LIFE AT EIGHT KNOTS
The Betty Jane II drifted slowly near the confluence of the St. Johns River and the Intracoastal Waterway, her idling 240-hp Yanmar the only discernible sound. A squadron of white pelicans huddled together on a shoal a polite distance away. Some porpoises surfaced nearby and seemed to express interest in us, then disappeared. Otherwise we were alone with nary another craft in sight. We had some thinking to do.
Our crew—Associate Editor Krista Karlson, Betty Jane’s master and commander, Deputy Editor Capt. Bill Pike and I—each studied a different type of cartography. Capt. Bill sat at the helm, looking at the Garmin chartplotter and then at our position through s large windows. I stood behind him with NOAA paper chart in hand. Krista was at the settee paging through the Waterway Guide. “Nine feet, Bill,” I said, keeping an eye on the depth as he pondered both the plotter and our surroundings, looking concerned.
