Ode to Rachel

It's always been a well know fact in my family that I can't tie a knot to save my life.  That might be a surprise to some, seeing as my husband teaches this sort of thing (at the college level).  I've always believed in the adage; if you can't tie a knot, tie a lot.  It's always worked just fine for me.

Before this trip, my knot tying repertoire was limited to: 1)The granny 2) The bow tie 3)The trucker's hitch (which I learned during my whitewater rafting days.  Though, I must admit, I did lose a couple of boats off the trailer before I mastered this one).

The kids have spent hours with the knot tying book and a coils of rope.  It's been a great pastime when we're under way.  They can tie all sorts of elaborate knots; rope ladders, monkey fists, barrel knots.  It's quite impressive.   I've made a conscious effort to increase my knot repertoire. I've added the clove hitch, and I can almost tie a bowline without saying to myself, "The rabbit comes up through the hole, around the tree, and back through the hole".  I am challenged.  What can I say? 

There's one knot that is particularly important to know on a boat: The cleat hitch.    The cleat hitch is used in a variety of make or break situations.  For instance, securing the anchor line to the boat at the proper depth.  Or tying the boat to a dock.  Or tying the dinghy to the back of the boat.  The beauty of the cleat hitch is that it can be tied and untied quickly, and, if tied properly, it offers great holding under strain.  Notice the cleat hitch is not in my knot repertoire. Sure, I can tie some semblance of one.  One that, to the uninformed observer, might look impressive; a large mounded clump of line with a cleat buried under it.  Somewhere.  My cleat hitches have always held just fine.  Things have always stayed put.  I've always gotten by.  That is, until the fateful night of March 2nd.

Good cleat hitch

Bad cleat hitch

It was a wild night at Cambridge Cay.  We were anchored in a channel where the current ripped one way and then the other when the tide changed.  It was also windy that night.  Very windy.  I didn't sleep very well.  Wind makes me nervous (funny thing for someone on a sail boat to say, eh?)  Scott, slept like a baby and was the first one up in the morning.  I could hear him light the stove for coffee and then climb the steps to the cockpit.  The next thing I heard was his alarmed voice screaming, "HOLY !#@%, THE DINGHY'S GONE!!".

It all came flooding back...  coming back from snorkeling the afternoon before... being cold and hungry and in a rush to get dinner going.... tying the dinghy to Kiawah with my usual half-heated poor-excuse-for-a-cleat-hitch.  It was MY knot that failed.  I was personally responsible for our $5,000 (replacement value) dingy being lost somewhere at sea.  I felt absolutely sick.  Scott tried to console me by saying it was as much his fault for not checking on things.  He always checks on things (especially my knots).  But he didn't that night.  He also mentioned that the brand new painter line he'd installed on dinghy the day before was shiny and slippery and may not have grabbed as well.  I still felt sick. 

In the early morning din, we scanned every inch of visible shoreline with binoculars.  Nothing.  We got out the chart to try and figure out which way it could have gone.  This was tricky because we didn't know what time it escaped.  Was the tide ebbing or flooding? Would it blow with the wind or be carried by the current?  We surmised it was either carried out of Bell Cut to Exuma Sound, or, it was on the Banks side.  We desperately scanned the chart for the closest island that it could possibly wash up on.  Ummmmm............. that would be Cuba.  Our hearts sank.

We put out a plea on the VHF for all boaters to be on the lookout. Several folks radioed right back, which got our hopes up, but they were just offering condolences or rides in their dinghies to help search.  A boat named Rachel offered us an inflatable raft they had stowed away if necessary.  We'd been bumping into Mark and Julie on Rachel since Rock Sound, Eleuthera and were quite fond of them.  They were always full of good advice and words of wisdom.  They'd spent a lot of time cruising the Bahamas.   They told us they were getting ready to sail to Staniel Cay on the Banks side and would be on the lookout for our dinghy.

The wind was still howling.  We decided to brave the cut to go look on the sound side of Cambridge Island, which was raging with an incoming tide and opposing wind,.  We hastily prepared the boat for the trip and pulled anchor.  The cut was indeed raging.  We made it through okay, but the waters of the Exuma Sound were ugly.  I did my best to look through binoculars and scan the shore in 5-6 foot seas, but it was futile.  Even if our dinghy was on that side, it had probably been smashed to bits against the jagged limestone shoreline.  Just as we were making the decision to turn around and go back inside, we heard Rachel hailing us on the VHF.  Julie's voice, with its lovely English lilt, was music to our ears, "Kiawah, Kiawah, this is Rachel.  Mark thinks he's spotted your dinghy floating off the Rocky Dundas.  We're going to keep our eye on it and get back to you when we're closer.  Standby on 16". 

We tried not to get our hopes up.  Maybe Mark was hallucinating?  Maybe the dinghy belonged to some people out snorkeling or diving?  Maybe the dinghy belonged to some other knot-challenged sailor?  Or, maybe it was just our lucky day.

It turned out to be our lucky day.  I'm not sure what great thing we ever did in our lives to deserve having our dinghy come back to us, but it must have been really great.  Rachel was kind enough to stay with it and keep an eye on it for the hour or so that it took us to reach them.  We picked up the painter with the boat hook and Scott tied it off, with a perfect cleat hitch, in its rightful place behind Kiawah.  We blew kisses and yelled profuse thanks across the water to Rachel, and they sailed off, having completely made our day.

The dinghy did not escape its adventure unscathed.  It had apparently spent some of the night on the Rocky Dundas.  It was full of water, due to a leak between the hard floor and the Hypalon tube.  And there were a total of four big holes puncturing two out of the three pontoon chambers, not to mention many superficial abrasions.  The engine also had some water in it and would need attention as soon as we arrived at Warderick Wells.  We had some work to do.  But it was nothing compared to what it would have taken to replace it.

Boo boos

sanding the new patch

Will it hold air?

So far so good....

The test drive looks good.

We've started the tradition of making toasts each night at dinner.  We raise our glasses and say cheers to anything that happened during the course of the day that was particularly good or interesting.  We all usually have something different to say.  That night it was absolutely unanimous.  We made a toast to Rachel.