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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. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 To see the photo album that accompanies this article click here
TRUE
LOVE’S ENDLESS SUMMER Frank and Eve Collins EPISODE # 1 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. Getting Ready 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.
A Tenuous Departure 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! Trauma on the Richelieu 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. A Friendly Haven 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. EPISODE # 2 back to top The Majestic Hudson 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. New Jersey Shores 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. The Storied Chesapeake 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.
EPISODE # 3 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. Hampton Roads 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. The Carolinas 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! Charleston & Beaufort 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. Georgia on My Mind 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. Florida, at Last! 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. The Winter of Our Discontent 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.......”.
EPISODE # 5 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. Christmas in Florida 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! A Night to Remember 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. Our First Island 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! EPISODE # 6 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. New Years in Nassau 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. Winter Storms 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. On to the Exumas 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.
Island Hopping 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. EPISODE # 7 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. The Central Exumas 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. Parade to George Town 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 |
