Friday, April 25, 2014


The calm sunset lured us into staying another night...
We were having such a good time swimming, resting, and puttering around doing boat projects that we tried to squeeze one more night out of the Rose Island South anchorage. It should have been okay. Six other boats were there as well so surely they were working off the same weather and wind forecast as we were. And we all paid the price when the winds shifted too far to the south for the Island to offer any protection, and then ramped up. Deb abandoned the pitching V-berth in the wee hours of the morning, seeking some relief by curling up in the cockpit. For once I was tolerating the conditions better than she, but that still didn't make for a pleasant night. Come morning the anchorage was home to the bleary-eyed, sleep deprived, bruised, and emptied. (You'll get it in a minute.)

With the sun up we skipped both breakfast and coffee (yep, it was that bad) and were still number four for departure; three other boats having already made their escape. It was slow work on the pitching deck, but soon enough the anchor was secure and Deb was steering us toward Nassau Harbor's East entrance. Harbor Control blessed our intentions and then we were settled in the East anchorage, just off the marina we will visit tomorrow for a night, with coffee in hand and feeling much better about our world.

Nassau gets mixed reviews from cruisers that have come this way before us. It is late afternoon now and I have to admit to a tiny bit of disappointment. Until today, our experience with the Bahamian people has been nothing but positive. They are a friendly, courteous, helpful, kind people ... right up until they get to Nassau and fire up a jet ski or overpowered fishing skiff. Then, for reasons completely beyond rational thinking, they go blasting through the middle of the anchored assembled, apparently collecting extra points for cutting it as close as they can, double if they are towing – again as fast as they can go - an empty jet ski behind them on a bit of twine. (Three such have gone past us in the last couple of hours and they have been trashing the place 15 - 20 times an hour since we got here.) Acts of idiocy equaling anything ever witnessed on Lake Carlyle during a holiday weekend. Apparently power craft stupid is an international disease, with Jet ski stupid being the most virulent form of the virus.

Other than that, I kind of like this place. It isn't protected like Treasure Cay or Spanish Wells, and it certainly isn't the in-a-foreign-country experience that was Hatchet Bay. (The line of cruise ship behemoths on the other side of the bridge might have something to do with that.) It is, for us, just a place to pick up a friend, put on some provisions, and head off again. But it is still something other than the US of A, and I'll just take it as it is, thank you.

Though it would be much improved without the jackass powered jet skis.

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