THE END IS NEAR

Day 33

I'm headed home and that's a good thing…I miss my family.

I leave Fort Lauderdale headed north through the Bridges of Sighs. With time on my hands, I check the waterway guide and find that over the next 65 miles I will pass through 37 bridges. Oh happy day! After 5 weeks of "right on red" it's hard to process the green markers on my right heading north. 

I can't even remember where I spent Thursday night…I think it was just south of Jupiter.

Day 34 - I make it to Jensen Beach. It was raining last time I stopped here and it's doing the same tonight. I arrive late and it's pitch dark, but throw in some ambient distortion from the town lights and my night vision is suspect, at best. As close as depth will allow me, I inch over toward the base of the bridge so that I can get into calmer water. I lean outside the windshield to get a clearer view and my heart stops. 

I came within 2 seconds of T-boning a moored sailboat. I was so close that I when I veered I almost snagged his anchor line. WTF!!! 

It's what's commonly referred to as a "vagabond"…a tattered boat someone lives on but seldom, if ever, moves. Tax-free and off the grid aquatic housing, if you will. The problem is, sometimes these boats are left unattended for months and in the case of this one…it's unlit. Moored or anchored boats are supposed to maintain an anchor light from dusk to dawn…or risk being T-boned in the night. 

Day 35 - It's a slog up to the town of Sebastian. The wind is coming from the north at 25 kts+…this kicks up the chop … and I make lousy headway the entire day. I need some provisions so I pick a marina within close proximity to a grocery store. I call ahead for a slip and the guy says he has one. I ask how late he's open and he laughs…"What's your speed, Captain?" I skirt the question and tell him I can be there by 6 p.m. When I get there he puts me in the basin that they drop boats into…it's the walled off area the forklift accesses. Not really a slip…but in some ways better. The manager greets me and he couldn't be nicer. He offers to run me to Winn Dixie…I feign reluctance and we're off. I ask him where I can watch the UNC/Clemson football game and he says there's a pub right across from the marina, but that I can't go there. He repeats it: "Do not go there." Apparently they don't take too kindly to strangers…I get that. He offers to drop me off a couple of miles up the road where there are lots of restaurants…he even gives me the card of the taxi service that works the marina. I decline the offer, but what a nice guy. 

Day 36 - I should make Titusville (Where their slogan is: "Let's close the bridge all day for a triathlon and not give anyone advance notice."), but I don't even get close. The wind is frickin' howling…25 with gust to 30 and the open bay is rough as hell. I call it a day behind a bluff near Merritt Island (Cape Canaveral area). 

NASA fired a rocket this afternoon... I could've seen it if I'd been looking, but I didn't find out about it until I saw it on the news. 

Day 37 -  The wind didn't let up all night and today is yet another slog. I refuel in Titusville (Steve's happy) and I make yet another slog to New Smyrna Beach. We anchor for the night in New Smyrna. Short days and slow-going have got me second-guessing whether or not I'll get home in time for Christmas. 

Day 38 - We're up and running by 5:30 a.m. I slide over to the marina and tie up long enough to let Steve do his business….distracted by another dog, he only whizzes. The wind stays out of the north but it lies down quite a bit. Around 3pm Steve starts to get antsy. "I told you to go, but NOoo, you had to run play with that dog. Now you're just gonna have to hold it." He doesn't reply, but 20 minutes later he poops on the foredeck…all over the foredeck. I praise him for 5 minutes. I spent two weeks trying to get him to "go" on the boat when all I really had to do was wait him out. The sun shines again and I cover almost 75 miles, arriving in St. Augustine at 6pm. I take a slip and the guy only charges me $30. There are showers, crappy wifi and a restaurant on premises. Nice people here…but I won't be here very long. 

Day 39 - We're up and running by 5 today….It's warm and there's very little breeze. I run aground twice near Matanza Beach…both times I was in the channel.  Aside from that, I somehow manage to catch the favorable tide of every single tributary. We were book'n it all day long. (New moon tides are more pronounced than full moon tides.) I get to Fernandina Beach just before sunset. I refuel…take a mooring ball..dinghy ashore and eat a decent meal. This place is nice.

Day 40 - Another early start…6am. Couple more good, long travel days and I may get home yet. 

VHF is yapping continuously… it's the Coast Guard. Apparently I'm not the only one to find skinny water around Matanza Beach…the repeated announcements warn of a drifting channel marker in that area. Ya think?

I pass Jeckyll Island and happen upon CG maneuvers (a helicopter plucking men from a moving boat)….they pass right by me. Very cool. 

