Lynyard Cay, Abacos

Photo #1: The beach!
Photo #2: For want of a better term, this was a nest of hermit crabs - there were probably 50 of them in a pile. We noticed them because they were scrabbling around, leaving the small depression where we found them and headed off somewhere else. They were all sizes. This is one of the big ones. The little ones were about the size of the tip of my little finger.

Photo #3: Another section of beach - you can just see the site of a campfire on the right where people have come ashore for good times. This is where I hopped off the boat and swam toward the beach.

Photo #4: The islands are covered with thick scrubby brush. You walk from one side to the other on the trails other people have made. There was a lot of trash on the ocean side of Lynyard Cay, mostly plastic rubbish.

Photo #5: In the background you can see smoke from some of the wild fires. It's very, very dry here right now and the locals are waiting for the summer rains to soothe the land.

Views of Hope Town, Abacos, Bahamas

Photo #1: Hope Town

Photo #2: resort garden

Photo #3: cemetery overlooking the Atlantic

Photo #4: private backyard w/ golf cart

Photo #5: part of the harbor

Sea Hunt

Photo: This is the little cove where we snorkeled.

[Hilde’s log]

We finally went snorkeling today. There’s a little cove on the Sea of Abaco side of Elbow Cay (Hope Town), right under the lighthouse, that looked just right to us beginners. It is shallow and is ringed with a nice sandy beach. That meant that I could stand up in the water in the shallows and get myself back into the dinghy, not something I can do in deep water. I don’t fancy being towed back into the marina like a sack of rocks, so I was happy to find this place. We dinghied out into the bay in our wetsuits, wearing our Joe Cool sunglasses, looking like we knew what we were doing.

The depth in the cove varies from a few inches near the shore to about 10-12 feet near the entrance. The bottom is covered with rough grass, about 6-8” long, with sandy patches scattered throughout. We anchored the dinghy in the shallows, donned our flippers and masks and snorkels, and hopped over the side. I abandoned my flippers almost immediately. They felt so weird on the ends of my legs, heavy and awkward, and I was panicking enough about breathing through the tube of my snorkel. After I took off the flippers, I felt much better about the whole thing. I discovered I could float along, propelling myself forward with my arms at a leisurely pace, and not run out of air.

I’m nearsighted as can be, but I could see everything very clearly through my mask.

The first creatures I discovered were cream colored, spongy, and puffy-round with scalloped edges. They had ruffled slits in their sides, like pita bread, and were rhythmically sucking water in and blowing it out as the water flowed past them. There were a lot of these little beasties scattered over the sandy areas. Some were small, 3-4” across, and others were more like 6-8”.

There were schools of teeny little striped fish, about 2-3” long, that darted this way and that in the grass. They were clear with brown stripes and blended in completely with the light glinting off the waving grass.

There were schools of really tiny little clear blue fish, maybe an inch long, zig-zagging through the water near shore.

Close to the entrance, in about 8 feet of water, I saw a really big fish, maybe 25-30 pounds, floating along sticking its head in the grass every once in a while. It was a non-descript grayish color with big yellow eyes. I paralleled it, moving slowly and trying not to look hungry. It kept a big yellow eye on me, but wasn’t overly alarmed. It moved off toward the bay and I was too chicken to follow it.

We saw a big, squishy cylindrical fellow with loose, rippling skin, yellow with purple markings. It wasn’t a fish or a jellyfish and no discernable parts – a sea slug, maybe?

There was also a very large sand dollar, the puffed up kind, not the flat kind.

The fish with the most personality was about 4” long, yellow and purple. It was hovering above a rock with some craters in it. When I came upon it, the fish was pecking at the craters, eating something invisible to me. It stayed right there on its rock, even when I moved away and came back with David.

The biggest and brightest find of the day was a huge sea star, about 15” across, light orange with dark red markings. Sea stars look like they would be so soft to touch, but it’s like petting rough concrete. I know that from touching one in the aquarium in Seattle a few years ago.

I looked in vain for the turtle we saw yesterday from the dinghy when we first discovered the cove. The turtle was after minnows and it zipped this way and that, scooting along just under the surface of the water at a high rate of speed. I really want to see one of those fellows close up in the water. No luck today.

We weren’t out that long. Even in the bright sunshine and the shallow water, we felt chilled. I bought bottled water and some snack crackers with us and we munched those and stripped off the wetsuits. Once we were dry and the gooseflesh had gone down a bit, we motored back to the anchorage. I sat astride the bow of the dinghy with my feet dangling into the water, laughing, as we bumped over the swells. The water is so clear, it’s like a gigantic swimming pool. I could get used to this place.

Internet at last: photos from the last 3 blogs

Photo #1: island home and teeny road leading to the beach, Man O'War Cay

Photo #2: Atlantic Beach, Man O'War Cay

Photo #3: our dinghy tied up at low tide next to the ladders I keep having to scale, Man O'War Cay

Photo #4: Meander, leaving Marsh Harbour the other morning

Photo #5: "Yellow Submarine" and captain, bobbing in Settlement Harbour, Great Guana Cay

Photo #6: interior of island ferry, heading from Marsh Harbour to Great Guana Cay

Man O'War Cay

[Hilde’s log]

April 18, 2008

What a picture perfect day we have had! After a brief stop at the fuel dock to replenish her diesel supply, Raven set off for Man O’War Cay about 9 a.m. It’s only 6.5 miles from Marsh Harbour, so even though we had to motor into what little wind there was, we got here about 10:45 or so. The channel is quite narrow, with rocks and sand jutting out either side, so we eased our way in, glad for the high tide. We are in the eastern anchorage, and it is crammed with boats. Most of them look unoccupied; I think most of the cruisers anchor out in front of the main town dock and marina to the west. It’s pretty shallow in here. As in so many other places (everywhere but Marsh Harbour so far) the water is like glass, completely clear.

