Month: April 2018

April 21, 2018 

    One particularly satisfying aspect of pushing farther south, after departing Staniel Cay, was that the population of Mega-twats seemed to immediately began to dwindle.  They quickly became farther apart and fewer in between… YES!

     With less than seventy nautical miles to reach George Town, we could make it in two days.

     However, we decided to break the final stretch into a few smaller sections and really try to enjoy the fact that we could drop anchor at a new location after only a couple of lazy hours on the move to enjoy a different view for a short while.

     Black Point, on Great Guana Cay, was quite a busy anchorage.  Lots of boats had the same idea that its large bay would provide good protection from a bit of a windy stint forecasted to blow through over the next couple of days.

 

     We went ashore and walked through a very sleepy, though friendly, town that took less than half an hour to get from one side to the other.

     Loraine’s, a restaurant run by a Bahamian woman who was also a Seven Seas Cruising Association member, was hosting a weekly all you can eat buffet for cruisers that we decided to stick around for.

     We saw people there we had met earlier as well as met a number of cruisers that we would see again and again as our paths continually intertwined.

     Jay and Tami, cruising aboard their catamaran Avighna, were two such people.  Sitting next to them at dinner, we struck up a conversation that came to be the start of a great friendship.  They offered an immense amount of advice and information, both regarding sailing in general as well as potential places to visit, as they were coming from the south and had already been in the Bahamas for over six months.

     Their southern accents (Tami from Louisiana and Jay from New Mexico) were quite pronounced and, over time, we found that they had managed to infuse our own vocabulary with regular use of the word y’all.

     Once the winds had settled down a bit, we picked up anchor again and continued heading south.

     Bay Rush Bay, also on Great Guana Cay, provided a great secluded anchorage that we had all to ourselves for a night, as did Rudder Cut Cay, just ten miles further south.

 

    En route to Rudder Cut Cay, we passed by David Copperfield’s private island resort, which apparently can be rented out for something like $300,000 a week.  We opted to pass on that.

     Though we had a small bay at Rudder Cut Cay completely to ourselves for a day, the second day four other boats showed up and invaded the space around us.

 

     On our third day there, we were sitting in the cockpit relaxing.  Suddenly, the unnerving screams of a female screaming for help cut through the air like a razor blade.  We looked around and saw what looked to be a snorkeler a few hundred yards away from us.  As the screaming continued, we quickly began to lower our dinghy, which was lifted out of the water on its davit and secured to the stern arch with four separate lines.  

     Even more unnerving than the screaming, was the silence that immediately followed as we desperately tried to free the dinghy.

      Fortunately, a man on one of the catamarans anchored further inside the bay had also heard the screams and  jumped in his dinghy, which was already in the water.  He reached the girl a minute or so before we did.

    As it turned out, he was the father.  The girl had gone snorkeling alone in a bay just around the corner and had encountered some current going in the other direction.  Struggling to get back, she had panicked and began screaming for help.  He assured us she was only shaken up and everything was fine.

     As we headed back to our boat, our heart rates finally began to drop back down to something approaching normal.  We both looked at each other shaking our heads with only half a smile, joking that we thought we had left the shockingly stressful near death rescues behind when we gave up our management jobs at Scuba Junkie in Borneo.  It was good to see that we still had the ability to react quickly when necessary, though we were less than pleased to have been tested.

     The following day we were more than ready to lift anchor and move on.  Once again, we were blown away by the shades of blue that the water took on.

     For the previous two weeks, we had been just creeping along.  Our past five anchorages had been no more than dozen miles from one to the next, so we decided to push the final forty miles that remained to George Town all in one go.  

     We had mixed anticipations about George Town.

     For many, it is the end of the line heading south in their Bahamas adventure.  Some head straight here, drop anchor, and don’t pick up anchor again until the end of the season when they head home.

     We knew it would be pretty heavily populated with boats which, on one hand, potentially meant a lot of congestion to deal with.  On the other hand, this also meant George Town was well equipped to deal with large numbers of cruisers, with good facilities for fuel, provisions, and entertainment.  It was also the only place we found in the Bahamas that offered free water for cruisers at the dinghy dock… cheap and convenient.   Most places charged twenty five to fifty cents a gallon.

