Fort Lauderdale

It almost feels like home. Our 88 mile trip across the Gulf Stream was uneventful with light wind and we motor-sailed among big harmless rollers, souvenirs of the recent big storm. The direction to Port Everglades was 307 degrees magnetic from Bimini but we steered about 275, almost due west and 32 degrees south of the direction we actually were traveling. The difference was the Gulf Stream, pushing us north of where we pointed the boat. In the old days a lot of math was needed to estimate what course to steer to get where you wanted to go; now the GPS does all this for us.

I noticed rectangles of grey ahead of us in the horizon from 25 miles out and they morphed into the skylines of Miami, Fort Lauderdale and Pompano Beach at about 18 miles out, growing gradually larger and more distinct and thrilling. One sad reminder of the global recession was six big  laid off freighters anchored well off the beach, like this one.

 Here's the harbor entrance. Once in and hugging the right shore in anticipation of a north  (right) turn, this big guy was backing away from his pier toward us in anticipation of spinning counterclockwise and heading out.

 Next came the 17^th Street bridge, which, we read, is only 55 feet high, not high enough to pass under unless it is raised. I have marked on the charts “High” or “Low” by each bridge we will be passing; the low ones are those less than 65 feet high, like this one. We read that it opens every half hour starting on the hour. We got there at about 4:50 and by 5:02 we called on VHF channel 9. “Oh Captain”, said the bridge tender, who had obviously seen us waiting there, “you have to call me at five minutes before to ask me to raise the bridge; now you have to wait until 5:30.”  What is it with bridge tenders?

One can’t help but notice the immense wealth concentrated in this neighborhood of huge waterfront homes and private yachts.

This boat, “Seven Seas”, shown with and north of the 17^th street bridge, is almost as wide as we are long and the next photo shows a few of its crew of 26, one manning its own little tug, which will be hoisted aboard once they clear out of port.  This boat is owned by Steven Spielberg, so says Google, at a cost of only $200 million.

And the land and water here are full of such huge homes and boats, though seven seas was the largest we saw, comparable in size, but not amenities, to the USS Hammerberg DE 1015.

     Our only other problem in arriving was that the Helmswoman did not follow the Captain’s orders to hug the left side entering our anchorage, Lake Sylvia, from the north. And so we got stuck in the mud near low tide. But we were able to simply back off.

Until we motored out at the end of our stay, we left Lake Sylvia each day (except for one) by dink, via an east – west canal from its southwest corner under what was obviously too low a bridge for the boat. But we had not realized how low it was; we had to duck our heads into the dink to get under.

The first issue after arrival was checking into US Customs and Immigration. Come to think of it, I don’t think we ever properly checked out when leaving New York or Hampton VA, back in the fall of 2010!

The process for checking back in has been simplified, after we left. By filing an application and getting approved in a face to face interview (possibly for racial profiling purposes) before you leave, you are issued a number and by phoning in and giving them that number and your data, you get cleared by phone. But we had to do it the old fashioned way. I called and gave all info and was given an arrival number and I thought we were done. But NOOOOO! “Within 24 hours both of you must present yourselves with your passports to Homeland Security.” We were given the address and Mapquest showed a small canal at the south end of the harbor which led to that address. So next day, after the boat had been cleaned, we set off for the three mile dink ride and got most of the way before, half way down that canal, before we were stopped by the police:

“This a security area”

“Yes, but we only want to go to Customs which is down this way.”

“You’re not allowed. And I bet you don’t have life preservers and lights.”

“Yes we do”; and I opened the dinghy’s locker to show them.

“Where is your whistle?”

I whistled -- and they were not amused -- and they had guns.   Ilene did not think me funny!

So three miles back and we tied up the dink at the end of another very commercial canal at the Southport Raw Bar.

The Raw Bar permits you to park your dink there for the day for $10.00, redeemable for food and drink.  We took a cab to customs and got a ride back from others who had a rental car. Not the easiest process for citizens on US flagged vessels who are just trying to obey the law when returning to their homeland. At least in the Caribbean nations a cab ride was not needed.

What we did in Fort Lauderdale related to friends, family and shopping. There was a big Sea and Air Show during the weekend. And then it rained both days, though not so heavily on the Saturday. We had plans to hang out with Lene’s grade school friend, Janet, and her husband, Ed, who started to drive up from Miami on Saturday. And we had planned to go to and dock at a marina up the New River to make it easier for guests to board the boat than from the dink after a 15 minute dink ride. But we were warned that with the crowds of big boats in the area on this special airshow weekend, navigating up the river while others were coming down would be madness. So we cancelled the reservation and stayed in Lake Sylvia and it harmed no one because our friends couldn’t make it in the rain and traffic and had to cancel.