The tide sucks me out of Jeckyll but I'm going to be in for a tuff plow turning back up stream. I call Capt. Bruce and ask for some friendly port info if I should elect to go "outside" for an ocean run. The twisty ICW of Georgia was a blast coming down, but going up could be misery. I'm eyeing the inlet and the tide, sun and nonexistent waves are begging me to turn and run. Bruce gives me my options for ports and anchorages and I check the NOAA weather report: Not much wind, but not much swell either. As I turn away from St. Simon and make a run for the ocean, everything is in my favor… but time.  It's 1pm and it'll take me an hour to get out of the inlet. That leaves me 3 hours of daylight. I'm not crazy about night cruising, but on a still night I can handle it…even if there's no moon. So where to? Bruce gave me a couple of short haul options…but, hell…if I'm out here I might as well head home. I look at Charleston, then Little River…then Southport. It's almost 240 miles to Southport…at 5kts that would take me 2 days and 2 nights…nonstop! 

Aside from traffic, there are markers out here in the middle of nowhere….and unfortunately I can't start my sleep intervals until I've cleared those. It's cold…I light the alcohol heater and warm the cabin. Steve and I are in bed by 8. There is some freighter traffic coming and going through Savannah, but not nearly as much as I anticipated. Pre-dawn I had a fortuitous awakening…I went to the cockpit and something wasn't right. I was groggy but pretty sure it was getting light in the west. Took me a few, but I figured it out once I looked at the chart plotter. The autopilot had stopped working and we were headed in the exact opposite direction. What should've been day-break to my starboard was now on my port. We hadn't gone far…luckily. 

Day 41 - Friday and the weather is fantastic…dolphins have been following us all night and this morning they're still here. Around 8 a.m. I can't see land and there's not a single shrimp trawler or freighter or sports fisherman to be seen. I go back to bed and sleep solidly for 2 hours. 

I packed winter clothes. Doesn't sound like a chore, but for someone sworn to never live where the weather dictates his posture, it was not only difficult but also depressing to consider the cold while packing for the Caribbean. I would rather sweat than shiver. I despise the cold and I'm convinced that there are only 2 possible reasons for living north of the Mason/Dixon and subjecting yourself to the withering discomfort of winter: (1) Your livelihood depends on it. (2) You've lost your fucking mind. People say: "I like the change of seasons and you can always put on more layers of clothes, but you can only take off so much." Really? Ever been so hot you couldn't feel your toes? Here's winter's suckatude in a nutshell: When I pull out my summer clothes for the first time each year and reach my hands into my pockets I find a lighter, a beer-bottle cap and a golf tee. When I put on my winter coat for the first time each year and reach my hands into my pockets I find wadded up tissue, chapstick and a bottle of nose-spray. Here endeth the lesson.

I'm a tad worried about the engine…it's been running for 30 hours straight. The wind died this afternoon so I take the opportunity to drift for an hour while I kill the engine…change the oil, clean the water intake strainer and replace the fuel filter. I dispense the last of the spare fuel (10 gal) and now we're topped off…the engine got a reprieve and some revitalized innards, so now I won't feel so badly about pushing her for the remaining 24 hours to Southport.

I'm running low on provisions…Grilled ham and cheese sandwich is tonight's featured fare. 

Steve is driving me nuts…his intermittent high-pitched howling at dolphins has gone on for 14 hours now. I'm tempted to kick him overboard, but instead I lock him down below…otherwise I'm sure he would continue into the night. It's been a good day. And now comes the darkness. 

It was a good night, too... No traffic and no obstacles. Only incident being, my phone died while set to wake me..and so I slept for 2 hours instead of one. 

Day 42 - The wind came up during the night and so we're making good time. GPS says I'll arrive at Southport by 3 pm. Hard to believe. Soon I'll see the smiling faces of my family. Soon I'll feel the exfoliation of a lengthy, high-pressure, hot shower. Soon I'll walk on a flat surface, without hunching or ducking or climbing or stepping over lines. Soon I'll lie on a mattress and not a cushion. Soon I'll stretch and walk and exercise. Soon this odyssey will be over and I will resume my submission to the parameters of adulthood. 

It's sunny and the wind has died…my new arrival time is 3:45. Katharine is on BHI…I'll stop there for the night and life will be good, once again. 

HINDSIGHTS

The Vessel

"No Ragrets" is a 27' Island Packet and her reputation precedes her. People went out of their way to tell me what a nice (and nice looking) boat she is. At every fuel stop, every dock slip…and even while under way I would get a VHF call from fellow sailors …just to say, "Nice boat." As I pulled into Fernandina just past sunset and meandered through the huge marina to find my slip, a woman sitting on a million dollar ketch called out, "Pretty boat!" And then there's the Island Packet family. There's an online group of IP owners that share info, rendezvous and generally pat each other on the back for their mutual good fortune to be IP owners. I'm part of that family whether I want to be or not. EVERY IP owner makes a point to introduce themselves. One would think that owning the oldest and smallest boat in the fleet would exempt me from favor, but there's been no hint of that. 

