Saturday, December 21, 2019

Walk Away...

We wrote a book about being on the buyer’s side of a boat purchase. It is a modestly popular book, selling much better than either of us had anticipated. One of the core ideas in that book was that any potential boat buyer should be spring-loaded to walk away from any deal for pretty much any reason. An idea that, rumor has it, prevented a few people who read the book from getting stuck with a boat that wasn’t right for them.

For now, we are temporarily on land, replenishing the cruising kitty and spending time with family we didn’t see enough of while out wandering the waterways. We are also looking, when the time comes, at going back to the cruising life as trawler dwellers rather than sail boaters. But even if we ultimately decide that sailing is still the way to go, we have decided that Kintala is not the boat on which to live out the closing chapters of our lives. A nearly all-out racing, big-blue-water boat with a few of the harshest racing edges smoothed out a little…making her come to life and romp across the waves as she was designed to do is a little more work than is comfortable for a short-handed crew on the plus end of middle-aged.

So we are now on the seller’s side of the boat purchase equation. An effort that is proving to be just as frustrating, and with just as many pitfalls, as being a buyer. And while my opinion of boat brokers has gone up during this process (our’s working relentlessly on our behalf), that of the marine industry in general, and surveyors in particular, has plummeted to new lows.

After a year of effort we finally had a buyer make an offer on the boat and put down a deposit. All was looking well for closing by the end of the year…then came the survey. The surveyor is said to be young, enthusiastic, not that experienced, and very thorough (I haven’t met her). She even climbed the mast to check the rigging and there discovered that all of the swaged fittings on the standing rigging are cracked.

Big problem.

Big, big problem.

A problem big enough to set any return to the cruising life back a year or more. Rigging is expensive, and getting the job done remotely? A recipe for nothing but endless heartache and delay. Then we would have to start the boat selling process all over again.

We were a bit stunned to hear the news. Kintala’s rigging is only six year old. We had it installed at Oak Harbor just before setting out, an outfit known for building and installing racing rigging. They let me help build and install the rig. Though I am not a sailboat expert (or at least I wasn’t back then) I had spent nearly 4 decades in aircraft maintenance. Wire rigging is nothing new or special just because it is on a boat rather than a plane. It was a fun (if expensive) project and I am forever grateful to the good folks at Oak Harbor for showing me the ropes.

Kintala’s potential buyers, after thinking about it for a day or so, decided that offering a lower price then facing the repairs was not what they wanted, and backed out of the deal. Yes, they read the book and, yes, I was getting a taste of my own advice. I understood, as I would have done the same. Still, we are on the other end of the equation now and it is a pretty massive blow. But life is what it is. Kintala is an older boat. Though we loved her and spent uncounted hours and dollars getting her in the best shape we could, she is not perfect.

Within minutes of learning that the deal was dead, Deb was on the phone, getting quotes on fixing the rig along with other items the surveyor listed that helped scare off the buyers. One is the typical keel smile present on nearly every boat I have ever worked on with a bolted on keel. Another is a soft spot in the foredeck that will take any half-competent glass worker a couple of days to fix. We were told the survey makes a pretty big deal out of each, though I have no clue why that would be the case. I haven’t actually seen the survey. I was told I might be able to buy a copy of it if I liked, something that is not likely to happen before the sun explodes and swallows up this little planet. You will see why in a moment.

As it turned out, the rigger recommended by the yard was actually working in the yard when Deb called him. He was stepping a mast and allowed as he would take a look at Kintala and get us a quote asap. Barely an hour later he called with the news. There is nothing wrong with the rig. What the surveyor described as “cracks” are, in fact, the normal tooling marks that come with building a rig.

Truth to tell, I suspected all along that was what he was going to say. As mentioned, I helped build and install that rig. It is oversized for the boat and we aren’t racers, never pushing the boat to anywhere near its maximum capacity. The only other explanation for what the surveyor “found” was the fittings themselves being defective: not impossible, but pretty unlikely. But it appears to be too late as far as the buyers are concerned. They are new to this cruising world, paid a lot of money for that survey, and are not likely to be easily convinced that there is nothing much wrong with the boat after all.

(A big shout-out to the rigger here. He knew about the survey, could have easily given us a reasonable "quote" for fixing the rig, spent a week working on other things, and sent us a bill along with a couple of cracked fittings laying around his shop.  Being a thousand miles away he might well have gotten away with it.)

