Crossing the Gulf of Mexico
February 3, 2025
Anchors up! Beginning our longest crossing yet. 160 miles and 24 hours across the Gulf.
February 4, 2025
We survived the crossing! It was an adventure. We’ll write up all the details later. For now we sleep!
February 9, 2025
We crossed the Gulf during one of the best weather windows seen in perhaps years. A high pressure system had filled in over the vast yet relatively shallow waters and it was forecast to stick around for at least five days. This would create a windless passage on glassy seas, far different from the steep six-foot waves we headed into last year.
My first concern then turned from waves to something I dread far more: fog. On the right wind direction, warm air from land could drift over the colder Gulf, transforming the moisture in the air into fog. In winter, the northern Gulf is cold to the touch at around 60°. While this may not sound frigid, here is some perspective: if a boater were to go overboard, rescue crews would have to find them within anywhere from 1-6 hours before they perished to hypothermia.
Not only does fog make navigation more dangerous, it would make any rescue far more difficult due to the severely limited visibility. These are the thoughts that wandered through my mind while 45 miles offshore, in pitch black, enveloped in an unrelenting veil of fog, in a 25-foot boat designed for pleasant day sails.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I decided if we would be in fog for the majority, we would choose a different day or route. After all, Novella is not equipped with radar or an AIS transponder- we can see other vessels on screen but they can’t see us. If there was another vessel equipped similarly, we would not be able to see each other until within potentially as few as 100 feet. It would be wise to be conservative on choosing our date to cross. After the freak snowstorm and cold front, the Gulf had chilled more and fog was a distinct concern in my mind. However, as we went to bed anchored behind Dog Island, NOAA did not have a lasting fog advisory in our planned route.
We awoke to beautiful clear skies and a light wind. No fog AND we can sail! How lucky are we? One more look at the NOAA forecast suggested any fog in our path would clear by late morning. Feeling elated, we raised our sails and headed into the Carrabelle Dog Island Pass into the Gulf at 9am. As we passed the edge of the barrier islands into open water, we were in fog. It was not the densest fog we had been in by far and we figured it was coastal. Once far enough outside it should clear. We made sécurité calls to alert any other vessels of our presence and we soldiered on. About five miles outside the light wind was on our bow so we dropped sail. I was happy to disturb some floating seabirds because they are a great indicator of visibility. One took off in front of our path. He disappeared approximately 100 feet away. Not great.
We messaged back and forth with three other vessels behind us, faster Looper boats who would depart at around 4pm and catch up with us in time to enter the Tarpon Springs area together. They were benefitting from our realtime observations of the conditions. Later, maybe we could benefit from their radar. For now, we were all alone.
At 10 nautical miles out, I looked down at the forecast for five seconds. When I looked up I was amazed to find us in perfectly clear skies and sunshine. I was right! We had exited the veil and we were now in the clear! I turned around and the fog looked like a wall we had exited from another world. My spirits were lifted and Meriah came out to see why her husband was yelling “wooohooooo!” at the top of his lungs. I began to plan the rest of our crossing with delight now that we could see. We would have a sunset celebration tonight, gaze at the stars, and take turns keeping watch while the other slept. It will be magical!
A half hour later we re-entered the fog. “NOAA now says it will lift by 1pm. No way can it last past three,” I said with inspiring confidence. NOAA kept updating the forecast and moving the fog to later and later in the day. By late afternoon we knew it could last all night. Instead of our plans to watch the sunset, we watched the impenetrable mist around us turn to a sickly ash color, then charcoal, then a dreadful blackish gray illuminated only by our navigation lights. No stars, no moon, no anything.
However thick the fog was in the darkness, we had no idea. If visibility were 50 feet or 500 feet we had no way of knowing. Inside the fog, everything was wet. And cold. The mist slowly soaked everything in the cockpit, including our clothes and the blankets we had brought out to help us stay warm. Beads of water collected on everything, including the solar panels above, raining fat drops onto our heads.
Had it been a clear night, we could have slept for 20 minutes at a time, popping up to check for lights, to check the AIS, ensure the autopilot was on course, and then take another nap. In the fog we had to keep constant watch. If we met a fishing boat without AIS, we would have only seconds to react. The routine was simple but exhausting: scan the nonexistent horizon in 360 degrees, check the AIS, repeat.
