wut2c's TRUE LOVE

This article is about the journey from the St. Lawrence Seaway and on to the Islands of the Bahamas, where this couple spent the winter visiting several of the islands. You will find yourself easily carried along the story line by this author's free flowing narrative. Click on the links in the article to see photos that are related to the subject. Due to the fact this journey took place over many months the article is fairly lengthy and has been divided by the author into 14 episodes. You may click on any of the numbers below to go directly to the particular episode.

There are certain things my wife, Eve, refuses to do. Sailing across an ocean is one of them. But how about a winter in the Bahamas? Sure, there would be ocean passages, but mostly inland waters, coastal cruising and island hopping. No freezing in the dark of Montreal ice storms. Instead, eight months of sunny bliss aboard our Aloha 34 sloop True Love, an endless summer romping around the islands. To this promise Eve agreed, with some suspicions.

This kind of voyage was a whole new ball game, so we spent lots of time talking to sailors who had done it before. Apart from loads of charts and supplies, we realized a need for more equipment. We’d be spending most nights at anchor, sometimes far from civilization, and for part of the trip down and back the weather would be cool. So we upgraded the ground tackle to include 100 feet of chain, installed an electric anchor windlass (to spare my aging back), as well as an Espar heater, a high-output alternator, new larger batteries and a host of other gear. This included a big wind generator to be installed en route.

There was also the matter of leaving one’s house and business activities, health insurance, finances, income taxes and other mundane concerns. All of this made for a hectic summer.

One sad note attended our departure. About ten days before our leaving Windsong, a 32-ft. yacht from Ottawa bound for the Bahamas stopped at our club for fuel. I chanced to make acquaintance the skipper, Fred and his mate, Pat — very friendly sailors. Recently retired, they had planned their trip for years, and had rented out their house. But departing the R.St.L.Y.C. for the Seaway they ran foul on a rock shoal, resulting in extensive damage. We, and many others at the Club did our best to lend help and sympathy, but their voyage was scuttled. It was a sobering eventuality that made us think twice.

But for us, on the first day of October 1998, all was well. True Love was ready, its mast lowered and all gear stowed. The weather, however, had other plans: a 40-knot gale was churning up the St. Lawrence. We stayed put, enjoying the first night at our own dock, cheered by a happy hour visit from our dock neighbours Francine and Jack.

By next morning the wind had abated. David Fleet, our Club Manager, kindly took our lines and waved us off. Away at last!

We made the Richelieu by nightfall, anchoring in the river just south of Sorel. This night (and many to come) was cold, and we were grateful for the wonders of the Espar heater. The next day dawned sunny and bright, highlighting the brilliant autumn foliage as we motored south. All seemed well with the world until suddenly the engine made a strange noise and lost power. We shut it down and dropped anchor immediately. My heart sank as I opened the engine compartment; there was oil all over the place and the valve cover on one of the cylinders was hanging loose. I gingerly removed it, only to discover more loose and/or broken mechanisms. “Can’t you fix it?” Eve asked. I had to admit it was way beyond my diesel mechanics abilities.

We managed to contact the Coast Guard at Sorel, and before too long a small Coast Guard Auxiliary boat took us in tow to the village of St. Ours. The public dock there is a high concrete wall with a steel ladder. The towboat operators didn’t seem to realize that a seven-ton boat has a lot of momentum. Securing to the dock was a tricky manoeuver, which took several tries. Fortunately we were able to contact our diesel mechanic — Jacques Guité — who promised to come the next day.

St. Ours has a picturesque setting on the Richelieu. Close by our dock was a cable ferry, a quaint but noisy contraption frequently shuttling its traffic across the river. But we were hardly in a mood to appreciate any of this. Concerned that we could be stuck there for some time, I managed to persuade a lady in the nearest building to let us use her shore power. With three long extension cords we just managed to reach the boat.

We strolled through the village then returned to True Love to make the best of our evening happy hour. Eve served up a tasty supper and we settled in for the night; for me, a fretful one. How serious the damage? What if the repair took a long time? The Chambly Canal would close for the winter before long. Was this the end of our Bahamian adventure?

We were up early the next morning, another glorious fall day with church bells beckoning the faithful. Our mechanic arrived as promised and quickly set to work. He was well equipped with every possible part for the cylinder head and lots of tools. He soon diagnosed the problem: one of the bolts securing the valve lifter had come loose causing the remaining bolt to sheer off in the head. I was amazed this could be repaired on site by drilling out the old stud, tapping and installing a new bolt. Shortly after noon the engine was reassembled and ready for a thorough test; but would it work properly? Mercifully it ran perfectly. Soon we were on our way again, transiting the St. Ours Lock and heading south. Making our way along the beautiful Richelieu toward Chambly we were grateful to be moving again, but I could not help but wonder what else the fates might have in store for us.

Next day we negotiated the Chambly Canal and reached the north end of Lake Champlain. We were met at Rousse’s Point by our dear friends Russel and Betty Scrim, themselves celebrated racing and cruising sailors. They took us to their beautiful country home overlooking the Lake at Alburg, Vermont. Here we were treated to one of the very few nights ashore we would have for the next eight months. And how much we enjoyed the talk over supper and breakfast — some of it about the cruise south and the Bahamas, which they had done before.

Russ had kindly consented to my using his home as a “ship to” address for a load of gear ordered from U.S. Suppliers. This included our big wind generator with its nine-foot mast and five foot diameter propeller. So when we were taken back to True Love we had even more gear to stow.

We said our farewells and headed south down Lake Champlain, still in perfect autumn weather. A few days later we would be through the Lake, the Champlain Canal and in the Hudson River.

True Love was now in tidewater. We timed our passages to ride the ebb tide down the river. Passing by Albany we made for the Hop-o-Nose Marina at Catskill to raise our mast. This quaint spot has perhaps the best crane and crew on the Hudson for mast work. I felt an inner relief to see our 50-ft.spar vertical once more. Still, many hours of work remained to reinstate all the standing and running rigging, electrical cables and sails. One of the dockhands loaned us his somewhat beat up car to go shopping. We were grateful for his kindness, but wondered if the car could make it up the long, steep hill to the supermarket. Still, it got the job done and soon we were on our way again.

The passage to New York is dramatic. The river flows between steep banks, home to many impressive mansions. History mingled with these eye-catching vistas as we passed Poughkeepsie, Hyde Park, West Point, and Peekskill. On a previous trip much of this had been shrouded in mists, but now we enjoyed the full splendour in clear autumn airs.

The stately river bore us past cliffs of the Palisades to Manhattan, then to the Statue of Liberty beyond which everything would be new to us. We anchored below Sandy Hook at Atlantic Highlands, a pleasant village with a big marina, cheap diesel and a great hardware store. All of this lies in the shadow of a big U.S. Navy ordnance station where frightful weaponry and high explosives are loaded to warships. We hoped the navy’s procedures were foolproof.

The October 14 forecast called for a fresh breeze on the Atlantic coast, and I thought we’d manage without much trouble. Big mistake! As we rounded Sandy Hook and headed out to sea we faced a 15+ knot headwind right on the nose. Of course I should have turned back, but was reluctant to be defeated on our first coastal passage. So Eve took her accustomed refuge— retiring to her berth in the salon — while I piloted True Love through big seas as we pounded our way down the coast.

After five bumpy and wet hours we pulled into Manasquan Inlet at Point Pleasant, N.J., a beachy summer place with a boardwalk and lots of fishing boats. Locals directed us to a wharf adjacent a restaurant called the Shrimp Box. Here dockage is free if you buy supper. But the place turned out to be closed, so it was all Scot-free. We discovered a nice little family restaurant run by a young man and his mother where a tasty full-course meal was had for only $5.95. Returning to our dock we found a man and his granddaughter surveying our boat. We invited them aboard to see around and have a coffee. We enjoyed their company, answering lots of questions posed by the curious young lady.

Next morning we were hit by a minor disaster. I was cooking up a big batch of bacon and eggs when a brass tube connecting the burners of our kerosene stove burst open. Black, greasy smoke filled the cabin. Cleaning up the mess, I pondered the impossibility of doing without the stove, and how we could manage to get it fixed. About that time a hail from the dock announced the arrival of our previous night’s visitor. A retired gent, he had come down to see if we needed any help.

He must have been sent by heaven. In no time he had located a welding shop where we took the stove tubing to be brazed. After that he drove us to a supermarket and then to a laundromat. He probably would have helped all day, but this was plenty. We recovered the stove part mid-afternoon, perfectly repaired for $15.00. The rest of the day we spent strolling the boardwalk, exploring the midway and indulging in big ice cream cones.

Early next morning we sailed out of Manasquan Inlet to greet a sparkling sea with a perfect 15 knot reaching breeze. We stood a few miles off shore as True Love charged along near hull speed. It was a glorious sail that I was reluctant to give up even at day’s end when we arrived at Atlantic City. We tied at the Farley State Marina right in front of the Trump casino. We’re hardly big rollers, but had to try our hand at the slot machines. Eve fared a bit better than me. Our total net loss was $1.00, not bad for an evening’s fun.

In softening winds we motor-sailed on down to Cape May and went to anchor near other passage makers to contemplate our next move. The Atlantic forecast was not inviting, so we opted for the Delaware/Chesapeake route to Norfolk. Next morning we transited the Cape May Canal and headed up Delaware Bay. We had easy seas and bright skies, but fought an ebbing tide all the way up to our anchorage at Black Ditch Bar. It was an easy run next day through the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal into the north end of Chesapeake Bay.

It felt great to be cruising this fabled waterway, especially in the fine autumn days we enjoyed there. The shoreline is attractive everywhere, and yachts were in abundance even at this late time of year. Our first anchorage was in a quiet cove named Still Pond.

We then rode the tide down to Annapolis, one of the east coast’s great yachting centers. The U.S. Naval Academy dominates the harbour entrance and yachts are everywhere — at anchor, in clubs and marinas. We fuelled up and tied at the Yacht Basin Marina in the center of town. After visiting some chandleries we began exploring around this historic town. It isn’t a large place, so we did fine on foot. Annapolis is certainly attractive, but is priced up to the trendy tourist trade it serves. Many of the restaurants did not seem geared for the average sailor, but we found a nice pub and enjoyed a good meal.

