November 2015

Picture this: A foreigner walks into a classroom full of six year olds and says: “I’m here to take Shamal, Darious, and Mark”. The teacher allows this stranger to take these youngsters out of the school, into the busy street, and down the sidewalk. The teacher doesn’t even get up from her desk; doesn’t ask the name of this stranger; and doesn’t ask when the children will be returned. She simply smiles and carries on with her other darlings.

This would never be allowed in the US. A person entering a US school is required to have a badge or other means of showing employment there, or must report to the office, sign papers and get approved before proceeding past the entry. Many people do not proceed past this point. Even students’ parents are restricted to staying at the entry unless prior arrangements have been set up by the teacher. Upon entering a classroom, a visitor would immediately be approached by the teacher and the intent of the visit would be confirmed.

The school I visited today had no front office, no one to check my credentials (it’s a good thing, because I had nothing with me except my hat), no security whatsoever. The small building had two classrooms and a small dusty front yard on a very busy street. Rather than feeling dirty or neglected, however, this school seemed alive with laughter, energy, exceptionally friendly and kind children in the care of motherly teachers who had complete control of their exuberant youngsters.

I had the joyous opportunity to bring these three boys into the town library where they could pick out books and read to me. However, a quick assessment revealed that none could read. We switched gears to playing with letters and considering what sounds they make. I had been given instructions from another cruiser, who volunteers here three days each week, to have these children read to me or proceed with any pre-reading skills. Their focus was excellent until they heard the bell ring at their school nearby. This bell signaled snack time. They dashed back down the sidewalk, dragging me by the hand, to collect their snacks to bring back to the library. Unfortunately, their sugar high from the cookies and juice triggered a rapid decline in focus.

The legalities of the school may be drastically different from those in the US, but the vibrancy and eagerness to learn were alive and well in the children. It made me reflect, yet again, that children are the same everywhere; it’s the adults who are different. The adults at this school exuded such a sense of calm; they trusted the adults who arrived; they trusted the children to behave. I left with a powerful sense of “these children are in the right hands”.

Wow, I am 53 and I don’t wake up 5 days a week to an alarm clock, commute 45 minutes, work a long day, commute another 45 minutes, and arrive home late for dinner. This was my life for more than 25 years. In fact, I had not taken 2 consecutive weeks vacation during this entire period. The last time I had been without a job for an extended period was when I was 27 and took 10 months off to sail throughout the eastern Caribbean. Helen and I ended that trip “broke and pregnant” and quickly settled ashore in Yarmouth, Maine to jump start our careers and raise a family.

I don’t usually like to dwell on the fact that I am not working. Too many of my peers find themselves involuntarily out of work. I have been blessed to have worked for a wonderful, successful company for the last 13+ years developing and launching an innovative medical device. I agonized over the decision to leave this position for a long time. We reached the point in our family life when our youngest child had successfully transitioned to college in Colorado. A primary motivation for my career was to support a stable home life to raise our family. With this objective fulfilled, I sensed that we had an opportunity to make a change. I also spent way to much time thinking about big adventures and worrying that I would get too old to pursue these dreams if I did not get started (mid life crisis perhaps).

So I met with my boss, gave an extended notice (10+ months), and started the slow process of changing lanes. I left full time, white collar employment 7 months ago at the end of March. Between April and August, I kept busy renovating an old home that we bought as income property. I had been worried about being bored when I left my full time job and thought I needed a project to help transition. It was a busy summer but ultimately successful. When we left at the end of August on a shake down cruise, the house was basically complete and occupied by wonderful tenants for the winter.

Since August, the process of shifting gears has begun to accelerate. For starters, I am completely “off the clock”. We wake up each morning with the sunrise. No alarms, just following the cadence of the sun and life outside the portholes. We go to bed early except when we go ashore for a cold beer and entertainment. I only shave when I feel like it and when its warm I wear only board shorts and a tee shirt.

