A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

  This time we shut down everything and took a look. The water was so clear, despite the 18-foot depth, that we could clearly see the sea grass that was hooked on the propeller. So Michael bravely grabbed his snorkel gear, tied himself to the boat, and dove into the frigid (about 80 degrees—okay, so we’re wimps) water. He pulled a big wad of sea grass out of both propellers, so once we restarted the engines (minus the ominous billowing black smoke this time), we picked up considerable speed.

  At one point I looked down at the chartplotter and noticed the date—11/10; it was my birthday! Happy forty-first birthday to me! I received the best gift ever when, after an uneventful motorsail, we enjoyed a sunny 3 p.m. arrival. We even had time to practice some boat stuff, like anchoring, steering with the engines, and tying knots.

  We were blissfully alone, so we didn’t feel self-conscious putting ourselves through the maneuvers again and again. Gaining confidence, I was starting to feel like Bill Murray’s character in the movie What About Bob: “I’m saiiiiliiiing!”

  Green Turtle Cay

  The third morning in the Bahamas was just as calm as the previous one. That meant no sailing. Sigh. It’s hard to learn how to sail that way …

  We gunned the diesels and headed about 25 miles to our “final” destination of Green Turtle Cay. Hey, this sailing thing was pretty easy! Just turn on the engines and hit the autopilot! Sheesh!

  During this hop, we (I) learned how to use cruising guides, charts, and my trusty chartplotter to select and create routes that would keep us clear of any nasty water obstructions (like other islands or reefs). We made it to anchor by noon. Let the celebrations commence!

  Wait! Not so fast! We would have limited time with Captain Tim, so I wanted to run through as many scenarios as we could, particularly while conditions were conducive to do so (boy, did that turn out to be the right call). First we decided to get fuel at the dock (a first for me). I took the helm and put the techniques we had practiced on Allans-Pensacola Cay into play. I managed to get the boat to the fuel dock without running into anything (although I was screaming in my head the whole time—AAGHHH!), and the “crew” tied the boat to the dock like pros.

  Despite all the motoring we had done, we used exactly 34 gallons of diesel over the three days. It cost only $109 for fuel to go the 210 miles from Miami, Florida, to Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos, Bahamas, plus another $1,200 for the captain (including his flight home later). Not bad.

  LESSON 24: SIZE DOES MATTER Although I was advocating larger engines earlier, smaller engines mean lower diesel bills. Our puny 18 hp engines burned through only about a quarter gallon of fuel per hour multiplied by two engines. This could be less if we were simply charging our batteries at neutral, or more if we were gunning the boat through rough seas and high winds. Still not bad though. That’s why we didn’t complain too loudly about the engine size.

  We performed a few more mooring and anchoring exercises before quitting for the day. Now we could celebrate. Yahoo! We had done it! We had sailed from Miami to the Bahamas. On our boat! Can I get an Arrrr Arrrr?!

  I decided to call my mom to share my excitement and let her know we had made it safely. The two previous islands had been unpopulated, meaning no cell-phone towers, so I hadn’t had a chance to keep her worry-free. I babbled on and on about how great our trip had been, only to hear dead silence on the phone once I had finally shut up. Hello? Hello?

  Did I mention that about a half hour out of Miami our EPIRB went off? An EPIRB (emergency position-indicating radio beacon) is a satellite-tracking beacon that gets tripped only when you set it off during an emergency or it goes off by itself after hitting water, thus enabling searchers to find you. When we heard beeping coming from the unit, all three of us went to stare at it. You have to pull a lever to set it off, so it wasn’t as though we had accidentally bumped it. Yet there it was, beeping insistently. Inexplicably. We were starting to worry about it when it stopped about five minutes later. Maybe it was just calibrating with a passing satellite. Shrug.

  The silent treatment I was getting was from a distraught mother who thought that my boat had blown up and left her childless. The EPIRB beeping had caused the Coast Guard to call her and Michael’s brother—our points of contact—to ask if they had heard from us. The Coast Guard was calm, believing that the beeping was a false alarm, but our families had waited on pins and needles for three days—until my exuberant phone call. Oops.

