You will be smarter than we were.
10
Breaking Free!
Yay! You’re still with us!
Because no one had given us our pep talk yet, Michael and I were still questioning ourselves. We could quit. We still had the house and a car, and both our employers would take us back. The idea of “abandoning ship” definitely held some appeal.
When word got out that we were doubting ourselves and using the “Q” word, the boaters around us rallied. They shared their horror stories (was that a good thing?) and told us that doubts plague everyone. Sure we had made a number of mistakes, but look at all we had learned. Why waste that newfound knowledge? Get back out there! Well, okay!
We’d get out there, but it sure wouldn’t be through The Whale. It would be through Don’t Rock Passage or we’d be permanent Green Turtle residents like Robbie and Jamie.
It would be another week before weather conditions would allow us to try again, the other way, but we needed the week to reconfigure our mainsail lines anyway (remember, we blew out the mainsheet block). We also needed time to work up our nerve.
The idea of tackling Don’t Rock Passage became more palatable when a sailor on another 37-foot catamaran, Mothra, came into the anchorage. Brad had gone back and forth between these islands a bazillion times. He also had a depth sounder on both hulls, which would make going through the shallow Don’t Rock Passage a little less risky.
If you get a catamaran, you can easily add a second depth sounder (most come with only one, which seems illogical).
We did our own weather check, plotted our new route on our chartplotter (conferring with Brad), and said good-bye to our friends. Now we were ready! Well, we were ready if Brad was ready because we were going to follow him.
The night before we left was the first dead calm in over two weeks. The water was so tranquil and clear and the moon so bright that we could see the harbor bottom 8 feet down at 10 p.m. and could easily see the huge red starfish moving along the anchorage floor. Wow!
All the boaties lowered their dinghies and went zinging about like bumper cars enjoying the freedom of a calm, moonlit night. It was liberating and a much better omen than the one we had prior to our last attempt. Ah, yes. That yin and yang thing. When it was bad, it could be pretty bad. But when it was good, it was awesome.
Early the following morning we headed out of Green Turtle harbor once again (no hangover this time. LESSON 39, Don’t drink and drive). Conditions in both The Whale and Don’t Rock Passage were like night and day. It was eerie. It also made us feel a little chagrined.
We enjoyed the rising sun, stuck close behind Brad (but not too close), kept our eyes on our own depth sounder (not solely relying on Brad’s since we’re not sheep), bit our nails a little, and within an hour found ourselves in deep water. Wahoo! The area that had kept us “trapped” up north was only a little over a mile long. Yeah, just like an hour of giving birth is only an hour long.
It felt good to be on the other side. We yanked up our sails (we had kept them down for visibility’s sake) and had a fantastic hour-long 6-mile journey east to Great Guana Cay.
Lesson learned here?
LESSON 47: PATIENCE, PATIENCE, PATIENCE Sure, I mentioned this in LESSON 5, but I can’t say it enough. Lots of boats are called Patience. Get some, and wait for the right conditions!
Ping-Ponging Around the Rest of the Abacos
Hallelujah! We were someplace new—Great Guana Cay! If we could just get this anchor set. We dropped our anchor three times before Brad came over and helped us drag it a fourth time. He decided that our anchor wasn’t heavy enough to hold our boat (see, it wasn’t us!). We had a 37-pound CQR (and a 37-pound Fortress). Put a heavier anchor on the list! We managed to get dug in eventually.
LESSON 48: IT’S NOT HEAVY, IT’S YOUR ANCHOR Get the heaviest anchor you can put on your windlass (the motorized device that pulls the anchor up so your crew doesn’t have to) or hoist by hand. We later heard that the original owners of our boat, who sailed Jacumba for 18,000 miles starting in South Africa, had dragged a lot too. There are plenty of anchor choices, but based on a recommendation from Brad, and a great write-up in Practical Sailor, we ordered a 44-pound Bulwagga anchor, once we had the funds to do so. (The Fortress—a twin fluke—is light and compact but resets with the winds and currents and is very picky about sea bottom; the CQR—a plow type of anchor—worked in lots of seabed conditions but tended to drag in high winds; the Delta was a next-generation CQR; and the Bulwagga has three flukes, which seemed to work in most conditions.) We were happy with our choice, but if we had to do it again, we would have gone even heavier. Note: If you have a heavy anchor, you should have an electric windlass, your back (or your mate’s) will thank you.
