What I miss most

If you've followed this blog for very long, you'll have already heard me say it. The thing that I valued the most about cruising, and the thing I miss most since we've been land-bound, is the cruising community. The fellow travelers we met in the six years that we voyaged on Kintala , many of whom have become life-long friends, anchored us in a way our big old Mantus anchor never could. They gave willingly of their time, their talents, their stuff, their experiences. We laughed, cried, walked, swam, dinghied, and made music together. Friendships were formed quickly, deeply, and picked right back up even after months of time apart. It just doesn't happen on land. This afternoon I stood at the window and watched three different neighbors come home from work, their cars disappearing into their garages, the doors of which would close before they even got out of the vehicle.

My son-in-law just got back from a "testing" voyage to the Bahamas with some friends, a voyage to test the waters, so to speak, to see if he thought their little Ericson 28 could handle taking his family of six there. A voyage to gain some experience, some insight, of what to expect. In this episode on their YouTube channel, he talks about his fellow travelers. He captures so well the feelings I have about it all, so I'll just share it here. If you enjoy the video, please like it and subscribe to their channel. They are fledgeling voyagers trying to find their way and they could use all the support they can get.

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:

https://www.donnysboatrentalsgtc.com

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

Throwback Thursday - Favorite Places Series - Green Turtle Cay

Wandering and wondering

Posted by TJ

February 27, 2017

After just 2 nights in Manjack we made a nice little sail to take a mooring ball in the Black Sound side of Green Turtle Cay. A forecast for just a little bit of weather bringing west winds prodded us to bail. When the inbound weather turned up carrying more wind and rain than expected, we decided it was a pretty good move.

Gillum Bay on the Atlantic side of Green Turtle Cay

Green Turtle Cay is another one of our favorite places, the little town of New Plymouth being the quintessential Bahamian burgh. There are a couple of little stores that are well stocked. (We found milk, veggies, and ice-cream all in one store!) It is also a better place to be than on anchor if a boat project doesn't go as planned. A nice “plan B” since we had a couple of small issues to address.

A walk on the beach with our friends Lesley and Hartley from S/V ATSA

A pin hole leak has appeared in the engine exhaust, a patch and clamp should see us back to the States without a hitch. The old GPS that gives our AIS its position information refused to power up. Taking it apart uncovered a spot of corrosion on the power switch inside. It seems to be working now, which is a good thing. Night runs without the AIS can get spooky. The big concern was the water pump leak, which was definitely getting worse. A new seal in the old pump and the old pump installed in place of the new looks to have that problem solved. It appeared that the drive pulley was brushing against the front seal just enough to cause the leak, so please forget everything I said about Jabsco pumps and water leaks. We also tightened up the staysail halyard and life lines, and cleaned at least two layers of grime off the hull.

The ever present single flip flop

When not working on the boat we spend time in town. As is our normal experience in the Abaco Islands the people are open, friendly, and curious. Much to my surprise I discovered they are having their own election, but no one seems to talk about it much. Government here, it seems, has no need to be the center of attention of every news cycle. They don't tweet, spend a lot of money on TV advertising, and don't seem to stoop to the gutter politics that Americans respond to with such enthusiasm. Virtually every Bahamian national we have talked with finds that to be both a puzzle and a disappointment. They want to think better of us, but we are not making it easy. The Customs Agent who checked us in put it this way, "You guys are really embarrassing yourselves."

Beautiful plants and pine needle carpet on the path to another bay

We Americans like to think of ourselves as a good people, better even, than pretty much everyone else on the planet. But we flock to the atrocious, deeply flawed, and petty for leadership; as if the quality of someone's character is utterly irrelevant to the kind of leadership they will provide. This calls into question the quality of our own character, since we find these people acceptable. Well, some of us anyway. There is good reason to think that most of us know better, and tried to avoid having the current resident move into the White House.

Unfortunately the “some” who went the other way may be too many. After all, sometimes, when a person dies, most of their body's functions are still working fine. Its just the lungs that fail, or the kidneys, one little valve in the heart goes bad, or a tiny bit of blood leaks into the brain. Perhaps a few bacteria invade through a minuscule cut  on a finger or toe. In any case something small starts a cascade of failures, and brings about the demise of an otherwise healthy being.

From woods to brilliant turquoise water

It might be that America's body politic will survive this current fever, and I find it easier to be a bit more optimistic from this side of the Gulf Stream. We are among some of the most beautiful islands on the planet, islands filled with folks just going about their business without drama queen theatrics. Most days the sun sparkles on clean water. Both sunrises (of which I see few) and sun sets (those I normally catch) are spectacular reminders of just how much wonder fills this little corner of the cosmos. This is a place that overwhelms huge egos without effort, marking American's latest dalliance with authoritarianism and hubris as childish, petty, and (frankly) pathetic. But there is some hope that this current disease will not overwhelm all of our systems. If we are lucky our body politic will heal and, in the process, pick up a few anti-bodies to help fight off  future infections with similar DNA.

