The beginning of our journey, a finicky fuel line, and a crab pot dodging adventure. Post #1
We left Bradenton, Florida around noon, winding down the Manatee River with one goal in mind: make it out of Tampa Bay in daylight. Crab pots dotted the water like a minefield, and fouling the prop on Day 1 was not on our bucket list. Thankfully, we navigated the inlet without incident and pointed the bow south along Florida’s Gulf Coast.
Our plan was to round the Keys and head for Bimini, a straight shot if all went well. We considered taking the inside cut at Marathon, but with our 64-foot mast and uncertain bridge clearance, we decided not to take any chances.
As we settled into our first evening underway, I went below to heat up one of the meals I had prepped in advance. I had stocked the galley with easy options so we wouldn’t have to cook too much in rough seas. Just as I stepped into the galley, the engine coughed and died.
Welcome to sailing.
We didn’t panic. Rodney bled the fuel line, got us running again, and we were back on course. Little did we know, this would become a recurring issue all the way to the Dominican Republic.
That night, we slipped into our usual passage rhythm. We typically do three- to four-hour watches. I usually take the early shift, and Rodney takes the tough one in the middle of the night. He’s also kind enough to let me sleep in a bit longer when I can.
Our first night at sea was quiet, but by the next evening we realized we wouldn’t reach Key West until around 1:30 in the morning. We had no plans to stop, since we were trying to stay on a tight weather schedule. (You’ll find out quickly, that’s kind of our thing.)
As we approached Key West in total darkness, I threw on my life jacket and went forward with the spotlight to help guide us through the channel. After about an hour of careful maneuvering, we finally saw the glow of downtown. What a relief. Rodney went below for some well-earned sleep, and I stayed at the helm. I decided to stick to Hawk Channel instead of going offshore.
That turned out to be a mistake.
The crab pots were relentless. I couldn’t relax for a second, dodging floats all night until Rodney got up and guided us over the reef to head outside.
Now we were just one night away from Bimini. The fatigue was setting in, and the weather was closing in fast. A few friends messaged us, asking if we’d consider pulling in at Miami. But that’s not our style. We set a goal, and we were going to reach it.
That evening, conditions were manageable. Three- to four-foot waves spaced around seven seconds apart. I took the early shift, and Rodney let me get some much-needed rest. As usual, he let me oversleep, and when I finally woke up, we were sloshing around in rough seas with driving rain.
It was 3:45 in the morning, and there was no way we could safely enter Bimini in those conditions. So, we decided to heave to and wait for daylight.
Those hours drifting in the Atlantic were long and uncomfortable, but seeing the sunrise brought a huge wave of relief. AIS showed a few other boats doing the same. Then Rodney had a great idea. He hailed the local ferry and asked for local advice. The captain gave us great insight into the tricky entrance. Bimini’s channel is known to be difficult, and a lot of boats have run aground there.
We were the first pleasure craft to enter that morning. We were nervous, but confident. The thought of a comfy bed and hot showers didn’t hurt either.
As we rounded the final corner, the Big Game Club Marina came into view. It was a sight for sore eyes. When the dockmaster answered our call and gave us the slip number, we knew we had made it. It was time for Mudslides and french fries!
