When we're on the water, I almost never have a sense of where I am in relation to the land. Not so on the approach to Tampa Bay. When a silvery span of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge came into view it was like coming home again! The run from Longboat Key had been easy with a gentle breeze and light chop. We got a forceful tidal push in the Boca Ciega Channel that nudged our speed up past 7 knots, without fighting tides or currents.

Dunedin, sister city to Stirling, Scotland: The name comes from the Scots Gaelic Dùn Èideann meaning Edinburg, so it's no surprise to run across a piping Scotsman or two. If we had to stop for engine problems, our former home town was the best place to be. A city park occupies the strip of land between the marina and Edgewater Drive, and there's more going on there than just piping, musically speaking, that is. One afternoon a rhythmic, low-pitched vibration drew me to the gazebo where I found a young man playing a digeridoo. He said he'd bought it years earlier in a Dunedin coffee shop from an Aborigine who taught him how to play. The next day it was bongo drums that provided a dinnertime serenade. Later, I passed the gazebo again where a geezer strummed Red River Valley on his guitar. These Dunedinites (?) are diverse, if nothing else.

They've made improvements at the Dunedin City Marina: brand new bathrooms and showers, fresh green sod, and an expanded parking lot. Looks like the harbormaster, Bill, has been busier than ever. 

First on Tom's agenda, he replaced the six hefty house batteries, lugging them from battery box, to the dock, to the car and then repeating the process in reverse. Who needs a gym? The car belongs to good friends Dick and Liz, who saved the day and went out of their way to schlep us around town and even left the car for us to use over the weekend.  

After the batteries had been replaced, Tom still spent hours hunched over the hulky blue engine, his head down, fingers blackened with oil and who-knows-what, in the gloomy engine room - of course it isn't really a "room" unless you're a troll. His focus had shifted to the malfunctioning turbo charger. Turns out it had a bad seal, the reason we'd started using a quart of oil every six hours. Further inspection showed the bushings were worn and out of whack, not turning as they should. So out it came, and he called Transatlantic Diesel in Virginia to send him a new one. Well, not really a new one, but rebuilt, and it only cost a thousand dollars, AKA "one  boat unit." Bolts that attach the turbo to the adapter plate had seized up too, so a local mechanic came by to  take care of that sticky situation. Tom was still waiting for the gasket he'd ordered to show up in the mail, so we had time to kill.

On her day off from the "cop shop," Arlene came over and filled me in on current events over lunch at Molly Goodhead's, while Tom spent a few more hours up to his elbows in greasy old engine parts. Back on board, halfway into happy hour, they concurred that the hula girl on a rum bottle would make a good tattoo for Tom. It looks as if the two of them were having way too much fun!

Friday, April 25th, was Dunedin's final Green Market day of the season so I took advantage of it to fill up two bags with fresh produce. Dick, Liz and Tom couldn't pass up a pancake and sausage breakfast while I was busy picking over tomatoes and asparagus. 

 Tom was getting antsy waiting for his gasket. It had been days since UPS had delivered the turbo but the gasket still had not shown up in the mail. When it didn't come by Friday, he called the company and - surprise, surprise - they only go to the post office once a week. It hadn't even been sent yet! She casually said she'd "drop it at the post office" on Saturday. We were losing good running weather. The following Tuesday, gasket in hand, everything went together (after a few minor setbacks) and Tom couldn't wait to try it out. With a turn of the key, the old Perkins rumbled to life, minus the blue smoke. Now there was nothing to wait for except a good weather window.

A fuel truck comes by the marina every so often to service commercial fishing boats so we got a piece of that action and topped off our tanks. They not only delivered the diesel, they even pumped it in for us. With all that service, the price was less than it was in Fort Pierce, $3.85/gallon versus $4.48. 

On Thursday, the first day of May, it looked like the wind (up to 15 knots) and seas (2-3 feet) might give us an opening to sneak out into the Gulf so we went through our usual routine: buy groceries, fill the water tank, take down the satellite dish, put up the bikes and stow anything that isn't nailed down. Our unplanned stay in Dunedin lasted 11 days and the old trawler was fixed. Financially, it set us back about 3 "boat units." Ouch!