So we watched the airshow alone, though I was later invited to a 60 foot power boat with 15 folks aboard who had come for the day to watch the show. When we arrived and left the lake there were five boats in it, as compared to 20 during the weekend who came for the show. The show consisted of various acts including the Marines precision flying team, one each half hour, for four hours. The flying was mostly over a stretch of the beach, a bit north of us, interspersed by commercial air traffic taking off into the wind, headed east, from Fort Lauderdale International Airport to the south of us. One problem was the rain, and the clouds which partially obscured visibility. The eeriest moment was when a big fast bomber came up the beach from the south flying low and passed behind a big beachfront condo. With a post-9/11 sensitivity the airplane seemed to enter the building. A chilling half second. Also, we could not help but wonder about how many tax payer dollars were spent on this flying -- expenditures supported by every administration, Republican and Democratic, since the birth of military aviation.

      We enjoyed the company and help of the family of Lene’s cousin, Naomi, and her sons, Alan and Jeff and Jeff’s wife Stacy. The only member of this family who was missing was Carly, away at school. We had planned to see the airshow with them aboard on Sunday but the show was canceled due to the weather. So we packed the picnic and dry clothes into a waterproof bag, bailed and pumped water out of the dink which was four inches high above the sole, dinked in to the Raw Bar and were driven to Naomi's home. This is such a close and loving family and we all enjoyed reminiscing among photos of family, many of whom are no longer with us. I regret that we did not take photos.

        We also met up again with Audrey and Mike, who we had met in Grenada in the spring and fall of last year and again up in Bequia.

They had stored their boat in St. Georges, Grenada for a year in anticipation of Mike’s serving as captain of a 70 foot long and 35 foot wide, brand-new catamaran. The boat had been built in Gdansk, Poland, at a cost of several million dollars for its owners and was equipped with "everything". The plan was to sail her from Florida, to Grenada where Mike's kids would visit for two weeks, and then, via the Panama Canal, to Tahiti and then to Hawaii. The boat had been shipped from Europe to Florida as freight (at a cost of $125,000!) and upon arrival, US customs determined that its two (one in each hull) 230 horsepower Yanmar diesels (the same brand as in ILENE), did not meet current US environmental regulations and had to be replaced, at extravagant cost. The delays were so long and unnerving that Mike and Audrey’s plans were involuntarily changed. The owner decided to ship the boat to Hawaii and paid off Mike after a few more days of work, so they are soon heading back to Grenada to resume their lives and chartering business.

         The last Florida friend we met was Al, a former Harlem Yacht Club member and a veteran of several Around Long Island Regattas.

We have enjoyed two sails from City Island to Atlantic City aboard his 55 foot Pearson Ketch, “Mr. B”.  Al had a severe motor cycle accident and he and his wife, Miriam, sold their business and their boats, retired and moved to the Fort Lauderdale  area partly also to take care of Miriam’s brother. They are both active in FAST, an organization that helps Florida amputees. It was FAST business that kept Miriam from us. Al is also a volunteer sailing instructor for Shake A Leg Foundation, an organization that takes disabled people and their families out sailing. He sails about 2 – 3 times a week.

       Our other South Florida activity (we also saw our first movie in six months with Audrey and Mike) was shopping. Both cousin Alan and Captain Mike took us to West Marine and between them they also took us to a pet store, a wine store a Verizon store, Starbucks, a supermarket, another marine store which had a hinge for our refrigerator door which had broken, and took Lene to T.J. Maxx. We had three cases of the kitties brand of cat food delivered to the Raw Bar and a professional geek came there to undo the special settings placed in the computer in Bimini which permitted us internet access there, but prevented us from getting it anywhere else.

I did a lot of charting, figuring out from the advice given us by Dick and Elle, of  "Summer Wind", back in City Island last  summer, four convenient and interesting stops between Fort Lauderdale and St. Augustine, which they had recommended. But in the end, Admiral Lene decided, why not make it in one 260 mile hop, which we did.

In this photo, in the upper right, you can see the damage done to the new screen in the café doors by the inmates behind them.

Posted from St. Augustine.