So here we are. The rig is fine but the “survey” is out there, authored by a person who, apparently, doesn't have a clue. How a surveyor cannot know about tooling marks and rigging is simply beyond understanding. It is central to what they should know as experts inspecting a boat. Worse, my experience is that a bad survey is like getting a DUI. Even if it turns out the machine was out of calibration and pinged you for the single beer you had at lunch, the stink will linger.

The rigger has agreed to send us a written report on his findings, and we are working toward getting the “smile” and soft deck spot fixed. They are minor issues that a) are likely part of nearly every older boat currently for sale and b) if we were still on the boat, we could fix in about a week. (Indeed, Kintala’s keel smiled at us the first time we saw her, and I’ve fixed two other soft spots on the deck in the ensuing years.) But they now carry “offical” surveyed stink as well.

I guess the good news, for us anyway, is that - had the buyers offered a price contingent on the rig needing repaired - we would have likely said "fine". They would have then had the happy experience of finding out there was nothing wrong and walked away with a smoking good deal on a pretty nice boat. So, in this case, my advice cut both ways.

So it looks like our sojourn on land will likely be extended a bit. Life is what it is. And if one chooses to take part in the business of boats…well…life is what it is.

Thursday, December 19, 2019

Throwback Thursday - The "Why we do this" Series

If asked what the best thing about our nearly six years of cruising was, I would immediately respond, "The Cruising Community." I admit that when we dreamed of doing this, that would not have even hit my radar, but in these years of cruising we have met more life-long friends than we did in the 57 years before. This post captures the very best of it all. And here are photos of the ones who made it possible:

David and Nancy to the right - October 2013

Wayne and Sue on the right - Dec of 2015

The Talking Pumpkin

Halloween was a big deal in the neighborhood; a suburban enclave where our "baby boom" generation was born and lived its early years. Hundreds of kids would go door to door in costume, collecting enough candy to keep a sugar buzz going clean through to the New Year. Houses were in costume as well, some modestly with just a pumpkin on the doorstep and maybe a sheet thrown over small shrub as a welcoming "ghost". Others were more elaborate; family members in full scary makeup and costume, garages and lower levels turned into haunted houses, off-key dirges playing in the background, and lighting to fit the intended theater.

Our house fell somewhere in the middle, but still managed to be the talk of the neighborhood. Each year we would find the biggest pumpkin we could, hollow it out, carve a scary face, and set it in the window by the door. Hidden inside the pumpkin was a dim light to set the scary face aglow, and a speaker. Hidden in the darkened room with microphone in hand was my Dad, the voice of the Talking Pumpkin.

It was a pretty innovative use of technology for the early 1960s, which turned into a kind of neighborhood staple. As the years went by people would drive in to introduce their kids to the Talking Pumpkin, little ones giggling but also looking around, not exactly sure what to make of the mysterious voice.  It was all good fun.

Pops at our eldest daughter's wedding in  2005
On Sunday, October 18th, 2015, late in the afternoon, the Talking Pumpkin fell silent. The news came via the tiny speaker held in my hand, the voice of Brother Youngest telling me that our Father had passed away suddenly, fallen by a massive heart attack.

Kintala was anchored at the edge of the grid, waiting out some weather. It took more than an hour of broken communications and dropped calls to get the news to Daughters Three. The logistics of finding a safe place to dock the boat for several weeks, then finding our way to PA as quickly as possible, looked to be nightmarish.

But then...

Two years ago, on our first trip down the ICW, the Beast sprung a massive fuel leak forcing us to spend a month in Oriental, NC. We were there over Thanksgiving, our first away from family. Chris and Sherry were also away from family, working to get their own cruising plans together. We shared Thanksgiving dinner at a local eatery that caters to the cruising tribe, and they became some of the earliest of our cruising friends. As it turns out they bought a slip in Oriental but their boat is currently on the hard. Seeing us heading south they had gotten in touch with us once again, enticing us to stop in Oriental with the offer of a free slip and a chance to catch up.

Oriental was a day's sail away when we got the news, and they offered us the slip for as long as we needed. We arrived after a glorious day of sailing to be met by Friends Mizzy and Brian. After a couple of days of buddy boating they had beaten us to Oriental by a few hours and so were on hand to help ease Kintala safely onto the dock. Over dinner that night their gentle conversation and obvious care helped ease our hearts as well.

