On Island Time: Kayaking the Caribbean

by Scott B. Williams

  Back at the marina, I opened the hatches of my storage compartments to cram in the new mattress and some extra food I picked up at the grocery store. I was aware of being watched from the sidewalk above the dock.

  “Now that’s camping out,” a man’s voice said. I looked up and at the same time the small boy holding the man’s hand repeated his father’s statement. “This is my son, Grant,” the man said, introducing the blonde-haired boy who looked to be four or five. “I’m Ben Olsen. My wife Sylvia and my oldest son Sky are around here somewhere. They’re going to want to see this too.”

  I didn’t have anywhere else to be, so I recited the often-repeated narrative of my trip up to this point and outlined my paddling plans. Ben was amazed that I had paddled all the way from Tampa, and incredulous when I announced my plan to paddle to Bimini.

  “Isn’t that a bit too risky?” he asked. “Why don’t you just hitch a ride across on a sailboat or something like that?”

  I told him that I had considered that option, but figured no one would be willing to put my long kayak on the deck of their boat, and besides, I had heard that all the sailboats cross from Miami or Ft. Lauderdale. There would be no place to camp there while trying to arrange a ride. And anyway, the kayak was seaworthy, and I was in shape from 500 miles I had already paddled. The weather would calm down, and I knew I could make it.

  Ben still seemed unconvinced. The Gulf Stream was at its roughest this time of year. He knew it well. I had assumed that this was another tourist family, but I was wrong. They were sailors, and in fact, the black-hulled schooner anchored nearby that I had admired when I first paddled into the Key Largo area was their ship. Ben said it was a 42-foot Tom Colvin design, custom-built in aluminum. They were Bahamas bound themselves.

  “In fact, I was just considering offering you a ride across myself, if you decide not to paddle,” Ben said with a grin. “Your boat will easily fit on Whisper’s foredeck.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “But if this weather lets up, I really want to do the crossing on my own.”

  Ben said that they would sail in a few days if the weather permitted. I joined them for lunch at the salad bar in a Wendy’s that was just across the street from the marina. The Olsen family lived in Iowa, of all places. As incongruous as it seemed, they were farmers who kept a cruising schooner in south Florida, escaping the Midwest winters each year after the harvest of corn and soybeans was brought in and spending several months until spring planting season sailing the Bahamas. They had done so for years. Ben asked me to stay in touch during our wait for favorable weather and update them of my plans each morning by calling on the VHF.

  I paddled back to the little island to set up my camp again. Once ashore I opened the package containing the new stove and discovered that Pat had included several packages of Mountain House freeze-dried food from his store. I opened one labeled “beef stroganoff” and had water boiling within minutes. I inflated the air mattress I bought in town and stretched out in luxurious comfort in the tent, despite the rocky ground. By candlelight, I read the letter from Ernest:

  Scott,

  I take it you arrived safely at Key Largo. How are the Keys? I predicted they would be as bad as the Everglades as far as mosquitoes and mangroves. Right or Wrong?

  It’s frosty here, 5:30 p.m. on Sunday, fire in the fireplace, sun has set. I’m sipping whiskey and listening to guitar on cassette tape. Very un-rough life – but hey, I plan to watch Nature on TV tonight, so I’ll still be in touch with the wilds. I went on a 10-mile hike in the Homochitto Forest the other day. Very nice – big hills and hollows, crisp autumn woods.

  Hope you found some way to get some exercise. I know from experience how easy that kayaking is – sitting in a comfortable seat, occasionally dipping the paddle as the wind and waves carry you where you want to go.

  I look forward to hearing about your experiences, that is if you find time to write. I know how demanding all that partying is in places like Key West. Any prospects for getting over to the Bahamas?

  Merry Christmas,

  Ernest

  That night the rats got bolder. They ran around the perimeter of my tent, scratched at the nylon walls, and climbed all over the kayak where it was moored in the mangroves. Several times I went outside to hurl rocks and vile language at them, sending them scurrying for cover briefly until I crawled back into the tent. The next morning packed up to leave for the day, I saw that I had left a plastic fuel bottle full of gasoline for the stove sitting on the rocks near my tent during the night. I was furious to discover that the rats had chewed a hole in it, ruining the bottle and spilling my fuel.

