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.

Posted by TJ

February 25, 2014

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.

Miss Mabel

Kintala is settled into a West End slip for a few days. Normally, we would be shy about paying to stay in West End for a few days. We like it here, but they are normally priced to the higher end of our cruiser budget, which makes hanging out in these parts a bit of an indulgence. Right now it is half of an indulgence. They took a pretty good hit from a hurricane a few months ago, and it shows. The beach is torn up, all of the hobie-cats and play boats were lost, buildings were damaged and the electric infrastructure was devastated. Power to most of the buildings has been restored but there is no laundry, limited hot water, and no power on the docks. They are offering slips at $1/ foot to make up for the inconvenience which, for a cruiser boat equipped for laying to an anchor and making its own power anyway, isn't an inconvenience at all.

Yesterday we borrowed a couple of bicycles and headed toward town. The bikes are always free here, but one needs to check the brakes before getting too far. I found a good one but it needed a bolt to hold the seat at the right height. No problem as we have lots of extra bolts on board. With my knees no longer bumping my chin, we peddled off. We got looks from passing drivers until we remembered they drive on the other side of the road here. It is a good thing we didn't rent a car, not that there is one available.

The Star Hotel cir 2017 after hurricane Matthew

As we got closer to the town, it was clear it had taken a real beating in the storm. Roofs were gone, walls caved in, and entire houses had been blown off their foundations. An old hotel/bar/rooming house, once famous in these parts when known at the Star Hotel, leaned precariously on crumbling pilings, its back broken. It looked like all it would take to knock it completely over was a heavy pelican misjudging a landing and giving it a solid thump. There were piles of trees ripped from the earth, bare branches covered with shredded insulation and plastic. It was disheartening to see. And yet...

Watercolor painting of the Star Hotel by Phil Brinkman 1962

Nearly everyone we passed waved an called out a greeting, including two gentlemen sitting along the sea wall, so we stopped to chat. Both had lost their homes in the storm, along with pretty much everything else they owned. Both talked of their love for this place, their respect for the sea, and neither offered a single complaint about the turn their lives had taken. Across the street a team of younger men were working on rebuilding a foundation, up the shore a backhoe worked, but the overall effort seemed small for the amount of damage done.

We rode on for a couple more miles, then turned back toward the marina. A man sitting in what was left of his shattered house waved and encouraged us to enjoy “this beautiful day of sunshine”. Another, sitting on the front stoop of a house with part of its roof missing and no windows, wanted to make sure we appreciated just how fabulous was the view out over the water. And then we happened across Miss Mabel.

There is no telling how old Miss Mabel might be. She talked of children and grand children, of how many of them lived in the states as US citizens, since her husband was an American. (That was all the mention he got.) She could have been near our age, but an aura of ancient wisdom graced her smile and sparkled in her dancing eyes. The proprietor of a small restaurant and video game room, I got the impression she took more damage than she would admit. Across the street from her place, along the shore, she had a table set up so people could sit and admire the sea. Though much of her family lived in the US (she had been with them when the storm hit) and she is, herself, a citizen, it was clear that her home is here. She talked, encouraged us to enjoy ourselves, and made sure we knew how welcome we were to sit at her table and enjoy the view.

Miss Mabel, and all of the people we ran across on our little bike ride, were a gift to me. Ever since landing in Snead Island I have been struggling a bit. I didn't take to this life to spend months punching a time clock, nearly a thousand miles away from many of the people I love most in the world. I didn't come this way knowing I would never learn to trust this boat. Months and months of working on the thing over the summer, including getting the alternator overhauled, and the engine doesn't start anchored to a lee shore with 20 knots worth of wind blowing.

Since leaving Snead Island, I have made a series of mistakes, running aground, getting caught in the preventer line, carrying too much sail into the channel and loosing control of the jib, and my constant struggle with just handling the boat in any tight place. The once-capable and self-assured pilot / mechanic surrounded by people he knew and trusted had become a tentative, half-assed sailor. And the people around? Like handling old dynamite.

I didn't come this way to tangle with people who think fascism, racism, greed, and hate are the hallmarks of a great people living in a great country. Make a simple statement of an obvious fact and some “true believer” is likely to go off. Living this life means constantly meeting new people, but “new” now means “unknown”. A Canadian cruising couple, just minutes into introductions, allowed that they were big supporters of the new “Muslim ban”. Fortunately Daughter Eldest called at just that moment, giving me an excuse to bail out of that conversation without having to explain. I used to enjoy the clash of ideas, it is how we winnow out the bad from the good. But figuring out what works and what doesn't isn't the goal anymore. Now it is just an issue of power, making everyone toe the line.