  Since the Coast Guard thought it was a false alarm, they hadn’t started a search. I would have been a bit peeved at this except that, had they pulled out all the stops and found us sipping beers in our cockpit in the Bahamas, they would have made us pay for the wasted effort. We did e-mail the Coast Guard as soon as we learned of their involvement to allow them to close the case with confidence.

  I can’t imagine how scary the wait must have been for our families, but I still can’t help laughing every time I tell that story. Looking back, I am surprised that our experienced Captain Tim hadn’t done something more, such as get on the VHF to clarify the EPIRB issue with the Coast Guard. Oh well, another lesson learned.

  LESSON 25: LET ME SEE SOME ID Although our captain came highly recommended by a famous surveyor and did have a captain’s license, you might be wondering if he was the right man for the job. We grounded 10 minutes out of the harbor, we miscalculated our arrival time to West End, he snoozed when he should have been quizzing us, the sailing techniques he advocated were simplistic, and he wasn’t savvy enough to know to contact the Coast Guard via VHF to alert them to the EPIRB false alarm. We had chosen him because he had catamaran sailing experience; had sailed this route before; was nice, cheap, and available; and we trusted the person who recommended him. If you need a captain, I suggest you hire someone by their credentials. You might even want to take them out for a test-drive.

  What Do You Mean You’re Leaving Us?

  We had arrived. Now what? We had hoped to utilize Captain Tim a few more days to allow time to gain more skills, but the weather was turning ugly. Meteorologist Chris Parker and boat VHF chatter warned of a storm system on the way. We wouldn’t be able to do much until the system passed, and who knew how long that would be. Money was tight, and we had to cut the cord sometime, right?

  Right. But in order for Captain Tim to leave, we had to check him in with customs/immigration. As a matter of fact, all of us from Jacumba, even Shaka, still had to check in. The drill is that you raise a yellow quarantine flag on your mast, and the captain goes ashore alone and checks in the boat and crew. We did that, but no customs’ officer was on duty. So we hoped they wouldn’t mind if we all went ashore and got a drink. Who knew—we might actually run into the officer there. (In St. Pierre, Martinique, you do check in at a bar, so it was possible.) That didn’t happen, but we did enjoy ourselves. Note: Some islands do mind if you sneak ashore and will fine you, so be careful.

  The next morning was a Sunday and, with the storm coming, we really needed to get Captain Tim on a plane. We called the customs office and were shocked when someone answered. The officer was there but was on his way out. Noooo! Wait, we’re coming!

  We piled into the dinghy (restarted the motor 10 times) and hustled to the customs office. He had waited—hallelujah! A few nonchalant stamps and a hefty fee for a six-month cruising permit later, we were all legal, even Shaka. Yellow flag down; Bahamas courtesy flag up.

  Now to get Captain Tim home. We booked his flight, put him on the next ferry to nearby Treasure Cay on Great Abaco Island, and waved good-bye. We waved again when the home-bound plane flew overhead, and then Michael and I just stared at each other. What had we just done?

  We were now alone. On a boat. In a foreign country. Or, more exactly, alone, on our own, in a foreign country, on a boat we didn’t know how to sail. Whose idea was this anyway? Oh, yeah, I already wrote that chapter.

  Who’s in Charge Here?

  It was becoming clear that I’d be the de facto captain, which suited Michael just fine. Over the following
months we discovered who was better at doing what, and this turned out to be the right decision. Michael would freeze like a deer in headlights when unexpected things happened; I had trouble with things requiring muscle, such as getting the clutches (halyard and sheet/line holding devices) open in high winds. I could predict where a storm was going and steer us around it; Michael was like a monkey up the mast. Michael knew how to cook and enjoyed it; I could wash dishes with a drop of water. Michael was patient; I was practical. Michael became mechanically inclined; I further developed my computer/electronics skills. I smelled odors; Michael tracked them down. Michael was better at taking direction, I was better at directing—just like at home! We both just kind of fell into our functions. That said …

  LESSON 2 REPEAT: Don’t ever assume … Don’t assume that the man will be the captain—either on your boat or someone else’s.

