The Rod & Gun Club at Everglades City.  It was built in the late 19th. century for Barron C. Collier as his personal hunting lodge.

Friday, June 18

-Conditions are no better - the water is still rising and squall after squall is coming over -- there is now about 18 in. of water on the dock. Don and I decided to walk to the lobby of the Rod and Gun Club to see if we could get some information on the storm. We sloshed along in the knee deep water, feeling our way. I was walking next to the mooring posts on the edge of the docks and I turned to Don and said, "I wonder why there is a railing 3 ft. in from the edge glub, glub, gurgle" as I disappeared in the dock inset where they clean their fish!  I was wearing full foul weather gear at the time,and I discovered that these suits are just as good at holding water in as out! I resembled a yellow pillsbury dough boy, and now had about a hundred pounds of water added to my normal sveldt 225 pounds, so it was quite a job getting me back on the dock, especially with Don laughing as hard as he was! Ever since the bleeding hearts have decreed that hitting your kids with a shovel was poor parenting, I've had no control! When I regained my dignity, we went into the lobby. What a spooky place! There were no lights on and the place was so dark you could barely see the clerk sitting behind the counter -- he was just sitting there in the dark. We asked him about the tide and he said he reckoned it was about as high as it would go. I glanced at the tide tables on the counter and noticed it wouldn't be high tide for about about three more hours. When I brought this to the clerk's attention, he said "That so? Well, it might get a leettle higher then."............ Two hours later with the roar of air boats driving up and down the streets of the town, he allowed as how maybe he should turn off the electricity to the dock boxes which were slowly disappearing under water.

While in the lobby, a news cast on the radio said that this no-name storm that we were suffering from was making a mess of Tampa Bay. It said that Tampa General Hospital was closed for admissions because the approaches were under water. Since we live on the water, only about 5 ft. above sea level, I was worried about what was happening at home. I finally reached my 18 year old son at work. "How are things at the house", I asked. In his typical, "give no more information than specifically asked for fashion", he said, "Well, I think it's getting better now." When I pressed him further, he said that the water was over the seawall when he left for work but hadn't reached the pool yet. When I asked him when the next high tide was, I was informed it wouldn't be high tide for 3 more hours!

Having been thus reassured, we went out to sit on the porch and watch the mooring posts disappear. Water is now at the bottom step of the porch -- everything in town is closed -- apparently all business-men live in Naples, and could not get out to Everglades City. After another hour or so the water started to recede -- it looked like the worst was over.

Saturday, June 19

- We couldn't get gas at the Rod and Gun Club because the pumps were under water. They told us we could get gas several miles up the river at a small marina. We started up on an incoming tide and spotted the marina on the right bank. We did not realize how strong the current was until we started to turn into the dock. We got carried up stream toward a high power line and a bridge before we were able to tie up to a post. It was all my little 10 HP motor could do just to stay even with the current.

As we were getting ice and gas from another "Deliverance" type native, he said, "Ifin I was you, I wouldn't try to leave before the tide changes -- I've seen shrimp boats end up agin that bridge when they lost power and the current wasn't half as strong as it is now". "When does the tide change? " I asked.  "About four hours". Soooo, we sat and sat and sat until the tide changed. About four that afternoon we started back down the river intending to anchor at Indian Key and leave tomorrow morning.  When we left the mouth of the river into the open bay we got hit with high wind gusts and about a four ft. chop. That did it! We went back to the Rod and Gun Club for another night of "paradise". The current was so strong we had a bow wave while we were tied to the dock, and I could steer the boat into the dock by using the rudders.

