Earl the Wanderer's Version of the Exuma Trip
Cruising lessons in the Exumas - June 1999!
Friday, the 11th of June 1999. I am getting out of the cold drizzle and
dampness of Vancouver for sunny Bahamas!
I leave Vancouver early in the morning and start the trip off with the
first of many flight delays. Hmmm - this trip might involve some
patience and flexibility on my part? My late Vancouver - Chicago
flight leads to a missed Chicago - Miami United flight, despite running
through O'Hare airport for a kilometer. As a conciliation, I get to
whimper and watch my flight pull away from the docking arm without me.
Missing the United flight gets me bumped onto an American Airlines
flight to Miami and all hell breaks loose. Standing in long lines,
grounded planes due to lightning, plane switches because our would-be-
plane was hit by the lightning, then miss my Miami - Nassau flight,
line up for a hotel in Miami (I was supposed to be in Nassau this
evening?) I was tired and greasy, had sore legs from standing, and was
generally uncomfortable. "Hey, sucks to be me - get over it," as one
of my friends likes to say. This attitude saves me from complete
frustration.
Day 1 (June12th - Saturday)
After 3 hours sleep in Miami (almost worth the time standing in line
for 2 hours for the hotel,) and 2 missed morning standby flights, I
finally get on an American flight into Nassau at 1pm the day after I
was supposed to arrive. I am exhausted, and me and a thousand others
in the Miami airport leave with a pretty poor estimation of American
Airlines.
After a quick stop at Kris's apartment, we go straight to the boat and
get ready to sail. 2 hours after landing in Nassau, we are sailing
away! I forget to pick up some postcards to write while on the trip,
and forgot to phone home to tell the loved-ones that I made it. Who
knows when we will find the next phone connection out on the sea - it
will be days before I can call and I guess the postcard idea is over
with too. "Sucks to be me, get over?"
After a quick deck wash, we are steaming out of the marina, Peter
(Kris's father) is blasting Bolero (classical by Ravel) to start the
journey. I later discover that Bolero is a piece written by the
composer Ravel for a pianist friend who lost one hand, and can
therefore, be played with one hand. I am not sure why we are playing
Bolero, but it sounds good.
Well, at least we were on our way. The 2 main drawbacks of the messed
up flights, are that I was exhausted and that I didn't get any input
into what was bought for our week of food! I was thankful that the
other two had spent the time stocking up for the week, but I was to be
at the mercy of their taste in food? I was later to discover the joys
of canned sardines, high fat 'Polish' garlic salami, and mechanically
formed turkey-ham!
As I had held up the departure time, we had to modify our route and
spend the first night at nearby Rose Island (1 mile) rather than
Allen's Cay (about 30 miles away.) At rose island we snorkel around a
small palm-covered island called - Palm Island, of course.
The first pair of fins I try on are designed for scuba boots, not bare
feet and I don't notice until my ankles are bleeding 30 minutes later.
Those wounds were to take 3 weeks to heal as constant wet feet slowed
the scabbing process. My first snorkel in a long time and my first
sandy beach in the Bahamas, I eagerly walk ashore on the tiny Palm
Island to explore. I find deserted buildings and sharp rock formations
with blowholes blasting out mist and spray when the waves hit the
windward side of the island. It was an interesting place.
I was standing gingerly among the sharp expanse of coral-like rock
playing with a small lizard and a twig when I look up and notice a sign
"PRIVATE ISLAND - BEWARE OF DOG." Worried, I drop the twig, scramble
out of the sharp rocks, and jog to the beach and the safety of the
water with visions of a hungry and irritated guard-dog left on its own
on the island waiting for trespassing tourists to eat!
As night fell, we pull into the sheltered anchorage just off Rose
Island and anchor a safe distance between two other boats. Out come
some food and a large bottle of Anejo, local Caribbean rum.
At round midnight we notice a few thumping noises. Like the
experienced sailors we are, we ignore it and resume arguing about the
southern stars, the shape of the moon, and searching the skies for
satellites. Rum round #4 has us laughing and looking over the side of
the boat as we realize the reason the bumping noises have stopped is
that the keel is now firmly wedged the sand and not bumping against the
sea bottom any longer. We are now stuck firmly on the sandy bottom and
listing to port badly. We look at the paper (experienced sailors) and
realize the tide is still on its way out. There wasn't really anything
we could do, it was pitch dark, and our keel was firmly set, so like
true sailors we set our sights on the bottom of that bronze bottle of
Bahamian Anejo rum.
Day 2 (June13th - Sunday)
After we fell asleep at a 40% angle in the corners of our berths, the
tide rose back up during the night. By the time we awoke we were
almost off the sea bottom.