  Once at sea far enough from the island to evade the insects, I called Whisper on my VHF. The Olsen’s weren’t leaving for at least a couple of days, and I couldn’t either. The north wind was still blowing steady. I paddled on to Key Largo and spent most of the day wandering around, putting off my return to the rockpile as long as possible. I couldn’t get away from Florida soon enough. I was sick of the miserable campsites I had been forced to retreat to, driven into mosquito hellholes by the tourists, wealthy residents, and no trespassing laws of the Sunshine State.

  At sunset I returned to my campsite and spent that evening and the next day bringing my journal up to date. It was surprisingly cold - in the upper 50’s with 20 knots of north wind. It felt like freezing to me after becoming acclimated to the sub-tropics. This was the first day I left my tent up during the daylight hours on the little key. I camouflaged it with mangrove branches and stayed inside writing as an endless stream of motorboats sped by within 200 yards of the island. I reread Ernest’s letter and wrote back in reply:

  Ernest,

  I’m including 50 or so pages of my journal with this letter. Got your letter the other day. Nice of you to remind me of “crisp autumn woods, sipping whiskey on the porch while the sun goes down”, etc.

  Here I am, camped on a birdshit-encrusted rockpile, under siege by a pack of plundering rats, while I hide in the mangroves to avoid being seen and asked to leave this wonderful place. I wish you could be here, but I know your idea of “roughing it” is lying propped up against a log on a Black Creek sandbar, sipping rum by a glowing fire as the embers slowly bake inch-thick rib-eyes.

  Try sleeping on fist-sized lumps of coral sometime. Throw in a thick tangle of mangroves, clouds of no-see-ums, a pack of rats, and hundreds of idiots in motorboats screaming past all day…

  Soon, however, I will be lying on the soft sands of some un-named Bahamian cay, soaking up the tropical sun, occasionally getting up to dive into the crystal clear water to retrieve a fat lobster for dinner. I’ll be thinking of how your “crisp autumn woods” are then – in the middle of January – under a cold gray sky, probably drenched with freezing rain and chilled by a stiff north wind! Of course, you won’t have to venture outdoors then, and why should you? You can watch Nature and see expeditions like mine on National Geographic Explorer.

  You are right about me needing some exercise. So far I have been quite lazy. The wind and current have been at my back for then entire 500 miles I have traveled so far, scarcely requiring me to dip my paddle blades. My muscles are rapidly becoming atrophied from disuse…

  Well, the sun is sinking into the ocean, and I can’t afford to waste a candle to keep writing. I’ll send a postcard from the Bahamas. Please keep the journal pages in a safe place. I may want to read them again someday. Have a good Christmas,

  Scott

  The next day the wind was still blowing 25 knots out of the north. Seas in the Gulf Stream were running 18 feet and higher. It was December 18th, and I had been in Key Largo a week. It was clear that I wouldn’t be able to paddle across the Gulf Stream anytime soon. I decided to paddle over to Whisper and talk to the Olsens further about the possibility of sailing with them. The Olsens were at home when I arrived alongside, and I was invited aboard to check out the accommodations. Whisper was well equipped for cruising. Ben said that he had chosen an aluminum-hulled
vessel for its great strength and easy maintenance. He said they might sail around the world someday. The boat certainly looked capable of it, and I could imagine the junk-rigged schooner lying to the anchor in some Polynesian lagoon. Though there were two dinghies and a sailboard already on deck, Ben said there was plenty of room for my kayak. I went below and he showed me the aft cabin that would be my quarters if I chose to go. Though small, the cabin seemed luxurious compared to the rockpile I had been camping on.

  I paddled back to my lonely camp to spend the night, then returned to Whisper the following day to help Ben weave safety netting to hang under the schooner’s long bowsprit. Ben suggested that I sail with them as far as Eleuthera, well to the east of Bimini. If they dropped me off in Bimini, I would still have a 70-mile open water crossing of the Great Bahama Bank to reach Andros or some of the other islands that are spaced closer together. From Eleuthera, I could easily cross to the Exumas, a string of islands spaced as closely as the Florida Keys and extending 150 miles to the southeast, along my intended route.

