GuessCast

(Note: Most of this was written last night … polished up and posted today.)

I am very uneasy. Night has fallen and we are facing straight down the barrel of the first really serious cold frontal passage we have experienced for a while. The western horizon is ablaze in fork lightning, all of which appears to be sniffing out the top of our mast. The deck is secured. Jib and staysail sheets are wrapped and tied so the sails can't come loose. The generator is stashed, baby-stays run and tight, halyards taut, and the Dink tied fore and aft. All good things because the wind … (insert 4 intense hours here)..

Sorry for the blur - I was holding on for dear life

Literally in the middle of that sentence Kintala heeled over, struck by a massive wall of sky and water. A book flew off the starboard shelf, dishes clanked around in the galley, the Ship's Log fell off the nav station, and every bit of outside canvas was flailing and cracking like gunshots. All we could do was hang onto something and watch the numbers on the wind-o-meter scroll up … 30 … 40 … 50 … finally topping out at 52+. It seemed likely that we had been victimized by a down-burst from the passing line of storms, a blast that should have eased quickly. But the wind refused to fade. For most of the next hour Kintala swayed and bucked in winds over 40 knots, with seas high enough to wash over the bow, flow down the hawser into the chain locker and the bilge, and trigger the bilge pump. At night, wind howling, lightning flashing, and the boat moving enough to make it difficult to stand, hearing the bilge pump running was enough to leach the last bit of fun out of the evening.

The big concern was dragging. Eighty feet of chain lay in the surf between the bow and the Mantus. The Mantus is a good anchor but everything has its limits. As it turns out 50 knot winds and 5(?) foot seas tugging at it are still within its capabilities. We are holding fast, even though the seas are, if anything, bigger, and the wind has been constantly over 30 knots for the last several hours. It would have been nice if the boat upwind of us had one as well. But it didn't.

In the middle of the melee, while checking to see if we were dragging, we spotted the boat west of us heading our way. There was a light moving on the fore deck so someone was trying to do something, but whatever it was wasn't enough. Deb suggested we wake up the Beast in case we had to move, but with the oncoming craft dragging straight down our rode, I didn't think there was anything much we could do. He finally fetched up about a boat length away, just off our starboard bow. Foul weather gear and life jackets on (yep, it was that rough) we stayed in the cockpit for a while to see if he would hold, the wind still in the high 30s. It looked like all was well so Deb went below. But all was not well for long and the distance between the boats started closing again. There was very little distance left to play with.

With Deb back on deck we worked at getting every fender we have deployed on the starboard side. Then I tied one of our dock lines to the anchor chain. The plan was to cut the snubbing line free and fall back 30 feet or so. Cutting the snubber free was the only option. It was under way too much strain to lift the loops off the cleat. It seemed a small sacrifice to make, a last ditch attempt to keep the boats from pounding each other to death. In the last minute before that decision became the only possible option, the engine came alive on the dragging boat. Very slowly they worked their way away from us, pulling in rode as they went. I have no clue how they managed to miss getting tangled in our ground tackle. It looked to me like they had dragged directly between us and the Mantus. On a night like this one thanks Sister Ocean for any bit of luck one gets.

With them finally reset off in the distance we have settled into a long night. For a while the winds faded to the high 20s as the storms moved off to the east, and we had hoped the worst was over. But they climbed back up to near 40, faded away, and now, with the cold front itself finally hovering over us, they are gusting into 40s once again. The other boat is well clear though, and our deck is only slightly untidy. The Dink is twisted in its lines but still fast, the fenders are still down, (and will remain there until morning even though they are bouncing in the wind and waves), and the aft, starboard side zipper on the Bimini gave way under the 50 knot onslaught. (Deb has already taken care of that.) Uncomfortable and still uneasy, but at least we are still holding and not about to get clobbered by a wayward, fellow cruiser.


 

It is afternoon now. The Dink is retied, the fenders secured, and the generator is charging the laptops and helping the solar panels since the sky is just now clearing. The winds are still 15 to … 28+, (I'm sitting at the nav station writing and watching the wind-o-meter). They have yet to clock far enough to the north to put us in the lee. The fetch off our bow goes clear to the horizon, white caps and waves sweep though unimpeded. At least the water no longer crashes over the toerail, and we can move around the boat without holding on with both hands. We never did talk with the crew of the other boat. They left this morning. I can't blame them for anything. They had anchored, what looked like, well clear of us. Fifty knot winds? Of course someone is going to drag. When they did, they did what they had to do to keep off of us. I would not have wanted to pull and reset the hook in the middle of that mess last night. They did well, and I wish I had had the chance to tell them so.