This is my first morning waking up on a sailboat. I am hot, tired but
unable to sleep more, have a head full of Anejo, and I know I have to
get over the side of the boat first thing. And with the boys and the
other boats all still fast asleep I don't even need to try and find my
trunks. A 20 min swim clears the mind and the salt water cleans the
rest, surprisingly the salt water even sorts out morning fuzzy-mouth.
Kris later points out that of course it does, when you have a sort or
irritated throat or mouth, we rinse with salt water - it cleans and
heals. With at least 7 days with very little fresh water ahead of us,
believing in the cleansing and healing powers of saltwater was a wise
idea.
All up (including the keel), we eat some breakfast, and we are off to
Allan's Cay (pronounced 'Key'), our first stop in the Exuma chain of
islands. As the wind is light and coming from the South (we are headed
SW), we decide to motor, and we motor for 6 hours. Because we are well
prepared, we wait until now, en-route to the Exumas, to try and figure
out the GPS and chart a course! Kris figures out how to enter the
waypoints and sets the GPS while I plot the course on the chart.
Then I head below deck and pass out, exhausted by very little sleep
getting here, too much rum, and short poor sleep at Rose Island all
catch up with me. I sleep 2-3 hours through huge seas as the others
peer into the cabin, amazed I even stay on the berth as the boat
crashes through the big waves. I am knocked out and my body is
determined to get the rest it needs!
We reach Allan's Cay in the middle of the afternoon. Pulling into the
sheltered anchorage, we swiftly run aground on a sandbar only a few
hundred meters from a $6 million yacht and they watch as we spin the
boat around and power off. We anchor (better this time) and row into
Allan's Cay. Much of the way to the shore the sandbars littering the
area reach right to the surface, so I pull the dingy along the sandbars
with the dingy rope in one hand and a Bahamian Kalik ('Click') beer in
the other. The other 2 boys sit back in the dingy and enjoy the sun.
Allan's Cay is famous for Iguanas, and we find them there, 100's of
them, some up to a meter in length. We walk a few trails on the island
and find sand, lizards, a deserted house, and rugged, dry brush.
We paddle to a nearby tiny, rocky cay to snorkel and search for conch
(in Bahamas they are pronounced 'Konk'.) We meet a strong current
around the other side of the island from were we tied up the dingy. I
find myself 50 meters out to sea in fast moving water - moving my
lifejacket-less and tiring body out to sea.
The water is deep and fighting the current is big work. I begin to
fear drowning, in fact I haven't been that scared in a many years? I
force myself not to panic as I struggle against the water. Finally I
make it back to the cay panting and puffing, having come closer to
panicking than I can remember. Closer to thinking I could actually
screw-up and die than I have felt in many years! I worry about the
others, but we all make it back.
We do some more conching and select five that look the right age. All
the conchs I find are too small, but I learn how to recognize the
camouflaged shells. A Barracuda over a meter long appears to
investigate. It hangs around for most of the time we are there (over
an hour) and eventually Kris throws rocks at it (through the air and
back into the water,) it doesn't seem to have much fear, but leaves
after enough rocks fall around it. Later we are to discover local
conch divers don't mess with the animals as they can be a bit
dangerous. The certainly don't chase them around with rocks!
Back at the boat Kris shows us how to crack the conch, get the animals
out of their shinny pink shell and cut them up ready to eat. They are
the most ridiculous looking animals I have ever seen, almost
indescribable. I finish up the cutting the last conchs out of their
smooth, pink houses (we keep 4.) Kris proceeds to make real Bahamian
Conch Salad, a Bahamian tradition and a staple food on the islands.
Peter cooks chicken to complete the meal, after all we are
Saskatchewanians and seafood isn't real meat, right?
We read and lounge around for a few hours and night comes.
Day 3 (June14th - Monday)
A rainstorm wakes us and we quickly close the hatches. The rain quits
later in the morning and we spend most of the day on the boat - fixing,
or so we think.
The front hatch hinge gives away in the morning, now it is either on or
off completely. We evaluate the crumbling cast metal of the hatches.
It is the larger fore-hatch that is the problem. Luckily it still
holds on securely when fastened down.
Kris fixes the fish finder sonar to the hull of the boat, and Peter
wires the CD player to the boat battery system as the D-cells have
given in. Kris and I test the toilet pump again and all looks good
from the results going out into the current, but there is a slight
sewage smell in the boat we can't seem to get rid of.
I attempt to make breakfast. I squirt alcohol fuel into the burner as
I was taught, bring a match to the stove and blow up the galley.
I light my right arm on fire! Immediately I plunge the hand into the
cooler to save the arm. After the smell of burnt hair settles, I
investigate the hand and have a quarter sized 2nd degree burn on my
palm under the thumb and all else is well other than a little singed
arm hair. I keep the hand in a tub of cool water for the next hour and
half to stop the burning. The other 2 crew take apart the stovetop to
figure out the problem. We also now open the instruction manual! We
clean up all the spilled alcohol around the inside of the stove and
learn the correct way to fill and operate a marine alcohol stove. It
proceeded to work perfectly for the remainder of the trip - it just
took an explosion to get us to look into the actual instructions.
