Waiting

[Hilde's log]

Raven is still bobbing at anchor at Lighthouse Point, Florida (Hillsboro Inlet). Sigh. Today would have been a great day to cross, but we found ourselves snafued by a few important details we had forgotten -- copies of ship's papers, for example, that you have to present to the Bahamian government when checking in. It's just as well, I guess. We have a new Lifesling on the rails (the cover to the original finally rotted, after 20 years), a new anchor snubber to replace the old, frayed one, some new chafing gear. But heavens above, it was hard to watch this window close. The forecast tonight is not favorable, even though the forecast this morning said Thursday would be great. So we'll see what the forecast is later tonight and hope for a turnaround.

Waiting takes its toll. I passed the day cleaning the deck. David did the necessary errands. Boats went in and out of the inlet, including a sailboat that was taking on water and was shepherded under the bridge by two Tow Boat U.S. runabouts and a Coast Guard boat with nothing better to do. Later the bridge went up for a huge black Coast Guard cutter that looked too big for the bridge opening, but steamed through, massive outboard enginges churning up stiff white boiling wake that set us lopping.

David and I made Raven ready, clearing the decks and bringing the dinghy on board. On passages, we flip the dinghy upside down on the foredeck and secure it with lines. We spent a slimy hour scrubbing the dinghy bottom, scraping and brushing off algae, barnacles, white wormy things (eeew), and flat round brown things (eeew) with old tupperware scrapers. They work great, by the way. We read from the Bahamas cruising guides as we ate dinner. We watched the ocean disappear into the dark of evening and watched the lights pop out all around the anchorage and out at sea (markers and distant ships' lights).

The beam from the lighthouse periodically rakes the sky above us and flashes into the top stories of the condos behind us. It's calm and mild tonight. The pelicans and gulls are screeching from their roosts over by the lighthouse and I can faintly hear the surf at the breakwater. Raven is floating easily in the calm water and I hear David in the cockpit shifting a few last minute items for better storage. And we just wait and hope that tomorrow's weather cooperates.

Waiting gives me a lot of room to worry about everything under the sun, from our level of preparedness (you'd think we were headed to darkest Africa) to speculation on what we will find when we arrive. It takes some effort on my part to take the waiting in stride.

God willing, my next post will be from West End.