80 hours and 548 miles after we left Middle Bight, Andros, we have just dropped our hook in the Herb River near Thunderbolt, GA, a suburb of Savannah. Now we're going to sleeeeeeep for a while, mmm. Then we have lots of work ahead of us.

(One task will be figuring out what went wrong with our blog's html stuff - thanks to everyone who let us know. Alas, this will be made more difficult by our travel ISP having apparently invalidated our user/password, I guess because we didn't log in for 3 months...and they're closed for the weekend. Oh, well. Hopefully I'll get it all straightened out soon. But for now...blissful sleep in a bed that isn't underway.)

currently at:2606.4N 7914.8W (about 46 miles east of Fort Lauderdale) current date:12 May 2005

Coffee surely is a miracle drug. Why else would I be feeling perky on a sum total of three hours sleep in the last twenty-four? I always find it hard to sleep on the first night of a passage, although I dutifully lie in bed while off watch, listening to the rigging creak and slap; this morning I watched the sun rise, adjusted the sails and helped Britt (groggy just out of bed - he'd finally managed his few hours of sleep) and put out the whisker pole to keep the jib from flopping on our downwind course, then rolled into bed at 7 am for three hours of intermittent weird dreams. Then it was my turn to be groggy as we took down the pole. But then I made coffee, and cut myself a slice of the breakfast bread I baked for the passage, and I'm ready for the day.

Not that much happens, on a passage. We read. We listen to the radio for news and weather information, and listen to music on our mp3 and CD players. We fish - yesterday while we sailed along the east coast of Andros we caught a nice-sized mahi-mahi to add to what's left of the yellow jack, so now it's all catch and release. At night we watch the stars in the sky, and the glowing flecks of bioluminescence in the water, and the moving blips on our radar screen. Every so often we pull on a line or loosen one, trying to get just a little more out of our sails. And that's about it. Pretty boring!

Right now we are sailing northwest in a 10-knot easterly breeze, keeping an eye on the sea-temperature thermometer and the two speeds we measure - the speed over ground (SOG) from the GPS, and the speed over water (SOW) from our paddlewheel impeller - looking for the Gulf Stream, our fast ride to Savannah. It's out here somewhere.

148 miles down; 400 miles to go...

currently at:  Middle Bight, Andros, Bahamas
current date:  10 May 2005

Other than the two nights we spent at Flamingo Cay in the company of Blind Date, we haven't shared a single anchorage with any other cruising boats in nearly three weeks - until now. When we came in to Middle Bight nobody was here but some bonefishing skiffs from a nearby resort; later that day three sailboats arrived, and the next day another sailboat and a trawler came in. Seems crowded!

But we can't complain, because we came here specifically to meet one of those boats - Calm Seas, which was carrying watermaker parts for us. Glenn helps out Spectra by carrying a small inventory of parts, and sometimes doing specific deliveries such as this. We'd been in touch by ham radio for the past week to coordinate things; it was great to finally meet Glenn and his wife Betsy, and pick up our parts. Installing them was a simple task, and now we have water again. (A big tip of the hat to Spectra Watermakers for their excellent customer service and willingness to correspond by email, and to Glenn Brown for his help.)

The anchorage at Middle Bight is behind an island called Gibson Cay, which according to the guidebook has an oceanic blue hole. Blue holes are water-filled sinkholes that have been created by, in many cases, faults allowing seepage of water into the limestone, which gets eaten away and forms a big hole. Some blue holes are deep spots in otherwise shallow water; they were formed when the region was above sea level. (In fact there's one like this close to here, but unfortunately it turned out to be not very interesting for snorkeling.) Others are inland, and some of them contain fresh or brackish water - and usually small crabs and bright red shrimp. We visited one on Raccoon Cay in the Jumentos and had a nice swim! The one on Gibson Cay is "oceanic" - it's connected to the ocean by subterranean caverns, so it's saltwater, and contains fish that have popped over for a visit.

The guidebook didn't say exactly where the blue hole was located, so we brought along the machete, expecting to have to tromp around a bit. The first difficulty was finding a landing place - Gibson Cay is surrounded by shallow water, and the only evident beach was on the windward side. But as we dinked by, we found a tiny opening in the mangroves leading to a small lagoon, which in turn branched out into several tidal creeks. It's a lot of fun exploring places like this by dinghy, so we put the blue hole on hold and rowed around a bit, eventually finding a place we could land and walk a short distance to the windward beach.

