Cocoa Beach to Port Everglades
Crossing the Gulf Stream (east bound)
Settlement Point, Grand Bahama to The Abacos
In The Abacos:FoxtownCrossing the Gulf Stream (west bound)
Green Turtle (White Sound)
Marsh Harbor (at anchor)
Hopetown
Tilloo Cay
Man O' War Cay
Great Guana Cay (& ferry trip back to Marshtown)
Abacos back to Settlement Point, Grand Bahama
Fort Pierce to Cocoa Beach, Florida
Settlement Point, Grand Bahama to The Abacos
In The Abacos:Foxtown
Monday, May 26:
Around 7:00pm, I sailed in as close as I dared to Foxtown's rocky waterfront, and anchored outside the big rocks off Little Abaco in 9' of water using the Claw anchor. On the way in, I set a few additional 'FOXTN_' GPS waypoints to help dodge the rocks.House bank showing 12.27V, 2/5 hydrometer balls floating in 3 cells which were spot checked. Decided to fire up the Honda EX-800 generator. Jury rigged a fuel transfer hose from the main gas tank to the generator. Running generator about 2hrs. brought house bank up to 12.5V, an estimated 25% increase in state of charge.
Tuesday, May 27:
Starting at 9:00am, I ran the Honda generator about another hour, until the charging current dipped to 16A while I fixed breakfast of apricot pancakes and fresh pressed coffee. After charging and resting, the house bank was at 12.9V.Foxtown is a forlorn looking little village. This impression may be due to recent severe hurricane damage. The waterfront is guarded by several large tabletop rocks, and many smaller ones at or below the waterline. The entire inventory of Foxtown Shell's general store wouldn't fill two pickup trucks. The only electricity flowing seemed to be for a chest freezer with a broken lid lashed together with tape and wire. I got 5.6gal. of gas and 3 bags of solid ice, all the while trying not to take my eyes off my boat for more than a few seconds. Left Foxtown a bit before noon, following my new 'FOXTN_' GPS waypoints out to deep water.
I was sailing under main alone at 3 to 4 knots in maybe 10 knots of SE wind with some whitecaps, bound for the Sea of Abaco via route between Crab Cay and Spanish Cay. When I rounded Crab Cay and headed up onto a close reach, I raised the 110% jib and single reefed main. I was making 4 to 5 knots as I passed Cooperstown, Little Abaco around 5:00pm bound for either Green Turtle Cay or Manjack Cay.
Green Turtle (White Sound)
Tuesday, May 27:
Around 8:00pm I sailed into a cove between Manjack Cay and Crab Cay right at sunset as the south wind died. (There are more than one "Crab Cay" in the Abacos it seems.) There were about a dozen boat there when I arrived. The first time I tried to set the Claw anchor, it dragged when I backed down on it hard. I moved and reset it, and it held fine. (N26*.48.995',W070*21.789') I ended up anchored near the larger of the two charted wrecks -- some sort of steel and/or wooden barge up against a rocky ledge.The anchorage was too crowded to run the generator without being rude. I took a bath, and had a dinner of curried rice with Heineken beer. Later, I entered some more GPS waypoints for the Hub of the Abacos area. Turned in around 11:00pm.
Wednesday, May 28:
Sailed into very sheltered anchorage of White Sound, Green Turtle Cay. Dropped anchor, and visited Jolly Roger Bar & Grill (part of the Bluff House resort) where I slurped down a killer frozen Margarita, took a shower, and did laundry. Later I rowed back in and had a nice seafood dinner.
Marsh Harbor (anchored)
Thursday, May 29:
The winds were kicking around 15 knots with 1' to 3' whitecaps on the Sea of Abaco. I sailed over to Marsh Harbour. It was a wet ride, but good sailing. The anchorage there is large, but was very full and crowded. Immediately after I anchored, I had to move over at the request of the nearest other vessel.As soon as I settled on the hook a second time, another boat began to anchor too close to me. The skipper seemed determined, and perhaps a bit oblivious to my close proximity. I smiled and shook my head "no" at his foredeck crew. The smiled back and shrugged, nodding towards their cockpit. Before long, the skipper decided to move. When they tried to raise anchor, it was fouled. The stalled they electric windlass with the chain vertical. Next, he tried to motor the anchor out. After much thrashing around, the finally got it to the surface, only to discover it was fouled on another anchor rode. Fortunately, it wasn't the rode of any boat there at the time -- it must have been lost or abandoned sometime in the past. I urged the crew to retrieve it for it's anchor's potential resale value, but the owner just wanted out of there, so they dropped it back in for someone else to snag on another day. I must confess, I enjoyed some small amount of smug amument at his predicament. Bad karma.
I put the electric trolling motor and one of the house batteries on the dinghy, and set off to run errands in Marsh Harbour.
The town of Marsh Harbour has (for the Abacos) lots of stores, a surprising amount of vehicle traffic, an actual traffic light (the only one I saw in the Bahamas), and perhaps the early symptoms of urban blight.
I made some phone calls at one of the few working public phones I encountered in the Abacos. I inquired at the pet shop, "Pets Are People Too", about what becomes of stray kittens in the Abacos, and got some referrals. I also shopped at a hardware store or two, a boat store, and visited a grocery store. I also just walked around a lot, taking in the scene.
Back at the boat around sundown, I rigged the dinghy for sailing, and zig-zagged through the crowded anchorage. I received many nice comments and questions about my little homemade wooden dinghy. I also spotted another Catalina 25 from the U.S., "SO FAR" with a couple, and maybe a dog aboard.