She's been a good boat. She can do this trip, no problem…but she's more suited for coastal cruising than long-term live-aboard. For someone looking for the ideal week-ender…this is it. Huge battery bank, Solar Power, Auto-pilot, Electric Windlass, Refrigeration, AC and Bimini/Dodger, Swim platform. I know Oriental, Ocracoke, Beaufort and Cape Lookout and this boat has those destinations written all over it. She'll be on Craig's List by year's end. 

          Good Call                                                          Bad Call

Animal Crackers/ Pudding cups                             Eggs / Soup

Steak/Chix/Chops                                                   Sausage

Box Milk                                                                Instant Coffee

TV                                                                          No Hot-Spot

Power Tools                                                           No vacuum

New Windlass                                                        Old Windlass

Steve                                                                      Steve

Steve was an absolute joy. He was also a pain in the ass. He hindered my progress, dictated my ports and anchorages…and then snuggled like a baby at night. He has the sea legs of a cat…and he's not afraid to take a dose of ocean in the mug. I'm glad he came along, but I probably should've left him at home. 

The journey

People have said…"Awww sorry you didn't get to spend more time in the Bahamas or get down to the Exumas." To clarify, this was never about enjoying a balmy respite on a boat in the Bahamas. Besides, my life's practically one long balmy respite, anyway. No, this was a personal challenge…not to see if I could do this by myself, but to know what it feels like to do this by myself. And to that end, it has been a success. I now know what's entailed…the good, the bad and the uncomfortable. Now the question is: Do I want more, or am I cured? Either way, this journey wins.

Truthfully, I'm a power-boater at heart and if I cruise down the ICW again, it won't be in a sailboat. Between the bridges and the tidal currents, sailboats are just too slow. I would definitely consider a small trawler…a single-screw, even... something to economically cruise at 10kts minimum. 

If I ever sail to the Bahamas again, it will be from NC. I will cross the stream from home and head south…ride the trades to the Abacos and be there in 4-5 days. (Vs. the 3 weeks it took me to get to Bimini) With 4 overnighters in the bag, I'm comfortable in the dark…especially with additional (human) crew.

Whether under power or sail, I will not go it alone. Done that…it was great, but the destinations (also part of the journey) are meant to be shared with someone. I don't want to walk on pristine beaches alone…I'd rather stay home and watch TV with the ones I love. 

Shout outs

I don't want to crop the kudos to my wife, but if any of you have been fortunate enough to have been graced with her presence…well, you know that words can't paint the picture. She's an incredible human being and I'm indebted to her for not only allowing me to break away, but for encouraging my break away. I love you Katharine.

Whitney, my oldest child (from my starter-marriage)… Thank you for covering the payroll duties for me and thank you for assisting Katharine with the childcare responsibilities. But mostly, thank you for being an especially level-headed young woman. You're undeniably pretty, but I think your true beauty shines through your worldly perception and your refusal to take any shit from anyone. My girl. 

Greta, my teen-aged super-star scholar, musician and artist. Thank you for not taking the time to call, email or text me over the last 6 weeks. If even once you had reached out to me in any way, I would have disowned you for dishonoring the "code." 

 Skeet, my … um…. not really sure what you are, but you're some kind of special. Thank you for texting me one gazillion times and requesting a pic of "Steve." I missed you too, son.

Captain Bruce…Thank you for joining me on this journey. Thank you for sharing your chart-books, your local knowledge and your vast maritime experience…it's been invaluable. Thank you also for being a friend. 

Thanks also to James Thomas Lee, my childhood friend who taught me how to sail…more importantly, he taught me the joy of sailing. You often chided me for motoring when I could sail…you'd been proud of me this trip. 

A Final Assessment

It was a good trip. I covered roughly 3,000 miles in 6 weeks. I saw wonderful landscapes, the top 3 being: SC Low Country, Cumberland Island, GA and Jupiter Island, Florida. I saw iguanas, flying fish, huge tarpon, rays, manatees and scores of dolphin. I ate conch and drank rum…grilled lobster and drank wine. I saw so many terrific sunrises and sets, starry nights and moons that I barely bothered to photograph them, knowing they couldn't be justly captured. I slid on the slippery slope between calm and mayhem. I saw how quickly things could turn to shit and how nothing happened until everything happened at once. I heard nature laughingly call out my age whenever I needed to summon swift agility and strength. And I heard absolutely nothing but the lapping of water against the hull as we rode with the wind. I went 25 days without music…for a music hound, that's something. I'm a news hound, too…and I went without a lot of that also. I did monitor FaceBook, but (for the most part) I refrained from jumping in the fray…knowing it would be there upon my return. And since I'm home now…One note regarding FB and the 2nd Amendment: What the fuck is wrong with you people that can't connect the dots between this country's love of guns and its susceptibility to mass shootings? And don't wrap yourself in the flag because the fact is, putting your individual right before the safety of the nation makes you less of an American and more of a self-centered prick. No one's coming to take your guns and ammo, but it'd be nice if you had the acumen to understand why they would want to.