Some habits are hard to break. While working, I watched email around the clock. The last thing I did before bed and the first thing I did in the morning was look at my phone and scan email. My phone was always in my pocket. For many years this was an obligation. I had job responsibilities that spanned multiple shifts and time zones so there was always fresh news. Now my correspondence (email, text, satellite message, and Facebook) is mostly family and social. I still check for messages way too frequently but at least I have stopped carrying my phone. Baby steps…

During my working years, a part of my brain was always engaged in thoughts about work. It definitely was a major part of my life. Now my mind meanders through a range of thoughts and topics. Weather (past, present, and future) is one dominant topic followed closely by boat maintenance. Given that our objective for the next 7 months is to have a rich journey sailing and exploring the Bahamas and western Caribbean, weather and a ship shape boat are a major influence on success.

As I settle deeper into my new lifestyle, I hope to continue the process of “changing lanes”. I am looking forward to leveraging new skills and creativity in a range of possible activities. For now, my energies will be directed toward our current cruise. Who knows what other adventures are in the future. I am enjoying living more in the present instead of always planning for the future. There is a plaque in the galley of our boat that states “Dum vivimus vivamus”. I believe that the translation is something like “while we live, let us live”. Sounds like good advice for now.

So you think our weather in the Bahamas is tropical bliss? I know I shouldn’t complain. After all, Erica in Colorado is testing out her new-to-her car in the fresh snow, Lindsay is adding a layer to her running/biking attire, Kenny and Jenna are rushing their post hole digging for the deck building project to get deep while the ground is still pliable, and our Maine friends are buttoning up summer homes to keep out the harsh winter elements. Many of our days are delightfully warm, with ocean water temps in the eighties. But sometimes we have to endure rugged weather too.

Even our new best friend, Chris Parker, a meteorologist extraordinaire, is saying things like “it’s not a matter of IF the weather will get nasty, it’s a matter of how nasty it will be and for how long”. We listen to his broadcasts at 6:30 every morning on the single side band radio to learn of the latest developments. He gives details for the Caribbean, the Bahamas and the east coast of the US. He chats with individual boaters and gives advice about when to leave port, what to expect, and how to navigate around lousy weather. There is no privacy on SSB radios, so we listen to all of these conversations, partly because we are nosey, and partly because we learn from each conversation. Lately, he has been telling people to stay put, to wait out this steady parade of gusty squally weather.

We watch sailboats leave an anchorage, venture out toward a new location, only to return within a half hour because it is too rough. The wind pipes up to 25 or 30 knots and the waves start to grow. Everyone has a different threshold for rough weather. We see it all: people with dogs or kids who can’t handle waves, old tattered boats which take on new leaks every time they get splashed, charterers who are only out here for the week and don’t really know how to operate their rented vessel, people who are injured or aging, and people who are big chickens.

Luckily Alembic is a very sound vessel. She was built for rough weather. Actually, she is somewhat of a slowpoke unless the wind hits 15 or 20 knots. Knock on wood, there are no leaks at all right now (we recently fixed two major ones) so we don’t mind getting soaked by sea water repeatedly. The water doesn’t make it below, and the next rain squall washes the decks. So Bill and I have been moving almost every day. Slowly creeping down the Exuma chain of islands to Georgetown, we are enjoying new islands, trying out our sailing skills in high winds, testing Alembic in these conditions, and discovering how easy it is to keep going. But we are not crossing oceans. We are traveling between 7 to 30 miles per day. We pick up our anchor and head out of a protected harbor, raise sails, listen to the winds howl in the rigging as if we were a helicopter ready for lift off, and settle in to a pace that is manageable. Knowing we have a new protected anchorage every few miles to duck into gives us tremendous peace of mind. And the sailing has been only on the Bahama Bank, which is shallow everywhere, making the wave build up minimal.

There are breaks in the squally weather, and we manage to snorkel, play with swimming pigs, go hiking, and SUP to explore new places. I actually think I will miss this stormy weather when it disappears. The coolness is welcome, the water tanks are full from rainwater which is much better than the slightly salty purchased Bahama water from a hose on a dock, and the sky patterns are incredible. We certainly live by the weather out here, and we are learning to appreciate all types.