Lucky again. At least I could still play Bolero. Then again there was
no piano around for 38 miles. And I can't even play the piano anyway.
We now turn our expert maintenance skills over to the engine. We add
automatic transmission fluid to the transmission as it is low on the
dipstick and therefor surely needs some added. I read the manual as
there is nothing else I can do with one hand in a bowl of ice-water.
We discover that the level WAS correct, and we now have 1 liter too
much fluid in the transmission! We are fortunate enough to find an oil
hand-pump and are able to extract the same amount as we just added. We
are barely able to believe ourselves - just what the transmission
needed out in the middle of nowhere, right? A good transmission fluid
flush at Allan's Cay.
I make one-handed bacon and eggs with a cardboard spatula made out of
fishing lure packaging. I snorkel after this late breakfast to get a
good clean-off. I swim, and lay on an exposed sandbar in the bay that
forms a sand island so small that I lay across it with waves on one
side tapping my head and waves on the other side lapping at my feet
I spy a girl snorkeling nearby and watch her roaming around. I walk
over to the sandbar she is investigating and asked what she is up to.
She says she is looking for sanddollars. Not knowing much about
sanddollars, I ask her to show me, as I hadn't even noticed them while
snorkeling.
She says 'are you religious?' A little surprised, I say, 'well, I'm
Christian.' She says, 'good, I am too!,' and goes on to explain how the
shells are full of Christian symbolism. 5 major holes on the shell
represent the wounds of Christ, on the top there is the Star of David
pattern in the center, and a Christmas Poinsettia flower patter outside
that. Then when you break them open out falls the 5 doves of
something. And sure enough there was 5 little dove shaped bits that
came out.
I say 'cool' and she shows me where along the sandbars to look for them
on the sea bottom. I snorkel off.
I start swimming into sandbars like a boat, grounding myself on my
chest and enjoying the warm shallow water. I end up filling my shorts
with sand this way. Hair full of sand too. I see a meter long stingray
only a few meters away! I swim after it and lose it as it disappears
into a cloud of sand kicked up by the way it swims through the shallow
water. I move away when I see the animal is in a cloud of sand in very
shallow water (1 foot) and surely is getting confused and angry at me
following it. Luckily I need only stand up in water to my shins to see
it easily and watch it swim off.
I find a one a half meter VHF antenna in the sand and drag it around
with me. I revisit the sand-dollar girl as I have only found one sand-
dollar. She sees me coming and takes a big handful of the shells and
gives them to me. I notice she is wearing an aggressively designed
thong swimsuit and long highly-manicured French manicure! Hmmmm? We
chat and as we part I notice the antenna scraping up my hands and leg,
so I ditch it and make my way back to the boat.
I hold my trunks open on the way back to flush out all the sand.
Doesn't work, feels cool. Get back to the boat after the wonderful
snorkel and clean sand out from every nook and cranny (strange phrase
to see written?) or patch of hair, and have a Kalik.
The boys are ready to go and we are off. This time we know how to use
the GPS and have all the way-points entered before we leave.
In an hour or so we are out to sea just off Highbourne Cay. There is
good wind and sea conditions, so we stay out to sea to practice sailing
for a few ours. We do man-overboard drills with a fender. I teach
them the method I was taught and then Kris shows us how to use the
life-line man-overboard device.
In the middle of all this action the foresail rips for no reason other
than use. One seam gives way while tacking for a life-line maneuver.
We start the motor to get positioned in order to reel in the roller-
furling foresail before it rips any more. We quickly proceed to get
the lifeline line wrapped around the prop. This then stalls the motor?
Now we are thoroughly impressed with ourselves and we realize we have
to sort ourselves out and get to the marina as it is now late and we
have to get anchored before we loose our necessary light! Foresail
rolled, Kris is over the side in a flash to get the line off the prop,
I then fire up the motor and head for the lost fender that was serving
as the man-overboard (who, by now, would be thoroughly dead?) and we
head for our anchorage. After all this the life-line is in such a
tangled mess that we let the line dangle behind the boat for 15 minutes
to sort itself out.
We motor in near Highbourne Cay and pick the worst anchorage possible.
We noticed a handful of sloops anchored lee of the island in open
water, but chose to ignore them and follow the little anchor symbol on
our chart. Our anchor had these well-chosen characteristics: strong
current (literally 5-10 knots), strong wind the OPOSITE way (at least
10 knots), far too deep (26 feet, seems like the deepest spot in the
Exumas.) The result is the boat spins and rocks like crazy all night
long! For a minute the current lines us up, pulling against the
anchors so we break the waves bow to stern, then a gust of wind blows
us perpendicular and we roll madly sideways through the waves, taking
the current and waves on the beam, then, when the wind has us fully
stern into the current, it eases and the current has its way with us,
and the cycle repeats all night. Confused, we inspect the anchors and
they are not even tight on the anchor lines. The boat is acting as if
it is in an eddy, spinning on the spot. On top of that, our rode
(anchor line) was likely 2-3 times our anchor depth - less than half
the safe ratio of 6-7 times! Anchor champions we are?