David dropped the anchor in about 8 feet of water, over a sandy patch. He decided this was the perfect place to “dive on the anchor” for the first time. Diving on the anchor is exactly what it sounds like. You dive down to see if your anchor is set right, and if not, you set it by hand. Well. First of all, the water is still quite chilly. David donned his wetsuit and went over the side. When his bottom hit the waterline, he climbed right back out with a few choice remarks about the temperature. He’s such a cat, he really doesn’t like to be in the water in the first place, and he really doesn’t like to be in it when it’s cold.

I’m a fish, so I said I’d do it. I donned my wetsuit and dropped down in the clear water. Then I bobbed to the surface with quite a few choice words of my own about the temperature. Wo! It was glacial. Of course, I think anything less than 78 is glacial, but still. By the time I swam to the anchor, following the chain by looking through my snorkel mask, I was plenty warm enough. The chain snaked all over the place, but I finally found the anchor. It’s our CQR and it appeared to be lying on its side, with one of the flukes buried and the other visable. Upon that report, David backed Raven down and the CQR buried itself deeper, but still a bit on one side. It was fascinating to watch it dig itself in, like a large iron sea creature. David wanted to see for himself, so he dinghied over and leaned over the side, wearing his snorkel mask. Finally he decided he wanted to dive down and see if he could set it more firmly. He dropped into the water, fins and snorkel in place, which prevented me from hearing all the bad words that steamed up his mask. He flippered down a couple of times, but couldn’t get a purchase on the dratted thing. But there is always more than one way to skin a cat. He put the Danforth in the dinghy and motored out in front of Raven and set that anchor too.

Once we warmed up again with lunch and tea, we took the dinghy into the town dock. I climbed yet another ladder (I’m getting really good at that) and we spent the afternoon walking all over this lovely cay. Friends fussed to us that there isn’t much to do here, but golly I don’t know what else you’d want. Perhaps it’s just that Man O’War Cay doesn’t cater to tourists – there aren’t lots of places to shop, or eat, and no bars. The island is very pretty, covered with beautiful Easter egg colored houses, graced with a long Atlantic beach on one side and lots of boats and boat-related businesses on the other (also two gift shops, a shop that makes canvas bags and hats, two bakeries, a grocery, an ice-cream/snack/light dinner place, and a lunch place). It is criss-crossed with tiny one-lane roads, and the locals zip around, up and down, back and forth, in golf carts. We found real ice cream and each enjoyed a cone. We beach combed, took lots of photos, stopped in at the local grocery for (bountiful heavens!!!) a cold Dr. Pepper for me and a cold Diet Coke for David, and then ate dinner at outdoor picnic tables for a very reasonable price. We both had fried fish fingers made from actual fish (as opposed to the frozen square variety you find at home); David had enough French fries to satisfy even him and I had Bahamian peas and rice, which is exactly what it sound like. It’s a bit like fried rice with peas and crisp bacon mixed in, and is one of the national dishes.

Once back on board, we had a sundowner and relaxed, watching the sun set in the west and the full moon rise in the east, and listening to the cheerful song of birds. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed birdsong. We saw sparrows and woodpeckers and a big heron and I’m sure we heard wrens as well.

I found shells on the beach, we watched schools of fish swim by in the clear water, we had two dinghy rides, we walked all the way down the beach (which nearly killed me in the deep sand) and looked in all the tide pools, we watched the breakers smash against the rocks, throwing a fan of salty lace four feet in the air, we looked out over an ocean from the last land between here and Africa, and marveled yet again at the neon colors of the sea and the rushing line of breakers that stretched all the way along the island. May there never be anything else to do on Man O’War Cay.

Boats and More Boats

[Hilde’s log] April 14, 2008

Can’t get a good wi-fi signal on a bet, so I’m posting this via email. I can’t post photos this way, but maybe I can update the posts later if we ever find a good signal.

Just when I think I’m getting pretty good at this, along comes another cruiser to put me in my place. Not on purpose – they’re just amazingly good. We were sitting in the cockpit yesterday watching all sorts of boats come into Marsh Harbour, when a little ketch floated by under sail. She was about 30 feet, with red sails, a couple of white haired folk on the lines and under sail, not motor (she didn’t look as though she even had a motor). She floated through the anchorage, red sails taut, jibing this way and that on a dime, as her crew looked for a likely spot. When they found it, they dropped anchor and calmly went forward to strike the sails. She is Meander, from Devon, England, and her crew is amazing.

On our trip to the birthday party at Guana day before yesterday David and I took the ferry. Ferries here are all called “Donnie” plus a number. We were on Donnie XI. They are ungainly looking craft, basically floating buses with enormous engines. We puttered out of the harbor and then VRRRRRRROOOOOM, off we took churning white water behind us as we thumped our way across the Sea of Abaco. I was reminded of our ferry trip to Seattle several years ago. I was enthralled by the view and the sunset and the whole experience, but around me tired commuters were balancing checkbooks, reading novels, and napping. It was the same on this ferry, with tired shoppers hanging on to their groceries and cranky children fussing. No one was into the view but us, the touristas. It was great to do the crossing in 20 minutes, rather than 2 ½ hours, but the noise and the shaking were tremendous. On the return trip, the ferry beat all the way across the Sea and somehow the diesel smoke got trapped in the open cabin with us. That pretty much cured me of riding the ferry.

