, and fertilizer discharges into the river, but in 2013, even as a massive outbreak of blue-green algae covered the river, the EPA returned to court to attempt to loosen the restrictions.

Agricultural interests depend on Lake Okeechobee for irrigation during dry times, so they lobby to maintain high water levels there. The Water Management District has built a series of catchment basins built to contain runoff when the lake level gets too high. These would direct the water slowly into the Everglades away from the river, but they are inadequate to contain the water during periods of heavy rains. And so 62 billion gallons of toxic water continue to flow annually into the St. Lucie river. Yet industrial farmers continue to demand through their lobbyists and their political allies at the local, state, and federal levels that the high water levels in Lake Okeechobee be maintained. At this point, I should point out that Lake Okeechobee is sugar cane country. Sugar is the crop for which the health of the estuary is sacrificed. The United States Sugar Corporation abetted by the Federal Environmental Protection Agency, and the South Florida Water Management District have been the ones fighting to maintain this unhealthy situation.

To me, as we sit on Luna moored in the dead river, the foregoing is a cautionary tale. The Clean Water Act and the EPA have not had the power to solve this problem. The EPA’s 2013 effort to loosen restrictions on the pollution of the river occurred during the administration of a liberal, environmentally conscious president. Florida’s politicians may be easily corrupted, but apparently even on the federal level there is not the will to change. Imagine what will happen under the rule of a political party committed to weakening or dismantling environmental protections.

View of the Sunset from the mooring at Sunset Bay Marina

Beyond its doorstep darkened by the polluted river, Stuart is a pretty nice place to be. It’s one of those Florida coastal towns that line up along the Federal Highway (U.S. Route 1) like beads on a string. And in common with some of the other small towns like Fernandina Beach and New Smyrna Beach, Stuart is bisected by the railroad which goes right through the town. The freight trains seem to travel mainly at night. And out on Luna, it’s not the lonesome whistle of Hank Williams and Jimmy Rodgers we hear calling at 3 a.m. It’s the blare of the diesel airhorns, Mroooot, Mroooot, Mroot, Mroooooot, that comes as the train passes the empty crossings.

Cross the tracks, and there is a cute little downtown with restaurants, galleries, and boutiques. It’s all within walking distance of the marina. We can walk a little further to a bakery with decent bread and delicious croissants. There is a decent Taco Shack, where we had lunch with our boat neighbors, who had sailed down from their home a little north of here. The supermarket is also within walking distance.

The Commander and Mike at Ground Floor Farm

While walking about, we discovered an urban farm and café, the Ground Floor Farm. Here they grow vegetables in individual pots and raised beds on about an acre of land behind the building, which serves as a farmstead and café. We spent some time talking with Mike, one of the young farmers whose enthusiasm for the project is infectious. They are experimenting with different growing methods. They use closely spaced individual pots (plastic bags of soil and compost) because the Florida soil is mostly sand there, and because nematodes in the soil would destroy the plants. Their chemical-free method uses far less water than a conventional garden would use. We had lunch in the café, organic food grown there or locally sourced. We bought a loaf of their excellent sourdough bread, a bag of fresh salad greens, a few very tasty heirloom tomatoes, and a jar of their incredible chipotle dill pickles.

Theirs is a soul-restoring operation that provides us a much needed counterpoint to the seemingly hopeless situation out on the river. Yet even on the river, there are groups working to clean up and raise awareness of environmental issues. Beyond the touristy downtown, there is a community of people here that I believe we would be happy to get to know.

A couple miles from the marina is Enterprise, and we walked out to rent a car. Enterprise would pick us up, but we felt we needed the exercise. The car allowed us to get some stuff at West Marine and the hardware store. Back on Luna, I replaced the float switch on the bilge pump that turns it on automatically if the water level rises in the bilge. This was clearly not operational when the heat exchanger sprang a leak back in the Georgia sea islands. I also replaced the hoses on the hot water tank so when we use the engine we will have hot water.

Later, we also took our spare propane tank to be refilled at the local Ferrelgas Company, and we drove out to Staples to exchange the CO2 cylinder in the Sodastream we brought with us to make seltzer on the boat.

The rental car allowed us to do some sightseeing, so we drove north a few miles to Jensen Beach to walk in the sand and sit by the surf for a while. Just to the west, across the Intracoastal Waterway, is Conchy Joe’s, a seafood restaurant on the river. On their covered deck overlooking the water (and trying to overlook the other patrons who were feeding the seagulls out the open window), we had a plate of oysters. The commander had a bowl of clam chowder, and I, anticipating the next leg of Luna’s travels to the Bahamas, had an excellent bowl of conch chowder and a Kalik. The food and atmosphere here were good, and we’ll come back, I’m sure.