Lastly, Thank you all for following along. I know this blog made for tedious reading at times, but I appreciate your indulgence.  

Thanks also for supporting Katharine in her support of me. 

Cheers!

Ron & Steve

NO PROBLEM MON

I subscribe to a weather service. There are several, but it's widely considered that Chris Parker's service is the best…most accurate. The service comes with a fee because it's extremely detailed (wind direction, clocking, speed, gusts, fronts, hi/lows, trough, precip, squalls, wave heights, per second, gulf stream crossing windows north and south routes, east and west departures) and he throws in his opinion in favor, or not, with the computer models he references. He's good. You can email him your itinerary and he'll shoot you a personalized report. He could have just cut and pasted the first one he sent me. 

Each morning we walk the docks at Great Harbor and say to one another: "Looks like it may die down (insert day of the week)" ..and yet by the afternoon the forecast has been extended. Some of these folks (expats) are in no hurry to leave. Some (Lobster fishermen) are losing money. Some (Bahamians) are just ready for things to return to normal. And me… I'm just running out of options. 

Monday morning: Day 9 in Great Harbor. Chris Parker has added yet another day to my delay. I can't sit any longer. "Are you leaving?" they ask. Yeah, I've gotta move, I say…if nothing else I'll get around Stirrup Cay and be ready to bolt first thing tomorrow morning. I don't make the rounds to say goodbye to everyone, which is rude-ish…but goodbyes suck and we all must know we'll never see one another again. Still, a few of my neighbors hear me crank up and they come to help me shove off. I think deep down they know it's time for all of us to resume our respective journeys. 

It's a gorgeous morning…15kt wind and I raise the sails as soon as I leave the harbor. I'm sailing around to the ocean side of the island, and to do so, I have to round the upper cays (Cocoa, Stirrup, Little Stirrup).

They're awesome looking little islands…they should be: The cruise lines own them. They're private (up to the tide line) and only used by Norweigan and Disney to dump off their hoards for a few hours of fabricated bliss. As I round the cays the forecasted winds greet me, and they bring the PO'd seas with them,…and of course, my preferred heading is thwarted by wind, sea…and two huge cruise ships. 

I fall off the wind to gain speed, but I lose time in doing so. It takes me the rest of the day to reach Soldier Cay, my refuge for the night. I arrive about an hour before sundown and it's pristine, desolate and calm. I have gin-clear water and a quarter-mile crescent shaped beach to myself…it's pretty sweet. Steve and I leave our prints in the sand and dinghy back to the boat so that I can grab my mask and snorkel before the sun sets. 

Under water, I'm amazed at the pool-like visibility, but I can't enjoy it because I know sunset is feeding time for creatures of the deep…so I do a quick inspection of the keel/prop and climb out just before my imagination devours me. 

It's lobster night, courtesy of my stranded brethren. They sold me 4 small tails for $17 and I'm grilling 2 of them tonight in this beautiful setting ..life is good. 

The brothers were fishing Great Harbor when they ran into trouble, but they hail from Spanish Wells, Eleuthera. They'll limp on back home when the seas calm tomorrow..or the next day…or the next. Spanish Wells is pretty much due east from here so I've decided to make that my next destination. It's almost 60 miles across the "Tongue of the Ocean," the deep water cut that splits the northern Bahamas, but I'm hoping the winds will still have a NE flavor to them and I'll be able to make it across before dark. Going to Spanish Wells (which is supposed to be fairly Americanized, but nice) seems like a good call for me. I can see some more of the Bahamas without getting too far south…and when (if) the normal easterly trades return I'll have no trouble heading back home. 

Scratch that plan. The NE has dissipated and my preferred bearing has me nosed directly into 3' seas…I'll have to motor the entire way and even at that I won't make it across before dark. The couple with the 38' version of my boat are headed to Rose Island (just east of Nassau) and they invited me to tag along. So, sure… Rose Island it is. If they left today, as they said they would, they'll probably catch me in a few hours…and it's not long before I see a sailboat making its way around Stirrup Cay. Still, my heading for Rose isn't much better than Spanish Wells because I can't grab but a sliver of the wind and the seas are setting me back. After an hour or so I scratch that plan too. On to Plan "C." --> I'll head for Chub Cay. With better wind direction I make my way around the bottom of Little Harbor Cay and into Chub. Barely making my approach, I already feel better about this plan. The sun and water are living up to the Bahamas Dept. of Tourism's marketing campaign and the palm-lined beaches surrounding the entrance into Chub harbor can't help but set you in a good mood. Once in, the marina is 1st Class…huge concrete floating docks (over 200 slips), clubhouse, pool, restaurant and the aforementioned beach. The place is nearly empty but you can tell it's a wealthy sports fisherman's haven just by the size and beauty of the few boats that are here. With one glance at the Tee-shirt rack, you can also tell the size of those fishermen …it's flush with  XL, XXL and XXXLs….and it ain't because that's all they had left; it's because this place was built for the fat and happy.