As bad as it was here, I think staying was the right choice. The winds never moved as far north as the forecast suggested, nor as fast out of the south west. Here, when the winds first unloaded on us, we were still somewhat in the lee of Little Abaco Island. Had we moved we would have been facing the direct onslaught of the storm while hemmed in by the cove of Great Sale Cay. It must have been a regular witch's cauldron in there.

In my last post I said something about buying the ticket and taking the ride. A bit of a glib statement based on what we had seen in the GRIB forecasts over the last several days. I should know better than to ever be glib about the weather. Wind speeds in the forecast were off by more than 50%. The direction change and the forecast easing is hours and hours behind schedule, but maybe we will be in the lee by this evening. Nowhere was a hint of wind gusts to 50+, sustained winds at 40+, and lightning to scare the wee-wee out of a dog.

Quite a ride. It isn't completely over yet. And I'd just as soon not take another one like it anytime soon.

The Beast gets a break …

Crab Cay anchorage on Little Abaco Island

Kintala has pointed her bow westward and is starting the trek back toward the US of A. The disappointment of having to leave the Islands after barely a month is balanced by those we are sailing toward. Family awaits in Annapolis and Pittsburgh. Then there are Daughters (3), Son-in-Laws (2), and grand kids (soon to be 9) in Indianapolis and St. Louis. There is a chance to sell the condo, (hopefully a good chance) and to see some old friends at Carlyle as well as St. Louis.


We left Green Turtle and sailed back to Nunjack, spending four nights in our new favorite place. Then left Nunjack for Crab, spending two night in one of our favorite places from last year. From Crab we headed for Fox Town to do some provisioning in another of our favorite places. (Can you tell we like this part of the world?) That last leg was on Tuesday.

Did I mention light wind?

Even with the pole up the sail was challenged

We managed to sail off of the anchor to start the day, then on to the anchor to finish the day; thus giving the WesterBeast a break. Not a big deal in the sailing world, but a "no engine day" was a first for us on Kintala in water more open than Carlyle Lake. The wind was very light which required patience, nursing the most we could out of the sails, and keeping track of the arrival time to make sure we were in by nightfall. It was the second time in Fox Town and the approach is pretty open and easy. But there are shallow spots and rocks to avoid and the overcast sky would make, once the sun disappeared, for a dark hard to describe to city dwellers. We would have woken up the Beast rather than try the approach at night, but managed enough speed to arrive in the late afternoon.

By then the wind had picked up a little and we were doing four knots for the first time since leaving Crab. Getting into the cove brought us up ever more tightly on the wind, a perfect setup. We rolled in a bit of the head sail, than a bit more, than a bit more. Deb picked her spot and spun Kintala the rest of the way up into the wind. I rolled in the last of the jib then took a leisurely stroll up the deck. Just as the boat's forward speed bled away to nothing the Mantus splashed and grabbed hold of the bottom. The wind provided enough push to set the hook, and the day was done.

Sunset reward after a perfect day.

It was a normal day of sailing and a small accomplishment, but it gave us a sense that we are getting better at this. Still, we have a thousand nautical miles to go, across the Stream, up the East Coast, and through the Chesapeake, to get where we need to be. Again, not such a big deal in the world of cruising, a thousand boats will be doing the same thing in the next couple of months. But still a big enough deal to us to make patience and careful planning watch-words to keep close until we reach Oak Harbor.

Patience and careful planning are not new, particularly to someone who spent a career in aviation. But in my land life patience and careful planning could take a back seat once the front door was closed upon arriving home. Unless a tornado came by the house wasn't likely to go anywhere. The winds could blow, the rain and snow could fall, but inside all was safe and secure. The water “tanks” were always full, there was milk in the 'fridge and, if not, the store was only two blocks away. Unlike Island stores, US stores always have milk, and meat, and fresh fruit and veggies. The big screen TV always had ready access to a fast Internet connection. Good for entertainment but even better for checking weather. (Not the Big Screen but the Internet connection.)

The companionway on Kintala isn't anything like the front door of the house. That isn't to say we never feel safe and secure “out here”. With the Mantus well set in the placid and clear water of a protected yet sparsely populated anchorage, cold one in hand as the sun sets on a perfect day, it is hard to feel any more safe and secure. There is no TV blaring the latest bad news, no sirens in the streets or helicopters hunting overhead. Sometimes after the sun goes down, particularly on a clear night with the sky ablaze, it is so quiet that the stars themselves seem to be whispering. (Which, I will admit, takes a little getting used to.)

