April 22 – May 11, 2018 

    Our first trip ashore was a bit of a disaster.

     We made the poor decision to head in with ominous dark clouds looming just above us.  

     Within moments of pushing off from Exit in our dinghy, the clouds began to unleash a torrent of rain upon us.  We pushed ahead, and managed to get ashore for some provisions but ended up absolutely soaked in exchange.

     Furthermore, on the way back to the Mothership, as we were fighting against a rather stout breeze coming right at us, we were mortified when a loud clunk came form the outboard motor and it promptly died on us.  No amount of pulling on the starting cord could get it going again.

     As we began rowing in vain against the wind, making no forward progress at all, we noticed a guy on a catamaran anchored near us approaching us in his dinghy.  

    “Have Kris hand me your line; I’ll tow you back to your boat,” he said to me as he arrived.  Perplexed, we realized he knew who we were, but it took a moment longer for us to recognize who had come to our rescue.  It was Jay, who we had met with his wife Tami at Loraine’s all-you-can-eat buffet at Black Point, just days before… what a stroke of good luck and timing.

     We spent a substantial amount of time hanging out with Jay and Tami during our stay at George Town, becoming quite close friends with them.  They continued to provide vast amounts of insight and advice to us, regarding both the Bahamas and cruising in general.

     Later, after struggling to once again resuscitate our Yamaha outboard, we discovered that our poor Yamamama was, and, as far as we could determine, always had been running on only one of it’s two cylinders since we had first revived it in Annapolis eight months earlier.  This led us to the sad conclusion that it was finally time to cough up the money for a new outboard.

     We had seen this as eventually inevitable.  Though our current 8hp engine had served to get us slowly to and from shore, we knew that to carry dive gear to and from more distant locations we would need something bigger.  And, ultimately, having a reliable outboard was as paramount to us as having a reliable car was to a dirt dweller.  

     In addition, being in the Bahamas provided the opportunity to acquire a two-stroke engine, something no longer available in the States.  Though not as environmentally friendly as a four-stroke, a 15hp two-stroke would give us the extra power needed to get up on a plane while carrying heavy dive gear, yet still be small enough to lift by hand and fit in the stern locker.  It was also cheaper.  So, we gave the George Town economy a $2300 boost and found ourselves the proud owners of a new Yamaha 15hp two-stroke outboard motor which we dubbed Y’mama.  For now, the Yamamama went into storage with an as yet undetermined future.

     The Family Island Regatta was a blast.  Watching the traditional local sailboats compete for three days was most entertaining, and we spent hours on the water amongst a virtual armada of onlookers following the racers around in dinghies.  On land, dozens of small fish shacks and bars were set up making it a very festive atmosphere.

Demonstration of traditional Bahamian boat building

Demonstration of Tami aboard S/V Avighna cooking Absinthe

George Town sunset

     Fantastic BBQ ribs, freshly made conch salads, and plenty of Bahamian Kalik (pronounced Click) and Sands beers were to be had.  Kris was even given a straw hat by a very kind, if not slightly strange and intoxicated, Bahamian who proudly claimed he had been an extra playing the role of one of the pirates on the set of Pirates of the Caribbean alongside Johnny Depp.  We had trouble confirming this, but can confirm that he was definitely one of the people passed out, asleep on a stool at one of the bars, later that day.

     Then, within a couple of days of the Family Islands Regatta concluding, the harbor just outside Georgetown began to empty in a mass exodus.

     For the majority of boaters, it was time to head back to the good ol’ U.S. of A.

     Hurricane season loomed in the not to distant future, enticing many to vacate while the getting was good.  Many had merely reached the end of their boating season and were headed back to the reality of their dirt dweller existence.

     For us, our insurance didn’t dictate we be out of the Bahamas until July 15 (at which point they said if you stay, you aren’t covered in the event of a hurricane and we reserve the right to drop your insurance cause you’re obviously not an exceptionally smart policy holder).

     This gave us the opportunity to spend some time at anchor in a nearby area known as Red Shanks (completely uninhabited and empty except for a couple of other boats) as well as go for a more extensive land exploration in a rental car with Jay, Tami, and their good friend Ashley who had come to visit them.

