Wednesday
On Wednesday, January 24, 2002, my wife Freddie and I traveled to Flamingo, in Everglades National Park, to undertake a long-anticipated cruise into the backcountry. Our cruise plan would take us to Cape Sable for several nights of camping on the beaches, northward to the Little Shark River, up that River into Whitewater Bay, then leisurely exploring the wild mangrove-bordered waterways as we headed back to Flamingo for a complete round trip of perhaps 75 miles.
After trailering Rafiki Kidogo (RK), our West Wight Potter 14, the ten hours from Satsuma, FL to Flamingo, FL, we launched her at the Flamingo Marina ramp about 1515 hours on Thursday, January 24. Destination: Cape Sable's East Cape, some 11 miles roughly west, on Florida's extreme southwestern tip.
Weather was bright and sunny, wind was 15-20 knots from the southeast, and a small craft advisory was in effect.
Our difficulties began almost immediately. The tiny Cruise nCarry 1.7 outboard was too weak to keep RK going straight forward in a 20 knot wind, and we went aground in the narrow channel leading out of the Marina into Florida Bay and the Gulf of Mexico. Fortunately all I needed to do was raise the iron centerboard a foot or so, and away we went.
Eventually we settled onto a westerly course with a following wind, mainsail reefed and RK scudding merrily at 4 to 5 knots. The tiller required a bit of effort to steer a straight course, and this increased steadily as we moved away from the lee shore and the rolling wave chop increased. By about 1700 the effort was palpable: I was tired, and my arms felt the strain.
Freddie, not an experienced sailor, felt it even more. The surfing and yawing had made her seasick, and eventually her stomach wretched and she prepared to throw up over the side. Fortunately she never vomited, but the passage had grown thoroughly unpleasant for her.
Around 1800, with 2' swells closely spaced and numerous whitecaps all around, we neared the beach of East Cape. I hoped to locate old pilings that survived from an ancient dock, recommended by the Park Ranger as being slightly protected, around the tip of the Cape. But dusk was settling in, and I saw no sign of them. Finally, tired and discouraged, and concerned at Freddie's suffering, I headed straight toward the beach.
Around 1820, nearly dark, we ground to a violent stop and the waves immediately pounded us upon the shore, splashing sandy seawater into the cockpit. We struggled onto the beach, wet and cold, while the wind felt strong enough to push us around. We retrieved our sleeping bags and other minimal gear, then wedged the Danforth anchor into a notch in a stout mangrove tree above the beach.
Exhausted, we spread our sleeping bags under other mangroves (more bushes than trees) and fell asleep, chilled by the unrelenting wind despite our being encased in sleeping bags. Even the discovery that we had stumbled into the "living room" of a raccoon family could not discourage us from spending the night in this minimal shelter from the chilling breeze.
Thursday and Friday
Next morning dawned bright and pleasant, but the wind was unabated. Walking down the beach, I found that the actual point lay only a few hundred yards from were we had grounded, and another few hundred yards farther I made out the pilings from the old dock.! When Freddie was up, and the incoming tide had floated RK, we walked the little boat along the beach to the pilings and tied it securely with bow facing the wind and surf.
Damage was evident. Waves had sloshed in several inches of seawater strewn with seaweed. Raccoons had clambered aboard our beached vessel and scattered provisions in a wild mess. The little outboard had pounded against the sand so strongly that the clamping device had become disengaged from the shaft. Repeated tries failed to start it.
A wild jibe had ripped loose two small blocks, through which the mainsheet runs, from the boom. Part of the centerboard housing fiberglass and teak trim had torn loose. The gunter halyard's mast top sheave jammed when I experimentally tried to raise the mainsail. Somehow, in all the mess, my eyeglasses also disappeared!
When I tried to extract the mast, in order to reach the gunter halyard sheave, the extra weight of gunter spar and boom overpowered my strength; the mast swung downward, and before I could regain control pried out a six inch chunk of the cabin top. This meant I could not hold the mast straight upright without jury-lashing to hold it tight.
All in all, a sad mess: outboard dysfunctional and running rigging impaired and fragile. We resolved to do what we would have had to do in any case: wait for calm winds and seas, then beat back to Flamingo. Although we had two oars (but no oar locks), we were not physically capable of paddling the 11 miles back. Remember, I m 75, Freddie 64, and we both have weak backs!
While the wind blew gustily through the day, we chose a much more protected campsite ashore under large, leafy mangroves, on grass and sand, and lugged our stores and bedding there. When the wind began to abate in late afternoon, the mosquitoes and no-see-ums, ecstatic at the presence of human prey, swarmed over us in blinding clouds.
Before we were totally overcome, Freddie remembered that our friends Randy and Liz had pressed mosquito netting into our hands a couple of days before we left, and we gratefully searched for it. Extracting it from the boat, we discovered a neat jacket, with hood, of sufficiently fine mesh to discourage even the minute no-see-ums. A large cover, however, was mosquito proof only, and many no-see-ums crept through it to attack their favorite targets, our eyes and ears. We traded back and forth for the rest of our stay, and used copious quantities of insect repellent -- which worked for about 30 minutes when we were lucky.
