We all slept in on Thanksgiving. Even on Strolla you get to sleep in on holidays. Groggy and squinting in the bright mid morning sun, we stumbled on deck to read and tinker with the boat and while away the rest of the morning.
At noon dinner preparations began. Becca took charge. In our cramped little cabin, on a rocking, two burner stove, she oversaw the preparation of a feast. Turkey with gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, yams, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. We may have cut a few corners, instant mashed potatoes, precooked boneless turkey breast, but still, it was a crowning achievement.
When all was ready, under a blazing Miami sun, we had a real Thanksgiving celebration. As per tradition, we overate. Then, sweating gravy, we groaned protestingly into a lethargic cleanup while the tryptophan coursed through our veins.
When all was once again washed and stowed, we weighed anchor, set sail and headed south. The sun set, the lights of Miami covered Biscayne Bay in an eerie predawn glow and still we sailed south. We sailed until we reached Angelfish Creek, a buoyed outlet into the ocean. There we turned east, charged through the cut, and reentered the Atlantic.
The wind was predicted to swing down out of the south early the next morning but at that time was still south/southeast, not quite south enough to sail. The waves were steep and choppy. With the lights of Florida fading fast behind us, we crashed our way east into the Gulf stream. It looked like we were in for a rough, wet night.