LAUNDRY DAY

Day 21

I'm in Bimini and it's nice. The people are friendly. Everyone I pass makes a point to make eye contact and say "Good Morning" …. even when I'm at my laptop, sitting in the breezeway of the marina, I'll hear a voice from across the way say "Hello!"  It's just a passerby…making sure she didn't pass me by without a warm greeting. I'm in Bimini and it's nice.  

The weather is nice too. The U.S. fishermen have left the docks early to catch whatever it is they've spent a fortune on trying to catch. My boat is airing out from yesterday's rinse…and I'm off to do laundry. Luckily, there's "drop off" service and I'll gladly pay the $15 for 2 small loads because I don't have coins or soap…and if I do it myself I'll have to wait in line for a machine to open….and this being Saturday, (apparently laundry day for the entire island) that could take awhile. 

There's weather coming in…a fricken' cold front dropping down and bringing high winds. The weather services have seen this coming for awhile now, so there's no debate among the forecasters. I don't mind a weather system blowing through…it happens. But this one's a bummer because it's not gonna skip on down the way. No, this one's gonna take 5 - 7 days to clear out of here. I do like Bimini, but I can't hang here for a solid week waiting on favorable winds. I'm going to prep the boat for departure. When my laundry's done I'll check the forecast again and if it's decent I'll shove off and head for Chub Cay… I have 3 reasons for this: (1) I need a change of venue (2) It'll put me 75+ miles further south for when the weather does clear (3) It's go now or wait a week.

THE SEA CALLED ME

It's damn gorgeous this afternoon. I wish I'd shoved off earlier to take advantage of the sun, calm seas and civil breeze….but alas my chicken wrap "to go" took a solid hour to prepare. Shit you not… an hour…at 3 in the afternoon when the place is deserted….my one sandwich took an hour.  For you mathemagicians that makes it 4 pm now and I'm headed to Chub Cay. Of course the wind is coming from the direction (ESE) that I want to go, but it's okay….I'll make what I can tonight and anchor on the "bank"…get up early and continue on tomorrow.  

That last  sentiment didn't last very long as plowing into the chop is proving to be a slow grind. Additionally, I've got a long way (75+ miles) to go and I don't want to motor the entire way…It's a sailboat, after all.  Capt. Bruce texts me and I tell him my dilemma. He pulls out his old chart book and says…"Head for Coco Cay instead of Chub." I modify this a tad and head for Great Harbor Cay…it's just enough off the wind to fill my head sail, and while I can't kill the engine, I am making much better time motor-sailing. 

It's a nice night…2/3 moon, clear skies and steady breeze. After awhile the wind turns just a tad and I can shut the engine down, set the mainsail and clip along nicely…really nicely. It's so nice I can think of no reason to stop and anchor for the night…We'll just continue along like this and make harbor by 9 a.m.  The lights of Bimini have faded now and I can see nothing for miles in any direction….No channel markers (there are none)…no boat traffic…nuttin' but clear sailing into the night. I double check the chart plotter out to 20 miles to make sure there are no coral heads or shallows to reconcile…and then Steve and I go down below and get in bed. I set my alarm for 30 minutes, but I don't doze…I just lie back and think to myself: "This is nice."