Saturday
Saturday morning, while Freddie hauled our gear down near water's edge, I sailed RK back to our site, tacking slowly in the 5 knot northeasterly breeze. This small feat was aided greatly by an incoming tidal current, a little under one knot in strength. It felt great to sail the jury-rigged little craft onto a calm beach, sliding gently onto the gleaming sands which had met us so savagely two days earlier.
Around 0930 we set sail, again aided by the favorable current, and soon were a half mile or more offshore in 6' to 8' depths. We were able to make long port tacks toward the general direction of Flamingo (ENE) and short starboard tacks NNW toward shore. By 1400, when the tide turned against us, we had made good perhaps six miles. But for the next two hours, with the tide slowly turning to the west, we stayed in roughly the same position, with our only change being closer to or farther from the shore.
At about 1600 I decided to get closer to shore - no beach, only mangrove and limestone rock and anchor. Of course the anchor, rigged to handle from the cockpit but affixed in the bow towing ring, fouled on the rudder and I had to go overboard, in 3.5' water, to loosen it. The bottom was exceedingly sticky marl, and walking across it felt like moving through glue. By 1700 we were securely anchored, and settled down in the tiny cockpit to try to relax and rest. Soon after dark we drifted into sleep.
Sunday
At 0130, disturbed by a change in the boat s motion, I awoke, and discovered we were some hundreds of yards farther from shore, with both current and breeze apparently carrying us back westward toward East Cape! Realizing that the anchor was loose (and having no spare), I wearily raised the Gunter and began to head the boat eastward. Even with the moon the shore was too featureless for me to guess where we were.
Tacking back and forth, we made a knot or two over the water, but it was too dark to tell whether we were gaining ground. When day broke I saw we were pretty much where we had been since 1400 the day before! To make matters worse, it proved impossible to head more than about 90 points toward the wind. With jib up the bow headed down to leeward in the faint breeze. With jib lowered we could just hold the 90 degree course to port or starboard.
Around mid-morning I realized we were at best holding our position, no nearer to Flamingo. There were major shoals between us and shore, and only open Gulf to starboard. A search for our handheld VHF, when I decided to radio the Marina for possible help, was fruitless. But around 1130 we saw two sailboats, one inbound and one out, heading relatively close to port; both under power since the breeze was faint. Waving our arms and a towel vigorously, we cheered when we saw the inbound vessel veer around and head back toward us.
Our rescuers were Jim Larsen of Pensacola and his friend and crew, Bob, from Mobile. Aboard Jim s Corsair 27 trimaran, they were inbound for Flamingo from Everglades City. With great skill and speed they soon had us aboard their comfortable vessel with RK obligingly following at the end of a line. By 1145 they cast me off at the Marina s ramp, and landed Freddie at an adjacent dock while they went around the corner to fuel.
By 1300 RK was aboard her trailer, and the four of us were relaxing in air-conditioned comfort in the restaurant at the Flamingo Visitor Center, where we gratefully treated our saviors to a much-deserved repast. Strangely, we ran into them again 2 days later, a couple of hours to the north, when we visited Everglades City by car!
While we spent several more very pleasant days in the Everglades National Park, our seaborne adventure was finished. With boat damaged and motor disabled, we sadly let go of our cherished venture into the rest of the lovely Everglades backcountry and contented ourselves with exploring by car.
Conclusions
For our experience aboard Rafiki Kidogo, however, there were several basic conclusions to be drawn and questions to be answered.
First, I was guilty of imprudence when I set off so late in the afternoon, with only three hours of daylight remaining, in stiff breezes, heading for a shore I knew little of. I overestimated the sailing qualities of a boat I had sailed very little, my own endurance, and the amount of daylight left to make the passage.
Second, the little outboard was no match for the open sea conditions that prevailed, nor did the tilt mechanism work well enough to prevent damage as the seas pounded us on the beach.
Third, I should have carried a spare anchor. Apparently there were unsuspected rocks or other sharp underwater obstructions which snagged our anchor rode between 1700 and 2400 and parted it.
Fourth, the condition of the aging spars led to unexpected failures (jammed sheave, ripped mainsheet blocks). I had strengthened the spars in other places with extra bolts, two months before, but perhaps could have found these weaknesses if I had been more familiar with the Gunter rig.
Fifth, this boat sailed very poorly in a windward direction, with sluggish speed and very poor tiller control in light winds, and the jib seemed not to be of much help. Fortunately my sailmaker in St. Augustine, Ed Sargent, has invited me to come over to take him for a sail in order to evaluate the new sails he had made for RK. Perhaps Ed can help me find what led to the poor sailing performance.
Sixth, the tiny cabin on the Potter 14 is simply inadequate for two adults who plan to spend time both aboard and camping ashore. (Neither cabin nor cockpit is comfortable for sleeping.) Even when occupied by one person the cabin is crowded if there is much gear, and very warm with no decent ventilation. The cockpit seats are too narrow and short for lengthwise sleeping.
Seventh, the boat seemed dry and seaworthy. If sail performance can be improved I would have considerable confidence in RK s seaworthiness for single-handing.
Eighth , this P-14 handled neatly before the wind, and on broader reaches, achieving speeds in excess of 5 kts (est.). Steering was positive and responsive, except to windward in light breezes. For a tiny yacht which can so easily be towed behind a four cylinder car, she has some delightful qualities as well as limitations.
Pat Murphy ejmurphy@amherst.edu
20th March 2002.