When we returned to the dinghy we tried another channel, which took us to a strange lunar landscape of flat limestone slabs that had more holes than swiss cheese. But at the end of the channel we spotted water across the limestone - dark blue water - it was the blue hole! We tied the dinghy to a mangrove, grabbed our masks and fins, and trotted over to do a little snorkeling. The blue hole turned out to be about 40 feet deep, with two holes leading out on one side, and one on the opposite side. Britt swam down into one and found another way back out into the blue hole. There weren't a lot of fish, but we did see yellowtail snappers and some small schoolmasters, as well as a large colony of little blue hermit crabs.

That afternoon we went out for a more serious fish-hunting snorkel. This meant going out in fairly rough water, since the wind was still blowing pretty good from the east. We found some beautiful elkhorn formations - unfortunately, with hardly any fish around them. To find the fish, we ventured into deeper water, where there were fewer coral heads, but nice ledges and canyons. I speared a couple of small fish, while Britt went after bigger game. He was way out in a deep canyon, after a dog snapper and almost out of air when a school of yellow jacks came by, and boom, he speared one. Those guys are so big that even when you put a hole in them they can put up a pretty good fight; when I spotted him (actually I saw the school first, then I saw Britt's blue swim fins) he was trying to bash the fish against a rock, to drive in the spear and subdue it. By the time he finally surfaced, gasping, he was feeling a little faint. As he swam with it back to the dinghy, I went after the school, but they moved quickly away, so I turned back toward the dinghy as well.

And the first thing I saw was a 5-foot reef shark, coming straight at me! I pointed my spear in its direction, and kept swimming at it; the shark decided it didn't like that, and turned around, so that I was essentially following the shark toward the dinghy. Every once in a while the shark turned to swim around to the side and then back toward me, but when it did that I swam toward it (based on the premise that I'd rather be following a shark, than be followed by a shark) and it would veer off (probably based on exactly the same premise with regard to humans). I figured that it must have been attracted by the thrashing of Britt's fish. In fact, it had approached Britt while he was swimming toward the dinghy; he'd turned on his back, keeping the fish high in the air, and poked the butt end of his spear right on the tip of the shark's nose to discourage it. Which was a lot braver than I would have been...I'd have said, "Here, Mr. Sharkie, have a nice fish!" But Britt hung on to his big fish, so we have lots of meat for the next few days.

Which is a good thing, because we're going to be underway for the next few days. The weather is looking promising for a pleasant Gulf Stream crossing back to the US, so we've plotted out a course for Savannah, GA, where we will start working on finding a place to put Windom up until our next cruise. We'll be underway for about four days, and I'll try to post an update or two for that virtual passage-making experience. Once we get a real net connect, we will be posting many more photos from the past month, some of our mpeg movies, and updates to some of the informational pages on our site, as well as our regular posts on what we're doing. We'll also set up a mailing list for folks who want to be notified when Windom sails again. So please stay tuned.

currently at: Lisbon Creek, Andros, Bahamas current date: 8 May 2005

We would have liked to have spent more time at the Grassy Creek Cays, but a cold front was coming and we needed a place with more protection from the west and north. We did get one day of snorkeling, and walked around on one of the little islands where we saw a few water bottles and a tarp - someone's rudimentary camp, I guess. The cays' inhabitants are mostly birds - laughing gulls and brindled terns, we think - along with an assortment of lizards and big gray biting flies. The local name for them is "doctor fly", because their bite feels like you're being given a shot.

Around noon we set out for South Bight, but the southeast wind was too light and the seas too big to make much progress, so the motor was on much of the way. We caught a small mahi-mahi on the way, the first one we have caught since our first week in the Bahamas! The entrance is wide and easy, but once inside the Bight (which is actually a wide and shallow tidal creek that runs completely across Andros Island) we couldn't find the dredged channel to Lisbon Creek with the late afternoon sun reflecting from the water, so we felt our way across the Bight to the lee of Forsyth Point and anchored there for the night.

