Sailing on Lake Carlyle was mostly fun, occasionally challenging, and rarely a chore. Open water sailing is mostly a chore, usually challenging, and only rarely fun. Our biggest challenge at the moment is handling
Kintala upwind into 20+ knots. Concerned about having too much sail flying we end up without enough power to shoulder aside the waves. Setting and reefing the main is tough work on a bouncing deck, at night it is downright scary, and I'm still not sure how much sail the boat will carry when the apparent wind is reaching toward 30 knots.
 |
| The cut into Hatchet Bay. 90ft wide. Try that in 4 foot waves... |
Motor sailing has become our default option in those conditions, but 47 tired ponies is simply not enough to shove 23,000 pounds up a wave. And, I am not sure how well the engine handles being run in those conditions either. We are talking a lot of motion, rolling and pitching, that are not normally associated with engine operation. The WesterBeast has done yeoman's duties so far, but I listen for every compression stroke, every chuff of water, and every sound. Each moment we are hung out depending on that thing is a moment I dread.
It is a problem because more than half of our days (and nights) have been on the wind to a large degree. It wasn't supposed to work out this way. Waiting on the "right" conditions is part of having your house with you and no schedule to keep, right? But if we tried to work it that way we would still be in Charleston, maybe Norfolk.
It is also a concern because
Kintala (like us) is not as young as she used to be. We have been giving her (and ourselves) a real beating. Down below she makes an ugly variety of noises when bashing like that, none of them confidence inspiring. Then again, I have pounded to open water weather in exactly four boats, so it isn't like I have a large sampling to compare.
For the next couple of days we are going to hang out in Hatchet Harbor and lick our wounds. A 6 hour slam fest, a night's endless rolling in the worst anchorage we have found so far, and yesterday morning's motor /sail bash into 3, 4, and 5 foot waves on a 2 to 3 second period (honest, I counted) has taken its toll. Sleep deprived, short on meals, missing a dorad that got tossed overboard by a sheet, fittings loose on the Bimini, and a pressure water leak that appeared in the night, we need another "stand down" and will likely be here a few days. Like the tide, my enthusiasm for open water sailing is at a bit of an ebb.
My enthusiasm for this lifestyle however, continues to grow. Anchored alone in some remote location or nodding to a mooring ball in "Velcro Beach" are equally enjoyable. I could easily make the Abacos my second – water based – home. Less so the Eleutheras. These Islands have not been kind, though Spanish Wells is near the top of my favorite places so far. I love living on a sailboat and being a member of the tribe "cruisers". I love living outside of "American Consumer Normal". Being light and mobile and unencumbered by anything more than living smart today so I will be around to do the same tomorrow, is just fine.
Now if I can just learn to sail this thing to weather without breaking it or me, life would be near perfect.
We came here in the hopes of hiding out for awhile and resting. It's an almost completely enclosed harbor with just a narrow cut to get in. It's fairly well protected from the 25kt winds we're having at the moment, with just a slight bit of rolling on the mooring ball. The wind was light enough this afternoon to head into the very small town and attend their "festival" which amounted to a series of live music bands and a few food and drink vendors. We spent the time before the festival touring the small town and had a chance to feel what, to us, is by far the most foreign country feeling place we've been to so far. This is a place of substantial poverty. Everywhere the homes are tiny and crumbling. Wrecked boats from hurricane Andrew in August of 1992 lie everywhere in varying stages of deterioration. Trash litters the yards, the beach, and the many empty lots. Yet, every person we met was once again smiling and courteous. We were walking through the town with some newly met friends, one of which has a beautiful white lab name Butter. The kids all over town came tumbling out of front doors to come pet him and he's a very friendly dog so he was quite pleased with all the attention. One young lady asked me to take her picture. Big smiles abound here. As you walk along the road that encircles the harbor, you have the feeling that this is the town that was forgotten. It's a beautiful bay capable of holding 30 or more cruising boats, yet there were only 10. No resorts like Treasure Cay, no bustling traffic like Marsh Harbour. Just local folks going about their daily business of trying to survive. I guess we fit right in.