I check in and try not to blow a gasket when the receptionist quotes me $3 per foot (boat length) for one night's tie-up to the dock. I rationalize the $0 per foot I paid last night and fork over my credit card…at least I'll get a hot shower and some WIFI out of it. I hit the restaurant next door and ask if I can eat out on the patio with my dog. "Sure, mon…no problem…Whatch you want?" I order a cheeseburger and a beer. "Pay for your food here…get your beer at the bar." (Huh?…uh..ok) I walk over to the bar and grab my $6.13 beer and take it outside to my table. 15 minutes later I hear a tap on the window…I turn and it's the guy who took my order, waving me inside. I go inside and there's my lunch…in a "to-go" box. "There you go, mon…Ketchup and every-ting is in da bag." I shake my head and think to myself; if this guy was an ice-cream flavor he'd be "pralines and dick."

The burger's good. The wifi sucks. I've come to the conclusion that no wifi is better than crappy wifi and as inviting as this place looks, it's not "all that." I figure if I'm not going south, I may as well go home. It's 2pm…I can't make the 75 miles to Bimini, but the burger should hold me well into the night. I go back to the receptionist and tell her I'm leaving. She looks at me sideways but doesn't bother to ask me why…because I'm pretty sure she doesn't care. I shove off and have a great sail easterly. Because I'm leaving from Chub, not Great Harbor, I'll be on the banks (15' depth) almost the entire way. I start my sleep intervals around 10pm. It's sane…not too rough, not too windy but it's blowing from astern. In an attempt to quell my luffing jib, I decide to hook up the whisker pole. (A whisker pole is a pole that holds the jib out of the lee of the mainsail.) My jib sheet is too taut to attach it so I go back to loosen it …when I return my whisker pole is gone. (So if you need one, look about half-way between Chub and Bimini.) I use my GPS to calculate how far I need to go in order to make it into Bimini in time for breakfast. I drop anchor at 4:30 a.m. and wake at 7….we're in port by 9. That makes this crossing 2.5 hours shorter than the hellish one. I make a B-line for that savory breakfast I remember oh-so well…but it's not the same. Different chef, I tell myself. 

I think I'll get some laundry done, but before I do…a quick check in with Chris Parker's weather service and… Holy shit! Another front is falling in behind the last one and he says Wednesday is the last day for crossing the stream. Today IS Wednesday. I just pulled an all-nighter so I'm more than willing to wait a day or two, but he says the next window is more than a few days away. I scramble…No time to stop for fuel so I use one of my 5 gallon spare jugs to bring me up to 3/4 tank and I bust it out of Bimini. It's 10 a.m.  

I've got a strong easterly wind with following seas and a raging gulf stream current…problem is: I don't know where I'm going. I can't head for Miami because the stream will push me north of it. There are lots of online references regarding departure from Florida, but few regarding the return. I aim for Port Everglades Inlet…Fort Lauderdale… It's about 48 miles, so at 6kts I should get there just after sunset. My GPS continuously updates my estimated arrival time. If I slow down or veer off course it adds a few minutes….catch a good breeze and it takes away a few. My GPS also shows me the U.S. boundary line and when I cross it I think, "How cool is that.. I'm back in the States." Then almost immediately I think, O - S H I T!!!  In my rush to leave Bimini, I forgot to clear Customs. Puhleeze don't tell me I have to backtrack…I can't be the only one to have this brain-fart…Surely there are plenty of fishermen that have returned without clearing… O - S H I T !!! I reach for my phone to google it. No signal. The remainder of my trek is tainted with angst.

Port Everglades Inlet is rough…and busy. Cruise ships, Coast Guard operations, Freighters and their pilot ships, Police and idiots like myself. It's dark by the time I enter the congestion and I'm somewhat blinded by all of the lights of the city. Fortunately, my GPS stored my previous pass through Lauderdale so that now all I have to do is follow it in reverse. I follow it a mile or two north and find a spot to anchor for the night. Now…to Google that immigration question. Looks like I'm okay…according to the internetz, you don't have to clear out of the Bahamas if you're heading further south or returning to the States. Whew. I do have to clear back in to the US though. Remind me to do that. 

After 8 solid days at harbor, I sailed roughly 175 miles in 3 days. 

NORMA DESMOND RIDES AGAIN

Day 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28 ...