Yesterday was a record day for happenings worth noting. We came to Staniel Cay the afternoon before to snug up to the island and get some protection from the forecasted windy weather. Staniel Cay offers plenty of great spots to tuck in as well as a variety of things to do on the water and on shore in case we felt it was too windy to sail comfortably.

Our first night, I stayed up late to finish sewing the awning/rain-catcher. This was a challenging project for many reasons. One, I was making it out of a worn out old main sail that I had cut up last month. Two, no pieces were large enough for the pattern, so they had to be cobbled together. Three, space down below on Alembic is limited and I ended up doing gymnastics to lay out the pieces. Four, the previous days were sweltering hot, resulting in a sauna like situation, with me beneath a bulk of sail cloth, pushing it through the sewing machine. Finishing it at night, with the cooler air, was worth staying up late for. Disclaimer: staying up late is 10:15. Usually we are in bed by 8:45!! If any of you know me well, this is quite a switch. I used to stay up to midnight every night and be up by 6 every morning. Out here, I get nine hours of blissful sleep a night.

Back to our eventful day. I started off by tying the new awning in place. The photo shows that it looks more like bird trying to fly than a functional addition to Alembic. The sewing is done, but now I have to bring it to shore to bang about sixty grommets and snaps into it to hold it in place. Then, I’ll have to figure out how to invert it, install a drain hose somewhere, and start using it as a rain-catcher as well. I decided to procrastinate about this a bit because the mail boat was coming in, which was far more interesting.

While Bill was working on some navigation electronics, I dinghied over to the government dock (a rickety wooden pier) when the mail boat tied up. This boat had been in dry dock in Nassau for maintenance for a few weeks, so the locals were going to be celebrating the arrival of fresh produce, letters from loved ones, and supplies to continue work on ongoing projects. What a scene. Everyone helped everyone load their boats, trucks, golf carts, and bicycles. People sat patiently for hours for their treasures to come off the boat.

While waiting for her deliveries, Sister Vivian told me of the many challenges and joys of living on this small island. There is a one room school house for the six island children, and Dr. Battie is the teacher. “A very creative woman, who can teach K-12” When kids are ready for high school, they leave the island, most going to Nassau. Vivian’s daughter started there this year, and, sadly, they won’t see each other until Christmas. Locals depend on this mail boat for produce because the island soil is too hard to grow anything except a few bananas. There are chickens everywhere, but eggs are hidden and hatched before any humans can get them! So many more stories from Vivian helped me to understand these people and their beautiful island.

After warm goodbyes from the residents, I checked in on Bill. He had acquired a trigger fish from a local and learned a new method of skinning it which saves so much more of its delicious meat. You can even eat the meat in its face, we learned.

Bill spears and cleans these fish, but learning from the experts bumped him up a notch.
We headed to the town dock and were greeted by dozens of shark. Nurse shark swam around my feet as I walked up the stone steps and they allowed me to stroke their sandpaper-like skin. Locals stood at a table, cleaning fish and throwing the guts into the water here so the shark were well fed and not interested in tasting my fingers or toes.
We headed out the cut (the water between islands which gives access from the banks which are shallow to the sound which is deep) to find fish and conch. While the snorkeling was beautiful, there were no dinner fish anywhere. Plenty of beautiful reef fish, but none of these are good for spearing and eating. I think the expert locals here know where to go. Maybe they will share some secrets.

Empty handed, we headed for the grotto. This is also known as Thunderball Cave. A James Bond movie was filmed here and I can see why they chose this spot. You can snorkel into a huge cave with several tunnels below the water and beams of sunlight from above which come from a few holes in the ground thirty feet up. I tried to take photos of this spectacular scene, but my skills are in need of tuning.

