It's midnight, sailing at seven knots Lindsay McRory April 11, 1996 The anticipated two-day stay at Vero Beach, where we waited for unsettled weather to pass, turned into seven days as two separate cold fronts moved in from the north, breaking previous low-temperature records along the way. Our lengthy stay in Titusville, Florida, combined with the unseasonably bad weather, has forced us to make a major change in our plans. Originally we were going to cross to the Bahamas from West Palm Beach. That would have taken us to West End, on Grand Bahama Island. That island is part of the northernmost chain of islands known as the Abacos. From the Abacos it would take longer to work our way to the southern Bahama Islands than if we left from Key Biscayne, near Miami, and headed for Nassau. We really did not want to spent another 200 miles on the Intercoastal Waterway with fewer and fewer anchorages, more bridges, and marina fees soaring to $2 per foot. Out of the blue, Denise got an incredible urge to go offshore and just get it over with. She's never really had an urge like this before. The weather forecast was great, so we exited the Intercoastal from Ft. Pierce Inlet at high noon. At the narrowest part, where the ocean swells were rising as they met the inlet, we were buzzed by a 50-foot sportfishing boat. This guy passed within 30 feet of us doing 30 to 40 miles per hour. His wake, combined with the eight-foot ocean swell, knocked us right over. Gear blew out of lockers, and the kids went flying (but were unscathed). It was like a grenade went off down below. I didn't even have time to get upset. Before buzzing us, Mr. Tuna had buzzed a Coast Guard station. The Coast Guard was hot on the radio with the sheriff, making arrangements for Mr. Tuna. So that's how it started. Our first family offshore trip in four months and we get buzzed. The weather forecast for one- to three-foot waves failed to mention the five- to eight-foot northerly swell. The first couple of hours were not good. Once out in deeper water everything smoothed out and we set sail. We passed a couple of sharks, in some sort of frenzy on top of the water. We hoped they were making a snack out of Mr. Tuna. The afternoon was a nice sail in brisk winds and aqua-blue water. At present, it's just after midnight. Everyone is sleeping, except me of course. Hakuna Matata is sailing along at seven and eight knots over the water with a full main and No. 2 jib. Wind is due east at 15 knots true. So much for the forecasted five knots. The autopilot's driving. We are following the shore very closely to avoid having the Gulf Stream slow us down. I was trying to stay offshore three to four miles, but our speed over the ground went down to two and three knots. We've closed in on the shore and are steering long zigzags between 110 feet and 150 feet of water. As a result, our speed over the ground has jumped up to a whopping 5.5 knots. Radar puts the shoreline at a little more than one mile away, but the reflection from buildings may distort this reading; the actual shoreline is probably a little less than a mile. I would prefer not to sail this close to shore at night; a little vigilance will go a long way. Next stop: Key Biscayne, where we'll wait for another weather window. Then it's off to Gun Cay followed by Nassau.