A week or so ago Friends Nancy and David cut their Seaward 32 loose from Oak Harbor and pointed the bow south, leaving their car behind as they normally do. A car free for us to use if they could work out a way to get it to us, or us to it. So they did. Currently in Hampton and having already made plans to rent a car for a day to do some chores, they left at O-So-Dark-Thirty the next morning and drove to Oriental. After a quick coffee with the Gang from Oak Harbor (Mizzy, Brian, Nancy, David, and us) they loaded us aboard the rental and headed north. At about that same time other members of the Gang from Oak Harbor, Wayne and Sue, themselves just two days away from dropping the lines and sailing off, got in their car and headed south.

The two vehicles met at a truck stop somewhere south of Richmond. Deb and I were handed off for the next leg of this Pony Express of Kindness. By late afternoon we were back at Oak Harbor loading up. Barely 36 hours after picking up Kintala's hook in the remote waters of the Pungo River and unsure of how we were going to get where we needed to be, we were pulling into the driveway of family with all transportation worries behind us.

There are no words big enough or deep enough to describe people who step up like that, utterly careless of their own plans and time; not expecting, indeed rejecting, any idea of getting something in return. They had friends in need and that was all that mattered.

If a person be very lucky in life they will accrue debts like these. Debts that can never be repaid.

Debts that can never be forgotten.

Pops and his brother Gene
We will be away from the boat for a few weeks. Kintala will sit quietly, as will this blog. Fathers die. Sons and Daughters lay them to rest, struggling with a world that is somehow, fundamentally different than it was. Then we look to our own sons and daughters.

And the journey goes on.

Pops and Tim and our eldest daughter at their 50th wedding anniversary in 2004

Wednesday, November 13, 2019

Flu, Falling Leaves and Falling Snow

All the years we lived on the boat, we would come back to St. Louis to visit and we would get sick. Didn't seem to matter if it was winter or summer, although the holidays did garner their share of extra virus bugs. This year it appears that maybe it's a virus that most of the family has been exposed to some time previously, as so far the only ones to succumb are the baby, the 4-year old, and me. It may be that it's a flu or just a really horrific cold but, either way, it's knocked me flat for almost two weeks as it traveled from my sinuses to my throat to my lungs. Thankfully, the wage-earning member of our household hasn't come down with it yet.

Just before the onerous bug took up residence in my body, we were enjoying the amazing two weeks of fall weather we usually get in St. Louis. We were riding our bikes in the parks, and going on long walks, and sometimes were just simply sitting outside with our faces turned into the sun. If there is one thing that living on the boat taught me, it was to enjoy beauty whenever and wherever you find it. Being terrestrial dwellers again has accented the importance of this in so many ways.

From early November through the end of March, St. Louis is not known for its colorful vista. Most of the trees have dropped their leaves, the grass is faded, the sky is gray, and houses are all painted variants of the same taupe or gray color as the surroundings. After living in the Bahamas and Florida for so many years, the lack of brilliant colors is perhaps my biggest challenge. The time change this year even prompted the purchase of one of those Seasonal Affective Disorder lamps that are purported to help with winter blues. Time will tell if the claims are justified. In reality, I think that the leaves that I picked up along my walks in the parks and coated with polyurethane will yield similar results.

Even after I was sentenced to a few days' rest on the couch, I found beauty in the reflections of the tree branches blowing in the wind on my living room wall, oddly reminiscent of the water ripple reflections that used to dance on the headliner of Kintala's  interior.

So I'm clinging to the beauty that I've collected in my mind these last few weeks in an attempt to get through these winter months. In the meantime, Bean the Boat Bear is sitting in his windowsill watching the early snowfall, 3" of fluffy white stuff accompanied by 30 kt gusts, all the while plotting his escape to the crew of Blowin' In The Wind down in sunny, warm, colorful, Stuart Florida...

Tuesday, October 22, 2019

My two cents: It's always about the money

(Ed note: This is a highly controversial subject. The post is the author's own opinions. There are always exceptions to every generalization.)

