A Sail of Two Idiots

by Renee Petrillo

We didn’t know what else to do with ourselves, so we headed back to Stocking Island and decided to give the Chat & Chill another chance. Michael tried to engage the male bartender (and owner) in conversation but got only grunts and a clear indication that the man did not want to talk with him. Guess it was too much trouble to tell us there was a NAPA store in the area.

  Why did people go to that place? There were two other bars on the little island, but tourists were regularly ferried from George Town to the Chat & Chill, only to be ignored. We didn’t get it.

  To add insult to injury, we found our dinghy full of water and our shoes, some beach toys, a flashlight, and a water bailer floating away. We hadn’t pulled the dinghy far enough up the beach, and the waves were splashing into it. The beach was full of people, and our dinghy was just outside the Chat & Chill, but no one had come in and inquired about the drowning dinghy’s ownership. Maybe even pulled the boat up? That never would have happened in Marsh Harbour. If you lost a boat cushion there, it was all over the VHF. We weren’t getting the draw of George Town/Stocking Island. More exploration was necessary.

  We were glad we’d missed the crowds earlier in the season, because I don’t think we would have liked that either. The harbor had more than 300 boats at one point; with so many boats, order had to be maintained. Someone manned the VHF information channel every morning, and if you spoke out of line, you’d get in trouble. Same was true for using the volleyball nets on the beach. People were assigned experience levels and then given times to play. We understood the need for such organization, but it would have driven us nuts.

  What we did have was a French Canadian in a tiny boat who had decided to keep the VHF net going as long as people were listening (the main announcer had already headed north for the summer). His accent was so thick that it was hard to understand him, but he tried to make jokes and was fun to listen to.

  Stocking also had a fantastic ocean-side beach that ran the length of the east side of the island, and a few hills we could hike up for exercise. It wasn’t a bad place to be anchored while we decided what to do next.

  We also figured out the trick to the Chat & Chill. You didn’t go into the place, you went under the trees by it, where all the boaters gathered with games, food, kids, books, and DVDs. We met all kinds of folks there.

  Oh, and we discovered that Stocking Island was a nudie Eden. People walked the beach and/or worked on/cleaned their boats while naked. Well, alrighty then. We’re no prudes, but there are some positions (and body types) no one wants to see unclad. If you’re sensitive about that sort of thing, you might have a problem cruising. Nudies abound everywhere.

  We weren’t sure how much more time we’d spend in the Bahamas, and both my three-month and the boat’s six-month visas were about to expire. Michael was fine thanks to his recent Miami trip. That meant a trip back to George Town. Why not rent a moped so we could see the whole Great Exuma Island?

  Vroom, vroom! It was awesome to have the road beneath us. Wahooooooo! The towns were small, with nothing to “see,” but the weather was great and it was so much fun to be doing something different that we didn’t care. It was a fun way to spend the day.

  We had to order a new alternator voltage regulator from the United States (its demise explained why the engine starter battery had been overheating). So we just took it easy. We walked the beach a lot and did the usual chores while we waited for the part to arrive. We also had to get our propane tank filled. This was the first time we had run out since we left the States almost six months before. Not bad!

  A nice break to the pleasant monotony was the start of the Bahamas Family Regatta. Bahamians from all over brought their homemade boats and participated in the races during the day. In the evenings, tents were set up while huge speakers blared soca music, an upbeat, pulsating blend of Caribbean calypso and American soul.

  Had I not been afraid of getting beaten up, I would have taken pictures of what some of the young women were wearing. Or not wearing, as it were. Wow, it was not “family” oriented at night. We had been warned to dress conservatively when on island so as not to upset the local sensibilities, but what did we have there? Wow. And the hairdos! Someone was bringing back the beehive—multicolored to boot! People-watching was a hoot.

  While we were wandering the streets mesmerized by the crowd, we again ran into some people we knew from Green Turtle. They had motored down in a large power yacht and had no intention of going farther south. We’d probably never see them again, so it was nice to get in a final hug.