  Ben advised me to buy supplies in Key Largo, as there would be nothing in the remote area where they would drop me off. I would need to make any phone calls before we left, and have any future mail forwarded to Georgetown, Exuma, the first real town along my route.

  At the dock in Key Largo the next day, I met a fellow named John Gookin who said he was also a serious kayaker. He had paddled in the Sea of Cortez and among the reef islands of Belize. He was in Key Largo on his honeymoon, and he and his new wife were on their way to a restaurant when they spotted me paddling in from my campsite. He knew what it was like paddling and camping for weeks on end, so he offered me the key to their room so I could take a shower while they were out. The room was the honeymoon suite at the Holiday Inn. I stood in the hot shower for a half an hour. It was utter decadence. Drying off in front of the huge mirror, I was surprised to see how deeply I’d tanned during the past weeks of living outdoors. I left a Thank-You note for John and Mary beside the key, grateful to have finally met someone who understood exactly what I was doing.

  It felt sinful to slide back into the wet cockpit of the kayak as clean as I was, but I forced myself to do it and paddled back to the rockpile against a strong headwind and choppy seas that quickly re-christened me in seawater again. Ben had given me some paperback novels to help pass the time, so I spent the following two days on the island. I set up my solar panel and charged batteries for my VHF, RDF, Sony Walkman, and flashlights during the daytime, and at night I paced restlessly around the perimeter of the island, burning off pent-up energy by stretching and doing push-ups. Now that I was not paddling every day, I had trouble sleeping at night.

  On December 21, it rained steadily all night, and I woke with a puddle of water surrounding my sleeping bag. The tent had leaked. I was getting fed up with all the equipment failure I had experienced so early in the trip. I lit a candle so I could make a list of all the problems:

  Eureka Aurora Tent - $200.00 (given to me free by the manufacturer) – leaks unexplainably and zipper catches on flap at bottom of door, making it difficult to close (invariably when there is a black cloud of mosquitoes and no-see-ums trying to follow me inside).

  Coleman Multifuel Stove - $57.00 – totally defective, almost blinded me when it sprayed fuel in my eyes. Tossed it in the Gulf. (The new one Pat sent seems to be working – for now).

  Ikelight Underwater Flashlight - $34.00 – threads locked-up and it could not be opened to replace the batteries, had to buy a $35.00 replacement.

  “Water Resistant” Tasco Binoculars - $70.00 – completely corroded and useless, need new pair to aid in navigation but budget won’t allow it.

  Large “Waterproof” Gear Bags (2) - $20.00 each – leak with slightest exposure to water, reason for binoculars getting ruined, as well as a lot of food.

  Waterproof Document Bags (2) - $15.00 each – used for wallet, journal, passport, etc. – seams cracking apart, leak.

  Waterproof Chart Case – $15.00 – designed to keep charts handy on deck – stays full of water, many charts ruined because of it.

  Teva Sports Sandals - $52.00 – supposed to be good for wear on beaches and in water – Velcro straps do not hold and pop loose with every step – extremely aggravating to walk in.

  One Case Waterproof Matches - $5.00 – What a joke! Bic lighters are the only reliable means I’ve found of starting a fire or lighting the stove.

  5-Gallon “Reliance” Collapsible Water Container - $5.00 – Unreliable – leaks continuously, forcing me to paddle to Key Largo almost every day for more water.

  I felt better after making the list. I wondered if the engineers who designed such faulty equipment could do better if they had to live outdoors with it every day as I had to on this trip.

  By December 23, the north wind had clocked around to the east, making conditions a bit calmer in the Gulf Stream, but still unfavorable for paddling or sailing in that direction. I resigned myself to having to spend Christmas on the rocky islet at Key Largo with the rats, instead of in the Bahamas as I had hoped.