I am getting green and decide it is best not to eat tonight. I seem
alright if I stay laying down. KD and wieners for supper and I can't
even eat Kraft Diner. We go to sleep, but wake several times to look
for the lights of the marina so we know we haven't moved too close or
drifted out to sea. Each time we look, the lights are to be seen out a
different window, a different side of the boat? This confirms the fact
that we are spinning in one spot.
Day 4 (June15th - Tuesday)
Wake up. Shittiest sleep. Wake. Peter lost his trunks. He hung them
on the Bimini and they blew away at night. His blue gitch (to use some
old Canadian slang) are swimming trunks from now on. I jumps in for
the morning dip and salt scrub. No need to brush the teeth, and so far
I have only used soap on my hair and face - the rest has been pure sun
and salt. So far so good. Feeling tired! Today, I decide to use less
sunscreen to get some color on the skin.
We motor into Highborn Cay marina and dock. I finally meet some local
Bahamians - and these Out Island / Family Island people are laid back
and cool. We are happy to be on solid ground for bathroom duties or
bush duties, depending. We also find the beaches here on Highbourne
Cay are great. We remove the roller-furling foresail and learn how the
sail luff works. None of us have ever taken one off, but it turns out
pretty slick and we begin to stitch up the sail. An old guy (in his
70's) in the big 75 foot motor yacht beside us is providing lots of
advice as we decide how the tackle the job. We decide to stitch and
tape it. As I stand there in the sun to stitch, I burn myself
senseless. In the late afternoon people on the dock are starting to
comment on my roasted appearance, and it is starting to hurt too.
There is a phone on the island and Canada Direct comes to the rescue
and we can call home.
On the dock a lanky, heavily sunned, retired-looking man with a big
cigar and a tumbler of rum shows up to chat. We strike up conversation
and soon his lovely wife joins. The beer and conversation moves down
the dock from our boat and eventually onto their boat, which is
indescribably more comfortable. The boat is Aquacadabra, as in Aqua
and Abracadabra and its owners are Jackie and Malcolm Sizer, a couple
from Atlanta in the relax-and-enjoy stage of life? We enjoy beer, and
rum, and cheesy little goldfish snacks, and then nice Cuban cigars. We
try to make enough noise to keep everyone up. Meanwhile, a boatload of
semi-drunk Texans have an almost-strip-show and blast Honky-Tonk tunes
from their rented mega-yacht beside us.
Us salty sailors wander back with more beer than brains and proceed to
BBQ at midnight on the dockside BBQ grills. Great spuds, but Peter
throws out half of them thinking I had prepared far too much. Kris and
I later spend 15 minutes poking around in the rubbish bin but the
package has broken up and unsalvageable. Luckily we still had the
sense to determine they were no longer edible, but now wish we had more
spuds as we remember hunger. We BBQ scanky beef (Peter wasn't too sure
about the quality of Bahamian beef.) We hit the bed, having realized
our batteries are near completely dead. We have one small light and
next to no water pressure as we get to sleep.
Day 5 (June16th - Wednesday)
We wake hot, sweaty, and a little worn from the drinks last night.
Surprise. The night was calm in the marina - nice contrast to last
night, but NOT the best sleep ever was had. Scanky drunk-boy burps,
scanky beef bottom-wind, sewage smell from the head, rotten rubbish and
3 men sweating. Just take a deep breath and smell along with me here.
We figure people walking by on the dock could smell us in the breeze
wafting by.
As now usual, I wake and am off the boat, heading for the morning swim
and bush visit. Wash hair and pits to ward off the growing manly
smell, and wander around on the deserted beach. I am back an hour
later and boys are still asleep, having had a greater fill of boat
drinks on the Aquacadabra. They stir a bit and go looking for the
little white candies (Tylenol). My Anejo lesson on day one kept me in
check last night - the pain in my head doesn't forget as easily
anymore.
We mess around all afternoon, putting up the repaired jib. We learn
how to do that correctly from the old guy next door who stops us to
show us the right way.
We then learn that dead batteries on a boat are a real pain in the ass.
Kevin the dock boy (not the 'black guy' as Kris corrects me) helps us
with his battery from his little Boston Whaler speedboat. It was only
16 ft long with a huge 75 horse power outboard that would push the
whole boat out of the water as he horsed around in waves outside the
marina!