     We were arriving pretty late in the season, so the number of people was likely to be substantially lower than a couple of months prior.  However, we would also be arriving just before the commencement of a regatta, which meant a lot more people than there would otherwise be.  We considered holding out until afterwards.

     Fortunately, it was not the Cruisers’ Regatta (made up entirely of visiting boats) but rather the Family Islands Regatta, comprised entirely of local sailors competing aboard traditional Bahamian sailboats.  We were intrigued and decided to consider the timing a unique opportunity rather than a misfortune.

     George Town itself surrounds a small bay called Victoria Lake which is impossible to anchor in.  The only access is by dinghy under a small bridge sitting fifteen or so feet above the water through a narrow channel wide enough for only one boat to pass through at a time.

     The most popular anchorages seemed to be on the opposite side of a large outer bay, which have beaches and events established almost exclusively for visiting boaters.  We opted to anchor nearer, which provided a shorter dinghy ride, eliminated the need for utilizing the $15 per person per way water taxis, and kept us clear of the boaters which sometimes appeared to herd together and minimize the requirement for local interactions.

     As it turned out, there was plenty of room, even with the large number of boats in the bay, and we had little trouble finding a spot to drop anchor.

     Finally, we had arrived at our long anticipated destination of George Town and could settle in for a while without worrying about constantly tracking weather and wind conditions, always having to plan where we were going to try to set anchor the following day.   Thankfully, as a bonus, George Town did not appear to be a destination for mega-yachts.

 

April 13, 2018 

    Grateful that it wasn’t early in the cruising season, when we have heard everything is clogged up with far more boats all heading in the same general direction vying for the same space and resources… that should have been our attitude at Staniel Cay.

     Big Majors Spot, an island just off Staniel Cay, looked on the charts like it had the most promising anchorage, which was aptly named the Bay of Pigs.  Obviously, a lot of other people came to the same conclusion, as there must have been at least thirty boats already at anchor when we arrived.  The bay is quite large, and certainly capable of dealing with many more vessels than that.  Nonetheless, that’s a shitload of boats swinging at anchor, all in the same general area.

     It may be a poor reflection on the Bahamas.  Plenty of countries are challenged with limited tourist attractions, a lack of extraordinary cultural distinction, or simply marketing shortcomings.  

     It could be a damning testimony of the people visiting the Bahamas.  The world is full of assholes and idiots… the worst people are both.  Who’s to say a disproportionate number of them don’t visit the Bahamas.

     For whatever reason, the fact remains that the absolute biggest tourist draw in the Bahamas is located on Big Majors Spot…

     …. and that is swimming pigs.

     The story is that pigs aboard a ship were apparently thrown overboard in a storm… or pigs escaped from an experimental research station… or they survived a plane crash… I’m not sure which…

     Doesn’t matter (I’m pretty sure it was the first one).

     A handful of pigs ended up on the island.  

     Eventually, it was discovered that these pigs either had learned to swim, or were willing to swim when confronted with a boat full of tourists holding food.

     So you now have thirty or so resident pigs on the island, ranging in size from spotted Big Mama Kharma, who is absolutely huge, to dozens of little piglets.  A sign posted on the beach warns that Big Mama Kharma, just like Kharma, will bite you in the ass!

     We didn’t feed them.  But we did dinghy to the island to check them out.  And just like that, we became part of the perpetuation of the phenomenon of the Bahamas swimming pigs.

     I’ll admit… the pigs are pretty damn cute.

     We had timed our visit when there weren’t any tour boats (some carrying a couple dozen people), dinghies, mega-yacht tenders, or jet skies at the beach.  We actually got to hang out with the pigs for a good ten or twenty minutes before a bunch of assholes showed up.

     The first group was a dinghy full of obnoxious Americans who held handfuls of food in front of them and then began to scream in horror and disapproval when Big Mama Kharma waded out and proceeded to try to climb into their boat.  

     Even worse, the offered food included hot dogs which I found quite sad.  Beyond being generally unhealthy, it would seem to be forced cannibalism if they contained pork… dark.

     Idiots…

     Then, before the group of Americans had left, a group of Russians showed up with their mega-yacht tender and jet skis.  

     A fat Russian guy in a Speedo started trying to pick up the piglets, ignoring the sign on the beach instructing people not to pick up the pigs.  A woman started screaming as the pigs approached and one of the men started running up and down the beach waving a bag of vegetables above his head while a half dozen pigs took up the chase behind him.