Red Shanks

Red Shanks sunset

Breaking out the lifeboat rations

     Our longer-term intention was soon to continue south to Long Island while we still had time.

     Unfortunately, the prevailing winds would not cooperate.  After waiting and waiting without any shift in wind direction forecasted in the foreseeable future, we bagged the idea of continuing southeast.

     We could have done it motoring the whole way.  However, we had become more and more adamant about sailing more and motoring less, which required a shift in perspective, a willingness to rethink strategies, and oftentimes a serious dose of patience.

     As sailors, we were beginning to realize that sometimes destinations should be sought out not because that’s where you wanted to go, but rather because that’s where the wind would let you sail.

     An evolution, of sorts, for us…

     If the wind continues to come from the southeast, don’t get pissed off and certainly don’t resort to relying on engine power to buck the wind.  It’s much easier, and oftentimes much more productive and rewarding, to readjust  your thinking and simply head west… or north… or southwest… or northeast…

     This sounds obvious but takes a bit of internal adjusting to fully begin to appreciate.

     We met someone who told us bluntly, if they couldn’t make 6 knots sailing they fired up their engine… period.  Their boating endeavors probably lasted no more than a few months each year.

     To us, this seemed unfathomable.  We aspire to be sailors, not motorers.  And wind is free, diesel is not. 

     Longterm cruising on a very limited and finite budget requires that we reign in our spending constantly.  Expenses must remain as low as realistically possible (safety and maintenance are the two priorities that we don’t shortchange).  

     And we have quickly learned that one of the easiest ways for a cruiser to reduce expenses is to not turn the ignition key unless absolutely necessary.

     And so, we readjusted our thinking and decided that, given the persistent wind direction, maybe Long Island wasn’t currently the best choice for us.

     Further discussion brought us to the conclusion that it made much more sense to backtrack northwest through the Exumas until we could jump off and head towards Eleuthera.

     And so the plan was set.

Red Shanks beach exploration

Red Shanks ruins

Red Shanks ruins

Red Shanks ruins

Red Shanks ruins

Kraken Friday means…

…Perfect Storm Sundowners!

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.

Between gigs…

Showtime!

The need for the bottom sign speaks volumes…

     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.

Nurse sharks at the fish cleaning area

Group mentality

     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.

I’m on a boat…

mutha…

fucka…

…

…

…

…that’s anchored in five feet of water!

     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.

Afternoon soaks…

…and late night snacks

     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.

Asshole #1

Asshole #2

Near collision

     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.

March 24-31, 2018

    Nassau had allowed us the opportunity to see our best friends again, as well as provided the chance encounter with our new friend Ray.  Nevertheless, after nearly a month at New Providence, to say we were chomping at the bit to move on would be a vast understatement.

     The Exumas, a long line of small cays stretching southeast for over a hundred miles, just southeast of us, seemed like the most logical choice for us to visit next.  Many people we had spoken with had raved about them, and photos provided further evidence of what appeared to be the quintessential Bahamian paradise.

     Tucked in between the Exuma Sound (essentially the open Atlantic Ocean) on the east, and the Tongue of the Ocean to the west, the Exumas are comprised of a tiny thread of cays and landmasses that barely emerge above the water, dotting the easternmost edge of the Great Bahama Bank.  In fact, very few of the cays have elevations that exceed fifty feet above sea level. 

     We decided Rose Island would make for a perfect launching point to head south.  It was twenty two miles east of West Bay, which gave us a head start in the direction we needed to go, as well as got us away from much of the boat traffic surrounding Nassau and New Providence.

     We often joke that we can determine the direction we intend to go by the wind direction.  It seems to always be coming from the direction we’re trying to head… not ideal from a sailing standpoint, for sure.

     Heading for Rose Island, we struggled to gain an angle we could sail under without pushing ridiculously far off course which would also just add additional distance to travel. 

     As we pressed further offshore than we initially intended, we were perplexed by what appeared to be land sitting barely above the waterline in the distance, maybe a mile off our port side.  The perplexing part was that there was not supposed to be any land in that direction… certainly not so close.  We could still see New Providence clearly to our right… evidence that we, in fact, were where we thought we were; but also evidence that the nearest land to our left should be well over the horizon.