Sufficiently waterlogged, we headed back to the boat to cook that trigger and fresh veggies. We are definitely eating well on this journey!

After dinner, we again took the dinghy to shore, this time to check out the night life. Walking through town, we could see only two or three customers in the two local restaurants. Where is everyone? I guess we are early. Many more visitors will be coming to this island in a few weeks, bringing good business for the winter months. We reluctantly headed back to the Staniel Cay Yacht Club and were welcomed warmly. We are not Yacht Club types, preferring to hang with locals and learn about their communities, but we were willing to give the Yacht Club a chance.

This Yacht Club is not your typical US club. What a hoot. You could play pool, try to swing the metal ring on the string to catch it on the hook (so sorry Mr Handsome for hitting you while trying!), chat with the 90 year old cheerful man who still rides his bike all over the island, learn from Mr. Watermaker (forgot his name) who has been working the water makers here for over thirty years, have an insightful conversation about religion and homosexuality with a man my age who grew up here, join the new sorority of women who have a special way of bonding in a room full of testosterone. We finally had to leave when we realized that this party was never going to end.

Dinghying home to Alembic, I reflected on what a rich experience this is. Sewing and creating, participating in a big mail boat event, snorkeling for fish, exploring nature’s tunnels, dining on exquisite food, and mingling with such a diverse group of people all in one day. I am one lucky lady. My heart is full.

I had a great birthday!  Thanks everyone for making it special.

Our sails were so salty from the passage from Charleston to the Abacos.  Every time we put the sail covers back on, they just collected salt, so we turned them inside out to wash them.  Finally, after a few days we got ten minutes of rain to accomplish the task.

We use old hoses to pour slightly salty water, at 50 cents per gallon, into our tanks.  Translation:  Airing laundry is sometimes better than washing it!

Hope Town at night was magical.  I need to learn my plants to tell apart the many types of palm trees.

Bill goes for a little exploration paddle early one morning outside of Hope Town Harbor.

The water is so shallow almost everywhere in the Bahamas.  A bit unsettling when you sail until you get used to reading the depths.  Alembic needs at least five feet.  Even the rare spots that are twenty feet are so clear, you can watch the lobster crawling underneath you.

Today is November 9th, two weeks after arriving in the Bahamas. Already, we are planning our return. We have met people that leave a boat here and go home for two months, return for two months, and keep this up for fifteen years!! I could get used to that.

There are many areas of the Bahamas and each area has it’s own character and offerings. We loved the Abacos and can see leaving our boat at Man o War Cay in the care of a gentleman we met who takes care of cruisers’ boats. Hope Town is a sweet little village with fabulous snorkeling. Marsh Harbor has everything you could ever need: an airport, huge grocery store, many marine stores, etc. Tilloo is spectacularly gorgeous, with its own Tahiti Beach and castle. Lynyard Cay is tranquil for a getaway, and Little Harbor has the most impressive Art Gallery I have ever seen. Pete makes bronze statues with the lost wax process which he learned from his parents who arrived here in the 50’s. When they arrived, they settled in the natural caves in the area and developed an artist colony. Evidence of the artists are everywhere.

Elueuthera is the next area of the Bahamas, fifty miles south of Little Harbor and has the most crystal clear water you can imagine. Our sail was a boisterous one, with enough wind to keep us on a beam reach, and enough fish to keep Bill busy running back to his reel. First he landed a large Dorado, then a good sized Mackerel. Yum. We didn’t stay long here, though, as we were so impatient to get to the Exumas.

Forty miles south of Eleuthera is the top of the Exuma chain of islands. We entered at Allens Cay and are now ten more miles south at Norman’s Cay. We like the Exumas best for exploring and snorkeling, but Abacos best for ease of entry for cruisers and visitors.

There are many other parts of the Bahamas north and west of us which we skipped this year, such as the Bimini chain, the Berry Islands, Grand Bahama, and the Andros Islands. And many more parts further south and east which we may visit on our way to the Western Caribbean: Long Island, The Acklins, Managuana, and Great Inagua.