Next morning found us on our way down the Bay’s Maryland shore. A good reaching breeze arose, powering us to the picturesque inlet at Solomans, a most appealing locale. We anchored with eight other yachts (four of them Canadian) in a corner of Back Creek. We dinghied ashore for grocery shopping in an upscale supermarket, and to have a peek at the marine museum. After dinner we signaled our neighbours — Tom & Judy on Cheshire Cat — to join us for drinks. This was the first of many couples we would meet who had sold everything and were living aboard their boat (their’s a Nonsuch 30). We were beginning to make many cruising friends.

Next morning the Solomans anchorages all seemed to empty out, and dozens of yachts were heading south in strong following winds. I was quietly pleased to see that True Love could edge past most of them. We joined our Cheshire Cat friends in Deltaville, a small yachting haven with a very tricky zigzag entrance between shoals.

The wind next morning was gusting over 25 knots, but being a broad reach we decided to risk it. We weighed anchor at low tide and crept out, only to get stuck in mud in the channel (our first of many groundings). The tide was rising, and Tom from Cheshire Cat came to our rescue in his dinghy. We managed to get free using the mainsail halyard. But by this time the weather was really foul and we opted to return to anchor. That afternoon we went aboard Cheshire Cat for more socializing. We were both Bahamas bound, so there was much to discuss — including plans for next day’s passage to Norfolk, Virginia.

A fine late October day found us tearing down the southern reaches of Chesapeake Bay. A strong following breeze gave us a thrilling sleigh ride, surfing through high, breaking waves. Our destination that day was Norfolk, Virginia.

The scene changed markedly on reaching the southern end of the Chesapeake. Picturesque shorelines gave way to impressive displays of naval and commercial sea power. Here a constellation of ports — Hampton, Newport News, Norfolk and Portsmouth — comprise the Hampton Roads mega port. We passed mile after mile of naval shipyards with all kinds of warships: destroyers, frigates, cruisers, aircraft carriers, supply ships and submarines. Big containerships and tankers added to the marine traffic.

True Love made for the Waterside Marina in downtown Norfolk, a relatively small but very attractive yacht haven. Built as the centerpiece of a large waterfront renewal project, the marina is adjacent a waterfront mall and close to downtown hotels. But supermarkets are not nearby and we found ourselves walking about two miles to a convenience store.

In beautiful weather we stayed on for two days, in part to install our new wind generator. This device would supply most of our electricity during the winter, but it was a big job to erect. This “Fourwinds II” unit is perhaps the largest available. With a five-foot diameter propeller it stands on a nine-foot mast, weighs 35 pounds and comes with sophisticated electronic controls. I spent hours measuring, sawing, drilling and tapping threads. Finally we had the thing assembled and two other sailors came on board to help erect it on the port quarter. I was glad to have this job behind us, though most of the wiring was unfinished.

While this work was in progress Eve spent some time exploring around town. We came upon Mo & O’Malley’s Irish pub, where we enjoyed a superb Irish beef stew washed down with a nice red beer, all of which was made more enjoyable by a girl with a guitar, a good voice, and lots of fine tunes. Next day our trek down the Intra-coastal Waterway (the ICW) would begin.

The ICW begins just off Norfolk’s Waterside Marina and runs 1050 miles to its southern end at Miami. True Love was underway at 0700 with a dozen or so other boats all heading south. At first the ICW is big and commercial: still lots of naval dockyards and industrial structures. But as we gradually cleared various bridges the scene changed to pastoral vistas. By 10:00 we were transiting the Great Bridge Lock — the only lock on the waterway. On departure, we tied just above the lock to visit a good supermarket in Great Bridge village. We scurried back with our load of groceries just in time to make the hourly bridge opening.

We forged ahead down the Albemarle & Chesapeake Canal headed for Currituck Sound, our first day on the ICW. Eve & I had been reading up on how to navigate this famous waterway, known for its beauty and its frequent shallows. I was trying to be vigilant, but even on this first day I misjudged the channel going around a marker and put True Love solidly onto a mud shoal. Embarrassed by this early failure, there was nothing to do but wait for help to happen by. Mercifully the wait was not long. A young couple with a CS 27 from Charlottetown bravely took a line from our masthead and managed to heel us off the shoal without going aground themselves. Grateful for this relief we carried on to our destination at Coinjock, but apprehensive as to what the ICW might have in store for us.

Next day we relaxed a bit cruising down the wide expanse of Albemarle Sound in lovely sunny weather. We anchored in the Alligator River with many other southbound yachts. Morning mist made departure tricky, and we crept slowly into the Alligator-Pungo River Canal. The sun soon burned off the mist and saw us away to Belhaven, where we tied at the River Forest Marina. The centerpiece of this establishment is an antebellum mansion complete with tall, white columns. Its dining room serves up an elaborate southern buffet; we found it hard not to overeat. The marina also supplies complimentary electric golf carts to get around town. This is great fun, if a bit scary on the main highway out to the supermarket.

Every day the warm Carolina sun graced our passage as we pushed on through rivers and sounds, all with their own peculiar beauty. Our anchorages welcomed us with tranquility for our happy hours and quiet evening meals. Tides and currents constantly governed our progress, at times slowing or speeding our voyage. The bounty of the sea was evident, with many shrimpers and other fishing craft sharing our waters. Before long we were in holiday country, sometimes passing magnificent golf courses like those at Myrtle Beach.

Some parts of the ICW seemed precariously shallow, especially at low tide. The channel’s path also seemed capricious; not always where the chart showed it to be. Miraculously we stayed off the bottom — until our approach to Charleston. Thinking we were safely in the middle of a straight channel I left the boat on auto helm and nipped below to view the next chart. Suddenly we felt True Love go hard into a mud bank, victim of an unexpected cross current. Again, we waited for help. A fisherman in a small boat hadn’t power enough to free us, but a second fisherman managed to lever us out with our mast trick. So good to be afloat again!

At the confluence of the Ashley and Cooper Rivers and the sea lies Charleston, capital of the old south. Fort Sumpter, where the civil war began, was on our port beam as we entered the harbour. We fought a vigorous ebb tide up the river to tie at the Ashley Marina.

We stayed two days to rest up and see the town. Getting around was easy: the marina had a convenience van and shuttle buses were also available at 25 cents a ride. We found the visitor center in a refurbished train station, and took a bus tour to get our bearings and learn some of the city’s rich history. Established by the French in 1670, it was taken by the British in 1760 and retained the cultural highlights of both nations. We loved roaming its old streets, soaking up the charming architecture, peeking into shops and the odd church. One night we had good bangers and mash at an Irish pub.

We scrubbed True Love’s decks, did an oil change, fuelled up and were on our way again. The route south winds through South Carolina’s “low country”, the domain of salt marshes and tidal estuaries. Some tricky passages going from one range to another kept us on our toes making for Beaufort, SC.

Beaufort turned out to be an unexpected gem. It’s a compact, almost perfect old south town replete with big old mansions. We wandered its quiet streets richly imbued with old oaks draped with hanging moss. The marina loaned us a courtesy car to do our shopping. Idling through a tasty lunch of soup and seafood sandwich on the terrace at “Ollies on the Bay” it was hard to imagine how life could be better.

EPISODE # 4 back to top

We were well and truly on our way. And the waters of Georgia were beckoning.

Eve and I had more or less got the hang of cruising the Intra-coastal Waterway (ICW). We happily pushed True Love south on an unending string of sunny days, waving farewell to the Carolinas as we slipped past the opulent shores of Hilton Head Island. Soon we were deep into Georgia’s salt marshes, replete with sea birds — ospreys, egrets and pelicans. Our anchorages were peaceful and secure: Moon River where we were all alone but aground in mud at low tide, and Teakettle Creek surrounded by miles of marshlands.

Jeckyll Island was a pleasant surprise. Once the private preserve of the affluent, it is now a vacationland with miles of beach. The Historic District is open to the public, including the palatial residences of the old tycoons — Vanderbilts, Morgans, Goodyears and others. The local marina provided a courtesy van, much appreciated for grocery shopping, and free bicycles on which we explored the miles of paved paths criss-crossing the island.

By noon the next day we were in Florida; immediately the temperature was a hot 30˚ C. We anchored off an old plantation house in the Fort George River. We were saved from going aground there by the kind skipper of a ketch who came by in his dinghy to warn of shoaling at low tide. After moving True Love to deeper water we asked him and the crew of a Dutch yacht to join us for evening cocktails. Next day negotiating a shallow land cut we came close to grounding passing a wide tug and barge at low tide. We survived this only to be accosted by the Coast Guard who boarded and inspected us thoroughly, fortunately finding True Love 100% compliant. A few hours later we anchored off St. Augustine, an old Spanish town where even the lift bridge is in Iberian style. We thoroughly enjoyed strolling its quaint alleyways, poking into shops and other tourist traps, all of this a stone’s throw from the anchorage.

In Florida the ICW is shallower than elsewhere, as we discovered passing Matanzas inlet, a notoriously tricky spot. We grounded in the channel at low tide, but luckily were freed before long by the wake of a large motor yacht. Late that evening we arrived at Daytona Beach. Here we also found the designated anchorage shallow, with much less water than shown on the chart. But our problems really began on departure next morning; the anchor wouldn’t come up, even with the 1400 lb. pull of our electric anchor windlass. I then dove down to find the chain wrapped around a coral-like rock. With Eve easing the chain I was able to unwind it to set us free. Best leave Daytona to the college spring break crowd.

A few days later we came upon the “Jones Fruit Dock”, a decrepit looking structure in the Indian River. A hand-drawn sign offered overnight dockage for $10 and promised six feet of water. With no anchorage in sight we opted to give it a try. We were pleased to find the facility as advertised. Old Mr. Jones operates a citrus grove and is a bit of a character.

Our venue for next three days was markedly different. By prior arrangement with dear sailing friends, on arrival at Fort Pierce we left True Love for the luxury of their condo in Ocean Village on South Hutchison Island. It was to be virtually our only stay ashore in eight months, and we made the most of it. We rented a car to get around and do shopping, walked the long beach, lazed around the pool, and ate out at some swell places. Before getting back our land legs we were away again, and soon found ourselves anchored in Lake Worth. We joined lots of other Bahamas-bound yachts in this fine anchorage. With good shopping an easy dinghy ride away we stayed three days. However, Eve discovered her left foot was swelling up: something was not quite right.