For the next day's predicted frontal passage, though, we wanted more protection. The next morning we set out in the dinghy with the lead line and portable GPS. With the sun overhead the channel was obvious. It's even "marked": there's what looks like a Chlorox bottle float on a line near the beginning of the channel, too small to see unless you know exactly where to look, which of course misses the whole point of a channel marker. Using the lead line, we determined a clear path for the big boat that would get us to the dredged channel without going aground. Which was important, because it was just about low tide and dropping. But we transferred our waypoints from the little GPS to the big one, lifted anchor, and made it to Lisbon Creek without losing any more bottom paint.

Lisbon Creek is also a tidal estuary rather than a true river, so the current switches direction with the tide. (Actually, this is oddly not quite the case at Lisbon Creek; we noticed that the current direction lags the tide by at least an hour. For example, the current flows out through the lowest tide, and then the tide rises - but the current continues flowing out! We suspect this is because Lisbon Creek joins South Bight at both ends, so the tide affects both ends of the creek and somehow results in this strange and nonintuitive current pattern.) The current is strong enough to overwhelm the wind, so we set two anchors in what is called the Bahamian moor: one upstream and one downstream. Windom pivots around its bow as the current switches, but stays in more or less the same place, which is also a good thing when we are anchored, as we are here, in a relatively narrow waterway.

There is a small settlement here, also called Lisbon Creek. We went ashore for a walk; there is a concrete dock where the mailboat calls, a restaurant and "guest house" across the street (somehow I doubt Lisbon Creek is high on the Andros tourist route!), and a handful of other houses. The grocery store is about the size of a one-car garage. When we walked by, a tiny tabby kitten was dozing in the open doorway. We stopped to give it a scritch, and a man called out from the house next door, "You want anything from the store?" We walked up to the house and asked if they had ice cream (no) or cold drinks (yes). A soda pop? We were directed to go down to the store and pick what we wanted out of the fridge, then we returned to the house to pay.

As we walked down the street, a man watering his lawn greeted us, and we stopped to chat. His name was Cecil Longley, and he is a deputy minister for Education, back at his hometown on vacation from his job in Nassau. Mr. Longley told us that back in his grandfather's day Lisbon Creek was the center of boatbuilding in the Bahamas: "They built fishing smacks, three-masted sailing schooners. Used to be, there were nine boats here." More recently the Lisbon Creek boatbuilding yard made Bahamian racing sloops for the various intra-Bahamas regattas, and we saw one such racing sloop in a vacant lot beside the road, looking dilapidated and neglected. It's unsurprising this was a boatbuilding community, since Andros is heavily forested with pine and mahogany.

Mr. Longley told us the same story that we've heard in so many Out Island communities: the young people go to Nassau and Freeport to get an education and get jobs, and few of them return to the settlement where they were raised. So Lisbon Creek is dying, like so much of the Bahamas. In this case tourism will not come to the rescue; Andros is a large island, not one of the picturesque little cays with palm trees and white sand beaches, and the reefs are on the windward side where diving is dependent on the rare calm weather. Not many yachts visit Andros, and few of them venture this far south. There are a few dive resorts and bonefishing operations on the island, but there isn't much in Lisbon Creek.

What there is: there are a lot of "doctor flies". Also a lot of mosquitos and no-see-um gnats, tiny things with big teeth. We keep our screens in and our hatch closed, and we don't spend a lot of time in the cockpit. There are a lot of clouds, because Andros is big enough to cause land-effect convection - the sun heats the land faster than it heats the water, and the heat rises and creates big cumulus clouds in the afternoon. We got one good rainstorm that helped add to our water supply and washed off our salty decks.

Right now the wind is howling from the northeast in the wake of the cold front, catching Windom sideways and sounding a lot worse than it really is. As soon as the wind drops and shifts a little more easterly, we'll head north toward Middle Bight.

currently at: South Bight, Andros, Bahamas
current date: 6 May 2005

We've been getting quite a few emails asking about the photos we post, so I thought I'd just make a general log entry about our camera and photography.

We bought a new digital camera for this voyage: the Sony DSC-P150 "Cybershot" with the Marine Pack MPK-PHB underwater housing. Britt chose this camera because of the highly-rated digital cameras (from ratings on various web sites) this was the smallest, with the smallest underwater housing. Since nearly all our time in the water is snorkeling, rather than SCUBA diving, we wanted something that would not be heavy or obtrusive.