Even with the solar panel, we run the generator in the mornings.

There are a few loose ends to address on our final day or two here. I need to get below the V-berth in the bow to reconnect the Y-valve and macerator pump to the holding tank. This allows us to pump its contents overboard once out in the ocean and in the Bahamas where pump out facilities are scarce. Near the holding tank is the transducer for the depth finder, which I will inspect and clean. The Commander needs to wash the sheets and a few other things.

Looking back on this leg of the journey, we’ve covered about 1,200 miles and have spent more than two months living aboard Luna. The voyage has been different than last time. There was the nearly constant anxiety about storms at the beginning. The Waterway has been almost empty of other travelers, and we’ve missed the camaraderie of our last trip when we had friends who were making the trip at the same time. Storms have left the Waterway shallow in places, and we’ve taken extra care and paid close attention to the tides to avoid running aground. And the economy has improved since we travelled this course four years ago, but quite unevenly so. Larger and larger houses now mark (we would say, “mar”) parts of the waterway.

On the other hand, traveling alone and not needing to keep up with companions in faster boats, we’ve been able to sail much more than we did before. And we’ve travelled with much more confidence than on our last trip four years ago. The confidence has paid off. By this time on the last cruise, we’d called TowBoatU.S. twice for help. So far this year, we haven’t had to call for help once.

Authentic Jamaican food in Stuart

Stuart was the Sailfish Capital in the better days of the local fishing industry

South through Florida

Zen and the Art of Sailboat Maintenance—South Through Florida

Fernandina Beach, just south of the Georgia border, was surprisingly busy. It turns out the Florida vs. Georgia football game is in Jacksonville tomorrow, and lots of Bulldog fans stay over in Fernandina. The town is abuzz, the sidewalks are full, the stores are open in the evening, and the restaurants serve — what else ?— gator tail. Georgia fans outnumber Florida fans here by a large margin.

As we left the next morning, we were apprehensive about the section of the Waterway that courses through Jacksonville. But the “biggest tailgate party of the year,” as the football game is known, does not extend to parks along the river. We cruised through easily and ended up in St. Augustine, just north of the Vilano Bridge at the very friendly and well appointed Camachee Cove Marina. Here Mike Reed is the assistant dock master, and the only person I’ve ever seen who can handle two dock lines simultaneously. Deftly, he pulled Luna here and there and coaxed her stern-first into a slip (with some help from the captain at the controls).

I mentioned to Mike that we had been having trouble with Luna’s engine running hot and told him about the pinhole I’d discovered in the heat exchanger. He directed me to an onsite mechanic, James Bohanan, at First Mate Yacht Services. Early Monday morning, I walked over and met Bo.

Bo wasn’t sure what I was describing and drove me back to Luna so he could take a look. He thought my repair to the heat exchanger, intact after four days, was adequate. On the overheating issue, he uttered the three words first in the mind of any boat owner except, apparently, this one. “Check the impeller,” he said. “If it’s not that, check the thermostat, but I doubt it.”

Some information for the uninitiated. Boat engines are water-cooled, and Luna’s engine has two pumps. One circulates sea water through the heat exchanger, and the other circulates antifreeze, cooled by the seawater in the heat exchanger, through the engine. The pumps contain an impeller, a spinning rubber wheel with fins that radiate out from the center. As the impeller turns, the fins pick up water or antifreeze from the inlet and discharge it through the outlet. The sea water impeller is usually the one to fail. I had checked it early on, but had neglected the antifreeze pump.

He left with my thanks and refused any more than that. Later, I got out the tool kit and set about dismantling the antifreeze pump. There were six fins on the impeller. Chagrined and relieved, I found only two remaining intact. The others had broken off and were lodged in the outlet of the pump. I walked back to Bo’s shop and bought a new impeller and gasket, even though we carried one on the boat. I installed this and reassembled the pump after removing all the broken pieces of fins.

Following the adventure along with thoughtful and kind silence, the commander offered: “It’s always the impeller.”

Of course it’s always the impeller! I shall have this engraved on a plaque and place it near Luna’s engine. And when I die, should there be a gravestone, let it say, “It was the impeller.” Not quite as poetic as Conrad Aiken’s marker in Savannah’s Bonaventure Cemetery, which reads, “Cosmos mariner, destination unknown. Give my regards to the world.” But mine would be apt and helpful, at

With the boats at Camachee Cove Marina, St. Augustine, FL

least to the other sorts of mariners out there.

