ERIN AND STEVE VISIT - JACKSONVILLE, THE ST. JOHNS RIVER, AND FERNANDINA BEACH ON AMELIA ISLAND

Brenda and I have been cruising the ICW’s of the Gulf, Florida and the Atlantic Coast since November of last year.  We have shared with you our cruising adventures via this blog, but until recently, we have not had any guests.  Erin and Steve came all the way from San Francisco to spend a long week cruising with us.  The plan was to cruise up the St. Johns River as far as Sanford.  Sanford is the limit in terms of the distance we can travel up the river due to our draft.  After that, it’s simply too shallow.  Our plan was to visit a place called Deep Creek, and then move to a place called Zinder Point, before finally reaching Hontoon State Park, and Blue Springs.  Then, we were planning to start heading back down the river to visit places such as Palatka, Walaka, and Black Creek, before heading back into Jacksonville, where Erin and Steve would leave us back to the real world.  I have said it before and I will gladly say it again.  Sometimes, things simply do not work out as planned; sometimes things go completely sideways; sometimes things unexpected take your breath away; and, sometimes you just get “buggied” out.

Erin and Steve arrived in Jacksonville after a long flight from San Francisco via Las Vegas on none other than Southwest Airlines.  At least the plane did not peal apart, although they did not get to sit next to each other and had to endure the longest leg stuffed in a middle seat between smelly strangers.  Oh well.  Upon their arrival in Jax, I’m all but certain they noticed the rather staunch heat and humidity – some of the stiffest north eastern Florida has to offer at the end of April.  We met them at a bus stop near the Landing, and walked back to the boat.  We had been at the Landing in Jax on a previous date not long ago, and so we knew this time to dock the boat as much under the bridge as possible so as to get some shade.  It really helps keep the boat cooler.  So, when we arrived back at the boat, it was not so unbearably hot and we were able to sit out on the back deck and enjoy a few libations before going in search of dinner. 

We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant there at the landing.  The food was not bad.  The beers were cold, and we had a good time.  We headed back to the boat early as we had an early departure planned.  Our goal was to make it to Deep Creek, about 47 miles up the river.

First let me explain what I mean by heading “up” the river, in case any confusion is had given that we would actually be heading south.  Well, the St. Johns River actually flows from south to north, a rather unusual circumstance in the northern hemisphere.  So, even though we were heading “down” the St. Johns River, we were actually headed “up” the river, in a southerly direction.  Not a big deal really, once you get passed Jax, the feel of the tides in the river is less intense and you sort of forget you are running down up stream.  Confused yet?  Well, this river is a “lazy” river; at least to the extent that it only drops around 30 feet over less than 200 miles.  It is fed from run-off and from several springs higher up lower down the river.  Confused again? 

So, early Monday morning, we fired up the old engine, let loose the lines, and off we went down/up the river headed for Deep Creek.  The trip to Deep Creek was completely uneventful, although the scenery was quite nice.  On the way down/up the river, you pass the Jacksonville Naval Air Station on the right.  The planes were taking off and landing as we ran past the end of the runway.  It was quite exciting seeing the planes so close, you could read their tire pressure.  Then we passed Dr.’s Lake Inlet (we had been here before), and then everything was new.  There are some big bridges (say, causeways) that cross the river.  We saw a few tugs and barges, and several other recreational boats.  However, the traffic was by no means heavy.  As we cruised down/up the river, the temperature got hotter and hotter.  By the time we anchored in Deep Creek at around 1400, it was almost 100 degrees, and the humidity was nearly 90%.  Anchoring here was no problem.  On the river, you are not on the ICW, so you simply follow the charted depths to your selected anchorage, taking into consideration the tides, depth and protection from high winds.  We anchored in around 9 feet in a good spot that afforded us protection if any untoward wind should have arrived.  Also, we made certain to anchor far enough from shore that we believed we would be safe from insects.  We were a good ½ mile off the shoreline, and out in the “breeze.”  Once situated, we did like any other right minded cruisers would do……we put the dinghy in the water, put the engine on, and took off for a cruise up Deep Creek.

