It took only three hours with a fifteen minute delay at a bridge near our destination that opens only every twenty minutes. Cold but clear with more wind than yesterday so we used only the small jib. We passed the Ponce de Leon Inlet with its distinctive lighthouse by the sea.

There were alternate buoyed routes at two points in this short passage and we took the one officially marked as the "ICW route" which was inland from the light. The last time I was here was crewing on a northbound 74 foot motor yacht, m/v "Sea Leaf," in 2012. Then we stopped at a marina by the light before jumping out into the Atlantic for a romp up to Beaufort NC.
Today we could have gone another 32 miles to Titusville, but we broke the trip there from Daytona into two parts by stopping here because Lene heard or read that New Smyrna is a nice town.  This has emerged as our plan for the winter: We are going south in Florida slowly. We are already in Florida but have several hundred miles to get to the Dry Tortugas, which is as far as one can go in the U.S.  This involves a lot of the ICW because many of the ports are not easily accessible from the sea. The two hops from Lake Worth to Fort Lauderdale and from there to Miami Beach, will be out in the Atlantic, during good weather, because of bridges. There are so many bridges that you have to wait for in the first such hop and a fixed 56 foot bridge in the second that we just can not ever get under. And the trip in the Keys is planned as a mix of inside and outside jumps. Having stopped almost everywhere in Florida on our way south, we plan to skip a lot of these same stops on the way north by going outside. A plan that has sort of come to us and like all plans is waiting to be changed.
Anyway New Smyrna is a very nice cozy well run, friendly municipal marina with good showers but mediocre wifi.

We are at the furthest out slip, which, given how small this place is, was not a disadvantage. In fact it was an advantage because we had a clear unobstructed view of the Christmas Parade of lighted boats on Saturday night from our cockpit. About 20 boats, both power and sail, decked out in vastly colorful lights came up the ICW right past our cockpit. The photos do not do the spectacle justice.
They have a decent history museum here run by the historical society with interesting local artifacts such as the equipment used to cut "cats faces" (shallow "V" shaped slashes) on pine trees to collect the sap to make turpentine. The town got its name from the home town of the founders wife in Greece. The Marina is in the background, two blocks from the museum and between them is a 20 foot high plateau

on which is the ruins of the foundation of either the home that was shelled and burned in a naval bombardment from two US gunboats during the Civil War or a fort. The signage was more directed against vandalism than providing information. The museum has a copy (or original of an affidavit signed by a survivor, after the war, in support of a claim for reparations, asserting that no member of the family lifted arms in support of the Confederacy. I was interested in how the legal form of the affidavit has been relatively unchanged from then to today.
One thing I forgot to report from the museums in St. Augustine is that during the civil war, excluding the native Americans, the total population of Florida was less than 10,000, more than half of them slaves. But you cant believe all you learn in museums: In Fernandina I was told that the original native Americans here were a peaceable and matriarchal society; in St Augustine the story was about the chiefs and the wars between them. Because we can not talk to them directly anymore, each historian draws his or her own conclusions.
The main drag on this half of town, west of the ICW, is called Canal Street,

about six blocks long. We had dinner one night at Yellow Dog Eats on that street, which specializes in variations on pulled pawk. Saturday the street was closed for an antique and classic car show. My friend Jim would have loved the car show. Meticulously maintained and highly shined cars from the 30s through the 70s simply parked on the street, with their owners in lawn chairs nearby to answer questions. Some pride themselves on all original components while others have replaced the interior mechanicals with more powerful and efficient engines.
We took the shuttle bus that picked us up at the far end of Canal Street at Dixie Highway and took us to the beach.

The fare is $0.75 one way for a senior. After a stroll on the beach, we walked the two plus miles back through the main drag of the beach side of town, Flagler Street, and across the bridge that detained us on our passage into town.

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The storm surge having receded from the day before, we got underway at 6:30a.m. motoring the inside passage starting shortly after low tide. We held our breath a few times passing under 65 foot bridges as the tide rose during the day. There were about ten bridges in all but the low ones all opened on request, causing no delays. It began cold but clear and the winds were light. Bundled up, we were warm enough. The ICW here was mostly southerly and deep and wide enough to not be a cause of worry. With the winds mostly easterly, we were able to fly the small jib and later I was emboldened to fly the genoa, which gave us half a knot.

We arrived at the Halifax River Yacht Club  at two. What a club it is. View with Lene from ILENE.

It is easily approached directly from the ICW through a straight, well- marked channel -- a 90 degree right turn west from the ICW just after passing a particular low bridge. You can see the day markers to the sides of ILENEs forestays and part of the bridge to the left.

 The Club is a mile from the beach, using that bridge to cross the ICW.
First built on this site in 1898, it was recently rebuilt. The dockmaster, Peter, formerly a teacher, after directing us to our dock and helping us with our lines and electric cord and brewing a pot of coffee for us, gave us a thorough tour of the place, of which he is justly proud. Im a big booster of the Harlem and could have done no better by the HYC than Peter did for the HRYC. He stubbornly refused our proffered tip. The tides are normally less than a foot here so the docks are fixed, not floating. HRYC has a large and elegant clubhouse and a large membership.  Some of the boats here have been extensively done up in Christmas lights.

The restaurant had only its Tiki menu due to a membership meeting our night there so Peter pointed out several restaurants in easy walking distance, of which we chose McKs Irish Pub. He also pointed out the Clubs health club. He offered to take us to stores in his car and a free bag of ice cubes. The showers are clean and offer a copious flow of hot water. This club has many more members than it has room for boats in its marina. It has three hotel quality meeting rooms and had three outside organizations booked for meetings the day we were there. It has three full time office staff. It offers a free nights dockage for members of any other YC that is part of a council of 30 clubs in Florida. As members of the Harlem we paid only $1.25 per foot. It has an active ocean racing program and a youth program.
The only drawback in my view is that in order to actually sail one has to go fourteen miles south in the narrow ICW and then through the somewhat tricky Ponce de Leon Inlet near New Smyrna to the sea with freedom to select the course you wish. Figuring at least five hours for going out and coming back in, this leaves few hours for a day of sailing.
In the morning we declined the free coffee but Peter took me to the sea for a walk there and I walked back and then took Lene to the Supermarket, waited for her and brought her back.
The beach is quite long and clean. Paddle boarders and surfers were out in wetsuits and the paddleboarders surfed the big waves. I noticed the communities of various species of sea birds standing on the beach, common gulls, those with long orange beaks, with the same beaks but black tipped and sandpipers, all in what appeared to be harmony. I talked with the fishermen on the pier built out into the sea. On my way back, taking the closest street paralleling the beach, I saw the usual suspects: tattoo parlors, salt water taffy, piercing shops, head shops, pizza parlors, fried fish joints surfing shops and those selling towels and tee shirts for women with sexually suggestive double entendres blazoned on the front.
On my way back, from the low bridge next to the Club I shot a view to the north of two high bridges with a low one in between them, under which we had passed.

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