We carried on to Fort Lauderdale, a long day with 21 bridges to clear. On arrival we searched for a place to stay, eventually finding dockage at the Fort Lauderdale Marina. We celebrated Eve’s birthday that night with a seafood supper at the marina restaurant. Next day we moved to Lake Sylvia, an attractive tidal pond near Pier 66 where anchorage is supposed to be limited to one night. Getting in and out of this place is tricky. On departure we went hard aground in mud. Waiting for the tide to lift us free we thought more about Eve’s swollen foot; it was not getting better. So we decided to stay and look for a doctor.

We found a medical clinic where Eve was treated with antibiotics and an injection. Content with our Lake Sylvia anchorage, we thought it best to stay until Eve’s foot started improving. We had found our way around the canal system in our dinghy, and could get to the clinic, shopping and banks this way. But the foot made little progress.

One day I took the dinghy with a load of washing to do the Bahia Mar Marina coin laundry. Disembarking, the inflatable dinghy lurched into a sharp clamshell on a piling, cutting open a hole. I watched in total dismay as one half of the dinghy went limp. Still, I did the laundry and looked for help. Eventually I coaxed some guys with a big parasailing boat to rescue me. Hearing the deep rumble of their engines, Eve hobbled up on deck to the sorry sight of me and our injured dinghy in tow. The skipper of a large ketch anchored beside us helped me take the dinghy in for repairs. But our troubles were growing. Eve’s foot wasn’t improving; in fact, the right foot was now swelling up. Then I managed to pull my back lifting out sail bags. What a sight we made struggling along the streets of Fort Lauderdale — Eve hobbling on sore feet, and I bent over like an old man.

A few days later we had the dinghy back. But then, stopping our wind generator, I caught a finger in its propeller. It was a bloody mess, but Eve bandaged me nicely. I didn’t think I was badly hurt, but after a few days I found a specialist who diagnosed a broken finger. He told me said “if you were younger I’d insist on an operation to set this correctly, but if left alone it won’t be too badly impaired. At your stage I guess it won’t matter too much”.

We decided to move to a marina to be closer to transport. And not a moment too soon; as we were lifting anchor a police boat arrived to chase us out, our week’s stay far exceeding the one-day limit. Initially we went to Los Olas Marina, a nice new facility near the beach. But the noise from the adjacent Los Olas Bridge was annoying. In a few days we lucked into a spot at Cooley’s Landing several miles up the New River — a clean, quiet marina in the center of the city. The New River itself is a beautiful waterway teeming with yachts of all sizes, and blessed with walkways beside parks, fine restaurants and boutiques. About this time Eve learned her condition had been completely misdiagnosed. The head doctor of the clinic, returning from vacation, spotted the problem immediately as athlete’s foot. The cure is simple, but takes a bit of time.

So we stayed on at Cooley’s Landing to convalesce. We couldn’t have asked for a nicer spot, or better company. We loved exploring the New River in our dinghy, and strolling its banks. Again we made new cruising friends, some we’d see later in the Bahamas. On our last evening we enjoyed a visit by close friends from the R.St.L.Y.C. who came by for a glass and supper aboard True Love.

Next morning in perfect conditions we waved goodbye, setting off down the river and then out to sea. A 15-knot offshore breeze powered us briskly on a beam reach toward Miami. After 24 days in one place I thought I had died and gone to heaven. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious.......”.

Dec. 17, 1998: True Love was reaching fast off the sandy shores of southern Florida, closing quickly on Miami. We came inshore through Government Cut, passing a long row of cruise ships, and anchoring near them off the Miami Yacht Club on Watson’s Island. We joined about 20 other yachts waiting for a weather window to cross to the Bahamas. This location was great — a dinghy ride to Miami Beach for good shopping, yachting supplies and restaurants, and walking distance across McArthur Bridge to downtown Miami. For a modest daily fee the Yacht Club let us use their facilities (showers, garbage and bar — must haves for cruisers); we were also welcome to relax on their terrace.

The Christmas season was in full swing all around us. Christmas decorations abounded with the shops full of Christmas things, even live Christmas trees at supermarkets. Tall buildings festooned with Christmas lights warmed our anchorage each night. In Fort Lauderdale we had seen the Christmas boat parade — an extravagant procession of yachts lavishly decorated with lights, many with big sound systems. All of this was pleasant, but somehow incongruous to Montrealers, and more so as the weather was unseasonably hot.

On Christmas day the cruisers at anchor congregated for a potluck Christmas dinner, the Yacht Club having kindly consented to let us use their facilities. It was a great feast for every taste: someone had even bought a turkey and had roasted it on board! So pleasant to be among other sailors, with lots of talk of what lay ahead for us in the islands.

Getting to Florida is one thing; getting to the Bahamas is something else again. In between them lies the Straits of Florida through which courses the mighty Gulf Stream, a huge river of warm water flowing northward at about five knots. A wind with any significant northerly component works against the Stream, agitating it into steep and often dangerous seas. So cruisers have to wait patiently for a weather window to get across. The wait can be days or weeks; occasionally months can pass without a window, with boats heading for the Florida Keys instead to spend the winter. Talk on the VHF radio seems fixated on anticipating the weather and deciding when it might be safe to venture out.

On December 22 conditions appeared reasonable, if not really good. We decided to venture out with four other yachts. We departed our anchorage at 10:30 pm planning to make Gun Cay in the Biminis in daylight. But things went wrong for us. The wind and seas were worse than expected. True Love was handling the big seas satisfactorily, but we had forgotten to empty our holding tank. The putrid aroma coming from the chocolate milkshake in the tank made staying inside unbearable, so Eve was unable to relax in her berth — her usual refuge in heavy weather. When we were about ten miles out the “low oil pressure” light started to flash. I tried a few things to fix this, but eventually had to shut down the engine. By the time I figured out what was wrong the Stream had driven us many miles north off our course. We could have carried on, but this wasn’t fun so we turned around. At 3:00 a.m. we were back at anchor off Watson’s Island, weary and discouraged at our failed attempt, but with crew and yacht safe.

We waited again for another window. Meanwhile, careful preparations were made. I changed the engine oil and replaced both fuel filters. The day before our next departure we filled up with diesel and water, and pumped out the holding tank.

On Christmas day the weather data indicated an approaching break. We consulted with some other crews and decided that next day would be worth a try. This time we’d go a little farther north around the top of North Bimini, thus fighting less current. At 3:00 am on Boxing Day we weighed anchor in company with two other yachts and headed out. At the mouth of Government Cut we were squeezed to the side of the channel by the Norway, a huge cruise ship entering as we were leaving. After that the crossing was pretty easy. As dawn broke the wind eased up, giving us benign seas. Before long we were joined by several other yachts originally making for Gun Cay, but opting for our route instead. By noon we were coming up on the low-lying shores of North Bimini. The Bahamas at last!

Soon we were passing North Rock Shoal Light and entering the Grand Bahama Bank. On the Bahama Banks the water is about fifteen feet deep, but crystal clear. It’s disconcerting at first as it appears you are about to hit bottom. We had been reading up on how to navigate by the colour of the water — a necessary skill in the islands’ shallow waters. This would take some getting used to. We were now close reaching in unsettled weather with a few rainsqualls. Our immediate destination was the Northwest Passage, a narrow gut that had to be passed in daylight because the light, which marks it, was not in operation.

Darkness closed in around the supper hour, and by 9:00 pm we all decided to go to anchor. By now the wind was blowing twenty knots. We were in the middle of the Banks with zero protection. We spread out the boats in case anyone’s anchor might drag. I let out 100 feet of chain and hoped for the best. The tides produce crosscurrents over the Banks and these were clearly interacting with the wind to produce an alarming sea. We went below to turn in, but it felt like being inside a washing machine. With True Love heaving and rocking in every direction the canned goods and other things in our lockers were slamming from side to side making a terrific noise. I did what I could to stop this, but had limited success. Eve settled into her midships bunk and was somehow able to nod off (she told me she’d said a little prayer first!). I sleep in the forepeak and the motion up there was so wild that I had to hold myself from being banged into the walls. No sleep for the skipper.

We had planned with the other yachts to get underway at 4:00 am, and by this time I was glad to be out on deck again. The foredeck was awash with breaking waves, but the electric windlass did a masterful job of getting in the anchor and chain. Still in complete darkness, we set our course by GPS and radar for the Northwest Channel Light. By dawn’s early light we found what remained of it — a rather small, but deadly steel structure that would easily hole any boat that accidentally hit it. Our small flotilla was joined by a dozen or so other boats coming from different directions, all waiting to make the passage in daylight. As the sun rose we left the Banks to enter the deep waters of the “Tongue of the Ocean” that lead on to the Berry islands and Nassau.

True Love was heading east toward the Berries. By 10:30 am we reached Chub Cay, our destination. I had trouble getting the anchor to set, perhaps because going so long without sleep I was dog tired. Luckily Chub Cay is a resort island and has a marina, so we went for it. It felt great to be securely moored, to take a shower and to relax by the swimming pool. But as I walked the beach looking out at some of our friends’ yachts anchored off it I felt we should be there too. However going into the marina turned out to be a stroke of luck because the wind came around and produced another sleepless night for those who had gone to anchor. In any event we were at last in the islands, engulfed in their luxuriant tropical vegetation and surrounded by their gorgeous waters in so many shades of blue. We had made it!

In the dying days of 1998 we slipped our mooring at Chub Cay for the deep waters of “the Tongue of the Ocean”. The short stay at our first Bahamian island had been fine, but we were itching to move on. We set True Love on a course to Nassau in a light southeast breeze. This is often a tough, windward passage, but for us it was an easy seven-hour sail.

Nassau Harbour is located in a relatively narrow passage between New Providence and Paradise Islands. Coming in through the main (eastern) entrance we were greeted by four big ships at the cruise ship berth. After passing them I was a bit surprised to find the harbour as narrow and crowded as it was. We docked at the Nassau Yacht Haven, the first of a cluster of four busy marinas, about a mile and a half east of the cruise ships.

Clearing customs and immigration was the first order of business. Unable to clear at Chub Cay, we had been flying our yellow Quarantine flag ever since touching Bahamian waters. The local officials who came aboard were friendly enough, but there was plenty of paperwork to complete, and fees of about $100 U.S. — including $20 for a fishing license.

We were then free to go exploring and shopping. A ten-minute walk took us to a shopping plaza with a supermarket and a liquor store. We stocked up on rum at a great price. Next day we joined the cruiser’s weekly lunch at Crocodiles Restaurant on the waterfront, a good place to meet new friends and to learn more about the islands.