Stuck here on Great Harbor Cay, I thought I'd rent a golf cart and check out the island. Not much to look at, really. The beach side is post-card beautiful, with high cliffs overlooking aqua seas for as far as you can see. Conversely, the inland scenery is depressing, at best ...nothing lush, nothing in order, nothing kept...nothing cared for. There's no "town" to speak of, just a small centralized area where the market, school and church are planted. The grocery store is dark, quiet and sparse in relation to its square footage. One step inside and I'm compelled to immediately backtrack. Instead, I purchase some cheese and boxed milk....out of pity, I suppose. Across the street, the wine store is a stark and surprising contrast...It's bright and clean and stocked with a good selection of liquors, beer and vino. I buy a few Guinness...sans the pity.

The marina where I'm lashed is okay. It looks like it was a jewel "back in the day" and the new owner is making incremental strides to rejuvenate the premises. My boat neighbors are comprised of fellow stranded sailors, the aforementioned lobster fishermen and a few power-yachties who seem content to call this place home....for the time being, at least. There's a large, yet antiquated, 75' Hatteras yacht parked directly perpendicular to my boat. There was no one aboard up until the day before Thanksgiving. Their absence afforded me the opportunity to secretly hate them for their huge boat blocking my WIFI reception. The owner, who flew in from West Palm, is a 60-year-old woman who never crossed a speech impediment. She's sweet and friendly, but she'd be more aptly structured if she had two mouths and one ear.  So now I can hardly enter or exit my boat without hearing "Captain Ron?! ... (insert loud, intrusive and meaningless conversation here)."

She's sweet tho. Her name is Robin and she's fairly recently divorced. I think she likes me...as she's inclined to introduce me to everyone she converses with and is apparently hell-bent on making Steve and her little dog "Lola" best friends. 

She invites him over to play...walks them together... feeds him treats on a regular basis and talks to the both of them at what should be an unlawful volume. She disembarks her yacht each morning wearing a sheer pajama pant-suit with her erect tits slinging independently of one another down around her waist. It's not a matter of trying not to notice them...it's a matter of trying not to see them. She's sweet tho. She knows everything about everyone on the island. As we strolled one night, she sang the praises of Great Harbor Cay and went on about how Brooke Shield's dad once owned a house here...and how several Hollywood types would frequent the island...and how Jack Nicklaus still flies over here to bonefish. She told of the famed drug lord (now dead) that once lived on the island...the DC-9 aircrafts that used to land at the airport (now small planes only), the championship golf course (now mown monthly) and the parties held by the pool (now half empty).  For a moment I felt like I was in an aquatic version of Sunset Boulevard and it struck me as sad that this island, now a shadow of its former self, was still so dear to this woman's memory bank. Never one to shy away from an opportunity to offend, I asked her: "What's the appeal of this place now?" She didn't take offense and quickly replied: "Have you seen the beach?!" I tacitly concurred and she went on to explain how the fishing was world-class...and what a great job the new marina owner was doing to revitalize the place. I wasn't convinced, but somehow I kept that to myself.

"Miko" is the marina dockhand. He's a short, rotund, coal-black, flat-footed Bahamian that's about as cheerful a person as you'll ever meet. He loves Steve and brings him bacon so that he can show and tell anyone who'll listen, all of Steve's tricks. Like Robin, Miko is proud of this place. On Thanksgiving morning he made his way to each of our boat slips to hand out 1/4 sheets of paper with black and white printed invitations to a Thanksgiving pot-luck dinner. You would have thought he was handing out winning lottery tickets...and in a way, he was. 

Thanksgiving was originally going to be held under the Marina gazebo...it's a terrific spot...large enough for 4 picnic tables with plenty of space in between. But the same winds that brought us together, pushed us to the largest boat in the harbor....an 85' motor yacht that was sunken in Katrina...revived, restored and up-fitted with the latest technology money can buy. I thought name-tags might be in order, but even this feeble mind could register everyone and their corresponding spouses. Somewhat surprisingly, the boat owner had the wherewithal to offer a moment of silence in lieu of a "blessing." How refreshing to witness the seeds of human evolution being sewn in such a remote locale. The food was as good as any Thanksgiving...abundance being the key. And like most get-togethers, the men soon found themselves among men....and the women and children eventually infiltrated. It was nice in that it wasn't awkward or forced...we're all here for one reason or another, and somehow we knew not to delve too deeply into each other's previous lives. We're here now...and we're thankful.

"Captain Ron!!!" (It's Robin.) "Clark's taking a bunch of people to the Blue Hole, but that's too rough for me so I'm taking you and Steve and Lola on my boat over to Little Stirrup Cay where we can let the dogs swim....leaving in about an hour." I smile and say "Cool!"...because that's all I can say. I have no excuse to reject the offer...and I'm pretty sure she know this. She invites another couple and together we set out with her Bahamian boat-boy at the helm of the antiquated 25' center console she keeps tied up to her Hatteras. It's a nice boat ride, albeit choppy....and I get the first water-view of the island since I groggily approached it last Sunday. We fish a bit and catch 8 "Jacks"... the boat-boy jumps in and snares a few conch...the dogs swim...we drink a few beers and return to the docks just before sundown. It wasn't something I really wanted to do and I wouldn't put it in the "Fun!" category....but it did get me out of the harbor for a few hours, and I needed that. 