Calls started to repeat over the VHF. A fisherman was overdue to arrive back at his port. First other boaters were hailing him, then it escalated to the Coast Guard repeatedly calling his name. Silence. Finally a bulletin was issued for the missing boater and we were supposed to keep a lookout for him (even though we could see nothing at all). On the Loop, we had heard these calls many times and followed the news afterwards. Usually the poor guy was out alone, and the boat often found later still in gear. Perhaps the motor was in trolling mode as he reached down for a fish, or relieved himself over the gunwales. One wrong move would lead to a fall overboard, where he would surface just in time to watch his boat leave him behind many miles offshore. I peered into the cobalt waters illuminated by our stern light and imagined what it would be like to fall in, shivering 45 miles from shore, wishing hopelessly for a rescue in 60 feet of dark water as the hypothermia set in. The darkness around us was now an intruder in my mind.
Meriah could tell I was unsettled. She made us snacks and sat with me. She found a trivia game to keep my mind off the now uncontrollable situation we were in. Despite our efforts, the hours crawled by.
As the ten o’clock hour passed, I sent Meriah in to rest as I stayed alone in the cockpit. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so truly isolated from any frame of reference, completely detached from any sign of humanity or nature. Even in the emptiness of space you would still see the stars. Here in the nothingness, my eyes played tricks on me with increasing frequency each hour I went without sleep. A vessel appeared on a collision course from the port side! No, that was a reflection in the fishing pole holder. The fog must have cleared; I can see the dark horizon! Oh, that is the lifeline around the deck. A rogue wave splashed the side of the boat, sending a splash into the air. Then two silver torpedos rushed toward our hull, crashing just below the surface into our port side. Wait, that was real! “Meriah, we have some creatures out here!”
I shined my big flashlight onto the unknown animals, and they stayed with the light, then jumped out of the water. Dolphins! Not only that, they were a kind we had never seen before. They were gray with light spots, like little aquatic puppies! And there were so many! We later identified them as pantropical spotted dolphins, which can travel in pods of up to 1,000! We were no longer alone, and blessed with the fortune that many mariners claim they bring. (We can attest to the idea since our worst day was one where we found a dead dolphin.) The pod stayed with us for more than an hour, playing wildly and even swaying our boat from side to side as they bumped the side of Novella’s hull. Our spirits were lifted even though the fog remained.
Sometime in the early morning hours, the Looper flotilla was getting closer but we could not see each other’s lights. We kept messaging each other our nautical miles remaining on the route so we would know when we were very close. It took hours of coordination, but when they were within two miles they finally appeared on our AIS. We were no longer the only vessel around! If something happened we would have help relatively close. Just at that moment, the stars and moon finally peeked out overhead in light fog. Even though the fog was relenting, we could not spot the other vessels’ lights until we were within 800 feet, underscoring the severity of our situation throughout the evening. The lead vessel of the flotilla, Strummin’ Along, suggested we all go to idle and wait for sunrise since we were getting into shallower waters that marked the edge of “crab pot”territory, where crab trap lines are abundant and can foul our props. Exhausted, I laid down on the cockpit cushion and fell asleep, drifting 30 miles offshore in the Gulf.
I awoke in a bright, clear opening among the patchy fog, with the flotilla still behind us. I radioed them and shared that while they appeared to be in a cloud of fog I could see clearly ahead enough to spot crab pot buoys. They agreed to move toward Tarpon Springs, slowing when we encountered another patch of fog. We took advantage of their radar all the way until we were behind Anclote Key, where we anchored near the lighthouse for some much-needed sleep. We had gone 162.2 miles over 27 hours and 38 minutes.
Tonight we are doing another overnight in the Gulf again. This time we are just offshore with civilization in sight (and hopefully a great view of the stars.)
-E
P.S. The missing boater was found safe.
Daily Travel Log | To the Bahamas & Back
Day 67 • so glad to be out cruising again, enjoyed a beach walk before completing some final preparations for what will be our longest crossing yet
Searcy Oxbow to Dog Island, Florida
Day 68 • no great vastness, no water as far as the eye can see, no starry night - only fog, hours upon hours of dreamlike fog
Dog Island, Florida to the second half of our Gulf of Mexico crossing
Day 69 • overall the 28 hours that it took to cross the Gulf were not good, but for one full hour late last night we were accompanied by a large pod of spotted dolphins and the pure magic of this encounter is everything
Second half of our Gulf of Mexico crossing to Anclote Key, Florida
Day 70 • drinks, dinner and dessert - we were in need of some little treats
Anclote Key to Clearwater Beach, Florida
Day 71 • morning walk, lots of work, evening walk, new shorts
Clearwater Beach, Florida
Day 72 • an all green lunch, gas and water walks, radioactive snacks, clearance shorts and a little bird
Clearwater Beach, Florida
Day 73 • day-long belated birthday celebrations - baklava, brew hop, bait house
Clearwater Beach, Florida
Day 74 • now that Novie can nearly drive herself we’re free to relax and be more at ease while underway, today we basked in the sun, read a book, and enjoyed a sunset celebration
Clearwater Beach to Venice, Florida