Adventures of Hideaways by Matt Maloy

[CPYOA]

Adventures of Hideaways by Matt Maloy

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We recently were bitten by the "Just a Little Bit Larger" bug, The bite was enough to move our Compac 23 (hull #2) from her cozy slip that fit her well to a 30 foot slip that is large enough to sail in. In preparation for her sale, Hideaway received a new bimini to replace the shreds of the 20 year old one. New bottom paint, a newly varnished cabin and refreshed teak followed.


The crew happily began looking for a larger replacement vessel while the never-better-looking Hideaway stayed forlornly tied up in her prison. After a time it was apparent that we could gain the standing headroom that the Capt. wanted, the separate head and a real galley that the First Mate wanted, with at least an additional foot of beam and four feet LOA. The cost would be a far more complex boat with who knows what, that would break in creative ways at the most inopportune moment.


However, the heart of the problem was that all of these boats bring with them the dreaded four foot draft. In Hideaway, four feet of water is deep enough to explore or anchor for the night without undo concern. How many missed opportunities for unique adventures could we bear to miss for the comfort of standing headroom?


More concerns began to arise. Most sailors we talked with don't really use the galley for much more than heating water or soup, although the ice box would be an improvement. The V berth as well as the settee berths in each of the 27s were much smaller than Hideaway's. And then the issue of steering. Sailboats should have TILLERS doggone it!


In the end it wasn't so much what could be gained, as much as what would be lost by finding a larger boat. So it was with these thoughts in mind that one small Yorkie, (aka The Rat) two humans and a snake (Snake) decided to sail from Gulfport to Ancolte Key Florida. Just to see if it could be done in such a small boat with all remaining married and still friends after four days.


Weeks of planning and cramming an impressive amount of, gear, clothes, food and other essential stuff into Hideaway passed by. The surprise was that she still floated above her water line when we pronounced her fully provisioned. The V berth has long been abandoned as a successful place to actually sleep, not because of its size so much as the agility of the crew. It has proven to be a commodious storage area for sails, day sized coolers and other gear.


The journey out of Pass-a-Grille channel was notable only for the "discussions" between the Capt. & 1St Mate concerning the next heading. The Capt., alone, and late on a night with no moon, had charted the course for the entire cruise. The rhumb line did not venture any farther off shore than to avoid the pregnant nature of Pinellas County and some of the more discourteous power boats. The Capt.'s machinations were based on a SE wind that the 1st Mate determined to be more Easterly. So Hideaway ran from the wind out of the crowded channel until the crew complained enough for the Mate to change to a reach. New rule, the entire crew including the Rat, will chart the course for the next cruise, as there is little place to hide on a 23-foot sailboat should discord arise.


Insulted by our indecision the wind vanished. With great reluctance the Capt. was forced to ask the ever present but little used Mr. E to provide Hideaway the forward motivation needed to stay on the time line. Mr. E only needed to be choked and stoked once, then coughed, spat some smoke as if awakening from a long drunk, and began chugging along, producing a fine 4 knots. After a suitable punishment the wind returned, although not nearly with the expected enthusiasm, leaving Hideaway to motor-sail all afternoon.


Clearwater Pass was a pivotal point in the cruise. Depending on time, conditions of wind and sea, not to mention the crew's mental state, a choice had to be made either to continue sailing in the Gulf of Mexico towards Hurricane Pass between Caladesi and Honeymoon Islands, or to take the "easy" route along the inter-coastal and arrive at the same destination with the advantage of several shallow draft anchorages available along the way. As we made our approach we found ourselves in the midst of a flock of Lasers and a gaggle of other sailing vessels intent on sailing in triangles. Headed, we dropped the genny and decided to motor into the pass since the sea breeze and tide conspired to make the pass a rocking challenge. As bad as Pass-A-Grille and John's Pass can be for small boaters, Clearwater Pass has them beat with its arrogant and careless large boat population. Faced with an out going tide and a strong onshore wind, one would expect some common courtesy. Why, the Capt. didn't know, but the reader may know how it is with expectations.