The three-day layover in St. Augustine gave me time to take the heat exchanger apart and check for corrosion. Finding none, I put a dab of epoxy on the inside where I thought water might have gotten in under a weld. Now, the cooling system was all back together and intact. We started the engine to test it out, but the diesel exhaust was blowing back in on us, so the test was short. And, of course, this was not the end of the story.

Being residents of the marina for three days gave us a chance to visit with some of the other boat owners there. Conversations were shockingly similar. A man would stop by and say “Hello,” followed by, “Is that a C&C? I used to have a C&C. Sure was a lot of fun to sail.” This happened at least three times. I am not exaggerating. This is odd because there just weren’t that many C&C boats built between 1969 and 1990 when the factory closed. Yet, we’ve heard the same comment in several stops along the Waterway.

The marina was generous with their courtesy car, and we took it shopping. We refilled Luna’s propane tank (cleverly, we bought a spare with us this year) and visited St. Anastasia Church on Crescent Beach, the final resting place of the parents of the commander and the first mate. We also took the car to dinner and later to a Halloween party at the Conch House with our friend, Tom, who lives nearby in Hastings.

Cruising boats moored near the Bridge of Lions in St. Augustine

The layover also gave us the opportunity to plan the next leg of the journey. We entertained the idea of another day and night at sea. We would go off shore from the St. Augustine inlet to Port Canaveral and the Space Center, a distance of 100 miles. The weather looked perfect with 5 to 10 kt winds from the east, 1 to 2 foot seas. The tow boat service said the inlet conditions were safe, and an off shore fisherman said the seas were smooth.

We were a little apprehensive after the pounding we took when we left Charleston, but, when you fall off a horse, the best thing to do is to get back on the horse. The moon was approaching full, the skies were clear. All on Luna were in agreement, even the first mate. We would head back out into the Atlantic with the falling tide the next morning.

The conditions were perfect, and we were all a little excited at the off shore prospect. We left the slip, stopped at the fuel dock to pump out Luna’s waste tank, then motored out through the marina’s narrow channel to the river. The Commander powered up the engine, and just as we left the channel, I looked down at the temperature gauge, which read, “HOT.”

The Captain’s remarks will not be reported here. The Commander slowed Luna to an idle, and we crossed the river to the edge of the channel on the opposite side where we dropped the anchor. I checked the antifreeze level—OK. I took the fresh water pump apart and looked at the new impeller—OK. I got everything back together, we started the engine—right back up to hot. Back to the pump, I took off the outlet hose and looked for fragments I might have missed—nothing. We restarted the engine, and curiously, I saw no antifreeze coming out of the outlet. I looked again—the pump wasn’t turning! I looked closer and found that the belt to the engine was not on its pulley. It was seated against the crankcase behind the pulley. Another dope slap!

When I corrected this, and we restarted the engine, antifreeze circulated normally through the heat exchanger. I added some, then some more, then some more. “The temperature is falling,” called the Commander.

With the antifreeze level up, the engine temperature fell to usual range and stayed there. We could have said, “Well, we fixed it,” and headed out as planned. However, lacking confidence in the system, we voted for staying on the Waterway, foregoing the perfect day and night at sea! Those days don’t come all that often along the east coast of the United States, but you need absolute trust in your ship and your ability to deal with problems when they arise. With that trust shaken by the recent events, we thought it better to heed the old adage, oft repeated and always true, “Better to be in here wishing you were out there than to be out there wishing you were in here.”

So we continued on along the waterway, past St. Augustine to the friendly marina at Marineland. Here we tied up at one of the newly installed concrete floating docks.

Along tidal waters, floating docks which rise and fall with the water level are preferable to fixed docks which require crew members to jump down on or climb up to the dock as the tide changes and the boat goes up or down. And the gold standard has become the concrete floating dock.

Luna at the floating docks in Marineland

To my ears, the juxtaposition of concrete and floating sounds oxymoronic. I looked at the website of Bellingham Marine Industries. With offices in Jacksonville and Ft. Lauderdale and manufacturing facilities in nine locations, Bellingham is one of the leading suppliers of concrete docks. Indeed, most of the concrete docks we walk on are stamped “Bellingham.”

According to the website, the company has installed  over 20 million square feet of floating docks (nearly a square mile). The docks float because the centers are expanded polystyrene foam that are then encased in a reinforced concrete shell. They are quite strong and feel secure when you tie the boat to their cleats. The surface is not slippery when wet, and feels safer to walk on than wooden planks..

With Hurricane Matthew last year and Irma this year, we have seen damage to concrete docks in Fernandina and St. Augustine. When some of the concrete breaks off, the docks cant to the unaffected side at a steep angle. These will need to be replaced.