That night was New Years Eve. We relaxed on the marina dock with our new friends, a glass in hand. Someone was sharing a bottle of champagne to go with the chat. A warm evening breeze lifted our spirits while we waited for the fireworks show at midnight. It was good to be in Nassau.

In a few hours the famous Junkanoo parade would begin — a Mardigras-like festival replete with myriad dancers in elaborate costumes, slowly swaying through the downtown core to the beat of island music. We caught a few hours sleep before walking down to join the crowds marveling at this extravagant performance. Big groups from New Providence and the out islands competed for the top prize. We were impressed with how well these people kept their energy up after hours of prancing about, especially the young children who were part of almost every act.

Eve and I were ready to move on, but we were about to experience a taste of winter’s weather. The islands’ generally fine, breezy weather is periodically interrupted by big cold fronts — winter storms that are said to start up in Canada. The normal southeast winds clock around to the north, the temperature drops and it blows like stink for a few days. When this happens you just have to hunker down in some protected place and wait it out. As one front can come right behind another, you always need to have two weeks supply of food, water and fuel aboard.

Being stuck in Nassau was not exactly a hardship. We learned to use the local buses to explore around and to sample some local culture. We visited the opulent Atlantis resort complex, complete with its well-stocked, enormous underground aquariums: most impressive. Another time we joined sailing friends in a visit by local bus to the Bacardi plant. Here we sampled a big range of great rum drinks in their attractive visitor’s center.

Although we’ve been sailing for many years this trip was a new adventure and challenge for us. So it was that I often found myself wondering about what lay ahead, how we would cope with problems that might arise, and how to decide what to do. The immediate issue was when to venture out of Nassau. The front was slowly passing, but the winds were still well over 20 knots.

On January 7, 1999 the forecast was a bit iffy, but the northeasters were down to 15 to 20 knots, with a fine sky. We decided to go for it. With one reef in the main we set the #3 genoa and headed for Normans Cay in the northern Exumas, a chain of unspoiled islands extending about 100 miles southeast of Nassau. To the east of these islands lies the Exuma Banks — shallow, but somewhat protected in the lee of the islands. To the west lie the deep, unprotected waters of Exuma Sound.

The weather proved manageable as we ventured onto the Banks. True Love tore along at hull speed on a beam reach in the 20-knot breeze; all the while our wind generator was having a field day. We detoured a bit south to avoid the coral heads of the Yellow Bank. By late afternoon we were safely anchored in a big cove at the south end of Normans with about 20 other yachts. This is a cay with a history. For many years it was a drug running center, until finally shut down by the Drug Enforcement Agency. A downed drug running plane lay in the shallows 100 yards from our anchor, a graphic souvenir of the sordid past.

But, for us, Normans was a little bit of heaven. We lay peacefully at anchor, enjoying our happy hour with a gorgeous sunset. We wanted to linger for a while, but another big cold front was coming. So after two nights we moved on to the shelter of Warderick Wells.

Warderick Wells Cay is the center of the Exuma Cays Land and Sea Park, a beautiful protected ensemble of cays and waters. Well sheltered on all sides, the anchorage is a 270-degree crescent where 20-foot deep water is surrounded by sand shoals all around, the center of which nearly dries at low tide. The varying degrees of depths of these clear waters produce a spectacular array of shades of blue and turquoise. Yachts lie on moorings provided by the Park, available by reservation only at $15 per day. We called from Normans Cay on the VHF radio and were lucky to get a spot.

We hopped down to Warderick Wells in the calm before the storm, enjoying the cays to port as we motored through the clear, shallow waters of the Banks. The Park Ranger happened to be having a happy hour gathering at his residence that evening. Once again we mingled with the cruising crowd, making more acquaintances, and learning about the Park and its cays. Next morning we explored Warderick’s rugged trails, saw the blowholes where big breakers from the Sound create waterspouts, and placed a True Love talisman on Boo-Boo Hill, which holds a big collection of all kinds of marine stuff left by boaters as good luck charms.

I was out snorkeling when the front suddenly hit with howling winds and torrential rain. Managing with some difficulty to return to True Love, I plugged up our deck scuppers so that the water ran into our tanks, refilling them. For the next two days the front bore down with gray skies and high winds — too rough to venture ashore in our little dinghy. Eve and I stayed aboard reading and working on navigation, setting GPS waypoints for passages to come.

Next day the front had passed. We were on our way again, this time toward Staniel Cay.

Early January 1999: True Love was prancing smartly through the crystal waters of the Exuma Banks, destination Staniel Cay. It was a scintillating windward passage slicing the chop accompanying a 20-knot easterly. By early afternoon we were anchored off the wide beach of Big Major’s Spot, adjacent Staniel Cay. Many cruisers opt to stay in this well protected bay, although Staniel Cay itself is the main attraction.

We launched our little inflatable and took a wet ride through the chop to visit Staniel Cay, a mile or two away. Staniel’s population might be a hundred or so souls, but the place does boast two marinas, three stores, a small airstrip, and the grotto where Thunderball was filmed, not to mention a church or two, so we set out to explore.

We tied the dinghy at the Staniel Cay Yacht Club — in reality a marina, which looked like a good place for a meal or a drink. Meandering up what passes for the main drag we came upon the Happy People Marina, another place to tie up and get fed and watered. The grocery stores were high on our priority list, and we visited them all — the Blue Store, the Pink Store, and the Isles General Store. Everything was on a small scale, seemingly part of someone’s house. Generally these places would be dark with no lights until the owner sauntered by to switch on one or two puny hanging light bulbs. Even then the selection was pretty basic, but did include a small freezer with a few steaks, chops and hamburger. All we ended up buying was a couple of ice cream Dixie cups to eat in the sun while we absorbed our first lesson in out-island commerce.

Next morning a visit to Big Major’s beach was on the schedule. We wanted to see the wild pig who makes his home there. Eve was holding a bag of bread crusts and as she stepped to the beach where the pig awaited us. Immediately the huge porker lunged at her to get at his snack. In sheer panic she tossed the bag to me, and I managed to throw a few crusts to divert his charge. Evidently satisfied, the pig calmed down. Other visitors soon arrived to carry on the feeding, so we could stroll the sun-drenched beach at leisure.

Afterwards we weighed anchor and made for Black Point Settlement, a village on another cay about ten miles away. We dawdled getting there at five knots on headsail alone. Near the town dock we dropped anchor and went ashore to look around. Apart from its own small store this place has free garbage disposal and free reverse osmosis (R.O.) water. As both can cost money (R.O. water is usually $1.00 a gallon), we took advantage of the island’s largesse, ferrying three gerry cans of water to True Love. Women weaving wicker ware on their front porch were also part of this island’s charm.

Lorraine’s Café, however, is perhaps Black Point’s biggest attraction. Lorraine feeds the cruisers, offering a full course meal with several choices for $10. You call her on the VHF radio to reserve. We had heard several people calling in asking for an early supper, and when I stopped by to check the place out they were already waiting. I reserved for a much later time. But when Eve and I finally arrived the place had filled up and the original gang was still waiting. Luckily for us the food soon began appearing, starting with plates of conch fritters for each table. The meal was good, and it was fun to be face to face with crews of other boats, many we’d seen or heard chatting on the VHF. It was also a lesson in island time: things happen when they happen — probably not when expected. But if on-time performance is not Lorraine’s long suit, her food is fine and she works at marketing. She gave a nice thank you card on our departure, and sent us a Christmas card in Montreal.

These early days in the islands taught us how nice the local Bahamians would be. They live in a different world without our priorities. But they were always friendly and pleasant.

We were told that farther southeast the periodic winter cold fronts would be less trouble. We would have liked to linger along the Exuma chain, but — along with many other yachts — we were pushing to get all the way to George Town. Not that we were suffering from the weather: each day was clear, warm and sunny. The winds did vary, but mostly blew 10 to 20 knots from the east.

We departed Black Point with about ten other boats heading down the Exuma Banks. In a diminishing breeze we motored along, navigating with great care as we approached Little Farmers Cay where the Banks become very shallow. It was low tide with sometimes less than a foot of water under the keel, but we didn’t touch. By mid-afternoon we were anchored in a beautiful protected spot in the lee of Big Galliot Cay. After sun showers on deck we indulged in an extra long happy hour, charmed by yet another gorgeous sunset.

From Galliot we would have to make passage down the unprotected Exuma Sound, very difficult to do if the prevailing winds are strong. As well, going through the cuts that join the Banks to the Sound can be treacherous when a strong wind opposes the tidal current, producing big standing waves. But somehow we hit it lucky. We awoke to a sparkling day with calm seas. By 07:30 we were slipping easily through Galliot Cut and into the deep waters of the Sound.

Of course we would rather have been sailing, but we were happy enough just to be motoring through the Sound’s gentle swells instead of fighting a ferocious headwind. Obviously we’d hit upon an ideal weather window: yachts were coming out of every cut and backwater to join the procession south. Standing about a mile offshore we surveyed each small cut and haven through our binoculars, considering the merits of each, and sorry to be passing them by.

By early afternoon we were closing in Elizabeth Harbour, a major destination for cruisers in the central and southeast Bahamas. It lies between Great Exuma Island and Stocking Island forming a big roadstead with many anchorages, the center of which is George Town itself. There is room for hundreds of yachts with reasonable protection from the usually robust winter winds, although it’s sometimes necessary to move location as the winds change. The harbour entrances are somewhat tricky with coral shoals and some other hazards. However, with good GPS waypoints and visual landmarks we had little difficulty finding our way in.

I felt a mix of elation and gratitude passing beneath the heights of Stocking Island, taking in the beauty of the place and knowing we were actually there. Passing scores of moored yachts we spotted some of the storied anchorages — Hamburger Beach, Volleyball Beach and Kidd Cove. We chose to drop our hook off Sand Dollar Beach, perhaps the biggest and nicest of them all. Here, a hundred yards or so from the beach, we let out 100 feet of chain and swung gently in unison with our cruising neighbours. What more could we ask?

Yet with nearly calm seas we decided to launch our inflatable and make an early expedition across the harbour to George Town. So, for the first of many times our little 8-ft. dinghy with its humble 2 H.P. outboard began the two-mile journey — not so bad in small waves. We ferreted out a spot at the big dinghy dock, and had a quick look-see and liked what we saw. After ice cream cones bought at the fruit market we contentedly buzzed back to True Love. Sipping our evening sundowners we happily contemplated the days to come.

