Full Circle

Chris Parker didn't exactly put his seal of approval on the day we chose to cross the Gulf Stream to Florida.  He even used the dreaded "s" word to describe the day. "Squally."  But it was either brave 4-6' seas, maybe a squall, and have a 20-25kn wind behind us, OR, motor (entirely) into a 10-15kn wind and  2-4' seas the following day.  After that, things were really going to go south and there wouldn't be another window for a week or more.   We were feeling pressure to make tracks north.  We chose option A.  

We cast off the dock lines in West End just after 2am.  We were just behind a boat named See Land and a couple of other boats were planning on leaving a couple of hours after us.

Thank goodness for the moon.  It was 6 days past full and still casting quite a bit of light on things.  We raised the main with a double reef and unfurled part of the jib.  We sailed downwind at an average of just under 7kn.   The sea continued to build as we moved farther from West End; 4... 5... 6 feet, with an occasional  7.  At that point, my seat moved from the cockpit bench, to the floor.  It's easier to hide the fact that you're in the fetal position when you're sitting on the floor.  

At least it was a following sea.  I was thankful for that.  We surfed down the big waves, accelerating from 6.5 to 9kn at one point.  Flying fish hurled themselves out of the waves into the cockpit.

Chris Parker came on the SSB at 6:30.  I didn't want to listen.  We were 30 miles off shore at that point.  We were committed.  Scott wanted to hear what he had to say.  I plugged my ears and sang to myself while he listened.  I tried to read his face afterward; looking for any tell tale lip biting.  Nothing.  That was a good sign. 

The sun rose on a partly cloudy day, and Riley rose from the v-berth.  She stood in the gangway, zipping up her life jacket, studying the sea for several moments.  She looked down at me sitting on the floor and said with a smirk, "How's is going, mom?"  She knew how it was going.  It was no secret that I hate big seas.

Wren kept sleeping.  And sleeping.  I'm not sure how, with the ride she was getting up in the v-berth, but I was thankful for it.  I wasn't sure how she'd react when she saw the sea state.  I was in no mood to comfort anyone.

Scott busied himself rigging up some ballyhoo in hopes of catching one more Mahi, and  Riley busied herself putting together a message in a bottle which she had plans to drop in the middle of the Gulf Stream.  Scott helped her melt a crayon on the cork to seal it and I was able to muster up enough gumption to go below to retrieve the camera to document the occasion.  I have no idea where she got such a large wine bottle.

Ri chose the "ugly color" to melt

Wren didn't show her face until 10am.  She was rested, and chipper, and hungry.  I wondered how anyone could even think about eating.  Scott and I had eaten very little, and I couldn't even drink coffee (a true barometer of how I was feeling).  Wren munched a bagel and cream cheese and was pleased to know that we were over half way there and would be seeing land in about 3 hours.

The hours passed.  I felt better and better as we neared the coast of Florida.  We invented a new game called "dodge squall."  Scott is very good at it, locating the squalls which show as a purple splotch on the radar, and navigating the best path through them.  At one point, it was raining just off to port and starboard, but we remained dry.

A pod of several Atlantic white sided dolphin greeted us as we neared Florida, and swam along with us for quite some time.  Some of them even doing dramatic leaps out of the water, as if they had just escaped from Sea World.  It was a grand welcoming.

Fish really can fly

Dodge squall champion

We made the cut at  Ft. Pierce inlet right on schedule for slack tide.  We motored to a familiar spot just off Hutchinson island and dropped the anchor.  It was the exact same spot we had anchored 3 months prior when we first headed out from Cracker Boy to begin the sailing part of our trip.  We had come full circle.

Sail comes down...

after a long day.

West End

Our Bahamas chapter came to a bitter sweet ending at The Old Bahama Bay Marina at West End, Grand Bahama.   West End is the point of land closest to the US.  Because of this, it was full of million dollar yachts, sport fishing boats (with names like Boys-R-Us and Wahooters) and a few sailboats, like us, many of which were waiting to cross the Gulf Stream.   

It was a beautiful place, in a fancy resort kind of way.  Luxury in fact.  We took hot showers for the first time in weeks.  And the girls took to the fresh water pool like salmon returning from the sea.  They even had bikes available for guests to use.  

We stayed there two nights, rather than expected one.  We needed a day to recuperate from the 80 mile crossing from Stirrup Cay at the tip of the Berry Islands.  It was an easy crossing as far as crossings go, flat calm with no wind, but we had to motor the entire way.  At just over 5kn, that took a while.  We pulled anchor at 2:30am and didn't arrive in West End until 5:30.  We were pretty beat and in no shape to undertake another 80 mile crossing to Florida the next day, especially across the Gulf Stream.  So we stayed and pampered ourselves, with all the guilt that goes along with staying in an expensive marina when you're used to roughing it on an anchor.

2:30 am, heading out from Stirrup Cay

Exposure by moon and electronics

Math time...

and more math time

The Captain taking a break

Old Bahama Bay marina

Oh, joy!

Bloggin'

I took a much needed run into town the next morning, past the manicured lawns and bougainvillea lined walkways of the marina.  Past rows of neatly planted palms and through the guarded gate to the town of West End.  The "other" Bahamas.  The real Bahamas.  The Bahamas that I (we) had come to love.  The contrast was stark. 

The main road paralleled the ocean.  Simple weather beaten houses stood weary against the sea. Most were made of concrete, cracked and crumbling, made cheerful by coats of rainbow sherbet paint.  For every occupied house sat one nearby in ruins, trees growing up through the ceiling, the victims of hurricanes. 