Miss Mabel and the others here have reminded me that this is not the “new normal” for most of the world. Boats break, hurricanes come, and no human being can control either one. Things rarely go as planned. Working months to refill a cruising kitty is a far easier task than working months (or years) to rebuild a shattered community or home. There is no cause to abandon joy in doing either one. Life happens to everyone. Miss Mabel also reminded me that only the wise can make claim to actually living well. Any claims otherwise are fantasy, illusion, or delusion, depending on just how twisted the mind has become.

So, hopefully, the next few weeks here will be a bit of a “re-set”.  News isn't something to bother with much, unless it is weather news. It is an effort to get to an internet connection, as our post log shows, so there are no hourly updates on the latest of powerful idiots doing stupid things. What they do will not affect the state of the seas or the winds today.

Sailing the Abaco Islands is a good way to brush up on basic sailing skills. No offense intended, but there is a reason for big charter companies being located in places like this. Even a klutz of a sailor has to work pretty hard to get in too much trouble out here. And we will spend a lot of time around people who are not “American Normal." Here in the Islands, I am around a whole bunch of people who are, quite simply, better people than me. Some are cruisers from various countries, some are natives, and all are helping me to get my sea legs back again.

April Fool's

I've never slept well the night before a major passage. This is mostly because I'm the provisioning guru and I'll lay in bed drifting around in that almost asleep mode while things pop into my head. Did I remember to do such-and-such? Then I have to get out of bed and check. And so it went last night.

We were preparing to leave West End this morning for a 1-3 day passage north depending on the Gulf Stream, the actual vs forecast wind/waves, and how we felt. Yesterday was spent preparing chicken salad and egg salad for sandwiches, making fresh ginger cookies and making a provisioning run on loaner bicycles to the local small store for milk and (hide your eyes, Amber) Captain Crunch. Tim says if he has Captain Crunch and milk he's good to go for a passage of any length. Well, that and ginger cookies. Sail Grib showed a mixed bag of wind directions and speed as the high passed over us and the low filled in to the northwest. Most of today would have been motoring, but the wind promised to steady into an easterly direction and 10-15 knots by Thursday morning, perfect for sailing back to the States. Thursday and Friday would be even better winds and direction but they were pinching the weather window a bit too tight on the far end, leaving us less than a day's cushion before the next cold front would pass through the area over the weekend. So prepare we did, and off to bed we went.

At 6:15 this morning I wafted out of some very odd dream to the singing in the rigging. Wind had been forecast on the gribs for 8 knots out of the WSW by 6:00 am. Instead, it was 18-21 out of the west. Oops. Just kidding. April fools says the weather man. I crawled out of bed just as the motors on the trawler in front of us purred to life. Watching him leave the channel from the marina was enough to convince us that we were staying another day. Five foot waves were crashing in the channel, sending white foam shooting into the air a good six or eight feet. I believe I might have heard the Westerbeast laughing from somewhere below the cockpit...

So while we sit, here are some pics from the last couple days for your enjoyment.

This one's for you Melanie. On our way from Crab Cay to Great Sale, winds 23 apparent.

Whenever we find it necessary to move to another boat, this will be the thing we miss most about Kintala. She will sail all day long with the cutter rig flying at 6 knots and only 30° off the wind. Try to find a boat that will  point like that. I dare you.

Been a while since we've had a hitchhiker. This guy rode a good bit of the way from Great Sale to West End with us.

Here's the beginning of a series of pictures of the sunset at Great Sale Cay

This picture is for my grandson Christopher who has recently taken up chess. They added this outdoor chess set at the Old Bahama Bay marina since we were here last year.

Lots of boats enjoying the calm water in the anchorage north of the marina.

Still the best feature of this marina.

Last night's sunset here at West End. Weirdest shot my Fuji has done yet. No filters.

Old Bahama Bay Marina from the breakwater

Food chains

Looking across the inlet to Old Bahama Bay

The gust front blasted into Old Bahama Bay around 0530 this morning. Rigging sang, wind generators howled, and boats heeled over. Those on the lee side of a dock strained lines trying to get away, those on the windward side ground against their fenders. Kintala lay to the lee, kept in place by a total of seven dock lines, of which five were on the windward side keeping her within jumping distance of the dock.