Friday, May 30:
I think I spent two nights in Marsh Harbour, which was plenty enough. It wasn't that great an anchorage, what with all the motor vessel traffic. One the shopping was done, there didn't seem to be much else to keep me there. It was time to move on.Hopetown
Saturday, May 31:
Sailed from Marsh Harbour to Hope Town Harbour on Elbow Cay. Hope Town, and its lighthouse were on my list of things not to miss in the Abacos.I anchored in the excellent sheltered harbor there near the built up waterfront. I had lunch and a drink at a nearby waterfront restaurant. I then walked around town admiring the beautifully maintained historic homes and other buildings.
On the ocean side of the island (a two block walk from the harbor side) there are lava cliffs, sandy beaches, and there seem to be reefs in close enough to swim to (but I didn't).
While out walking, I happened upon the boarded up former home of the island's cat lady. She had passed away a year or two before. There was a bouquet of flowers on the door, and a note explaining that she was gone, but not to worry about the cats. On the porch were cookie sheets of dried cat food. There were containers of unopened cat food stacked out of the weather. The note explained that the townspeople had taken over responsibility for caring for the stray cats. Whenever a passerby would notice that the cats looked hungry, they would put out some more food for them. I saw several old cats lying around in the shade. None of them looked particularly thin.
I also stopped to buy two loaves of fresh baked coconut bread at Vernon's Grocery. This was the finest bread I've ever tasted. I wish I could have had more of it, but I correctly calulated that it would spoil if not eaten quickly. As it was, I only had to discard one heel from the last loaf because of mold.
The "streets" in Hope Town are no more than wide sidewalks, and in many cases quite steep. The street signs are just names painted on scraps of driftwood nailed to houses, trees, poles, and corner fence posts. No motor vehicles are allowed in town without a special permit from the town councel. Even golf carts have to park at the outskirts.
Sunday, June 1:
For me, the most significant feature of Hope Town is its ancient, but still working, pre-electric lighthouse. I rowed over in my dinghy to visit it, and shot an entire roll of film in and around it. It dates back to 1863. The lense assembly rotates with almost no friction while floating on a pool of liquid mercury. The rotation is powered by weights hanging from wire ropes, much like a huge grandfather clock that has to be wound at least every couple of hours throughout the night. There is a very precise centrifigal speed governer to keep the lighthouse's unique flash signature consistant. The light source is pressurized, vaporized, and heated kerosene, much like an old Coleman lantern. The light output is around 1/3 million candlepower. The panoramic view from a narrow catwalk around the outer protective lense is fantastically beautiful. Even on a day hot enough to melt tourists on the sidewalk, the breezes up there were cool and refreshing. What is local treasure that old lighthouse is!Rather than me going on and on about the colorful and fastinating history of Hope Town, let me refer you to a nice little book on the subject.
"A Guide and History of Hope Town"
by Steve and Marjorie Dodge, and Vernon and Barbara Malone, 2001,White Sound Press,
379 Wild Orange Drive
New Smyrna Beach, FL 32168 USA
www.wspress.comAfter visiting the lighthouse, I got ice and did laundry at Lighthouse Marina. When I finally went to raise my anchor in Hope Town harbor, it was fouled. With the chain vertical and taut, I found I could motor forward, slowly dragging whatever it was under the boat. I did that, heading for a deserted sandy beach nearby. I stopped frequently to take up slack in the chain, and raise the swing keel, as I moved into ever shallower water. In about 4' of water, I could finally see some of what I was up against once the mud settled or drifted away. Whatever had a hold of my anchor included a fan or propeller, and some rusty steel framework. By carefully manipulating the anchor chain, manuevering the bow of the boat, and lifting hard at the right moments, I was eventually able to retrieve my anchor without having to go swiming. (I assume this was some sort of cosmic payback for smirking at the guy with the fouled anchor next to me in Marsh Harbour.)
Tilloo Cay
While anchored in Hope Town harbor, I contacted a lady on Tilloo Cay via VHF radio who had a litter of kittens, free to good homes. Although we both agreed that they were probably too young to travel by sailboat, she said I could come see them anyway. I reached Tilloo Cut late in the day, and determined by trial and error that the shifting sandbore there, and the deep way around it, weren't where the charts indicated. I eventually stumbled enough deep water to get past. I anchored near where the kittens lived around sundown in a shifting current coming from Tilloo Cut. As iI passed Tahiti Beach, it looked to me like Yahoe's beachfront bar on Lubbers Quarters was closed down and abandoned.Monday, June 2:
I hailed the kitten owner on the radio after breakfast, and rowed my dinghy to their dock where I was met by large friendly dogs. Up at their beautiful house high on the island, I met many, many cats who gathered around my feet to be pet. The tiny kittens were very cute, but clearly too young to leave home. Besides, all the males were spoken for, and I wanted a male kitten or none at all. The lady suggested I visit Joe's Studio on Man O'War Cay to check out some more kittens and cats. My island hopping was beginning to take on a theme -- visiting felines.
Man O' War Cay
Tuesday, June 3:
I arrived at the entrance to the Man O'War harbor around mid day, which is fortunate. The incredibly small entrance is made even more narrow by the presence of submerged rock ledges on either side of the deep channel. I'd hate to find those the hard way entering there for the first time at night.Once inside the long narrow harbor, one must immediately choose between turning south to an anchorage, or north to a mooring field. I went north, which looked to have the more interesting waterfront. I picked up a mooring very convenient to a grocery store out on a warf. The owner of the mooring arrived within ten minutes in a colorfully painted outboard powered workboat to collect his $10/day fee. During a brief chat, he said he normally wouldn't charge me for day use, but that there were three other cruising sailboats coming in right behind me who had radioed ahead seeking a mooring for the night. I could see these boats approaching from the south as we spoke. I cheerfully handed over the modest fee. Having already cruised the entire mooring field, I knew this was the best, and possibly only, mooring available.
I rowed ashore at the grocery store, which was almost next door to Joe's Studio (where I had been told I could check out more cats). A very nice young lady at Joe's Studio confirmed that I was in the right place, but said I needed to come back at a specific time that evening to see lots of cats. At the time, I noticed maybe two or three cats lounging around in various shady spots.