We awoke to the gentle cadence of wavelets caressing True Love’s hull as we lay at anchor off Sand Dollar Beach. Bright sunshine and a clear blue sky heralded our first morning near George Town at the southeast end of the Exumas.

Lingering over a lazy breakfast our VHF radio came alive to the exhilarating announcement of the daily cruisers’ net — good morning George Town! Run by the visiting cruisers, this institution is the focal point of the day’s news and activities. Using an established schedule, a volunteer m.c. brings on participants delivering messages on their individual VHF radios.

The net begins with a few homespun “commercials” from local businesses and restaurants — Johnny’s Dive Shop extolling the day’s scuba adventure; the homemade wonders of Mom’s Bakery; Eddy’s Edgewater’s restaurant daily special....etc. This is followed by an all-important weather forecast, announcements of community and sporting events, ongoing plans for Regatta Week, and a news summary (evidently drawn from a U.S. internet site). At the end comes the “cruisers’ general” session in which individuals come on with personal messages, often asking for help with problems encountered (e.g. my alternator’s on the fritz). Afterwards comes a flood of responses from cruisers offering their help. All of this is strictly amateur stuff, but interesting and reassuring for sailors far from home.

An abundance of activities commanded our attention, but first we had to see around. A short dinghy ride took us to Sand Dollar Beach on Stocking Island — a beautiful mile or so of pristine sand just waiting for us to come ashore. By taking a five-minute walk through tropical vegetation to the far side of the island we came upon a much longer and wider beach with big surf. A ten minute dinghy ride (or half hour walk at low tide) brought us to Volleyball Beach where half a dozen courts set up in the sand see lots of action from avid sporting cruisers.

The village of George Town, however, is the biggest attraction. Located across the wide harbour on Great Exuma Island, George Town is built around a circular tidal pond named (somewhat generously) Lake Victoria. A narrow cut through a coral wall connects it to tidewater. Through this courses a tidal current so strong that our underpowered dinghy could barely push through it. Scattered around the pond’s shores are two grocery stores, a fruit & vegetable market, several liquor stores, a Scotia Bank branch, a hardware store, an outboard boat and motor shop, a school, three churches, a government building, several restaurant/bars, and the “Peace and Plenty” — a small resort hotel, among other establishments. The larger grocery store provides a big dinghy dock with a tap supplying free local water (somewhat brackish). This dock is often so crowded it’s necessary to clamber over several other dinghies to get ashore.

Everything in George Town is typically Bahamian — small scale and unpretentious. A simple charm pervades the place, somewhat enhanced by the swarm of friendly cruisers who virtually take over the place during the winter. We would go to town for a bit of shopping, probably to fill a gerry can of water, and perhaps to have lunch. All of this need take but a couple of hours. Instead it would be the better part of a day. True, things do go slowly, but socializing also immediately sets in. We couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into people we’d met, or heard or talked to on the VHF. Of course we would have to stop for a chat. We all had lots of time on our hands anyway.

We also discovered the simple pleasure of attending Sunday services at St. Andrews, the local Anglican church. Perched on a hilltop, its windows command fine views across Elizabeth Harbour and Lake Victoria. Above the altar appears a brilliant stained glass depicting Jesus with a boatload of frightened disciples on the Sea of Galilee admonishing the raging waters with “peace, be still” — a notion dear to a sailor’s psyche. The services there were always lively, warm and friendly with good music. All this was presided over by a retired clergyman from Medicine Hat, Alberta who also had to look after three other churches and a school. After the service a nice free lunch was served in the church hall, an opportunity to chat with local residents and other cruisers. I found the whole experience heartwarming and spiritually gratifying.

We soon recognized a reality of cruising the Bahamas: your yacht is your home and your dinghy is your car. Problems with either one can be telling. With few exceptions our Aloha 34 True Love was fine as our home. Our dinghy was not so good. Innocently we had come south with a small 8-ft. inflatable and a 20 year old 2 HP Johnson, both too small for the job. The dinghy was fine in small anchorages or for a short hop to the beach. But for the two-mile run back and forth across Elizabeth Harbour and other long jaunts it was barely sufficient. The dinghy was too small to take the waves and the motor was too feeble and slow, and showing its age.

The motor began failing on my first attempt at fishing (at which I was pretty much a failure). I had to row a long way back when the motor conked out. Being stuck at anchor was a big problem. However, a call for help on the cruisers’ net next morning brought seven offers of help. A knowledgeable sailor quickly diagnosed water in the fuel. He showed me how to take apart the carburetor and filter the fuel. Water in the local gas was not uncommon, and I used the procedure thus learned several times successfully. But this was not to be the end of our motor problems.

Of all the blessings of a winter in the islands perhaps the people are the best part. Always friendly and helpful, it was a constant pleasure to make new acquaintances and to cross paths with sailors we’d met elsewhere. So often we would share the happy hour with others, on their boat or ours. The accepted protocol was to bring your own drinks, probably because you never knew when another cruiser’s supplies might be running low. We found a way of making a good batch of rum and coke in a thermos which we would bring along, sometimes with a few things to nibble on.

Exchanging boat cards was another common ritual. One evening a couple from Texas were aboard having drink with us and presented their card. We had come away from Montreal without giving this card business much thought, so had to apologize for being unable to reciprocate. “No problem” they answered, “we’ll make some for you”. To our utter amazement a supply of True Love cards appeared in a few days artistically scripted in red and green on a cream coloured stock; all this accomplished with an on-board PC. This kind of experience played out on numerous occasions for us, and we did our best to follow suit wherever we could.

Much as we were enjoying the George Town scene, we wanted to see more of the islands. We had talked to friends about going farther southeast to Long Island. It was said to be a different kind of place, a good day’s sail away. In early February conditions looked right for the passage. So, at 7:30 am on a bright sunny morning we weighed anchor and were on our way again.

Mid-morning Feb. 5, 1999: True Love was cruising off Little Exuma Island under a blazing blue sky making passage toward Long Island in the southeast Bahamas. In the company of two other yachts — Adventurous and Yellow Brick Road — all seemed well, except for a little mishap. Making a hurried departure from our George Town anchorage I had allowed our small outboard motor to dip momentarily into seawater while bringing it aboard. So here we were trying to flush the head with fresh water, get any salt water out of the cylinder and protect it with oil. Would it ever run again?

By mid-afternoon we were anchored in Thompson Bay near the village of Salt Pond. We had planned to visit for just a couple of days, but lying with just a few other yachts off an unspoiled crescent beach our ideas were changing. We had been warmly greeted by Tom and Wendy Hebert, longtime cruisers from Ottawa now wintering on Long Island, who explained the local lay of the land and offered help. At sunset we were enjoying our happy hour on Yellow Brick Road exchanging plans for exploring around. Long Island was to be a quiet, friendly place with villages strung out along its one main road. Electric power had arrived on this island only two years before.

But for us next day’s top priority was to get our outboard going again. Our expedients en route had not succeeded. After breakfast our cruising friends joined me in taking the motor apart, cleaning and drying out everything, but again to no avail. So we all walked the three miles into Salt Pond seeking a local lobster fisherman reputed to be good with outboards. He wasn’t home, but we left messages for him, checked out the local grocery store and hitchhiked back to the anchorage. Long Island is a hitchhiker’s paradise. Almost every vehicle stops for you, if only to say they’re only going to the next crossroads.

Early next morning we found the path marked by conch shells leading to an old well, the only local source of fresh water — a place we would be visiting often. With circular stone lined walls it looked a perfect wishing well. We were told the tadpoles that came up in our bucket proved the water was fit to drink. We also found that this day, being a Sunday, was the occasion of the cruisers’ weekly potluck lunch gathering. The crews of boats at anchor congregated on what remained of a concrete jetty largely destroyed by a hurricane, to share food and drink, making some new acquaintances and renewing others. The easy social graces of sailors made these, and many other such occasions a relaxing pleasure. We were ashore again that evening with our friends for a service at a small local church.

Next morning brought joy. The lobsterman appeared, took our outboard and promptly fixed it a little cost. What a relief to be mobile again! Our friends had been very helpful in ferrying us around, but we wanted to be independent.

The days were slipping by unnoticed as we lay contentedly beside this unpretentious island. One morning the cruisers organized an expedition to the Salt Pond Caves. Eve quietly opted out, no fan of troglodyte life or the creatures found in caves. We arrived in a small flotilla of inflatables and searched around until someone discovered the entrance, well hidden by brush. Soon we were assembled in a big, softly lit chamber replete with stalagmites and stalactites and strange vegetation. From this, the caves fell off in serpentine passages, dank and gloomy. Exploring deeper into the dark we encountered hosts of bats and strange land crabs, all content to live in the dark. As we stumbled over the uneven ground vivid pictures of Tom Sawyer lost in the caves came to mind. Certainly taking Eve to this place would have been grounds for divorce. How incongruous it seemed when emerging to the beauty of the Bahamian waters and the bright sand!

That evening we hosted a small dinner party on True Love to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary, an occasion unannounced to our guests. You can imagine our surprise when one couple told us the dinner was opportune, this being their 39th anniversary. For sure the champagne was appropriate that evening.

Another event of social serendipity completely amazed us. One day we were introduced Bob and Gladys, a couple arriving on the yacht Eboracum.. Something stirred in Eve’s memory. Suddenly she realized they were a couple we’d known well 30 years ago when they lived nearby in Montreal, but lost touch with many years ago when they moved to Ontario. They had not been sailors in those days, but were now on their eleventh voyage to the Bahamas. What fun to be reunited cruising the islands!

We’d been hearing about Clarence Town, apparently the metropolis of Long Island. With another cruising couple we determined to hitchhike down there. We lucked out, getting a ride in a nice van the whole 40 miles to our destination. But were we really there? There seemed to be only a scattering of modest buildings here and there. A unique church adorned a hill, overlooking a modest shop and drinking establishment, all of which we visited. We also found our way to the fishing boat dock, and — best of all — the Harbour Rest, a great little eatery. We ordered the five-dollar “grouper snack” which proved to be a generous plate of the most delicious seafood this side of heaven.

