Catamaran Delivery, Days 17 and 18: Jacksonville, FL to Ponce Inlet, FL

We set sail from Jacksonville early, bound for St. Augustine. While this would be a short day, after our last few long hauls, we needed to rise early to catch the tides between Jax Beach and the city. Additionally, we had been tied up the fuel dock at Jax Beach, and we needed to be clear by 8am to ensure that the pumps were accessible.

We rose before the sun, and set off in another thick fog. The marina offered few services, and at dawn, the marshy low tide brought a powerful odor rather similar to that of sewage. We were quite ready to journey onwards as we cast off.

Every day aboard has been alike, but in small ways, each has been unique as well. Navigating in these conditions brings something distinct from even the conditions of similar foggy days prior - the combination of route, light, wind, and weather bring challenges and opportunities for learning that I’m becoming more sensitive to.

Today, I could not use the spotlight, as the fog scattered the beam and reduced my visibility further when I turned it on. Instead, I stood at the bow, one hand on a shroud, peering into the gloom to spot crab pots, aids to navigation, and other boats and ships. We had left after sunrise, and as the fog burned slowly off, I retreated to the cockpit. It was finally warm enough to not be shivering, but it was quite damp.

The morning gave way to a beautiful blue sky, and by 11am we were approaching the St. Augustine Municipal Marina, where we had reserved a mooring ball for the evening. As we approached, the anchored boats changed, from sport fisherman to more frivolous junks and yachts. Our captain and his wife had been speaking fondly of the city since we departed, and the atmosphere here was clearly distinct from where we’d been.

We picked up a mooring, my first since ASA 103, many years ago, and somewhat clumsily done in the strong current. But, with a bit of work, the captain and I worked together and got it done, and we set off to town in the dinghy.

I was not quite certain what to expect from St. Augustine, but it was not what I found. It’s an unexpected, semi-chaotic blend of Spanish architecture, touristy shops, meandering crowds, military crowds, and Floridian country charm.

In truth, I’m not exactly certain what to make of this place.

There is beauty here, but also a lot of crass commercialism, and its vibe felt like history-meets-Renaissance-Faire. Wikipedia tells me that this is the oldest European-occupied city in North America, a place where the powers of Europe once fought for control of this place, driving the native population back as conquistadors and explorers wound their way across this continent.

There is a romanticism to the Age of Discovery that has always caught my attention; I recall playing the original version of Sid Meier’s Pirates! on a now-archaic computer, stunned by the freedom afforded my imagination aboard sloops and barques and frigates. It was, admittedly, a ground-breaking game - but that’s a story for a different blog. What matters is that my time in St. Augustine was colored by my love for an era that I imagine many sailors have wondered at, and simultaneously, it was on display, in pastiche.

My musings were largely curtailed by what I think is my first-ever back spasm. I’m not certain what caused it, but suspect the first week spent sleeping in a berth without any mattress might have contributed. I retreated to my cabin and tried gingerly to stretch, while our captain and his wife wandered about their (favorite?) city.

I happened to be in the bridge deck as they returned, and a shouted, “hey, want to go on a harbor tour in the dinghy?” was certainly too good an opportunity to pass up, back or no. I clambered aboard, and from the water we saw the Christmas lights that decorate the entirety of this place from mid-November through the end of the year.

In the morning, we set off early, bound for the Ponce Inlet. It would be my final night aboard, as I needed to return to Brunswick, GA to be present for a rig inspection aboard a boat I’m considering purchasing.

The trip down was, as our captain said, to be a day of bridges: 6 or 7, depending upon where we would stop, some fixed, some bascules. We rose early, and set off just as the sun was rising and squalls rolling across the eastern shore just outside of the ICW.

As we motored down, I took the helm while our captain was working on some other things. The bridge operators were friendly, and we rarely had to even slow for their openings - a highlight of the day came early, when a slower catamaran fell a half mile behind us, and the charming woman working the bridge implored him to “give it everything you’ve got!”

The day was largely uneventful, otherwise. The ICW in Florida is wider, straighter, and busier than up north; there are still many places that are beautiful down here, but after nearly 3 weeks, the time traveling in the ditch has become somewhat less distinct than the ports we stop at. Alas, our final stop was inglorious; there were few options at Ponce Inlet, and the one we stayed at was more boatyard than marina, with a single dubious bathroom and no other facilities.

I woke in the morning, helped cast off the lines one final time, and then hauled my oversized and overstuffed sea bag into an Uber (no rentals cars seem to be available anywhere in FL or GA, unexpectedly) and set off for Brunswick again, as the boat that had been home since the end of November disappeared into the fog.