We get the dock manager to charge one of the batteries up at the main
garage with a boost-charger. It comes back hours later with less
charge. Hmmm? We try to boost the boat with Kevin's boat again and
nothing works, so after hours of carrying on, we use Malcolm's small
110v/10amp charger to charge our batteries and eventually get the
diesel started.
We check out of the marina, prepare to leave, and I bring the boat out
of our slip and motor to the fuel dock and fuel up the jerry cans. At
the fuel dock we discover the alternator isn't charging! In disgust we
go back to our old slip and check in again. We hook Malcolm's charger
up again - and stay the night. At least I got to practice my docking
maneuvers.
I hide from the sun and read and snorkel at the beach and Kris and
Peter are off to do some spear fishing. Hours later I return to the
boat to see it drifting out into the marina as our stern line has come
loose and only the bow line holds us there! Embarrassed, I pull the
boat back into our slip and retie the lines. I learn that tying your
vessel securely is actually quite important! To be fair, there were no
cleats and us beginners were a little creative with tying to posts
only.
We eat, drink, and visit with Jackie and Malcolm as the afternoon
disappears.
Day 6 (June17th - Thursday)
Another hot and stuffy morning on the boat, as usual as soon as I wake
I get out of the boat and head for the sea. After a swim and a scrub
and a stroll on the deserted beach, it is time to get ready to try
leaving the marina again.
Later that morning we start up the boat and speed out of the marina? we
honk the air horn to Malcolm and Jackie as we tear off with me at the
helm. They honk good-bye back at us, this time we are determined to
get a move-on. Just outside the marina we are rocking through a
serious current (8 knots?) with big waves, as we are heading for the
rougher path to Norman's Cay. Sailing down the eastern side is meant
to be quicker, but it is exposed to the larger wind and waves of the
Exuma Sound. This way, we heard, has a better chance of letting us
catch some fish (deeper water)?
200 meters out of the marina, I smell electrical smoke and yell it out!
Unbelievable, really? I put the boat in a rocky circular holding
pattern, bouncing around in the waves just outside the marina as the
other boys hunt for the source of the smoke. We air out the battery
hold in the cockpit, Kris readies the fire extinguisher and we decide
we have to get out of here, but at least we could take the easier and
safer route to the West. Less chance of catching fish, but calmer
seas, and easier to rescue if Basra (the Bahamas sea rescue
organization) has to save us. Besides, from the West side we could
have a clear sail all the way to Nassau on the prevailing wind without
power if we had a serious malfunction, an important point as we were
later to discover!
Finally getting another good sail in, we arrive at Norman's Cay.
Dodging sandbars and other anchored sailboats, we pick a good anchorage
and check it with our snorkels. Deep, sheltered, no massive currents,
and most importantly, we are following the example of other boats
anchored near us!
We are within rowing distance of an airplane that has crashed in the
shallow bay many years ago. It must have been a good emergency crash-
landing as the plane was intact (wings, body, tail, etc.) I had seen
pictures of the plane in a guide book I read a few weeks earlier. It
was a relic of the island's serious drug smuggling days when the whole
of Norman's Cay was run by drug lords. We snorkel around the plane and
Kris sits in the pilot seat for a photo, the water level at his
shoulders. Standing on the wings brings the water up to your shins and
the sea bottom is only waist deep at some points around the craft. It
seemed to have deteriorated since the photo I had seen in a guide book
and sea life had made itself at home under the wreckage. The
propellers and motors are all there and metal plane parts still litter
the sea floor near the fuselage. I take a quick look for drugs to pawn
in Nassau, but unfortunately they were all gone. I wonder if there
were some very excited Barracudas and Parrot-Fish the day of the crash.
Running into a Barracuda on cocaine sounds a bit dangerous?
Back to the boat and off to McDuff's, the only pub in 40 miles! We row
to the island and walk about a 1km passing abandoned buildings and we
discussed how drug smugglers drowning in cash had lived it up here at
this resort on the beach. One big nasty party on the beach with
Bahamian rum, and Cuban cigars and women flown in from nearby Havana.
Sounds dangerous (especially the Cuban women?)
We reach the famous McDuff's Pub and it is tiny! The size of a living
room in an average apartment, and perfectly decorated for the
Caribbean. Happy hour is Thursday's 5-10 and we arrive Thursday at
5:15pm - the right time of the day and the only happy hour of the week!
What luck. Had the best burger for 40 miles. A cheeseburger in
Paradise as Jimmy Buffet would have called it. I felt just like Jimmy,
eating my burger and holding onto my Kalik. Ok, I have to work on the
womanizing-drunk part of the persona, but jimmy was even playing on the
CD player while we ate. We finished it off with Key Lime Pie -
apparently famous in the Caribbean. Very good of course. The night
progressed through $100 in Kalik as we chatted with the locals, and
relatives of the recently ousted drug smugglers, as well as a German
couple visiting the bartender, who was a German who has lived in the
Bahamas for over 10 years and now owns a house here on Norman's.