  But everything changed the next day, on Christmas Eve, when I ran into Ben and Sylvia at the marina in Key Largo. Ben invited me to join them and their friends on the big trimaran, Afterglow, that was anchored near Whisper for a Christmas Day feast. Then, he said we would make preparations to sail for the Bahamas that very night. I was elated at this. I paddled back to my camp to spend one last night on the little island. On Christmas morning, when I awoke the screens of my tent were coated in no-see-ums, as it was a windless, humid day that bore no resemblance to any holiday season I’d ever known. I broke camp under siege by the pests and scattered rocks and driftwood where my tent had been, erasing all evidence of my stay there. This rockpile had been my home for 12 nights. I left it to the bugs and the rats and hurriedly paddled over to Whisper.

  I tied up alongside the schooner and unloaded all my gear out of the kayak so we could hoist it to the deck and lash it to the port lifeline stanchions for the crossing. We spent the afternoon making preparations for the passage, including several trips by dinghy to the marina to fill jerry cans with fuel and drinking water. This done, we finally went over to Afterglow, where I met another cruising couple, Kenny and Marianne, who had two little girls about the same age as Sky and Grant. I learned that they lived aboard year round, staying in Key Largo when not cruising the Bahamas. Sylvia and Marianne produced a traditional Christmas meal complete with all the trimmings, despite the cramped working space of the galley on the boat. There was turkey, fresh grouper, homemade bread, vegetable casseroles, cranberry sauce, and apple pies. This bountiful feast shared with such good company was a blessing to a lone traveler like me, like the shower offered by the honeymooning couple. Such unexpected gifts had never crossed my mind when I was planning every detail of the trip during all those months leading up to this. I missed my family and the reunion they were sharing on that day, but here I felt accepted and as welcome as if I had known my hosts for a lifetime.

  The Olsens and I left Afterglow around 10:30 p.m., and shortly after boarding Whisper and stowing the dinghy and motor, we hauled in the anchor and motored away from Key Largo in the glow of a full moon. Ben waited until we were past the reefs five miles out before setting the main and jib. We would still need the inboard diesel to make progress into the light easterly wind, but at least having the sails up made Ben feel better. I didn’t know what to expect on the passage. Tonight would mark a lot of firsts for me. It was my first time on a voyaging sailboat. It was my first open sea passage on any kind of boat. And it was my first time to leave the United States. The lights of Key Largo and my home country grew dimmer and dimmer as we headed out to sea, and eventually disappeared below the horizon. I was free at last after 7 long weeks in Florida, and I had no regrets about not making the passage in the kayak. What mattered most was that I was moving on again. I looked expectantly to the full moon that was hanging low over the dark seas to the east to guide Whisper to the i
slands.

  Though the wind was relatively light, once we reached the Gulf Stream we encountered large residual swells left over from the previous days of strong winds. The big rollers tossed Whisper about as easily as 5-foot waves toss my kayak. Though I was totally inexperienced, Ben gave me the helm and showed me the bare essentials of keeping the sails from luffing as the boat yawed and pitched with each passing wave. He warned that I might have to change course due to shipping traffic in the busy Florida Straits, and showed me how to take a bearing using his expensive Steiner binoculars with their built-in lighted compass to tell if a distant ship was on a converging or diverging course. Then, to my amazement, he left me alone on deck and disappeared down the companionway to join Sylvia and the boys, telling me to wake him for the next watch at 4:00 a.m. I was awed by his faith in leaving his yacht and the safety of his family in the hands of a complete novice, and nervously scanned the horizon for the lights of approaching ships.

  The sea became rougher farther out in the Stream, and Whisper crashed head-on into big swells that sent spray all over the deck. I was glad I was not making this passage alone in my kayak. It was lonely enough being out there on the deck of the big yacht. The oil-black seas rose and fell in every direction, easily visible in the light of the full moon and stars.

  At 2:00 a.m., I spotted a cruise ship lit like a city and repeated checks with the binoculars confirmed a collision course. I made a correction to give the ship right of way, and we passed within a half-mile of her stern. Ben came on deck at 4:00, and said that Sylvia, Sky, and Grant had all been seasick. I was feeling queasy myself, and the nauseous feeling grew worse when I went down into stuffy cabin to try and sleep. I barely made it back up to the starboard rail before losing my Christmas dinner. Only Ben among all of us on board had the stomach for these seas.