Sunday, June 20

-- Outgoing tide plus normal current of the river increased dramatically by the high water conditions equaled about a seven knot flow of water past the hulls. Since the boat was moored with the bow upstream, I decided to warp the boat around. I led a line from the port quarter around the stern and up to the mooring post. I then slacked the stbd. bow line to allow the boat to pivot prettily around. Then all I had to do was take up on the line tied to the port quarter and the boat would be pointing downstream, Right? Wrong! Don and I were on the dock handling lines and Kitty was on the boat to make sure the lines didn't come loose. As the bow started to turn in that ferocious current, it pulled the line through my hands in spite of the wrap I had around the mooring post. I grabbed the bow line which I had previously untied and was able to stop the boat by cleverly wedging my hand between the line and the mooring post.

Now, Kitty is not exactly the most confident sailor in the best of conditions, and when she saw the line come whipping around the post and the boat started to play whirl-a-gig, she absolutely lost it. She started screaming, "You lost me, You lost me!" at a volume that would have done a Wagnerian Diva proud. I understand that some species of sea birds took off and didn't return to their nests for months!

At this point, I noticed that blood was dripping from the hand that was mashed against the post. Don was finally able to take enough strain off the line to allow me to get my hand out. The top of my fingers were rope burned almost to the bone, and extremely painful. The skipper of the boat moored forward of me had apparently been watching the whole fiasco, and he now strolled  back and asked if he could help. He advised me to try to go into the current and turn the boat in a slightly wider spot upstream because, he said, in one of the greatest understatements I have ever heard, "I don't think your wife will go for that maneuver again". As it worked out, we were able to bring the boat around in the current with about 18 in. to spare.

Monday, June 21

We got underway about eight am. After talking to the desk clerk to get "local knowledge" (an oxymoron if I ever heard one), we elected to take the southern channel out past Indian Key. It wasn't a well marked channel, but it would save about four miles and according to the clerk "you can't miss the channel". Now that's a phrase that really puts the fear in me, but we tried it any way.--- Three hours later, after wandering around mangrove islands aptly sporting names like Sand Fly Haven and Mosquito Point, we finally found a channel that got us out in the bay.We had a largely uneventful sail into the wind to Shark River.

Since we had been soaked for the last three days we put everything topside to dry. Noticing that there were no boats, houses, or civilization of any kind as far as the eye could see,I decided to sail "au natural" and get suntanned and dried out.  Several hours later and suffering from sunburn in places that were unaccustomed to being sunburned -- I discovered we had no Noxema on board!! Hearing my piteous moaning, my wife (a registered nurse) said in her best Florence Nightingale voice, "For heavens sake, it can't be that bad. After all it's such a tiny area that burned." How I've lived with that vicious woman all these years, I'll never know! We pulled into Shark River just before dark, made dinner and set up screening just in time. As we looked up through the hatch, we could hear a buzzing like the sound of tiny airplanes and the whole netting was vibrating.  (Biblical question: If Noah was so smart, why didn't he swat the two mosquitoes he had on board?)

Sleeping with these millions of tiny eyes staring at us was difficult, but at least the wind and waves were calm. About three in the morning, I awoke to feel "things" crawling on me. I turned on the light -- Bad Mistake! We had been invaded by earwigs! The screen over the hatch was covered with them and they were crawling under the edges as the mosquitos couldn't. They were not biting though, and the alternative of going topside to the blood thirsty mosquitos was not acceptable. The main problem was that they looked an awful lot like the brain-eating creatures which Kahn dropped in Chekov's ears in Star Trek II. Well, I suppose I could sleep with a watch cap pulled over my ears for a few hours!

Evil Looking Earwig

Tuesday, June 22

- We got underway at dawn. The mosquitos were so bad that Don had to have Kitty swat them off him while he pulled up the anchor.  Now, Don has a thing about bugs,........ I've seen him practically run through a wall when being dived on by a kamikazi palmetto bug, so when he pulled up the main and was showered by hundreds of earwigs that had crawled into the furled sail, only the fact that the anchorage was called "Shark River" kept him from jumping overboard. He saw nothing funny about the incident, but I have to confess, watching him dance around on the trampoline made my morning!  We had an uneventful motor sail from Shark River through Florida Bay to Long Key where we stayed at Outdoor Resorts of America. Our daughter Tracy and my other son Jeff joined us, having driven down from St. Pete.