Deep Creek is shown on the chart and is shown running off the edge of the chart, so once you get past a certain point, there is no chart.  The unbelievable natural beauty we encountered in this creek defies description.  Ok, so you feel like you are on the set of some wild Spielberg film or on the set of the sequel to Jurassic Park, A New Millennium, or something equally bizarre.  We saw gators, gar and all sorts of cool birds.  There was an Osprey flying around with a fish in its talons.  Why?  We have no idea, but it kept circling us and circling us with that fish, high in the air, well above the tree line.  There was a cormorant in there that kept following us as well.  Each time we saw it, it was sitting on some branch sticking out over the water.  It would see us, then jump off the branch and fly around the next bend in the creek.  Then we’d see it again, and it would do the same thing.  This went on for a couple hours. 

The trees dripped with sun rays and Spanish moss.  The water was green and covered with pollen.  We just kept going back deeper and deeper.  It seemed like we were on another planet.  We were not alone, however, the crew of Love Shack (Barry, Jodie, and Tracey) were cruising just behind us, sometimes ahead of us, and sometimes right along with us.  There is always strength and safety in numbers when going off into an uncharted jungle like this.  This is funny:  The cruising guide says you could very easily take the big boat, Abreojos, way back up this creek because the water is plenty deep.  I was not about to stick my hand in the water to find out, nor was I diving in.  What convinced me that the author of that section of the cruising guide needed a head exam was the huge tree jutting out from just under the surface.  Yeah, he or she can take his or her boat up this creek, but I would not have done so, lest we be left stranded up that creek without…….da da da, you know the rest. 

Abreojos and Love Shack anchored at Deep Creek

Steve was really funny.  After the first couple gators, he got the hang of spotting them.  However, he never quite got the hang of quietly sneaking up on them so the rest of us could get a look.  His excitement was contagious and wonderful.  Steve drives trucks in downtown San Francisco.  I’m certain he spots all sorts of “wild life” in the ordinary course of a day.  However, gators are probably not a frequent occurrence.  So, it’s no small wonder that, while he may have spotted the heads, all we got to see was the tails. “Whoa!  There’s one!  (gone!) That had to be a 10, 12, 14, 16, 18 footer!”  

Barry and his women, Jodie and Tracey

After a couple hours cruising up the creek, we filed out.  It was an awesome adventure.  We planned to visit Love Shack for some sunset cocktails, so we went to get organized for that.  After a short visit back at the mother ship, we headed over to Love Shack and had quite a few laughs.  Wanting not to over do anything, we headed back to the boat just before sunset to get dinner ready.  We had picked up some nice ribeye steaks and it was clear a storm was beginning to build.  I wanted, at least, to get those steaks done before we got clobbered. 

A "fat" storm was brewing off in the distance.  The lightning show was really cool.

The storm turned out to be less than anticipated.  It did rain quite a bit, in fact, but the main thrust of the storm was the lightning show we got treated to.  There was more than enough to keep us all “oooooing” and “awwwwweing” for nearly an hour, before we started “oooooooohhhhh shitttttting” and headed inside.  The strikes were getting rather close.  But, the steaks made it just as the rain started to fall really hard.  All’s good, right?

Dinner was fabo!  The steaks were done perfectly, and we enjoyed them with a top shelf salad prepared by Brenda.   Then, as I was clearing the plates, I noticed a couple flying things around the galley light.  Then there were more, and then more, and then more, and more, and more.  Within less than ¼ hour, the boat was completely inundated and covered with these flying nightmares.  Jodie called them “midgees” or “blind mosquitos”.  They did not bite, or anything, but they literally carpeted the boat.  Blind Mosquitos?  Horse puckey!  They were not so blind that they were unable to find our boat.  The battle was on, Baby! 