We spent a week binge-watching The Long Way Down, a documentary film with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman detailing their trip from John O' Groats, Scotland through eighteen countries to Capetown, South Africa on two BMW motorcycles. Having ridden various motorcycles long-distance over our lives together, we appreciated the challenges of riding in a hostile environment (both environmental and political) but, regardless of the danger implied in the film, there was never any serious risk involved because they had two support vehicles, a medic with operating-room level supplies, a "security" agent, and a "fixer" for each country they traveled through. They started with brand new bikes (which were donated by BMW,) and racks upon racks of sponsored equipment, clothing, and spare parts. The whole time we were watching it, I kept thinking to myself that, in spite of the difficulties they encountered, there was never anything that happened that couldn't be fixed by the expansive bank account and huge support team that backed the project. It was a worthy project supporting UNICEF, it drew needed attention to many of the struggling countries in Africa, and I would watch it again, but I couldn't stop drawing the contrast to cruising.

Cruising is a hard way to live sometimes. You're pretty much responsible for yourself, and it is the rare cruiser that has that kind of expansive bank account back home to cover the unexpected or even the routine costs of living full-time on a boat. We've seen a lot of cruising dreams die in the almost six years we were out there, and it's usually either health reasons or money at the root of it.

But, wait, you can cruise on five hundred bucks a month, right?

Anyone prepping to go cruising wants desperately to believe that it's possible. They want to believe it's possible because if it isn't, their cruising dream is dead. And it might be possible, but let me paint a picture for you from what we've seen in the five plus years we've been cruising.

Five hundred bucks a month is maybe far-reach type doable if:
  • you have a 40+-year-old sailboat
  • with no refrigeration
  • with no air conditioning
  • that needs bottom paint
  • that has 4 inches of growth on the bottom
  • that has 30-year-old rigging
  • that has 30-year-old sails
  • you eat beans and rice every night
  • you have no boat insurance
  • you have no health insurance
  • you have no children
  • you have a spouse who's either a saint or catatonic
  • you have no family that you need to communicate with via phone
  • you are a professional dumpster diver for spare parts
  • you don't mind using a bucket to take a dump when the head breaks
  • you live in Indonesia...
  • you have a 20-40-year-old boat that you just launched from a boatyard after spending 6 months on the hard ticking projects off a list
  • where you spent thousands of dollars buying parts for the projects on the list
  • and paid thousands of dollars for the privilege of occupying 1000 sq ft of the boatyard
  • and paid thousands of dollars outfitting the boat with all the latest electronics from the boat show
  • and paid hundreds of dollars to stock the boat with provisions for six months in the Bahamas
  • and paid hundreds of dollars to make your way down the ICW to Miami to cross to the Bahamas
  • and paid your $350 cruising fee in the Bahamas where
  • you live for 500 bucks a month on your fully refitted, paid for, stocked boat
  • until your stock of provisions run out and 
  • things start to break.
I know there are some people who manage to make it work, especially in third world countries. I know there are copious books written on the subject by well-respected authors. I know there are hundreds of blog posts, forum threads and Facebook groups that all say it's possible.

But it's not us.

When we first got married almost 50 years ago, we were dirt poor living on my $1.64/hour wage working in a pet store while Tim finished school at Pittsburgh Institute of Aeronautics. After his graduation and subsequent employment in the aviation industry in Wichita, Kansas, things got marginally better, but we were still poor, sharing housing and cars with friends because none of us could afford to live on our own. As the years rolled on, the jobs got better, the income higher, kids came and went, houses came and went, money started accumulating in our retirement account and, well, if you're a long-term reader of this blog you know the rest of the story.

When we retired the first time in 2013, we left to go cruising with a well-founded boat that was comfortable, paid for, and able to take us where we wanted to go. Nothing fancy, but functional. We weren't living high on the hog, rarely eating out and almost never went to any paid function or resorts. But we were eating well by preparing home-cooked food on the boat, we had good communication with the grandkids through Skype, we had good iPads that were well-equipped with copious amounts of books from Amazon and our local library, we didn't have to sweat it financially if we wanted to touch a dock for a day or two to provision, and we could have the occasional ice cream cone as a treat. That cruising lifestyle cost us around $3,000 a month over the first couple years and more toward $3,500 a month the last two years. Those numbers include alcohol, boat maintenance, boat insurance, health insurance, medical bills, and all of the daily expenses like food, water, fuel, clothing, electricity, phones. A far cry from $500 a month. But as Tim likes to say, we've been poor, done that, have the card to prove it, and don't want to be poor again. 

