Buying a Big Boat - A Trek of a Different Sort

In 2017, we began to transition away from the Mid-Atlantic to Southwest Florida. The barrier islands of Captiva, Sanibel, Cayo Costa, and the myriad keys in the Pine Island Sound and Charlotte Harbor offered an almost endless array of exploring opportunities. We have our favorites, where Karen can hop off our shallow draft boat, wading and scanning the sandy floor for sand dollars. On our trips out and back dolphins frolic in the warm waters, sometimes jumping in our wake. Magical. 

Having fallen for the place, we rented a cheap house on a canal in Cape Coral for a few years. Ultimately, we decided to stay, purchased a lot, and built a small dream home. Until now, a 22 foot Hurricane with a double bimini has been our steadfast companion. But we've become range-bound. The 10,000 islands to the south of Naples and Marco Island, with their blue Caribbean waters, remain out of reach over 2 hours away. 4 hours to the north of Tampa, the time-forgotten Big Bend, with only Cedar Key as an outpost, beckons as well. As Richard Dreyfus said in "Jaws," "We're going to need a bigger boat..."

Enter "Sol Mates." That's not her name yet. I just bought her. She's currently wearing "All That Jazz" and the Ocean Reef, Key Largo, hailing port decals. She's a 40-foot Flybridge Sea Ray. She's our new home on the water. 

I have heard the saying, "If it flies, floats or f***s - rent it." But I did the math. If we use her the way we think we will, we'll save money. Besides, YOLO. 

Our first adventure came suddenly. Almost like an adoption, we didn't know if it was going to happen. Like an adoption, the call came late at night: "She's yours. We have to go to Key Largo at 6:00 am to go get her." A groggy 3-hour drive, a quick briefing, and suddenly I am at the helm cruising at 25 mph over water so clear you think you're going to run aground, but it's really 25 feet deep. Water so blue you feel like you've accidentally ingested a psychedelic. 

At the controls, I get a feel of her. She's smooth. The props grab gently - maybe a little too gently. My first port entry, with wind and tides pulling me in unseen ways, I nearly run aground and have to back up and re-set. It's not really a fair judgment of my skill, though. I was following the instructions of my captain-coach, Dane Gutto, who wasn't feeling the controls the way I was. I knew she was soft. No harm. Dinner and a show for the folks in the quay Cafe. 

Dane was the perfect match for me. Calm, intelligent, utterly confident, yet humble in a way that completely disarms you. We don't have the alpha-male conflict that could easily arise here - captain and owner. Karen is here, too. Initially, she's not comfortable with a stranger in such intimate quarters. But he's a church mouse. "Did he even use the bathroom?" we wonder. 

Suddenly, it's a pre-dawn wake-up call as I hear Dane kick the engines on. I stumble out to help with the lines (NOT ropes!) and stow the fenders (NOT bumpers!). And we're underway again. In the glassy Florida Bay, we have 4 hours of dolphins, flying fish scared into flight flitting perpendicular to us, and not one other boat. No cell service. Armageddon could completely pass us by. Then we turn at Marco Island and run north for the 2 hour home stretch. 

We see what civilization has done to the waters off Naples, Bonita, Estero. Algae blooms - not a red tide, yet - a product of man-made eutrophication. We can go further out and see the tide line; blue-blue against murky yellowish/green. These waters would be blue as the Caribbean were it not for Lake Okeechobee dumping. It's a crying shame. Don't get me started.