We immediately closed all the windows and screens, and had to start the generator and run Olga so we could breathe.  We had left the wheel house door open and it was simply too late.  There were millions of these little nasty devils all over the ceiling, the windows, the walls, the floor.  It was completely gross.  If you have ever awaken in a cold sweat having just experienced a nightmare in which you are swarmed by millions of buzzing little devil bastards that simply come from everywhere, invade your nose and ears, and will not go away, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs for it to just stop, or curl up in a ball/fetal position and just do the Thorazine Rock, then you know what this was like.  We battled with every resource we had. Unfortunately, “Leon” was no help at all.  First of all, the pestilent pests were too small for Leon’s terrible, terrifying electrical grate.  So, swing as you may, Leon was not nailing ‘em the way he does the four inch flying top sirloins he’s become used to.  The poor guy was completely overwhelmed and rendered basically impotent…………..The next day, we found poor Leon curled up behind the deck freezer, rocking back and forth, looking as though he’d seen hell itself.  He was all covered in dried dead buggies. I gently scooped him up in  my arms like the wounded soldier he was, lifting him up out of his misery, and carried him into the wheel house where he could recover.  (Leon has recovered, by the way, and yesterday, handily dispatched three big yellow back horse flies.  SWING, WHOOOOOOSH, POP, ZAP, CLACK, SIZZLE, SIZZLE, POOF, and the blue smoke tendrils rise and then complete silence….LEON IS BACK!!!)   

We were quite successful, once we got the interior of the boat all sealed up, of ridding ourselves of the buggy invaders with the shop vac.  We also resorted to our prior experience (say Taylor Bayou) with turning on only one bright light and hanging a fly strip right under it.  This worked and within minutes, the barren fly strip resembled a 4’ long fuzzy horse tail – totally sickening! So, once the inside of the salon was relatively secure, it was time to shift the battle to the wheel house.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of the failed effort in the wheel house.  Suffice it to say, however, that I was battered back and forced to give up (to run like hell, actually), having been simply overwhelmed by the flying invaders.  It was like the epic battle between the Greeks and the Trojans; the story of how the poor, smaller, and less well equipped Trojan army was simply overwhelmed by Agamemnon and his Greeks.  The ceiling was black with bugs.  The walls were covered.  I sucked up so many of those little curds in the shop vac that the vac was literally clogged and became totally ineffective.  I was forced to simply toss it out the door and dive for cover in the salon.  When I returned to the salon (say dove in through the hatch while slamming the door behind me) covered in sweat, and undoubtedly with a look of sheer terror and panic stricken beyond explanation, my wife and guests looked at me like I was from space – “Dude, like you need a beer.”  “Yeah, like, thanks, man – make it a double.”  That was total, complete and utter bullshit!  I can explain it in no better terms than that.  Nevertheless, we were safe inside.  I can assure you that, given the sheer volume of bugs, we would have all been several quarts low had they been blood suckers or biters.  Ok, so you also have to imagine Erin and Steve’s reaction to all this.  It’s their first time on the boat for anything other than a docile harbor cruise in the serene and insect free confines of Santa Barbara or Channel Islands, and here is their seemingly insane brother in law vigorously vacuuming a marauding morass of pestulence off the ceiling.  I’m pretty sure they won’t be back, at least not without checking whether or not we will be cruising in areas prone to bubonic bombardment by revolting, repulsive, and sordid little blind brutes like that again.

I somehow managed to get to sleep that night.  It was hot and muggy, but I did what I could.  What I discovered in the morning, however, nearly caused me to jump overboard.   I slowly opened the hatch from the salon into the wheel house and witnessed a carpet of dead bugs covering everything, and I mean everything!  I just got a small hand broom and, from the steps leading up to the wheel house, brushed the thicket of dead insects over so I could get in there and assume a standing position. 