After cruising full-time over five years, I am extremely skeptical of anyone who says they can live comfortably on $500 a month. In fact, I'm completely skeptical of anyone who says they can live on even $1000 a month. Why, you ask? Here's my reasoning.

Things break on boats. All boats. All the time. At the most inconvenient times. At the most expensive places to get them fixed. Always far away from parts sources. We have a friend who's one of those people who always seems to be in the right place at the right time to acquire parts for free that people are giving away or parts he can trade for things he has on his boat from the last time he traded. He's a maverick, and he's a master mechanic, and he cruises pretty cheaply. But dumpster diving in boatyards is virtually a full-time job for him. We've never seemed to be in the right place at the right time and usually end up trading green, crinkly paper for parts and then doing all the maintenance and installations ourselves. And parts in the Bahamas? Even the shipping costs to get them there would wipe out half a month's budget.

And then there's food. If you happen to be able to supplement your budget with shellfish you catch, that's certainly a bonus. Unfortunately, the Captain of Kintala has a shellfish allergy so that's supplement we don't benefit from. Everything you buy in the Bahamas is almost exactly twice the cost of their counterparts in the US: cereal ($6-$8 for smaller boxes,) milk ($8-$12 per gallon,) beer ($3 a bottle,) to name a few. We rarely eat out in the Bahamas because the food we can afford isn't very healthy, but we always try to support the local economy by buying our groceries there whenever possible. The only things we really provision prior to leaving are decaf coffee, (I am a coffee snob, I confess - it's my one vice,) beer, and some cooking ingredients that are hard to come by.

And then there's the water issue. If you happened to be in group B above and installed a watermaker prior to departing (cha-ching $$$$,) then you don't have to buy water - but you do have to buy prefilters, the occasional membrane, and all the components involved in pickling the unit whenever you leave the boat for a while. If you don't have a watermaker, then you are paying anywhere from $.20 per gallon to $1.00 per gallon for water in the Bahamas and the Florida Keys. If you're living on $500 per month, you're likely bathing in salt water. If you're living on $1000 a month then you might get a fresh water rinse. Our own water usage averaged 8-10 gallons of water per day doing dishes, drinking coffee and water, doing a couple small loads of hand wash, and doing a quick rinse off before bed. Our average water cost in the Bahamas and the Keys was $.35 per gallon for a total of close to $100 per month.

Just those three expenses would go a long way toward busting that $1000 per month budget. And that doesn't include phones, internet, fuel, cruising permits, propane, oil filters, fuel filters, registration, taxes, medical expenses...

Undoubtedly, the biggest reason we see cruisers (including us) return to land, whether temporarily or permanently, is money. The cruising life is a hard life. Weather, boat maintenance, and the myriad of daily chores all vie for time and energy and having too little money makes it all the harder. It can be a huge source of stress, the very thing that most people go cruising to get away from. So what can you do, if you're in the middle of your five-year plan to go cruising?

The most oft-quoted cruising budget meme is to "go small, go simple, go now." Certainly, outfitting a boat with the basics you need to be comfortable, and no more, is a good principle to abide by. But if living on a 24-foot boat without refrigeration or a motor is your idea of ideal cruising, I will admire you from afar. I openly admit that I'm not that person. Or I should more accurately say that I don't want to be that person.

So if you're not that person either, what can you do? Spend a considerable amount of time analyzing your expectations and check them against reality. How long do you intend to cruise? If it's a short cruise of one season, then pretty much anything can be endured. We used to camp in a 7-foot pup tent on our motorcycle trips - fine for a week or maybe two, but I couldn't live like that for years at a time. If you intend to cruise for the long term and it currently takes you $4,000 a month to live a comfortable life on land, then it will take you only slightly less to live a comfortable life on a boat. No mortgage, sure, but many many boat repairs and dockage and travel expenses. Be honest with yourself. If you're used to eating out five nights a week, it's not likely that you'll all of a sudden find cooking entertaining in a very small galley.

I recently heard a story on NPR about a study that Princeton had done in 2010. They studied a very large group of people to try to determine if money brought happiness. What they found was that for those living near or below the poverty line, receiving more money had a profound impact on their happiness. As the income approached $50,000 per year the increase in happiness tapered off, and at $75,000 per year there was no increase in happiness at all when money was added. It was an interesting study. It clearly showed that there is immense stress when there are insufficient funds to cover the basic needs of food, shelter, and comfort. Once those needs were provided, additional money did nothing to increase the participants' happiness. Living on a boat poor would add the stress of the fact that, without proper maintenance, your home can sink. Spending too much would add the stress of more complex systems to maintain.