Having a few hours to kill, I went sight seeing. The main theme of Man O'War Cay (besides harvesting tourist dollars) seems to be both traditional and modern boat building and repair. There were several beautiful examples of traditional Bahamian sailing craft, which I admired and photographed. Like Hope Town, the streets were too narrow for anything larger than a golf cart. The houses were small, old, wooden, well built, and immaculately maintained, as were the yards. While I was waiting for cat time to arrive, I picked up ice for the boat, and an ice cream cone at the grocery store on the warf near where I had moored.
At the appointed hour, I was returning to Joe's Studio, when I spotted a golf cart slowly approaching along the waterfront street. Behind the cart, cats were coming out from under buildings, up in trees, behind bushes, and everywhere else a cat could nap in the shade. They were all falling into line behind this golf cart, like a multi colored furry parade. The cart stopped at Joe's Studio. In the bed of the cart was a big fresh bag of cat food. It was cat feeding time.
Also in the rear of the cart was a carrier cage containing two kittens who were there to meet me. One kitten was not feeling well, but the other appeared quite healthy. He was all white except for black ears and tail. I thought he was great, but he didn't take to me at all. He didn't want to be held, squirmed to get away from me, sulked, and generally acted unhappy with the situation. After a long discussion about the importance and responsibility of adopting this unique and special kitten, I suggested that we not make any final decision that day.
After visiting with the assembled friendly (and hungry) cats, I rowed back to my boat to spend the night on the paid up mooring.
Wednesday, June 4:
After breakfast, I contacted the local cat lady again. I told her that I didn't think the white kitten was happy to have met me. She said he'd been depressed ever since he'd seen me. We agreed that wasn't the kitten for me, but she asked about my schedule in the Abacos, and said she'd keep my call sign handy in case things changed.While at Joe's Studio, I picked up an interesting book on the history of Bahamian sailing craft.
A few days before, some one else had mentioned on the morning VHF radio network that they had an extra kitten up on Great Guana Cay. I contacted them by radio to confirm the description and availability of the kitten, and their approximate location. I then raised anchor.
As I reached the south end of Great Guana Cay, one of the now routine summer afternoon thunderstorms pounced on me, pushing me towards the shores of Guana with about 30 knot winds and 3' whitecaps. First I lowered the jib, reefed the main, and tried to tack back and forth until the wind and rain abated. It looked like I might be loosing ground toward the rocky lee shore. Not wishing to take unneccesary risks, I finally fired up the engine, lowered the sail, gained some sea room, and put down two anchors to wait out the storm. Within an hour or two, the weather improved, and I sailed on toward the north end of Great Guana Cay.
There I picked up a private mooring and rowed in to a long dock out to deep water from a sandy beach. After walking past a large guest house and up a hill, I came to a mansion build high on two huge columns almost like a huge siamese mushroom overlooking the ocean from the top of a volcanic rock cliff. The family with the spare kitten are wonderful people.
All along, I had secretly decided that if I adopted a kitten in the Abacos, I would name him "Abaco". I hadn't mentioned this to anyone, especially the people offering kittens. What cat lover wants to hear that the first thing the new pet owner is going to do is discard the name you've carefully chosen for this dear precious little ball of fluff? Well, when I was introduced to the available kitten, they told me his name is "Abaco". The kitten and I hit it right off. He seemed very comfortable being handled by me, and was quite relaxed, not squirming to get away and run hide.
The family and I both knew that the next day was veteranarian day in the Abacos islands. The lady had already planned to take Abaco's mother and brother to be neutered. We now added getting Abaco his traveling papers to the list.
We agreed we would travel together to the vet the next day. They graciously offered to let me spend the night in their guest house. Abaco joined me, and I fed him his dinner which they had thoughtfully sent along.
I tried to get to sleep, but I kept worrying about the condition of the mooring my boat was on. When I first picked it up, I noticed that the loop of the penant was about half worn through. What shape was the rest of the mooring in? At 10:pm I got out of bed and rowed back out to the boat, which was hard to find because I'd forgotten to leave an anchor light on. I was trying to row in 2' to 3' waves while peering over my shoulder into the darkness with a flashlight to keep track of my floating destination. I moved the boat off the questionable mooring and onto its own anchors with chafing gear and an anchor light. I was back in bed by 11:pm and was quickly lulled to sleep by the purring kitten.
Great Guana Cay (and half-day ferry trip back to Marshtown)
Thursday, June 5:
Thursday started early. Abaco's former master, a teenage boy, needed to get to school. The three cats needed to get boxed up, but there were no cat carriers available. The lady emptied her sewing kit out of a plastic carpenter's toolbox, and attacked it with a drill to create air holes. She stuffed her two cats in the toolbox with room to spare. I suggested that all three would fit, and would work it out OK, as they were family and all. Instead, she produced a woven basket with a lid, and a ribbon to tie it closed for Abaco. Abaco the kitten began screaming with every breath as soon as the lid was on his basket, and didn't stop screaming throughout the rest of the day's adventures.We all piled into a small old pickup truck (lady, teenager, me, and three packaged cats), and roared off to catch the morning ferry. There aren't a lot of "roads" on this island. It was a trip of several miles along two twisting muddy wheel ruts through the jungle. I suspect the lady is one of those people who is perpetually late. She drove like we were competing in the Paris-Dakar Rally, leaves, branches and vines flogging the truck as it carreened between the trees. Approaching the many blind turns, she would lay on the horn while standing on the throttle. I assume the rest of the islanders know that if they hear that combination of blaring horn and wailing truck engine coming towards them, that their lives depend on jumping or swerving into the bushes within the next couple of seconds.