     We edged closer to investigate.  Surprisingly, what we discovered was that our land was actually an island of sargassum seaweed, floating on the surface of the water, covering an area that had to be nearly the size of a football field.  As we got closer, we saw an additional road of sargassum seaweed leading both to and from the sargassum island as far as we could see in either direction.

     Not wanting to suck a giant mound of sargassum seaweed into our raw water pump, we avoided plowing right through the middle, though the idea was certainly a bit tempting.  We juked back and forth for the next hour or so, avoiding additional seaweed congregations, or choosing a narrow point when we had to cut across a road of seaweed that blocked our path.

     Finally the water appeared clear in all directions, and it seemed we had left the bizarre highways and islands of living plants behind us.  

     However, during that time, we began to notice that our engine tachometer, on the helm pedestal in the cockpit, had  begun to swing erratically, bouncing up and down from the actual engine speed, at times even spinning completely around.  Another Twilight Zone situation unfolding.

     Even stranger, the volt dummy light on the main panel at the top of the companionway steps had begun flashing on and off intermittently.  The battery voltage appeared fine at the main switch panel, the solar panels were charging, and everything on the engine seemed to be running perfectly fine, so we decided to continue heading for Rose Island, which was still two to three hours away, monitoring things while we were underway.

     The voltage dummy light (which should have indicated a lack of charging when lit), continued flashing on and off, becoming more and more incessant and staying on for longer periods of time.  Also, we noticed when the light came on, the temperature gauge and engine tach on the companionway panel also stopped working.

     Still, the engine seemed to be running perfectly fine.  Not wanting to shut things down and risk the engine not starting back up, we pressed on.

Approaching Rose Island

Sussing out possible spots to drop anchor

     By 5:00pm, we had safely arrived at Rose Island and set the anchor.  However, an hour later, when we tried to start the engine to see if the voltage light was still acting up, we got nothing… no warning buzzer, no engine starting.  It wouldn’t even turn over.

     Fuck.

     The following day was a game of chasing down the electrical ghost in the machine.  Taking off panels.  Identifying, following, and tracing wire paths.  Checking connections.  Testing for continuity and voltage from point to point with a multimeter.  Wires disappearing into a hole in the wall or a bundle of other wires, only to emerge again who knows where else.

     Troubleshooting electrical problems are a bitch.  Not only because I am NOT an electrician.  That doesn’t help.  But, also because electricity goes beyond science, and even magic… into the realm of voodoo.  

     Not just protons, neutrons, and electrons following the laws of physics.  Not just the magic and spells of sorcerers.  But full on chicken bone, snake eyes, and pig’s blood voodoo kinda shit.

     After consulting by phone with our electrical witchdoctor Tom (the electrical engineer who had installed our solar setup) for advice, the standing theory was that the likely source of the problem was either: a faulty connection somewhere, a failing ignition switch, an alternator belt that needed tightening or a problem with the alternator itself, or possibly we had not offered a sufficient blood sacrifice.

     Every wire path and connection we could get ahold of was checked (finding two suspect loose terminals along the way).  We tightened the alternator belts.  For the time being, we opted to hold off on the blood sacrifice.

     When we turned the key in the ignition, the warning buzzer sounded.  When we pressed the Start button, the old Perkins fired up immediately.  No charge fault light on the panel.  After shutting everything down and trying again, we got the same result.  All good.

     Fucking voodoo…

     With the electrical spirits seeming to be content, we now just had to placate the weather spirits.  

Jog on the beach

Sunshine and sand

     Sitting at anchor just off Rose Island for a week awaiting a change in the wind direction, we came to thoroughly enjoy our remote location.  The lights of Nassau still spread across the horizon.  Yet, we had only a handful of other boats at anchor around us.   

     We could go ashore and take in the breathtaking colors of the water on the opposite side of the island, dinghy around the shallow bay that separated the mangroves at the shore of Rose Island from a narrow spit of land just opposite, or hang out on the beach of that spit, typically the only people ashore at any given time.