Just in case you get lost on your walk...

In the mean time Kintala pokes her bow in here and there, stops for a few days to hide from some weather or to hang out in a pretty place for a few extra days. Jumping through the Whale will be next, making our way into the southern part of the Abaco Islands. It has been a while since we visited Treasure Cay and Marsh Harbor, and it will be good, healthy even, to see them again.

While not a spectacular photo, it's an important one. It's the last photo that my Fuji S1500 will ever take (after many years of faithful service in the harsh marine environment). I tripped coming into the cockpit after taking it and dropped the camera on the cockpit floor. It was old and needed replaced, it had glue and screws holding it together, but I've lost a good friend.

A friend goes East…a friend goes West

It could be argued that our first year of cruising was our best year so far. An amazing confluence of coincidences gathered several people from Carlyle Lake, 800 miles to the west, in Oak Harbor Marina near the tip of the Chesapeake Bay. They became our first “cruiser clan,” helping us in uncountable ways as we struggled to get Kintala cruise-worthy and us launched into this new lifestyle. John was in that group, a solo sailor and new cruiser himself, working his way down the ICW for the first time in Ellida; his Hallberg Rassy 31. His wife, Mari, was completely supportive of his adventuring but open water sailing in a small boat was not her cup of tea.

John, Deb, Tim, Nancy, David  (The Tradewinds East Gang)
before we all took off from Oak Harbor Marina in Pasadena, MD

John leaving Oak Harbor in October 2013

John managed to drop his Oak Harbor dock lines several weeks ahead of us. We kept in touch and he became a kind of emotional scout, breaking the trail as we bumbled our way south that first time. Kintala caught up with Ellida in Biscayne Bay where we shared tales of mistakes made and near disasters avoided, feeling pretty good about making it all the way to Florida still in one piece. John was determined to continue on to the Bahamas but Deb and I were less sure of ourselves. Managing our Tartan 42 had proven more of a challenge than we had anticipated, even along the protected waters of the ICW. Our first open water / overnight jump from Charleston to Fernandina Beach had been both exhilarating and magical. It had also underlined just how steep a learning curve we had yet to climb to being a competent short-handed crew sailing a 42 foot boat far out of sight of land, and at night. We had decided a more modest approach to cruising would be prudent. Biscayne Bay, the Florida Keys, and maybe the “Just Like the Bahamas” waters of Florida’s Great Bend would be our first year’s cruising grounds.

John was determined to make it to the Islands but, being a new cruiser himself, wanted company. Our company. Particularly our company on what would be his first overnight, open water jump from Biscayne Bay to West End. He began a subtle campaign to lure us east. His argument, like his approach to nearly everything, was easy going and quiet. The Islands were far closer than the West coast of Florida and a much easier sail. (He couldn’t possibly have known that to be a fact but the years have proven him completely correct.) We would spend less money living and sailing in the Islands for a few months than we would living and sailing in the States. (The cruising kitty had already taken a beating from delays and broken boat bits on the trip south.) And, well, we were cruisers and real cruisers went to the Islands for the winter. (It turns out that real cruisers do whatever they want, can afford, or can get away with; but we had not learned that lesson yet.)

John as we headed out of the channel from No Name Harbor in Biscayne Bay, FL

Waiting out water spouts off West End Bahamas

In the end he won us over and on Feb 21st Kintala and Ellida weighed anchors, headed out the channel south of No Name Harbor, and set sail for West End, Bahama. Ellida made much better time, John blasting through the storms that we elected to sail around. He was waiting at the dock at old Bahama Bay, greeting us with a huge smile. We had sailed to the Islands, how about them apples? We waited out some ugly weather then headed off to explore the Abaco Islands. Getting there meant our first passage through Indian Rock Passage north of West End. Kintala led the way right up to the entrance of the pass, where I chickened out in the face of breaking water to both port and starboard in the narrow, shallow cut. I had visions of us ending our cruising life right there.

John and Ellida heading to Mangrove Cay after going through Indian Cut in the Bahamas

John figured if everyone else could do it, we could do it too. Though Ellida was smaller than Kintala, she drew a bit more water. So long as she didn’t hit anything Kintala should be okay. John happily took the lead and I followed him through so tense I could barely breathe.

We passed with no problem at all.

Later that day John took the picture of Kintala that is at the top of the blog; sailing alongside us in the waters north of Grand Bahama Island. It was one of those magical sails, and one of the best we have ever had. The two boats stood nearly upright yet hard on the wind, ghosting over placid water so clear we could watch the bottom pass under the keels.

We traveled together for many weeks after that, anchoring together in various Cays, waiting out weather, and exploring our first Bahamian towns. It was every bit the adventure that we had hoped cruising would be. That trip set the tone and the goals, established the life style that we have been working to keep up with ever since. John left Ellida in the Islands after that trip, putting her on the hard for the hurricane season and returning home to Mari until autumn. We sailed back to the States, living aboard and sailing Kintala, working to match the joy and adventure of that first trip abroad.