The Capt. with feet braced against the opposing seats and both hands on the tiller was thrown from side to side trying unsuccessfully to keep Hideaway on course and off her beam ends. The Hideaways were doing pretty good until some (insert your favorite adjective here) in a huge power boat came up on them from behind and passed within 6 feet of the beleaguered Hideaways too fast for the Capt. to react. Who remarked later that he didn't know how large the wakes were because they were above the bimini. Mr E screamed at his initial dunking and louder when his prop went high into the air. The crew mouthed similar complaints as Hideaway's first attempt at being an airplane ended with a resounding crash and total dousing of the crew and everything else from stem to stern. The Capt. tried to raise and lower Mr E to assuage his distress, ignoring that Hideaway was on a run, the main sail flailing port to starboard in utter chaos. The alleged captain of the floating skyscraper spared no one, power and sail alike were thrown at each other out of control for an eternity.


The large commercial boats, to their credit, stayed clear. After the shaking stopped, hearts restarted, and fingers were pried from various boat parts, the battered Hideaways proceeded to the first anchorage across from the Dunedin Marina. Hideaway anchored in 4 feet of water at near low tide between two spoil islands. Since the anchorage was well off the inter coastal waterway in the shallows, the Capt. did not set the anchor light. The crew and rat settled in the cabin to read and listen to The Prairie Home Companion on Public Radio. And other than a catamaran sailing not 15 feet from Hideaway's stern with multi-colored lights shining on its sails and black lights bow & stern aimed down towards the water making the vessel seem to float above the sea in an eerie glow, all the while playing New Age music from a boom box, the evening passed uneventfully.


Around 0900 the next morning Hideaway slipped her anchor under sail on a broad reach with a course set for the Dunedin Causeway. An unfortunate radio transmission error caused the Capt. to awaken the much-abused-and-knows-it, Mr. E., Hideaway's salt encrusted hero of the previous day. Mr. E. was as willing to get as far from Clearwater in the shortest possible time as the crew and eagerly powered the Hideaways into a new world of wide clear waters, and no boat traffic. St. Joseph Sound on a warm spring day is hard to beat for the shallow draft sailors. The water is gin clear with an emerald green tint. A string of five interesting spoil islands lined the channel, most of which looked like good anchorages as defined by Hideaway's draft. In the shallows Hideaway flew along on a broad reach at five knots over sea grasses, marine life and sand bars. With no need to stay in the channel, Hideaway explored as she desired all morning until she arrived at Anclote Key which prevented further passage. The anchor held on the fourth try in six feet of water on a falling tide fifty feet from the south eastern shore.


Under the blank gaze of the long abandoned rusting light house, the crew spent the afternoon at anchor watching the marine life , reading, drawing, or just napping. A cigar and a glass of whiskey appeared at some point and the whiskey earned an encore awhile later. After Hideaway had attracted not one but two tow boats to our site, and the lead line read three feet, we moved another fifty feet off and anchored in nine feet of water for the night. Hideaway's classic lines often attract visitors, some of them at the wrong time. On the menu this night was steak and potatoes with veggies and wine served exactly at sunset. To that end the Capt. set up the Bar B on the stern rail and the 1st mate started the camp stove in the cockpit. A jet ski approached at high speed about the time water started boiling on the un-gimbaled stove. The Capt. frantically waved him off and the thirty something captain stopped 20 feet away and began hollering something about "lost pork". After the pork- park- port semantic circle was complete the Capt. realized the gentleman was looking for the boat ramp and pointed to the red sunlit markers just over the jet skier's shoulder leading to the Anclote River. The jet ski took off without so much as a thank-you-very-much-for-saving-my-dumb-butt. Now the Capt. is fully aware that many sailors would have preferred sending the fellow in the general direction of Mexico as retribution from earlier encounters. However, the steaks were on the Bar B and the sun was setting and the drinks were getting warmer. Anyway the lad may not have known, consummate boat captains that some jet skiers are, the rule about red, right, returning, based upon the search lights observed later in the evening.


There is not much better in this world than to watch the sun set framed by Anclote Key and its lighthouse after a fine meal and a sun-downer to mark the event. It is equally important to have such memories when, well after dark, the wind suddenly changes to South East and blows like something that smells really bad. It did not take long before the chop built to the point where they resembled constant boat wakes, then every minute or so three large waves would hit and depending upon how the boat was oriented, the crew may be able to stay in their berths. The Hideaways learned that sleep is not possible in these conditions. Worry, however, is. Of course, even things that were tied down made noise. The Capt. using the main sheet, tied the tiller to center to slow the wandering nature of Hideaway. And by 0300 on this moon-less night the violent motion created only one loud clanking sound, the source of which remained undiscovered. As fate dictated, the Rat picked this time to do her business, mis-stepped in her food dish, launching water and food pellets to the far reaches of the cockpit. Whil'st the 1st Mate cleaned up, she identified the clanking sound as emanating from the covered gas tank. The Capt. switched places with her in the wildly pitching cockpit, both would appear quite intoxicated to any witness. The Capt. who by now wishing he was, lifted the fiberglass cover off of the gas can storage and paused to consider why there were two gas lines going into the transom pipe that leads to the now sleeping Mr. E. Further observation revealed that one of the hoses was moving, coming aboard would be a more accurate description. Calmly and with the quiet voice reserved for just such an occasion, the Capt. asked for, and yet, did not receive a flashlight to welcome the guest. The 1st Mate, just as serenely and with much calm reserve aimed the cabin light on our new friend and handed the Capt. the boat hook, who, after a few sublime moments, was able to persuade the 4' snake to take a late night swim over the transom, encouraged as it was by the gentle prodding of the boat hook.