While waiting for the return ferry at Guana, we saw what appeared to be a cartoon submarine off the pier. Just big enough for one person, this little yellow submarine (yes, we sang a chorus of that at the top of our voices – we had a great time at the party and it was still showing) had rounded wings and tail and nose, and was shaped just like a ballooned cartoon of a real airplane. A man was inside – we could see him wiping steam from his breath from the inside windshield – and he steered toward the pier and away, alternately submerging and floating up for air, water spurting rhythmically from holes in the cabin. He evidently knew the ferry pilots, because once they’d docked and the passengers had loaded, he came up right at the stern, slipped out of the sub through a door in the bottom, and crawled up to sprawl on the nose and chat. He drew a crowd of Bahamian workers, plus the passengers on the ferry, all of whom gawked and cracked jokes about his little craft. As the ferry pulled away, we watched him floating off through the mooring field, a little yellow airplane submerged in the clear blue water.

Today is April 14, 2008. Two years ago today, Raven sailed away from Seabrook on the way to Florida. On board were one terrified (me), one resigned (Schnitzel), and one excited (David) sailor, off to see what we could see. Happy anniversary, Raven!

at home in the Abacos

[Hilde’s log]

Raven is back at anchor in Marsh Harbour. We came back to pick up a wi-fi bridge (a kind of antennae) so we can hook back up to the net. Our old antennae croaked abruptly about 10 days ago. Another cold front is due Monday, so we’ll be here until probably Thursday, when we will head on to Man O’War Cay and maybe Little Harbour, the southern end of the Abacos.

While we were waiting for the antennae to come in, we sailed back to Great Guana and picked up a mooring in Settlement Harbour for a few days, then sailed across the Sea of Abaco to Treasure Cay (about 7-8 miles across) to wait out a weak cold front. To our chagrin, we sailed right into the squall line as we made our way across, and got properly drenched for our bad timing. It was an interesting experience, though, as we watched a very well defined line of dark clouds lumber toward us over the water. Several boats were making the trip and we kept an eye on the one about half a mile in front of us. When it suddenly began to heel, we took in the sails. About two minutes later, we were smacked with 30 mile an hour winds (I swear I saw 35 on the wind meter for one gust) and slopping waves. The wind lasted only about five minutes and then everything settled down to a drenching rain as we struggled forward under power. David was at the helm all suited up in his yellow slicker, dripping like a melting icicle, while I sat in front of the companionway, helpfully offering him dry cloths to wipe his streaming face. And yes, the bimini was up. Big help it was! We hadn’t pulled it tight enough, so water pooled in the saggy places and dripped on us, while the rain blew in under it, and the seas sloshed up from the gunwhales. I worried about going into the dock, but by the time we reached Treasure Cay (about 3 miles from the place we met the squall line), it was sunny and calm. Inside the marina, it was flat as a pancake and the wind was about 7 knots.

Once we were tied up at the dock, we took a look around at a genuine resort. The docks there are fixed, so I had to time getting on and off the boat, as the dock rose and fell about three feet over the course of six hours. Our biggest priority was a hot shower, so that came first. Then we stretched out on beach chairs by the pool, watched the palm trees sway, and did absolutely nothing for about thirty minutes. A quick exploration revealed a poolside bar and restaurant, a line of shops (hardware, laundry, grocery, etc.), and a beachside bar and restaurant overlooking a crescent shaped bay. I slept like a dead thing that night, for ten hours. I think as long as we are on the hook, or even on a mooring ball, part of me keeps “one eye open”. At the dock, all systems relax and that is the end of me for hours and hours. Needless to say, the next morning I was so relaxed I could hardly dress.

Our next priority was laundry ($8 to wash and dry one load, again), after which we came back to Raven and lay around in the cockpit reading until about three. We finally forced ourselves out of the cockpit and over to the beach; after all, we were paying through the nose for this experience, so we had to do resort-y things. The water at the beach was cloudy with sand and you couldn’t see like you could at Great Guana. It was also still a bit chilly from the front and the wind was whipping along so wind chill was a factor. After about 20 minutes we decided it was too cold, so we went and lay around on our plastic beach chairs drying off. The walk from the beach had coated us in a thin layer of white sand. Sugar dusted and sticky, we peeled ourselves off the plastic chairs after about half an hour, dried off, and then packed our bags and headed to the pool to wash off the sea water. The pool water was even colder!! I swam about 3 lengths, stayed cold, and got out. David wisely opted for a hot shower. More reading in the cockpit. We wandered back to the beach that night for the advertised beach bonfire (there wasn’t one) and congratulated ourselves on having eaten well on the boat, since the beach fare was $14 barbequed hot dogs (that’s $14 each).

Bottom line: we failed miserably to become resort patrons. The hot showers and laundry were huge draws, but the rest of it couldn’t live up to being on the boat. People there were like people at any hotel, friendly but distant. We couldn’t afford the food and didn’t find any place that was as nice as our own cockpit to enjoy a beer. We cast off the next day (after a farewell shower), and headed back to Settlement Harbour. It was a beautiful, if lumpy sail. In the marina, we couldn’t tell if the wind was strong or not, we were so protected. But once out on the Sea of Abaco, the seas were still churning, so it must have been a pretty good blow. We sailed for about two hours, and then motored up to our old mooring spot at Settlement Harbour, coming in about three. The next morning we dinghied in and went walkabout over much of the island, looking at neighborhoods with pretty pastel houses, peeking in at Grabber’s, the other watering hole on Great Guana, and finally returning to Nipper’s for a quick lunch of boiled shrimp and fried onions rings, and, luxury of luxury, two Cokes. I bought a conch necklace for a souvenir, and then we cast off for another lovely sail to Marsh Harbour. The sailing here is just fantastic. I cannot imagine anything more wonderful than gliding over the clear pastel water with the sun on my shoulders and the soft wind in my face.