We crossed paths with John several times over the years, as cruisers are wont to do. But we never sailed together after that. The last time we saw him was over lunch, he and Mari, Deb and I, at a restaurant near the Dinner Key mooring field.

Our friend John passed away a couple of days ago. His struggle with failing lungs had been evident from the first day we met, but he never talked of it much, made an issue of it, or let it stop him from realizing the dream of sailing his boat over the horizon. His quiet dedication to living life on his terms had a deep influence on our path, Our adventure would have taken a much different turn had John not lured us to the Islands that first year. Given some of the set-backs we have endured since, it isn’t beyond the realm of possibly that we would never have made it at all. And yet the impact of John’s quiet but unshakable determination, his indomitable heart and courage, went mostly unnoticed - right up until I sat down to write this post.

Unassuming and dedicated to minding his own business, he would have taken quite a bit of pleasure in that.

Fair winds John, and thank you.

Ellida at Sunset, Great Sale Cay Bahamas

Sunrise off Great Sale Cay

John blowing his water bottle horn in the shortest St. Patrick's Day parade, Green Turtle Cay Bahamas 3-17-14

Following crazy

It has been a bit interesting in these parts. The wind, as a friend of ours put it, “has been blowing the oysters off the rocks”... for the last four days. This is the third bout of this kind of wind we have had since getting to the islands. We sat out such a blow in West End, bailed out of Fox Town and rode the wind to Manjack Cay, bailed out of Manjack to hide in Green Turtle, and have now been holed up in Treasure Cay for the better part of a week. With a deadline to be back in the States for visits and work, we are starting to plot the routes to get us there in the brief weather windows it appears Mother Earth is going to offer this year. We are “holed up” in some of the prettiest places around so the weather is just something to plan around.



And to be fair, I should note that it would be entirely possible to move on if we wished. Today, while every single cruiser boat in the mooring field stayed put, three different charter cats motored in from the rumpled up waters of the Abaco sea. Admittedly they were big cats, two of them measuring 52 feet, the other just slightly shorter. A check of company's web sight showed a price tag of about $15,000 / week per boat; so I completely understand their crew's desire to make the most of their time here in the Islands. I will also state, in defense of us weenie cruiser types, that we are headed the other way, and that the cats sailed off the wind and on a following sea to get from their charter base to here. (I will not understand if they head out to take on the Whale in the morning. Even in a 50 foot cat that would be an ugly ride. But who knows? If they do go they will get an “adventure story” to take home when vacation is over.)

In any case, even though we need to get where we need to be, we will simply have to make plans based on the beating we are willing to take in accordance with what the wind and the weather are actually doing; in other words, accept the world for what it is, not insist that it is what we want it to be. Which, if the stories I hear about land dwellers are true, may be a dying skill. More and more people are insisting that the world is what they claim, even if there is considerable evidence to the contrary.

People who do that are, to me, at least a tiny bit insane. I'm not sure how they get that way. It isn't like one can stand out in 30 knot winds, boat bouncing around, hair (if one has some – which I don't) flying about, sheets flapping, waves streaked with white, and say, “I don't believe the wind is blowing, it is a nice, calm day.” Well, I guess one could, but any thinking person standing next to them would likely mumble something neutral while offering a “What is wrong with you?” look.
And if the crazy one decides that such a nice day is a good day for rolling out all of the sails for some reason, everyone in the anchorage (especially those down wind) are going to know there is a lunatic among them. Heads would shake, perhaps some comments would get traded on the VHF, and surely someone would post a picture of the madness on Facebook or make a comment on Twitter. (That is how Twitter works, right?)

Should that one then decide to go some place, manage to get out of the bay in one piece, and heads off into the elephants dancing on the horizon, no one in the anchorage is going to say to themselves, “Hey the wind really isn't blowing, I think I'll follow along.” After all, the ocean is a bit Darwinian in that way. The crazy, and those who follow the crazy, usually end up sharing the same, sad, fate.

In my experience the cruising tribe isn't big on crazy. Different? Sure. We live a different kind of life than most. Odd? Perhaps. But what counts for “normal”, long work weeks to earn enough money to finance stuff not really needed and not often used, doesn't seem to strike most of the tribe as attractive. Wanderers? Maybe. But the earth is a tiny speck of dust in a massive cosmos. In reality none of us ever gets too far away from “home.” Seeing some of what there is to see, learning something about ourselves, and getting to know others who share this little speck floating in the void, seems like a pretty fair deal. We also get a chance to experience a bit of that massive cosmos, feel a brush of the magic, and learn what the word “awe”really means. No cruiser I have ever known or heard about thinks that the time they spent on the water made them less of a person, diminished them in some way, or shrunk the size of their heart or spirit.

But ignoring what the world is really doing, pretending it is something it isn't? No, not our thing. We are also not big on following. Almost by definition a cruiser is someone who has gone off on their own way.

And following crazy? That is definitely not our thing.