This was not over, however, for outside, on the back deck, although there were bizzilions of dead critters covering every surface, there were millions more that were alive just over my head, on top of and inside the bimini.  Holy crap!  I bumped the side of the enclosure and all of a sudden, I heard a buzzing noise and then looked up.  I nearly freaked out again. This was insane.  So, I ran down to the well, beating and swatting all the way, grabbed a hose and started hosing them down.  This is when they all seemed to take flight.  I was in the middle of this cloud of flying, buzzing sickening creatures waving the hose frantically trying to kill as many of the little bastards as I could.  It didn’t matter what I did.  I was not winning this fight, although I was not losing it either.  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the crew of Love Shack engaged in a similar combat, only they had brooms.  They had also fired up the engines and were pulling the hook.  So, I decided getting the hell out of there was the last option.  So, I woke Brenda up and let her know we were getting ready to blast out of there.  She looked at me, touched the side of my head and said, “Calm down, dear.  Settle, settle.”  So I did, as I engaged the engine, pulled the hook and made tracks.  Calm down?  Yeah, ok, just as soon as I am at least 40 miles from this place.

We headed straight back to Jacksonville, to the Metro Marina where there is free dockage and cheap electricity.  Even on our arrival in Jacksonville, the boat was still infested with live, and covered with dead bugs.  It took Steve and I over 3 hours to hose all the dead critters off the decks.  We had to take apart everything to get these things out of holes and off the boat.  I even ruffled the flag on our transom and was amazed that a thousand of those buggers flew out of the folds in the flag.  Totally disgusting!  Then, of course, as if this were not all completely enough, I was cleaning one of the Isenglass windows when a wind gust caught the plastic causing me to completely lose my balance and fall overboard.  Fortunately I was on the water side of the boat and not on the side over the concrete dock.  I can just imagine the epitaph:   “A fine yachtsman, an average husband, a below average writer – beaten and killed while battling blind mosquitoes on the St. Johns River.” PERFECT!  

Even after all that work, there were still some live ones lingering.  Barry had what turned out to be the correct assumption.  Nail as many as possible with the hose – they don’t like water.  If there are any left, and if there is any fresh water left in north east Florida for that matter, save it as you are fighting a losing battle.  Plan on the fact that once it gets dark and the street lights come on, the little critters will “fly to the light.”  Well, they did.  The next morning, they were all gone.  So, as far as I am concerned, Florida can keep the St. Johns River. 

Time to change plans. Jodie did a little looking on line and discovered the insect infestations were even worse further up/down the river, so heading back out there was simply not an option.  However, we learned of a big shrimp festival in Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island, so I decided we would go there – much closer to the ocean and no bugs! 

Unfortunately, we could not leave Jacksonville just yet as a very large storm that was kicking up every kind of warning, watch and alert the National Whatever Service could think of was moving in.  As it turned out, the weather was not all that bad.  Of course, had we left the dock and been out on the water somewhere, we would have been slammed, but that’s the way it goes, right?  So, we spent the whole day wandering around in Jacksonville.  We had a wonderful time.

We visited an unusual gem, probably one that does not get a whole lot of mention in the cruising guides – the Jacksonville Fire Station Museum.  This was a very cool building that was just loaded to the rafters with all sorts of old fire fighting equipment from days gone by.  They had all sorts of things from the ancient to the modern.  Of greatest interest, however, were the photos and the stories compiled after the city was wiped out and completely destroyed by fire in the very early part of the 20^th century.  It seems that Spanish Moss (yes, like that which hangs from all the oak trees in northern Florida) was used for stuffing in furniture as well as other things.  Well, one day, a spark landed on a pallet of drying moss and started a small fire that got very, very out of hand.  The whole city was burned down.  The stories behind the incident, however, were indicative of how folks have a spirit of recovery and how the people got together and reconstructed the city making it better than it was before.  Although, some very cool things were lost forever, the new city of Jacksonville has an awful lot of offer as well.