Knock on wood, Alembic is in great shape now. The roller furling was fixed with no new parts, just a lot of sweat and creativity on Bill’s part. The dinghy motor is running fine now and and we have all the gear and food for traveling much further.

So far, the Exumas is not putting us in any hurry though. Our first stop between Allens and Leaf Cay was amazing. The prehistoric Iguanas on the beach of Leaf Cay were incredibly friendly and came running to us as we beached our dinghy. Unnerving at first, we soon realized that they were completely harmless. Birds and smaller geckos joined in the welcoming as well. Here, we peacefully rode out Tropical Storm Kate.

Chris Parker is a wealth of information and a stress reducer well worth the money we pay him. For less than $300 per year, we get unlimited weather reports sent to us via email and SSB (single sideband radio) and we can chat with him on SSB for specific questions about our travels. He alerted us to the development of this storm, and gave us reports several times per day to keep us informed about its movements. We chose this protected anchorage to ride out the storm. Luckily, the storm shifted its path slightly and passed to the east of us, heading northwest. If it had passed to the west of us, we would have seen 50 knot winds. We only saw 25 for about 20 minutes. The rest of the day was 10-15 knots. We would have been fine in the spot we stayed, just noisy!

As soon as the threat of more wind passed, we headed south to Norman’s Cay. Here, we anchored Alembic right beside a plane. Yes, a plane, in the water. This plane crashed maybe forty years ago and is quite a spectacular reef now. It’s weird to think that such a tragic event has developed into a beautiful source of life. The fish have made a home in all of the cavities and the exterior is covered by marine flora and fauna. Snorkeling is amazing around the surrounding small islands and we spent hours exploring and collecting a variety pack of speared small fish. Dinner was especially delicious with grunt, trigger, and conch.

Only two weeks in the Bahamas so far, with two more to go before Lindsay arrives to join us in Georgetown for Thanksgiving. We wish more of our friends and family could come join us for this amazing adventure. Our hearts would then be full to bursting!

Arriving at Great Guana Cay Bahamas on Monday was such a dream. But we always have to wake up. If we are still alive. So, wide awake Tuesday morning, we headed southeast across the Sea of Abaco to Marsh Harbor to clear customs. We were illegally hanging out in the Bakers Bay area, with our Q flag flying. Bahamas are pretty casual, with a well know reputation of “Bahama time”. This means that things will get done when they get done. I suppose we were just following this custom.

We dropped anchor in Marsh Harbor and took the dinghy to shore, backpacks full of all our papers: passports, Alembic documentation, cash. They didn’t like this. We were to go back, bring Alembic to the dock for a full clearing in. Ugh. We hate docks. Especially those with pilings and docks that I can’t jump onto. We are spoiled by New England’s floating docks. When Bill motors up, I take a flying leap and land on the dock with lines and quickly tie up before we crash into anything. Here, the docks were so high above the water, I’d have to be an Olympic High Jumper to land on the dock. We figured that we would sustain some damage as Bill motored up to the pilings with me frantically trying to lasso the pilings to bring us to a stop. Luckily, two boaters were there to catch our lines and prevent this damage. We scrambled up a ladder to thank Dean and Susan, our new best friends!

Back to Bahama time, the marina workers (who couldn’t leave their office to catch lines) considered the time, 3:30. “We close at 4, so it may be too late to call Customs” Knowing that I should adopt this new state of mind, slowness, I still wanted quick action. I’ll slow down soon, I promise. Summoning my kindest voice, I asked if they could please try to call. The woman considered this request for a while and finally dialed the phone. When she hung up, she said that they may come today, maybe tomorrow. Wow; I was working hard to adapt.

