We were on our way from Carrabelle to Apalachicola. Halfway through our run, a little side-to-side rolling action in St. George Sound sent up a brief flicker of anxiety but it was short-lived. All in all, it was as easy as we'd hoped for. Straw-hatted oystermen in  flat-bottom boats plied their trade as we passed under the bridge to St. George Island. One was emptying his take out of his 12-foot oyster tongs (like two rakes attached, scissor-style) into the boat's hold. 

The Water Street Hotel and Marina was our pick to spend a night or two in Apalachicola. A new 3-story red brick building, it just opened last year with 30 units and about that many boat slips. Just in case a guest was foolish enough to think of going in the water (instead of in the swimming pool), they've posted warning signs along the pier. We set out on foot to explore the town.  

Apalachicola is situated on Florida's so-called "Forgotten Coast," along with laid-back little burgs like Panacea and Sopchoppy. There's only one blinking traffic light in the center of town and not a high-rise condo in sight. The waterfront and the maritime culture of the town are just made for artists to capture, and we were there for the annual Plein Air Paint Out (French for "in the open air"). The artist I spoke with said she was from Boston and told me other artists come from all over the country every spring to paint scenes of the Forgotten Coast.

Apalachicola is oyster central. They claim to harvest 90% of all the oysters in Florida. One waterfront restaurant had 26 varieties of the slimy little critters on it's menu and a candy shop even advertises chocolate covered oysters - not the real ones, just made to look like it. Tom just had to try some! Even the local FM radio station that was playing everywhere we went is WOYS, 'Oyster Radio.'

There is an old fashioned soda fountain downtown and we're not in the habit of passing up ice cream, so a leisurely after-dinner stroll to Market Street was just the thing - we thought - until we got back to the boat. I opened the door, went inside, and saw the red light on. "Why is the bilge pump on?" I asked. Tom was still on the dock holding the hose, ready to top off the water tank. He dropped the hose, hurried on board, threw up a hatch cover to see what had happened, and hung his head, wailing, "Oh, no." "What?" I wanted to know. He could barely speak. "The bilge is full of diesel." While he had been changing the fuel filters, he must have forgotten to close a valve. Fortunately, no diesel had been pumped overboard into the water or we would have had a double disaster. As it was, it was bad enough. We always carry two 7-gallon jugs of extra water on board so he dumped out the water and started working the hand-operated pump to suck the fuel out of the bilge and into the 7-gallon jugs. He didn't think that would be enough to hold all the fuel and we'd have to scrounge up more containers in the morning, but when both jugs were full the rest could be soaked up with absorbent pads. By the time that was finished, it was past 9:00, dark, and the rest of the clean-up would have to wait until morning. The issue at hand was the overpowering smell of diesel fuel inside the boat. There would be no sleeping there and, of course, our plans of leaving in the morning were now void. Lucky for us, the hotel-condo had a unit available so at least we had a un-smelly place to sleep. 

You can't just dump diesel fuel anywhere. We discussed renting a car to be able to take it to a drop-off site but the accommodating folks at the fuel dock next door said we could leave it with them. Lucky again. Now it was just a matter of deodorizing Pura Vida.  Tom put out containers of vinegar (somebody said that would help), I sprayed the soft surfaces with Febreeze, we kept fans going, burned incense and scented candles, and sprayed a vanilla scent around air conditioner vents. It all helped, but leaving would be delayed at least another day because of a predicted weather front  with thunderstorms coming to greet us the following day.

We were stood up - Saturday was mild and  sunny, no wind, no rain. But that evening the hotel threw a little shindig with oysters and beer for guests, to Tom's delight. Even I ate a raw oyster after only a moderate amount of pressure from those who like slimy stuff, and we got to meet a few travelers. Only a handful had showed up but it was enough to keep Tony the oyster shucker busy.   

Again NOAA called for high winds and thunderstorms the next day. We pondered it. Do we believe it and be fooled again or do we take a chance and get knocked around? We played it safe and stayed one more day. This time we still didn't see a thunderstorm but the wind gusted and whipped up the water all day. We'd made the right decision.