We skidded to a dusty stop in the dirt parking lot at the ferry dock just in time to scramble aboard with our feline luggage. The kitten was still screaming. The ferry was crowded with people commuting to jobs on other islands, kids on their way to school in March Harbour, shoppers, etc. The grumpy, possibly hung over, ferry captain grumbled something about hating cats, especially crying kittens. I stratigically chose the passenger seat farthest from the helm. The wail of the huge turbo diesel engine accelerating out across the Sea of Abaco terrified the kitten into even more desperate screams of panic.
As soon as we had boarded, all the school kids immediately locked onto the fact that I had a kitten in the basket. They mobbed me. They wanted to know the story behind the kitten in the basket, and where I was taking it. Why did it have to go to the vet? Was it sick? Would it be OK? They wanted to see it, touch it, hold it, take it to school with them, buy it, take it home with them. They wanted to know how much kittens cost, and where they could get another one. The kitten wailed for me not to let them take him alive. I'm sure I made several parents' days by pointing out to the attentive crowd of children that kittens are always available for free to good homes. And that if a parent tells you otherwise, you just haven't yet done a good enough job of convincing them you really want a kitten. It must be true, right? I mean an adult said it, and he had a kitten right there as proof.
Two little sisters in particular, maybe around first grade age, took a persistant interest in the kitten. The younger one quickly claimed the empty spot on the bench seat on the opposite side of the kitten basket from me, and put her arm on the basket as if to indicate to the other kids that if anyone was going to get any closer to the kitten, it was going to be her. Her sister stood there for a moment frowning, clearly feeling that as the older one, she should be first in line for any special priviledges, and kicking herself mentally for not thinking of that preemptive manuever first. Then her face it up with devious inspiration. Smiling, she politely asked me if she could sit in my lap (the ferry wasn't really crowded enough for seat sharing to be necessary), and didn't give me time to answer before scrambling up. The two girls then took turns distracting me with conversation, while the other one fiddled with the knotted ribbon holding the lid on the kitten basket. During the half hour boat ride, we arrived a a workable compromise. If the sisters would be nice and take turns, I'd pry the basket lid open just far enough for one of them at a time to reach in and touch the kitten.
When the ferry finally docked at Marsh Harbour, there were several empty Bahamian taxi cabs waiting. As we approached the driver of a worn out rusty minivan with our makeshift containers of wailing cats, she just said, "Vet?"
"Yes, to the vet", we replied as she gave the minivan's side door a precise sharp blow to unstick it.
A few minutes later, we unloaded our meowing luggage on the doorstep of the local animal clinic to await the hoped for arrival of the traveling veteranarian. There was also a stray dog that had been hit by a car brought in on a stretcher improvised from a piece of old carpet. He didn't appear to be real badly injured. When the vet arrived, he quickly asked us each why we were there, and did a sort of triage prioritizing of his patients. The wounded dog might take a while, but wasn't life-or-death urgent. The cats to be neutered could be done anytime. A kitten for a physical and a shot looked quick and easy. Abaco kitten was in luck. There was no vet assistant or other staff, so I restrained the kitten on the table while the doctor poked, prodded, and injected him. A few minutes later Abaco was back in his basket, and the stray dog was up on the table. The lady left the tool box of cats with the vet, and we hiked back through town together, me carrying the still screaming kitten in the basket on my shoulder.
Our next stop was the pet shop, "Pets Are People Too". There I bought a real cat carrier, some kitten kibble, and a tiny harness that a weasle couldn't squirm out of. It may have been intended for ferrets, but it looked like just the thing to prevent a kitten from abandoning ship at an inopportune time. I asked about getting some kitty litter, but the Bahamian looked at me like I was from another planet. "Mon, the cats here, they use sand. We have a lot of it."
On the counter was a huge Hymalian cat looking rather inanimate in the tropical heat. I commented that it was alive after all as I petted it. The pet shop clerk said that the huge cat had originally come to her from Freeport, Grand Bahama, where it been discovered as a tiny oil soaked kitten in the filthy bilge water under the engines of a freighter just arrived from the port of Miami. Obviously a lucky cat, it probably had fewer than the usual nine lives remaining.
Outside the pet shop, the lady and I headed off in different directions, she to do shopping and run other errands in town, me to hop the next ferry back to Great Guana Cay. I asked her how I might get through the miles of jungle from Great Guana Cay ferry dock back to my anchored boat. She said, "No problem! When the ferry is about half way across the Sea of Abaco, just call Guana Seaside Village (a tourist resort near her estate) on your handheld VHF radio. Tell them you'd like to have lunch, and could they send a car to meet you at the ferry dock."
It sounded too good to be true. "Are you sure this will work?", I asked. "I just say I'll order lunch and they come get me?"
"Oh, sure. We do it all the time!" she assured me. Well, what do I know? I'm just a stranger in a strange land.
I arrived back at the ferry dock just in time to board the next ferry for Great Guana Cay. Once on the ferry, I quickly realized that the roar of the engine would drown out any attempt to use the radio. Once back at the Great Guana Cay ferry dock, I tried the handheld. No luck, its transmitter didn't have the needed range. Looking around, I spotted a tall antenna atop the local liquer store. A sure sign that they, like most businesses in the Abacos, had a VHF radio. Leaving my still screaming cargo outside, I asked to use their radio. "Sure! Here, I'll switch it for you", the clerk said. When Guana Seaside Village answered, I gave my well rehersed request for transportation to lunch.
"How many in your party?", the radio asked. Oh, oh. A potential snag in the plan.
The kitten meowed. "Two", I lied.
"Sorry, we only provide transport for parties of three or more. Have a nice day!" Well, it had sounded too good to be true.