  LESSON 60: DÉJÀ VU You will run into boaters again and again. And again. I highly recommend you don’t flip someone off as you pick up anchor because you’re likely to see them again someday. When you least expect it, they’ll be the boat anchored 3 feet from your bow blaring hard rock at 2 a.m., smiling warmly as you glare at them. And since you don’t know who knows who, keep negative boater observations to yourself until you know what’s what and who’s who.

  Long Island

  After the regatta, we decided we needed to get out of George Town/Stocking Island for a while. We had since met Hans and Kristen (and their cat Kit Kat) on their little 27-foot monohull, Whisper, and we decided to sail east across Exuma Sound and check out Long Island together.

  About two hours into the sail, we saw bright white sandbars stretching across the water like a desert oasis. Whisper called us on the VHF and said they were heading over there to check them out. We were ahead of them at the time, and although we had seen the white sandbars, we’d sailed right by them. We debated for a minute and then turned the boat around.

  What a neat place! The water was the warmest yet and the sand was velvety. Here we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by and swimming in blue/green water with nothing else for miles around. It turned out to be one of the highlights of our entire three-year journey. And we had almost sailed right by it.

  LESSON 61: STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES (OR SAND) My bad habits from home were taking over on the sea as well. When I was driving my car long distances, I refused to take breaks. I was going to X, and to X we were going. I did not sightsee along the way, did not stop to go to the bathroom, did not pass Go. Anyone with me learned this and stopped drinking liquids hours before. We were doing the same thing boating. I had plotted one route into the chartplotter and would not deviate. That stop at the sandbar reminded me that some of the best things that happen to us are unexpected. The trick is to allow for them and enjoy them when they present themselves.

  We had to detour to a different anchorage than planned when a line of storm cells developed. First we were deluged with rain (which we caught for our tanks), and then the lightning and winds started, and then it all died. We thought it was over but were awakened during the night when we felt as though we’d been tossed into a washing machine. The harbor in Bains Bay had waves coming in from every direction. We were flopping around so much that we actually had to tie down some stuff. I’ll bet it was a real blast to be on Whisper!

  With morning came a switch to our originally planned anchorage in Thompson Bay, a little farther southeast down the island, and then it was time to put our feet on solid ground. Every car that passed us honked. Every person we encountered waved. It was one of the friendliest islands we’d been on in the Bahamas. The ocean-side beach was also one of the most polluted—with plastic trash. All we could think about was the Native American Indian with the tear going down his face. Recycle please—LESSON 58.

  We spent a week on Long Island and rented a car for a day so we could check out the blue holes (deep underwater caves) around the island. Some were deep enough to dive into from cliffs! We also snorkeled some blue holes around the anchorage.

  We found a great roadside bar, Max’s Conch Bar & Grill in the town of Dead-man’s Cay, that had such good conch salad that Hans and Kristen hitchhiked back to it a couple times. Although we didn’t eat any ourselves (save the conch!), it was made right in front of us and couldn’t have been any fresher. A little shopping trip turned
up a much-desired Monopoly game for Kristen and a piece of Astroturf for Shaka. Our cat didn’t know it yet, but he was about to be weaned from stinky, expensive kitty litter to some cheap plastic green grass. (For some frank kitty litter conversation, head to the Tips section at the end of the book.)

  Long Island had been the perfect place to go, especially after all that time in jaded George Town. The island was not a tourist mecca, just a friendly working town. Too bad Long Island isn’t a practical place to stay long-term, with no wi-fi and things so far apart that one needs a car. So back to George Town we went.

  George Town—Part II

  With gentle winds behind us, we were able to put out our colorful spinnaker for the first time and have a peaceful sail back. How rare!

  By now the George Town anchorage was down to about 50 boats; there had been more than a hundred when we first got there. Thunderstorms became the norm. It rained so much that the trails to our beloved Stocking Island beaches were underwater. We needed those walks for our sanity!