Great Guana Cay was beautiful and had lots of black-and-white-spotted manta rays in the harbor, some over 6 feet across and very graceful. Our depth sounder would go crazy as one passed underneath us. We’d run out to see what was going on, just in time to see a big black shadow exit from under our hull. Eerie.
After two days we were antsy to go somewhere else, just because we could. We didn’t know how much time we’d be spending in the Abacos before the house finally sold, but we figured we’d be there long enough to sail back later. Many islands are within a few miles of one another, and we couldn’t wait to sail to them all. That said, we would have been perfectly happy to follow Brad through the rest of the Bahamas.
Okay, so maybe that wouldn’t be exactly adventurous (or been in his plans), so we sucked it up and plotted our journey to the next island—Man-O-War Cay, 11 miles southeast and about two hours away. At least we didn’t have to go through any more cuts (at least for a while). We were now in the relatively calm waters of the Sea of Abaco, so we didn’t have to worry about cuts to the ocean until we wanted to head south eventually. We’d deal with that when we got there.
We ended up motorsailing to Man-O-War Cay the next day and anchored in hard coral outside the small, crowded harbor. Had we known it would be coral, we wouldn’t have dropped there (we didn’t want to kill the stuff), but the damage was done.
As we dinghied into the harbor, we were greeted by two dolphins that came close enough to touch. Being near enough to hear them blow through their airholes gave us both goose bumps. Oooh, I’ve got them again just writing about it.
The dolphins were the only life we saw. It was Sunday and there was not a soul to be found on the island. No people anywhere. There were signs all over the place about repenting and fearing the Lord and all that, and we felt as though we had just missed the Second Coming. No one singing in the churches. No one in the yards. Bikes sprawled against the curbs. It was weird. All kinds of movies went through our heads: Children of the Corn, X-Files, The Rapture.
Enough of that. We went back to our boat and were pleasantly surprised that it was still there! This would be our first night completely alone. No one else on board. No one else anchored nearby. Time for some 1970s karaoke!
The celebration was short-lived. We woke up in the morning to discover that Jacumba had moved, although the anchor had caught again and stopped our slide toward the rocks. Sigh.
Yet another cold front was on its way, so we needed to get to the safety of Marsh Harbour, 6 miles away to the southwest. We got up early and motorsailed over in waters that were almost glacier blue/gray. Coming up on the harbor, we were shocked to run into traffic. What was it—port to port? Red, right, returning? Thirty days hath September? The pressure!
LESSON 49: DO YOUR HOMEWORK Before entering any anchorage, harbor, dock, or unfamiliar area, review your charts and cruising guides so you’re prepared for what’s to come. They’ll warn you of missing buoys, sunken ships, and other anomalies so you’re schooled on what to expect (understanding, however, that even those things might have changed since the guide/chart was last written). They’ll even remind you of the navigation rules. We did do that consistently, but in this case I just panicked and forgot everything I knew. Michael kept
the cruising guides open to the appropriate pages so he could assist me. What a team.
We almost grounded ourselves when we missed the meaning of a red buoy that looked just like all the other navigational red buoys, but Brad was in the harbor and radioed us before we made fools of ourselves.
We had a hard time finding a spot to anchor because the place was so crowded, but we did what we could and hoped for the best.
While watching everyone prepare for the big weather event, it occurred to me that sailing is a lot like a prairie-dog colony. Everyone stays hunkered, popping their heads up at the first sign of good weather, and then jumping at the chance to move before hunkering down again.