The return trip was more of an adventure. Traffic was sparse. We were picked up and dropped off by all manner of vehicles. We walked some distance between rides, giving us a peek into villages and shops along the way. One man, guzzling a beer, took us as short way to a school where he was picking up his daughter. Altogether it took ten rides to get back, and we arrived in style in the back of a pickup truck.

The pickup truck dropped us at the Thompson Bay Inn, the local fun place. Here Trephine — the establishment’s matriarch — presides over a friendly family of patrons who frequent the bar, play pool, have a meal, or just hang around. There are no strangers and we soon became part of the scene. For us, though, Trephine’s cooking was a big draw.

One night we made arrangements for a big meal for twelve cruisers, agreeing the menu in advance. Trephine served us in a separate room, heaping the table the all kinds of delicious fare. Good food in the warm fellowship of sailors is a combination hard to beat, especially deep in the islands far from home. It was a joyous evening, yet tinged with melancholy, as we would soon be heading northwest, essentially on our way home. But there was still much to do and see. Our planned two-day stay at Long Island had stretched to two weeks.

The wind built as we reached in fine style up Exuma Sound, bringing us back by mid-afternoon. We carefully navigated into Masters Harbour, home of George Town Marine. We called on the VHF for a haul out to change the anode on our sail drive. Next morning we were up in their travel lift. I meticulously took apart the folding prop and replaced the zinc while Eve scrubbed away some vegetation growing below the waterline, all within the hour’s time we’d negotiated. Now we would be ready for the big regatta, and trip home.

Back in George Town we were once again at the center of the Exumas cruising universe. By now some 400 yachts had gathered as regatta week was nearing. We anchored at our favourite spot — Sand Dollar Beach, arriving in time for a big wiener roast beach party.

A yacht is hardly ever fully trouble free. Every day the morning cruisers net would witness requests for help with gear problems — failed alternators, transmission problems, fouled diesel fuel.... an endless list of eventualities. But always other cruisers would respond.

In the midst of the regatta celebrations we were having our own share of troubles. At first it was a miniscule mishap, a burned out bulb in our power-saver anchor light. In a flash we had a new one from the spares of a big catamaran. Then our refrigeration plant packed in. This was something I could not repair, although I was reasonably sure the problem lay with the electronic control unit. I tried without success to get help from a refrigeration man in George Town. A call on the cruisers net turned up several offers of help, including two spare control units. I carefully wired up each of these without success: they were both duds. A sailor with refrigeration expertise checked out the system, but was unable to help. Meanwhile a few days had slipped by and the fridge was losing its cool. The prospect of doing without the fridge was discouraging. But finally we found someone with a very old spare control unit. Miraculously it worked well — problem solved; stress relieved!

Yet our problems were not at an end. For the fourth time our 2 HP Johnson conked out on our way back from town. A passing dinghy towed us to our anchorage. Back on the boat I completely checked and cleaned the fuel and ignition systems (by now I had learned a lot about this little motor). Strangely, it would start sitting out of the water on the stern rail, but would not run on the dinghy. Next day the man who had first helped us with the motor dropped by and managed to diagnose the problem — a cracked head gasket letting in water.

Again we were reduced to hitchhiking dinghy rides. The local outboard motor shop couldn’t help. A new gasket would take weeks to arrive. We went to the Sunday church service, and chatted afterwards with Father Ottrey, the visiting rector from Medicine Hat, and our motor quandary came up. Sensing the difficulty of our predicament he paused and said a little prayer for us, asking a blessing for our troubled motor. In retrospect it seems an incongruous expedient — soliciting the Almighty’s aid for a blown head gasket — but it was a generous and comforting gesture. In any event, our fortunes began to improve.

Fellow sailors were quick to help. We were loaned a tiny “Cruise & Carry” motor which worked well, but wasn’t much use in the big waves of Elizabeth Harbour. An Englishman single-handing a big ketch took our motor, offering to make a new gasket from raw material. Another cruiser gave us a spare 15 HP motor to use for a while and to acquire if we wanted it. This solved our immediate mobility problem, but this motor was just too heavy for our 8-ft. dinghy. Eventually we found a cruiser who let us have a spare 2 HP Johnson, much newer than ours and in perfect working order. And finally, the day before our departure, we got our old motor back, perfectly repaired by the Englishman at no cost (except for a big bottle of rum I surreptitiously dropped in his cockpit). Mercifully, we were to have no more motor problems.

Inaugurated in 1981, the Cruising Regatta is a big event in the islands. While yacht racing is the central theme, there are many other sporting and social events. Preparations were under way for months, and we were anxious to participate. Volunteers had rebuilt a big open-air stage in “Regatta Park” in the village, the center of many activities.

The opening party was held at Volleyball Beach on a warm, clear evening. Everyone was in high spirits enjoying refreshments around a big bonfire. Next day we watched the tennis tournament at the Out Island Inn, a resort at the edge of town that had fallen into ruin, except for the tennis courts. That evening we attended the skippers meeting for the yacht races. We left with the impression that these races would be held to a standard a bit lower than the America’s Cup. Events the next day included a gut-busting peas and rice eating contest and an amateur variety show at Regatta Park: lots of fun.

Next morning we were up early getting ready for the Elizabeth Harbour Race. It was a beautiful day with 15-knot SE winds. Our crew included a friend from Montreal who was sailing with his wife to the Grenadines and the commanding officer of a nearby U.S. army base. The starting arrangements for this race were bizarre. Yachts were divided into classes of roughly equal speed and put to anchor in successive class groups in lines starting about 100 yards downwind of the actual starting line. Yachts were permitted to have only a mainsail up and engines running at anchor. At the starting signal anchors were lifted and the boats charged under engine to the starting line where engines had to stop and headsails could be broken out — a bit of a wild melee. Then it was twice around a triangular course about 12 miles long through Elizabeth Harbour. The harbour has many shallow places, so the race was held at high tide. Even so, with our six-foot draft we were reluctant to take chances, so sailed a conservative course. But we went well, and finished mid-fleet.

In between yachting events we witnessed some other sporting contests including part of the volleyball tournament and a coconut throwing challenge. That evening we were back at Regatta Park for a big party with free drinks and a barbecue hosted by the Bahamas.

Then came the “Around the Islands Race”, a 20-mile pursuit race starting in the harbour, out into Exuma Sound around Stocking Island and several other smaller ones, and back to where we started. Conditions were perfect for a cruisers race — a 15-knot NE breeze facilitating circumnavigation with very little tacking. True Love was in her element, steadily catching up and passing many yachts that had started ahead. The sun blazed down on a sparkling sea. We silently prayed for more gusts to power our heavily laden craft up to her full hull speed. Re-entering the harbour through narrow channels was tricky, and by then some larger yachts were slowly gaining on us. About a mile from the finish we had challengers working up to windward and to leeward, and we fought to hold them off. In the end we had to fend off the windward boat to keep our wind. We did this by sailing close to a group of boats at anchor preventing the windward boat from going above us; but the leeward boat managed to slip by. Still, we were happy with our second place finish and exhilarated by a hard, fast sail.

Soon after Regatta Week was at its close, terminating with a joyous awards ceremony at Regatta Park. Now it was time to pack up and leave.

Our last days were busy ones provisioning for the long run up the islands, doing a final book exchange at the village library, and saying goodbye to friends. We enjoyed a final hamburger at Jean’s Dog House and lingered over a relaxed drink on the terrace at the Two Turtles Inn. At 07:30 March 11, 1999 we weighed anchor under a brilliant blue sky and piloted True Love out through the shoals guarding the harbour entrance. At the end of the morning cruisers net we said our melancholy farewells to George Town with thanks for all the good times we had enjoyed there. Now we were really heading home.

EPISODE # 11 back to top

The sun danced on the waves as we left George Town for our extended voyage home. It was to be yet another island hopping adventure. We still had nearly three months left in this southern expedition.

On to Eleuthera

Our course was set for Eleuthera via Cat Island, but the winds seemed too light for this passage. Instead, we headed back up the Exumas, making the anchorage at Lee Stocking Island in time for an afternoon visit and happy hour. We anchored off the Caribbean Marine Research Center, which we could have visited. But we were content to relax and just enjoy the surroundings. Next morning we set off up Exuma Sound, crossing over to the Banks through Dotham Cut for a return visit to Black Point Settlement on Great Guana Cay. Again we enjoyed a fine supper with other cruisers at Lorraine’s Café, and availed ourselves of a few gerry cans of free R.O. water (sold elsewhere at $1.00 US a gallon).

We carried on up the Exuma Banks on a fast reach in 25-knot easterlies, destination Warderick Wells Cay. Nearing the approach to the Cay I briefly put True Love aground on a sand bore. Some of these can move around a bit, but more likely I’d misjudged our position. We were lucky to get quickly free, but just at that moment my Tilley hat blew off into the water. This was a potentially serious mishap: a wide-brimmed sun hat is a must in the islands. We did some circles and scoured the area, but could see nothing. But just as we were about to leave Eve spotted something and, sure enough, I got my hat back.

That evening as we swung to a mooring in the Cay’s beautiful anchorage we were in a quandary. We wanted to cross to Eleuthera, but a cold front was bearing down on us. We could wait out the front, which could take up to a week to pass, or we could go for it and perhaps get blasted by high winds. We opted to make a try for it: we could turn back if the early going was too tough. So we double reefed the mainsail and battened everything down for the next day’s adventure. By 7:30 am were through the cut and off on a blazing beam reach in a 15 to 25 knot S-E breeze. Eleuthera’s Powell Point was abeam by noon. We could have stopped there, but pressed on to our desired destination ¾ Rock Sound. This took us through the tricky, shallow waters of the Davis Channel. Fortunately all went well, and we were safely at anchor in Rock Sound as the front’s big winds came upon us. We moved around the Sound in the days to follow to shelter from the front as it clocked around and played itself out.

When the weather settled we anchored off the town of Rock Sound and began our explorations. This is a nice town with a small supermarket, gas station (with diesel), bakery, restaurant and the friendly Bahamian people we’d become accustomed to. Once again we were among cruisers we’d come to know, sharing strolls in the village and happy hours on each other’s boats. Still, we needed to move on, and soon were away to Governor’s Harbour. A tight reach in a 10 to 15 knot breeze brought us smartly to our destination. A Club Med located there had taken over much of the small harbour with private moorings, but we found a space to drop the hook safely. Governor’s Harbour has one stoplight (the need for which I was inclined to doubt), the first we’d seen in several months. It is also good for groceries and well-priced gin and rum.