Inside the protected bay

Hypnotic reflections

Exit anchored in ten feet of water

     Finally, on the last day of March, we hoisted anchor and headed out.  The Bimini Islands were now behind us and in front, across the shallows of the Bahama Banks, lie the Exumas.

Organic Graffiti 1

Organic Graffiti 2

Organic Graffiti 3

Organic Graffiti 4

March 22, 2018

     With it’s ultra-aggressive hawkers, cruise ship cattle, and upper crust mega-yacht twat aficionados, it would be incredibly easy to completely write off Nassau as shallow and superfluous.  

     Yet, deep down, that would be an unfair characterization.  Most of those people are irrelevant travelers passing through; and many of the locals are largely just trying to play a weak hand dealt to them, the best way they can.

     Oftentimes, it is when you delve off the beaten path, risking life and limb (more than one travel source we referenced warned of the potential danger of straying away from the crowds), that you actually stand a chance at finding the real heart and soul of a location.

    Though we had staved off the emergency situation of having our fuel tank leaking diesel all over the inside of our home, we still needed to find gasket material to sort out our fuel tank sending unit for the long term.  We suspected that the material we had used was not really fit for diesel applications; consequently, the breakdown of the rubber would eventually lead to more grief.

     After calling a dozen marine or more repair facilities, auto parts or hardware stores, we still had no confirmation that the material we needed was in stock at any of them.  As is often the case, the best tactic is simply to hit the streets.

     On the phone, one woman had indicated that they had two kinds of gasket material in stock, but she knew nothing about gaskets beyond that.  The problem was, after a dozen calls, I had lost track of which facility this was.

     So, we set out on foot, hoping that we would stumble across the gasket material.  Either sheer luck or tenacity would do.

     As we waited in line at one parts supply store, we were approached by a Bahamian who asked us what we were trying to find.  Hinging between suspicion and desperation, we explained the situation.  Much to the chagrin of the woman behind the counter, he indicated we my be able to find the material at a different location – one at which he was headed to next.

     After the employee confirmed that they, in fact, did not have the gasket material we were trying to find, the guy told us he would be happy to give us a ride to the parts store he thought would have what we were looking for.  

     Though our experience thus far had not given us a great deal of confidence in the good will of Nassau locals, with a bit of trepidation we accepted the offer.  When another person behind the counter asked the guy if he actually knew where the store in question was, as well as warned us that, if he tried to take us by the airport, we were being taken for a ride, we became even more skeptical.

     Yet, no serious danger alarms triggered, so we followed the lead we were offered.  After climbing in his car, the man introduced himself as Ray Cunningham, a mechanic who worked for ICS of the Bahamas (an armored car company similar to Brinks).

     He went to a couple of other shops he needed to visit before bringing us to AID, the massive parts store he had recommended trying.  Sure enough, they had what we were looking for; and, because of his help we walked out the door with the gasket material in hand in short order.

     Afterwards, he was kind enough to drop us off at a nearby grocery store where he offered to wait for us while we went shopping for provisions so he could give us a ride back to the marina.  Considering the marina was only a few blocks away, we declined the offer, not wanting to take advantage of the situation.

     He happily gave us his phone number and promised, if we found ourselves in another bind, he would help us out again. 

    A couple of days later, one of our propane tanks ran out.  When we asked the marina dock-master, as well as other cruisers at the marina, about getting tanks filled, no one had a definitive solution.

    So… we called Ray. 

     Sure enough, he picked up the empty tank from us at the marina, drove thirty or so minutes to a location that filled propane, and then brought us the full tank the next day.  As before, he asked for nothing in return; he simply said he wanted to do what he could to help us out.

     After Shannan and Vicki departed Nassau, bound for home, we headed back to West Bay to anchor in our old location.  

     Earlier, when we cleared Customs in Bimini (our first stop in the Bahamas), we had received an eight month cruising permit for the Bahamas.  However, for some reason we never quite understood, when I went to clear Immigration at a different location, they only issued us forty days on our passports.  Now we were down to less than ten days remaining.