The photos we post to the web have been post-processed with Adobe Photoshop in order to correct the color balance (underwater photos in particular have a blue cast which can be lessened by doing "Auto Levels"). We also make them smaller (at 7.2 megapixels, the originals are HUGE) and sometimes crop them.

For the pictures which are posted as regular log entries, we use Flickr, a photo-sharing site that happens to have a nifty email blog interface for certain standard weblog programs, including the one we use, Blogger. We send an email message with a photo attached, and it gets automagically uploaded to our weblog. One limitation of this method is that the accompanying text is turned into html using a basic converter which can't be bypassed and which doesn't necessarily produce a pretty layout. (Our normal, non-photo entries, are composed in html, so I have more control over them.)  I can also only post one photo per mail message, and it's limited to 500x500 pixels.

The size limitation is not a big deal (no pun intended) because we have an even greater limitation - our bandwidth. We send and receive email while on the boat using Winlink, which is a rather remarkable system for email over high-frequency (HF) radio, put together and run by volunteer ham radio hobbyists. I use our marine HF radio (which can be tuned to the ham channels - I'm a licensed ham, call sign KG4EYP), connected to our computer via an HF modem. I send my mail to one of these volunteer stations, and their software automatically routes it to the internet; similarly, email that comes to us goes first to the Winlink hub, which then routes it to all the volunteer stations we use, and when I connect to one of those stations, it forwards me my internet email. It's great to be able to do email from the boat, but it's s-l-o-w. Anyone reading this remember the old 110 baud teletypes?  Well, if we've got good radio signal propagation, I might get as much as 300 baud - roughly three times the speed of those old teletypes. It's enough to make a dial-up connection seem blazing!

(This is a good spot for a reminder. If you would like to send us email, you must first go to http://www.winlink.org/accept and enter your email address. Our email address, windom [at-sign] windom.netrack.net, is forwarded to my Winlink address, but as they have a whitelist spam-control system, if you're not on the whitelist your email won't get through. Once we reply to your mail, you're in the system and don't have to do it again! But we love getting email, so please, drop us a line, if only to introduce yourself.

You can also just leave an anonymous comment on a log entry, and we'll get it. But we won't be able to reply unless you include your email address!)

Ok, back to the photos. With our eentsy weentsy bandwidth, it takes roughly five minutes to send 10 kilobytes. Each Winlink station has a daily connect limit of 30 minutes - plus, sending email takes significant power, and the longer it takes, the more power it uses. So I work pretty hard, cropping, resizing, and sometimes degrading the quality of the picture, in order to get them down under 20-25K.

We do keep higher-quality, larger versions for ourselves, though. So after we get back to the Land Of DSL, I'll go through and replace the tiny photos with bigger ones, hosted at our website rather than the Flickr site. Some of our best pictures look so bad when made small enough to send, that we haven't posted them - but we'll post them when we have real bandwidth. The camera also takes short movies, and we have made a few that we'll upload to the site then, as well. (For the real "virtual stowaway" experience!)  So that's incentive to keep reading even after we return to the US, I guess!

It's wonderful to have the capability to take underwater photos this year. Although we took lots of beach and island photos on our previous trips to the Bahamas, the true beauty of this country is underwater, and we are thrilled to be able to share what we see. Britt does nearly all of the underwater photography, which makes me happy because that means that I get to spear dinner. (He's such a good hunter that he can shoot a fish or two before I manage to hit one, which would mean that we'd already have enough, so I wouldn't get to do any hunting. Now I do most of the food hunting, and only whine to him that he needs to put the camera down and grab the spear if I'm having rotten luck.)

As far as photography technique goes, the same things that make Britt a great fish hunter make him a great fish photographer. It helps if you are able to hold your breath a long time, to descend smoothly, and to hang out underwater as motionless as possible. A lot of his best photos were taken when curious fish came closer to check him out.

currently at:  underway in the Tongue of the Ocean
current date: 4 May 2005

Good morning to all of our virtual stowaways. Although I'm not going to send this until we arrive at the Grassy Creek Cays - Bob the Autopilot gets cranky and steers in circles when we use the HF radio - right now it's about half past one in the morning. I'm writing this underway in the Tongue of the Ocean, en route to Andros at 23° 29.8N 76° 54.8W. We're sliding along at about 4 knots with light wind just over our right shoulder, which makes it nice and comfy, with no real waves to speak of. If it was like this all the time, there would be a lot more people out here! But tonight, all I've seen is a single ship, which passed about 4 miles away headed south. I wonder what it is - military? cargo? - and where it is going. There aren't a lot of passages across the Great Bahama Bank that hems in the Tongue of the Ocean on all sides.