Wednesday, June 23

- We decided to dive on Tennessee Reef, off Long Key. When we got to the marker, the huge coral heads that I expected to see were not visible because the water was all stirred up from the storms that we had suffered through but we decided to dive the reef anyway and got the gear ready. We rowed about 200 yds. in the Avon when I told Jeff to drop the anchor. As he picked up the twelve pound Danforth, he fell forward and neatly broke his fall by jamming one fluke of the anchor into the bow of the dinghy. SoTHIS is why they recommend mushroom anchors for inflatables! After suggesting, in vernacular not especially suited for this, a family oriented news letter, that the surgeon who did his tonsillectomy must have erred and done a lobotomy instead, we rowed back to the boat hoping that we could beat the air hissing out of the dinghy. We made it back and decided to dive right where Kittrace was anchored. That's when I noticed gas dripping out of the tank to our diving compressor. Sure enough, a hole rusted through -- no diving that day!

Thursday, June 24

I awoke with severe stomach cramps and back pains so bad that I couldn't straighten up. It couldn't be the bends -- I didn't even get in the water yesterday! Kitty drove me to Fisherman's Hospital in Marathon, where I underwent X-Rays, blood tests, and various shots. They diagnosed my problem with a catch-all gastroenteritis. So much for diving today!

"Well, Mr. Ruth, your lab results don't look too bad,.........although I might suggest your testosterone level is a tad high."

Friday, June 25

- Enroute to Windley Key and the Holiday Isle Marina -- great place! Pool, outdoor bar with Hawaiian dancers-the works! Don's girlfriend from Miami drove down to meet us, so he was lost to me as far as crew.

Here's my intrepid crew at Holiday Isle Marina

Saturday, June 26

-- finally got to dive! We dove Hen and Chickens reef, off Islamorada. I've dived these reefs many times, so there were no surprises -- but we saw more lobsters than I ever saw here before. Of course, lobsters were not in season -- so they just sat in their holes and grinned at us.

Sunday,June 27

- Kitty, Tracy and Jeff drove back to St. Pete, leaving Don and me to sail the boat back. We motor sailed to Long Key, through the drawbridge and started back across Florida Bay. Coming down we had to beat into the wind -- now, where was it? With almost calm conditions, we motor sailed arriving at Shark River just before dark.

Monday, June 28

- Left at dawn, very light S winds, set main and motor sailed, turned the helm over to "Egbert", the auto pilot.  Very restful trip to Coon Key where I took the helm back.  Filled gas tanks and replenished ice at Marco Island and started up the coast at about five p.m.. Sailed until dark, racing storms all the way to Sanibel. Anchored off the island for the night.

Tuesday, June 29

Left about nine AM, motor sailed until south of Venice -- wind picked up and we started to move, FINALLY!  There were a great many monohulls in the area, and we went past them like they were standing still! Quite a few of them were racers from the local yacht clubs who look down their noses at MacGregors in general, and catamarans in particular, and I took great pleasure in roaring up on them and  watching them frantically rush around, trimming sails and yelling at their  crews, trying to avoid being humiliated. One even got so flustered he lost    the halyard on his main, and was floundering around under his sail as I   went by him on his LEE! It was really great! They had all their rail-meat  deployed and were hunched over the wheel like their life depended on it as   we went by waving while sitting in beach chairs. As we rounded Anna Maria Island, I worked out our speed on the leg from Venice -- we had averaged better than 19 knots over the ground! Since we had only planned on making Sarasota, we decided to go all out and anchor in the Vinoy Basin. I called Kitty on the VHF and had her meet us at the Vinoy, where we anchored in the last light of the day.   As you can see everything did not go perfectly! Would I do it again, you ask? Key West is my next trip South! Anyone wanting to form a flotilla and go with us, just let me know.  Paul Ruth Charter Member, FOMA