After a couple of hours of sailing bliss, the winds stiffen a bit and the chop becomes more defined. Around 10pm the shit starts to hit the proverbial fan. When I started out we had 10-15kt winds…it's now blowing a steady 17 with gusts to 20. Okay…I'll ease the sails to take some bite out of the gusts. Okay, I'll ease them some more….rolling in 1/3rd of the head sail for good measure. It's getting worse. By midnight the moonlit sky has turned to ink. The seas have gone from 2- 4 feet  to 4-4 feet. These aren't  swells…swells I can take. These are cresting waves in no particular rhythm. We're being lurched around because the wind and waves are now hitting us broadside and quarter-aft. I consider taking down the mainsail, but I'm not thrilled with the idea of going up on top of the cabin in rolling conditions. The autopilot is struggling to maintain a heading. I lie down on the cockpit bench and hold Steve. I'm awakened in mid-flight as Steve and I are literally tossed onto the console table. We're hurt, but not injured. It's gusting to 25 now and thinking it could get worse, I decide to lower the mainsail. To get it lowered I need to start the engine and point the boat into the wind…this means I have to trust the autopilot to hold a course into the gusts and the waves, something it can do, just not something it likes to do. I plan my attack, put on my headlamp and make my way onto the deck. It goes much better than planned, but now I need to lash the sail to the boom so that it doesn't get blown out. This part is dangerous, as there's nothing to hold on to but a swinging boom. Done. Now we're motor-sailing in crazy-ass seas and 25kts wind. This doesn't solve the pitch and roll problem…we're still getting broadsided and the worst part is the darkness. I can't tell when a big roller is coming because I can't see 3' over the rail. I cannot stand up without using two hands to hold on. I need to piss (usually a two hand proposition in and of itself!) and I can't even stand up. I relieve myself in the cockpit. It's not raining, but it feels like it because we're getting drenched by the sea….so there's my flush. It's 1 a.m. and I have a single overriding thought: "I'm in trouble." 

I'm in trouble because there is no one out here but me...No one for 35 miles in any direction. I'm in trouble because we're in water too deep to anchor. I'm in trouble because my dinghy is up on deck (where "they" said it should be) and I couldn't get around it to release the anchor if I wanted to. I'm in trouble because the autopilot is cutting out due to stress-load. But mostly, I'm in trouble because it's jet black dark and I can't anticipate the wave induced lurches. This means my body is in a constant state of alert…never relaxing for a second for fear of losing grip. That's a tough state of being to maintain for hours on end. I decide to head for shallow water…20 ft …preferably 15. There's only so much wave height you can build out of 15ft of water, and an anchor should hold there, even in these conditions. It's not that I'm up against deadly wave heights, but the combination of gusts and erratic seas and darkness amounts to: harm's way. According to the plotter, shallow water is off my starboard, almost directly into the wind. I roll in the last of the headsail and motor into the waves. Now instead of a broadside lurch, we have a stem to stern hobby-horse affect….add to this, it's really slow going. When the larger sets come in we get kicked back to 2 knots of boat speed. The little boat symbol on my chart plotter doesn't seem that far from shallow water…maybe 6 miles, but at this speed that'll take me 2 hours. The longer we plod in this direction the more I question this decision. Shallow water or not, it's gonna be a bitch getting that anchor down, and once it's down we're still going to get the shit kicked out of us by the constant battering of the waves. Yes, the sea calls me…and tonight she called to say two words: "Bend over." 

After an hour, I turn back on course for Great Harbor. This is just too slow-going…at least if I get back on the wind I'll be making some progress….and if I'm not able to anchor, I might as well get there as quickly as possible. So there's another hour I've wasted. The track pattern on my chart plotter shows my course since departing Bimini….after repeated autopilot failures and my decision to head for the shallows, my track looks like a child's rendering of a lightening bolt. However, my going south for a couple of miles put me in position to have the waves on my rear quarter. This means continued lurching, but with a tad of surfing thrown in. It's okay…anything that adds speed is okay…let's just get there. My body is fried and my mind is not far behind. Steve is cowering on the cockpit floor…where I've yelled at him to "Stay" for the last few hours. At 5 a.m. I'm cursing the sun…just give me some light so I can see what it is I'm working with here. My plotter says my port arrival will be 10:58 a.m. and I can't believe I have 6 more hours of this. Then it occurs to me that I'd have closer to 5 hours left were it not for that fucking one-hour chicken wrap! I  have to take over for the autopilot…after 45 minute or so, it just gives up…it's been working hard all night and it's weary. Again, that would be okay if I could see where I was going…it would also be okay if I were in a seat with a seatbelt. As is, I have to hold onto the wheel…and when we're hit by rollers, I roll with them…turning the wheel the wrong way. It's a bitch and I'm fried..and the clock ain't moving. This isn't fun….I wanna go home now. 