Now we’re at anchor for a few days. This part of boat life is boat and personal chores – grocery, cutting hair (I cut mine yesterday and it’s about 2” long), baking bread, cleaning up below, and putting on a new coat of teak oil. We have one more day of leisure, though. Later today David and I are taking the ferry out, headed back again to Great Guana to attend a birthday party. It’s a 20 minute ride for $20. The ferries zip past, up and down the Sea of Abaco, like rectangular white water bugs. It will be fun to go so fast.

A day at the beach

These photos are from the Atlantic side of Great Guana.

photo #1: enjoy a rum something at a Nipper's picnic table, overlooking the Atlantic

photo #2: at last, palm trees!

photo #3: looking up from the beach to Nipper's

photo #4: at the edge of a very big ocean

photo #5: we had the beach to ourselves - 5 miles of it

Back at Great Guana, April 4, 2008

photo #1: "Buck a Book" sells you paperbacks for a dollar and donates its profits to benefit the wild horses of Abaco, descended from Columbus' time, and numbering only 8 horses at this time

photo #2: interior of Java, my favorite coffee shop in Marsh Harbour

[Hilde’s log]

Raven is slopping quietly at anchor at Settlement Point, Great Guana Cay. We returned to Great Guana after several days in Marsh Harbour, where we stocked up on groceries, got rid of our trash, and visited with friends. My favorite stop is a little coffee shop called Java, where I enjoyed an iced chai in a lovely non-air conditioned setting. Although the islands are warm (lower 80s most days), the constant sea breeze keeps everything comfortable and only a few places have air conditioning. This makes me very happy, since the air conditioning at home smells stale and is always set at right about freezing. At Java, the front and back doors are always open and the breeze sweeps through, taking the aroma of the coffee right out on the porch. There is art on the walls for sale, a table of books for exchange, tea and coffee for sale, couches and chairs for those who want the shade, and comfortable plastic tables out front for those who want more light.

Although Marsh Harbour is one of the “big” towns (you can get there by plane), it’s pretty easy to walk to what you need. The grocery store, Maxwell’s, has just about everything you’d want. The prices are quite expensive, reflecting the fact that just about everything is shipped in, but when you’ve lived on canned food for awhile where no produce is available, price is insignificant and availability is everything. David and I stuffed our purchases into our little wheeled plastic carts and lugged our booty about four long blocks to the dinghy dock. I felt as though I were some old horse dragging a wooden cart. There are few sidewalks and Bahamians drive on the left, so traffic was also an issue. It took us three separate trips to the store to stock the boat because we could only carry so much at a time. We also resupplied with propane and gasoline. We’ll fill up with water and diesel later in the week when we stop in at a dock (trash pickup, hot showers, dockside laundry…what luxury!).

The promised winds did come through, but much less strongly than anticipated. Marsh Harbour is a great foul weather port, protected on all sides with great holding. Larry and Barbara, on Laura May, told us of one fellow who rode out a hurricane in that harbor – on the boat. No thanks!

Today we made a quick hour and a half trip back to Great Guana Cay. We took a mooring ball at Settlement Point and went ashore to find Nipper’s, one of the two local watering holes. A passing golf cart gave us a ride right up to the gate. Nipper’s has a fresh water swimming pool, an open air bar, a restaurant, and guest lodges and sits on a sand dune overlooking a long stretch of Atlantic beach. What a glorious sight! This was the view I kept seeing on all the brochures – five miles of unspoiled beach trimmed with sandy cliffs and palm trees, white-crested rollers breaking over white sand, deep neon-blue sea to the horizon. There is a reef about 75 yards off the beach where you can snorkel, plenty of places to jump the breakers or body surf or just sit in the sand and roast. Children dug sand, adults alternately played with them or leaped in the breakers, couples strolled down the beach, small dogs played endless games of tag with anyone who showed the least interest. We watched it all from the shaded edge of Nipper’s porch, listening to island music and the surf, a cold beer in hand. Tomorrow we will make our own foray to the sand. David has just ruined Galveston for me by bringing me here. I mean ruined.

Leapin' Lizards, we're in Great Guana Cay

[Hilde’s log]

Another first for Raven: we successfully navigated Whale Cay Passage, a channel from the Bahama banks to the Atlantic, then travelling about a mile off the islands in the Atlantic, and coming back to the banks through Loggerhead Channel to anchor at Great Guana Cay. These cuts must be travelled carefully, when the swells coming in from the Atlantic are low and the wind and current are in accord. We hadn’t planned to take that route today, but the cruisers’ net on VHF 68 reported very good conditions, so we rushed around and secured everything, heaved the dinghy up on deck, and headed out.

The conditions were good, as reported, and we could see why you’d be idiotic to try the passage in anything less than good conditions. The sea and wind were both on our nose, which makes for slow going. The swells, though “only” of the two to four foot variety made the transit a bit lumpy as they tended to stack up and come in at a fairly rapid pace. The passage saw a small rush of traffic as boats passed us headed north to Green Turtle and sailed with us toward Great Guana Cay and farther south. The cruisers’ net has proved invaluable, as they broadcast “eyewitness” weather reports from the local islands. Needless to say, a weather/sea report from a boat on site is a whole lot more accurate than NOAA could ever be.

