“Though it’s only been a month or so, that old [boat’s] buggin’ us to go. We gotta get away and get back on the road again.”** In the predominant school of thought around here, leaving Marathon in mid-February is considered premature evacuation. Folks either stay until April—which we can’t do unless we zoom up the east coast to D.C. faster than we’d like—or cross to the Bahamas and stay there for two months—which we can’t do because of Benny’s absurd and growing constellation of ailments that resist even the most expensive treatments. Benny, Benny, Benny and the Vets.
Whatever. “Where’s that duffle bag of [ours] it’s time to go.” Yup, we obviously know some songs about leaving. So last night we said our goodbyes.
We had a last meal by the pool at Lighthouse Grill, home of possibly the worst service ever but also home to a series of really cool singers.
We took some final evening photos of Misty Pearl in her slip, beside that catamaran with the squeaky dinghy we several times wanted to cut loose in the cover of darkness but didn’t.
A final check of the weather suggested Hawk Channel might be a bit lumpy but otherwise it looked good for the 3-hour cruise to Duck Key. We stopped by the marina on Duck Key yesterday before returning the rental truck. (Twenty minutes by car, three hours by trawler.) The approach is only five feet deep at low tide, which meant arriving at noon today would be about right. Let’s leave at 8:30 just to be safe.
At 7:30 this morning, skies were gray. Scattered showers forecasted. But the wind wasn’t going to kick up until early afternoon. Doug went through the pre-departure routine. Everything but firing up the engine. Dana walked the boys. Then BOOM. Thunder. Lightning. Rain. Dana and Oscar scurried back in the downpour. “Scott says no way we can travel today. There’s going to be cloud-to-water lightning. We’ll die.” Sure enough, storms as far as the radar can see. Where the hell did that come from?
Worst rain—by far—since we arrived. Maybe Poseidon is angry that we’re leaving. Maybe it’s just coincidence. Doesn’t much matter, of course, cause we ain’t moving today.
Tomorrow the wind and waves look to be worse. If there’s a positive spin to put on this, it’s that we’re now going to skip Duck Key and go straight to Key Largo on Friday to meet the girls, which is good mostly because we don’t know any songs involving ducks.*** About all we know of ducks is that they float, wood floats, and thus any woman with a wart and fake nose who weighs the same as a duck is a witch.*
Why even bother with a blog post about cruising that didn’t happen, some might ask. It’s a complete waste of time to read it, some might say. It’s like George Castanza’s idea for a TV show about nothing. Basically we’re stuck on the boat because of the rain, however, so why not?
* Dana thinks anyone who recognizes and enjoys Monty Python references is almost as dumb as anyone who inserts Monty Python references into a blog. It’s a wonder we get along at all.
** Doug’s first dog was named Boo, thanks to Lobo.
*** We did play Duck, Duck, Goose with the girls when they were little. And we played a fowl drinking game called Fuzzy Duck at some point before the girls came along.
P.S. It’s still raining.