We don't have any desire to live poor on a boat, and we don't have the money to be extravagant either, but we've found this very nice balance in between where we have a boat big enough that we don't get in each other's way but not so big we can't care for it. We have enough gadgets to be safe in our navigation without becoming unsafe from the complexity of it. The balance works for us, but there are as many ways to cruise as there are cruisers out there doing it, so examine your expectations, analyze your needs, and find the balance that works for you because, for my two cents' worth, it's always about the money.

    Thursday, October 3, 2019

    Throwback Thursday - Favorite Places Series - Foxtown, Bahamas

    When we have traveled over the course of our lives, whether in our old VW bus, our various assortment of motorcycles, or on Kintala, we've always tended to visit the places less visited. We aren't the touristy types - we really can't ever imagine ourselves taking a cruise with 3,000 other people - and what we really enjoy the most about traveling is getting to know the local folks and hanging out in their hangouts. One of our most memorable finds was a little dumpy gas station in the rural areas of Maryland near Salisbury. We were on the bikes and traveling down some back roads when we needed a break. We pulled into this little gas station and on going in to pay we discovered that they sold ice cream in the back out of a deep freeze for 25¢ for this huge double decker cone. We went back there several years in a row but it eventually fell the way of so many little country businesses and closed due to a modern gas station opening up nearby.

    Our travels on the boat were the same. While the draw for most people visiting Treasure Cay is to spend time in the pool, drinking at the beach bar or sunbathing on the beach, we spent our time in Flo's Cafe, having hillarious conversations with the locals about the state of U.S. politics. Not to say that there's anything wrong with the resort atmosphere, it's just different strokes for different folks.

    Foxtown, Bahamas is one of those places that gets skipped by a lot of people. Quite a few cruisers head out from Lake Worth, FL and cross the Bahamas Banks straight for Green Turtle Cay, passing right by Foxtown. Maybe when we transition to a trawler that will be an urge we'll have to fight, that destination urge. But in Kintala we traveled at a leisurely pace, and almost always sailing, so Foxtown was a good stop to make between Great Sale Cay and Crab Cay. The anchorage can be a bit challenging to get into, and is not always the best in rough weather, but it's strewn with these odd large rocks that make it feel a lot like some other places we've been and draws us in.

    The town is quite poor and doesn't have much in the way of support services. There are three food shops that are each about 12-foot square and it takes a trip to all three to get everything you need. There's no ice there except for at the bait shop the commercial fishermen use, and the only water available is in five-gallon jugs that you have to haul to the boat, empty, and bring back at $1.00 per gallon. But there's an amazing community of people there, including a whole bunch of kids in the local school that we were able to visit and read one of the children's books I wrote.

    While Foxtown fared better than most through Dorian, they had all access to support services cut off by a bridge that washed away. They were trapped there and many had to be evacuated by helicopter because of the lack of access to food, water, and fuel from other parts of Grand Abaco. Our hearts go out to these special people and we hope that once we head back to the water we can go back to visit.

    School Day …

    After getting up this morning I made sure my shirt was clean and there were no big stains on my pants. Coffee, breakfast, brush teeth, shave close, generally making myself as presentable as possible. Load up, dink into shore, head down the road. Destination? Fox Town Preparatory school. Once there Deb was introduced to the students in the First / Second grade classroom as an Author from America (which she is), and then she read the class Mr. Sun and the Super Sleepy Sunday. After the story she answered questions from the kids and then left a signed copy of the book for their library.

    It was the coolest thing we have done since setting out. The children were as polite as could be and nearly as cute as my own grand kids. The Principal and Teachers were friendly, professional, and clearly dedicated to the little ones in their charge. It was a real honor to be a part of their lives for just a little while, and Fox Town is now on our “must visit” list whenever we come this way.

    In addition to the school visit we found fruit, milk, and even ICE CREAM while shopping the three small stores in the town. Everyone greeted us with a smile and a wave. A 10 pound block of ice was ours for just $5. The only shortfall was water, 5 gallons cost $6.50 and you had to return the bottle. Since we have a few days left in our tanks we decided to pass on the water, though we are in full conservation mode until finding some place to fill the tanks. (Yes, a water maker would make life easier right now, but this is the first time in 18 months where water on board is a concern.)