     Arrrrgh….

      I told Kris to take a photo and post it on Facebook with the question “Can you identify the actual pigs in the photo?  Hint: they don’t have passports.”  Kris thought that was a bit much.

     Mega-twats and the assholes that go with them… what can you do?

     Sitting right between Big Majors Spot and Staniel Cay is Thunderball Grotto.  Named after the James Bond movie Thunderball which utilized it for a scene during filming, it is a swim through cave with an opening in the ceiling that produces spectacular rays of sunlight that pierce through the water.

     Unfortunately, numerous Mega-twat tenders always seemed to be tied up to the mooring balls every time we went past, so we never ventured inside.  Our loss.

     Staniel Cay seemed very quiet.  Our two days ashore, we walked a couple of miles to the town dump to avoid paying the marina to dispose of it for us.

     And, while we did go to the marina to have a rare splurge for a lunch that was delicious, a conch po-boy sandwich for me and salad for Kris accompanied by a couple of icy cold beers for each of us that totaled $85 seemed quite steep.

     Our visit to the local laundromat/liquor store (an undeniably brilliant marketing idea) turned out a bust.  Though it advertised itself as a wholesale liquor store, bottles of Ricardo, the local Bahamian rum that cost $10 in Nassau, were priced at a jaw-dropping $27 here.  We took a pass.

     So, after a few days awaiting better weather, it took very little contemplation to decide we needed to head on.

     We were both growing very short tempered and irritable with the constant influx of newly arriving boats that seemed to want to anchor right on top of us, as well as the never ending parade of Mega-twat jet skis that were always flying by at breakneck speed while we tried to relax in the cockpit.

     In a final display of Staniel Cay bravado, the morning we were preparing to lift anchor, a sea plane actually landed between the dozens of yachts at anchor and the beach, dropping off an obviously very wealthy person who had decided this was the most efficient way to see the swimming pigs.

     As the sea plane taxied past us and took off, not more than a couple hundred feet off our port side, we had to roll our eyes and smile… endless wealth certainly has its’ privileges.  

     Whatever…

     Regardless of privileges, we’ll take a shoestring budget with a side order of humble pie any day.

April 10, 2018

    We slowly made our way south towards George Town in ten to thirty mile increments.  

    In addition to seeing baby sharks and juvenile turtles in the mangrove creeks of Shroud Cay, we had spotted a loggerhead turtle as we were leaving Highborne Cay a number of days earlier.  Despite having seen thousands of green and hawksbill turtles during our time in Borneo, we were amazed at how fat the heads on the loggerheads are (makes sense considering the name… duh!).

     Overall, however, we repeatedly found ourselves very surprised at how little marine life in general we actually seemed to be seeing in the Bahamas.

     After spending a few days at Shroud Cay exploring the creeks, chilling on the beaches, and taking in the panoramas offered at island peaks rarely exceeding thirty to fifty feet, we decided to move on.

     For the first time, we attempted to sail off our anchor point.  

     Experienced sailors will chuckle, as this is really not that big of an accomplishment. 

     Experienced sailors will also recognize there are certain factors (wind for instance), conditions (high wind for instance), considerations (i.e. not putting too much strain on your anchor windlass), tricks (like how to make sure your sail does not fill with wind before the anchor has been freed), maneuvering and environmental awareness (maybe there is a boat just downwind of your location that will need to be avoided) as well as a great deal of forethought and discussion that all contribute to the end result:  either making sailing off of anchor really salty looking or an absolute fiasco.

     The technique is obviously a process requiring more than one attempt to fully appreciate and digest.

     Fortunately, the wind was light and there were no obstacles immediately downwind of us.  We certainly gained a bit of insight into how to do things differently next time which made it a successful learning experience.  

     Though I wouldn’t describe it as a salty looking endeavor, we like to think it at least looked competent from a distance.

     We were also hell-bent on sailing into our anchorage at the end of the day.  However, after four hours of sailing south plus one additional hour of sailing while we looked for a spot protected enough to anchor at, places with less-than-confidence-inspiring names such as Danger Cay, Lightning Rocks, and Narrow Water Cay all fell short.  In the end, we had to acquiesce the need to fire up our engine for two hours and press directly into the wind to make Warderick Wells Cay for a spot to drop the hook. 

