I celebrated my birthday with roses and pizza after a delicious
picnic lunch and cupcakes with Ara our dear friend who, with her husband Graham, looks after Lucy while we’re cruising.
We ate lunch in
Ara's screened porch while Lucy ran round and round the perimeter of the
property, checking out all her olds smells and wild animal friends. She was
clearly happy to be back in her second home and we said goodbye with no doubt that she would be spoiled rotten on her Florida vacation.
On February 6th we set off from
Indiantown, anchoring for the night in Stuart (Pendarvis Cove). The next day we
checked in with Homeland Security in West Palm Beach and left the country at
sunrise on the 8th, held up by an incoming cruise ship. No choice
but to wait, as you don’t want to try to outrun one of those bad boys!
As Gulf Stream crossings go, this one was
pretty standard. After a deceptively calm start, we got pretty badly knocked
around in “confused” seas. The basil pots went askew, a cupboard door flew off
its hinges while I was making lunch and hit me in the head, whereby I dropped
the large Japanese knife that I was using. It landed point down in the floor
next to my bare toe.
After all this, I was a bit shaky so I took
the helm while David finished making our wraps. Lesson learned. Always make
your lunch before setting out across the Gulf Stream! After a 9-hour journey,
we limped gratefully into the marina at West End, Grand Bahamas Island,
followed closely by the intrepid “Summer of 42”.
The bad news was that we wouldn’t be able
to get out of there for four days while the wind and waves were raging at the
mouth of the marina.
The good news was that the marina had
discounted their rates, which are normally exorbitant, because Hurricane
Matthew had damaged the docks and knocked out their power. It was also a beautiful
place to be “stuck”. Lovely beach and resort facilities, along with meeting
great new, also stranded, boat friends.
It was here that I started my sewing
project – canvas “condoms” to protect the teak railings when Peapod is in
summer storage. My 40-year old Elna is still going strong, although she struggles a
bit with the weight of the material. I may be in the market for a used Sailrite
machine, designed for heavier work. Advice from fellow sewing boaters welcome!
When the winds finally died down, we set
out for Nassau. On the advice of our new friend and fellow cruiser, the captain
of “Summer of 42”, we took a different route than usual. Travelling together,
we passed to the west of the Berry Islands and dropped anchor on the Bahama
banks for the night. What a spectacular treat! This was a first for us, sitting
on the flat calm turquoise water with no land to be seen. The moon and stars
were amazing given the absence of light pollution from “civilization”.
L 25° 33.81’ N; Lo 078 07’ W
Then we were off to Nassau. It is almost
inconceivable that we go from 3 metres of water in the Bahama Banks to over
3,000 metres as we cross the Tongue of the Ocean. We did a bit of touring on
foot and discovered an old British fort and the Queen’s Staircase, a spectacular gash in the hillside
that was carved by hand over 16 years by 600 slaves.
We also had lunch at our favourite Greek
patio and met an old friend.
We even treated ourselves to dinner on the
patio of Luciano’s of Chicago, a short walk from our humble marina. The dinner was amazing! The
The next weather window arrived on February
18th when we crossed over to Highbourne Cay, where we had never
anchored before. In south winds we rocked and rolled all night. Next time, we
would go into Allan’s Cay for better protection.
The following day we tucked into Little
Cistern Cay hoping for shelter from the southerlies and SE waves. It was a
gorgeous afternoon and evening. We were finally in the turquoise water and
enjoyed our first swim of the winter off the deserted beach.
We finally managed to escape the northerlies, hunkering down
at Big Major’s Spot, famous for its swimming pigs. We made a visit in the dinghy to
nearby Staniel Cay where the wall of bougainvillea seems to be more beautiful
every year.
On February 22nd we headed out
to Little Farmer’s Cay in SE winds. It was rough getting there and even rougher
when we arrived with the influence of strong tidal currents. The plan was to
catch a mooring ball off the yacht club (a wee, modest, friendly facility with
no bells and whistles).
Well, picking up a ball is challenging at
the best of times in Peapod, with her high flared bow. Picture David hanging
upside down off the forward rail and running back and forth from port to
starboard as I try to steer Peapod up to (and stop beside) a basketball sized
wildly bobbing object. Just as we would think he had it hooked, we would be
caught in a gust of wind and the target would suddenly disappear behind us.
I’m at the helm going round and round the
damn thing till finally David managed to snare it with the boat hook. At that
very instant, the ball came off its line and floated away, likely damaged by a
fisherman’s propeller. Yikes!
By this time, we were both in a lather. However, I was getting better at hovering,
which takes a bit of practice, especially in these dreadful conditions. So
after only half a dozen more tries, we managed to catch another ball, just as
some nearby sailors in dinghy approached. They had watched the entire shit
show, intercepted the errant ball and came over to offer help, which by that
time we thankfully didn’t need. How embarrassing!
We were stuck at Little Farmer’s for three
nights in high winds and squalls. The weather finally broke and we had a
blissfully calm passage on the outside (Atlantic side) down to Emerald Bay
marina. David threw out some lures while I kept Peapod on the right depth
contour. No luck but half the fun of fishing is the anticipation! The bliss was
to be short lived.
At low tide, we “surfed” into the marina on
a huge roller. It was scarier than it sounds. I had been sitting on the bow as
we approached the harbour entrance. Then I saw the waves coming all the way
across the North Atlantic headed straight for our arse. Well I jumped up and
retreated to the fly bridge where David was at the helm.
A quick surge of power (such as it is with
our little Peapod engine) and aggressive steering (imagine a bucking bronco)
kept us within the channel. The challenge to this entry is that the depth
changes suddenly. In less than 1 nautical mile, the ocean bottom rises from 250
metres deep to 4 metres at the marina entrance, which is less than 60 metres
from a shallow sand beach and coral heads. Rollers with very long fetch from
the east become breakers just in the wrong place for an easy entry or exit to
this otherwise lovely marina.
We vowed we would never go in at low tide again.
In fact, our vow would change over the next two weeks.
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