    Principal Curry with the teacher and assistant.

    One more thing about Fox Town. The anchorage is one of the prettiest ones we have been in. It is surrounded by little islands of rock, reminding me of the northeast coast of the US. The water isn't that deep, it is a bit of a dink ride to the dock, and there is enough fetch to make the place a little bumpy when the winds clock up to 20+ out of the east. It is still better than Dinner Key for most wind directions, and Kintala had no problem finding a good place to sit for a few days.

    Kintala in the background.

    After our school visit there was still enough time in the day to get underway. The plan was to sail to Powell Cay today, roughly 20 NM. The forecast for the Abacos is in a bit of a rut, ENE winds 15 to 20 with seas of 3 to 5 feet. It has been that way for nearly two weeks, and is forecast for the same as far into the future as the forecast goes. So, if one wants to get anywhere, 20 knots and five foot seas is what one gets to go in. Of course, the course to Powell Cay put the wind and waves directly on the bow.

    Kintala's crew has gotten used to 5 foot seas breaking over the bow. Kintala herself doesn't mind 5 foot waves breaking over the bow so long as she has enough push to shoulder them aside. Ah, but the WesterBeast... The Beast and I have come to an uneasy kind of truce. I check it every single day we are under way, keep the revs down, and basically treat it like some kind of temperamental VIP who demands all the green M&Ms be taken from the bowl and the bottled water be shipped directly from France. In return the Beast has rumbled along with no complaints. It isn't using any coolant, isn't using any oil, and runs at a constant 178°. (Amazing what a heat exchanger overhaul will do. But hp is not the Beast's forté. It will get us in and out of an anchorage and motor us along, so long as we don't task it with too many 5 foot hills to climb. Insist on that and boat speed will fall by a third in each 5 footer, bringing Kintala to a stop with the third hit in a row. A fourth will have her backing up, Beast or no Beast. Three, four, and even five consecutive hits greeted the bow once we turned on course. Twenty miles is a long, long way in those kinds of conditions.

    The medical center in town. My granddaughters would love this!

    So the decision was made to abort to Crab Cay instead. Roughly the same heading but half the distance away. An hour or so later it was still nearly half the distance away. The Beast was just no match for the waves, and there was no point of sail that would work to cover the distance, even with multiple tacks. Even it there were, time was running out of the day for making multiple tacks.

    Off the wind lay Allan's Pensacola Cay, only four miles away and with an anchorage that would offer some protection for the night. Also a place we skipped last year and wanted to see, so changing destinations yet again was an easy call. Deb turned Kintala off the wind and I spun out the staysail. Where we had been struggling to keep the average speed above 2 knots, now we were making 5+. Definitely an easy call. An added bonus was that the waves were not quite as tight to the bow, though we were still running sluices of water down the toe rail to pour off the side decks. Within two hours the hook was down, the deck set up for the night, and I had a sandwich and cold Rum & Coke in hand – complete with ice.

    The colors here are stunning. There is simply no way to capture them on film.

    Tomorrow we will try and get a little further east by leaving in the morning before the winds start their daily ramp up. That is the plan anyway.

    Kintala swinging in the light wind.
    Kacey this one's for you. One of the local bars with the ever-present Kalik sign.

    The anchorage at Allen's Pensacola

    Saturday, September 21, 2019

    Donny's Docks

    If they let us, we would probably move there. Looking at the photos of the destruction, we wish we were there to help them to rebuild right now.

    Ed Note: I don't yet have the photo credit for this photo. I will post it as soon as I get it

    Donny's Docks in Black Sound on Green Turtle Cay holds a very special place in our hearts, along with a good many wonderful memories. New Plymouth, the town on Green Turtle, is one of the most authentic Bahamian towns we've visited. Everywhere the people are kind and generous. They have suffered a blow of unimaginable proportions, but the Bahamian people are a phenomenal group of human beings, and I have no doubt that their indomitable spirit will prevail, that they will rebuild, and that although different, it will be filled with the same sense of community, kindness, and faith. A place we will want to visit again and again.

    Donny's docks before the hurricane. His house is at the end of the dock on the hill.