     We had already visited the immigration office in Nassau a couple of days earlier to try to sort this out.  But when we explained the situation to the officer behind the window, we were told we needed to get our visa extension once we arrived in Georgetown, where we were planning on heading to anyway.

     Unfortunately, weather had prevented us from departing New Providence as soon as we had hoped we would.  As we approached only a week left on our visas, we knew we would be hard pressed to make Georgetown before the visas expired, which would cause us all kinds of trouble.  As a general rule, overstaying the date stamped on your visa rarely turns out well.  Georgetown was the nearest location outside Nassau that could issue that extension; furthermore, the last thing we wanted to do was race straight to Georgetown, missing everything in between, simply to beat the deadline.

     Trying to be pro-active to avoid a visa disaster, we decided to give it one more try in Nassau.  We had already spoken to another immigration official on the phone (seemingly farther up the command chain but located somewhere else), and they had assured us that we should be able to take care of this at the Nassau location if we went back and explained the circumstances.

     The problem was now we were at West Bay – a fifty dollar one-way taxi ride into Nassau.  And apparently the local buses didn’t come that far out on their normal routes.

     So, desperate once again, we called our new friend Ray.  He warned us to be extremely cautious; there may be people at the park we could dinghy to, but not to trust them to give us a ride.  Instead, he called us back shortly thereafter, informing us that he had already spoken with a bus driver who had agreed to come out the extra distance to pick us up at the park entrance.  The bus fare would be five dollars each.  He left us with the driver’s phone number, to verify the pickup time the next morning.  Not only that, he also assured us that if, for any reason, the bus didn’t pick us up, he would come out and get us himself… golden!

     The following morning, our phone rang.  It was Ray, wanting to confirm everything was ok.

     When we arrived at the immigration office this time, there was quite a line.  We waited over an hour outside, just to get into the main office.  During that time Ray called again, checking on our progress.

     Once inside, we had to wait even longer before talking to an official.  While we waited, Ray actually showed up with a big smile on his face, just wanting to see how things were going.  He had a brief word with the person behind the office window, to try to expedite things, as well as make sure they understood our situation.  Good old Ray… greasing the wheels of the snail’s paced government office on our behalf!  Soon after, our passports were stamped and we were out the door, this time good for three additional months.

     We couldn’t thank Ray enough for all his assistance.  He told us if we got into trouble anytime while we were in the Bahamas, call him and he would do whatever he could to help us out again.  We don’t doubt that for an instant. 

     Individuals like Ray are the embodiment of human potential – a truly friendly person of limited means who just wants to do good and help out whenever possible.  His motivations are not greed or ambition, but merely pure kindness.  For cruisers like us, his efforts make the journey we’re on not only more feasible, but also incredibly enjoyable.  

     We can only take his lead as an example to follow ourselves.  Hopefully, if we are fortunate, our paths will cross again.  And if we find ourselves in a situation we can’t resolve, we have absolutely no doubt that Ray will pick up the phone and move the world for us with a smile on his face.  Cheers to you Ray, our Bahamian Guardian Angel… you are a diamond!!!

March 7-20, 2018

     The magic of a lifelong friendship is both a rare and precious treasure.  In some ways, it transcends family relationships in that it is a chosen endeavor requiring tremendous effort and even sacrifice, as opposed to a genetic certainty.

     Shannan and Vicki Schulhauser are two such lifelong friends.  I have known Shannan since 1980 as a classmate, a bandmate, and a best friend.  Likewise, we have known Vicki for more than thirty years.  

     They are the only two people who traveled halfway around the world to visit us while we were working as dive instructors in Borneo.  It only seems fitting that they be the first guests we have staying aboard Exit; and, once again, they have to travel thousands of miles to do so.

     Our strategy was to arrive in Nassau well ahead of them, in time to have an opportunity to scope things out, do some reconnaissance on potential places to go, and become more familiar with the area in general.  

     We did make it to New Providence in advance of their arrival.  However, the same winds that threatened to trap us at Fort Lauderdale finally caught up with us and, for the entire week, we were unable to get out of West Bay.  Furthermore, West Bay’s remote location prevented us from even venturing into Nassau itself to explore ahead of time.