It's Friday night and the winds are buffeting my laptop as I sit under the gazebo. They've been relentless for almost a week now. At some points, they let up and I can only imagine how stagnant this protected harbor must be when the normal trades blow. The locals say Bahamian winters are unpredictable...to which I respond: "But every cruising guide I read talks about people spending winters in the Bahamas?" And to a man, they say: "Yeah, but those are Canadians! Would you rather be a wind-blown buoy or a popsicle?" Duly noted.

Still, this front is unique, even by unpredictable Bahama standards....in that it has lasted a week. Tomorrow is going to max out at around 25 kts and I'm tempted to shove off. I'm to the point where I'd prefer discomfort on the sea to the calm refuge of this harbor. I knew I was becoming restless when I felt the urge to play some tunes while I washed dishes the other morning. (The first self-induced music exposure in 25 days.) But while the winds may be throttling back, the seas are still pissed...and so I'll sit another day. 

Where to from here? 

Undecided.

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. 

A BRIDGE TOO FAR

Day 19 and 20

It's been subtly brought to my attention that I really needn't be pissing and moaning about the bridges of South Florida…it's really minutia if you think about it. And what's more, this is a vacation from reality. So I apologize for the rant-like complexion of my last post…that'll be enough about bridges. Except for this... So I'm in South Hollywood and I'm trying to get a jump on the last remaining bridges…a real jump…a "leave the dock at 4:45 a.m" jump. I make the first couple of bridges, no problem…cruising through the city before the city has awakened. It's dark still, but the canals are lined with lights so navigation is easy-peezie. It's now 6 a.m. and the next bridge isn't responding to my call. I get closer and notice the tender's box is dark. Huh? I check the water-way guide and it says it doesn't open until 8 a.m.  Ha ha ha..I'm an idiot for not reading 4 bridges ahead, but "closed"…seriously? No recreational traffic,  no commercial traffic, no water taxi, no barge, no tall guy on a paddle-board… really? Never heard of such, but hey, I'm not one to complain so I tie up to a private dock and change the oil in the engine. This was on my list of "to do's" for today so I might as well get it done now. It takes me about an hour (counting clean up) but it could have taken me twice that long because the bridge opened 15 minutes late!  Oh Lawd … I love bridges.

I meander through Miami bright and early. Some folks hate this city…not me. It's so diverse, and cool…and hot. I love it….only wish I could savor this morning's float-by, but the water-traffic pattern is confusing for a first-timer and the chart plotter isn't clearly defining the ICW….and I need to get to Key Biscayne. 

I make one last fuel stop before getting too far south. I do a really lousy job of docking the boat…Steve jumps off and the owner comes out to yell at me about him not being on a leash…as I'm pulling away my fishing rod gets snagged and plops into the water. The gas attendant graciously offers to get a boat hook to fish it out , but that's enough of this place: "Keep it." I yell, "I wasn't gonna catch anything anyway." 

Only a couple of miles further and I come to a little "honey-hole" in lower Key Biscayne called "No Name Harbor." It's a really cool little (and really pretty) spot…a narrow entrance opens up to a cove surrounded by mangos on one side and a long continuous bulkhead on the other. You can dock anywhere along the wall or anchor out and dinghy in. There's only one amenity here…an open-air restaurant. It's a good one too…but the one $6 beer I had made me think twice about dining. It's a popular spot tho, with lots of day trippers coming over from Miami…and lots of stream crossers staging their departure from the US. The restaurant has a steady flow of patrons all day and into the night...people spend the night in the harbor for a nominal fee. 

I'm beat. The 4 a.m. wake-ups have sapped me and I still have lots to do to prepare for the crossing…primarily, pull the dinghy up on the deck. I use a winch and spare halyard to lift the 100 lb. dink up and over the lifelines. It's a two-man job, but I get it done eventually…and notice from the slime-coated hull that 3 weeks in the water takes its toll on everything. The dink barely fits on this little boat…but "they" say to never do blue-water runs with your dinghy in tow. "They" say it'll slow you down….you'll risk it filling with water…and then you'll have no choice but to cut it free. It's rare that I care, even rarer that I heed, whatever it is that "they" say…but this is my virgin run, so I'll capitulate….this time. 

My weather window for crossing is "now." The winds and seas are supposed to relax for 24 hours before a front moves south and hangs around long enough to strand everyone stateside. I'm planning on 10 - 12 hours, meaning I should probably leave around 10 pm in order to get to Bimini with good sun. The entrance into Bimini is notorious for shifting sands and you don't want to be navigating it in the dark. Steve and I doze off at 4 pm…my alarm is set for 10 pm but I make the mistake of not muting my phone and a telemarketer wakes me at 6 pm. Now I'm too excited to go back to sleep. Captain Bruce says: Go now!" So I pull up anchor, ease over to shore for Steve's farewell evacuation…and at 7:55 I'm off. 