Potcake dogs eyed me warily from the shadows of drying laundry.  Potcakes are the typical "breed" of Bahamian mutt named after the scorched bottom layer that forms in the beans n'rice pot, which they might get to eat if they're lucky.   All the potcakes we met in our travels were too timid to approach.  This was a major frustration for me and the girls.  We were missing Blue and were starving for dog love.  We wanted to pet them and let them lean against us and lick us.  We wanted to throw things for them to retrieve. But potcakes wouldn't even think of chasing after a ball or Frisbee.  Everything they do is about survival.

The tide was low and the conch boats were just returning from the flats fully loaded.  Men sat on buckets shelling their catch, some pounding it as they went, to tenderize it.  Empty conch shells formed rows of middens along the shore, generations old.  No matter how busy they were, everyone I ran past looked up from what they were doing to say hello.  Everyone.  Usually, the sight of a group of men by the side of the road brings on a certain anxiety when I'm running.  Not here.  Warm smiles is all I got,  and,  "Hello miss!", "G'day miss!"  I waved back and exchanged greetings, perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than usual,  partly because of endorphins and partly because I knew I was saying goodbye.  I felt silly running. Everything moves slow in the Bahamas. Slow, like a conch.  I felt like a black lab chasing a Frisbee.

We borrowed the marina bikes and rode back into town later in the day so we could all say goodbye.  And I wanted to photograph things.  

Nobody home

Town market

Conch boat

One of many middens

Potcake

Totally Ten

Fun with the Go-Pro

The "line"

Tricks

Last meal in the Bahamas.  Mahi and Wahoo, of course.  Purchased from a local fisherman.

The Berry Islands

The crossing from Nassau to the Berry Islands was a gentle one.   There wasn't much wind, so we ended up motor sailing the entire way.  It seems that the trend lately has been either  too much wind to move, or not enough to sail.  The highlight of the trip was definitely watching Wren reel in a beautiful  Mahi-Mahi.  I don't think I've ever seen her more excited and proud.   Please check out the blog she wrote about it.  There are more pictures there as well. 

Mahi girl

For the first three days in the Berry Islands, we were pretty much held captive on the boat by the weather.  The wind howled and the waves rose up, even in our anchorage just off Frazer's Hog Cay (yup, that's really what it's called).  The dinghy (flaccid as it was) and outboard were still up on deck from the crossing and it was too tumultuous to attempt uniting them in the water.   This actually wasn't such a bad thing, as we had purchased a fresh can of dinghy glue in Nassau, and once applied, it would need 48 hours to cure before inflating.  We spent the first day slaving over the dinghy.  Again.  

The next couple of days were spent reading, writing, playing games, baking bread, and Scott plugged away on his book while the girls did schoolwork.   I was amazed by their tolerance for being cooped up in a small space for so long.  I didn't fare as well.  I eventually blew up a paddle board and braved some pretty big waves to go to shore for a run. 

I need a run.

Navigation lesson with dad

Science lesson with Riley

Working on...

the book.

Pre-birthday breakfast for Wren from Riley.

The front eventually moved through and we were able to depart for Devil's Cay.  We wanted to be someplace special for Wren's Birthday, and Devil's had lots to offer.  We also knew that our Bahama days were coming to a close.  If we were to be back in Maine by early-June, we needed to start making tracks north.  We started to scrutinize the weather forecast with a different eye, looking for a possible weather window... (gulp).... to leave.

Our few days at Devil's Cay were as sweet as Wren's Duncan Heinz chocolate birthday cake.  She turned 10 without a hitch and Kiawah hosted her first birthday party.  It was the first year ever that I didn't make her a cake from scratch.  She wanted a "box" cake.  It reminded me of my sister and I begging my mom for TV dinners when we were kids (she refused and made us buy them ourselves with our paper route money).   I was not as strong, and even bought a can of frosting to go with it.  I'll let Wren tell you all about her day in her blog entitled "My Bahamas Birthday".  There are more pictures there as well.

Hike to the "other side"

Blue hole swim party

Double digits

Lawrence and Joan from Tranquility

Box cake rocks

We were thrilled to run into Lawrence and Joan on Tranquility again.  We'd been crossing paths with them since Half Moon Cay, and had even shared such intimate experiences as "the meat truck" in Georgetown.  They were on a similar north-bound trajectory.  We also met another fun couple, Jim and Jude, on Inti II.   They joined us for a beach bonfire to celebrate our third, and final, full moon in paradise. 

Two moons

We hiked, snorkeled, swam, and dug our toes into the warm white sand, savoring every moment.   We knew this was the end of our Bahamas beach time.  None of us wanted it to end.  

My last swim was especially memorable.  Wren wanted to take one last beach walk.  I obliged and brought her over in the dinghy (which, by the way, STILL leaked.  It seems that we missed two tiny holes when we patched it).  We got distracted playing with some hermit crabs and when I stood up I was horrified to see the dinghy floating away.  I ran down the beach at breakneck speed and dove in the water fully clothed and swam after the dinghy (praying that no one was watching).  As I was pulled myself in, I heard Riley laughing hysterically from her prime vantage point on Kiawah's foredeck.  Of course, she had witnessed the whole thing.  I will be teased about the dinghy for eternity.

Eventually, Chris Parker gave his weather blessing.  A stretch of "benign" weather was predicted (as well as weather can be predicted).   It looked good to stage for a Gulf Stream crossing.  It was time to head to Stirrup Cay (northern tip of the Berry Islands), and then on to West End (western tip of Grand Bahama), and on to Florida. 

Ready or not, the window was open.