Yet, even then, there is a little bit of guard left up. If you don't think so, make a loud noise that can't instantly be identified, then watch how fast the cold drink gets set aside and the crew jumps to.

After much debate it was decided that, rather than racing an impending cold front to Great Sale this morning, a slightly better choice would be to wait it out here in Fox Town. Kintala is going to be pretty exposed to the west winds the rest of today and most of tonight, so it remains to be seen if it was a good call or no. Green Turtle is the only really protected spot in this part of the Abacos, but is too far away and in the wrong direction to be of any use to us for the upcoming weather. Buy a ticket, take the ride.

The next few stops will(?) be Great Sale, Mangrove, West End, and the US, maybe Fernandina Beach off the St. Mary's Entrance. At roughly 275nm, West End to Fernandina would be the longest passage we have made, so we are still thinking about it. Another one of those “not a big deal in the cruising world...but”, and the Beast will likely have to get up for at least part of that one.

More Bahamian water pictures, these of the faint ripples on nearly flat water...

Looks a bit like a Windows 7 wallpaper, no?

 

Bahamas Provisioning

When you get to the end of a trip to the Bahamas you have to get a little creative with meal cooking. Most of the produce is usually gone, you're down to canned fruit, there might be an onion or one single potato hiding away in a basket somewhere, all of the store-bought bread, buns and chips are long gone.  Dinner ended up being cold meatloaf sandwiches on homemade buns (we almost always have flour and yeast), and homemade potato chips. Creativity is the key.

For once, we brought enough beer along, having stashed a bunch of cases of cans in the bottom of a locker behind the settee. Not so much luck with milk though. Yesterday we went to the store in Fox Town and scored the last two half gallons of milk ($6.00 each). Tim dug into the cookie stash and poured himself a glass of milk, only to discover it was spoiled. It was more than a week out of date, a fact that had escaped our notice at the store. We trudged back there today to exchange it only to find out that there hadn't been any milk on the shelf at Marsh Harbor where they go to resupply. "Hmm", she said, "Maybe that's why it was all pulled from their shelves." Indeed. Since Tim is not a big fan of boxed, instant, or canned milk, he's opting for tea with his cookies tonight.

As long as you're willing to adjust your likes and dislikes and stretch your pallet a little, you can do fairly well in the Bahamas. It does require a good bit of cooking, though, as all of the pre-packaged things like cookies, crackers, chips, etc. are all unbelievably priced. Some things, like eggs for instance, are only about 20% more. Other things like cereal and chips are at least 100% more. When you can find it, the Bahamian coconut bread is to die for, but finding things consistently is very difficult. Take a lot of flour and practice your bread kneading.

Now what can I make with a half a pound of bacon, some rusty lettuce and half a pear...

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

House sitting

It's not always sun and sand in the Bahamas...

We launched the Dink this morning with the thought of getting off the boat and visiting Fox Town. Fox Town is a place we skipped last year, and it looks like an interesting little burg. Also, it has been several weeks since the Merc was run, which usually leads to some starting reluctance on its part. Depending on how much reluctance, it could make for a long day of coaxing it back into service for yours truly. With the Dink in the water and the Merc hanging on its transom, I took a deep breath and pulled. Zoom-zoom on the second pull, and it even settled into a reasonable excuse for an idle. I may have to change my mind about the Merc.

And so there we were, going-ashore stuff loaded, both on board, Merc putting away, and bouncing hard against the Big Boat with water slopping over the bow tube. Hmmm, exactly what is so imperative that we are thinking of doing this? Its a long Dink ride in, we don't know where the dock is yet, and it will be an even longer ride back into the building winds and seas. We expected a little weather this weekend, but this? Perhaps we should wait and see what is going on here?

The forecast for today called for winds 10 to 15 out of the north east. The forecast on the GRIB file for this very instant, as I type, is for 13 knots of wind out of 031 degrees. They got the direction correct, but there is 26 knots of wind out there, gusting to just shy of 30. That may not sound like much to those who live in brick homes resting on Mother Earth, but for those of us who live floating, tethered by a length of chain to keep us away from rocks and shallow bits, it makes for a completely different take on the day. In our case, one where we watch the Dink tug and thrash at the end of its double painter, keep an eye on the ground tackle, and find things to do on the boat. Tomorrow's winds were supposed to be higher than today's. Did the higher winds get here a day early? Even if, they were never forecast for near 30. Maybe this whole system is honking and puffing with more enthusiasm than the weather gurus figured? We are going to find out, and Fox Town may have to wait until Monday.

