December 2001

Jekyll Harbor Marina

 Jekyll Island, Georgia

December 15, 2001

Minutes after crossing marker 34 (the Georgia-Florida border), smoke appeared under our companionway steps, but disappeared when the motor was slowed or shut down. After 15 minutes of frantic searching, with Cabo Rico's Dave Macy on the cell phone, we found that the battery isolator was overheating, giving us both smoke and a sickly sweet odor.

To provide relaxed time to repair, we dropped anchor just off the channel, near marker 37, and moments later we heard an odd churning sound. On looking out, we found a flotilla of large escort boats, some guarded by soldiers and machine guns, steaming up the channel, less than 100 yards from us. Between the escort vessels was a United States submarine. 

Next morning, at Dave's direction, we rewired the isolator, effectively disconnecting it, and leaving the thruster and engine batteries off the alternator charging system. Both batteries should give several weeks of service without charge. Meanwhile, the house batteries that power our lights and pumps will receive routine charge.

South Cumberland Island, our next stop, barely thirty minutes from marker 37, became our next home for two nights. Pachi, our dinghy, took us from our anchorage to Sea Camp, from which we hiked to see the ruins of Dungeness, as well as the longest, least developed beach we have encountered. The scene reminded us of the sand dunes in Star Wars. In 1972, residents of the island, together with Georgia and The National Park Service, acted to protect this island from the condominium developments that are so prominent in Florida and in parts of Georgia. We recommend this area to anyone, but especially to hikers and campers.

Pachamama left anchor, and headed north on the ICW, with less than two miles of visibility, that deteriorated to less than 1/8 of a mile within an hour. Thanks to The Raytheon Radar, The Capn' navigation software and electronic charts, and The Global Positioning System, we successfully navigated to Jekyll Creek. This was the first time either of us had navigated blind. We had to change course every ten minutes or so as the ICW curved one way or another. The experience was reasonably calm until we crossed St. Andrew sound, an inlet to the ocean that exposed us to 15 knots of cool wind, and to two-foot waves on the beam. Chichi did not recover from the cold until she took a hot shower and buried herself in a sleeping bag. 

Jekyll Island was a "club" for the rich. Its cottages were owned by the rich and famous of The Guilded Age. Today, the cottages are preserved in an historic district. The island is peaceful and friendly. Following a sing-along at Faith Chapel in the historic district, a resident offered to drive us to the marina. That is Georgia hospitality. Also, the marina gave us access to a van. We like it here. Pachamama likes it here. Pachamama will rest here until we return in January. 

N 30º 40.363'
W 081º 28.210'
Anchored opposite Fernandina Beach, Florida, on Georgia/Florida state line 
December 8, 2001

We first met Henry Morrison Flagler at Pigeon Key, where he housed workers for the Key West extension of his Florida East Coast Railway. We last saw him in St. Augustine, in the mausoleum of the Presbyterian Church he built in honor of his first wife and daughter. 

Henry has been a unifying feature of our trip through the Keys and on to Georgia. He might be considered the discoverer of Florida, at least in the sense that he recognized its potential as both a tourist and business destination. To us, the best place he visited, and developed, is St. Augustine, where he created the Ponce de Leon Hotel (now Flagler College), The Alcazar Hotel, and a Methodist and Catholic Church. 

St. Augustine was a surprise to us. It is the oldest continuously inhabited community in North America. Various fights between the French, Spanish, and the Colonists led to its incorporation into the United States. The Lightner Museum of American Antiques, including a complete and wonderful-sounding collection of mechanical music makers (such as the Nickelodeon), the Columbia restaurant, St. George Street, Magnolia Street, and friendly people, made St. Augustine the highlight of our recent stops. It contrasts sharply with Daytona, only 70 miles south. Daytona is a city of fast motorcycles and fast cars, as well as a long beach with cable cars and bungie jumping devices; it is a monument to speed. Arriving at Daytona after the end of its "season," we saw empty streets and closed retailers, certainly an incomplete experience in one of Florida's best destinations for the college and motor sports crowds. 

Circumstances placed us in the Intracoastal Waterway. We first entered the Waterway to dock at Titusville, just across from the Kennedy Space Center. Pachamama spent a lonely night there while her masters went to Orlando, where John spoke to a conference of pension executives. On our return, we visited the Kennedy Space center and hoped to see the Launch of Discovery. (The launch was postponed several times. We finally saw the distant glow in the sky from St. Augustine.) 

For two people who saw the launch of the Saturn V, and who remember exactly where we were when Neil Armstrong said "One small step for man, One giant leap for mankind," the experience at the Kennedy Space Center was nostalgic, and exciting. We knew the Saturn V was big--but not THAT BIG. We knew that astronauts are accomplished individuals, but not THAT ACCOMPLISHED. Lunch with astronaut Dr. Story Musgrave revealed a farmer, pilot, engineer, inventor, physician, musician, poet, artist and philosopher. To learn more about this fine man, see www.spacestory.com. 

From Titusville, the only way north is the ICW. Some inlets accommodate our six feet, but we seemed to arrive at each one at the wrong time, or wrong circumstance, to exit to the ocean. So, from Titusville to Fernandina Beach, we constantly monitored the markers of the ICW, occasionally panicking when we could not see the next one, and arriving a bit tired and strained from the constant attention required for 8 to 10 hours straight. We tried to escape out the St. John's River, only to face 3 knots current on the nose, reducing our progress to less than three knots. At that rate, we would not have made it out in time to make the ocean trip to St. Mary's River with arrival in daylight. When we turned around in the St. John's, and put stern to the current, our speed increased to over 9 knots. (This is SOG, or speed over the ground. Pachamama's boat speed, or speed through the water, consistently runs 5.5 to 6.5 knots under power.) 

Tomorrow, we say goodbye to Fernandina Beach, and to Florida. A few miles south of here, we began to see huge paper mills, putting tons of smoke and who knows what else into the atmosphere, and providing the kind of odor we tend to associate with Gary. Hence, we feared that we would find a purely industrial town, with few places to enjoy. Instead, we found a delightful town, calm and low-key, with fine shops, an historic Catholic Church, and good beer and wine. And if we ask you what city in the United States lived under more flags than any other (eight, to be exact), your answer would be: ???? 

Next stop: Georgia, less than two miles from here.