Boca Chita Key to Miami - March 10, 2011

Dream Quest entering Boca Chita Key photo by Becky Moore

Boca Chita Key harbor

It was hard to leave Boca Chita Key, I kept finding excuses for delaying my departure and finally decided to spend another night.  Anchorages as idyllic as this are few and far between and since I’m still waiting for the sun to head north and blaze the way, I’ve got time to linger and smell the bougainvillea.  The entire pace of my voyage is linked to the declination of the sun.  My plan calls for Dream Quest to be in South Florida in winter when the sun is farthest south (the winter solstice, December 21), traveling up the East Coast when the sun reaches the Equator (Vernal Equinox, March 21), in the Great Lakes when the sun reaches its farthest point north (summer solstice, June 21) and making my way south from Chicago toward home as the sun and the geese head south once more (Autumnal equinox September 21).  As a former celestial navigator, I find the whole concept of chasing the sun immensely gratifying; an odyssey linked to the mother star.

As I crossed Broad Biscayne Bay en route to Miami, the mariner in me could sense a change in the air.  An oppressively hot and humid south wind, a falling barometer, hazy air and foreboding giant cumulus clouds billowing up over the city all spelled caution. In the onshore waters, two small boat regattas were getting under way as heavy recreational boating traffic darted about. 

Regatta

In the distance nimbocumulus clouds were edging closer, but the city, sunny and bright, seemed oblivious.  I made my way at idle speed past the downtown waterfront and under numerous bridges basking in the majesty of a great megalopolis as seen from the seductive perspective of the sea.

Miami Skyline

As I approached the Venetian Causeway Bridge, a wall of black clouds rose up over the city with stupefying speed as the sea darkened.  Fun and games was about to end and survival was the new agenda. A sailor in Key West had pointed out to me on a chart a possible anchorage area in this very section of the city; but could I make it in time?  I threw the helm hard over to starboard and headed for refuge, the storm bearing down on my stern.  In less than a mile I reached the area, whipped the bow around 180 degrees into the gathering wind and released the anchor immediately as the first hailstones and engorged raindrops splattered the decks. I powered astern to set the anchor and held on for dear life.  In moments the full fury of the storm was upon me and the boat trembled under the load.  A bare-poled sailboat anchored nearby went over on its beam's end but righted itself. My world devolved into a maelstrom of liquid blur, screaming wind and rattling canvas.  Wind gusts to 60 mph assaulted Dream Quest relentlessly threatening to dislodge the anchor and send her crashing toward shore.  I stayed at the helm applying forward power in short bursts to counteract the worst gusts and hopefully lessen the strain on the perilous anchor. 

Time slowed to a standstill, water poured in through every errant stitch in the canvas that covers the flying bridge.  I struggled to keep the electronics dry. The harbor had gone mad, its waters frothing with foam, the boat was swinging wildly, tugging violently like a tethered horse anxious to be set free, to run with the wind.  Was I dragging anchor?  Was I closing with the shore?  In the reduced visibility I couldn’t tell for sure.  The decks were awash in freshwater, a much needed bath administered by a demented nanny, the only bright spot in an otherwise grim situation. I took solace in knowing that violent thunderstorms are usually short lived.  I intently watched the small flag on the bow as it incrementally transitioned from tumescent to flaccid, indicating that the storm’s climax had indeed been reached.  Ever so slowly the conditions began to improve, the gale reluctantly released its grip and moved on to other prey far out at sea.  

Within minutes, VHF channel 16, the hailing and emergency channel monitored by the U.S. Coast Guard, was inundated with distress calls.  A boat with five passengers was taking on water, a sailboat was capsized with two persons in the water, a diver was missing, a powerboat was capsized its crew status unknown.  It was very sobering dialog.  That carefree cadre of oblivious boaters had been swallowed whole by the storm and I could just as easily been one of them.

Several hours later, when I was convinced that it was safe to leave the boat unattended, I took the dinghy to shore by heading up the very narrow Collins Canal that penetrates deep into South Beach.  As the late afternoon light waned, I strolled along the beach photographing in the extraordinary light left in the wake of the storm.  

Gulls and watermelon

Feeding frenzy

The beach

Lifeguard station

Sunset

Nest of a homeless person

Miami Beach was throbbing with music as I strolled amid diverse throngs of people, dined in a trendy beachfront café and marveled at the lovingly restored art deco hotels for which it is famous. 
 

Miami by night

Art Deco hotels

After a challenging journey in the dark back out the canal, I was greatly relieved to find Dream Quest placidly floating beneath the porch light of a new moon.  It is not a home recommended for the faint of heart.