Back outside by the ferry dock, there was an old shade tree surrounded by a circular picnic table. Lounging about on the table were several Bahamians awaiting rides or the next boat. I inquired as to whether anyone would like to make a few dollars driving me out to the resort. They all agreed that they'd be happy to help, but none of them had a car. I asked which direction I should start walking in. They said, "Mon, you don' wan' be walkin' tha' far in th' jungle in dis heat." (Mid day in the tropics, very hot and humid.) I allowed as how I didn't seem to have much choice. The kitten sounded like he was melting in the carrier. They suggested I try to flag a ride, and indicated which of the three "roads" to aim for.
The first vehicle, a large golf cart, was headed for Nipper's, a popular tourist destination in the opposite direction. The second vehicle was a tiny Japanese Land Rover/Jeep type which look empty except for the driver. He said he was only going a couple of miles in my direction, maybe a third of the distance to my boat. He repeated the warning about trying to walk any distance through the jungle in the heat of the day. I offered money for a ride as far as he was going, but he declined and said to hop in. As it turned out, my chauffer was the owner of a competing resort to the one I wanted to reach. As he drove we chatted, and I explained why I had a crying kitten in the carrier.
He said, "If you're takin' a stray cat off this island, God love ya, mon. I'll see that you get to your boat. When we get to the resort, I'll have one of my staff run you out there." Well, he couldn't find anyone who worked for him. However, his guests were all happily relaxing with frozen tropical rum drinks under the palm trees by the sea, and didn't seem like they would missed either him or his staff. He shrugged, and then drove me the rest of the way to the gates of the estate where I had left my boat anchored.
Once I had hiked the rest of the way to the guest house, I gathered up my overnight baggage, scooped up some beach sand for the cat box, dragged my dinghy down to the water, and piled everything in it for the wet row out to my anchored boat. The water was choppy with whitecaps, and salt spray was flying everywhere as I rowed, including into the cat carrier. The kitten was crying louder than ever. From his point of view, this day had been nothing but one bad experience after another.
When I finally got the dinghy along side my boat, the first thing I did was transfer the cat carrier to the sailboat's cockpit. As soon as the carrier hit the cockpit seat, the crying stopped. The kitten didn't cry again for a week.
After securing things in the cabin for rough water, I radioed ahead for a report on conditions in Whale Cay passage. Some one replied that there were 3' seas and a storm was approaching, but that the passage was usable at the moment. I retrieved my anchors, and headed that way. Whale Cay passage demanded my full attention, but not miserable. A large thunderstorm threatened to pounce on me the whole time I was outside the Whale, but didn't actually catch up with me. The kitten snoozed on the cabin the entire time.
While still within radio range of the folks who gave me the cat, I called to let them know he was doing fine, and had finally stopped crying.
That night, I anchored off New Plymouth, on the south end of Green Turtle Cay, just outside of Black Sound.
Friday, June 6:
The next morning, inquiries made over the radio regarding the availability of fuel and ice weren't encouraging. It was the beginning of a four-day holiday weekend in the Bahamas, and many businesses were going to be closed. After hearing Other Shore Club Marina in Black Sound doing business over the VHF, I headed that way. Access to the only available dockside fuel was temporarily blocked by an inter-island tanker which was having trouble disconnecting their transfer line, or something. I milled about along with a few other boats in need of fuel. Eventually the tanker left, and fuel became available. While I waited, I tied up and helped the dock crew muscle a 40' to 50' sailboat to a different slip as a favor to its singlehanding owner. There was also a Westsail style cruising sailboat there, with the owner doing an amazing amount of work to the teak decks. I thought, now that's an aspect of owning teak decks that the sailing magazines tend to gloss over... Eventually I got my fuel, their last three bags of ice, and dropped off my trash. I would have liked to slurp down a frozen rum concoction at a nearby sea side bar I noticed, but I didn't want to leave my boat blocking the fuel pumps.At this point in my adventure (June 6), I had decided that it would be a good time to start wandering back towards home. The weather was becoming consistantly rainy, and I now had the adopted kitten aboard to deal with. My original "schedule" of about a month away from home, give or take a week or so, indicated that I shouldn't linger much longer this far out. Also, it was now officially a week into hurricane season.
I set course for the Cooperstown area. Leaving Black Sound and sailing along the northeast coast of Great Abaco Island, I had very good sailing winds from a beam reach to a broad reach. As sundown approached, I was conveniently close to a good anchorage just west of Angel Fish Point. I joined a small number of cruising sailboats there for the night. After a pleasant dinner of potato and leek soup, the kitten insisted on washing the dishes.
Saturday, June 7: Crab Cay to Great Sale Cay.
Abacos back to Settlement Point, Grand Bahama
Noon: Overslept a bit, so skipped breakfast. Sailed close to the north shore of Little Abaco Island as far as about Hawksbill Cays. I then changed course towards Carters Cays, with the intention of rounding Little Sale Cay to its north and then anchoring just northwest of Great Sale Cay. There was a great suficiency of wind. The waves, which weren't real big back in the lee of Little Abaco, became 3' whitecaps with lots of foam once out in the open water. I was making 5 knots downwind under single reefed main alone. A small rainstorm blocked the sun and sprinkled for a few minutes, but then moved on. There were plenty of clouds around the horizon. The breaking seas grew to 4', and nearly climbed into the cockpit of the Catalina 25 over the transom. The wave action alone was causing heel angles as great as 30 degrees in each direction. At some point, I noticed that the second from the bottom batten in the mainsail was poking out of the forward end of its batten pocket. I watched it for a while, and it didn't seem to be getting any closer to going swimming, so I let it be.In these somewhat rough conditions, I passed a working trawler towing three small center console outboard sport fishing boats with biminis from its stern and both outriggers. They were headed up wind, and the 20' or so boats were bouncing around every bit as wildly as my 8' dinghy was.
As Sale Cay Rocks came into sight, the waves were breaking over them higher than the rocks themselves, maybe 10' higher. It was impressive.