We were glad we hadn’t been on Green Turtle for that storm! It was blustery and rainy for an entire week. Marsh Harbour, with its fine, firm sand, is known for its suction-cup holding. We stayed put the entire time and didn’t swing into anyone either. Yippee!
Becoming One with the Abacos
With the latest weather front behind us, we got to know Great Abaco Island and hung out with a lot of folks who had also made the break from Green Turtle. Thanks to our dinghy, Spud, we continued to meet lots of new yachties. Our new pals tried to fix the dinghy outboard for us, only to kill it completely (those experts again, LESSON 38), so luckily we were now in a place with a repair shop. After replacing a gasket, cleaning every part on the carburetor, and getting the water out of the fuel, Spud was no longer sputtering. Finally! But wait, how would we meet people now?
Not to worry, there are always other methods. With the house still not sold, money was getting very tight. The Bahamas was an expensive place to be, and when word got out that we were surviving on Oodles of Noodles (that stuff is cheap everywhere), boaters gave us cans of things they said they didn’t want. Some even brought over leftovers. Wow, our pay-it-forward kitty was getting up there. I was looking forward to the days when we could help others. Although we were appreciative, it didn’t feel good to be on the receiving end all the time.
Things were dire enough that I would have to go back to work (my earlier contract had expired). (See how important LESSON 11 is about not burning bridges?) My client came up with a month’s worth of stuff for me to do, and I made plans to fly back in January. I have to admit, I was looking forward to it. I was surprisingly homesick.
By now it was almost Christmas. Cruisers were dinghy caroling and having potlucks. Locals engaged in junkanoos, where costumed leaders pound drums while festive followers dance spiritedly behind.
One night we were invited to a birthday party on someone’s catamaran. We giggled when we saw all the dinghies tied up to the main boat; they looked like a bunch of piglets nursing from their sow. The birthday boy brought out a mandolin while another guest strummed his guitar and everyone sang along. It could not have been more perfect (well, warmer maybe).
My favorite day was experimenting with Brad’s vacuum-like contraption that was designed to cut hair (called a Flowbee). It actually worked! Well, on men anyway. Nobody was coming near me what that thing. And people wondered what we did all day.
We couldn’t forget that we were supposed to be learning to sail, so we lucked out when Stephen and Estelle (our Florida saviors) came down with their boat, Siyaya, prepared to do charters and teach sailing courses on their Island Spirit (just like ours only slightly bigger with more powerful engines). After hearing everything we’d been doing (wrong), they offered to take us on their boat with the other students whenever possible to join in exercises that included practicing with the engines (I was already a pro at this) and working on our tacking. We even crewed with them in a race (although I’m not sure it counted because the winds were 5 knots and we moved only because of the current). It was nice to get some guidance, though, and even a few pats on the back.
Estelle even showed me how to make bread (although my solo attempts never tasted as good). The 30 hours we spent with them sailing over about two months was invaluable and helped us gain more confidence.
Trying to get in as much practice as possible before I had to leave, we headed east for Hope Town on Elbow Cay, about 7 miles away. Although we had thought the worst of the weather had passed, we were walloped on our way there. Lots of rain and cold winds, so not a fun motorsail. By now I’d spent so much time in my yellow rain gear (if only to keep warm), people were telling me that they wouldn’t recognize me without it.
Once in Hope Town, we had the choice of an empty anchorage just outside the harbor or mooring in the inner harbor with a hundred other boats. This was a no-brainer, despite our anchoring hardships. Once settled at anchor, we dinghied inside the harbor and saw what looked like a floating RV park. Yep, we had made the right call.
What a great island. Cute, colorful houses, gorgeous beaches, a working lighthouse to explore, and fun restaurants catering to all those moored boaters.
We were blissfully secluded and impressively well anchored—so dug in that we were reluctant to raise anchor again. You’ll be surprised at how often you’ll be loath to haul up an anchor that you know is set properly. We stayed for days.