The marina was not at all crowded, and Luna was alone in her section. That was fine with us, as we watched the sun set over the western edge of the Waterway and the marshland beyond. Before sunset, however, we had time to walk along the beach and survey the damage done to the houses there in the past two years.

Four years ago, we took the same walk and found a road, likely the old Route A1A, between a row of houses and the beach. After a dozen or so houses, we came to a part where the road had washed away, and pipes and wires were protruding from the sand bank. Two houses perched precariously close to the edge, waiting the inevitable.

Storms have damaged homes and destroyed the road along the beach

Now, there is no road. A row of canted telephone poles marks the edge of what once was the road but now is just sand. All of the houses were damaged by the recent storms, some severely; however a few have already been repaired or rebuilt by their optimistic owners. The houses at the far end are simply gone. The Matanzas River, which flows west of the current AIA and the ocean, cut a new inlet to the sea with Hurricane Matthew last year, sealing the fate of some of these houses. Yet, new houses continue to rise along this section of the waterway at Palm Coast, a little south of Marineland. In this housing market, there is little wonder why the governor of Florida refuses to acknowledge climate change in any official state business.

Leaving Marineland the next morning, we’re closing in on Stuart, our final destination before the holidays. We anchor for the night in a little creek off the Waterway below the Ponce de Leon inlet in New Smyrna Beach. It’s quiet and calm, but at night, when the wind dies, a horde of no-see-’ems descends on the boat. These little stinging insects manage to get in through the screens, and we all have a sleepless night, too hot under the covers and too vulnerable outside them. The next night I sprayed all the screens with Off, but by then we were in a slip at the New Smyrna City Marina, and the bugs weren’t a problem.

The course from the creek to the marina was only about five miles, but Luna was having another problem, this time with her transmission. Reverse was fine, but she would go into forward only if you revved the motor. Once you slowed down, she would go back into neutral. The Commander had first noticed this when we anchored the previous afternoon. Once settled, I swam off the back of the boat to check for stray ropes wrapped around the propeller, but all was clean.

After we weighed anchor, we quickly came up to the New Smyrna Beach drawbridge. It opens only on the hour and half hour, so we had a few minutes to wait. Normally at this time, we would idle Luna in neutral if the current is slack or slowly reverse if the current is flowing toward the bridge, as it was when we arrived. With the finicky transmission, neither seemed like a good idea, so I made lazy circles on our side of the bridge until it began to open and we could get through.

Meanwhile, the Commander checked Active Captain and found that the City Marina, just on the other side of the bridge, has a resident mechanic. Once through the bridge, we called on the radio and were given directions to a slip.

Rick Graham, the mechanic, came aboard, and inspected Luna. “Is this a C&C?,” he asked. “I used to have a C&C. Sure sailed good.” His assistant said, “I had two of them.” Rick climbed down through the cockpit locker to look at the transmission. His diagnosis: the conical drive gear is worn out and will not turn the propeller. It would work for a while at high revolutions, but not for much longer. The transmission will need to be rebuilt, a process that may take two weeks, and that’s if parts are available.

Later, he called to say he has located a used transmission from a boat whose engine was replaced. He can install this in a few days, and we’ll be back on the Waterway. Finding a used part in the salvage yard and installing it in your vehicle — how utterly Vermont and how instantly we are transported back to the days of funky old cars, patched together with Bondo, pop rivets, and aluminum printing plates, sweating with friends over which is the least discerning mechanic as a source of the next inspection sticker. Back in the day, if we had had cell phones and speed dials, every junkyard in the state would be on there.

But that was then, and this is Luna. Nonetheless, we decided to go along with his plan. We’d be back on schedule, and we’d have the old transmission to send for refurbishing. Luna, built in 1984, is 33 years old, and this is her original engine. Sooner or later, I suppose, the little Yanmar diesel will go, too, though it seems to be running perfectly now. Dealing with repairs on the fly has become a subtext of this adventure so far. Rick’s diagnostic visit was on Friday, so we had a few days to stew about it before his promised return on Monday.

Meanwhile, the thought of maybe spending a couple of weeks stuck in the marina proved too daunting for the first mate. A few phone calls found her a flight out of Daytona on Monday morning and a ride there with Mike, the local driver-for-hire. In three weeks she has become an integral part of Luna’s crew: minder of the lines, grinder of the winches, water bottle filler, juicer of the happy-hour limes, social media maven, and cleaner extraordinaire of the head. She has even taken an occasional turn at the wheel. Over a “last hurrah” dinner at Cork Screw on Sunday evening, we discuss the trip. Was it fun? Even better than expected. Marinas or anchorages? Anchorages. Favorite part? The scary part!