It's a nice night…1/2 moon…winds 10-15 and seas 2-4 feet. I knock back two unfathomably awful cups of coffee and head south. Bimini is almost directly across from Biscayne, but the Gulf Stream rages northerly and it'll set me 15 miles above my target if I simply take a straight heading. So I hedge south for a couple of hours before turning and riding the Stream back north. I leash Steve so that he'll refrain from walking the decks…it'd be hell seeing or hearing him fall off…and snowball in hell finding him once he's over. 

Coffee be damned, the lack of sleep and constant rolling of the sea are nodding me off. "They" say single-handlers do multiple day voyages by setting an alarm every 20 minutes…getting up and doing a 360 check for shipping traffic….then going back down. At mid-night I double-check my bearing and go out for 20. I remain topside (snuggling with a nervous Steve) so that I can get to the wheel quickly and the first couple of times I wake before the timer goes off. As 2 a.m. rolls around…I'm sleeping the full 20 minutes. 

I only have one freighter to contend with…and several cruise-liners too far off in the distance for concern. The wind and seas die down nicely for about an hour or two…then they return slightly more amped. My GPS says I'll arrive at 7:20 a.m. ….by 5:30 I terminate my naps. The wind is up to 18 Kts and I can make better time, albeit a rougher ride. I'm hoping to find someone exiting the entrance about the time I'm arriving…I could use some local knowledge. No such luck, but I make it through slowly…It's 7:25…Bimini time.

I CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW...

Bimini isn't much to look at from the inside passage…kinda dumpy, really. I'm a tad disappointed, but in reality, it's just like most Caribbean islands…poverty stricken beyond the property lines of the resorts.

I dock without permission…gather my documents and head for the Customs Office. I'm worried about Steve's documents. I had to jump through some Bahamian hoops to get his permit BEFORE coming here. They also required a health certificate from his Vet…and it's supposed to be less than a week old. I asked my Vet not to date the certificate because I had no idea when I would reach Bimini but I knew it wouldn't be within a week. She was too much of a wuss to post-date it. I said, "Don't post-date it….just leave it blank." She said she could lose her license if she did that. Like that's gonna happen...Wuss.

So I'm not a kind person. Sorry but It just doesn't come easily…get over it.  But oh you should see me when I'm at the mercy of a custom's agent….man, am I a sweetie. So I've got a crew member with outdated papers and I'm stressing. I envision Steve awaiting K-9 trial in a dark, dirt-floored, feces-covered cell with a bunch of his mange-laden brethren taunting him because he has a beard.  So yeah, I'm stressing. The customs docs have no line items specific to pets…so I ever-so-apologetically ask. "I have a dog, but I don't see anything here regarding pets…Does immigration handle that?" Without looking up the agent asks for Steve's papers and before I can shove them completely under the window. B A M !!!!  He stamps Steve's permit and slides me the rest of my paperwork. 

Yeah baby! Am I a charmer or what? 

Wait…it was me, right?

It's too bouncy to prepare meals during an ocean run…so I stuff my pockets with animal crackers (not the real ones, the cardboard  ones sold in  bushel bags at Walmart). I munch at my leisure while at the helm. As a result, this morning I am Jones'n for something substantial. I leave Steve on the boat and go to the Big Game Resort restaurant located right by the docks. God-Dayum that was a good breakfast! Several days back I had thrown away my eggs.. not because they'd gone bad, but because they were taking up too much room in my fridge. So this morning's omelette (with bacon and pepper-jack cheese), and hash browns with onions along with my first real cup of coffee since St. Augustine were savored like freedom to an inmate. While blissfully dining, the rains come. 

All of my boat hatches are open…the companion way door…and no telling what is lying outside in the cockpit. So be it… I ain't leaving this breakfast to go close the boat: (A) It's raining straight down, not sideways (B) It'll probably blow over soon ( C ) I'll get soaked just running out there. Subsequently: (A) It doesn't let up  (B) it blows sideways…and ( C ) I have to borrow the dock master's poncho to stave off the deluge. When I get to the boat it's almost wetter inside than out. Bed sheets are soaked, the seat cushions have become temporary sponges, the rug squishes…everything, including the food, Steve's bed, Steve, the head and most of my clothes. It's bad…and I really don't care. Steve's passport stamp and that breakfast of Champions has me feeling no pain. Besides, I love the rain…Always have. 

Capt. Bruce and my brother-in-law have both texted me today, advising me to go explore the island and be sure and check out the marinaded conch salad at "Stuarts." The rain has passed…and that's exactly what we're going to do.