Monday, January 24 –

The waterway guide states the Broad Causeway Bridge opens at 15 and 45 minutes past the hour, so we were underway at 7:00 in order to make the 7:15 opening. Unfortunately, I had neglected one small detail in the guide - bridge hours of operation are from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. That made us a whole hour early. But there was another mistake: We didn’t need to wait for an opening at all - the bridge clearance is sixteen feet and we’re less than 15 feet from the waterline. Who says two wrongs don't make a right?

Miami is a land of gigantic cruise ships, not to mention gimmicky tourist boats of all description and heavy waterway traffic. At one point a Coast Guard launch came speeding toward us, blue lights flashing and siren wailing, only to come to a complete stop about 500’ to our stern. Maybe they were bored. 

Two hours into the run we were in Biscayne Bay and it was time to put those waypoints to use that Tom had so laboriously entered the night before. Everything hummed along for two hours, and then the engine missed a beat and our bottom speed slowed. All the gauges registered OK so we kept on going, albeit at a lower pace. Another two hours passed without incident and then the boat suddenly picked up speed, just as fast as it had dropped earlier. Tom looked around and spotted a large white object astern.  He circled back to check it out and there was somebody's sail lazily floating on the water. When the engine had missed and slowed down two hours earlier, an edge of that wayward sail must have been caught on a rock or something at the bottom while the rest of it floated up just under the surface and caught on our rudder as we passed over.

Negotiating Barnes Sound is tricky in a stiff breeze. I fastened my eyes on the GPS and tried to keep the little boat symbol on the centerline but it would invariably stray off course. I’d make a correction, get no response, correct some more, and after a while I’d be abruptly off course- the other way! Apparently satellite signals must be weak and slow to respond in that area. So I zigzagged all the way across the sound and made it to Jewfish Creek where the 10-foot bridge had just opened and closed for a passing sailboat a few minutes ahead of our arrival. The bridge tender advised that we’d have to wait at least ten more minutes so as not to disrupt traffic. In the still water surrounded by mangroves, a pair of manatees drifted off the starboard bow so I grabbed a camera but before I could snap, a little skiff came from behind and scooted past us to go under the bridge and that was the end of the sea cows. 

In a little while the bridge tender began stopping traffic. As the bridge started to lift, he saw us edging closer and he came over the radio, "I assume that you can see my red light is still on and I’m not open yet." We did and we waited. The lights were plainly visible and the red one remained on after the bridge was fully opened for at least 45 seconds to a minute. We just sat still. Finally, the light turned green. Must have been a power thing! 

Beyond Jewfish Creek we were thrust into the big sky and water of the Florida Keys. It was an easy jaunt through clear turquoise water to the 7-mile bridge, where we ducked under at Knight Key Channel to finish the trip on the Atlantic side. Those final two hours on the open ocean would be considered a smooth trip by any old sea dog but rolling over the swells didn’t set well with my stomach. I was relieved when we approached Bahia Honda Key and saw Steve waiting to take our lines. He directed us to the best spot in the marina, protected from a north wind by dense mangroves and open to southerly breezes on warm days. Tom backed our stern up to the footbridge where (Steve said) snappers swam through just waiting to be caught.