The Mantus took its usual good set yesterday when we got here, and we are resting on 80 feet of chain in seven feet of water – so we are not too concerned about dragging. Still, if I was on shore looking out at Kintala, sitting alone in the whitecaps and straining against her snubbing lines, that would not be the case. I have to admit that it never occurred to me cruising would mean spending as many days as we do thinking about our house taking off without us. Back in St. Louis that only happened when a big tornado was in the area. Then we were mostly concerned about NOT being around, quite content to let the house take off without us.

On a completely different note: Tomorrow is Deb's and my 40th wedding anniversary. (I'm not sure why she has put up with me this long. I wouldn't have put up with me this long if I wasn't attached, but I am glad she has!) Some really wealthy people would celebrate by taking a trip to the Bahamas on a PRIVATE YACHT, noodling around pristine beaches washed by a stunning turquoise sea, and exploring interesting places. We are on a yacht, a little one, but a yacht none the less. It is private. And we are noodling around pristine beaches washed by a stunning turquoise sea. When the wind finally lies down a little, we will go back to exploring interesting places. So, while we can't make the claim of being wealthy people, we are certainly doing okay.

Getting Somewhere ..

After a week of enjoying one of the instant communities that form where ever a group of cruisers find themselves, Kintala pried herself off the dock at the Bimini Blue Water Marina and headed north. Most of the community left at the same time, a dozen or so boats heading off in all directions. Kintala pointed her bow into the wind and sailed off the edge of the Internet for a few glorious days.

Island Spirit, one of the many commercial ferries here.

Along the way she dropped her hook in the bite off West End, Mangrove Cay, and Great Sale Cay, all places she had stopped last year. Those three days of sailing were romps in three to five foot seas while hard on the wind. Sometimes so hard on the wind that motoring was the only option, but whenever she could make way under sail, heeled hard, water washing down the deck, flying everything she could carry, she did. Like last year, two days were spent in Great Sale. We were a bit behind in housekeeping and boat work, and also a bit weary from a series of sunrise “anchors up” to late afternoon cold ones.

Sunset at Great Sale Cay

Among the tasks for the deck monkey was safety wiring all of the sailing hardware. Somehow, along our bouncy way, the shackle for the jib had shed its zip-tie safety, worked itself free, and disappeared into the deep blue sea. And somehow, the deck monkey missed spotting the obviously missing bit of rigging right at the anchor while picking said anchor up off the bottom and so, on day two, the jib rolled out into 20 knot winds with the tack free and flying. (Bad deck monkey … bad!) A bit of a Chinese Fire Drill ensued but no damage was done. Deb turned the boat to keep the load off the head sail. The halyard was eased a bit, a new shackle was slipped into place, and all was well in our sailing world once again. But, while sitting in Great Sale Cay, all zip-tie safeties went away and lock wire was put in place. (Good deck monkey .,.. good!)

A cloud formation that Tim would have flown through in days gone by.

Full moon over Great Sale Cay

After an easy day off, Kintala pulled her hook this morning and motored around the south end of Great Sale Cay. Once clear of the shallows she settled into the south wind on a beam to deep reach, making her way toward Fox Town with its phone tower, Internet, and rumors of a small grocery store. With the winds fading the call was made to shake the reef out of the main, and then to pole out the jib. The reef was in place after days of winds blowing 15 to 20 since it makes it easier to balance the sails, which makes it easier to keep the wind vane happy, which makes it much easier on the crew since no one has to helm for hours at a time, which just makes it all around easier.

Henry the Cape Horn wind vane.

Notice the casual reference to reefing, 20 knots winds, 5 foot seas, sailing heeled hard on the wind for hours, setting a jib pole, and getting Henry (the wind vane) working well from banging hard into waves to gently ghosting along way, way off the wind. A long hoped for but elusive metamorphosis seems to be taking place with Kintala and her crew. This thing is, almost, a well founded cruising boat. And we are, almost, a reasonably well founded crew. Still a very careful crew. Still conservative in all things sailing decision related (About the only place where “conservative” is an adjective that applies to me.) And still aware of how quickly things can turn sour. But this is our home, our boat, our way of living, and we are getting pretty comfortable with it all. It has been close to eight years since we set out to come this way.  Eight years of constant learning, work, struggle, frustration, mechanical failures of various stripes, missteps, and a few close calls.  In the world of sailing we haven't come that far; a couple of thousand miles, two trips to the Islands, one trip down the ICW.  No much of a resume, but neither are we beginners any longer.

I don't really know where that puts us, but, where ever it is, it is a good place to be.

Headsail poled out always gives us an extra knot in speed.

Still can't get used to looking down and seeing the rudder.