My First Time

Some Cruising, a Little Cussing and Questionable Cuisine aboard The Jean Lafitte

Story by Norman Stringfield

No, not that first time, this is after all a family-friendly publication.  This is about my first overnight sail in my sailboat The Jean Lafitte. Sometime around 1982 my friend Tom and I purchased a 22-foot Bayliner Buccaneer (hence the name Jean Lafitte, the greatest buccaneer who ever lived. Yes, Bayliner made sailboats for awhile). It was a good boat but rather slow to be honest. It had a small galley with a two-burner stove, a sink and a space for an ice chest. Sleeping arrangements were a V -berth that slept one in comfort or two in sin, and a drop-down table that converted to a two-person bunk. It was a keel boat and drew about 2.5 feet of water.

We decided to sail from our slip in Mandarin Holiday Marina in Mandarin, Florida (a suburb of Jacksonville) via the St John’s River to downtown Palatka, Florida, about 60 miles upriver. I say upriver as the St John’s is one of a few rivers that flow south to north. Anyway, on a Thursday afternoon after work we set sail. We had stocked the boat with hardy meals of angel food cake for breakfast, and a good supply of my world famous Scotch Eggs, along with bottled water and canned soda. When asked for the recipe for my world famous Scotch Eggs I always say: “Simply boil a dozen eggs, grab a bottle of Scotch, throw the eggs away and drink the Scotch!” Actually the recipe was equally simple. Hard boil the eggs, peel them (I know that sounds like a given, but some have asked), and wrap the eggs in Jimmy Dean sausage (they will end up looking like large meatballs). Roll the sausage and eggs in bread crumbs—I always used Italian bread crumbs—and either bake them or deep fry them. I preferred to bake as there was less grease that way. 

When asked for the recipe for my world famous Scotch Eggs I would say:
“Simply boil a dozen eggs, grab a bottle of Scotch, throw the eggs away and drink the Scotch!”

We got underway about 6:30 or 7:00 PM, just as it was turning dark. We headed out to the main channel, turned south and aimedd for Palatka, just like Howard Rice headed for South America (well almost, just not as far). After about an hour and maybe 6 miles upriver we spotted some interesting lights. Pulling out the reference books we determined it was a tug under tow, towing several barges of coal headed for the power plant just north of Palatka (more on this structure later). We decided it would behoove us to move out of the main channel and hug the shoreline closer. Good move, as it didn’t take 10 minutes for that tug to catch us and create a wave that rivaled the best Hawaiian surfing waves! It was interesting for a few minutes and proved the stability of the boat, but did little to quell our fear of capsizing! We noticed the barges stretched back quite a ways with invisible towlines between them. So using our best judgment we waited until we were absolutely positively sure the last barge had passed before heading back for the main channel.

Now back in the channel and headed to our destination with nothing in front of us and nothing behind, we had the opportunity to sit back and enjoy the ride. It is amazing how much you can see, even on a dark night if you have enough moonlight. It wasn’t lit up like the middle of the day but structures could be identified and anything floating in the river was clearly visible, sometimes by what you could see and sometimes by what you couldn’t. By that I mean dark areas in an otherwise visible river. This gave us the opportunity to study the sky. It was a clear dark night except for the moonlight. There were 32 billion, 345 thousand, and 892 stars in the sky. I know the number exactly because I counted them. After all, I am a numbers guy.  Seriously, without the light pollution from the Greater Jacksonville Nebula blotting out the sky it was truly magnificent. We sat back listening to the radio and relaxing under the beautiful heavens God provided us.

We were now headed for our first spot to anchor, Palmo Cove, about halfway between Jacksonville and St. Augustine. Although we could see the cove a few miles ahead we decided to test our navigational skills by actually plotting a course to it. So we broke out the chart, the dividers, and all the other accoutrements needed for the task. We took bearings from three known points and plotted them on the chart. Double-checked them and set a course of about 170 degrees. After about 10 minutes I said to Tom it looked like we were sailing east across the river rather than the southerly course we should be on. “Can’t be,” said Tom, “let’s check the course again.” So once more, out came the chart and plotting gear and yes, we should be sailing 170 degrees. Then I noticed where we had placed the radio. It was right under the compass!!  I moved back about a foot and lo and behold the compass swung ‘round to a course of about 85 degrees or almost due east! So lesson learned.  he magnets in the radio severely affected the operation of the compass!