We spent quite a bit of time in the museum as it was air conditioned and we enjoyed speaking with the curator who had lots of interesting stories about items contained in the museum.  Then, we left and walked downtown.  We crossed over the Main Street lift bridge and settled for a snack and drinks at the Brewhouse over looking the water.  By now, it still had not started raining, but the heat and humidity were high and the weather looked stormy.  So, we hopped a water taxi, and went back across the river to the Landing.

We walked about in the landing visiting several very nice artist boutiques as well as the Maritime Museum and the Jacksonville Historical Society.  I had no idea that there were over 83 Liberty Ships built in Jacksonville during WWII. 

The next morning, we left for Fernandina Beach, a town on Amelia Island, just 36 nm away.  The weather could not have been better and we had a wonderful cruise.  Why would anyone go to a place called Fernandina Beach?  Who has ever heard of it?  Besides the Shrimp Festival, what is the reason for Fernandina Beach?  Well, I’m about to tell you.

Fernandina Beach is known as the Island of Eight Flags.  It would appear that this place on Amelia Island occupies a rather unique place in American history.  According to the City’s website, the story goes something like this:

Until the early 18^th Century, Amelia Island was known as Napoyca and was occupied by Timucuan Indians who arrived there circa 1000 a.d.  Since the mid 1500’s however, the island has changed hands several times and has existed under eight different flags.  It is the only place in the US that has done so. 

French Flag

In 1562 French Huguenot explorer Jean Ribault becomes the first (recorded) European visitor to Napoyca and names it Isle de Mar.

In 1565, Spanish forces led by Pedro Menendez de Aviles drive the French from northeastern Florida, slaughtering Ribault and approximately 350 other French colonists.

• Spanish Flag
• In 1573, Spanish Franciscans establish the Santa Maria mission on the island, which is named Isla de Santa Maria. The mission was abandoned in 1680 after the inhabitants refuse a Spanish order to relocate.  
• British raids force the relocation of the Santa Catalina de Guale mission on St. Catherine's Island, Georgia, to the abandoned Santa Maria mission on the Island in 1685.  
• In 1702, this mission was again abandoned when South Carolina's colonial governor, James Moore, leads a joint British-Indian invasion of Florida.
• English Flag
• Georgia's founder and colonial governor, James Oglethorpe, renames the island "Amelia Island" in honor of Princess Amelia (1710-1786), King George II's daughter, although the island was still a Spanish possession.
• After establishing a small settlement on the northwestern edge of the island, Oglethorpe negotiates with Spanish colonial officials for a transfer of the island to British sovereignty. Colonial officials agree to the transfer, but the King of Spain nullifies the agreement.
• The Treaty of Paris in 1763 ratifies Britain's victory in the Seven Years' War, ceding Florida to Britain in exchange for Havana and nullifying all Spanish land grants in Florida. The Proclamation of 1763 established the St. Mary's River as East Florida's northeastern boundary.
• Spanish Flag
• In 1783, the Second Treaty of Paris ends the Revolutionary War and returns Florida to Spain. British inhabitants of Florida had to leave the province within 18 months unless they swore allegiance to Spain.
• In 1811, surveyor George J. F. Clarke plats the town of Fernandina, named in honor of King Ferdinand VII of Spain.
• Patriot Flag
• With the approval of President James Madison and Georgia Governor George Mathews in 1812-1813, insurgents known as the "Patriots of Amelia Island" seize the island. After raising a Patriot flag, they replace it with the United States Flag.   
• American gunboats under the command of Commodore Hugh Campbell maintain control of the island until Spanish pressure forces their evacuation in 1813.
• Green Cross of Florida Flag
• Spanish forces erect Fort San Carlos on the island in 1816. Led by Gregor MacGregor in 1817, a Scottish-born soldier of fortune, 55 musketeers seize Fort San Carlos, claiming the island on behalf of the "Green Cross."  
• Mexican Rebel Flag
• Spanish soldiers force MacGregor's withdrawal, but their attempt to regain complete control is foiled by American irregulars organized by Ruggles Hubbard and former Pennsylvania congressman Jared Irwin.
• Hubbard and Irwin later join forces with the French-born pirate Luis Aury, who lays claim to the island on behalf of the Republic of Mexico. U. S. Navy forces drive Aury from the island, and President James Monroe vows to hold Amelia Island "in trust for Spain."
• Confederate Flag
• On January 8, 1861, two days before Florida's secession, Confederate sympathizers (the Third Regiment of Florida Volunteers) take control of Fort Clinch, already abandoned by Federal workers who had been constructing the fort.
• General Robert E. Lee visits Fort Clinch in November 1861 and again in January 1862, during a survey of coastal fortifications.
• United States Flag
• Union forces, consisting of 28 gunboats commanded by Commodore Samuel Dupont, restore Federal control of the island on March 3, 1862 and raise the American Flag.