Little Sale Cay is a tall steep slab of volcanic rock with caves at the waterline. A thin layer of vegetation clings to its horizontal surfaces. There were a lot of sea birds living there. I wished for more time and less wind so that I might go ashore and explore a bit.
Once I rounded the west end of Little Sale Cay, the wave action was noticably smoother in the lee of the two islands.
Just to the west of Great Sale there were several cuising boats anchored off a rocky beach. It seemed like a pretty good place to anchor. However, I sailed on south to check out what, on the charts, looked to be an even better harbor. Well, that one pretty much sucked. There was a lot of wave action; the large cruisers already there were rocking quite a bit. There was the partially submerged wreck of a stripped trailer sailor, maybe a MacGregor 24 or similar. The shore was all a rock ledge, and the bottom was mud with poor holding. Dissappointed, I headed back towards the northwest anchorage I'd passed earlier.
On the way down, I'd noticed quite a few fish on the fishfinder, so on the way back up, I trolled one lure after another in 8' to 12' of water over weeds, rocks, and reef but with no luck. Just as I was getting back among the anchored boats, I remembered that I still needed to bring in the fishing line. As I started to retrieve it, the rod suddenly came alive! I quickly glanced around at the anchored boats, and set the autopilot to miss the closest ones. When I got the fish in close enough to identify it, I could see that it was a 2' to 3' baracuda. I let it have enough slack to spit the hook, and it promptly did so. Good fish.
After looking around with the fishfinder and just staring down into the water, I concluded that there was a rock ledge out from the shore to depths of about 10'. Beyond that, the sandy bottom looked like good holding ground. It being around sundown, I anchored for the night.
Once anchored, I met (over the VHF) two other boats from the Brevard County area who were on their way to the Abacos. They recognized my ECSA (East Coast Sailing Association) burgy. One boat was making the trip for the first time, and the other for about the 20th time!
Dinner was tuna cassarole, which I had to fight the kitten for.
Sunday, June 8: Great Sale Cay to Mangrove Cay.
The next morning I fixed a large late breakfast of pancakes flavored with pears, apricots, and ginger, served dripping with honey, and washed down with fresh brewed coffee.Next, I climbed up on top of the cabin with a needle and thread, and did a hasty but servicable repair patch on the torn mainsail batten pocket. I also ran the generator for a couple of hours until the charging rate dropped to about 12 amps.
I repositioned the Catalina closer to shore, but it was hard to find a patch of sand among the rock to hold an anchor. I rowed the dinghy ashore to explore and get fresh sand for the kitten's litterbox. There was a dissappointing amount of litter along the shoreline of the uninhabited island. Much of the trash was related to commercial shipping; some more of it looked like it probably came from cruising yachts. Most of it was plastic. The shoreline wasn't the soft clean sand seen in the TV ads for vacationing in the Bahamas. Most of it was volcanic rock, with just a few patches of sand. When I rowed in toward a sandy beach, I still scraped the dinghy on rock just as I got to the shore.
I saw one of the only sail equipped dinghies of the whole trip here. Another cruising sailboat had an 8' Walker Bay with the optional sailing kit. They were using it to explore up and down the shoreline of Great Sale Cay.
After a late start, I raised the mainsail and headed for Mangrove Cay. Not much chance of getting to Settlement Point this day. Spent the night rocking and rolling at Mangrove Cay. The island os so small that the swell wraps around both ends and meets in the middle. There's a rock shelf extending to the northwest which prevents anchoring up close enough to get much shelter. The first time I put the anchor down it dragged on rock. After moving out further and looking around for some sand, it held OK. There were several other boats there, and they were all having a rough ride as well.
Monday, June 9: Mangrove Cay to Old Bahama Bay.
Made it to Old Bahama Bay. I motored the last couple of miles of Indian Cay Channel, due to the wind being on the nose, and knowing that the batteries could use some charging. I also ran the Honda generator in the cockpit as I motored along.When I pulled into Old Bahama Bay, there wasn't much room to anchor. There were already about four cruising sailboats anchored inside the breakwater. First, I motored up to the fuel dock, and asked if I could rent a slip. They said no.
Next, I picked the best spot I could to try anchoring. I motored up along side the 40' to 45' sailboat I would be closest to, (we'll call him "Goober"), and told him I wanted to try to anchor next to him, but that I realized things were tight, and if he thought I was too close, to just say so, and I'd move. He said he had out 30' of heave chain, and 20' feet of rope. I said that's what I was planning to put out as well, so our boats would be likely swing together if the wind shifted. ("Swing together" as in behave similarly, or dance the same dance, not as in hit against one another.) Goober failed to mention that he also had an aluminum fishing boat with an outboard motor as a dinghy, but that it was off somewhere else at the time I arrived.
I anchored, and rowed in to see if I needed to check out with Bahamian customs as I left the country. (No I didn't.) I also started a load of laundry and took a shower. After my shower, I wandered around a bit. I came upon a Bahamian peddling fresh cought conch out of a run down outboard runabout up against a seawall. "Conch! Get your fresh conch! Only $2 a piece! Fresh conch!", etc. The live naked conchs looked to me like there would still be a lot of hard messy work involved in turning them into dinner. I bought an empty conch shell from the guy as a souvenier.
While I was still waiting for the clothes to dry, I noticed a huge, tall, very impressive and ominous looking storm cloud forming out over the Gulf Stream to the west. While I was taking a picture of it, a Bahamian gentlemen who carried an air of authority approached me and asked if that was my green dinghy over there. Yes it was. And was that my little sailboat out in the anchorage. Yes indeed. He then indicated the approaching dark cloud and said, "You're in a really bad spot there. You need to do something. I'm putting you in a slip right now."