This part of the river has a few orange groves, which were in full bloom, and the air was intoxicating. Thinking, well, okay, if intoxicating was the theme of the voyage it was time to break out the gin and tonics! I always stock gin and tonic because that’s what the British used in India to combat malaria. Not wanting any of my crew to come down with this dreaded disease I make sure there is always a “gin and tonic hour” aboard any boat I captain! So, we laid back, sipping Bombay Sapphire and Schweppes Tonic, and enjoying the next hour or so until we arrived in Palmo Cove. Palmo Cove has a depth of approximately 7 feet and a mud bottom. It was out of the main channel, with little or no boat traffic. At the time there were no houses or other obstructions to preclude us from using the Cove as an anchorage. Today, of course, it looks like Miami Beach with all the construction. The river at that point has very little tidal action. We dropped anchor, ran up an anchor light, doused the sails and prepared to “hit the rack” and start again the next morning. We were about one third of our way on our journey. Either Tom or I would get up every so often to check our position to make sure we weren’t dragging anchor. All was well. No mosquitoes, and far enough off the shore that critters wouldn’t become curious and check us out.  Every now and then we would hear something in the water but assumed it was manatee. So far so good.

The next day, bright and early, we had a breakfast of angel food cake and Scotch eggs with coffee. Just like passengers on the Queen Mary!  We cleaned our breakfast dishes and prepared to get underway. Back out in the main channel it was another sunshine-filled Florida day with light winds and temperatures rapidly climbing into the mid 90s. Glad I’d brought a lot of water. At that time I wore a Greek fisherman’s hat that I would occasionally dip into the river and pour over my head. We used about 75 tubes of sun blocker because the sweat would wash it away within minutes. But we were moving quite will up river with only moderate bitching and moaning about the heat.

Ah, more on the power plant north of Palatka. We named it 30 Mile Island because that was about how far it was visible.  It had very high exhaust stacks and it seemed like we never got any closer to it. 

Ah, more on the power plant north of Palatka. We named it “30 Mile Island” because that was about how far away it was visible. It had very high exhaust stacks and it seemed like we never got any closer to it. Even when we had to tack it just moved from the starboard to the port side but never got any closer! It seemed we were doomed and trapped in some sort of Twilight Zone where no matter what you did the scenery never changed.  After what seemed like several days of sailing (or about three hours) we finally drew abreast of the structure and had it in our wake almost all the way into Palatka. At first we were afraid it was a nuclear power plant (because of the shape of its stacks) and frying our brains and causing our hallucinations, until we remembered the tug and barges from the night before and realized it was coal-fired.  Now we were worried about coal dust pollution, but it seemed like a very clean operation.

I’d done two years of junior college in Palatka and it was the site of my very first sail. I went to St John’s River Junior College or to sound more upscale, “Palatka University” or “P.U.” for short. The P.U. referenced the highly pungent aroma wafting from the Hudson Pulp and Paper Mill on Rice Creek in Palatka. Those were fun times which absolutely cannot be recalled in a publication of this caliber. 

We arrived at the new docks in downtown Palatka in the early afternoon and the first thing I noticed was the town (you couldn’t call it a city no matter how badly you wanted to spin it) had changed very little since I was there 20-plus years before. The James Hotel was still there with the same bleary-eyed permanent residents sitting on chairs in front of the building.  When I was there the entire second floor had been turned in a dorm of sorts for the male students at P.U.  The female students were at another hotel just down the street and there was always a lot of sneaking and hiding going on for some reason. Upon getting tied up we went to Angels Diner, touted as the oldest diner in the State of Florida, having opened its doors in 1932. It was built in a rail car and had exactly the same menu as it did in 1963—the only change was the little pieces of tape over the prices raising them to current levels. I would be willing to swear in a court of law that some of the dishes served were leftovers from that time!  Surprisingly the diner is still there in 2023 and is now almost 100 years old. Little has changed about the place except for the prices of the hamburgers. If you have a successful business model why change it? It has become an icon of Putnum County. 

We walked around the three downtown blocks marveling at the massive improvements put in place in 1918. For the uninitiated, Palatka is the self-named Potato Capital of the World, also the Bass Capital of the World because of the many lakes and the St John’s River. The rest of the state can have its oranges and surfing and bikinis—give me potatoes and fish any day of the week

After a late supper of (you guessed it), angel food cake and Scotch eggs we called it a day.  We satin the cockpit, me smoking my pipe, Tom wheezing and choking on the smoke, both of us taking medication to ward off malaria. We spent more time staring at absolutely nothing happening at the dock. It was really somewhat soothing.  Anyway, then it was off to bed to prepare for the return trip. 

The next morning we were up bright and early. We ate the last of the Scotch eggs (the angel food cake has been fed to the fish as it was starting to get stale already). We tidied up the boat, hoisted sails and headed back south toward Jacksonville about 60 miles away. The first few dozen miles was uneventful except that 30 Mile Island was once again a neverending landmark. We had to watch for the crab pots that dot the river. These are traps sunk in the river with a float marking their position. They actually have the legal right-of-way and interfering with them could land you a large fine.  Either that or the crabber may very well take a shot at you!  So we are very careful in our navigation. 

