The Spirit of Christmas Cruising
Issue 63 : Nov/Dec 2008
A Halloween departure from Lake Michigan guaranteed a winter arrival in Florida. It also put us considerably behind the usual snowbird fleet. We’d been so busy practicing cruising, we hadn’t stopped to realize that in nearly two months on the water, we’d not met another cruising boat going our way. Or any way. Soon we’d be forced to leave the relative protection of a confined waterway to cross the Gulf of Mexico on an overnight sail from Apalachicola, in Florida’s panhandle, to Clearwater, on the west coast near St. Petersburg.
Though only an estimated 36-hour sail, it would still be a major undertaking for Great Lakes sailors whose chief experience with night travel was running along a visible shoreline counting harbor lights. This southbound journey took place long before the availability of GPS. Surely we couldn’t miss the west coast, but finding the right harbor on that coast might take some searching.
So it was a happy surprise to arrive in Apalachicola and find not one, but three other cruising boats, all with the same Gulf-crossing plan. We were excited to see Flyaway, a Cal 34 we’d spotted weeks before at the Chicago Yacht Club, looking totally out-of-place with its anchors, dodger, weathercloths, even a windvane — all gear that most Chicago sailors would never need on their stripped-down racers. We thought Flyaway would be basking in southern sunshine by now, an idea once shared by the crews of the other two boats too. Willow, a graceful 40-foot ketch from Wisconsin, and Quest, a 28-foot sloop from Missouri, were both owned and sailed by young couples on their first extended cruises outside the Midwest. At 27 feet, our Munchkin was the smallest of the bunch.
The three boats had already spent three weeks in Apalachicola, playing the cruiser’s favorite game of waiting-for-weather. Though unlucky for them, the delay was great from our view: now we’d have company for The Crossing. It was unusual for the weather to be so consistently awful in December. Ordinarily, a two-day window would not be too much to expect, but this was not an ordinary season. One after another, strong northers had been swooping through, roiling the shallow Gulf waters enough to keep the sailors in port.
Adopted for the duration
Flyaway, the only boat whose crew had years of cruising experience, was staying at the city dock, perhaps wisely maintaining some distance from the novices. The rest of us shared an extension of the loading dock at a local crab-canning facility. The dock’s owner, Roger, also owned the only sailboat in Apalachicola, noteworthy because the area is notoriously shallow oyster country. Because of our common interest, Roger adopted us for the duration. No charge for dockage. Electricity was provided by usurping the power from the factory’s soda machine. And there was free crabmeat, fresh and canned, both lump and claws. We were so new to seafood, we didn’t realize what a special gift that was!
Our three boats were rafted to a retired shrimper that was tied to the dock, though tying it at all was hardly necessary, since its keel was firmly planted in the bottom goo, stuck in a permanent list to port. Since we were the last boat to arrive, we were rafted farthest out, a good position in regard to uninvited critters from shore, but less desirable from the perspective of taking ourselves to shore.
With the date pushing December 20, it was obvious we’d soon see one more chilly Christmas, even if this was Florida. The prospect of spending the holiday with new boating friends quickly canceled any disappointment about a change of holiday plans; in our case, we had none to change and were delighted to be part of the mini-fleet. We stopped looking at weather and started thinking celebration.
What’s a party without decorations? One of the captains soon embarked on a green-finding expedition, checking out the availability of miniature evergreens. He returned with enough fresh pine boughs to tie up and around all the masts, adding the requisite contrast of red-ribbon bows. Twinkling lights soon outlined cockpits and illuminated entries, while inside each boat a charming variety of handmade ornaments twirled from every convenient handle or hook. Oversized Santa socks came out of hiding to be hung by the kerosene heater with extreme care.
Cruising budgets being what they typically were at that time, presents were not a problem — they were hardly a consideration. Cheerful cards and colored foil or paper would make welcome gifts of a gallon of stove alcohol (a gift that truly does keep on giving) or perhaps a new Vise-Grip to replace the one currently resting at the bottom of Mobile Bay. Through all the happy preparations, Christmas cheer was served in the form of eggnog, hot cider, or the jug wine that satisfied budget restrictions, if not an educated taste test.
Dinner by committee
As for Christmas dinner, we discovered a real bonus at our substitute dock. The shrimper’s galley had a full-sized oven, something none of our little boats could boast. And miraculously (in keeping with the season), the oven was still functional. An afternoon of scrape-and-scrub teamwork brought the borrowed galley up to user specs, allowing us to plan the meal around a true holiday center. With a real turkey to dress, how could dinner be bad?
It couldn’t and it wasn’t. Traditional side dishes were assigned to each small-boat galley, and the collective result was as grand a feast as any a reformed Ebenezer could want (or any a land kitchen could produce). It was all made even more enjoyable with the ongoing consumption of more of the jumbo-bottled cheer, whose bouquet had long since ceased to matter.
Dinner ended, but of course the party did not. The sound of music drifted through the hatch and our haze: a familiar song of Christmas was coming from the direction of town center. What a good idea — what better way to celebrate the season than to share the day with others of like mind!
An enthusiastic hike up the street brought our party to the source of the music. A small crowd had gathered around a flatbed truck that was serving temporary duty as a stage for a lady at a piano. The mobile choral director led the carolers about, and we eagerly, if uninvited, joined in, having by now cleverly dubbed ourselves the Tabermackerel Choir. A few flakes of white actually fell from above, surely a sign that someone was pleased with the spirit of our song.
When the piano lady quit playing and the original choir members quietly drifted away, we didn’t even wonder why; we kept right on singing. As we walked around the town, porch lights were turned off at our noisy approach, but still we didn’t get the message. We were determined to find someone who would listen, and ultimately we succeeded. Sort of. Arriving in front of the city jail, we lined up and gave our best efforts — or at least our loudest efforts — to a few choruses of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
In retrospect, that particular carol was probably a poor choice despite its upbeat lyrics, as the residents of that particular building might well have had reason to dismay. Who were we to suggest otherwise?
But, in the true spirit of the season, we finally got a response. A quiet “Right on!” echoed through one of the barred windows, followed by a comment that may have been exactly the message we needed, if not precisely the one we sought: “And God rest y’all, too.”
David and Zora Aiken have been meandering by boat since 1974, finding inspiration for painting and gathering material for writing. Their books include Good Boatkeeping, Second Edition; Cruising, the Basics; and Fiberglass Repair: Polyester or Epoxy. “Home” since 1978 is a good old classic 1963 Chris-Craft sloop, Atelier.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