The sea was its usual (for here) astonishing self, jewel-deep aquamarine streaked with navy blue, almost black, and stunning neon green, all of it blindingly brilliant under the sun. We anchored in Fisher’s Bay about 1 p.m. and congratulated ourselves on a good day’s work. It was exactly the amount of sailing I like to do – four hours. I fixed a big, late lunch, after which David took a well deserved nap and I buried myself in The French Lieutenant’s Woman. He woke up about an hour later, groggy until he looked outside and noticed we’d dragged about 200 yards. That got everyone moving! Fortunately, we were at the edge of the bay with no one behind us. We went out into the cockpit, upped anchor and reset, dragged again and reset. The reset was complicated by the fact that the anchor chain clumped up and jammed belowdeck after about 60 feet, so David had to run up and down from the bow to shake it loose.

While we were resetting, the wind blustered from 20 to 23 knots. Trying to point into a strong wind is a challenge, because it catches Raven’s bow and blows her around like a top when we aren’t moving forward (you have to stop to lower the anchor). NOAA had forecast 10-15 knots for today. I shouldn’t have been surprised at the discrepancy. We have a friend who says that to get the NOAA wind forecast to be accurate, you have to add 10 knots to the wind speed and assume it will blow opposite to the direction forecast. That’s probably a little exaggerated, but it’s how we end up feeling!

Once we set, David hauled the remaining 150 feet of chain up on deck to inspect and untwist it. This is a dirty operation, as the chain has rusty dust all over it, which instantly muddies the deck (my beautiful used-to-be clean deck) and gets on your hands, your feet, your clothes, whatever lines may be around, and of course the dinghy, which was still fastened to the foredeck. The wind frisked happily all blinking afternoon and we were afraid the anchor would pop up again (although with 120 feet of chain out the second time, that seemed unlikely), so I sat in the cockpit and stared forlornly at the beach and the tiki bar and all the trappings of civilization I thought I’d get to sample today, but can’t because of the wind.

I was picturing a mild breeze and a lazy afternoon on the beach. I realize this is just another case of being blindsided by expectations, but I am getting a bit testy on the subject. We’ve been in the Bahamas two weeks today, and I’ve been ashore exactly three times, and have yet to sit on a beach under an umbrella. For some reason I have it in my head that if I do this, the trip will have been a success. Well, there’s always tomorrow. For today, I am licking my wounds (a splinter in my finger, a bruised ankle, and a kitchen cut) and waiting, although I am not waiting very patiently.

Our destination tomorrow is Marsh Harbour, where we hope to meet up with Viking Rose, friends we have not seen since Vero Beach. They are due in tomorrow as well. We can still explore here a bit, as the distance from here to there is not far and, hey, the wind will be blowing only 10-15 knots. NOAA says so.

Green Turtle Cay, Abacos, Bahamas

photo #1: early morning ferry

photo #2: marina

photo #3: David on the beach

photo #4: White Sound (Green Turtle Cay)

photo #5: island cove

Glimpses of New Plymouth, Green Turtle Cay, Abacos, Bahamas

Glimpses of Green Turtle Cay, Abacos, Bahamas

photo #1: beach combing

photo #2: Atlantic beach

photo #3: bougainvillas

photo #4: the resort

photo #5: island transport

The colors here are unbelievable - neon! The photos do not do them justice.

at anchor in White Sound, Green Turtle Cay

photo: another hard day at anchor


[Hilde’s log]

I am about half asleep, sitting at the computer at midnight, on anchor watch. The latest cold front is blustering its way through with winds in the high teens, I’m guessing. Raven is anchored in White Sound, Green Turtle Cay, with about 20 other boats. It’s nice to have the company of other cruisers, but neither of us feels secure enough about our anchor set or anyone else’s to sleep during our first blow at this anchorage. We passed a lovely evening with new friends Ken and Maria on Duet and they introduced us to a Cuban rum drink called a Morida (rum, sugar, mint, lime, and soda) which we enjoyed, but which I am now regretting as it is making midnight seem a lot later than it is. David had two, so he has priority sleeping privileges.

We left Crab Cay Saturday morning for a quiet motor trip into light easterly winds, making our way to Green Turtle Cay in about four hours. David negotiated the twisting, narrow, and shallow entrance to the harbor, and after about four tries we managed to anchor in tight quarters next to our friends Dick and Libby on Tarwathie. We were excited to see them and surprised that we managed to be at the same place at the same time. We drowsed in the cockpit awhile and then I went below to make another loaf of bread and also to experiment with making cinnamon rolls using that same bread recipe. It worked like a charm and I was the proud mother of twelve big steaming cinnamon rolls, which I took to Tarwathie as our contribution to the feast Libby prepared for us. We four had a good time catching up on the news and talking about our plans.

Tarwathie and about four other boats pulled out at high tide the next morning around 9:30 on their way north and back to the States. They travelled into some really wicked looking black clouds which rolled over us later in the day and did nothing but soak us with rain. David and I took advantage of the suddenly roomy harbor to reset Raven in a better spot and then we hunkered down in the dismal weather. I felt lower than a snake’s belly, complaining to myself that when the weather is good, we travel, and when the weather is bad, we hole up in the boat, and we don’t get to see the places we work so hard to get to! To avoid doing just that, we’ve decided to stay here at least until the end of the week to take advantage of the nice days to explore the island, walk the beaches, visit the local shops, and unwind. Even after we decided that, I stayed in a rotten mood for the entire day and buried myself in a good potboiler of a book. Although I didn’t feel fear at the time, I had a delayed reaction to our rough day on the banks. My imagination fed off that delayed fear reaction and had a ball presenting me with a string of “what ifs” to worry with, dredging up all sorts of disaster scenarios around our plans to move south for the summer. Finally talking about my fears with David put them to flight – that and finally getting off the boat for a while today.