We cruised at around 5 knots with the wind behind us and although it was getting hot, once again there is enough breeze to keep us comfortable. Suddenly, at about 15 miles down the river our 5 knots became 0 knots and we ran aground on a sandbar at Picolatta.  Before the main channel was dredged it was quite shallow and was the main crossing for the stage coach route from Lake City to St. Augustine as the coaches could actually cross the river. The shore line was still spotted with sand bars and we had the absolute good fortune of finding one. It was a gentle grounding and Tom jumped over the side into about 2 feet of water and pushed us off the bar. We headed back in the main channel and were underway again after just a few minutes. 

The weather was very nice, warm sunshine, 10 knot breezes, calm seas, as it had been for the bulk of the trip. Suddenly I realized I spoke too soon and the wind started whipping up. It kept building and within a couple of hours it was 20 heading for 30 knots. A problem with the St Johns River is that it is shallow and with the current heading one direction and the wind in the opposite it wasn’t long before we were in some heavy chop. The waves were steep and narrow with the boat falling off the crest of the waves with the 2400-pound displacement dropping 3 feet in all at once. It certainly did not give me a very secure feeling. I won’t say I was squealing like a little girl, more like her older sister! The boat never felt as if it would capsize, just fall of the top of the wave and break into 10 million little pieces. Tom told me to relax. He had never seen a boat break in half unless it was torpedoed or run down by a whale. I immediately started looking for whales, although we weren’t that far from Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base in Kings Bay, Georgia, so that was a possibility as well. 

This went on for a few hours (or about 100 years) with me finally realizing the boat wasn’t going to break in two.  Finally the wind started to subside and we headed for shore in Switzerland, Florida. Don’t know why it was called Switzerland as there were no Alps, chocolates, or even the Sound of Music coming from the shore. We saw a rowboat moored out and “borrowed” it to get ashore. We were met on the dock by the owner of the rowboat. I told him my harrowing tale of survival on the high river and my close calls with certain drowning. When he stopped laughing he invited Tom and I to his house and fed us pimento cheese and peanut butter sandwiches (not on the same sandwich, thank the Lord). At that time Switzerland had a population of at least one person since we were at his house, but it certainly didn’t look like many more.  Today, some 40-plus years later, Switzerland is considered a suburb of Jacksonville about 30 miles to the north with a population approaching 20,000 people. It’s always heartbreaking when you meet people who moved to the middle of nowhere to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city only to wake up one morning and discover they are now in the middle of urban blight!  I do not remember the name of the kind soul who fed us pimento cheese (which I hate, but it was very good that night) and let us use his rowboat without shooting us for boat theft—a perfectly legal remedy when living on the river in Northeast Florida at that time. Today, of course, the proper remedy is a stern letter of disapproval. After eating our supper he offered to row us back to our boat since the winds had become almost calm. I guess he wanted to make certain his boat didn’t inadvertently go adrift. I wouldn’t trust anyone squealing in absolute terror over a few little waves either. I do remember discovering he was a person of renown in Jacksonville, but for what I just can’t remember. I remember seeing his name in the paper several times after that. 

Anyway, we returned to the boat and got a good night’s sleep. After a skimpy breakfast the next morning we set sail once again for our return to Mandarin Holiday Marina. After about an hour we had a repeat of the day before, without putting ashore in Switzerland. I toughed it out this time as long as I could. However, both the current and the wind had changed directions with both coming at us head on. We weren’t making 2 knots and were still about 10 miles out.  At that rate it would take 5 or 6 hours to reach our berth. So, we cranked up the iron jenny and motored on at about 5 knots. The closer we got to Jacksonville the lighter the winds became and the calmer the wave action. We tied up at our slip around 1700 hrs (that’s 5:00 PM for you non nautical types) and prepared to go ashore (or “hit the beach” as we would say when I was in the Navy.)  This brings up an interesting point.  One would think that after sailing the ocean blue on a “tin can” launched in 1944, and being in a full-blown typhoon in the Pacific, I wouldn’t be fazed by a little 30-knot storm in the middle of a river. One would think that wouldn’t one. 

Anyway, I had brought a change of clothes for going ashore. I had a light blue dress shirt with a paisley tie, a pair of white chino pants, socks and Sperry Docksiders and to top it off, a dark blue blazer! I could have gone to the Florida Yacht Club and been properly dressed for any occasion (except I wasn’t a member, and had never been nominated to become a member, and I didn’t have the $5000.00 initiation). So, we went to the Holiday Restaurant instead, drank beers and ate shrimp and oysters—a good time was had by all.

Epilogue

My good friend Tom Steward still owns The Jean Lafitte, although five minutes after I sold my interest to him he renamed it Plover at the insistence of his wife. •SCA•