     Warderick Wells Cay houses the main office for the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park.

     Obviously, there are very limited resources available to patrol the park (hence the jet skis in the creeks at Shroud Cay).  So, while we weren’t surprised to see park rangers at Warderick Wells, we were quite surprised when a park speedboat pulled up alongside our anchored boat the morning after we arrived asking if we had paid the anchorage fee.

     This was news to us.  

     You’re definitely going to get charged to stay at a marina.  You’re definitely going to pay to tie up to someone’s mooring ball.  Restricting anchoring (whether it be for traffic considerations, security concerns, safety issues, or a number of other things) is not uncommon or unreasonable.  But having to pay to anchor is definitely not the norm.

    In fact, inside the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park is the first (and so far the only) place we encountered this practice.

     At fifty cents a foot ($23.00 for us) per day, we chalked this up to supporting much needed conservation efforts and just hoped the money was well spent.

     The island itself has a number of paths, stretching through very arid desert-like sections, connecting beaches on both the eastern sound and western bank side.  We packed sandwiches and a one liter Hydroflask full of Bahamian Rum mixed with lemonade, and traversed across paths of sand bearing names like Pirate’s Lair and Camel’s Plight.

 

     And, though not superstitious, we succumbed to the cliche of the superstitious mariner, feeling obligated to leave a tribute on Boo Boo Hill upon which, in addition to a breathtaking panoramic view, there is a monument created from bits of carved and painted driftwood left by cruisers.  Legend has it that a number of unfortunate souls who ran aground on the reef still haunt the area and can be heard singing on full moon nights.  Leaving an offering atop Boo Boo Hill, to appease King Neptune in hopes of good wind and smooth seas, didn’t sound like a sure bet…but what the fuck?  It can’t hurt, can it?

     Not wanting to cough up another $23 for anchoring inside the park, we decided to go to Fowl Cay, a tiny island with a U-shaped bay fourteen nautical miles to the south, just barely outside the park boundary by about one thousand feet.

     Though we didn’t sail off our anchor, we sailed without engine for about three quarters of the day. 

     Every time we think we’re getting a better grasp of sailing technique, things seem to go to shit.  And then when we get really frustrated, things seem to suddenly start improving… go figure.  

     While other days we had difficulty maintaining four knots of speed in fifteen knots of wind, to our amazement, today Exit was managing to make six knots despite the fact that the wind indicator only read 6.4 knots on the display screen!  Hmmm… go figure.

     Three days anchored at Fowl Cay gave us a chance to take the dinghy about a half a mile away to snorkel inside two amazing caves at a pair of small rocky islands called Rocky Dundas.  They were only single chambers, but quite large, complete with stalactite and stalagmite structures, as well a hole in the ceiling where the roof partially fell through.

     We had hoped to scuba dive the area, as we had heard the space between the two caves had some very healthy coral and marine life.  Exit already had one air tank aboard when we purchased her, and we had acquired three more used tanks from Bahama Divers in Nassau.

     Though the area had some of the healthiest coral and congregations of marine life we have seen in the Bahamas, it was only about fifteen foot maximum depth, and really didn’t warrant donning the gear to explore.  And while we have had some absolutely incredible dives in less than ten feet of water, this would not have been one of them.  Oh well… the scuba gear stays stowed for now.

     After three days, we hoisted the anchor again and set off for Staniel Cay.  In Nassau, we had been told by a guy who just arrived at the marina we were getting ready to leave that Staniel Cay was not to be missed.  Good provisioning opportunities, well equipped marinas with trustworthy fuel and plenty of entertainment were all to be had, according to the guy.

     In retrospect, the fact that he was towed into the marina possibly should have been factored into his credibility level.

     But, hey… sometimes you never know for sure until you see for yourself.

April 3, 2018

     Mega-YachtsTwats…

I’ll admit that I can certainly be a bit of an idealist (I can hear Kris laughing at that).  Generally, I try to steer away from ignorance (Kris still laughing).  

     I do realize the world is comprised of both haves and have nots.  And the haves are further distinguished between have some, have lots, and have ridiculously stupid amounts.  

      Not necessarily ideal.  Just the way it is.  

     However, there is a subsection of haves who apparently possess a need to display to everyone around them just how much some, lots, or ridiculously stupid amounts actually are.  It is this group of people that evoke a visceral reaction of absolute contempt and disgust from me.