I mentioned that I was waiting for the clothes dryer, and he said, "Forget the clothes. Get in your dinghy and get that boat in here right now. This thing will be on top of us in minutes." (Indicating the storm cloud.)
I said, "Yes sir! Immediately!", and headed off to do as he said. He also said to come in among the docks to the first trawler, turn left, then go to the seawall.
When I got out to the Catalina, I discovered that its anchor line was tangled on the outboard propellor of Goober's huge dinghy. I got the impression that Goober had sat there in his cockpit and watched this happen without lifting a finger to prevent it. I also verified that in the rapidly building 20 knot wind, the line was too tight for me to untangle. Goober helpfully shouted over, "There's nothing can be done! You'll have to cut your line!"
I was thinking that I'd never had to resort to cutting an anchor line yet, and that I wasn't planning on starting with this one. One of Goober's crew members was looking much more physically fit, and potentially more helpful. I pointed at him and yelled, "You get a boat hook and get in that dinghy. I'm going to put my engine in gear to create some slack. When I do, you get my line off that prop!" He immediately did just as I had asked. Once there was slack in my anchor rode, Goober's crew had no trouble getting it off their dinghy's propellor. The boats then separated and swung into the wind just as they should.
My relief and satisfaction in watching the boat straighten out were short lived. Once my boat was lined up with its anchor and the wind, the rudder was within a boat length of the rock breakwater behind me. The wind was still building. I could easily imagine my anchor dragging a few feet, or maybe just the cantinary in the chain straightening out enough to put my rudder on the rocks. I aimed the autopilot at the anchor, put the motor in gear at a high idle, and scrambled forward to the bow. I hauled in anchor rode as fast as I could, until the Claw anchor finally clattered and clanked into place on the bow roller. By then, the wind had got a hold of the bow and overpowered the autopilot. The boat was heading towards the rocks, now less than two boat lengths away, with the engine still running in forward.
I scrambled back to the cockpit and slammed the engine into reverse. As I slowly backed up along side Goober, I shouted over the wind, "I'm going to cut a tight turn across behind your dinghy. Yell real loud if you're sure I'm about to hit it." I then shifted back into forward, and gave the engine full throttle. I cut between Goober and the rocks too close to see his dinghy motor along side my bow. Completing the turn on the other side of his boat, I continued at full throttle towards the dock area.
After I made the left turn at the first trawler, and looked straight down wind between the rows of expensive yachts sticking out of their slips, I could see that there was no open space for me to tie up along the seawall. But! There was one empty boat slip. I went for it bow first. The wind was probably up to about 30 knots by now, and a stinging rain had begun to drive horizontally.
The dock manager and his haried crew of dock hands met me at the slip. The dock hands began tying my boat up, while the manager yelled at them. It took me a moment to piece together what the shouting was about. It seemed that the manager had been under the impression, based on the carefully updated whiteboard chart in his neat office showing which yachts were in which boat slips, that there was an open spot still available along the seawall. But that spot was occupied by the conch guy's boat. I somehow doubted that the conch guy had paid to be there. Or if he had paid, that the record of the transaction didn't lead any further than a few crumpled dollars in the sheepish dock hand's pocket. In between reprimanding his hired help, the manager was trying to politely explain to me over the roar of the storm that the slip I was in had already been promised (over the VHF radio) to a motor yacht which was running for shelter in that direction from out in the ocean.
I asked him to tell me where he wanted my boat, and I'd put it there. I asked did he really want me to try to raft up against one of those runabouts on a down wind run with it blowing 30 knots and almost no manuvering room? (And clearly with no fenders out, and no time or free hands to get them ready.) He snarled at one of his assistants to get the conch guy out of there, and told me to take that spot. The conch peddler, who as the saying goes didn't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, was already getting his boat under way. Carefully planning ahead for the wind to be in control of the bow of my boat, I backed it out of the slip, and eased it (well, sort of eased it) up against the now vacant spot along the seawall with less than two feet to spare between boats at each end. The soaking wet but dutiful and efficient dock hands were there to take my lines.
After the storm passed, I quickly took it upon myself to go find the dock office and pay for the priviledge of tying up to the seawall. And it must have been quite a priviledge too, because it cost me over $75 for part of a day, and that didn't include the use of any electricity. No big deal, my cruising budget allowed for just these sorts of contingencies, and I'd been very lucky in that respect so far. I also made sure to buy dinner, breakfast, and a few drinks while I was there. (I could easily figure out for myself that some of the docked yachts were spending as much there per day as I spent to buy my boat in the first place.) At dinner I had a very enjoyable time chatting with two couples from other boats in the marina. One couple was there on their honeymoon. It's a very nice marina, a class act.
That evening and the next day, several yacht owners complimented me on the way they'd seen me handle my boat during the sudden storm, which I thought was rather nice of them.
Tuesday, June 10: Check out time vs. waiting for the ice man.
The mojor priority for Tuesday was monitoring weather forcasts, watching the weather, discussing the weather, etc. Also near the top of my to-do list was "Get ice". I hadn't added ice to my two iceboxes since White Sound, Green Turtle Cay. I was just about down to my last ice cube, and the food was in danger of getting warm. The accompanying cold drink dilema could be solved temporarily, and for a dear price, at the nearby seaside tiki bar. When I checked with the marina staff about buying ice, they explained that it being the day after a four-day double holiday weekend and all, the ice supplier down in Freeport was somewhat behind schedule in their deliveries. "Somewhat behind schedule" in the Bahamas can easily translate into "maybe some time this week if you're lucky."The official checkout time for boats docked at Old Bahama Bay is 11:00am. As that hour passed with my boat still tied to the seawall, the dock staff began to politely inquire as to my intentions. Wishing to head off an annoying scheduling confilct between getting ice and leaving the marina, vs. paying for another day on the seawall, I visited the dock manager. He called the ice factory for an updated excuse and E.T.A, and then courtiously offered to let me hang out a few more hours until the weather picture improved and the ice arrived. This guy consistantly went out of his way to be helpful, and far exceeded my expectations for being welcomed as the lowest budget cruiser in the place.