Walking back to Alembic on the rickety pier, I realized that life isn’t so bad. Waiting until tomorrow would not kill us. We couldn’t or shouldn’t galavant into town before being checked in, but what’s the hurry? Before I had a chance to lounge much, the customs and medical officers came aboard. Surprise! The two young ladies were incredibly efficient, friendly, and helpful. So, we untied the lines and headed back to the anchorage, where, I kid you not, a double rainbow welcomed us. No sign of rain anywhere. We lowered the Q flag (the yellow one which symbolizes entry into a new country and that we are in quarantine until the medical officers deem us healthy enough to proceed ashore) and raised the Bahama courtesy flag. Now we officially could wander about anywhere. So this is what we did. We dinghied to shore, walked around and stopped for a beer with Susan and Dean.

Marsh Harbor has a bad reputation for Bill and me. It represents work. This town (the third largest Bahama city) has an airport to the US, a huge grocery store that rivals any US store, and several marine hardware stores. It is the project town, not the swim and enjoy island. My project is to continue to provision to keep as much fresh food aboard as possible, and Bill’s project of the moment was a “quick” overhaul of the head. He had the overhaul kit, but needed just one part. Back at the boat, I busied myself with finding storage spaces for the abundance of food, and Bill started taking apart our head. My job was easy, but I broke out into a serious sweat anyway, and Bill’s was going relatively smoothly as well. Until he finished. This is when he realized he had barely begun. All put back together, with new seals, etc and the thing didn’t work at all. I had to zip over to the sailboat Copper Penny to tell George and Cindy we would be late for our Happy Hour date. After a miserable hour of messy, ugly exploration, Bill realized that he needed more parts, but the stores were closed, so we might as well go over to Copper Penny, after a cleansing swim of course.

Back to the hardware store early in the morning, Bill purchased the parts to “fix” the head, and we headed out of this project town. Our plan was to sail to Hope Town, and enjoy the glorious snorkeling there after the quick “fix”. We executed the plan: the sail to Hope Town, the “fix” and the snorkel. The sad part was that the “fix” wasn’t successful. I kept reminding Bill that we had another head, so this one could be decommissioned. Our other head is a compost head, with no plumbing (and no odor I might add). If you know Bill, this doesn’t sit well with him. He always has to fix things. He gets obsessed. To make a very gross long story short, he continued going to Hope Town’s tiny store to get more sanitary hose for the next two days and finally finished this “quick” job. Our old plumbing had become so calcified that when he cleaned the system with vinegar back in Marsh Harbor, all of the calcification deposits let go and clogged all of the hoses from the intake, past the head, and the exit of the head. The 2.5 inch hoses were reduced to zero inside diameter. No water could travel. Or anything else.

OK, enough of our gross details, and on to our glorious life of snorkeling, leisure walks about quaint island communities, and easy Abaco sailing. Hope Town has always been a special place for our family. Best know for its unique Light House, it also boasts a well protected harbor and friendly people ashore. Trick or Treaters were out and about on Halloween and the Sailing Club put on the scariest Haunted House that I have ever experienced. We snorkeled all three days we were there. Fish were everywhere the first day, and Bill speared two fish. Somehow, they both escaped between the end of the spear and the opening of the catch bag. How they swam so quickly with a hole through their bodies baffled me. Poor guys. We felt terrible injuring fish. The second day must have been a less than ideal spot, because there was much less edible fish. Plenty of beautiful reef fish, but we were in search of grouper, hog, snapper, or queen trigger. The third day was fabulous, but just as we were getting in the groove, Bill spotted a black tipped shark and back to the dinghy we swam, and fast. We will get used to the shark in these warm waters, soon.

After hours of dinghy riding, Bill was getting concerned about the old 8 hp Mercury. It was overheating and not flushing enough cooling water. So, you know what this means: back to Marsh Harbor, the project spot. Many of you might imagine that our lives are pure pleasure and blissful days of warm sunshine. While Bill and I are ever grateful for this fabulous opportunity to travel, we continuously exert our minds, bodies, and wallets to keep up with our plans. Luckily, we fix almost everything ourselves, so the wallet part is the least challenging. We are working on patience as a new virtue. We are not there yet, but we all need goals.

