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.

Great Sale Cay - again! March 19th, 2008

[Cap'n Dave's log]

Hi! Everyone:

We left Great Sale Cay this morning bound for Fox Town, about 25 miles away, but before we could get half way there the winds had built to 28 knots and the waves on the Sea of Abaco were an erratic 4-6 feet. Raven sailed close hauled all morning with the main double-reefed and the head sail rolled in. The staysail was out to keep us moving as we fought our way into the wind. Raven’s cabin floor was covered with anything that wasn’t nailed down. We couldn’t open the door to the head even if we could have reached it. And so … we turned around and ran before the wind under staysail alone, back to Great Sale Cay.

Here are today’s lessons:

1) Never, never leave safe harbor without the latest weather forecast. I failed to set an alarm for the NOAA forecast at 0530 and so slept through it. I had the forecast from 2330 the previous night, but something changed overnight. I tuned into the 1130 forecast, which came in loud and clear on shortwave until someone started a data transmission right as the reader got to our section of ocean. By then, we were two forecasts behind. I tuned in again for the 1730 forecast at 1750, intentionally missing two northern regions usually read before our region, except NOAA changed the order of things and our region had already been read. By then we were three forecasts behind, but safely tucked into Northwest Harbour. Lessons of this story: always get a forecast when I can; listen to every forecast from the beginning, even the northern regions. (There are no shortcuts at sea.)

2) Learn to make Raven go to weather in reasonable comfort in a blow. The main was double-reefed with the staysail fully out. This was clearly too much canvas for the 20-25 knot breeze, causing too much heeling and weather helm. The wind vane couldn’t cope, nor should it have been able to with such an unbalanced helm. After dousing the mainsail, Raven rode more upright but couldn’t go to weather. We sailed back and forth along reciprocal courses, losing way to wind and current. In other words we were going backwards.
This problem was solved the next day. In a good blow Raven goes to weather nicely with (Yankee cut) jib and staysail set. The main stayed under wraps. With this combination, Raven was able to boil along at 6-7 knots at about 60 degrees to the (apparent) wind. The helm was balanced and the wind vane kept us on track.

3) Biminis are incompatible with sailing. I cannot see the mainsail shape or the leech telltales to trim the sail. I cannot reach reefing lines when they jam. I cannot tie gaskets onto a reefed main. I cannot see the jib or staysail telltales or see the flutter along the leeches or the distance of the sails from the spreaders.

4) The diesel and water jugs and propane cylinders on the side decks were inadequately tied. The rail is too high. Their bases slid inwards, they lay on their sides, then tried to slide overboard. The rail is OK but another, low down is needed. Alternatively, a rope might work, so long as it doesn’t ride under the jugs.

5) Below deck, stow everything like we mean it. Assume at least 30° heel and a bumpy ride. Remember to pin the settee seats.

6) Tie down the anchors so they cannot unship.

7) Keep cockpit seats and floor free of anything that’s not attached: folding chairs, ropes, shoes, boxes, cans, etc. Also, keep cabin roof (winches) clear of similar clutter. These are work areas. Handling of the ship and personal safety are compromised by clutter.

8) Safety harnesses hinder as much as they help. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. I have no solution to this right now.

9) The wind vane needs some new shock cord on the adjustment wheel, which slipped as the vane pendulum banged against the stops.

Following these rules, the next day’s sail from Great Sale Cay to Crab Cay was one of the best ever. Belowdeck was tidy and a refuge from the wind when one of us needed a break. The seas were less confused than the day before, but they were far from flat. When moving along at a good clip, Raven shoulders waves aside very nicely and gives us a comfortable, fast ride.

We live and learn, hopefully.

Best regards,

Captain Dave

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