First mate at the helm

On Monday morning the first mate drives off with Mike and dreams for the flip side in the spring. A little later, Rick appears with his assistant, Larry, and transmission in hand. The day becomes an emotional roller coaster, the rises and falls only amplified by the dock master’s announcement that the marina will be full starting Tuesday. There will be no room for Luna, and we’re not totally clear what will happen if Rick can’t get the job done by Tuesday noon.

Rick is not a small man, and to get at the transmission, he has to go down into the locker on the port side of the cockpit. It’s clear that he doesn’t fit, so his first task is to remove the hot water tank that takes up part of the space. He accomplishes this and hands it up. Then he can stretch out on his back down in the locker. He is not comfortable, but he goes at the transmission bolts, some of which are very difficult to reach. Larry hands down wrenches and sockets on request.

But then the unit is out, and Rick is delivering it up to his assistant through the narrow opening. This is good. The new one goes down. Rick has it in place, but it does not fit. The housing that bolts to the engine is too shallow. It will not work. This is bad. Both units and Rick are on the deck. He removes the housing from both units and will attach Luna’s housing to the new unit. This is good. But the bolt holes don’t line up, so no go. This is bad. Rick says he will take both transmissions to his shop and take the parts out of the new one and swap them with the ones in the broken unit. This will take a few hours, giving the Captain’s mood more time to marinate.

Rick Graham (right) and Larry work on Luna's transmission

I can’t remember a time when my feelings have oscillated from optimism to pessimism with such frequency. This is an emotional bungee jump, though I’m not sure the bungee will hold. “It will work out,” the Commander notes. “Don’t worry.” She has heard Rick’s pronouncement that “failure is not an option,” and she departs confidently with the laundry and a shopping list.

Rick returns with Larry in the afternoon. He’s got Luna’s transmission repaired. Back in the hold, he fits in in place, but it will not seat completely. He tries several times, but it doesn’t work. He rarely swears. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. (Emotional free fall.) Larry, from above, gives a suggestion. Rick tries it, and the unit clicks into place.

He replaces the bolts. (Break out the champagne!) But when he goes to attach the linkage from the shift lever at the helm to the lever on the transmission, the latter is backward. (Boing!) Still on his back in the narrow hold, ever calm, he removes the lever, turns it around, and reattaches it.

“Start it up,” he directs. (Send up the fireworks!). He tries it. The propeller spins in reverse, but not in forward. (Unprintable). “It worked in the shop,” he notes. He removes the shift lever again, lines it up, and bolts it back on. “Let’s try it again.” This time it works. The unit shifts cleanly between forward and neutral, neutral and reverse. The propeller spins normally. He replaces the water heater. It’s 5 pm.

I will say I have nothing but respect and admiration for this guy. He spent most of the day on his back in an uncomfortable position dealing with a series of frustrations and never gave up. Beyond an occasional “dammit” uttered beneath his breath, he never lost his temper. I saw him the next day when he presented the bill, and I thanked him for staying with it, expressing sympathy for what must be his aching joints. “I’ve been in worse places.” he noted. I admired his calm perseverance. “It’s easier just to keep going,” he said, “and get it done.”

Little's Pharmacy in New Smyrna Beach, where you can still get a real milkshake at an authentic lunch counter

Tuesday came, and we were ready to check out. We walked into town to the auto parts place to buy some new heater hose to replace the ones Rick had to cut to remove the water heater. Back on Luna, all is ready. Our boat neighbors helped push us off, I stood by to fend off if necessary, and the Commander put Luna in reverse. All good. Out of the slip, into forward, and Luna is off, everything working perfectly.

We’re planning to motor down to Titusville, about 25 miles away, but 10 miles before that is Mosquito Lagoon, a large open area extending nearly two miles off the Waterway. It’s shallow, but deep enough to drop the anchor quite close to the beach of the Canaveral National Seashore on the eastern edge. The water gets quite rough when the wind is blowing, but the forecast is for calm winds tonight and the next few days. After four days confined to the marina, we decide to treat ourselves to an afternoon surrounded by water, and we leave the waterway for the anchorage.

It’s perfect. We don’t get to the beach. We’re the only boat in sight. This watery world is ours, sitting in the sun and bobbing in the light chop. The sun sets. Dinner happens. The stars are out. The waning gibbous moon rises orange. We have a lovely night.

Ruins of an earlier time at Marineland

Luna floats in the Sea of Tranquility in Mosquito Lagoon