We found a Club Med bus which took us across the island to the main Club Med location on the north shore. As we’d never been to a Club Med we took a good look around. The beach was great, and the facilities seemed fine, but it seemed like wall-to-wall people compared to our cruising existence. We had to hitchhike back to town and were picked up by loquacious taxi driver content to give us a free ride.

Moving right along, the next day took us to Hatchet Bay. This town has a good, protected harbour the entrance to which is so narrow that it’s virtually invisible until you are abeam it. Inside is a marina with charter boats. Our explorations revealed a picturesque village, but with everything, including the marina, giving a somewhat rundown impression. We carried on to the west end of the island, leaving Eleuthera via a cut at a village called The Current ¾aptly named due to the fast tidal flows which occur there. We timed our arrival to ride with the flow, which vigorously launched us toward Royal Island, our jumping off point for the Abacos. Royal Island also has a fine anchorage. It’s uninhabited, but has the interesting ruins of a mansion with some history, all easy to visit by dinghy.

Ahoy the Abacos!

The passage to Great Abaco Island can be demanding ¾ 60 nautical miles of open ocean. This must be made before the light fades in order to negotiate safely a cut into the Abaco Banks. The weather must also be favourable. Certain winds generate “rage” conditions at the cuts, rendering them impassable. Needless to say we planned with great care. We rose at 4:30 am, departing with first light at 5:45. By 7:00 the wind was providing a nice beam reach, but it slowly clocked around until by 1:00 pm it was dead astern, giving an uncomfortable motion in big seas. We rolled around this way for a while, but by 2:30 we were passing through the Little Harbour Cut into the protection of the Abacos. Soon we were anchored nicely in the shelter of Lynyard Cay, ready to start a new phase of our Bahamas adventure ¾ the Abacos.

Next morning we sailed up to Hope Town. This took us north between the shores of Great Abaco Island and its outlying cays. The banks are rather shallow and we navigated carefully on prescribed GPS waypoints. Hope Town is arguably the prettiest place in the Abacos. Located on Elbow Cay, the village surrounds a small, perfectly landlocked harbour, all guarded by a tall lighthouse. The harbour accommodates perhaps 50 yachts, all swinging on moorings. We had radioed ahead and were lucky to reserve the only mooring available that day. The entrance is tight, but we got in and found our mooring. The beauty and convenience of Hope Town were impressive. Everything was an easy hop ashore. For two days we ambled around ¾ shopping in quaint stores, climbing the lighthouse for a great view, splashing along the big Atlantic-side beach, and feasting on grouper on the deck of Captain John’s restaurant. It was good to be in the Abacos.

EPISODE # 12 back to top

We were happily ensconced in Hope Town harbour in the Abacos. By now we could see that these islands were markedly different than their southern Bahamian cousins ¾ more developed and prosperous with more tourism, more neat and tidy, and with more Florida influence. We noted a divergence of tastes among cruisers for this environment versus the Exumas and islands southeast, but we were looking forward to seeing more of them.

Savouring the Abacos

It was just a two-hour jaunt across the banks to Marsh Harbour, the metropolis of the Abacos. We anchored near the public dock among perhaps a hundred yachts. Apart from Nassau, Marsh Harbour was by far the largest town we’d visited in the Bahamas. With a big supermarket, banks, laundromat, restaurants, several marinas and a small airport it is the main center for cruisers in the northern islands. Even water is costs less here, about $ .30 US a gallon. Marsh Harbour also has a daily cruisers’ radio net like that of George Town in the Exumas. It would be my choice for a good place to have any invited guests to meet up and cruise for a while.

For several days we sampled Marsh Harbour’s offerings, including a delightful lunch on the covered deck at Mangoes restaurant overlooking the anchorage. We took in the Thursday night party at the Jib Room of Marsh Harbour Marina. Cruisers bring their own snacks, and for $ 6.00 US can have all they can drink from the bar. We contentedly mingled with this happy gang, renewing a few acquaintances and making new ones, and enjoying a lusty singsong lead by a sailor with an accordion.

We took a seven-mile side trip to Man-O-War Cay, a small island with two very tight anchorages. It took some time to find a spot where we could squeeze in to anchor overnight. The rules of this small community seem incongruous for the Bahamas. Blacks are allowed on the island to work, but must be off the island by sunset: the local ferry does a good trade. We found it a pretty spot, but very small and restricted. We wondered why some cruisers chose to make it their base for the winter.

Continuing our voyage we next stopped just eight miles west at Great Guana Cay, anchoring off the settlement. We explored the village and hiked over to the big beach on the ocean side of the Cay. After strolling the sands we took a stool at Nipper’s, a popular watering hole above the beach, complete with a small swimming pool. We also checked out the marina beside our anchorage ¾ a nice, new and very clean facility.

Green Turtle Cay was our next westerly destination. Getting there required passage out around Whale Cay and back through a cut, all of which can be dangerous in certain sea conditions. Yet all went well for us. As we sailed the cut in towards Treasure Cay we encountered the most brilliant deep blue water I’ve ever seen, a spectacular sight. Shortly after noon we anchored in the roads off New Plymouth at Green Turtle and dinghied ashore. Eve was intent on trying her hand at shelling on Gwillham Bay Beach, reputed to be a good spot for this. It was a fair walk through and beyond the town to the beach, but well worth the effort. The beach itself was a fascinating series of gorgeous white sand bores that shallowed out as the tide dropped. And the shelling was great. We gathered all kinds of pretty things, including some sand dollars. Walking back we made a circuit through New Plymouth. At a small bar we learned where we could buy conch from a fisherman. We caught him arriving on his skiff, and bought two lovely conchs. Eve wanted the shells to make conch horns, and spent much of that evening cleaning them.

We carried on our N-W course along the north shore of Great Abaco Island, passing many attractive cays to starboard. A 15-knot following wind whisked us briskly to Angelfish Point where we sheltered alone at anchor behind Crab Cay. The next day’s weather was a repeat performance. Again we sped on a broad reach toward our destination ¾ Great Sale Cay, our intended point of departure for crossing back to Florida. As we caught up to a big ketch steering a similar course the skipper called us for a chat. This enabled some other sailing acquaintances lying at anchor at Great Sale to know we were on our way, and they too called to welcome our arrival. Rounding Little Sale Cay we turned S-W and put True Love on a fast tight reach toward the anchorage. It was to be our last night in the Bahamas and I can remember musing how fortunate we had been to escape any serious grounding in the islands’ shallow waters.

Suddenly it happened ¾ bump-bump-bump. Hard aground on a sand bar! We were angled 45 degrees to starboard, and it was half an hour before low tide at 2:00pm. Our friends in the anchorage could see our plight and called to offer help. It seemed we would just have to wait for the flood tide, so I thanked them and set about trying to do what I could by myself. Using the lead line in our dinghy I found deep water was only ten feet abeam. I tried to kedge off with an anchor, but no luck. It seemed like an eternity waiting for the tide to lift us, but we could see we were very slowly straightening up. As darkness fell our friends ventured out in an inflatable and tried unsuccessfully to pull us free. About the same time another yacht approaching from the south spotted our predicament and generously came to help. It took only one good tug on our spinnaker halyard from the masthead to lift us free, all this as the sunset was disappearing. Grateful to be free, we anchored a hundred yards away and settled down for our last night.

We weighed anchor at 07:00 am setting our course N-E across the Abaco Banks, heading for Florida ¾ about 150 nautical miles distant. Light winds prevailing that day were disappointing after the robust breezes we’d recently enjoyed. It was to be a long run on the engine. However, the quiet sea was a good omen for crossing the Gulf Stream.

Around 4:00 pm the GPS indicated that we were leaving Bahamian waters. I went to the shrouds and sadly took down our Bahamas courtesy flag. It was now pretty much in tatters after flying for months in the islands’ brisk winter winds. Eve stood watch while I went below for a nap in the forepeak. I needed to rest up for the long overnight passage ahead. It was nice lying there, hearing the bow wave gurgling beside me. Dozing without really dropping off, my mind was turning over all the good times we were leaving behind.

EPISODE # 13 back to top

10:00 p.m. April 2, 1999: True Love was crossing the Straits of Florida, destination Cape Canaveral. We were now well into the Gulf Stream, evident by its turbulence and the nice boost in effective speed it was giving us on our N-E passage. I was keeping a close watch for commercial shipping traffic in these busy Straits, both visually and on radar.

I’m pretty well on my own at night. Eve is happy standing watch during daylight hours, but when darkness falls it’s my turn. By 3:00 a.m. I’m usually zonked. By this time I’ve finished off the thermos of coffee and am eagerly awaiting the promise of dawn. At 5:00 a.m. the faint glimmer of first light began to illuminate our Cape Canaveral landfall. An hour later we were in the harbour entrance channel. Being a Saturday morning we were met by an armada of sport fishing boats on their way out. We passed untold numbers and sizes of these craft, all of them eagerly anticipating their day’s catch.

After clearing customs at the Cape Marina we passed through the Cape Canaveral Lock and Barge Canal to reach the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW), and turned north. By mid-afternoon we tied at the Titusville Marina. By this time I was completely fagged out. We had our happy hour and ordered in a pizza after which I collapsed into a 12-hour sleep. We had won two nights at Titusville as a prize in the George Town regatta in the Exumas. We made the most of it with a big grocery-shopping outing, doing our laundry, and having a nice supper at a seafood restaurant. We also had a good look at a manatee, which came to slurp up fresh water from a hose near our dock. These ungainly creatures about the size of a seal suggest prehistoric antecedents, but seem kind of loveable.

The Deep South Revisited

True Love voyaged north through Florida, luckily going aground only once, revisiting St. Augustine and other interesting places, arriving eventually in Georgia. We stopped again at the famous Jeckyll Island for a closer look around. Using the marina’s bicycles we explored the historic district, poking our heads into the extravagant vacation residences of yesterday’s patricians. After luxuriating in long showers we lunched at the sumptuous Jeckyll Island Club Hotel, enjoying delicious food in a gracious old world setting. Then it was off again up the ICW as it meandered its way through Georgia’s swamps and wetlands.