We dinghied in to shore, tied up, and took a short walk on the island. The islands here look dry and desert-like from the water, but this one is covered with thick, tropical vegetation and smells like a mixture of honeysuckle and freesia. A big gray bird lit on a tree limb about three feet from me and made a funny grating sound. Then he produced an altogether different sound as he called to another of his kind. He was gray on top, with a creamy breast and salmon tummy, a big fellow altogether and not a bit timid. The energy of the island is incredibly calm and quiet and I am looking forward to our exploration tomorrow.

We hurried back to the boat as the black clouds rolled in and then disappeared below for more rain. The good news is that we have trapped about 15 gallons of rainwater in the dingy. We emptied our jerry cans of Florida water into the tanks and then filled the cans with rainwater. This means I can do lots of laundry and avoid the $4 washer and $4 dryer…and we can wash dishes and take guilt free baths. Abundance! The first thing I did was rinse the underwear and washcloths we washed in salt water to get the salt out of them. They are now draped all over the head and in the saloon and on deck, which does nothing for the décor. Tomorrow, I plan on a shampoo and bath first thing. Fresh water is a wonderful thing.

For those of you with a map or Google Earth…here we are --
Latitude: N26° 46.7’ and Longitude: W 77° 20.2’

at anchor in Crab Cay, Abacos, March 21

photo: rain at Crab Cay


[Hilde's log]





I haven’t set foot out of the cabin all day. After a ripping seven hour sail yesterday, I found that I was simply exhausted today. We had talked about sailing the 20 miles to Green Turtle Cay, where our friends Dick and Libby, aboard Tarwathie, are anchored, but I just couldn’t face it. Even now, after resting and/or napping the entire day, I am tired just from making dinner.

Raven sailed from Great Sale Cay to Crab Cay yesterday, a distance of about 40 nautical miles, in about 7 hours. She boot-scooted along at over 6 knots the entire way, most of the time between 6.5 and 6.8, rigged with the yankee and staysail. The wind was from the south almost the entire trip, at 15 to 22 knots, and once we turned the northern corner above Great Sale, we sailed on a single starboard tack the entire way, varying from our course only a few degrees with a gentle nudge or two to George’s wind vane control lines to correct our angle. Raven rocked along like a hobby horse, and other than being covered in salt spray and buffeted by the wind all day, it was an easy trip. However, I found that I came the last few hours on adrenalin, because once we anchored, I just collapsed on the settee. I roused once when an enormous black cloud rolled in with a cold front from the north about an hour after we arrived, dumping rain which washed Raven’s salty decks and cooled off the air ten degrees. We had beans and Rice o’ Roni for dinner, and I had to drag myself up to make that and clean up. David fell asleep on the settee about 8. I had promised myself a bath, so I slopped around in the head for 30 minutes and he never stirred. He woke briefly to shut off the anchor alarm and join me in the v-berth, where he promptly fell back asleep and I lay there, too exhausted to sleep, watching the full moon break through mottled black clouds out the starboard porthole. I finally donned my earphones and listened to my sole CD, a weird little Tony Bennett disc of duets with other famous singers that I picked up for free at a sailors’ exchange. It put me to sleep by the middle of the disc.

We had tried to make the same trek from Great Sale Cay to Crab Cay on Wednesday (the day before our successful journey) but turned back about two hours into the trip. We had anchored on the NW side of Great Sale, alongside a beautiful beach, and enjoyed gently lapping water and blue skies. David forgot to set his alarm and missed the 6 a.m. forecast, but the weather looked okay, so we decided to give it a shot. Alas! The wind was from the East, and once we turned into it north of Great Sale, it blasted us with 24 to 28 knots, setting up such a violent motion that the starboard settee (which we had neglected to pin) slid completely out into the cabin passageway, blocking the head (major catastrophe, necessitating the use of our bucket in the cockpit), and the printer did a back flip out of its home by the nav station and landed on the galley floor. David wrestled with the sails, I wrestled with the helm, both of us swore at the chop, and when we discovered that we could make little headway to our course and were mostly tacking back and forth, we gave up and bumped our way back to our little cove, chastened. Back at the cove, we had blue skies, 12 knots of wind, and gently lapping waves – because we were protected from that strong east wind.

David tried and failed to get the noon forecast (someone was sending a fax over that frequency!!) and the 6 p.m. forecast as well because Iron Mike broadcast the forecasts out of order. (Iron Mike is the computerized voice of NOAA for offshore weather broadcasts; Perfect Paul is the NOAA’s voice for coastal reports – who thinks up this stuff?) I was astonished that it was possible to miss three forecasts in a row. David wrote up a lovely, concise description of the whole misbegotten trip, including lessons learned, that I hope he will post. We decided to chalk the whole thing up as a learning experience and it certainly put the following day’s sail in a perfect light, tiring or not.