It is time to go when the Germans want to go home for the night, so one
fellow drives us to the other side of the island in a big pink jeep
with no doors. We pull our dingy out of the bushes to row home to the
boat. We could faintly make out a mast light and row for it. When we
get to the boat, we realize it isn't the right boat! We paddle off to
the north looking for our lonely and battery deficient boat. Though it
was all a bit hazy, we then made it into the boat and went to sleep,
thankful for a good anchor job.
Day 7 (June18th - Friday)
Wake up hungover again. Straight out of the boat and stick my head in
the sea. After the morning swim, we are ready to start a big sail home
to Nassau. After a successful fight with the bottom the ocean one more
time to get out of the Cay without getting hung up on our keel, we have
the sails up. We have the GPS plotted-out and in hand. We are sailing
again, North West to Nassau! Great to be sailing again.
A long day at sea - over 12 hours across from Norman's Cay all the way
to Nassau. We start out with some good wind, a broad starboard reach
almost all the way, so we secure the mainsail boom out to port for a
long downwind sail. The autopilot is set to match the GPS instructions
and we settle in for eating, reading, and napping.
Hours at sea with no land in sight is intriguing 3 prairie boys. In
fact the whole journey is shallow enough to see the bottom and we
stopped at an area called Yellow Bank where the water is only 6 meters
(under 20ft) deep. It was hot and time for a swim. I dove down to the
bottom and touched the ground. It felt odd to be in the middle of a
sea big enough to not see land, but yet be able to see and touch land,
but under water! It almost felt that if you were lost at see and about
to drown you would look at the land below and say "damn - the ground is
only 15 feet away and I am drowning!," ?almost like you could dive down
and pile up rocks until you could stand on them to reach the air. Then
again there was only sand and the occasional chunk of coral or weed. I
guess the 3 of us could take turn standing on each others heads to
breath?
Marveling at the shallow sea over, we are off again. Early in the
afternoon we start up the motor as the wind dies down, after all we
want to be getting to Nassau with lots of light to spare - we plan for
around 5pm. We have to clean the boat tonight too, someone else needs
the boat tomorrow.
After an hour and a half motor, Kris and I are sitting in the cockpit
reading. I am trying to hide my burnt flesh from the sun as we relax.
Suddenly the hum of the motor and propeller changes, then changes
again. Kris and I look at each other in the space of about 5 seconds,
then hear a small clunk. I leap for the throttle and pull the
transmission lever into neutral, but the boat had already started
coasting before I got to the lever? A quick check on the controls
confirms the engine is fine, but there is no propeller turning under
us!
We are dumbfounded, but quickly realized props and other parts do fall
off and can be retrieved. We shut the motor down, I mark the location
in the GPS and call the waypoint "PROP" as Kris gets on his mask and
jumps in to take a look. He finds and fixes a loose part of the shaft
(the zinc) but a check of what turns and what doesn't inside and out of
the boat confirms the prop shaft is broken. The prop is still there,
but won't be turned by the engine! Two hours motor from Nassau harbour
and we bust the propeller drive shaft! There is a sense of disbelief
that almost borders on ridiculous. Lucky it hadn't happened miles
away, yesterday. Yeah, lucky. Something like that.
After the shock and tinkering and testing is over we hoist all the sail
we can, set the sails wing-on-wing to catch all of the weak wind we can
get our sails on, and head for home without the motor. We arrive with
visible lighting close to the east and west of us. Drunken booze-
cruise party boats and speedboats without lights come close to us near
the harbour, not expecting us to have the limited steerage of our slow
speed and no motor when we are within the harbour. It was nerve
wracking but we came in and docked under sail in the middle of the
night. Kris's friend Dan, a long time sailor reached us by VHF an hour
before we arrived and helped guide us in from via radio. We came in at
the fuel dock a few slips from Kris's regular slip. Kris piloted us in
like an expert, doing a very rare sailing docking maneuver. What a
relief to be back in Nassau, even if 4 hours late at 9pm!
Winding down, we have a drink with Dan-the-sailor-man in his boat. He
and his wife and dog live across the dock from Kris's boat slip. More
Black and Mild (I think they are called that) cigars. They are real
good, and kind of girlie with the little mouth piece and thin body.
That sounds like a description of my last girlfriend, now that I think
of it.
Day 8 (June19th - Saturday)
Boat fixing day - time to fight with the boat to see if we can get the
propeller off. Kris and Peter work under the boat in the sewage
enhanced waters of the marina?
Dan gives me a tour of his boat and meet his lovely little wife and
dog. The wife and I discuss the logistics of Dog poop on a boat - not
an easy situation I realize, dogs don't like to poop on plastic and
they get constipated if made to wait for land. Training them to do it
in the same spot all the time so you can find it in order to clean it
off the boat is the key. I won't forget that soon.