We had missed Savannah going south and made sure we’d see it on our return. We anchored in a river off the Isle of Hope ¾ a Savannah suburb. For a five-dollar fee we had use of a local marina’s dinghy dock and showers. We caught a city bus downtown, an enjoyable experience, although we observed that this was not the usual way white folks got around Savannah. Waiting at the bus stop we met a couple from Ottawa who were at the marina with a 45-foot trawler yacht. We would be destined to enjoy their company many times as we both made our way north to Canada. We took in the historic highlights of Savannah on a trolley bus tour, noting how the footprint of the Civil War and its social ramifications remain clearly evident a century and a half a later. Afterwards we strolled by the handsome architecture lining Savannah’s attractive boulevards and genteel squares. We also wandered along the Savannah River waterfront, stopping for a hearty lunch of fish and chips before taking a bus back to True Love at the Isle of Hope.

Retracing our route of the previous autumn we continued north to the Carolinas. Once again we were able to visit one of the storied southern towns we’d missed on the way down ¾ Georgetown. We anchored in the narrow river adjacent the city center and began our explorations of this elegant town. The walk to the supermarket was about a mile each way, after which we took showers at a nearby marina, and enjoyed a nice supper at the Rice Paddy restaurant. Our next stop was at Barefoot Landing, a huge shopping and entertainment complex in the Myrtle Beach area. Here we moored for free at a long marginal wharf paralleling the ICW. We spent an afternoon roaming the factory outlets and specialty boutiques, somehow without parting with too much cash. However, we did blow a bit on supper at the Crab House restaurant.

Immediately north of Barefoot Landing is a treacherously narrow and dangerous section of the ICW known as the “rock pile”. It is excavated out of rock with sharp, jagged edges. The ICW guidebook emphasizes the danger of meeting any commercial traffic there, but somehow it happened to us. Rounding a bend we came upon a big tug and barge bearing down on us. We radioed to ask for passing room, but got no reply. Edging backward I was dreading to hear my rudder smashing on the rocks, or see our bow colliding with the barge, but mercifully we were spared. So we were able to carry on to North Carolina with new days taking us to Southport, Wrightsville Beach, Swansboro, and Bellehaven. We were now closing in on Virginia, and the north end of the ICW.

Engine Troubles

For the most part our Volvo diesel had been trouble free, faithfully plugging along hour after hour. But on the return trip signs of trouble emerged. While in Florida I discovered a big crack in the casing of our high-output alternator, something we’d installed specially for this voyage. It was still somehow precariously hanging together, but for how long? Luckily I stumbled upon a solution. At a great hardware store in Beaufort, S.C. I was able to buy some very large diameter hose clamps. These I wrapped around the alternator case and tightened, solving this problem.

I’d also been noticing some leakage from the seawater cooling pump for some time: no big deal at first, but slowly worsening. By the time we were in the Carolinas some engine oil was also escaping, so something had to be done. In Bellehaven I called ahead to the Atlantic Yacht Basin, a big yacht service center at Great Bridge Va. to arrange help. Three more days’ passage took us through the Alligator River, Albemarle Sound and the rest of the ICW to Great Bridge. The marina did a fine job installing a brand new pump at a reasonable cost. Meanwhile we were seeing around, shopping, and visiting friends on other yachts, content to know that True Love could handle the long trip home.

EPISODE #14 back to top

In early May 1999 we were half way home from a wonderful winter in the Bahamas. But Mother Nature was making things difficult.

A Storm Off Cape Hatteras

A huge low-pressure system had developed off Cape Hatteras bringing endless rain and high winds. We moved True Love up the ICW to Norfolk, Va. and settled cozily into a nice marina. For nearly a week we stayed put while the tempest raged. We frequented a nice bookstore, Mo & O’Malley’s Irish pub, several malls and restaurants, and enjoyed happy hour cocktails with cruising friends on our boats. Eventually the weather settled and we were on our way again.

Having sailed through the Chesapeake going south we preferred to go out to sea on our return, a much more direct passage. Still, we were wary of the sea conditions so soon after the storm. We caught a noon ebb tide to begin the long ride out to the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, wondering all the while whether we’d be forced to go back inside. By late afternoon we were leaving the coast, grateful to find an easy sea, even if the winds were too light to sail. Night fell as we stood off the coast making for Cape May, N.J. It was to be another long night, but otherwise an easy passage motor sailing through bits of fog and tidal currents. By mid-afternoon we were comfortably at anchor in Cape May harbour, just east of the Coast Guard station.

Next morning we sailed a close reach up the coast to Atlantic City. A dense fog closed in as True Love approached its destination. Suddenly, out of the fog a U.S. Coast Guard cutter’s crew accosted us, demanding we hove to for boarding. Fortunately I was able to persuade them to postpone their inspection until we had tied at the Trump Casino Marina. We had hardly touched the dock when they were hard upon us, but left in peace shortly after we presented documentation of an earlier inspection. That evening we blew small change on some slot machines, and then toured by other Atlantic City casinos on a jitney bus.

It was again foggy as we carried on up the coast, our radar doing yeoman duty. A tedious day motor sailing through indifferent weather brought us to Point Pleasant at Manasquan Inlet. We tied where we’d been before at the dock of the Shrimp Box restaurant; free docking comes with a meal there. We enjoyed a tasty seafood supper with the crews of two other yachts that were also making passage north. We also enjoyed a short visit with a family who had helped us when, going south, we encountered a problem with our stove.

New York in Spring

The fog followed us as we made our way toward New York. Rounding Sandy Hook it intensified. We picked our way through shipping channels trying to avoid commercial traffic, giving and receiving frequent security calls on VHF channel 13. By this time Eve and I were together in the cockpit, I with my eyes glued to the radar screen, while Eve searched for buoys through the dense mist. Approaching the Verazanno Narrows Bridge we passed a huge container ship just 100 yards to starboard. What a strange sensation: the ship making a big target on the radar screen, communicating on VHF, and blowing its horn for us, but we never actually saw it. Fortunately the fog lifted as we approached the Statue of Liberty. An hour later we took a mooring in the Hudson River at the 79^th Street Boat Basin. The Boat Basin itself isn’t much to write home about ¾ a modest marina with few facilities. But the mid-Manhattan location is unbeatable, close to restaurants, shopping, Central Park, and all the activity New York has to offer.

We spent a lazy weekend strolling the streets and markets. On nearby Broadway and Amsterdam we sauntered along, quietly absorbing the spectacle of frenetic New Yorkers. We found a nice spot for ice cream cones where we could sit outside and watch the scene. One day we walked all the way down to Times Square, then back up into Central Park. It was a glorious warm spring Sunday adorned with early spring flowers. The park was alive with activity: families with picnics, baseball and frisbee, punting on ponds, roller-bladers waltzing to music, and lovers hand in hand, all these people enjoying their private world while the big city throbbed outside. Next day we breakfasted at a nice café and spent the morning visiting the nearby Museum of Natural History, such a fascinating place we had to tear ourselves away in time came to catch the tide for our departure.

The flood tide whisked True Love up the Hudson. Dutch antecedents abounded on this pleasant passage ¾ towns like Yonkers, Tappan Zee, Peekskill and Haverstraw where we stopped for diesel. Two days later we were Catskill going through the laborious but necessary chore of unstepping our 50-foot mast and securing it for the trip home.

In Mid-May we were tied at the town dock of Waterford, the village where the Erie Canal meets the Hudson River. We had decided to return via the Erie Canal and Lake Ontario because the Chambly Canal north of Lake Champlain would not be open until late May. Waterford is a homespun place where you find free docking, antique stores, and a hearty breakfast at the local diner.

On a bright, clear morning we caught the first lockage up bound with four other yachts. With the first five locks closely adjacent, True Love rapidly gained elevation affording a fine view of the countryside. From the outset the beauty of the canal’s setting charmed us. For the most part the Erie Canal lies in bucolic countryside, occasionally violated by the presence of a four-track railway line. Once a main artery of commerce, the Canal is now almost exclusively the domain of pleasure craft. Still, it was easy to picture the nineteenth century barges hauled by mules on the towpaths, the old barging song captioned above echoing in my mind.

We passed numerous interesting upstate New York towns. We could stop at anywhere and have free mooring on the lock approach walls. At Little Falls there is an old canal terminal where we also had free electricity and showers, not to mention the tasty meal we enjoyed at the Piccolo Café for an exceptionally reasonable price.

A day later we moored for the night at Sylvan Beach. Located at the eastern end of Oneida Lake it’s a beachy summer place with an amusement park. After some agreeable roast pork at touristy eatery we had lots of time to savour Sylvan Beach’s holiday atmosphere. Next morning it took three hours to cross Oneida Lake, and an hour later we turned north into the adjoining Oswego Canal. After four easy days on New York’s canals we had transited thirty locks, arriving at Oswego on Lake Ontario’s south shore.

Homeward Bound

True Love set out across Lake Ontario in a 15-knot breeze. Still without the steadying effect of an erect mast, we rolled with the swells motoring our way to Kingston, at last crossing back into Canada near Main Duck Island. We moored in Confederation Basin, nearly deserted so early in the season. Kingston is always a special place, dominated at that time of year by college kids finishing their exams. We enjoyed our old haunts, including the Pilot Tavern for a hearty fish and chips dinner. The passage back down the St.Lawrence to Montreal was as familiar as an old pair of slippers, a strong spring current helping us along our way. We stopped at Brockville to dine at the Sir Isaac Brock pub, and dropped the hook at favourite anchorages as we neared our home port.

In the early evening of May 22 we closed in on our beloved Royal St.Lawrence Yacht Club, arriving as the Committee Boat was departing to start a race. We moored True Love at her dock and after luxuriating in showers, settled down for a last supper on board. We could easily have been home in half an hour, but found it almost impossible to leave our cozy boat. Instead we stayed the night and all next day seeing friends, packing up and puttering around the boat. Perhaps it was the thought of what awaited us at home that held us back: the mountains of mail, income tax returns to be filed, and all the distractions of life ashore. Perhaps it was the close attachment we had grown to our floating home and the simple life associated with it, an existence governed by only the weather, navigation, finding the necessities of life and cruising friends. But finally it was over. After eight happy months and 5,000 miles under our keel we quietly loaded up our car and drove home.

The article "True Love's Endless Summer" and and the accompanying photos were contributed by :

Frank and Eve Collins live in Montreal and have been cruising and racing their 34-ft yacht True Love for many years. Frank is a retired partner of KPMG and is past Commodore of the Royal St. Lawrence yacht club.