So here we are, waiting for the beautiful weather forecast for tomorrow, when we plan to chug down to Green Turtle and enjoy the benefits of civilization, which we hope include email access and another pina colada.

at anchor on NW side of Great Sale Cay, March 18

[Hilde's log]

Great Sale Cay is wishbone-shaped. Imagine it hanging from the north, with its two legs dangling toward the south. For the last two nights, we have been in the inside curve of the wishbone, being protected from the N and NE winds generated by the norther that came through Monday. This afternoon about 2 p.m., we motored outside and up to the NW curve of the wishbone. We have good protection from the change in wind direction (now blowing E and later on SE). Tomorrow it is supposed to be SE and then S. That will be a good direction for us as we head north, away from Great Sale, and then east toward Fox Town, on Little Abaco Island. When we get to Fox Town, we’ll be in the Abacos proper; we will have arrived at our first string of islands.

I’ll be glad to actually get somewhere. Today has been a bit dismal, with the cold front bringing not only winds but overcast skies most of the day and 10 degree cooler temperatures, which made swimming sound like a truly bad idea. So we cleaned house. You can make a career out of cleaning a boat; I have never seen anything get dirty so fast.

David swabbed the decks. I dusted and then swept the floor, disinfected the galley and head, and mopped the floor with a pine-sol solution. David shook out the rugs and took everything off the starboard rail. I deep cleaned the starboard quarterdeck with lacquer-thinner. I cleaned the stainless portion of the binnacle (where the depth meter, GPS, wind meter, etc. stand, and where the wheel is mounted) and swept the cockpit. The boat felt a lot better, and more importantly at some point I killed something that was smelling. It may have been our radioactive laundry, which I took out of the hamper and stowed in a laundry bag. In any case, two hours of work yielded a lot of results. Our only other activity before heading out (other than eating leftover pasta for lunch) was to study Spanish.

Once anchored on this side of the island (an hour’s trip), we broke out the wine, cheese, and crackers and listened to a Spanish station, trying to pick out words we learned today. I fixed a nice supper of mashed potatoes, tinned beef, and fresh sautéed cabbage, but we had been such hogs with the crackers and cheese we couldn’t finish. Leftovers for lunch. Now it is dark, and I am so sleepy I can hardly keep my eyes open (ojas abiertas?) so I am going to crawl into bed and hope for sunshine tomorrow. I am astonished at how my mood deteriorates when it is cloudy.

Happy birthday to me, Great Sale Cay, March 17

photo #1: approaching Great Sale Cay
photo #2: perfect birthday bread
photo #3: laundry at sea

[Hilde's log]



This is certainly the most unusual birthday I have spent. Raven and crew have been tethered to the anchorage all day as the wind honked past at 20-25 knots, just as forecast. My accomplishments for the day: two loads of clothes! David also washed one load (read, large bucketful). It’s an interesting process: for the stinky stuff, we first soaked them in a bucket of seawater and pine-sol for 30 minutes. Then we washed them in Joy detergent, then rinsed them, then rinsed them again with clothes softener (all in sea water – the clothes softener is supposed to get the salt out). The proof will be in the wearing. They’ve been flapping in the wind and sun all day, making us look like real cruisers. One of our neighbors dragged anchor about mid morning, and he and our other neighbor ended up pulling up their anchors and motoring across the anchorage to set their hooks nearer shore. David and I laughed that they probably wanted to upgrade the view, not being taken with our unmentionables flapping on the lifelines. Several of the other boats left this morning and others have come in this afternoon. There are 10 of us here, but no one is anchored near the underwear boat. Fine!

I have also made a loaf of bread. It has dutifully risen to twice its size, I’ve punched it down, and now I am waiting for it to rise again before baking it. David is down to his last 6 pieces of bread, hence the baking operation. There just aren’t many 7-11s around here! Now when we run out eggs, we’ve got a problem. I used the recipe Judy from Anastasia gave me and I am anxious to see how it turns out. It will be my birthday cake. David gave me a lovely birthday card, but that’s all the evidence there is that it's my big day.

I studied my Spanish for about 2 hours this morning, which was lots of fun. I am determined to have some kind of vocabulary by the time we get to the Dominican Republic in June. My goal for this year is to learn to speak passable Spanish. Hopefully, with six months in the DR, it will be even more than passable.

So that’s what I’ve done today: study Spanish, wash clothes, cook breakfast and lunch and wash up after both those meals, make bread and wash up, read out of “Your First Atlantic Crossing” (David’s book, not mine! I just want to cruise the Bahamas, thank you), have tea, and now I’m working on this entry. And that took the whole day. I will be glad when the blustery wind settles down a bit, so we can continue on. Tomorrow the plan is to leave around noon and anchor on the NW side of the island, outside the basin, and then the next day continue on eastward to Fox Town or environs when the wind clocks around to the south again and before the next norther roars down on Thursday. I’m really glad we stayed here today; such strong wind is tiring.

And that’s about it – I’ve requested a movie tonight, so the generator is running to charge the batteries so we can do that. There’s the alarm to preheat the oven – cross your fingers for the bread.

PS: Bread turned out! Underwear did not - stiff as a board. Will rinse in fresh water when it rains and we can collect some in the dinghy.

at anchor at Great Sale Cay, March 16

photo: good day on the water

[Hilde's log]

What a lovely day! We had a leisurely start, about 9 a.m., after listening to the net. We heard Viking Rose check in as they headed north from Georgetown, and I think I heard Tarwathie check in from Green Turtle Cay.

Other than an hour to charge the batteries in the morning and another 30 minutes to come into the anchorage and drop the hook this afternoon, we sailed the entire day. One reason was that Mr. P (the engine) was running hot yesterday and we didn’t want to overtax it, and the other was that we desperately wanted to sail. Our journey today was a short one, about 20 miles, so we could take our time. That’s important when you are sailing at a leisurely 4 knots as we did most of the day. The wind was westerly, directly behind us at an average of about 10 knots, so we flew the jib and ran before the wind, making great swooping tacks about every 6 miles. When the wind is behind you, you can’t even tell it’s blowing, so it made for a calm, if somewhat rolly polly ride.