Our own passage was uneventful. We left Flamingo Cay fairly early in the morning, keeping a sharp lookout for coral heads until we were in relatively deep water, which here means about 25 feet. In these light conditions we were not surprised to pass a fishing boat and its skiffs diving the reefs quite some distance from the island chain. We fished as well, reeling in three yellowtail snappers (keeping one) and - a first for us - a small reef shark. I reeled in the shark; Britt released it, using the method he uses for releasing big barracudas:  he gaffs them and lifts them high off the rail, uses pliers to remove the hook, then shakes them off the gaff. (They do end up with a hole in them from the gaff, but still alive and kicking.) It surprised us that the shark's tiny teeth didn't look even half as fearsome as the typical barracuda's.

As we got farther onto the Banks, we noticed the water was losing its clarity, becoming a milky green rather than the brilliant blue-green we had been seeing. We suspect that this area that was too far from the deep water to be affected by tidal currents - that this water just stays on the banks and becomes turbid with sand and other particles. When we approached the deep water on the other side, the clarity improved again.

It was getting close to dusk when we entered the actual Lark Channel, but we could still see a pale green strip off to the east, indicating the sandbar that forms one of the channel boundaries. The channel is certainly wide enough to run using GPS, so we continued through as the sun set. (Of course we cross the Banks at night when we come from Florida, but those routes are well-known and heavily-used; this route we weren't so sure about, but now we feel a lot more confident.) When we left the Banks and sailed into deep water at the channel exit, the current swirled around us like we were going through a river rapid.

We're traveling slowly, reefed sails and the wind nearly behind us, but that's okay with us. Instead of choosing one of Andros's more well-known harbors, which are all farther north, we are headed to a spot on the chart that isn't even mentioned in Pavlidis's guidebook, and gets only a brief sentence in the Yachtsman's guide, and we'll need good light to get in there. So at 4 knots we will arrive around ten a.m. And now it's 0300, and it's time for me to go to sleep.

currently at:  Grassy Creek Cays, Andros, Bahamas
current date: 4 May 2005

Good morning again! It's now 11:15, and we are safely anchored behind one of the Grassy Creek Cays. This is probably the least-visited spot we've ever been - that is, by pleasure boaters, as we can see a Bahamian fishing boat to the south through our binoculars. Not many cruisers come to Andros, and those who do generally stick to the harbors north of South Bight, which is still 40 miles north of us. But as you probably know by now, we have a serious case of off-the-beaten-path syndrome.

For a few tiny dots on the chart, this isn't a bad spot. The entrance was a wide blue highway of deep water between two cays, with the fringing reef clearly visible on both sides. As the tide was going out, against the southeasterly wind, the chop from the current was an additional clue for finding the channel. The ride in on big rollers was rather exciting, though, and I have already told Britt that we will not leave on an outgoing tide - I don't want to be bashing through those rollers! Even though an incoming tide will mean current against us, it will smooth down the waves rather than whipping them up.

Inside the reef we turned south along the chain of islands. The Grassy Creek Cays (named for Grassy Creek on the "mainland" of Andros, still five miles to our west) are small humps of land fairly close together, forming a decent lee anchorage. We could see the shelving bottom in the deeper areas, 25-30 feet, and in between we crossed over 10-15 foot sand flats, eventually picking one behind one of the bigger islands to set our anchor. Around the edges of the channel are tempting-looking reefs, although we'll have to dive them at slack tide so we don't get swept away by the current!

We won't have a lot of time to explore here, though, as a cold front will be coming through later this week, and there's no protection here from a north wind. Also, on the passage our temporary fix to the watermaker failed, so we're anxious to meet up with the Spectra rep - he'll be cruising down Andros from the north, probably beginning Saturday - and get the replacement parts. So we'll be heading north soon.