The crew retired for the rest of the morning twitching only slightly in their sleep when an errant line brushed against them. The snake has been identified by the Boca Ciega Yacht Club Porch Committee as a Rusty Gas Line Snake due to its reported color and habitat. The Hideaways were slow to report for the morning duty. From the port shrouds, the Capt. untied a 12 year old rubber boat the kids used to play with, that had been pressed into service as Hideaway's dink.. The dink is larger than the name implies at ten feet. It is an interesting problem for the heat-encrusted mind, to inflate the dink on an 8 foot pitching forward deck. The task was nonetheless accomplished without anything or person overboard, excepting the dink of course. For no particular reason, boarding began at Hideaway's beam. It worked fine for the gear, the Rat and 1st Mate. When the Capt. tried to board, Hideaway was considerably higher off the water without her crew. That and a wave timed for maximum embarrassment, landed the Capt. spread eagle on the dink's bow, gasping for breath, wincing from heretofore unidentified strained muscles. The wind meanwhile had blown the dink some distance away from shore. The Capt. being of the economic persuasion, had never replaced the long broken oars, substituting large canoe paddles instead. Normally, with the crew in a kneeling position, the dink will move smartly along in a direction that looks something like the last dock line thrown from a departing sail craft. Unknown to the Capt. since he did not look, the First Mate was in some disarray having been launched into the air by the Capt.'s sudden boarding. The Capt. still splayed on the bow, was digging for all his worth with the over sized canoe paddle towards the ever shrinking shore. After three and a half full circles the mighty dink brushed a sand bar close to shore and the journey was half over. Now some of you who are more technical would criticize the whirly-gig approach to dink handling. But consider the advantage of viewing possible landing sites and the scenic panorama while providing great entertainment for the fishing fleet as you spin along. The Hideaways carefully lifted the dink above the estimated high tide level and wandered off to do beach things.


Anclote Key has a certain wildness about it that seems to laugh at the efforts of mere mortals to appropriate its charms by making improvements. The grasses and fauna welcome but warn. The Capt. could spend all day just observing such things but the tide could not, so with the pain of leaving such a magical place the Hideaways proceeded to the dink. The site of Hideaway framed between a grayed expired tree and the lighthouse begged for a camera to record the moment. Sometimes, however, the best things must be burned to memory. It did not take a lot of memory to realize the dink had exhaled a goodly portion of its' flotation capacity. The Hideaways became aware that a "W" is not an efficient hull shape although it does somehow seem to prevent the whirly-gig phenomena and an exhausted crew made a soft landing at the stern ladder sometime later. Shortly after lunch Hideaway raised her anchor and drifted for almost an hour before she found the wind. Hideaway tacked down wind using most of St. Joseph Sound all of the afternoon, and finally settled into a long broad reach as she approached Honeymoon Island. The crew and Capt. spent a good deal of the time mesmerized by the never ending landscape unfolding closer to our keel than we knew, so much so that Hideaway relocated a crab trap in an effort to awaken them from their stupor and pay attention to her.


As promised by the Capt. to the First Mate, Marker One Marina was the destination for the evening. The Harbor Master assigned a slip for the Hideaways at the end of the pier. The South East exposure afforded a wonderful view, but it was the fresh breeze that was nonetheless a great concern to the Capt. The Mate pointed out the tall houses along the shore and very shallow water in-between would offer protection and keep Hideaway from the pier. The Capt. prepared an anchor to be tossed from the beam just in case.


