Frolicking in Fernandina Beach

Atlantic Bridges to Fernandina Beach – 1 mile by dinghy, 12 kilometres walked

At 6 am the softwood cellulose plant across from the anchorage started making a hissing sound. By 7 the hissing had upgraded to howling. By 8, it sounded like a platoon of fighter jets were taking off from the bow of SeaLight. I stood at the stern looking to see if the plant was in the process of exploding, but there were just massive plumes of white smoke erupting from the smokestacks and a noise so loud I had to cover my ears. I locked us back down in the cabin and closed all the hatches to limit the noise. After about 20 minutes the noise finally let up, but we wondered if this was a daily occurrence or maybe they just need to clear the pipes at the start of the workweek.

We took the dingy into the marina, got tied up at the free dock, then started walking to the Walmart and Winn-Dixie to pick up a few supplies. After walking for a block or two we realized the horrible noise coming from the plant was directed out towards the anchorage and you could barely hear it in town, which made me happier for the local residents. But you could still smell it – a strange mixture of odours, with pine sap being the most prominent. As we walked there and back, we were passed by a steady stream of trucks hauling logged pine trees, obviously headed for the plant. We must have counted thirty trucks during our walk. Good thing pine grows quickly.

After offloading our purchases at the boat and having a spot of lunch, we returned to shore to explore the town. Our first stop was at the Customs and Border Control office as we wanted to confirm our understanding of the I-94 requirements for boating Canadians. Well, the lads there didn’t know anything more than we did, but looked at our records and said that we were probably okay. That was good enough for us.

We walked through the historic district admiring the classy homes then walked up the busy Centre Street which was chock-a-block with shops and tourists. To give Ana some space and time for browsing the boutiques, I beelined for the public library and found the newest Brooke Shields book – “Brooke Shields Is Not Allowed To Get Old”. It was excellent and had one particularly good chapter on the horrors of menopause, of which I have just a scholarly interest and am in no way suffering any collateral damage from menopausal rage of any sort. I then found a Smithsonian book called “Music – The Definitive Visual History” that was as large and heavy as a cinder block so spent a good hour flipping through that. As usual, the category of Extreme Metal got shafted; the closest they got to was Hard Rock, and it’s not quite the same now is it? Still, a mesmerizing read.

We walked Center Street, exploring a few of the shops, then found Tasty’s Fresh Burgers in what looked to be a remodelled gas station. The prospect of an Authentic American Milkshake lured us in. While waiting for our beverage to be crafted, I watched the Weather Network on the television suspended in the corner and saw a squall line of red nastiness ripping across the US heartland, headed our way. We sucked up the delicious vanilla dream as we hustled back to the dinghy, which was now nearly touching bottom with the tide fully out. The dinghy next to ours had been chosen by a local pelican as a nice place to take a nap.

Today, the weather forecasters got it right, or maybe the mystical Fernandina Forcefield had been powered down, but we got hit with a brief but powerful storm squall with rain, lightning, and 35 knot winds that heeled the boat and tested our ground tackle. While hunkering, we prepared a dinner of Portuguese pork chops, potato and cheese casserole, and steamed mixture of broccoli and green beans, lightly salted. It was a delicious end to an interesting day in Fernandina Beach.

Tomorrow, we say goodbye to Florida as we make an ocean run to Charleston, South Carolina.