As a postscript - just in case you didn't see the comment, Roger A. Arrowood, Capt USN (ret) has identified the "mystery trash object" I posted a few days ago as a transportation container for an air-launched sonobuoy.

currently at: Flamingo Cay, Jumentos, Bahamas
current date:  1 May 2005

Sometimes it seems as though writing about something always jinxes it! In our last update I said we were looking for weather to head east; at the time we had decided that the current cold front would snap around too quickly to the east to be a good window, but that the next one looked like a possibility to give us some northerlies we could use to go southeast. But as soon as I posted it, the weather forecast changed to nothing but easterlies for the foreseeable future. Time to rethink our plans.

The Jumentos are a chain of islands running more or less north-to-south, with shallow water to the west and deep water to the east. On the north is shallow water as well, with the islands of Great and Little Exuma directly north, and Long Island farther east. There are two "standard" ways of reaching the Jumentos from the central Bahamas: Hog Cay Cut, which is more or less the direct route from George Town but is only 3 feet deep at low water, necessitating careful timing with a high tide, and the Comer Channel, which detours via Thompson Bay, Long Island. The difficulty of returning via the Comer Channel is that it runs pretty much straight east, into the prevailing easterlies. (I'll post a chartlet next, so you don't have to try to visualize it!) On our first trip to the Jumentos in 2000 we used Hog Cay Cut; we took the Comer Channel on our way back from Dollar Harbour, and also on our way to the Jumentos on this trip.

Way back when we were first discussing destinations and plans with Ithaka, we looked at the "Mailboat Route", a route shown in Pavlidis's Exumas guidebooks that runs down the backside of the Exumas to the Jumentos. This is not a popular cruising route, partly because it pretty much bypasses the Exumas, partly because it goes through some shallow areas that require use of the tide for most boats to make it through (although not as much as Hog Cay Cut). It's also not clear to us where we could anchor and have reasonable protection, although there are a few possibilities. (The mailboat, which uses this route, travels at night, which we are reluctant to do in this area.)

Ithaka, with their 6.5' draft, nixed the idea of the Mailboat Route, but we have been considering it as a return option. Advantages are that we would be able to explore some little-traveled areas west of the Exumas - there are several cays that Pavlidis says have great diving - and we wouldn't be retracing our steps again. The disadvantage is that we'd have to play the tides to get into some of these anchorages, and be cautious about the shoal areas as we don't have very good charts of this region and would be traveling solo.

In any case, we knew we'd have to start from a point farther north, so we sailed from Raccoon Cay back to Flamingo Cay, a fast ride with the wind 15-22+ knots just over our right shoulder, and constant hits on our two fishing lines. We kept a yellowtail snapper and a blue runner, tossed back countless barracudas, and reeled in two half-snappers that had been chomped by something bigger while we were reeling them in. At Flamingo we pulled in next to the first cruising boat we've seen in a long while.

Actually, we had suspected that Blind Date was here at Flamingo. We had met Carol and Ashley years ago in St. Martin, and had last seen them in Porlamar, Venezuela; we'd heard them on the SSB and knew they were in the Jumentos, after coming up from the southeast. We let them know we were in the area and made vague plans to get in touch, but a few days ago we crossed their path as we were headed to different anchorages to weather a cold front, and just "waved" over the VHF. We knew they were working their way north, and Flamingo is a don't-miss cay, so it wasn't a surprise to see them, and it was fun to catch up with each other.

It turned out that Blind Date is planning to use a completely different route out of the Jumentos - the Lark Channel, a path through the shallow banks that leads to the Tongue Of The Ocean and Andros Island. Some of our charts show the Lark and other channels, but there's a lot of scary ground between here and there, and our charts don't have the detail we'd like. But they have the latest Explorer charts which show the channels and even give waypoints, and they had met the people that did a lot of the soundings for the charts, who assured them that it was an easy pathway.

Andros is a tempting idea. We spent time at Morgan's Bluff and Fresh Creek on our second trip to the Bahamas, but it was in the winter, and the strong easterlies made it impossible to enjoy the reefs along the east coast. Maybe this time of year it will be calmer. We've been in the Exumas so much this year that something different is appealing. Plus, the guy with our watermaker part will be in Andros before going to the Exumas, and we might be able to meet up with him sooner.

Well, we don't have to decide yet. Blind Date's leaving tomorrow morning, but we are more inclined to hang out a little while longer, because the light weather predicted tomorrow would make it a motoring trip, and we'd rather take advantage of the light winds to snorkel some of the less-protected reefs. At least, that's what we're thinking right now - by tomorrow, our plans may change yet again!