March 11th. Right merrily did we jump to halliards and quick as scat did we trip our hook and send it swinging to the bowsprit end for we were homeward bound with kicker astern and a smashing breeze on our quarter. Hard earned experience stood us in good service and we successfully negotiated the pernickety waters at the upper end of Biscayne Bay and plunged into the mangrove bordered swamp channels beyond. About 5 p.m. we came upon the 90 ft. powerboat Osprey hard aground and swung across the canal about a mile from the tollhouse and barrier chain. In trying to squeeze by his bow we also fetched up, and between us we effectually put that canal out of commission. After much pushing and hauling we worked by but immediately were swept ashore again by the tide. This time we had to run a line from masthead to a tree and heave down a little. Mighty glad to get going, for a night in that canal with its clouds of “skeeties” is no joke and I sure pitied those poor Osprey folks who couldn’t float before midnight. We anchored in the beautiful lagoon near the New River Inlet where we saw a wonderful sunset and ate a wonderful supper of beefsteak and proper fixings. The night fell calm and hot and I had to turn out and put on nettings to keep the beggars out.
March 12th. Up with daylight. Think H. has been bitten by a tsetse fly, for he sure has the sleeping sickness. Osprey II came down lagoon about seven o’clock and we let him pass us before picking our hook. Osprey promptly went aground when taking the cutting at foot of lagoon. She backed off and we went ahead and gave him the good water, but tide was running sharply and he lost control and piled up again. We left him frittering away at the mud and sand. We had some trouble of our own later, but it all goes much easier this way. The sun isn’t glittering on the water ahead. We know how to avoid many of the worst places and when we do stick, each one of us knows just what to do and when to do it. This trip back ought to be a dandy. We have both spoken today of our feeling of relief from strain. There is no wind today, but it is fairly cool under the awning. Saw three alligators, one an old whopper, and one so near the boat we could have struck him with the boat hook. Later we saw three more “gators” and H. put a bullet slap into the head of one. We thought he was our meat sure for he was in only six inches of water. The little 22 cal. pellet failed, however, to stop him. Towards three o’clock we came into the lower reaches of Lake Worth and had a beautiful trip down its smooth waters. The motorboats and speed launches filled with gay parties passed us without a look. Offsprings of Mammon, the nasty rich. Anchored off Poinciana where things begin to look draggy. Today was a good run indeed for the little putt-putt. Over 40 miles in 11 hours.
March 13th. Turned out at daylight again. No use for the bunk these hot, lifeless mornings. Got provisions, ice, etc., and up anchor by 10:30. “She’s the Liverpool packet, My Boys, let her go.” North from Palm Beach the sail along the shore is most beautiful. More flowers are in bloom than when we came down and I guess it was a “riot of color” this morning. I am mighty glad to have seen it, but am not sorry to be leaving it. When I asked a storekeeper why everybody didn’t leave it, he answered, “By God they just can’t. In three years they lose all their money farming and then they ‘gotter’ stay.” Some of these farming propositions look short of criminal. A sample of Everglades soil sent to Washington for analysis was returned to Miami with report that there was no value to it for any crop except slight trace of moisture. The old trade wind blew heavily from south, but for comfort’s sake we kept awning up and let her jog along with motor. It is no joke to pile up under sail in heavy breeze and have to push, pull and kedge in blazing sun. Down past Jupiter Inlet with rushing fair tide and on into Hobe Sound which we thought more attractive than Lake Worth. The trout were jumping beautifully all day. Everybody was fishing, but in all the while we have been in Florida waters we have not seen a fish caught. Way up northerly end of Hobe Sound we anchored for the night at 5 o’clock to escape the “skeeties” which would follow a night spent in the swamps beyond.