  And the mosquitoes! I’m sorry, but we must talk about the mosquitoes for a moment. It was like a Stephen King novel. Nothing stopped these things. Winds, fire, mosquito coils, cloth—nothing. Our boat had window screens, but we could hear the buggers buzzing loudly on the other side, just waiting. One time Michael took his life into his hands, ran outside, grabbed Shaka’s litter box, and ran back inside. We opened/closed the door quickly, but not before dozens of mosquitoes got in. It was scary!

  We could take a hint. We needed to decide what we were going to do for hurricane season. One smart thing we had done before we left the States (we did one smart thing!) was making sure that our boat insurance would cover hurricane damage anywhere in the Caribbean (a rare policy find, but worth it). The policy was comforting, but just because we could be hit and covered didn’t mean we actually wanted to be hit by a hurricane.

  We had four choices:

  We could race back north to the States and spend the season on the Chesapeake, where my mom lived.

  Pros—Family, boat parts, familiarity.

  Cons—It seemed like a step backward and we didn’t want to have to come all the way back down here again. And knew we wouldn’t.

  We could stay put in the Bahamas and cross our fingers (although we’d go back to the central Exumas and stay there).

  Pros—We were already there.

  Cons—We would be sitting ducks; it was expensive; the weather stank; we’d need blood transfusions due to the killer mosquitoes.

  We could head to the Dominican Republic. Although still technically in the hurricane zone, one particular Dominican anchorage, Luperon, seemed to be in a protected area. The mountains surrounding the anchorage deflected high winds, and the secondary cove that served as the main anchorage shielded everyone from heavy seas.

  Pros—It wasn’t too far away; we would know other boaters anchored there; it was supposed to be a big, beautiful country.

  Cons—It was said to be a filthy anchorage, and we would have to sit in it for months.

  We could race all the way down to Grenada or Trinidad and get out of the hurricane zone altogether.

  Pros—No hurricanes.

  Cons—We’d miss all the islands! Sure we could come back up, but then we’d have to race back down again.

  Going to the Dominican Republic seemed like the most logical decision, but Luperon wasn’t called Pooperon for nothing. The harbor had so many boats with so little current flow to remove the waste that it was a sewer. Runoff from the gutters on land, which consisted of raw sewage (both human and animal), also went into the harbor. Yuk.

  It was only May; we had a whole 30 days until the beginning of hurricane season. We’d just think about it. In our defense, we weren’t completely procrastinating. We were still waiting for the alternator’s voltage regulator part. We also had a refrigeration guy come out who then proceeded to put the wrong Freon in our unit, effectively ruining it. Sigh. That mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though, when we realized how much energy we’d save using only our deep top-loading freezer. We’d just keep the things we didn’t want frozen away from the fan. Screw the refrigerator.

  Michael tried to get parts to fix the galley sink valve but couldn’t hitch a ride to save his life. George Town was not the friendliest place. Some people love it there, but we’d never go back.

  With the constant rains, we were waterlogged. Had we not already owned a boat, we would have built one. Our three windows were still leaking. The weather didn’t stay dry long enough for us to do anything about them. Even the canvas sail cover that holds the mainsail on the boom was so full of water that it was hard to hoist the sail to empty it and keep it from getting moldy.

  Lest you think I exaggerate, even our cloth bimini (the awning that shaded the rear of the boat) was starting to buckle under the weight of rainwater. In order to alleviate the pressure, we cut two small circles in the thing and put grommets around the holes to keep them from fraying. That worked, but now we had two streams of water flowing into the cockpit. No problem. We found two clear plastic tubes that fit right into those grommet holes and made them long enough to stretch down so we could fill freshwater jerry jugs.

  Sure, we already had the catchment system of gutters running along the salon roof down into plastic tubing (normally stowed) and into the opened water-tank fill spouts located on the bow, but it was a hassle, and we never had any idea how much water we were catching that way. By filling the jugs via the bimini holes, we knew how much water we were adding, plus we could use the full jerry cans to wash down the boat and do laundry. It was the perfect accident!