     In fact, we had just arrived at Harbour Central Marina in Nassau and were still securing our dock lines as Shannan and Vicki’s plane touched down at the Nassau Airport.

     We had planned on spending a few days at the marina, allowing Shannan and Vicki to acclimate to Exit.  As this would be their first visit ever aboard a sailboat, we thought it prudent to take things slowly.  A bit of time, secure in a slip, would give them a chance to get used to simply being on a boat – boat movement, boat noises, boat space, boat operations…

     Nassau is not exactly representative of the tropical Bahamas paradise you might find on a post card.  Take a city of 250,000 people with a distinctly high crime rate, add a smidgeon of Bahamian culture, and drop in ten to twenty thousand tourists who have just stepped off one of five cruise ships sitting in the harbor for a few hours as well as one of the densest congregations of multi-million dollar mega-yachts I have ever seen and, in a nutshell, you have Nassau.

     It became easy to distinguish at what point of their cruise people were at by the color of exposed skin walking around… lots of fish belly white if the cruise had just begun versus painful looking lobster red if the cruise was nearing an end.

     It’s impossible to get any real sense of the true size of the cruise boats themselves without seeing them in person.  As we passed by them in the harbor, we were flabbergasted… enormous and audacious structures ten stories high that occupied the equivalent of a city block, each carrying three thousand or more guests.

     Sadly, the cruise ships must be a large percentage of the economic base of Nassau, and it shows when you walk down the sidewalk, like an eternal spring break destination.  Each store, bar, restaurant, and street vendor has a small window of opportunity to entice every person walking past to leave some money at their establishment before climbing back on the cruise ship and taking their money on to the next port.  Everyone is both greeted and treated like they are on a cruise… and most of them are.  

     We were told by many locals how frustrating it can be, as many of the cruise ships pack their guests on pre-arranged tours and activities, never venturing further from the boat than an awaiting shuttle.

     Likewise, the mega-yacht crowd provides an equally unique population to be observed.  Surrounding us at the marina at any given time were no less than half a dozen floating pleasure palaces, ranging in value from probably three million to well over twenty-five million dollars, often with only the crew aboard, awaiting the next rendezvous instructions from the owner.

     Though it was a nice break to enjoy restaurant food, bar drinks, and a bit of wandering around, by day three, we were more than ready to say farewell to the marina, as well as Nassau.  We looked forward to getting back at anchor, using West Bay as a launching point to further explore the area with Shannan and Vicki.

     Our previous three hour motor from West Bay to Nassau Harbor to meet them had been in fair weather without major waves.  However, the drastic and quick change in depth from over a thousand feet to exposed rock and reefs less than a mile off the beach, in tandem with the wind, generated the biggest swells we have ever encountered as we traversed the coastline.  

     Though not rough and messy, like five foot waves stacked on top of each other, the swells were more than a little bit intimidating.  Spaced maybe thirty seconds apart, we repeatedly found ourselves at the crest of a massive swell, looking more than twenty feet down into the trough preceding the next swell.  Then we were in the trough, looking up at the next swell as it approached.  

     It was unnerving enough that we quickly adjusted course to take us a bit further offshore where the swells diminished in size.  To our amazement, we could see surfers much closer to shore, making what looked like suicide runs down the massive walls of water.

     Despite encountering no such swells returning to West Bay with Shannan and Vicki aboard, the journey was still enough to make Shannan more than a little green in the face.

     While our first day at anchor was comfortable, unfortunately, the weather refused to cooperate with us.

Swimming off the transom

Dinghy excursion

Fifteen to twenty knot winds kicked up for a number of days, making any hope of a day-trip sailing excursion (or even moving to another anchorage) out of the question.  

     Furthermore, the direction in which the wind was coming from was at a right angle to the swells entering the bay, causing Exit to sit at anchor facing the wind, but take all of the swells directly on our beam.  This resulted in a pronounced and unrelenting rolling of the boat, back and forth from side to side… uncomfortable to say the least.