Hailing from the far frozen north as the crew does, the Hideaways know the meaning of earning the summer by enduring the winter. So it is in Florida as well: No shower feels so good as the one earned after a few days in the heat, humidity, and salt water. After the long showers the Rat found her secret place below deck and the crew repaired to a nearby restaurant for a fine supper. Returning for the sinking of the sun, the crew were reminded of the main problem with small boats in marinas that cater to the large. The tide had lowered Hideaway to a breath taking level. Having left the mountain climbing gear at home next to the step ladder, either one of which were required to board, the Hideaways decided to view the sunset from the Dunedin Causeway bridge instead of experiencing the thrill of boarding in these conditions. The Dunedin Causeway Bridge is an interesting place at sunset. There are hordes of people running, jogging, and biking back and forth across it, divided by a constant stream of motor vehicles engaged in the same activity. The Hideaways were the only strollers among the machines and humanity. The Hideaways found themselves atop the Dunedin Causeway Bridge at yuppie rush hour. To the south, in full view was our first anchorage. And the crew was pleased to note a small sail boat had anchored there this night. To the north Anclote Key Lighthouse was just visible through the haze at sunset and with a little imagination the Hideaways envisioned an anchor light of the previous evening and pondered long about how so much of Hideaways adventures could occur between these two locations so close together.


The next days sail plan called for a long motor journey down the intercoastal all the way to Boca Ciega Yacht Club in Gulfport. The Hideaways had made this trip once before years ago on a weekday and remembered it fondly. The difference between sailing the intercoastal during the week as compared to a weekend must be experienced to be fully appreciated. Nearly all of the larger boats are gone and those that remain seem to be on a more relaxed schedule than the typical week-ender. The wind was either temperamental or on the nose so the famous Mr. E was called to the watch. Consuming a gallon an hour at four knots, refueling would be necessary. This task cannot be accomplished with Mr. E. running, so at the three and a half hour mark the Capt. darted into an unknown, unmarked and uncharted waterway surrounded by expensive homes. With the First Mate on the lead line, and the Rat on guard for birds and crab traps, Hideaway anchored in three feet of water to refuel its crew and Mr. E. Only the slightest skim of fuel remained in the three gallon tank and only a gallon and a half in the last jerry can. Hamlin's Landing has a fine fuel dock, easily accessible by a reasonably competent crew. There is a good eatery, a Holiday Inn, a couple of bars, and swimming pools. A long boardwalk, lined with slips containing boats bigger than the common sailor's imagination, ended at the fuel dock. The Capt. did not see any sign suggesting hailing the Dock Master so Hideaway headed in the general direction of the fuel dock and hoped for the best. The First Mate had a different concept of communication and threw half of the boat fenders overboard. The Capt. quickly brought Hideaway about and the First Mate, with the ever handy boat hook, rescued the victims within mere inches of some very expensive looking fiberglass. Soon, very soon, the Dock Master dispatched a runner, who really did run all the way to the fuel dock, to protect the establishment against all imagined liability caused by these lubbers. The reader may be able to obtain the same quick service with an ordinary teenager or perhaps a Rusty Gas Line Snake if you happen to have either aboard.


A leisurely motor trip culminated after passing under Cory Causeway when the Capt. ran the famous Mr. E. hard for the rest of the journey. Thirty minutes later, at precisely 17:00, Hideaway backed into her slip and retrieved her dock lines. For a time the Hideaways measured their days by the tide, wind, sunset and dawn. The days were observed through the arc of the genny forcing wind over the gentle curve of the mainsail outlined by the clear blue sky. All that mattered was telltales, wind and hull. Enhanced were these days by the flow of the land-under-the-sea just beneath Hideaway's rudder and keel. The nights by the stars, their ranks expanded by the absence of the moon and shore lights. Relationships deepen with shared experiences, whether the crew is to terrified to be scared, or enamored over an incredible sunset or the view of a new day from Hideaways' small round portholes. There is just nothing as fulfilling as adventuring in a small shallow draft sailing craft in these waters. Perhaps it is because the very smallness of the vessel magnifies the grandeur of each experience. Or perhaps it is the pleasures derived from a simple sail boat unfettered by modern devices that cause worry and expense when they malfunction and consume valuable sailing time to repair. We began the journey as wife and husband, with a dog on a small sailboat-we returned as The Hideaways and we are not for sale.


This article was last updated on July 09, 2003.

[canoecreek]

Matt,

great writing! ... and enjoy your you tube videos.

[Gerry]

You should sent this article to "Small Craft Advisory".  The folks there like these kinds of articles.

Keep your slip in Gulfport.  Two weeks ago there were three boats grounded near the fishing pier.