A lack of food finally forced us to detach ourselves from the seabed and begrudgingly head back over to Marsh Harbour. But we were going just for the day and would be coming right back!
We needed the practice anyway and ended up having a fine sail. We food shopped and then wasted no time sailing back to Hope Town in an unexpected wing-and-wing configuration. Real sailors sometimes do this when running downwind (with the wind behind them). Despite knowing technically how to do it, conditions had to be just right, and we would never again be able to make it happen on purpose. We were always pleasantly surprised when the sails accidentally went into this formation. Never look a gift horse …
While on Elbow Cay, we had a record three days of sun and took full advantage of it. We rented bikes and went to Tahiti Beach to pick up sea glass, blew up our two inflatable kayaks and paddled up and down the coast, and sang karaoke by ourselves at night. We went ashore and enjoyed walking the beaches, playing Bingo at Jack’s, and checking e-mails.
Imagine our elation when we learned that someone wanted to buy our house (again)! The timing could not have been better since I was going back to Arizona anyway for work. Of course, my Internet activity increased tenfold because I needed to deal with everything related to the sale. The only way I could pick up a free Internet signal was to sit on a bench near the harbor. I couldn’t sit near the bench nor could I sit on the left side of the bench. I had to sit in one particular spot on the right side of the bench. I was there so often that I became known as the “bench girl.”
On Christmas Day we were warned to come inside the harbor and pick up a mooring because yet another cold front was coming. Well, okay … if we have to. It was a lot less windy in there, but that was bad because we needed wind for our wind generators. It’s always something.
Once settled in, though, we couldn’t help but get into the Christmas spirit. A large group of islanders held Mass and sang songs, and church bells rang all over the island. We felt as though we were in an episode of Little House on the Prairie, except that the characters were caroling with a Caribbean accent.
Two days was our limit, though, because we didn’t like the close proximity of all the boats, not to mention the ferry wakes. Neighbors and ferry riders watched me in my pajamas walking around the boat holding up my laptop trying to get the signal of the wireless tower right next to our boat. Still no signal! It would be back to the bench for me and back out to a quiet anchorage for Jacumba.
First we had to get off our mooring. Michael dropped the mooring lines and I gunned the engines in reverse to get around the ball. The next thing we knew, we were plowing backward into the mangroves. That was embarrassing. When I threw the throttles forward, we went flying to the left and were headed directly toward another boat. Aack! What in the world was going on?
Michael stared at me with wide questioning eyes, but I didn’t know how to explain what was happening. Once I go
t some speed, all seemed fine, so I attributed it to stupidity and forgot about it.
Instead of anchoring outside again, we decided to sail back to Great Guana Cay just for the heck of it. We ended up sailing at a puny 4 knots, but we enjoyed having such a leisurely sail that we just relaxed for a change.
Once anchored, we took advantage of a warm front (warm!) and set out for a bar called Nippers. After two of their famous rum punches, we were blitzed. What do they put in those things? We had fun but were hung-over, so we stayed another day (remember LESSON 39 about drinking and driving?). We spent the next day wandering around and looking at the quaint houses. Definitely a nice place to visit.
New Year’s Eve! Time for some fireworks and a trip back to Elbow Cay. Before we left Great Guana Cay, I asked Michael to stick his head under the boat to see if a fishing line or something else was tied around one of the propellers. The boat had acted weird again when we anchored and I was no longer sure that it was captain error. When he brought his dripping noggin back up, he said, “Nope, no fishing line.” Hrmph, it was me. “No propeller either.” What?! Apparently, our propeller had fallen off while we were on the mooring in Hope Town harbor. It wasn’t me!! Yay! But we had no propeller! Boo! So, once again, we were on one engine.
LESSON 50: IF IT SMELLS LIKE A FISH … If something seems wrong, take a minute to check into it. Had I gotten back onto the mooring immediately after that near fiasco in Hope Town and pursued the cause of the steering problem, we would have not only caught it earlier, we might have found the missing prop as well.
A Sail of Two Idiots Page 10