     Considering the fact that Shannan had undergone surgery on both hips over the past two years and was still coping with extensive back problems, it was incredibly difficult for him to navigate around the tight confines of the boat as well as up and down the companionway steps in the best of conditions.  Exit’s continuous rolling motion only exasperated the situation.

     Finally, after four days of non-stop wind and rolling, Shannan and Vicki opted for a hotel in Nassau.  We took them ashore where they caught a taxi that delivered them to accommodations on solid ground.

     For the next week, the weather remained uncooperative.  Sadly, in the end, we were unable to take them out for even a day trip of sailing.  

     We spent five additional days tied up at Harbour Central Marina so we could meet with them each day in a more accessible manner.  

     Ultimately, it was fantastic to see them again, and we appreciated all the effort they went through to meet us all the way in the Bahamas.  However, we couldn’t help but feel like we had fallen well short as hosts at our home for our  friends.

     In hindsight, it was truly a learning experience for us regarding having people come to visit us.

     While Nassau was a logical hub to access from the U.S., it really did not provide a very conducive location for a boat at anchor.  West Bay was in the middle of nowhere, making it nearly impossible for daily rendezvous; and Nassau Harbor was far from ideal for anchoring.  Inside the bay, accessibility to land by dinghy was difficult; furthermore, currents, constant boat traffic, and very poor holding (a number of boats trying to anchor just outside the marina dragged at night) meant that paying to stay in a marina was really the only viable option.  

     Once committed to staying in the harbor, we lost most of the ability to attempt short, enjoyable daysailing trips.  Strong currents limited the windows of opportunity to get in and out of the marina slip.  Even if the wind was favorable, just getting out and back into the harbor (past the cruise ships, boat traffic, and outer channel) required a couple of hours at the least.

     Our lack of familiarity with the area made things incredibly difficult.  We learned that, in order to host visitors, we would need ample time to first suss a place out.  Given that opportunity, we could have made better decisions.  This includes both land and water based familiarity.

Visiting the John Watling’s Distillery

     In retrospect, it would have made much more sense having guests unfamiliar with sailing to stay at a hotel from the beginning, initially utilizing a safer strategy of short day trips instead of total immersion.  Already knowing where we could go, depending upon conditions, to allow them exposure in small doses would have probably given them a much more enjoyable sailboat experience. 

     Instead, without that foresight and knowledge, we were flying blind.  

     In the future, we need to choose a location in which we already have a great deal of knowledge, or give ourselves far more time to do the reconnaissance necessary so we can plan and adjust much more effectively.

     Hopefully, our shortcomings as hosts for Shannan and Vicki on this trip don’t dissuade them from another visit in the future.  They are our lifelong friends and we eagerly look forward to every opportunity to see them.

     A friend is a friend, and nothing can change that, but it’s also extremely important to recognize that not all friends are sailors themselves, or even want to be.  Given that fact, we sincerely look forward to having them come to visit us again at some point in the future. 

     As is the case with so much aboard Exit, we learn an immense amount every time we try something for the first time.  But we have to try in order to learn.

     Thanks to Shannan and Vicki for being our first time guests… next time around we promise more sailing and less rolling!

February 25-28, 2018

    The Great Bahama Bank provided us a preview to some of what would be in store for us in the Bahamas.  Learning to accurately read the water is a navigational necessity here. 

     Though there were no real obstacles to deal with, we had our first exposure to the colors that we would have to become familiar with in order to successfully (and safely) get around… every shade of blue interspersed with variations ranging from white to black.  

     White: can be an indicator of sand with good holding for potential anchorage or a alarm bell for shallow depths.  Black: can be merely the shadow of overhead clouds or reefs and rock somewhere below.  They say watch for brown that’ll take you down… a warning of something just below the waterline that puts us at risk for potential grounding (or merely sea grass ten feet down)… confusing.  

     The myriad of colors can be very helpful to reveal what is hidden under the water’s surface, ultimately often providing a more definitive indicator of where to go (or where not to go) than our charts, which seem to always have a intimidating array of underwater rocks and obstacles noted, some of which are dangerous and some of which are always at least ten feet deeper than our draft… or the colors can prove quite vexing to interpret.