Five is a good number. A boat near us had five on that side as well, but somehow the bow line got loose from the piling. The other four kept her corralled. Friend John tried to get the crew's attention and instead ran afoul of the aluminum boat's Captain (tied next in line) who gave him a line of lip for tapping on their boat. (Better John than me, else someone might have gone swimming this morning.) Later Deb, John, and I fished the line up with a boat hook hauled the bow back in place, and retied the line. We would appreciate it if someone did the same for us, and it only took a couple of minutes. (Fortunately the aluminum boat's Captain didn't make a second appearance and thus avoided an early morning swim.)

We all thought the wayward boat's crew had departed for places unknown but it turns out they were aboard throughout. Having completed a 36 hour passage and arriving with the winds late yesterday, they slept right through the morning excitement. I completely understand.

The channel to the anchorage north of Old Bahama Bay

With our neighbor secure Deb and I walked out to the point to check out the ocean. In the Bahamas, when deep ocean waves plow into shallow bottoms and make for seriously lumpy waters, they call it a "rage sea". White caps, breaking waves, passing shadows, and the stunning colors of this water all mixed together make for stunning viewing. My guess is it may be a bit less stunning if out in the middle of it all, either anchored or trying to make way. I was content to have made the weather decision we did, and get our first glimpse of a "rage sea" from a marina.

Later in the day Deb and I did a little snorkeling. The water was a bit murky though not bad enough to prevent us from spotting a ray, about as long as I am tall, buried in the bottom. Honestly, there was no intent to disturb him, but he flushed up and flew away with the sand flowing behind him like a contrail. That kind of made our day. We also spotted some kind of fat and sassy looking eel snug in his hole. There was no intent to disturb him either and this time he stayed snug in his hole, which was fine with me.

It has been a long, long time since we did any serious swimming in tropic waters, and I'm pretty sure there are some creatures (like fire coral, big fat and sassy eels, sting rays, and Man-O-Wars) that we really don't want to bother. So we are approaching the in-the-water exploring with the same kind of take-it-easy attitude that we are with the on-the-water exploring. I didn't know a Man-O-War looks a bit like a little plastic bag when it is sailing with the wind. (Really, they do that? Who knew?) The water taxi driver pointed one out while we were in Dinner Key. I'm not sure it was a sting ray we saw today, but I do know one was the bane of the somewhat famous Crocodile Hunter of a decade ago or so. And anyone who ever watched "The Deep" knows eels can be bad news. It pays to be careful when one is someplace were humans are not at the top of the food chain.

The anchorage

Off the Grid?

One of the things that most cruisers dream about is being off the grid. Being non-conformist types and former hippies for the most part, the idea that one can buy a boat and take off into the sunset over turquoise waters is a powerful one. The reality, while not unpleasant, is just a bit different. We are, these days, technology based humans whether we like it or not. Certainly technology has some drawbacks like the stifling quantity of reality shows that sweep every creative thought from your brain, and the plethora of news shows that fill you with fear and doom, but for the sailor technology is a welcome addition to safety. GPS, weather faxes, Gribs, cruising guides, and electronic charts have all added tremendously to our ability to succeed as cruisers. All this without even beginning the list of personal technology in the form of email and the ubiquitous sailing blogs <ahem> that proliferate the web. Unfortunately they all use power and a good many of them demand internet connections.

Before we left we had plans to install solar panels, a wind generator, and a wifi extender, but the loss of our jobs meant that some things had to be left undone, and since we were the proud owners of a new Honda 2000i companion model generator to fill our power needs, we decided to take off and go cruising and leave the wind and solar to follow when the house sells finally. Little by little we're finding ways of making it work. It turns out that the Abacos have a fairly strong wifi system which we'll be able to take advantage of when we're near the bigger islands, but between Old Bahama Bay where we are now, and the next available wifi may be some time. All of this leads up to the most obnoxious and impossible land anchor to rid yourself of: taxes. You see, the government of the good ol' USA doesn't give a rat's behind whether you're off in the Abacos trying to learn how to live with a light footprint. They want your money, and they want it by April 15, 2014. For me, the tax chore has been made much easier by H&R Block's Best of Both program online. I've used it for years quite successfully, but was a little concerned about the complexity of our situation this year. So today, while planning our next leg, I realized that I probably ought to at least take an initial stab at it since we had really strong wifi. So today I took my laptop to the beach and did taxes. I guess if you have to do them, then doing them with this view at least makes the job somewhat palatable. So f you're dreaming of cruising, do your best to disentangle yourselves from all the things that tie you down unnecessarily, but on the tax front I'm afraid I have bad news for you. Uncle Sam knows where the Bahamas are.

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.