Cool MEMORIES

The annual cruising pilgrimage that snowbirds make from the Northeast to Florida, and often beyond, is a tradition worth embracing.

- ANDREW PARKINSON

Well, troops, I think we may have a problem up here," my dad said, cinching his foulies a bit tighter around his wrists and neck.

It was just after dawn when he peered down the hatch to my mom and me, deep in the warmth of the cozy salon. We were halfway down the Eastern Seaboard, heading toward warm Florida waters.

Dad had hoped to cast off lines early for the next leg of adventure on our Hunter 31, Ragtime. Things obviously weren't going according to plan. Twenty-one-year-old me sprang into action, joining him topside.

Late the night before, we had puttered to the sleepy sea town of Coinjock, North Carolina, which had already shut down for the night. There wasn't a soul about. And with no response to our calls to the marina, we decided to tie up to the public dock across the channel, fire up the gas stove to heat up a can of beef stew, and call it a night.