Arrival in Bahamas! And a Slight Grounding.

No Name Harbor to Bimini, Bahamas – 50 nautical miles sailed, 4 kilometres walked, 2 miles by dinghy

It was a rough ride. The strong clocking winds, circling from north, to east, to south-east, made a mess of the waves and with our heading of 130 degrees we glided through some, but crashed into others as we launched off one wave and into the next close behind it. As usual, the boat felt like it was going to come apart but, as usual, it did not.

Anna disappeared into her cabin shortly after we left and remained there for the duration of the journey, which was good, as there was nothing to be gained by staying awake. Stella, Ana, and I sat in the darkness of the cockpit, watching for boats, adjusting our heading, monitoring the wind reports. I had a nap in the cockpit around 1am and until that point we hadn’t seen a single boat. 45 minutes later the girls woke me up and we were surrounded; the lights of six boat appeared in various directions. There was a massive cruise ship, one big freighter, and the others we could not make out, but they all looked to be large vessels. Comforting to know we were not the only ones out here. We did not adjust our heading and the other boats passed in front of us, behind us, or parallel at a faster speed. Stella went to sleep shortly after this.

The wind finally clocked far enough south for us to sail, but by that time the waves were coming broadside and the boat was rolling side to side, crashing sometimes, and we were only a couple of hours away from our destination so I continued motoring. Ana was still feeling terrible and having a fitful sleep in the cockpit so she wasn’t in great shape to spot for me anyway if I went out on deck to set sail. This combination of wind and waves drew new sounds from the boat, ones I hadn’t heard before: a horrifying sound of giant Velcro being continually ripped apart came from somewhere at the stern, the cabin floor groaned as the fibreglass hull twisted, flexed, and bent, anguished cries from the rigging.

The lights of Bimini appeared as dawn approached. We had sufficient light to navigate the skinny channel, and I was relieved to see green and red markers in place. Stella had woken up and returned to the cockpit for sunrise.

“Stella,” I said confidently as we approached the first marker. “Bahamas is the land of shallow water, so you have to be really caref…..” The boat came to a halt as I plowed it into the sand. I had veered just slightly too far to the right and caught a spot that promised 6.1' of depth on the chart but was clearly less than that as our 6' keel became lodged into the ground.

“Shit!” I yelled, then gave it full power to try and push through, but the boat just turned and rolled but did not let loose. I kept trying, hoping one of the larger swells would lift us enough to clear it, but we remained stuck. Ana checked the tide tables – we had arrived just minutes after low tide (mental note…check the tides when approaching shallow spots). Several boats passed us on their way out of the harbour, but none stopped to help, which is fine as maritime law gets a little tricky here. A fellow boat can offer assistance, but if you ask them for help, they potentially have salvage rights to your vessel. It’s a complex legal issue. Better to find another way, and with the rising tide, we wouldn’t have to wait long before the ocean itself rescued us.

I put Stella at the helm and swung out the boom then hung off the end of it, to heel the boat over far enough for it to let loose, but it wasn’t sufficient, even with Ana and Stella (and Anna down below, sleeping) and our full water jugs, all leaning to the port side of the boat. I launched the dinghy amidst the crashing surf, nearly falling into the ocean as struggled to get into it. Ana loosened the main halyard then passed it to me in the dinghy. The plan was to use the dinghy to haul over the mast and heel the boat to lift the keel out of the sand. Just as I was starting to pull, either a large swell or perhaps a passing boat’s wake lifted SeaLight and she popped off.

Welcome to Bahamas!

Ana piloted SeaLight up the channel into the main harbour as I trailed behind in the dinghy, waiting for calmer water to reattach. We soon reached the main public dock and got ourselves anchored then I took all the required documentation and dinghy’d in to clear customs and immigration. The rule for arriving in a new country by boat is you need to fly a yellow quarantine flag, identify yourself as a vessel coming from abroad, then only the captain is allowed to go ashore; the rest of the crew must remain on the vessel.

I found the Customs office at the Big Game Marina and the nice chap there found the submission I had made through Click2Clear, printed out our three-month cruising permit and fishing permit, stamped it, and I was done in minutes. He pointed me to the nearby Immigration office and again, the nice staff there gave me the immigration cards to complete, stamped our passports, and it was done. This level of efficiency is not what I remember from the Bahamas of 25 years ago, so it seems progress has been made.

I returned to the boat, proudly showed the crew our cruising permit, then we motored north into a small anchorage that Ben and Kate had recommended. There were already several boats there but we found a suitable space and dropped anchor. Whew.

With that, we napped, exhausted after our passage.

In the afternoon the girls and I took the dinghy into shore while Ana rested, still feeling terrible from her cold. The first marina we went to wanted $20/hour to dock, so we continued on and found Fisherman’s Village, where they let us tie up for free. This looked to be part of the nearby Hilton Hotel complex, and there were a number of small boutique shops and a bar. The girls went to the boutique shops, I went to the bar and ordered my first Kalik beer, the first in many years. The cost? $11.70. But that included tax and service, the bartender told me. It didn’t matter.

The beer was delicious, just like I remember it. Ana and I met in Bahamas 24 years ago, on a glorious sea of Kalik, so this beer holds a special place in my heart.

The populated part of North Bimini is a long peninsula with two roads. The girls and I started walking south and everything I saw reminded me of my time exploring the Family Islands when I lived in the Bahamas so many years ago – Eleuthra, Exumas, Cat Island, Long Island. The place was different, but the scenes were familiar. A potcake dog sleeping in a vacant lot, sea-themed murals created on concrete block walls, the houses and shops painted Caribbean reds, yellows, greens, and blues, piles of discarded and empty conch shells, with machete holes chopped between the fourth and fifth spiralling rings, signifying the death and consumption of the previous tenant snail, litter scattered at the roadside, beat-up vehicles, some left-hand and some right-hand drive, passing us on the skinny road, waving hello or honking at the girls in their short shorts, a car without wheels up on block in somebody’s front yard, Stuart’s conch shack proclaiming “The Best!” serving up conch salad, small restaurants with their weather-beaten menu boards and identical menu items – Johnny cake, cracked conch, conch fritters, fried fish, grouper fingers, grilled fish and lobster combo, peas and rice, a seaside bar with shabby walls and a rusted tin roof serving “Cold Sands Beer – 2 for $5”, a primary school with two boys in uniform marching back and forth, kept after school for misbehavior, King Brown’s Grocery with scant inventory on the shelves signifying a week since the last mail boat brought supplies, sand for sidewalks, palm trees and pines providing shade, groups of Bahamian men drinking beer and talking loud in an indecipherable patois, tourists in golf carts, locals in golf carts, busted-up golf carts in empty lots. And glistening white teeth shining forth from smiling black faces.

I am so happy to be here.