Then we are off the mega-hotel Atlantis to try out a little gambling
and soon got bored with that.. Burgers at Crocodile's Beach Bar are
next and then to Kris's favorite bar, Hammerheads.
Jackie & Malcolm are at Hammerheads when we walk in! They are already
well into the sauce and just happened to be there by chance. They
drove by and said "Hey that's Kris's favorite bar that he mentioned."
They had been there several hours by the time we arrived and the beer
and everything else started to flow, Bahamas style.
The party moved to Kris's house and two young girls visiting next door
from Illinois or some small state in the middle of the US joined us.
Jack and I prepared wonderful roast potato packs for the BBQ and Kris
cooked the chicken. I had started the little briquette BBQ and have to
admit the results were average - workable but average. Briquettes just
don't do the job like propane!
Then off to a new dance pub called The Last Quarter (the neighbor drove
us - he came along too) where we dance, OK the girls and I dance as we
weren't as totally inebriated as the others? There was even a cool
local Bahamian band.
Day 9 (June20th - Sunday)
Up and over to pick up Jack and Malcolm. We were quickly becoming
their worst fear as we show up to drink them into the dirt again and
again! We are off to Travelers Rest for some real Bahamas seafood grub
and endless Banana Daiquiris? Needless to say I drove, having the
'least' of the bunch, still too many I'm sure. And carefully watching
Malcolm behind us navigate to the next pub - Johnny Canoe's. Kaliks
and cigars all around. The place soon filled with shinny-red little
United Statesian kids all about 19 years old, drinking and smoking
indoors, like they were just doing it because here they could unlike
back home?
Later we get to Junkanoo in June down at Arawak Cay. We wander around
and enjoy the Bahamian street party. Junkanoo is a Christmas festival,
but they do it again in June for the tourists and because they can't
wait a whole year, I guess. Just like Christmas in July in Australia?
OK, maybe slightly different idea, but we were surprised that almost
everyone seemed to be local Bahamians. The Street party was on a short
street lined with food stalls and makeshift pubs.
We said goodbye to Malcolm and Jack that night, Malcolm wasn't too
interested in the crowds and Jackie was getting a bit tired of it all
and she lost her Malcolm and worried about where he was. Her and I
started scouring the place for Malcolm - she lead the determined march
through the crowds and I followed. I spot Malcolm a few paces back out
of the corner of my eye and noticed his index finger up to his lips as
he quietly approaches. Jack was still on a march in front of me and
Malcolm and I make a quick switch of places. Malcolm, now in my place
following Jackie, quickly begins walking far too close up against her!
He then proceeds to step on her heels 4 or 5 times. Focused on finding
her man, Jackie presses on ignoring the irritation as they walked,
until she has enough and swings around to find Malcolm and not me
practically walking over her!
We all had a good laugh as I caught up. Soon after we said our good-
byes and they were off, no doubt relieved that they didn't have to keep
up with us on the drinks anymore!
Day 10 (June21th - Monday)
Once again American Airlines shows its style and puts me on standby for
my own flight that I have a valid ticket on. When I mention this the
counter girl responds, "Yes the time is as you say, but the date is
yesterday, the wrong day." After her coworker assures her it is indeed
the 21st, she allows me on the flight I have had booked for over 2
months. Missing that flight would have insured another full day of
missed connections like the way down on Day 1! Peter is in the same
situation, and he makes it onto the plane as well.
Peter and I make it to Miami in time for our flight to Toronto and part
there, back to Vancouver for me and Saskatchewan for Peter. Only Kris
is left out on the sunny, warm islands! What an introduction to
cruising in the Caribbean! We heard along the way that
sailing/cruising was really just boat maintenance in exotic locations.
We didn't disprove that, that's for sure!
Big Pete's Version of the Exuma Trip
The Current and the Barracuda
Upon arriving at Allan's Cay we decided that a fresh conch salad
would be the order of the day for our evening meal. The motorless dingy was loaded with
snorkelling gear and we set off with Kristofor at the rudder for a particular reef located
about one kilometer from where "The Lost Shaker" lay at anchor. We noticed a
fairly strong current as we neared the reef but did not pay it much attention.
After donning the equipment Earl and Kris headed in one direction
around the reef and I the other. Within a few minutes I had found 4 quite large conch and
returned them to the dingy. I ventured further around the reef for a tour of the beautiful
seascape. On my return I was overcome with a overwhelming sense of not being alone. I
turned around to encounter a stainless steel set of eyes glaring at me from a distance of
about 15 feet. Have you ever seen a 200 lb guy with flippers on walking across water? The
barracuda, by my estimates, was 6 feet long and 40 lbs plus, of which 30 lbs appeared to
be teeth.
