Locals cheer on the Clearwater Ferry as it resumes service

Yahoo

12-05-2025

They meandered down the marina, past the plastic dolphin molds, sunset cruises, pirate ships, flipper boat tours, the bearded tour guides in tie-dye and shades, and turned right toward a humbler vessel that still made tourists tilt their heads at its logo: 'Clearwater Ferry.'
As the sun shrunk behind thick gray clouds, six people, mostly visitors but also a few suntanned locals, one carrying a yippy Chihuahua, returned to the ferry for a Thursday sunset ride. The day before was the first day of service since Jannus Live owner Jeff Knight's boat crashed into a ferry, killing one man and injuring 10 others.
Cheryl Champagne, a mental health therapist from Palm Harbor, was going to sail near Davis Islands Thursday evening. But she changed plans when she learned the ferry would resume.
'I wanted to make sure the staff knew they were supported, and the ferry itself,' she said. 'We're all still angry because no charges have been filed' against Knight.
For Michaelene Lourenco, 77, of Dunedin, any fear she might have felt quickly turned to outrage as Knight's defense took form after the crash.
His lawyers said he left the scene 10 minutes after colliding with the pontoon-style boat carrying 45 people because his vessel was taking on water. They said the Clearwater Ferry was poorly lit, and its crew distracted by dolphins.
'This goes slow. They watch what they're doing,' Lourenco said. 'Dolphins are no distractions.'
'At 8:30,' she added, bristling, 'you can't see any dolphins. Hogwash about that whole dolphin story.'
The ferry began to pull away from the dock, blaring its horn. At its fastest, it barely eclipsed nine knots, a little over 10 mph. The boat kept pace with a sunset cruise for a while. This vessel, called Monica's Crossing, was covered with gray seats lining the walls, open windows and a small bow for those hoping to catch a breeze.
Captain Brian Powell recited safety measures on board, indicating the life jackets and fire extinguisher. No more than four on the bow at one time, he said.
'Yup,' Lourenco nodded, satisfied. 'They always make that announcement.'
'Brian,' she called. 'What's that island that nobody could step on?'
'We call it bird island,' he said, nodding toward a mangrove-covered slice of land. It's named for the birds that nest on it each year.
The ferry made ripples to its right and left as Powell steered near Clearwater's Memorial Causeway. Between the ferry and the cruise across the way, a private boat cut through, moving fast and stirring a bigger wake.
Within 30 seconds, the cruiser disappeared behind bird island. Powell continued his course, unperturbed.
'Dolphins!' said Greg Tag, a visitor from Oceanside, Calif. Others clambered onto the bow or peered out open windows at the pod of dolphins, babbling as they surfaced in the ferry's gentle wake.
Everyone, it seemed, was distracted by the dolphins — except Powell. He helped passengers find the mammals as they circled the boat but then turned his gaze straight ahead, hands tight to the steering wheel.
Champagne took the ferry for the first time last July with her sister. Since that first ride, Powell has always been her captain, she said. Her sister was the first person she texted when Champagne learned of the crash.
She rarely takes other forms of public transportation. But the Clearwater Ferry, now a bona fide commuter option with runs every half-hour and a partnership with the Pinellas Suncoast Transit Authority, feels different.
'Yeah, this is more fun,' Champagne said, laughing. 'You get a boat ride for $5.'
She returned because the ferry is one public resource Champagne doesn't want to lose.
The boat bumped gently into the dock in downtown Clearwater. First mate Wayne Skees leaped off the bow, fixing the ferry to the dock with black rope.
Passengers climbed off, returning to their cars parked near Coachman Park. Ten minutes later, the ferry took off again, this time carrying no one but its crew and a Tampa Bay Times reporter.
Skees and Powell struggled to explain why they continued with a service now marred by a fatal crash.
'Well,' Skees said, lips pursed, 'you can't be afraid of everything in life. You fall off that bicycle, you've just gotta get back on it.'
He fell silent and walked to the bow.
Before he started working for the ferry five years ago, Powell worked on other cruises at the Clearwater Beach Marina. He felt pressure to perform for tourists.
On the Clearwater Ferry, it's more like providing a public service, he said. Powell can be himself — relaxed, easygoing, focused on steering the boat.
'Nobody's tried to bite me today,' he said. 'What I mean is, people have been nice.'
A month ago, Powell spotted an egret floating in the water, wings splayed. He grabbed a hooked rod on the boat and drew the bird in, setting it on the dock at Coachman Park.
For two hours, he called the aquarium and local sanctuaries for help. Eventually, the waterlogged bird got up and waddled away. He had to assume it was OK.
Powell would drop everything to help a flailing bird because he can't stand the sight of suffering, he said.
Not near his boat or on it.