March 14th. A good night with only one turnout to furl awning on account of wind. A little more freshness to the air this morning yet we are still sleeping with only sheet as cover and this morning a letter from home gives temperature there as near zero. Under way by seven and promptly hidden away in the swamp. There is nothing new to say of this sort of thing. I never get tired of watching the color but I have no words to describe that. Great green-headed tsetse flies with yellow striped bodies make things occasionally quite merry, but otherwise there is little doing. We remember most of the bad bends from bitter experience and so we go chugging along most contentedly comfortable and I wouldn’t be surprised to pick up a pound or so of that weight I dropped on way down. Beautiful white herons, cranes and smaller blue herons with now and then an eagle make something for the eye to follow, but I sadly miss all signs of other animal life along the way. H. saw a coon shinny up an old palm tree and disappear down the hollow trunk. Besides that we have seen no fur. We most successfully negotiated the narrows under power and double-reefed the mainsail after crossing St. Lucie Inlet. This Inlet is very attractive looking both in itself and surroundings. A boiling swirl of tumbling combers break on shoals through which run the deeper channels of darker blue and emerald green. To the south are the Jupiter Narrows with hundreds of miles of interesting mangrove swamps. To the west runs the St. Lucie River along the banks of which are located the Cow Creek Indians. Stretching to the north are the broad waters of Indian River. We wanted to stop and look the country over, but a day or two is nothing for the purpose and the strong, fair wind too tempting.
We started to hoist sail when slam, bang down on deck came topping lift block and masthead band. Away went boom and sail into water to leeward. I don’t see now how that band jumped the masthead, but it did. Luckily the boom didn’t break and we crutched it again with a strap and peak halliards. H. don’t fancy masthead business much. Says it looks high from deck and seems a good deal higher from aloft. Must keep him up there a day or so for practice. We let her run with kicker to Fort Pierce where we anchored and H. went aloft to put back the block on a strap for temporary use. Then we had a fine sail before a stiff breeze for rest of the day. The sailing was mighty quiet and restful work after motor-going. No matter how perfectly the little engine is working you somehow have it constantly in mind and are unconsciously listening for a skip and speculating on probable cause. To escape mosquitos, we anchored outside Indian River Narrows and took a heavy rain squall as we dropped hook. The squall killed most of the wind and the rain turned the hot, lifeless air into a steam bath. It promised a mighty uncomfortable night, but the Japsticks drove “skeeties” out of cabin and double nettings kept them out, so we got in a pretty good line of sleepings.
March 15th. Comes warm, muggy and full of cloud but with promise of better things and a good stiff breeze. We used power through the Indian River Narrows and “good bye” to our last cocoanut palm as we ran out into the upper Indian River and spread our two-reefed sail to the ever freshening breeze. Everything bully. As I write we are bowling along five to six knots. The sun is shining, the birds twittering somewhere and lots of happiness for me. ——! ——! Those lines and marks represent a fearful crash when we heeled to an extra heavy puff and a whole fowl merrily boiling in the big pot on the oil stove broke loose and went bottom up on the floor. Oh, dear! oh, dear! was there ever such misfortune. All my happiness suddenly turned to sorrow and greasy soup.
For the rest of the day with wind on port quarter blowing spiteful in the puffs, we stormed it up river and anchored once more off Cocoa for the night, having done some 50 miles for the day.
March 16th. Up with the day which broke with sharp rain squalls and freshening breeze hauling to north and northeast. My right eye has again given me trouble and I am once more harnessed to hot compresses and stingy drops. I am all covered up with little nubbins where “skeeties” have lunched and some big nubbins where a spider has taken a meal. It may be beri-beri, but I favor the spider idea, for H. saw a big black one this morning like a soup plate. He lives aft under cockpit seat days, and comes nights and Sundays to bite me.
It breezed on fresh and as boat is all out of trim with almost no ballast, it seemed foolish to buck to windward all day without centreboard so tied up to leeward of the dock and went to knitting and clothes washing. The cool, crisp wind makes everything seem much better. In afternoon I got in a bully walk along shore to Rockledge. This Cocoa and its shore are attractive. Beautiful orange groves and some plantations. The air was full of the scent of orange blossoms and flowers. Beautiful places line the roadway by the water and nice boathouses with cement breakwaters shelter all manner of motor craft. The speedboats are to race in a day or so and the little vermin were whizzing up and down river in great shape. The night came ugly, with sharp rising glass a good sign in these parts for northeast troubles.