     We began to see an uncanny number of unbelievably high dollar yachts as soon as we arrived in Bimini.  I’m not sure of the specific dollar threshold at which a yacht becomes a mega-yacht, but it seems that the distinction becomes rather irrelevant when you get right down to it.  

     I suppose the guy with the five million dollar yacht wants to be included in the mega-yacht status category while the guy who owns the twenty million dollar yacht doesn’t want his triumphant display of success to be lumped in, and therefore made less significant, by the mere five million dollar wishful thinker.

     Regardless, there is a vulgar breed of these people emerging who take things to a whole new level of unrestrained consumption and arrogant displays of wealth… I dub them the Mega-Twats.

     Oftentimes too big, or with too deep a draft, to fit into the anchorages that other boats are using, they tend to lurk just outside the general population.  They may have to anchor a mile or more out on the horizon, like a cruise ship.

     They seem to almost be on display for all to take in… separated but definitely looking down from above.

     And, make no mistake… they come with all-access passes.

     Within moments of dropping anchor, their crew of at least a half dozen people is hard at work.  Jet skis are lowered by crane from the upper deck or retrieved from inside garage-sized storage units hidden into the stern.  Three-story tall water slides, climbing walls, and banana boats are diligently inflated and deployed.  

    Evidently, as some thrill seeking adrenaline junkie on a jet ski slaloms past the other boats at anchor in the area at wide open throttle, it doesn’t appear to even occur to him or her that… hey… I’m really, really being an asshole here!  

     Rather, it seems much more that their thought process goes along the lines of… Hey… Fuck you! I like to drive this thing really fast back and forth.  I don’t have a lot of time to waste, so I’m not gonna give a shit about showing any respect to other people!  I’m rich and that makes it all about me!

     Any beaches are certainly fair game for a Mega-Twat invasion.  Not just an arrival… but an unmistakable and overbearing presence to be established.

     Thirty foot long, triple-engine speedboats bring supplies ashore in advance.  Small pavilions, tables, chairs, and entertainment areas are assembled on the beach, establishing zones of occupation to be overrun at the whimsical discretion of some asshole calling on the crew to set up an improvised, quaint, and elegantly rustic beach picnic.

*****

     When we arrived at Shroud Cay, just inside the northern boundary of Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park, we were excited to take the dinghy inland to explore endless networks of creeks that snake back and forth through expanses of low-growing mangroves.

  The park itself is twenty two miles long and extends four nautical miles beyond the cays.  This “No Take” zone, where hunting and fishing are strictly prohibited within its’ boundaries, provides a safe haven and replenishment area for native species as well as an opportunity to educate the public.

     Shroud Cay is only about three miles long.  The anchorage on the west side faces out towards the shallow Exuma Banks side while the cay’s east side immediately plummets more than a thousand feet down into Exuma Sound.  Winding creeks meander back and forth through the mangroves that make up the cay.

     Well clear of all the boats scattered about the anchorage, which can become a bit overbearing, many of the creeks feel remarkably isolated.  

    Obscure side canals and creeks provide endless routes to explore.  Some narrow to a point that eventually forced us to turn the dinghy around and backtrack.  Others opened into vast lakes and marshes of partially dried salt flats, more than a thousand feet across yet less than a foot deep… quite surreal… a bit primeval… way cool.

     Fortunately, it is clearly posted at the mouth of each creek that all outboard engines are restricted to idle speed and jet skies are completely prohibited from entering the creeks, allowing for a much more intimate experience.

     Much of the time, we shut off the outboard entirely, opting to row with the oars and thoroughly enjoy the lack of any engine noise or other people.

     Baby sharks and young turtles swimming by in water that looked like it was inside a Bombay Sapphire Gin bottle were the additional reward for the extra effort of rowing, instead of motoring through.

     And then came the occupants of one of the Mega-Twats… We heard them well before we saw them.  Two jet skis.  Not more than a couple of bends in the creek away from us.  

     The incessant whine of their wide open throttles shattered the silence.  Their unmistakeable rooster tails of water tracked towards us. 

     We had meandered onto a side creek, which had subsequently bottlenecked down to a point narrower than our dinghy, and were now backtracked to where it opened back into the main creek when the jet skies came ripping around the bend.

