“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:1“…a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh.”
— Ecclesiastes 3:3-4
After some grueling hours of research involving spreadsheets, exact measurements, and detailed CAD drawings, Phil ordered the only engine replacement that would fit in our boat, a Beta Marine 38. It arrived from the manufacturer to a warehouse in Hilton Head where our mechanic had some connections. Unfortunately, that mechanic was too busy to help us and the new motor sat for a week while we tried to contact him for an installation schedule. He seemed to be ghosting us.
Out of the blue, we got a recommendation from a couple on our dock for a different mechanic, Dave. We met him, hired him, and never regretted the decision.
Except…
When the original mechanic got our multiple urgent messages (email, text, and phone), he went and picked up our new engine, box and all, and took it to his shop — without telling us. When Dave went to get it at the warehouse, it was gone. After an uncomfortable phone call, we got the original mechanic to release the kidnapped motor if we paid ransom — his bill. It was outrageous, but we paid it. Dave picked up the Beta and had the installation completed within a few days.
Unseasonable
We had a new engine, the sea trial went well, and we were ready to go. But somehow, our season had passed and we were left at the icy dock waiting for spring. The thought of dropping an anchor in frigid green water and existing overnight in 40-degree temps without a heat source made our timbers shiver. We needed to head south, back to warmth, but Phil was adamant about waiting until the low temps were above 45 degrees. We agreed: It’s just not safe to risk hypothermia.
To pass the time, we explored Hilton Head by dinghy. We saw eagles, loons, buffleheads, and these beautiful white pelicans, looking like swans.
When we started our northern trek nearly seven months earlier, it was already too late. I had cancer screenings in the beginning of June when the heat starts to be unbearable in South Florida. Even though we left the next day and headed to West Palm Beach, we were a month behind other cruisers who make this seasonal migration each spring. It was July by the time we reached Titusville, where we spent more than two weeks as I took a solo trip north to visit family in New Hampshire.
We were further delayed by medical deliveries in St. Augustine, delightful visits with old friends there and in Vero Beach and Melbourne. We forgot that we were in any hurry. As temperatures rose into the 90s in Georgia and South Carolina, we made our way through the steamy savannahs and muddy creeks battling biting flies. The generator ran our AC for a few hours each night so we could sleep in relative comfort, but it was hot and sweaty travel. It was not the right season.
We arrived in the Chesapeake at the end of August. Catmandu was hauled out for some expensive repairs and necessary maintenance, and we spent two glorious weeks in Greece, sailing with friends. We stayed for the Annapolis Boat Show, working at the Seven Seas Cruising Association booth in return for free admission. The days were sunny and cool, and we regretted our late arrival.
After nearly sixty days in Annapolis, seasonal cold settled in. While it was refreshing at first, as the days went on, we found ourselves digging through the lockers for sweatshirts and long pants. Had we missed the season again?
We reprovisioned and headed south toward warmer waters. It was November as we cruised into the ICW, through the same waterways we’d traversed in the summer heat. The rivers and canals of Virginia and North Carolina had put on their fall colors with golden brown woods along the shores and patches of rusty pine needles floating in the current. It even smelled like autumn. (Read about our journey here and here.)
Winter chased us through North Carolina and an unseasonable cold dome descended over the deep south. It extended into Georgia and Florida. The ICW at Coinjock was frozen solid, closed until further notice. There we were, waiting in Hilton Head for low temperatures to top 45 degrees. Then one day in January, it snowed.
“Maybe we should change our criterion for leaving to 40 degrees,” Phil commented one day. The weather forecast was not looking favorable. The low temps were in the thirties. It was cold.
“People with no heat die in the thirties,” I answered.
Then in early February, Phil noted a break in the weather. Starting on Feb. 5, the forecasted temperatures were in the forties. If we could make it to Jekyll Island, we would have a nice, heated dock when the next cold front descended. We could do a short run to Thunderbolt Marina, then survive two nights at anchor in the Wahoo River and Doboy Island anchorages. If we didn’t freeze solid in our piles of blankets, we could make it to Jekyll Harbor Marina on the eighth.
We were finally underway, visions of the Florida Keys keeping us going. The wind reddened our exposed faces and we shivered in layers of sweatshirts and jackets. We borrowed ski hats and gloves from friends. After three days bundled up by day and by night, we arrived in Georgia under sunny 60-degree skies. Dolphins kept us company the whole way. Leaving Georgia, we counted 17 consecutive days of dolphin sightings. Apparently, it is the right season for dolphins.
The Right Season
We made it to Fort Lauderdale in late February and warmed up for a few weeks before sailing on to the Keys. We buddy-boated with our dear friends on SV Farr Away, and enjoyed some of the best sailing Catmandu has seen in our seven years of ownership. The wind, the water, and the season were perfect.
We grabbed a mooring ball in the vast Boot Key mooring field in Marathon, Florida on Vaca Key. We had planned to be here from December to May, but you’ve read the story. We are here for a couple of months until a road trip takes us north to family for the summer season. It will be the first long break we’ve ever had from sailboat life on Catmandu.
I woke up early today and found we had spun around our mooring ball and faced the broken bridge to our west. The air was cool on my face, just 70° under a cloudy sky. Phil appeared in the companionway and read me the weather report as the sun turned the Eastern clouds to yellow and gold – Partly cloudy, 75°F, 20% chance of rain. Then we watched the sun rise over Boot Key Harbor. Finally, I thought, we are in the right place at the right time.
But every morning on the Cruisers’ Net, more boats announce their departures. I watched four sailboats depart the harbor today, and empty mooring balls dot the huge mooring field. So I wonder: Is the season over already?