    If you are able, please donate to Donny and his family as they begin to rebuild their home and their business. They have lost everything and it will be the kindness of strangers that enable them to survive. While there are many donation outlets, this is the one we have chosen to support. If you could donate even the value of one meal out this week, it will be greatly appreciated by both Donny and his family and us as well.

    Here is the link to donate:

    Here are photos of the way we will always remember Green Turtle Cay.

    Thursday, September 19, 2019

    Throwback Thursday - Favorite Places Series - Old Bahama Bay

    It should be noted that Old Bahama Bay in West End, Bahamas is not the same now as it was when we posted this post. A couple of hurricanes trashed the town and a good part of the marina. A fight between brothers (co-owners of the marina) closed most of the docks to travelers by boat. I guess even Paradise isn't immune to that sort of thing. All this being said, it's still one of our favorite places. It's classified as a resort in the Bahamas, but it doesn't have that resort feel that the marinas in Lucaya and Freeport and Nassau have. It still has the charm of the Bahamian people, it's low-key and authentic, not so put on for tourists. Hopefully the brothers will sort things out soon because we will definitely head there next time we head out.

    Water spouts in paradise.

    Not too long before we pulled Kintala from Lake Carlyle, and when our plan was still to get to the Keys this year, the Islands maybe next year, I ran across an experienced cruiser who agreed that was a good idea. Not because jumping across the Gulf Stream was too big a task for a neophyte. In fact, he seemed of the opinion that almost every new East Coast cruiser pretty much headed to the Islands right away: it's why they became cruisers in the first place. He also kind of scoffed at the idea that we didn't have enough experience to try such a thing.

    "You already did it twice" he said, "how much practice do you need to make a 90 mile sail? Just ask around a bit, and don't go when no one else seems to be going."

    No, he felt that going to the Keys first was a good idea simply because, once people get to the Islands, they don't really think much of going anywhere else. In fact, according to him, people get to the Islands, never get any further, never go back, and live a long and happy life.

    Just one full day here living on my own boat and I am beginning to understand. And that on a day that saw two thunderstorms roll overhead, each laying down a waterspout within sight of the marina. I didn't see either one, being down in the boat working on a project. Deb saw both, and even managed to get a picture as the second one was starting to peter out. Yet in spite of that introduction this place has me completely charmed.

    Part of it is just being here. It is almost like everything that has gone before, all the years in Carlyle, the broken boat challenges, logistics, the endless slog down the ICW, cold front after cold front hammering us at piers and on anchor, the endless effort of living day to day on a sailboat; all of it just melted into the cool, indigo waters of the deep ocean that lay between this place and the States. John (who crossed when we did) and I spent most of the day just smiling, kind of stunned (in the best possible way) that we are no longer working on making the dream come true. The dream is true, we made it happen. That is some pretty strong stuff.

    Part of it is that "here" is already feeling different from the States, even if just 90 miles away. The officials in the Customs / Immigration office were dressed in white shirts, boards on their shoulders speaking of some kind of rank (like an airline pilot), and there wasn't a gun in sight. The ambiance of the office was that there was some official papers that had to be completed, but no big deal. Sign here, sign there, you are more than welcome to visit our country.

    Compare that to the Office Of Homeland Security. Every single official in that office was dressed in Ninja Black from Hat to Combat Boots. Each was sporting a side arm and hand cuffs. There was no doubt you were in a military area and that, somehow, the ENEMY was close at hand. Indeed, we were there for the sole purpose of proving that we are not, in fact, one of them. In the back of your mind you just knew that if something flagged on their computer screen you would be in some very, very deep kimchi, with little hope of extracting yourself before the turn of the next century.

    A country that is not perpetually at war with itself and everyone else on the planet. Novel idea, that. Could it really be true?

    The pace of things here is clearly slower. Where I come from 12 hours of work is expected from 8 hours worth of effort, with 4 hours of pay offered in exchange (and grudgingly, at that). So far, I haven't gotten the impression that is the way things work here.

    I admit this is only our second day, with yesterday kind of floating by in
    a sleep deprived fog. Tomorrow we hope to start moving further east, with a stop planned at a place called Mangrove Key. It should be a few days before Kintala is near a marina again as we start exploring this place where the dream became our life. I'm sure it will turn out to be less than a perfect dream, but so far I don't have any complaints.