 The real reason we came to Fernandina, however, was the opportunity to enjoy the annual Isle of 8 Flags Shrimp Festival.  The streets of Fernandina were packed with people who apparently came from all over the south for the annual event.  We anchored right in front of the town (there were no mooring balls left and we did not want to get packed into a crowded, hot marina) and dingied to shore.

In Fernandina Beach, the Isle of 8 Flags Shrimp Festival is an annual tradition, always held the first weekend in May. This huge festival attracts over 100,000 people to Amelia Island over the weekend.  Of the many things we learned, we discovered that Fernandina Beach is the birthplace of the modern shrimping industry in the United States. The Isle of Eight Flags Shrimp Festival was first held in 1963 to celebrate the traditional blessing of the shrimp fleet. A “Miss Shrimp Festival” is crowned each year and the contestants ride in a boat along the parade route, waving to the crowds. Folks are attracted to Fernandina’s Shrimp Festival for various reasons, one of which is the art show. Known as one of the top fine art shows in the southeast, artists and art lovers come to browse the works.

Another reason thousands come to the shrimp festival is the food – naturally shrimp cooked a variety of ways and other festival favorites. However, for locals, attending the Shrimp Fest parade on Thursday evening is an annual ritual in Fernandina Beach.  The parade offers a glimpse of small-town Americana. Taken as a whole, one might compare the parade and festival to a Norman Rockwell painting come to life (although a more contemporary one, with cell phones and more tattoos on the public these days). Some call Fernandina a “tropical Mayberry.” The festival is, indeed, a symbol of small-town community pride, with just about every organization in town participating.

What was really cool was how all the people looked against the backdrop of very old and beautifully restored buildings.  There were “pirates” all over, a live music stage, booths all over town for artisans, and booths all over the wharf area selling delectable shrimp in all forms. There was also gumbo and hotdogs.  We listened to some good music – the Atlanta Rhythm Section played.  We went to the oldest pub in America, called the Palace.  We enjoyed a beautiful day at the beach sunning and swimming in the warm (sort of) blue Atlantic water.  We ate well, played well, and overall had a nice time. 


On Sunday, we watched the blessing of the shrimp fleet and boat parade from the docks before walking Steve and Erin over to where they were to meet their ride back to the Jacksonville Airport.  We were supposed to have gone back to Jacksonville, but because we did not cruise the St. Johns River as much as we hoped and ultimately went to Fernandina, we had to conclude their journey in another way.  This is what I mean about having to be flexible and having a sense of humor.  Well, they arrived on a bus, and left in a Cadillac.  Overall, I think they had a fun time, and we enjoyed having them.

Well, folks, that’s it for Florida.  We will now head off to Georgia.  We have been in Florida for a long time and have seen every inch of her coast line.  Florida is a great state with so much diversity and so much to offer the cruising yachtsman.  There were ups and there were downs, but that’s life afloat.  See you in Georgia.