  While we waited for the alternator’s voltage regulator part, and now a care package from my mother, we met Hal on Mane Bris, a big steel sailboat with a deep draft. On a rare sunny day, he offered to show us a neat snorkeling place if he could follow us over (he didn’t have a depth sounder, so we would radio him what the depths were as we went). Why not? So we headed to a beautiful area not too far west of Stocking Island and anchored.

  Hal tied the dinghy to his wrist and swam off. I’ve decided that the only thing worse than being bitten/eaten by a shark is hearing someone call your name at the same time they’re screaming “Shark!”

  First it was Michael’s turn (yes, first). We were all pretty spread out and I was starting to get cold, so I popped my head up to see where everyone was. That’s when I heard Hal screaming at Michael, who didn’t hear him. I was racing back to the dinghy when I saw Michael’s head pop up. Hal was yelling at him that a huge shark had just circled him and gone up to his swim fin, and that Michael had flapped at just the right time, sending the shark off at lightning speed. Michael said he had just seen a tail in front of him but didn’t know what it was or how close it had come to him. It had not been a docile nurse shark, and that was scary. We all sat in the dinghy for a while until we got brave enough to get back into the water.

  That’s right, we got back in. The next thing I knew, I heard Michael’s muffled voice (we had stuck closer together), got my head out of the water, and heard him yelling “Shark!” at me. Stop that! I ducked back down to see where it was. At least it was a nurse shark. She actually spooned me, or rather came up to me so that I was spooning her (sucking in my gut as far as it would go). Considering that she was as big as I was, I wasn’t too pleased, but she didn’t seem aggressive. I did make my way calmly back to the dinghy after that, as did Michael, and we didn’t go into the water again that day.

  We did see a lot of sharks in the Bahamas. When we were walking on the beach, we could see them in the shallows. We took heart that no one had ever been attacked in the Bahamas, so why make a big deal of it?

  Even more interestingly, someone told me that we were more likely to be bitten by a New Yorker (hey, I was from New York!), so that made us feel better. I think.

  LESSON 62: AVOID SHARK WEEK Snorkel with your dinghy and stay near it.

  When not trying to feed us to sharks, Hal taught us to play Me
xican Train Dominoes. There are several variations, but the game usually involves a “Double 12” set of dominoes (the highest domino has 24 dots on it), some little colored trains as markers, and three or more people. The idea is to end up without any points, so the more points you can leave someone else with, the better. Whoever gets to 500 points first is the official loser. An agreement up front of what the rules are that came with your game set is essential, and a container of rum punch never hurts either. That game would become the staple activity for the rest of our journey. We still play it. Cribbage, cards, Yahtzee, Scrabble, and backgammon are good too. The list of games is endless.

  Tip: Hal also hooked up a connector that allowed us to listen to movies or music from our laptop on our boat speakers so we’d have surround sound. That was a cool addition and highly recommended. The cables are easily found in places such as Radio Shack.

  Guess It’s Time to Stop Pussyfooting Around and Get Out of Here

  By the end of May the final batch of boaters had left. Storms were getting worse, and the tropical waves (atmospheric disturbances) had begun. Tropical waves can create hurricanes. What to do?

  We weren’t completely alone. Our French Canadian VHF-net announcer was still there, although he had gotten tired of saying “It’s raining” so he quit broadcasting. Whisper was still there, too, but not for long. The few boaters who remained got together for potlucks, bonfires, and snorkeling when weather allowed.

  June—Week 1 of Hurricane Season. Hans and Kristen on Whisper decided to take off for the Dominican Republic. For our farewell cocktails, we took a final stab at the Chat & Chill. Talk about banging your head against a wall. I’ll just say that the name of that place is a misnomer in terms of the owners.

  Good-bye Whisper …

  June—Week 2. Our trawler friends, Astrid and Paul on Horizons, told us that we should change our blog name from Jacumba-At-Sea to Jacumba-At-Anchor because we hadn’t gone anywhere. They left for the Dominican Republic (via Turks and Caicos).