     Prior to studying our Bahamas charts, we were unfamiliar with the initials “VPR” .  Yet, “VPR Apply” seems to be plastered everywhere we look on these charts.  Standing for Visual Piloting Rules Apply, it is a constant reminder that, in the end, it is your eyes that are to be trusted more than any charts.  

     It dumbfounded us to hear that some captains set a course on their chart plotter, even going so far as to program in turns at specific waypoints, and then tune out the outside environment.  Relying solely on the autopilot, the accuracy of their charts, and the assumption that everyone else on the water will stay out of their way to get them safely to their destination sounds to us like a perfect way to lose your boat.

     We knew it would take us at least a second day to reach Nassau on the island of New Providence, requiring us to anchor overnight somewhere out on the Great Bahama Bank… a somewhat surreal prospect.

     Awaiting a slack tide which allowed us to avoid a sketchy approach in currents to the fuel dock we needed to get diesel at, had meant for a late start.  Consequently, we only made about thirty miles on our first day before dropping anchor just before sundown.  

     Just shy of Mackie Shoal, Exit sat in twenty feet of water.  We would have preferred closer to ten feet, but it was a higher priority to find a spot with enough open sand to keep our anchor chain clear of coral heads and sea fans which were scattered all about.

     A single sailboat far off on the horizon, also at anchor, was the only other sign of human presence besides ourselves.  Otherwise, it was water as far as we could see in every direction.  The nearest land to us was Bimini, thirty miles behind us.  Ahead of us, forty five miles of ocean separated us from anything rising above the waterline.    

     Words fail to convey just how strange it was to be at anchor in the open ocean.  

Sunset on Great Bahama Bank

Anchor beers…

…cheers!

     Unfortunately, cloud cover prevented what we were sure would have been an unbelievable view of the stars so far away from any lights.  Nonetheless, we were happy to take the relatively calm sea conditions we found ourselves in. We also chose to heed earlier advice we had been given, and left our transom light on all night to help illuminate us, hoping to avoid being run down by a random Bahamian freighter potentially passing in the night. 

     The following morning, we were pleased to find ourselves not only in the same location, but also fully intact.  In fact, we had not seen a single boat on the move throughout the night.

     Though our second day crossing the Great Bahama Bank was largely an uneventful forty five mile straight line, it also marked reaching the milestone of two thousand nautical miles of travel aboard Exit!  That night we had celebratory anchor drinks in the cockpit at the edge of the Bank, just off the North West Channel on the fringe of the Berry Islands.

Temporary rest stop

Shifting colors

Stunning indigo blue water

Underwater features visible…

…more than fifty feet below

     In the morning, we were rewarded with visits by two large nurse sharks and a barracuda just after raising anchor.  As we crossed into the channel, the water beneath us underwent a breathtaking and dramatic shift in color.  Brilliant turquoise quickly gave way to an extraordinary ink-blue as the water’s depth plummeted from ten feet to fifteen hundred feet in only minutes.

     With both time and the weather now on our side, we chose to spend an extra night at anchor just off of Chub Cay before making our final push for New Providence.   

     Between Chubb Cay and New Providence, we crossed another unique body of water known as the Tongue of the Ocean, a shelf that begins around seventy feet and plunges quickly to depths exceeding nine thousand feet in places.

     While it feels no different aboard Exit being in ten feet or ten thousand feet of water, it was remarkable to contemplate the fact that, only eight weeks before, we had been intimidated at the prospect of being two miles offshore.  Now, we had nearly two miles of ocean stretching underneath us to the seabed!

Ten feet…

…or ten thousand?

     With clear skies, only one to three foot seas, and ten to twelve knots of wind from the East, conditions were as perfect as we could have hoped for, allowing us to sail the entire day without firing up our engine.

     By 4:00pm, we were safely inside West Bay at New Providence, enjoying the now-traditional and obligatory anchor beers.  

     We had dodged the proverbial bullet, which was committing to be in a particular place by a particular time with over a thousand miles to travel in order to make that deadline.  Now, all the pressure was behind us and we could smile and relax.  At times, it had felt like we were running a race atop a forty-six foot long snail.  Yet, in the end, we had indeed made it with a week to spare.