  LESSON 26: ROLE-PLAY Everyone has a part to play. Every adult on the boat should have some clue about how to do all the various jobs. Michael knew how to steer the boat and add a waypoint to the route in the chartplotter; he just wasn’t good at either. I dealt with a lot of engine issues—replacing solenoids, tightening the alternator belt, even helping a guy rebuild our starter—but I left those jobs to Michael when I could (he liked the challenge; me not so much). We both knew how to raise, trim, and lower the sails, and we both knew how to anchor. In an anchorage we would both assess the situation and find a good spot to drop anchor, but I would motor us to the chosen spot, and Michael would lower and later raise the hook. We split laundry chores and shopped for groceries together. We both carried heavy things. We both understood how the dinghy outboard worked. The only jobs we never swapped were that I steered us to the moorings and Michael picked them up. We were so good as a team this way that it wasn’t worth messing with.

  Role playing affects everyone’s safety as well as their enjoyment of the whole boating experience. Many couples completely separate their tasks into the usual traditional chores, which is fine most of the time (assuming that all involved are happy with this arrangement). However, it helps for the captain and mate to at least know how to perform each other’s tasks (if anything just for empathy), and everyone should at least know how to deal with emergencies.

  Don’t forget about kids and guests. Don’t assume that the captain/mate have it covered. Remember LESSON 9, Sh** happens? Everyone aboard should know where emergency stuff is located, how to read basic charts or the chartplotter, how to work the VHF, and how to do a person-overboard drill. How to anchor isn’t a bad thing to know either. Egotistical captains should share the knowledge lest their big heads fall overboard and they wish to be brought back on by their crew. All others should remember how cool it feels to overcome something they never thought they could do, and think of how helpless they would feel should something happen to the only person who knew anything.

  LESSON 27: THERE CANNOT BE TWO CAPTAINS Well, not at the same time anyway. You can take turns, but whoever’s playing captain that day or at that moment is in charge at that time. Some of our worst arguments and unnecessarily awkward (even dangerous) situations happened when I was questioned in the midst of a maneuver—one we had already discussed beforehand (nicely). A captain makes decisions based on the assumption that the mate/crew will do as asked or agreed upon. Mutinies can create undesirable consequences, usually needing to then be “fixed” by the captain. It adds unnecessary pressure to a sail. Orders are not personal; they are necessary for everyone’s safety. You cannot always have a consensus on a decision; the captain rules. Argue (and/or cry) later. Hugs are also allowed.

  A Quick Note About Charts and Navigation

  The electronic charts (using coordinate system datum WGS-84 only) are incredibly accurate in the Bahamas. You can almost navigate solely by using your chartplotter (although I would never recommend that; there’s always that pesky LESSON 19, where you discover that it is you). You must look up from your charts and assess real-time information. Although charts may be accurate in the Bahamas, sand shifts and reefs grow, so it’s important that you literally watch where you’re going. The farther south you go in the Caribbean, the worse chart accuracy becomes. You plot a buoy on your chartplotter based on recent guidebook coordinates and are surprised to see it appear on land, for example. This can result from outdated maps, badly converted datums, or just plain errors. Look up! Having paper charts aboard is a good idea not only for backup in case electronics fail but because they help you see the bigger picture when chartplotter screens are too small to gain perspective (although paper charts are often based on the same outdated information as the electronic ones; be careful).

  LESSON 28A: BOOKS ARE YOUR FRIEND Cruising guides, such as those by Chris Doyle and Bruce Van Sant (both for the Caribbean), are invaluable. Don’t leave port without them.

  LESSON 28B: KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CURRENT I’ve heard people say that it doesn’t matter how old charts and guidebooks are because the major things don’t change. As a matter of fact, they do. In the Pacific, entire islands are continually being generated from underwater volcanoes. Even Grenada has a nearby underwater volcano, Kick’em Jenny, and who knows what she’s up to down there. Reefs grow. Reefs get destroyed. Montserrat is expanding thanks to pyroclastic flows. Ships sink in shallow waters, creating hazards. Sands shift. Grasses overtake an anchorage bottom, making holding questionable. Current guidebooks and word of mouth make all the difference. If you’ve got old charts, use them in conjunction with more current guidebooks. Don’t forget to update your chartplotter chips as well.