Slurping rum drinks on the beach, a flotilla comes together.
As the day wore on, more boaters began to avail themselves of the frozen rum drinks at the tiki bar. In the course of conversations, several questions kept coming up. "So, where are you headed?" "Yeah, me too. When do you plan on leaving?" "I was thinking about leaving around then too. What's your cruising speed?" And so on. A loosely knit flotilla began to form. A fifth boat dropped out before I got to meet them. A fourth boat was a sailboat around 30' normally crewed by a woman and her small yappy dog, but she had picked up one additional crew member for the Gulf Stream crossing. He was a young guy with a backpack, a passport, and a willingness to work for passage. Two other boats were large sailing cruisers with radar.I took advantage of the calm water in the marina to lift my dinghy onto the foredeck and lash it down. I also topped up my water tanks and took a last long hot shower. As the day wore on, the crew of the small sailboat with yappy dog seemed to be placing a much higher priority on heavy drinking than on preparing their boat for the Gulf Stream. (Empty diesel tank, masthead VHF not working, leaky inflatable dinghy still sagging in the water behind the boat, contents of cabin not secured for passage, etc.) I was beginning to reclassify them in my mind from well matched buddy boat to potential liability. The captains of the two larger sailboats impressed me as the sort of guys I'd want around me while out of sight of land. They both said they planned to cast off around sundown, one bound for Saint Lucie, the other for Fort Pierce. I said I'd try to get a head start on them, and split the difference between their planned compass courses.
Tuesday, June 10 (continued): Leaving West End, GBI. Crossing the Gulf Stream (west bound)
Tuesday, June 10 (continued):
Around 6:00pm, the long overdue ice truck was spotted coming down the entrance road to the marina. Forseeing a run on ice, I commandiered one of the marina's dock carts, and made sure I was first in line for ice. After putting my ice away, I cast off and got in line for gas. After topping up with fuel, I headed west out into the ocean. Around 8:00pm, the two other sailboats came up on VHF channel 16 as agreed to say they were just clearing the breakwater. We again agreed to meet on channels 16 and then 11 every hour to check on how each other were doing.As a singlehander facing 15 to 20 hours at the helm in open water, I had a marathon steering session ahead of me, and a plan for coping with it. I switched my built-in VHF to channel 11, the agreed upon chat channel, turned up the volume and squelch, hung the microphone next to my pillow, put the boat on autopilot, and took naps with the kitten purring in my ear. I had asked the other two boats, both equipped with radar, to call me anytime they saw anything out ahead of me on my course, in addition to our hourly chats. One time they spotted a freighter out of Miami northbound in the stream, but his course was far from colliding with mine. Another time, they reported the approach of a tall violent thunderstorm spawned by the inland swamps of Florida, but said it would pass me well to the south. Along about dawn, my fellow travelers reported that my radio signal was becoming weak because of the growing diatance between us. I thanked them for their company and their help, and we bid one another a safe journey.
Wednesday, June 11: Ft. Pierce or Canaveral? If you can't decide...
As the day grew bright, I determined that my present course and speed would not allow me to make Ft. Pierce; the Gulf Stream current would sweep me past it to the north. I needed to point the boat more upwind, and increase my speed through the water. The 110% jib I was using wouldn't do it. Reluctantly, I came to the inescapable conclusion that I needed to change headsails in the Gulf Stream out of sight of land. I started by lowering all sail, so that the boat was only drifting. I then worked very slowly, using an inflatable harness, dual tether and jacklines. It took over a half hour to get from flying 110% jib to flying 135% genoa, but it was accomplished safely. With the genoa up, I was easily able to point Ft. Pierce Inlet.When I got to the outer Ft. Pierce bouy, I couldn't seem to decide wheather to go in there, or continue on in the ocean to Port Canaveral. I finally found the answer in the amount of time that it was taking me to ponder the question. I was clearly too tired to continue on in the ocean.
By that time, the relentless Gulf Stream current had swept me a mile and a half north of the inlet channel. After trying to sail south against the wind, waves, and current, I fired up the motor. As I was bashing through 3' to 4' steep waves, the bow of the boat was coming half out of the water, and falling back down with a loud bang. Sheet of sea spray were shooting up 10' high on either side of the bow. Down below in the cabin, the kitten was crying for the first time since he'd come aboard. I got to thinking, "Did I actually dog down that forward hatch, or did I just close it?" I decided that would be a good thing to check on, what with the bow threatening to bury in each passing wave. After putting the boat on autopilot, I climbed down into the cabin and worked my way forward in what seemed like a carnival thrill ride. Yes, the hatch still needed to be dogged down. And no wonder the kitten was crying! It was really loud down there when the boat come down off a wave. In addition to the loud "Wham!", the bulkheads were groaning and the hull liner was creaking. This wasn't a sign that the boat was being damaged at all, but it was a noise I wasn't used to hearing very often. for once, I didn't scold the kitten for having all of his claws dug firmly into the upolstery.
Wednesday, June 11: Arriving Ft. Pierce, FL. Fort Pierce to Cocoa Beach
Anchored Wednesday night in open area of ICW south of Ft. Pierce bridges.
Thurday, June 12: Leaving Ft. Pierce headed north in the ICW.
Stopped at Harbortown Marina, Ft. Pierce.
Sailed and motored up ICW.
Took a mooring at Vero Municipal Marina Thursday evening.
Friday, June 13:
Sailed up ICW.
Docked at Melbourne Yacht Club Friday evening around 6:pm, spend the night.
Saturday, June 14: Home at last!
Arrived home around noon, give or take a couple hours.