The sun finally rises and the winds have backed off to 19. Doesn't sound like much but I assure you that there's a helluva difference between 19 and 25 knots of wind.  And now that I can see the waves, I'll gladly give the autopilot a rest because I can compensate in advance of the rollers. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see a wave coming and know how it's going to pitch the boat vs. sitting there in the dark getting pitched. Finally, some stress relief….finally. With the light of dawn I can see how the boat is handling the conditions, and it's pretty impressive. Yes, we were jerked around throughout the night, but we always landed with a thud…not a thump. The boat never shuddered, and her keel tracked beautifully. For all of her "pig-like" qualities and her damned inability to fight a current (or make a bridge schedule), she sure shows her mettle at sea. 

We pull into Great Harbor at 11 a.m. ….It took 19 hours to traverse roughly (pun) 80 miles. Check-in is friendly but typically Bahamian S - L - O - W.  Thank you, kind sir, for the verbal tour of the marina and the map of the island and the store hours and whatever else it is you're so hell-bent on telling me about, but look at me! I'm cross-eyed…and I feel like someone poured salt all over me and stuffed me in the trunk of the winning car at the Demolition Derby. Please…I beg of you…just give me the fucking WIFI password and leave me alone. I'll be nicer tomorrow. 

It's Sunday (Day 22) --- We sleep 'til 4pm.  I take a shower, eat a cracker or two and go back down around 7... and sleep through the night. 

WE'RE ALL IN THE SAME BOAT

Day 23

At the docks I've met about a dozen people who, like me, are stuck here waiting out the weather. We have something else in common…our stories about our respective hellish crossings. I passed a lobster boat as I was coming into port yesterday and I wondered what he was doing out in that crappy weather. He's my boat slip neighbor and now I know what he was doing out there…he was struggling. A line was tossed off his bow and got tangled in his prop. The two of them (brothers) had to dive on the bobbing boat (in the dark!) to unwrap the snarled prop. The damage was done…their transmission was damaged in the process and they limped into harbor a couple of hours after Steve and I. Another couple, sailing on a 38' version of my boat, anchored out in the night….and they said it was horrible. Others came across today and said the gulf stream was smoother. 

Everyone is nice and helpful. My boat got hung up on a piling when the tide dropped this morning and two guys came running to help. A couple stopped by to say they were riding their bikes into town and asked if I needed anything. A nice woman "yoo-hooo'd" into my boat…as I surfaced she said: "So sorry you're stuck here, but since we're all here I thought we'd have a Thanksgiving pot-luck under the gazebo on Thursday." 

It's that kind of thing. I don't want to be here….I'm short on time, as is…but everyone is stuck. Some say it'll be Monday before this weather passes. That seems like an awfully long time to wait. After this week I'll never see these people again, but for now…we're a microcosm of human decency, kindness and community. 

NOT SMARTER THAN A 5TH GRADER

Day 24

The winds are starting to rev up and the forecast has changed for the worse. They're now calling for gusts to 40 on Wednesday and Thursday (That TD pot-luck should be interesting)…and things don't look to die down 'til Monday. Ugh. I guess the good news is that it's not cold and they're not calling for much rain….just wind. 

Needless to say, I didn't really think this thing out very well. Getting down here a week later than planned didn't help, but I should've accounted for that possibility. Having Steve along has been great, but he slows me down too in that he dictates where I can go at sea and on shore. I didn't think I would be able to see and do everything I wanted to in the short amount of time I have before Christmas, but I figured I'd just fly home for the holidays and return early next year to fetch the boat. What I didn't consider was flying with a pet. A lot of airlines don't allow it…and the one's that do have a bunch of restrictions. I've found a great flight out of Nassau for only $200…thing is, Steve's ticket is $200 too..and he has to ride in cargo. Not sure I can do that to the boy. 

So my options are: 

1. Head south and do the Exumas when the weather clears. Fly out of Georgetown (twice the price).

2. Head south and do the Exumas and scoot back up to catch a flight out of Nassau. (gonna be cutting it close and that's without weather delays)

3. Head to Eleuthera …check it out and then scoot over to Nassau.

4. Head to Eleuthera then head back to Miami and fly home from there. 

5. Head to Miami and call it a day. Leave the boat there and either sell it or Kack and I can come back down in the Spring and make the crossing to the Exumas together…with no dog.

I'm teetering between # 4 & 5.