Leaving the US and heading for the Bahamas was poorly planned. We knew we would be leaving within a week or two, but we thought we had a few more days to gather our provisions and our nerve. We are not the nervous types, but we had only done single overnights unless you count sailing occurring over a quarter century ago. Yes. We are old.

We left Charleston harbor expecting to spend two nights and one long day offshore, arriving in the familiar port of Saint Augustine, with our friends aboard Planet Waves sailing along side. This was going to be our warm up run, two nights, to see how we did with sleep, preparing food, and general stamina offshore. Bill and I are both challenged in our own unique ways. He deals with feeling seasick, and I develop insomnia. I sleep like a baby while anchored or in any stationary place, but once I get moving, wether by car, plane, or boat, I simply don’t sleep. Sleeping pills seem like a great solution; but, first of all, I don’t use any medications ever, and this could prove disastrous on a passage.

Preparing food underway is always difficult as well, so luckily I had made a large pot of split pea soup with tons of veggies. We could heat and eat this quickly and effortlessly, right? Wrong. Here’s the list of steps for this activity: Raise the lid to the fridge; rest the hinged lid on your head while you stick your arms in to move stuff around to find the huge container of soup. Remember that you have to place big heavy and wet items lower, so they don’t crush other stuff or leak and spill over everything. Set the container on the counter, close the lid of the fridge. Don’t let go of the container or it may fly! Open the lid of the container; place the lid in the sink because it will fly and make a mess on the floor and you will certainly slip on this later. Pour contents of the soup in the pan, which rests on the gimbaled stove. Make sure you already set the pan holders in place so that the pan won’t get launched when the stove swings. Place the lid back on the container and put back in the fridge. Now light the stove, and breathe. Get bowls ready. If you are feeling ambitious, and I’m always ambitious about trying to fatten up Bill, open up some type of sausage or precooked chicken and cut into the pan. Don’t bother with the cutting board because the board, the chicken, and the knife, all need to be held and you don’t have three hands. Now comes the tricky part. Try serving hot soup in a rolling boat. I have learned to make my soup very think, with no water visible, but I am still challenged about getting it into bowls without splashing. Place one bowl in the sink, fill the other with a mug. Pass it to Bill. Fill the second and take on deck to dine. Deal with the messy mug in the sink and pan locked onto the stove later.

So, you may ask, why not make chicken, rice, and veggies, something not soupy? Nope. Doesn’t work. You can’t serve multiple items on a dish or the containers will fly, you can’t operate a knife and fork, because there is no hand left to hold the dish. Trust me, I’ve tried everything. Soup it is. Except for lunch when I try to make sandwiches. What a challenge this is! Get out the board, put two slices of bread down. Hold the board with your elbow while you open the mustard. Quickly spread the mustard between one wave and the next (5-7 seconds). Hold the board with one hand while you open the fridge with elbow, drop the mustard in and take the chicken out. Place a few pieces of meat on the bread and back it goes in the fridge. Ditto for a slice of cheese. Okay, tomatoes and avocado are great, right? Yep, they’re worth the effort, so keep your elbow on the board, hoping the bread is sticking enough to not move on it. Hold the tomato with one hand while you cut with the other. Ditto for the avocado. Lettuce? Forget it! Washing it, keeping it from getting crushed in the fridge? Not worth it. Now twenty minutes have passed and Voila! Don’t serve on dishes, because they go flying when you use two hands to hold your sandwich. Who thought a simple sandwich was so difficult?! And who knew your elbows were so useful?!

Bill and I dealt with our challenges of seasickness and insomnia well. Those Scopolamine patches are amazing, and I proved, yet again, that I really don’t need much sleep. My first night was actually restful, maybe because we had strolled all over Charleston that day and I was sufficiently exhausted when we raised anchor at 5 pm. The second night was noisy in the Gulf Stream and the sleep evaded me. But I stood every watch and was awake enough to perform all of my tasks. The third night was getting better, and if we had stayed offshore a few more nights, I might just get the hang of sleeping in a noisy boat.