      Apparently, the assholes were going too fast for the sign at the mouth of the creek, which read All Vessels Idle Speed Only – No Jet Skis Allowed In Creek, to be seen as anything but a momentary blur at the outer fringes of their field of vision.  

     Luckily, we hadn’t re-entered the main creek yet, as the dinghy would probably have been cut right in half. 

     Instead, the guy on the first jet ski zoomed by us at full throttle, just off of our bow, and around another small tender boat that also happened to be right there in the creek.  His stupid girlfriend came wailing past on her jet ski ten seconds later.

     The guy in the tender informed us that these two jack-offs were from M/Y Skat .  We later identified a gun metal floating palace that seemed to stalk us as we cruised south down through the Exumas as the offending mega-yacht… M/Y Skat (ironically, a Danish word meaning treasure but an English word meaning bear shit —- ya, I know its spelled wrong but cut me some slack).

     I was stunned to learn an ex-Microsoft engineer worth 2.6 billion dollars is the proud owner of this… seventy five million dollar (yes… $75 million is not a typo!) recreational vessel.  An RV complete with high performance jet skis and assholes to drive them… fucking Mega-Twats!

April 1, 2018

    No description (or photo, for that matter) can accurately capture the full range of colors reflecting different depths of the gin-clear water in the Bahamas – white, emerald green, turquoise, sapphire blue, indigo, brown, black.  Again and again, we pause to reflect just how unique the water here actually is.

     Our approach to the Exumas required us to, once again, cross the Great Bahama Banks.  This strange stretch of shallows, miles and miles of sandy bottom rarely deeper than twenty feet interspersed with rocks and coral heads, presents a continual exercise in navigational awareness.   Large sections are little more than underwater sandy deserts with very little to be concerned about.

     Other areas are more like minefields.  Scattered with rocks and coral, some lurking just below the waterline, these areas must be traversed with great caution, and only under certain sea and light conditions.  For those who pay attention and read the water, there is limited concern.  For those who program waypoints into a plot charter and rely only on autopilot, there can be a world of grief.

     We made for Highborne Cay, thirty five nautical miles to the southwest of us, on March 31.  Ten knot breezes allowed us to sail for more than five of the seven and a half hours the journey took, and very little of that was spent in areas requiring one of us to stand lookout on the bow.   This was the first time we had done more sailing than motoring since leaving Florida and we both thought it was long overdue.

     Once we arrived at Highborne Cay, we were almost immediately baptized into two Bahamas traditions. First, the practice of certain visiting boaters to drop anchor as unnervingly close to you as can be imagined, for no apparent reason.  Second, the ancient Bahamian tradition, now apparently being revived almost exclusively by Caucasian catamaran couples, to herald the arrival of sunset with the sometimes successful trumpeting of a conch shell.

     We had been told by one Floridian catamaran owner who had been coming to the Bahamas for the last eighteen years that it was, in fact, he who was, singlehandedly, reviving the conch shell blowing tradition.  He had the tool on his boat to properly make the hole… there was good depth along the mangroves to explore… the Bahamian military forces stopped here regularly to say hi to him… he caught more lobsters than all the other boat combined… a fifteen foot hammerhead had recently swam up to him in this bay… blah… blah… blah…

     When we do meet cruisers who have a like mindset, it can be an incredible experience.  As greenhorns, we gain amazing amounts of insight, learning best often just by listening.  Some of the best memories come from simply sitting in the cockpit, enjoying sunset drinks, speaking with kindred spirits.  And it’s with those people that interesting conversations emerge – beyond the Where are ya from?  Where have ya been?  Where are ya going?  Here’s our boat card…

     Waiting for favorable sailing winds, we spent three nights anchored at Highborne Cay, though we never had the inclination to go ashore.  We saw lots of other dinghies racing from one boat to another, obviously already well acquainted with each other.  For some reason, we rarely felt the attraction of interacting with a lot of the people surrounding us.

     Not sure if this was an anti-social tendency of dirt-dwellers we still needed to be weened of…  James would say we were simply ahead of the curve… good for us!

     We were surrounded by a couple of dozen other monohull sailboats, catamarans, and power trawlers, which made it quite claustrophobic.  But, without any doubt, it was the behemoth and arrogant displays of unlimited wealth embodied in the floating palaces of decedent excess called Mega-yachts that truly tested one’s resolve not to vomit or commit physical violence.