The sky was alternately overcast and clear as clouds rolled by. Sometimes the sun shone through the cloud cover, making a spotlight on the water. George the wind vane steered, so David and I sat in the cockpit mesmerized by the clear turquoise water and the sounds of Harry Christopher and his choir “16” sing Thomas Tallis on NPR. It was simply sublime, rolling gently over a blue crystal world, listening to achingly beautiful 16th century plainsong and other choral compositions by one of my favorite composers.

Raven sailed up to the anchorage about 3 p.m., to find four other boats at anchor. All of us are taking refuge from an expected cold front blowing in from the north this evening, with predicted winds of 20-30 knots as it passes. This cay gives us protection from the north, east, and west, so although the winds may howl, we won’t see much chop on the water. After we anchored, another three boats showed up, so we are eight tonight. There are five sailboats, one catamaran, and two power yachts.

After celebrating our arrival with a couple of cups of hot tea and some muffins, David attached the swim ladder and we took our first swim in the ocean. It was a bit colder than we expected, but “cold” is a relative term. It was about 75 I guess. It was a bit scary, too, going over the side for the first time, and I made David promise not to leave me in the water if I got stuck. It turned out to be easy to swim, and no current, so after a few tentative strokes holding on to a safety line, I let go and dog paddled around a little, getting used to looking up at our suddenly very steep hull (Raven actually has a pretty low waterline). David got in as well, with much gasping, and we both tread water for a bit and then decided that was enough for a first try. I didn’t want to tire out before hauling myself up that ladder and it’s a good thing I didn’t because I certainly weighed a lot coming up. Once back on deck, we washed our hair with Joy detergent, which is supposed to lather in sea water (ha!) and then rinsed off with about a cup each of some warm fresh water we had heated up in the sun in the camping shower. I went below and rinsed off some more with about ½ cup of vinegar and fresh water with a wash cloth so I wouldn’t be sticky, while David stripped off and scandalized the neighbors by sunbathing au naturel. I was a big chicken and put on some underwear and a top. The temperature was perfect and it was just a lovely afternoon.

We ate baked beans and scrambled eggs for dinner in the cockpit, followed by a glass of wine, and then secured the deck and cockpit for the coming blow. We’re below now, nice and cozy, with David hunched over the macerator pump, mumbling to himself as he figures out why it ran for 30 seconds and stopped, and me writing this log entry. We think we will be here at least two days. I hope it is not too windy to do some more swimming. I want to try my snorkel and mask! The wind has started to come up, which makes it nice to be snug below.

PS: macerator update - broken impeller paddle, no extras of that particular kind, so no macerator pump til we find a functioning hardware store

at anchor in Mangrove Cay, March 16

photo: beautiful turquoise water!

[Hilde’s log]

Raven is bobbing at anchor in seven feet of water, about a quarter of a mile off Mangrove Cay. Mangrove Cay is a scrubby oblong of land surrounded by aquamarine water and blue sky, out in the middle of the Great Bahama Bank. Its claim to fame is that it is about half way between West End and tomorrow’s destination of Great Sale Key. We are anchored on the northeast side of the island, which gives us protection from the waves churned up by the southerly and westerly winds. The little wavelets rushing by lap at the hull and are barely strong enough to rock us gently.

It should be a quiet night, assuming the wind behaves itself and blows according to the forecast. There was a fishing boat anchored here when we arrived about 5 p.m., but they took off about a half hour later, blasting off toward West End. With those engines, it’ll take them about an hour, rather than the four and a half it took us to get here.

We left the dock this afternoon about 12:30, after showers and a farewell cup of coffee with Jay and Luisa on Airborne who are staying on at West End waiting for the arrival of their son on Tuesday. David wanted dead low tide to pass, as we took the Indian Cay Channel and parts of it are a bit shallow (5.5 ft, and we draw 5, but still). The water on the banks is gorgeous shades of turquoise and the surrounding deep ocean is dark blue. The sea is actually striped – blue, turquoise, aqua, and an almost neon greenish blue on the horizon. The waters here are very shallow – the Bahamas are a large mesa sitting in the much deeper ocean, with hills on the mesa sticking up above the waterline as islands.

We motor sailed the whole day, with the jib out, making about 6 – 6.5 knots over the clear water. I could see the bottom most of the way, either sand or clumps of grassy stuff on sand. A couple of dolphins rode our bow wake for a few minutes, but they didn’t linger and other than a sole cormorant, that was the extent of the wildlife. We have heard a few birds call on the island. No bugs so far, praise God.

We saw Mangrove Cay from about 5 miles out and also what appeared to be the mast of an anchored sailboat. It turned out to be a large marker, which we think is warning of the shallows between it and the island. We approached the island cautiously, as it is surrounded by 1 to 2 foot shallows.

Once anchored, we broke out two bottles of beer and some Triscuits for our anchor drink/snack, and kicked back in the cockpit enjoying the cool of the evening and our unimpeded view of absolutely nothing but water and sky (the island is behind us, on the weather shore). Utter contentment.

It’s dark now and we’re listening to a Bahamian radio station, which you can’t tell until the commercials and the djs break in with their lovely island accents. Pretty exotic! So far, all the music is American and English – Christopher Cross, the Spice Girls, and Rod Stewart so far, plus a current hit by someone I can’t name (“You’re Beautiful”). I'm off to the dishes.