Kristofor and Earl had set off around the opposite end of the reef
to find themselves drawn into a very heavy current sucking them in the wrong direction. It
was all they could do to manage to make it back to the safe confines of the sheltered
reef. By this time they had returned to the dingy and we rowed our way back to the
"Lost Shaker"
Kris proceeded to teach Earl the fine art of conch butchering, I
mixed the rum, and we all participated in "jelly tube hors d'ouvres", which the
Bahamians claim to be good for the piston.
Kris' Version of the Exuma Trip
Dusk was minutes away and we were
approaching the entrance to Highbourne Cay in the Exuma chain of the islands of the
Bahamas. So far, the week had been one “learning
experience” after the other but today had gone quite smoothly for a change.
We had switched to motor power to
navigate our way thorough the channel. According
to the map, high tide allowed enough water to comfortably motor straight through the
channel but since we had forgotten to bring along any tide charts, when that particular
event was to occur was a mystery to us. The
small bump on the bottom of the boat confirmed that high tide had happened some time ago
and we were about to get grounded (again).
“Hard reverse!” screamed
first mate Pete. I eased up on the throttle,
pushed it into reverse, then gave her full gas. As
the Lost Shaker had developed this peculiar twist in the propeller shaft, she didn’t
reverse with much efficiency. Actually, full
reverse on the throttle started the Shaker doing reverse 360’s, round and round,
pivoting on the keel!
“It’s not working!” I
hollered, “You guys get on the bow so we shift the weight around!” So mates Pete and Early leaped to the front of the
boat and started frantically jumping up and down in unison.
Strangely enough, it actually worked! The
Shaker got herself off the bottom and made progress backwards. Once clear of the peril, I swung her around and
put it back in to forward gear, safely navigating back to the somewhat deeper channel.
Once through the channel, the crew
eyed up the possible mooring spots. Highbourne
Cay marina was to our left but due to the Captain’s belief that paying for docking
space would be a waste of money and, hell, we could just as easily find a nice spot to
anchor outside the marina, we progressed past the marina to the small bay which was
directly ahead. Now on the chart, this
particular bay had a little anchor printed on it, which signified that it was a good
anchor spot. We were to soon learn that it is
not always a good idea to trust the charts.
We reached the spot and Mate Early
threw the big anchor overboard. After about
25 feet of chain had spooled out it finally hit bottom.
We proceeded to do our anchoring drill, as Almighty Captain Dan had taught,
and successfully got the second anchor out at 180 degrees to the first one. I then donned the snorkel and fins and swam down
to ensure the anchors were set properly, which they were.
What I also noticed was the incredible current, which was flowing through
the channel making it quite hard to swim.
We then settled into the belly of the
Shaker for some stiff rum and cokes and a little grub, after a long day of sailing. What was impossible to ignore was the slow but
steadily increasing rocking back and forth of the boat.
At first, it just resulted in a little spilt rum during sips, but soon the
boat was violently swaying from one side to the other.
Matey Pete was bravely attempting to cook conch and stew for the crew but
was having serious trouble keeping the food in the pan.
What we realized that was that a strong wind had blown up directly opposite
to the current which was resulting in the current pushing the keep to port and the wind
pushing the mast to starboard; hence the rocking. By
this time it was dark and we didn’t want to risk trying to re-anchor somewhere else,
as the anchors appeared to be holding well, we decided we would just have to ride it out.
So on she went, rocking back and
forth as we bravely try to pour rum down our throats instead of on the floor. The rocking soon overcame Mate Early and he
decided to get horizontal on the bunk before he relinquished the little food he was able
to get down during dinner. Mate Pete and I
had a couple more drinks then decided to try and get to sleep. As there was a good wind blowing, Mate Pete
decided it was a good time to hang his shorts outside for drying as we had been wearing
mostly soggy clothes for several days now.
We hit the beds and the boat
continued to rock. And roll. And rock. And
soon, with the changing tide, she began to go into ridiculous reverse 360’s again. It was then we realised this boat was out to get
us.
I awoke every 15 minutes, expecting
to find that the anchors had broken loose and we were about to be impaled on the nearby
coral reef. Every time I looked out the
window, it was a different view, as the boat continued to circle. I got up several times and went on deck to make
sure the anchors were holding, which they did.
After a fitful night’s sleep,
dawn finally arrived, bringing with it reduced wind, reduced current, and finally a steady
Shaker, but with horribly twisted anchor lines which were later to take half an hour to
untangle.
But the final insult was yet to come. Not only had the wicked wind thieved our good
night’s sleep, but it had also swept up Matey Pete’s shorts and heaved them
overboard! And due to the strong current, the
shorts were surely well on their way to Cuba. So
Mately Pete said a silent prayer for the Lost Shorts and donned his blue ratty underwear,
which were to serve as bathing attire for the rest of the trip!
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