Speaking of the Gulf Stream, we navigated this with the help of Lindsay. Yep. She was in Boston, on a computer, when we texted with our favorite new toy: our Delorme InReach. She let us know, from a website, where the elusive eddy was that we were searching for. The Gulf Stream is much more diffuse up at this latitude, compared to down near Miami, where we had crossed many lumpy times. The seas were not difficult but the loss of forward speed was disheartening. Our knot log was reading 7.4 knots, while our GPS told us we were only making good about 4.8 knots. Ugh. We wanted to find this eddy to make better progress. Thanks Lindsay. We directed our course more easterly to get there, and soon were making better time.

Bill caught another Dorado in the Gulf Stream. Yum. He managed to gut the bugger on the back deck but there was no way we could BBQ in these conditions, so into the fridge it went. We dreamed about all of the ways we could prepare this delicious treat. Knowing that we should not take more fish aboard, we only take as much as we can consume, Bill put his hook back in the box. This did not stop the fish from coming aboard though, as flying fish were everywhere. They sail through the air, often landing on surfaces they had not intended.

Land HO. For us, not the fish. Seeing your first glimpse of land when you have only seen water is always an exciting moment. We were both so comfortable sailing, we could have continued further, but this was a thrill. I immediately texted the kids. This is always my response when something thrilling happens. I wish they were aboard with us to share every new experience. Actually, we had been here before. Once on Wings, our beloved Westsail 32 in 1989, and a few times with our kids on April vacations.

As we were planning to head in the cut on the north end of Great Guana Cay, a tiny bit of panic set in when we realized we had no cruising guide, or Active Captain, to show us the way. Since Maine, we have had the support of guides to tell us what the charts can’t. First of all, we have such redundancy in charts, it is silly. We have a Garmin Chart plotter, Navionics on my iPhone, and paper charts for every place we have been and intend to go. But these don’t tell you “watch out for area to the East of ___ because the water can build up breakers there,” or “line up the radio tower with the bright pink house to get the best approach into the cut”. We have no wifi out here, so Active Captain was not available, and we could not find our Bahamas Cruising Guide when we left. We decided to try Chanel 16 and call for general help. “Anyone with information on coming in the Great Guana Cay cut today, please advise.” Immediately, a warm Bahamian voice came back. “Just came in, Mon. It’s easy today, Capt Bub” Thank you! These 15 knot east winds were not enough to create an unsafe passage through the reefs.

So in we sailed, right into the anchorage at the north end of the Cay. We quickly jumped overboard for a delightful bath and snorkel. Just as we remembered: clear, warm, full of fish, bright white sand.

But the land…what had happened?!? The last time we were here, about ten years ago, we explored the defunct Cruise Ship playground. Erica sung to us on the broken down outdoor stage, Lindsay found friends from Falmouth Maine to run through the paths with, and Kenny wondered if the many pirate artifacts were real. Now there were gigantic homes, most still under construction, a rolling golf course, and endless gardens which obviously needed an enormous amount of fresh water and unsustainable practices to keep them alive. We had to explore this new development. So we dinghied to shore, and walked barefoot around this ridiculous new neighborhood. Later we found out that this is Baker’s Bay, and that no one is allowed to enter without an invitation. OOPS. You can’t even go into the marina there because they are always busy offloading celebrities who wish to remain unseen. We wondered why huge black yachts, with no one on deck, were always whizzing by our boat. These were the taxi services for the celebrities to come and go from the airport at Marsh Harbor, ten miles away. We were lucky to not have gotten thrown in jail! We were not even checked in through customs yet. Shh. Don’t tell anyone.

Coming back to our boat was wonderful. We are in the Bahamas! Everything felt right. We were not even tired from the passage. We BBQ’d that dorado, added rice pilaf, sugar snap peas and wine for an amazing first night. The sky was lit up with all the shades of red and purple just before the full moon came out. Life just doesn’t get any better.