  9

  Becoming Green Turtle (Abacos) Bahamas Residents

  Where were we? Oh, yes. Staring at each other on our sailboat at anchor off Green Turtle Cay. The dreaded storm was a dud, and we were starting to get into a routine. I had taken some contract work from my old employer, now a new client, and was working while trying not to get distracted by herons flying past. Michael was still puttering his way through the to-do list.

  You know how kids make it easier to meet people? In our case, it was our dinghy, now named Spud, short for Sputter, which was not cooperating. Its outboard motor, about four years old, would cough, sputter, die, and leave us floating mid-harbor or even between islands. We’d row until we could flag someone to give us a lift. We had pulled on the starter cord so many times that it finally broke in half mid-pull. Local ferry operators, fishermen, and other yachties made a point of looking for us when they were out and about. We might have been towed more often than we actually motored. I think we owe those people gas money.

  Of bigger concern, however, was running out of drugs for Shaka. Life-saving drugs for a thyroid condition. We had known we were running low when we left the States. We also knew that Bahamas’ pharmacists could give us more without a prescription. What we didn’t know was that Green Turtle didn’t have a pharmacy. The closest one was in Marsh Harbour, on Great Abaco Island, but conditions weren’t conducive to sailing there. Uh-oh.

  Michael was placating himself at a local bar one afternoon after one more dinghy-engine outage and met a veterinarian who was hopping on a large motor-boat to Great Abaco Island the next day. Yay! All we had to do was buy the vet a bag of dog food so she could feed some local street dogs, and she would get us what we needed. Well, we sure couldn’t turn down that offer. Serendipity baby!

  LESSON 29: NEED DRUGS? STOCK UP! If you or your pet needs drugs (legal), have plenty, or have a plan to get them should you not find them during your travels. Also, keep prescriptions on hand whenever possible. Many islands don’t need prescriptions for drugs (your empty bottle will do, and even that’s not always necessary), but some do, and if you’re boarded by the Coast Guard, you might have a problem if they find prescription-less bottles. (By the way, the U.S. Coast Guard is everywhere—international waters extend 12 miles from island nations.) Trying to fly “home” to visit with prescription-less bottles will also upset some high-level people. And watch yourself with illegal drugs. It may seem as though everyone is do
ing it, but there are different rules for different people. You’re assumed to have money to pay if you get caught, or entrapped, and you’ll be asked for lots of it or be escorted to a not-so-nice cell block.

  Who Anchored This Thing?

  We were feeling pretty good about things until a couple of nights later when the next cold front blew through. Michael and I were playing cards while we listened to the winds howling outside. Concerned, we decided to make sure we were still where we had been anchored, not really expecting a problem. Imagine our surprise when we realized that we were, in fact, headed for the fuel dock and the big expensive yacht parked there. All hands on deck!

  What if we hadn’t checked? What if we had been surrounded by reefs? Other boats? What if? As it was, our depth sounder showed we were right at our boat’s draft (3 feet 7 inches) and really should have gone aground. Shoot, maybe it would have been better if we had; at least we would no longer have been slipping toward a multi-million dollar yacht!

  So at 9 p.m. in the pitch black (remember LESSON 13 and the dreaded dark?), we had to turn on the engines, haul up the anchor, and re-anchor. Re-anchor for the first time, by ourselves, in the dark, in high winds. Yikes!

  Once we started the process, we soon discovered that the gusts weren’t our only problem; the current was tremendous. I was having difficulty getting the boat to move forward in order to give Michael some slack on the anchor chain so he could get the anchor bridle off (an issue only on catamarans). He couldn’t figure out what my problem was (small engines, LESSON 21). I was practicing evasive maneuvers, concentrating on the looming dock and shallow spots (screw the anchor!) while he was yelling, “Where are you going?!” Well, I think that’s what he was yelling. I couldn’t hear a thing over the winds.