Dog Damn the IC(Fucking)W!

We passed statute mile 1000 this morning just after my (James’s) second watch…just after my first visible-light watch, about two hours after we kedged off the bottom in the southern Indian River…the Indian River not in India, …the one in Florida. Okay, let us catch y’all up. I (Dena) was at the helm, hedging to James about whether or not to spend $20 per day for a mooring with dinghy dock and shower access because I had just realized that this is still their prime season and they…well, they triple-load their moorings. No joke – three boats per mooring is their standard. Compared to that, a three-foot-wide finger pier creates a real privacy gap in a marina. We anchor partly for the distance from other boaters and… All the way down their (nightmarishly long and soon to be elongated) mooring field, we reiterated that there was no value rafting with a strange boat on a mooring when we could pass their territory, anchor, and then pay the daily fee only when we actually wanted to use the dinghy dock and showers (as I’d read was possible). Having passed at least 150 boats two or three to a mooring, we went hook-down right smack in the middle of the Indian river off Vero Beach, Florida. It was stunningly picturesque on both sides of the aesthetic spectrum. From the glorious sunsets… …to the sad realities of expensive dreams. Within an hour of anchoring, a hunter-green 14′ aluminum Jon boat with a 9.9 Merc ambled on up for a confab. We’ve been approached by plenty of dinghies in our day, most of which don’t hold people of all that much interest but there’s no telling, not knowing, so…I (Dena) engaged. A meandering ten minutes later, he’d warned me that the harbormaster may tell[…]

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